Excuse Me

But can we just assume that when we sneeze we'll be blessed?  In an office full of people you're bound to get at least five sneezes per day.  Saying "Bless You" for each one seems redundant, and it puts the sneezer in a position of thanking you for the blessing when they'd probably rather clean up without being bothered.   And it's all such a mental game.  Someone will sneeze and I'll wait for someone else to bless them.  I think everyone is waiting.  And then the longer I go the more I think the sneezer is thinking, "damn, what a bunch of heathens.  I was sure at least Jared would be kind enough to bless me."  I think about it so much that minutes later I throw a "Bless You" out there.  It may sound strange, like I'm talking to invisible angels.   Honestly, I really don't feel like I'm in any position to be blessing anybody.  Do I really have that kind of authority?  One moment I'm surfing Google Images for boobs and the next I'm blessing somebody?  And it's just awkward shattering the office silence with blessings.  So if you're reading this, please know that when you sneeze around me the blessing is automatic.  I'm silently exorcising your nasal demons.  You don't have to say thank you and I don't have to agonize over whether or not you think I'm a jerk because I haven't turned away from Googling boobs to offer my sincerest form of religious sentiment.

Yogurt Scandal?

What's the deal with yogurt pricing.  20 for $15!  7 for $3!  I won't buy it.  Nothing else in the world is priced like this.  Why yogurt?  I'd pay a dollar a spoonful just because it seems more honest. 

Autism, ADD Team up for Huge Night

So I was killing time on the Internet when I ran across this article about the rising numbers of babies born within the ever-expanding spectrum of Autism.   Some people say it's environmental; populations near certain factories have experienced a spike in autistic children; some say it's diet, some say it's the MMR vaccination and still other's insinuate that some mild 'cases' are conjured by hysterical parents.  But I got this notion that maybe it's part of evolution, that autism--sometimes producing functional adults who can memorize Pi to the 14,000th digit and write a book about it--is the mutation that will lead to a more advanced human (if you read 'mutant' as a negative term than you watch to much TV.)  I know this is weird and totally not a speculation typically found in a space called a "Playhouse," but I got giddy about my postulation and did some Googling (Not the apex of academic research but I bet even Stephen Hawking vanity Googles.)  I get to Kottke.org and find this video.  Beware, the first three minutes will test your tolerance and alarm the neighbors, but the annoying beginning is necessary to prove a point...the rest of us might be the "idiots".  

Back to School

Today is my first day of class. 

 One guy brought a baby.  She's six-months-old and cute and less noisy than some of the other non-trads.  Already there's that lady who talks too much about nothing.  She just finished her unsolicited oral dissertation on how her living in Boulder makes it difficult to get to class on time.  Sometimes when I eat too much cheese I can't poop.  But she's taking up all the class time so I may not be able to announce it.

Dr. Ying, who's real name is Yin, but it was translated incorrectly at Ellis Island and his wife is mad at him about that because now their kids are carrying out a family name that really isn't theirs,  is my professor.  This is my third class I've had with Ying.  I've taken a total of three at University of Colorado at Denver.  I have a 4.0 GPA.  Last semester we forewent our final presentations and he bought the twenty or so of us beer at Brooklyns. 

Most of that same group is back for more Ying.  Except Michael, who has discovered he can make more money selling condos than sitting in a circle discussing various theories of teaching ESL students English. 

It is remarkable how big boobs are getting.  I don't know what my problem is, maybe I was never properly weaned, but I can't help but repeatedly notice that the class is full of healthy bosoms.   The six-month-old and I might share notes about this phenomena.

Now the guy who thinks he's really smart and precedes words like 'pedagogical' with phrases like 'if you will'--when clearly we'd rather not--is sharing with us something of utmost importance.  I'm going to start spacing out now.  Only three hours to go.

Britney has an important message

Britney Spears is pregnant again. Kevin Federline is the father. This is his fourth child and will be Brit's second.

The world is up in arms. Why is someone who apparently has the child-rearing wherewithal of mentally impaired monkey having more babies? In the answer to that question lies a comforting revelation.

It must be hard for couples who, although trying in earnest, cannot have a child and must watch babies seemingly fall out of Ms. Spears. The despondency must roll in like a tsunami when you start thinking "if Britney can to it...why can't I?" Well it's because you are doing it all wrong.

You're trying too hard. Get rid of the thermometer, the 800-count sheets, the precariously placed pillows and forget the fertility clinic. If Britney teaches us anything it's that you can only get pregnant when your least ready. And live in a trailer on a diet of cigarettes and Taco Bell.

So get rid of your Martha Stewart window treatments. Put up a Dale Earnhardt poster to block the sun. Burn your books and subscribe to gun and ninja magazines. Take all of your appliances and put them on your lawn. Disable your SUV by putting it on blocks. (SUV's are clearly not conducive to children. Typically you only see one person driving a ten-passenger vehicle.)

Order something from late night TV.

You need to change your lifestyle. Once you psyche your body into thinking you're a white trash princess the breeding will be a breeze. Of course the actual conception needs to be in the back of a pick up truck by a resevoir. No, not by the sea. There can be nothing that reeks of romanticism. It must be awkward and later require therapy to discuss. There needs to be a shotgun nearby and the essence of diesel, smoke, beer and body odor will, for years to come, bring you to tears. Making a potpourri of used fuel filter, cigarette butts and sweaty tank tops might be most encouraging for your fertility.

Have some nookie, git r' done, and then send the father to prison. You'll be pregnant for sure.

For an even better shot you could fake a prom. Nothing conjures a zygote like a high school dance.

I know that watching the Spears/Federline duo stumble through life is painful. But now, by following these few easy steps, can be a fruitful venture.

Babies, friend-stealing egomaniacs

Babies are cute, yes, and they are our future, correct.  

Or so they would have you believe.

A baby’s hidden agenda isn’t so precious.  Have you ever noticed how it’s always about them?  You’ll never meet a baby that cries because someone else is hungry.  You’ll never hear of a baby that weeps on the behalf of another.  Guarantee that if you hear a baby crying at a funeral that it has nothing to do with the deceased.  It won’t happen.  And worse, they’re stealing all of my friends.  I used to know this group of guys and gals that on any given Tuesday could drink and stay up all night playing foosball and darts.  Now babies are running their lives.

How selfish are babies you ask?  Well imagine your personal set of principles includes driving a fuel-efficient vehicle.  A baby demands a mini van.  Why?  It’s completely counter-intuitive to buy the biggest vehicle on the market to carry a seven-pound human.  But a baby demands the legroom and the space for its portable all-in-one jungle gym/breast pump/diaper Genie/booger baster.  Not so long ago, my friends, the ones who have been robbed of their will by babies, would never skip a Bronco game for an episode of Veggie Tales.  They do now.  Why?  That’s what the baby wants.  The little bugger can entertain itself for hours with an empty box or a dead bug but it just loves to impose its will on the bigger people.  It’s a game they love to play.  And we’re all losing to the babies.  
 
I’m going to conjure up a couple of these babies and show them who’s the boss.