I was nervous, and justifiably so. I was going to be giving
out candy on Halloween for the first time, and I didn’t want to screw it up.
I had visions of several ways that I could make a complete
fool out of myself. These included me panicking and saying “Trick or Treat”
instead of the kids, and me freaking out at the ghost at my door and dropkicking
it across the lawn. Talk about stressful!
It felt similar to when I was about to interview somebody in
a professional setting for the first time. If anybody should have been
nervous, it was the applicant, and not me, but I’m a worst-case-scenario kind of
guy, and I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d say if I was asked, “How can this
be a good company when they’ve hired somebody so clearly incapable as you?” I
mean, how do you reply to that?
There were several worse-case scenarios for Halloween. Did I
have enough candy? Or did I have too much? Not having enough would make me look
ridiculous after I ran out and had to resort to cooking omelets for anybody
else who dropped by. Having too much would likewise be disastrous, as I would inevitably
come out of the following weekend about ten pounds heavier and covered in
chocolate. Streeesssssssful!
But I wanted to face my fears, so I turned on my front light
and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally, a few children showed up, and I’m proud to say that
I somehow managed to keep from embarrassing myself! Perhaps the universe is
lulling me into a false sense of security so it can crush me later, when I’m
least expecting it, but I’m not going to worry about that now. Instead, it’s
time to celebrate!
But before the Mountain Dew begins to flow, I did make an
observation regarding the different genders and Halloween that I’d like to
share. All of the little girls were adorable and polite and dressed up like
cats and princesses. Only one boy showed up at my door, and he was dressed as a
serial killer, with a hockey mask and a sword. Make what you want of it.
The only bad news was that I didn’t use up all of my candy,
and I’m really hoping to not go on a weekend chocolate bender. So anybody who
wants a few Three Musketeers or Reese’s peanut butter cups, feel free to drop
by. Just don’t dress up as a ghost. You don’t want to tempt fate.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Four Years Of Nonsense
Four years ago, disregarding the added workload of having to
remember a user name and password for yet another website, I started a blog and
my life was changed forever, by which I mean I now occasionally take the drivel
floating around in my head and post it for all of the world to ignore.
It’s the “four years” portion of the above statement that I’d like to focus on. Yup, it’s that time of year again: my blogiversary! (Actually, I’m a little late, but close enough.)
Before we look to the future, let’s look back at the past year of FromTheDeskOfCurly, shall we? The previous twelve months have been an exciting time for this blog, at least as long as “exciting” means that there were numerous occasions when I couldn’t think of anything interesting to post and just bagged the whole thing and rummaged through the refrigerator instead, hoping to find chocolate milk.
However, there were still a few big events, such as:
The Book
In a shameless attempt to get rich, I self-published a book on Amazon.com that contained, among other things, a few columns from this blog. This failed to make me independently wealthy, however, mainly because I was too shy to promote it, although its questionable quality may have played a role. The book was released in February, and sales quickly flat-lined after I bought a single copy from myself. Still, it was fun, and putting it together killed a rather dreary January.
Twitter
Joining the modern world, this blog signed up for Twitter. The rationale behind this decision was that all I needed was one celebrity to retweet something of mine and suddenly I’d have millions of followers, all of whom would want to buy my book and make me rich. To date, this hasn’t happened, which is quite disappointing since it’s essentially my entire retirement plan. Come on Jim Gaffigan, I’m looking at you here!!!
Looking ahead, what’s next for FromTheDeskOfCurly? Will it miraculously get better? Or will it instead jump the shark? Will the author take a well-deserved sabbatical that nobody will even notice? Maybe there'll be another book published containing previously released material?
That’s a lot of questions, most of which I have no answers for. I can, however, respond to the last one: No more books. I’ve already made my artistic point with the first one. (“Look, I have an awful lot of free time on my hands!”)
Beyond that, I have no idea what’s coming up. Planning ahead is not my strong suit, so I’m going to just keep making things up as I go along. Unless, of course, Jim Gaffigan retweets me and I get rich. Then I’ll dump this blog faster than you could ever imagine!!
DeskOfCurly Readers Blogiversary Bonus:
As a thank you to all of my readers, I’m running a free promotion on my book this month on Amazon.com. It will be available free of charge for three days, beginning on Friday the 25th all the way through Sunday the 27th. You can get it here. Reviews are always welcome, unless they include the phrases, “worse than I’d ever imagined,” or “like lava was pouring in my eyes.”
And for any of you who’ve already spent your hard earned money on it, I have only one thing to say: A fool and his money are – Whoops!! Looks like I’m out of space for now!! See you next time!!
It’s the “four years” portion of the above statement that I’d like to focus on. Yup, it’s that time of year again: my blogiversary! (Actually, I’m a little late, but close enough.)
Before we look to the future, let’s look back at the past year of FromTheDeskOfCurly, shall we? The previous twelve months have been an exciting time for this blog, at least as long as “exciting” means that there were numerous occasions when I couldn’t think of anything interesting to post and just bagged the whole thing and rummaged through the refrigerator instead, hoping to find chocolate milk.
However, there were still a few big events, such as:
The Book
In a shameless attempt to get rich, I self-published a book on Amazon.com that contained, among other things, a few columns from this blog. This failed to make me independently wealthy, however, mainly because I was too shy to promote it, although its questionable quality may have played a role. The book was released in February, and sales quickly flat-lined after I bought a single copy from myself. Still, it was fun, and putting it together killed a rather dreary January.
Joining the modern world, this blog signed up for Twitter. The rationale behind this decision was that all I needed was one celebrity to retweet something of mine and suddenly I’d have millions of followers, all of whom would want to buy my book and make me rich. To date, this hasn’t happened, which is quite disappointing since it’s essentially my entire retirement plan. Come on Jim Gaffigan, I’m looking at you here!!!
Looking ahead, what’s next for FromTheDeskOfCurly? Will it miraculously get better? Or will it instead jump the shark? Will the author take a well-deserved sabbatical that nobody will even notice? Maybe there'll be another book published containing previously released material?
That’s a lot of questions, most of which I have no answers for. I can, however, respond to the last one: No more books. I’ve already made my artistic point with the first one. (“Look, I have an awful lot of free time on my hands!”)
Beyond that, I have no idea what’s coming up. Planning ahead is not my strong suit, so I’m going to just keep making things up as I go along. Unless, of course, Jim Gaffigan retweets me and I get rich. Then I’ll dump this blog faster than you could ever imagine!!
DeskOfCurly Readers Blogiversary Bonus:
As a thank you to all of my readers, I’m running a free promotion on my book this month on Amazon.com. It will be available free of charge for three days, beginning on Friday the 25th all the way through Sunday the 27th. You can get it here. Reviews are always welcome, unless they include the phrases, “worse than I’d ever imagined,” or “like lava was pouring in my eyes.”
And for any of you who’ve already spent your hard earned money on it, I have only one thing to say: A fool and his money are – Whoops!! Looks like I’m out of space for now!! See you next time!!
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Putting My Foot Down
Change is inevitable, sort of like nose hair. One must do
their best to accept it, lest they be left behind in this fast-paced world of
ours. However, sometimes you just have to put your foot down.
I had a system. It was a good system. It was an easy system. But change has destroyed this system, and I don’t know where to turn.
You see, Target used to sell cheap white cross-trainers. They weren’t necessarily the most durable shoes out there, hence the low price, but they were low-key, simple, and most importantly, at least based on my tastes, normal. They weren’t “hip”. They weren’t “cool”. The only statement they made was this: "These shoes are bland and uninteresting, but at least they aren’t trying too hard." That’s sort of the motto I live my life by, and my shoes need to reflect it.
My system was simple. Every year I’d buy a new pair of these shoes from Target to take over the role of Main Shoes. The pair I’d been wearing, my current Main Shoes, would be relegated to Backup Shoes, used for emergencies and dirty jobs, such as playing football or splashing in puddles. My current Backup Shoes, which had been my Main Shoes the previous cycle, would be thrown out, after a brief ceremony acknowledging their two fine years of service.
As I said, it was a good system.
But then Target quit selling these shoes. At first I didn’t believe it. (Or I didn’t want to believe it.) I figured they’d show up on the shelves eventually, and I returned several times, but they never did. Only trendy, popular shoes, which I hate with a passion, were available. I even checked a different Target, but no dice. They were gone.
And so, my system is broken and the clock's running. My current Main Shoes should have become my Backup Shoes months ago, but they’ve been forced to stay in their current role. This is bad. They’re dirty and wearing thin. Just last week one of the laces began to fray. My Backup Shoes, which should be in a dumpster, are basically dissolving, and I’m pretty much afraid to wear them anywhere, since there’s a good chance they’d leave me stranded in my stocking feet.
You’re probably saying, “So go to a different store!” I hear you. It makes sense. However, I just don’t want to. I like my system. It took me about a half minute to find new shoes. If I abandoned the system, I’d have to find a different shoe store, go into it, look around, try to find the closest thing possible to what I’ve been buying, try them on, test them out, and finally purchase them. Ugh. That’s a lot of work. Even worse, that’s only a best case scenario! I might have to try on multiple pairs of shoes before I found what I like! Just thinking about it makes we want to curl up into a ball and cry.
I’ve adapted to change many times in my life, and I’ll continue to do so for the rest of my life. But I can’t give in every time. I can’t be a pushover. I can’t let change hold me in an iron grip of conformity, and so I’m putting my poorly shod foot down. I’m not going to do it! I’m buying my shoes from Target, and nowhere else!
Unfortunately, I have a feeling this isn’t going to end well. Most likely, Target will never sell these shoes again, and I’ll be eventually faced with a decision: I’ll have to go barefoot for the rest of my life, or I’ll have to give in, abandon my principles, and let change win. I see no other alternative. Unless the duct tape shoes I’ve been working on pan out
I had a system. It was a good system. It was an easy system. But change has destroyed this system, and I don’t know where to turn.
You see, Target used to sell cheap white cross-trainers. They weren’t necessarily the most durable shoes out there, hence the low price, but they were low-key, simple, and most importantly, at least based on my tastes, normal. They weren’t “hip”. They weren’t “cool”. The only statement they made was this: "These shoes are bland and uninteresting, but at least they aren’t trying too hard." That’s sort of the motto I live my life by, and my shoes need to reflect it.
My system was simple. Every year I’d buy a new pair of these shoes from Target to take over the role of Main Shoes. The pair I’d been wearing, my current Main Shoes, would be relegated to Backup Shoes, used for emergencies and dirty jobs, such as playing football or splashing in puddles. My current Backup Shoes, which had been my Main Shoes the previous cycle, would be thrown out, after a brief ceremony acknowledging their two fine years of service.
As I said, it was a good system.
But then Target quit selling these shoes. At first I didn’t believe it. (Or I didn’t want to believe it.) I figured they’d show up on the shelves eventually, and I returned several times, but they never did. Only trendy, popular shoes, which I hate with a passion, were available. I even checked a different Target, but no dice. They were gone.
And so, my system is broken and the clock's running. My current Main Shoes should have become my Backup Shoes months ago, but they’ve been forced to stay in their current role. This is bad. They’re dirty and wearing thin. Just last week one of the laces began to fray. My Backup Shoes, which should be in a dumpster, are basically dissolving, and I’m pretty much afraid to wear them anywhere, since there’s a good chance they’d leave me stranded in my stocking feet.
You’re probably saying, “So go to a different store!” I hear you. It makes sense. However, I just don’t want to. I like my system. It took me about a half minute to find new shoes. If I abandoned the system, I’d have to find a different shoe store, go into it, look around, try to find the closest thing possible to what I’ve been buying, try them on, test them out, and finally purchase them. Ugh. That’s a lot of work. Even worse, that’s only a best case scenario! I might have to try on multiple pairs of shoes before I found what I like! Just thinking about it makes we want to curl up into a ball and cry.
I’ve adapted to change many times in my life, and I’ll continue to do so for the rest of my life. But I can’t give in every time. I can’t be a pushover. I can’t let change hold me in an iron grip of conformity, and so I’m putting my poorly shod foot down. I’m not going to do it! I’m buying my shoes from Target, and nowhere else!
Unfortunately, I have a feeling this isn’t going to end well. Most likely, Target will never sell these shoes again, and I’ll be eventually faced with a decision: I’ll have to go barefoot for the rest of my life, or I’ll have to give in, abandon my principles, and let change win. I see no other alternative. Unless the duct tape shoes I’ve been working on pan out
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Bear Jam
Okay, so there’s been a lot of talk lately around here about
Bear Jams, and I think it’s high time that I addressed it. Granted, the entirety
of this talk has been done by me, for the sake of garnishing cheap attention, but I’d
like to think that it may, at the very least, yield a kernel of entertainment
and/or educational value to my faithful reader(s).
The first thing to talk about is whether it’s possible for me to write an entire entry on Bear Jams without making a joke about four grizzlies in a garage band. At this point, my best guess is no, but we’ll just have to see how it all plays out. Keep your fingers crossed.
So what is a Bear Jam, anyway? Well, it’s something that occurs inGlacier National
Park
During Bear Jams, people will stop their cars in the middle of the road to watch, which backs up traffic and generally makes a mess out of an already precarious situation. (There are about two roads total in Glacier, so having traffic come to a halt on any of them is never a good thing.)
Park rangers must hate Bear Jams, because they have to come out and unsnarl them. This means they have to politely-but-authoritatively lecture everybody parking in the middle of the road and get them moving again. However, for everybody they succeed in activating, some other genius quickly takes their place. This goes on until the bear lumbers away or the ranger quits and decides on get a job at the DMV so they can be the one tormenting some poor helpless soul.
My best guess is that any given ranger would rather help empty pit toilets than face a Bear Jam, and also that it's the most junior ranger who always gets stuck handling them:
“Well, Simmons, looks like there’s a doozy of a Bear Jam just down the road. You’d better get on it.”
“Noooooooooo!!!!!!! I’ve handled the last twelve! I can’t do it anymore! I just can’t! It’s the nightmares! They won’t go away!”
“Then you’d better hope we hire somebody new real quick.”
I got to witness a small Bear Jam on my recent trip to Glacier, where a bear had decided to take a nap on a hillside just off of the road. As we drove by, we saw a gaggle of old men standing in a parking lot, staring up into the brush. (I’m not sure if “gaggle” is the correct term for a gathering of old men, but it’s definitely the most fun-sounding.) Intrigued, we pulled into the parking lot and hurried over.
This was when I realized that these old men must basically stake out the roads all day long, waiting for bears to come by. This is because they all had gigantic, state-of-the-art cameras that looked more like futuristic alien weaponry than photography equipment. I’m quite certain that most of them had a powerful enough zoom to get a picture of a bear somewhere inVermont
As for all of the guys owning an expensive camera, I’m pretty certain it’s a male pride thing. One old guy buys an expensive camera and begins to brag about it to the others. Another guy, annoyed after only several minutes of listening to the incessant prattle, goes out and buys an even more expensive one, so he can simultaneously shut the other guy up and also be the one who now gets to brag. This continues until the entire gaggle of old men are broke and own nothing but cameras, which is why they spend all of their time on the side of the road taking pictures, hoping to later sell them for food.
Anyway, everybody was staring up at the hill, claiming a bear was there. Personally, I saw nothing but an ordinary hill. Finally, somebody pointed out a stand of brush to me and said that the bear was somewhere behind it, taking a nap. As proof, he showed me a picture he’d taken earlier, which was of the bear entering the brush, which had been taken from a rear perspective.
That’s right, he proudly showed me a picture of the bear’s enormous butt. You just can’t ever have enough zoom or megapixels for a picture like that.
By this point the crowd was growing fast, which is what led to the Bear Jam. Cars would drive by and slow down, and the drivers would crane their necks to try to figure out what everybody was looking at. Some rolled down their windows and asked. Soon, cars were beginning to stop. There wasn’t enough room on the shoulder for them to fit, so they’d just park where they were, with eighty percent of the vehicle still firmly located on the road.
Soon a ranger showed up. He drove from car to car, telling them they had to park somewhere less idiotic. The drivers would nod their heads and take off. Soon after, another car would take its place.
Meanwhile, the bear, if there really was one, hadn’t moved and still wasn't visible.
Eventually, we grew sick of looking at the brush where the bear was supposed to be and left. From that point on, we didn’t take part in any more Bear Jams. They were more annoying than anything else. I mean, unless the bears were doing something cool, like playing in a garage band, it just wasn’t worth the hassle. (Dang! Almost made it!)
The first thing to talk about is whether it’s possible for me to write an entire entry on Bear Jams without making a joke about four grizzlies in a garage band. At this point, my best guess is no, but we’ll just have to see how it all plays out. Keep your fingers crossed.
So what is a Bear Jam, anyway? Well, it’s something that occurs in
During Bear Jams, people will stop their cars in the middle of the road to watch, which backs up traffic and generally makes a mess out of an already precarious situation. (There are about two roads total in Glacier, so having traffic come to a halt on any of them is never a good thing.)
Park rangers must hate Bear Jams, because they have to come out and unsnarl them. This means they have to politely-but-authoritatively lecture everybody parking in the middle of the road and get them moving again. However, for everybody they succeed in activating, some other genius quickly takes their place. This goes on until the bear lumbers away or the ranger quits and decides on get a job at the DMV so they can be the one tormenting some poor helpless soul.
My best guess is that any given ranger would rather help empty pit toilets than face a Bear Jam, and also that it's the most junior ranger who always gets stuck handling them:
“Well, Simmons, looks like there’s a doozy of a Bear Jam just down the road. You’d better get on it.”
“Noooooooooo!!!!!!! I’ve handled the last twelve! I can’t do it anymore! I just can’t! It’s the nightmares! They won’t go away!”
“Then you’d better hope we hire somebody new real quick.”
I got to witness a small Bear Jam on my recent trip to Glacier, where a bear had decided to take a nap on a hillside just off of the road. As we drove by, we saw a gaggle of old men standing in a parking lot, staring up into the brush. (I’m not sure if “gaggle” is the correct term for a gathering of old men, but it’s definitely the most fun-sounding.) Intrigued, we pulled into the parking lot and hurried over.
This was when I realized that these old men must basically stake out the roads all day long, waiting for bears to come by. This is because they all had gigantic, state-of-the-art cameras that looked more like futuristic alien weaponry than photography equipment. I’m quite certain that most of them had a powerful enough zoom to get a picture of a bear somewhere in
As for all of the guys owning an expensive camera, I’m pretty certain it’s a male pride thing. One old guy buys an expensive camera and begins to brag about it to the others. Another guy, annoyed after only several minutes of listening to the incessant prattle, goes out and buys an even more expensive one, so he can simultaneously shut the other guy up and also be the one who now gets to brag. This continues until the entire gaggle of old men are broke and own nothing but cameras, which is why they spend all of their time on the side of the road taking pictures, hoping to later sell them for food.
Anyway, everybody was staring up at the hill, claiming a bear was there. Personally, I saw nothing but an ordinary hill. Finally, somebody pointed out a stand of brush to me and said that the bear was somewhere behind it, taking a nap. As proof, he showed me a picture he’d taken earlier, which was of the bear entering the brush, which had been taken from a rear perspective.
That’s right, he proudly showed me a picture of the bear’s enormous butt. You just can’t ever have enough zoom or megapixels for a picture like that.
By this point the crowd was growing fast, which is what led to the Bear Jam. Cars would drive by and slow down, and the drivers would crane their necks to try to figure out what everybody was looking at. Some rolled down their windows and asked. Soon, cars were beginning to stop. There wasn’t enough room on the shoulder for them to fit, so they’d just park where they were, with eighty percent of the vehicle still firmly located on the road.
Soon a ranger showed up. He drove from car to car, telling them they had to park somewhere less idiotic. The drivers would nod their heads and take off. Soon after, another car would take its place.
Meanwhile, the bear, if there really was one, hadn’t moved and still wasn't visible.
Eventually, we grew sick of looking at the brush where the bear was supposed to be and left. From that point on, we didn’t take part in any more Bear Jams. They were more annoying than anything else. I mean, unless the bears were doing something cool, like playing in a garage band, it just wasn’t worth the hassle. (Dang! Almost made it!)
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