Abob and the Canoe

I spent the weekend at my friend’s cabin in the mountains. Because of Pioneer Day, I had a three day weekend instead of two. Thank you pioneers. All your back-breaking labor got me a day off. You see? It was worth it.

But not everyone’s company likes the Pioneers. Only three of my friends got Friday off, so we decided to spend the day canoeing until everyone else arrived that night.

Unfortunately, we were faced with the task of getting the canoe from the cabin down the mountain to the lake. We had one car, mine, a 2004 Chevy Aveo. Think micromachine, only smaller. Don’t get me wrong, I love small cars (I bought the thing, didn’t I) but, admittedly, they do have a few disadvantages (like their inability to go fast on steep hills or the impracticality of putting gigantic canoes on their backs, for instance).

So my Aveo, which I’ve named Abob, had to somehow carry the canoe. To make matters much more daunting, we only had one old bungee cord and one small rope to attach the canoe to the car.

“Thank goodness I was a boy scout and learned all kinds of nifty knots.” That’s what I would have said had I actually remembered a single knot. But such was not the case. I mean, when do you really expect to use those things? My scoutmaster never once said to me: “Learn well, my son, for one day you will need to tie an enormous canoe to your tiny car.” So what motivation did I have? I mean the brain only has room for so much information and my knowledge of knots was replaced by Simpsons reruns long ago.

But, miraculously, we were able to secure the canoe and get down the mountain, although we did have to stop several times to readjust it and were waylaid once by mountain hicks looking for their dog. The whole thing looked pretty comical, as you can see from the picture below.

I guess the lesson in all this is that even if you’re small, it doesn’t mean you can’t accomplish great things. But that lesson is sappy enough to induce vomiting. So here’s a better lesson: If you’re going to design a canoe, design it with hinges. That way it can fold up all compact-like and be put in your glove compartment. You gotta look out for Abob.

We Were All Wrong

I just read an interesting news article. A monkey at an Israeli zoo has begun walking on its hind legs, like most humans (Dick Cheney, excluded). This un-monkey-like behavior started shortly after being released from treatment for stomach flu, which according to the monkey's veterinarian, also caused some brain damage (due to the stomach's close proximity to the cranium).  
 
This explains so much!  We were all wrong. Humans are not the offspring of some miraculous advancement in evolution -- humans are the offspring of brain damaged monkeys!

If Hawking can change his theory on black holes, then evolutionists can darn well change theirs. Get to work scientists, you retarded monkey babies.
 

The Missing Link revealed.

Damned Ladies

My boss came up to me this morning to tell me that she had a dream about me. My immediate thought was, "Lady, you have a son my age!" -- but luckily it wasn't that kind of dream. She went on to explain that in the dream I was flying in from California, and everyone at work was coming to greet me at the airport. "How nice," I thought. "Aren't I popular." Not really -- they weren't coming to welcome me home, they were coming to yell at me. I generally don't make a trip all the way to the airport when I want to yell at someone but my co-workers apparently just couldn't wait.

The reason? According to the dream, I had fathered two children with two different women and everyone at work decided to storm the airport and let me have it. Right. After my boss and I had a good laugh (hers genuine, mine slightly worried), I had two thoughts: 1) How did she find out? and 2) Did her tye-dye wearing neighbor happen to stop by that day with some special brownies.

I don't know what you're supposed to think when your boss dreams of you having illicit relationships. I guess it's better to think nothing at all.

You see, I work in an environment overflowing with estrogen (with every employee in my department being a woman except me and the other designer) and one soon learns to ignore some of the wacky things that go on.

For example, the space right outside my cubicle has been officially designated the "girl talk" gathering place. When in this space, you are only allowed to discuss three things: hair, clothes, and shoes. You would think with such limited conversation topics, there wouldn't be much to say. But you would be horribly wrong. If given a chance, the women at my work would discuss these things for weeks at a time, without taking a breath.

For the most part, I try to tone it out, since why the heck should I care if so-and-so's shoes look so cute. But sometimes I pick up on amusing fragments like:

"Oh no! My hair almost fell out."

Then I laugh until one of them explains to me that she just got extensions and they don't always stay in or whatnot.

The point is that I've learned that stereotypes are often true, at least some of the time. I went through highschool with more female friends than male friends -- and I can't say we ever breached the topic of hair, clothes, or shoes, but perhaps they just avoided these subjects for my sake.

If so, then I have to say thank you. High school would have sucked if we spent all our time discussing heels rather than brooding or listening to Oingo Boingo, or whatever else the heck we did in high school.

Girlie-men

Well it's been 7 months since Arnold Schwarzenegger took office, and although I don't know much about how he's doing politically, at least he's entertaining.

On Saturday he delivered a speech in which he referred to Democrats opposing his budget as "girlie-men."

This is an obvious allusion to SNL's old Hanz and Franz sketch which starred two ridiculously proportioned bodybuilders with Schwarzenegger-like accents. Wouldn't it be great if all lawmakers, old and new, started imitating their Saturday Night Live counterparts? Clinton could start biting his tongue while giving comedically-timed thumb-ups at his book signings, Bush Sr. could drone the "wouldn't be prudent" line in all of his public remarks, Janet Reno could hold weekly dance parties, and Bush Jr. could well...act like himself, I guess.

I was tickled by all the righteous indignation of some Democrats. The fact that they were extremely offended only gives support to his remark. Sure, it was a stupid thing to say, but hey, so is 90% of what leaves most politicians' mouths.

I don't really like Arnold. I think he only ran for governor to further inflate his already over-inflated ego. But hey, at least he seems to be doing a better job than Gray Davis (who was like a creepy, evil version of Mr. Rogers).

Good luck Kah-lee-fornia. You're going to need it.

Me vs. The Lawn

Now that I have my own house, I find that I have to take care of things I never had to bother with before. There's quite a bit of upkeep involved with a house that one never has to worry about in an apartment. For one thing, I now have to mow the lawn.

Big deal, you say. Well, when you're lawn-maintenance-retarded, like me, these things ARE a big deal. You see, I never had to mow a lawn before in my life. Back in California, there was an abundance of a certain ethnic group that was always more than willing to mow it for me. Not so in Utah.

It took me three weeks after moving into my house to buy a lawn mower. By then the grass had pretty much taken over. The weeds themselves were taller than Shaq. But I hacked and slashed my way through it, filling up 12 large bags with mutilated lawn waste. By the time I was finished, I vowed to go back to California and kidnap some gardeners.

Long story, short--They fought me off with their rakes and their hedge clippers and I barely escaped with my life.

Here's my point: I think it's high time someone invented some kind of potion that stunts grass growth. I mean, we must have similar potions already out there. How else do you explain Gary Coleman?