Straight To My Head

So this is kind of cool. A while back I decided that it might be fun to enter a writing contest. Using the in-depth research skills usually associated with an inattentive high school student playing on their phone, I googled “humor writing contests” and clicked on the first link that came up. It was HumorPress.com. They bill themselves as one of America’s most popular humor contest sites, offer bi-monthly writing contests. That sounded good to me, so I polished up a few old pieces, paid the entry fee, and submitted them.

The universe must have somehow owed me a favor, because I managed to place several times. It wasn’t high enough to make any money, but I’m still happy. Of the pieces that placed, a couple of them were previously posted here on my blog, while two others will probably be in the future.

Anyway, if you’re interested:
Let's Wrap
Morning Radio
No Thanks To Christmas
Birthday Ponderings

This means, by the way, that I’m going to milk this for all its worth, and I’m most definitely going to let it go to my head. For example, I’ll probably start prefacing everything I say with something like, “Well, as a published writer at HumorPress.com, one of America’s most popular humor contest sites, I think that…”

Basically, you’re going to get real sick of me real quick, to the point where you’re going to be hoping to hear about my car’s remote start. However, please try and bear with me. I’ve never dealt with fame before, and if I say something like, “As a published writer at HumorPress.com, one of America’s most popular humor contest sites, I order you to peel me a grape,” just ignore me. Eventually I’ll be able to contain myself.

I would guess.

One would hope.

Maybe just buy earplugs.

Anyway, as a published writer at HumorPress.com, one of America’s most popular humor contest sites, I deem this post done.

Now bring me M&Ms. Only the red ones. They’re my favorite.

Remote Start

Winter’s icy grip has finally descended upon us, and I can’t say that I’m thrilled. Perhaps it’s because the season tends to drag, since I’m not involved in many winter activities besides driving around with a hockey stick in my car and drinking hot cocoa in a heated room while watching the thermometer as temperatures plummet to concerning levels.

There is, however, one thing that I like about winter; my remote car start. In fact, I like it so much that if you see me even occasionally over the next few months, you’ll be sick of me before the spring, because I’ll always find a way to slip it into any conversation:

“Yeah that was a great game, almost as great as having my car warmed up by the time I get out to it!”

“Yes, officer, I realize I was speeding, but it was because I was so excited that my car was warm when I got out to it, because of my remote start. Wanna hear about it in excruciating detail?”

“Talk about bad luck! I didn’t know it was possible to get charged by a bear and a moose in a parking lot at the same time! What are the odds? You know what might cheer you up? Getting a remote car start, like me! Let me tell you all about it! Hey, where are you going? I don’t think you should be running with casts on your legs!”

I’ll also spend a lot of time telling you of all the places I got the remote start to work, and how happy it made me:

“So I was in the grocery store, and I couldn’t even see my car. Still, I hit the button, and sure enough, when I got out to the parking lot, there it was, running like a champ! Isn’t that amazing!? Hey, where are you going?”

So, I apologize in advance for being annoying, it’s just that I can’t help myself. I need something to help me through these coming days of no sun or warmth, and this is it.

I am, however, taking somewhat of a risk with it. This is because I was initially given two remove fobs upon purchase, but last year I accidentally ran one of them through the wash. While not disabling it, something far worse happened: It began to randomly send its single out, which meant that my car was starting intermittently in the parking garage below my apartment. Beyond repair, I had to put the fob out of its misery, which was actually kind of fun because it involved smashing stuff with other stuff.

So now I’m left with only one fob, and hopefully I’ll manage to keep it out of the wash and not lose it. Still, I’m not too worried. I’m pretty responsible, and once I put my mind to something like this, I can usually accomplish it. Just as long as nobody does anything malicious to it, although I don’t see any reason why somebody would do that.

Anyway, let me tell you a little more about this thing. It’s made by Compustar. Unfortunately, to save money, I only got a 1-way, and not a 2-way. In retrospect, I should have gone with the 2-way, and here’s why: When you have a 2-way remote start – Hey! Where are you going?

What's In A Name?

This blog is called From The Desk Of Curly. That would make it seem that my desk is a very important spot. If it weren’t, one would think that the blog would be named something like From The Unswept Corners Of Curly’s Mind.

So, what about my desk?

When I started this blog in Wisconsin, I had an old, cheap, wooden desk, one that would probably collapse if a cup of coffee filled to the brim was placed upon it. Still, it did the job, and I was rather fond of it.

When I moved to the Twin Cities, however, I wanted something new, something modern, something to mark the new path my life was taking. I looked around and eventually found something that seemed appropriate. Here is the description of the desk I bought, straight from the manufacturer:
A bold contemporary play on the international architectural style. Like it's skyscraper inspiration, it is driven by function with storage drawers and pull-outs to serve contemporary office and entertainment needs and constructed of steel and glass in rectilinear proportions. Black on black glass and metal with nickel hardware highlights bring a bit of the big city to any room.

Basically, I bought a yuppy desk built consisting of black metal and a glass top. If my desk were a person, it would never like the food brought to it at a restaurant and would always send it back. (“Do you think this food is fit for somebody whose style is a bold contemporary play on international architecture? I think not!”) It would never take public transportation, for fear of mingling with “common folk”, all of whom would be swarming with dangerous germs. It would wear suits and ties everywhere it went, even to bed. 

Essentially, my desk is a total snob. That is not, however, the only issue with "bringing a bit of the big city to any room". For one thing, the entire thing weighs approximately eight-thousand pounds, probably because it’s inspired by skyscrapers. (That should have been a tip-off for me, but I ignored it.) Also, the glass top seems like a good idea, but all it does it collects fingerprints and dust.

Not that I dislike my desk. Who could? It has rectilinear proportions, whatever those are! Still, the whole monstrosity is basically unmovable, and I don’t plan to ever try. Whenever I leave my current residence, I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to blow it up with dynamite.

On my desk is a container of office supplies. It’s filled with pens, pencils, markers, and erasers. It conveys the idea that I’m ready for anything, should I be hit with a burst of creativity. However, I don’t use any of them. I type on my computer, and that’s all. I don’t remember the last time I even used an eraser. Still, the cup of office supplies looks important, so I keep it around. Plus, it gives the desk something to make snarky comments about behind its back. (“That thing mixes number 2 pencils with ball point pens! How tacky!)

So, what does my desk say about this blog? Is my blog a natural extension of it, pretentious and snobby? Or does my blog have a personality of its own, and is just a victim of misfortune to be saddled with an unfortunate reference in its name to something pretentious and snobby?

I don’t have the answer to that, just one more question: How in the world did I just manage to write an entire entry about my desk? How pathetic is that? In fact, I’ll bet my desk is snickering at me right now. I think I’m going to kick it in the leg.

On Walking, Geese, and Implicit Contests

I typically spend my workdays slogging through various layers of nearly impenetrable corporate bureaucracy, and once noon rolls around, I usually feel the need to get away from it all. After a quick lunch at my desk, I head outside for a quick stroll.

Walking in Minnesota during the summer months is quite enjoyable, although there are a few things I need to watch out for.

Geese – Born with a sense of entitlement that all city property is theirs, they like to block the sidewalks as they perform their daily duty of pecking the grass, leaving behind an astounding number of droppings, and occasionally crossing the road at an incredibly slow pace in order to create large traffic backups. Very territorial, they hiss vehemently at anything they believe poses a threat, such as pedestrians, cars, wind, blades of grass, sticks, figments of their imagination, etc.

Sprinkers – Placed by the city to keep the grass flanking the sidewalks green, they make it interesting for walkers who’d rather not come back from lunch soaked to the bone. One way to avoid this is to just stay out of their wake, but that means walking on the road, which may not be the best idea, since vehicles stop for geese and nothing else. If the sprinklers are of the rotating variety, good timing and fast running will allow one to slip through unscathed, although one risks twisting an ankle and going down, leaving them helpless as they watch the line of water slowly creep towards them. (This also makes one highly vulnerable to pecking geese.)

Sweating – In the Twin Cities, the average humidity in the summer is approximately 834 percent. You do the math from there. (Also, feel free to add your own goose joke, too, if you’d like.)

But now summer is long gone, and winter is fast approaching. As the temperatures have plummeted, I’ve noticed that there are fewer people out walking, as most work-walkers are fair-weather in nature. For some reason, call it my competitive nature, or simply brain freeze, I’ve decided that there’s an implicit contest of will occurring to see who’ll be the last one of us to call it quits in the face of Mother Nature.

Ever since the contest began, when I walk past somebody on the sidewalk, instead of nodding politely, I glare at them in what I hope is an intimidating manner. (It may just look like I’ve got something in my eye and can’t stop twitching, but that’s beside the point.) I also feel like I should break out the trash talking pretty quick here: “I’ve seen plenty like you before. You’re a dime a dozen! You’re all bluster now, but you’ll burn yourself out halfway through December!” “You call that a walking style? It’s more like shin splints waiting to happen!” “What’s that, a glacier impression? Eat my dust!”

Overall, I’m fairly confident in my chances of winning, mainly because I’m the only one who’s actually aware they’re in a contest. However, there’s one wild card that concerns me. Occasionally I see people out walking who are obviously not affected by temperature. I’ll be wearing a jacket, hat, and gloves, and still shivering, and they’ll be wearing next to nothing and appear completely comfortable. They are obviously freaks of nature who have, for one reason or another, become immune to coldness. It appears that these people could walk around in mid-February, when it’s ten below, in a t-shirt and shorts and not suffer even the slightest of shivers. They’re my main competition, and I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out a good way to give myself a “competitive advantage.” However, I’m not very good at evil planning, and I’m not quite sure how to proceed.

For example, if I pass one of my main competitors on the sidewalk and then push them into a snowbank, hoping to break their spirit, what exactly are the implications? Would it be ethical? I’d say yes, since I’m on lunch break and not being paid, but others may have different opinions. Also, would it be smart? I’m not what you’d consider a brawler, as I’ve lost many a physical confrontation to a tight lid on a jar. Plus, I usually only consider physical confrontations as a last resort, after I’ve tried running away and bribery. So, wouldn’t pushing somebody into a snowbank just be an invitation to something I want to avoid? But, what if I pushed and ran immediately? Would that give me enough of a head start?

As you can see, many questions abound, and I’m not sure how it’ll all turn out. However, I do know that it’s going to be into a contest of cunning, strategy, sheer will, and guts. Stay tuned.

Also, if I dressed right, would anybody actually believe they got pushed into the snowbank by a snowman? Or would a goose costume be a better idea?

Road Trippin'

Thanksgiving is nearly upon us again, and for me, a gigantic meal, along with the resulting food coma, will be found in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. This means that a road trip is on the horizon.

I don’t do many road trips anymore. When I lived in Wisconsin, they were a large part of life, but here in Minnesota I’ve definitely settled down. Still, that doesn’t mean I don’t remember how it’s done.

The most important thing is comfort. Loose and well-worn clothing is a necessity. Road trips are not a time to get gussied up. A bathrobe would be the ultimate in a road trip wardrobe, but that’s slightly beyond the borders of practicality, although I’m still halfway tempted to try someday. Being dirty is also highly recommended, since you’re going to get filthy anyway, sitting in a car for many hours, spilling fast-food and coffee on yourself. The key is to accept it and start dirty. You’ll immediately be more relaxed and much more able to enjoy wallowing in your own filth for hundreds of miles. If, by the end of the trip, there’s not a real possibility of you being mistaken for a homeless person who’s stolen your car, you’re doing it all wrong.

Music is also key. You need to be prepared to keep yourself entertained, especially after it gets dark and you get bored watching out for deer. Sometimes its fun to buy a CD on the way, just to hear something you haven’t heard before. Value CD’s from gas stations are always good choices, not because the music is going to be quality, but because they’re cheap and easily thrown away. However, you also need to remember to occasionally surf the radio waves, because there’s always of chance of finding something interesting. Once, while passing through Duluth, I picked up the audio from a television station and was able to listen to Jeopardy. Another time, I miraculously picked up 650 AM from Nashville for several hours while driving north through Wisconsin, which allowed me to tune in to the Friday night Grand Ole Opry. And who can forget listening to the traditional Native American music of Big Bear, as we drove through the never-ending flatness that is North Dakota? Always give the radio a chance, and you may be surprised.

One big component to road trips, at least for me, is the Never-Ending Coffee Cycle. I start by buying a large coffee shortly after leaving, with the hopes that it will keep me alert, especially if I’ve just spent the whole day working. Coffee goes through me like a hot knife through butter, though, and it isn’t long before I’m stopping at a gas station, my face screwed up in concentration as I hope to hang on for just a few more moments. Then, on my way out, I buy another coffee, simply because I’m there, and the cycle begins anew. Yup, there’s nothing like walking out of a gas station, sighing in relief, with a fresh, hot cup of joe clutched in your hand. Next stop, coming soon!

Speaking of stopping at gas stations, it must be remembered that on road trips, calories don’t count. At least I hope not, because there’s absolutely no way to eat healthy on a road trip. I’ve attempted it on several occasions, and even though I’ve brought with me grapes and Cheerios and water, I’ve always finished covered in a mound of Reece’s wrappers, with multiple chocolate smears on my face, sugar coursing through my veins, and a satisfied smile on my lips. So do yourself a favor and don’t fight it. Road trips are to junk food as baseball games are to horrible, mutant hot dogs.

Fighting the elements of Mother Nature can make any road trip interesting. For me, this is just about guaranteed when heading to the U.P. any month of the year besides possibly June and July. Inevitably, I’ll find myself in the middle of a good old fashioned blizzard, where the snowflakes are pounding against the windshield, the wind is howling, and it’s anybody’s guess where the road is. Still, it’s not the worst thing in the world. It makes me remember how to drive in the snow real quick, which is always a plus, and it gives me that extra adrenaline needed to keep awake, now that the deer have hunkered down and stopped jumping out in front of me. (This is usually when I remember that I don’t have a scraper in my car, which means the next morning I’ll look like some first year Michigan Tech student, scraping my window free of ice with an empty soup can.)

Road trips are always fun for a while, but they always seem to loose their luster near the end. You’re sick of driving, sick of junk food, sick of bad gas station music, and sick of stopping at every Holiday because of the never-ending coffee cycle. That’s why the best part is just before it ends, when you see the friendly, glowing lights of your destination up ahead, and even though you’re wired on caffeine and sugar, you still manage to begin to relax, because you know that you’ve made it.

Oooohh yeah.

Sandwich, Dude?

Have you ever had to make a decision between getting a good sandwich and not having to spend five minutes in the most annoying place on earth? If you haven’t, it means you’ve never eaten at the sandwich place located near my place of employment.

First off, this particular restaurant must have received government stimulus money, judging by the amount of people it can afford to employ. When you walk in, you’re faced down by roughly twenty smiling faces, each belonging to an individual no older than twenty-two, all stuffed behind the counter, which is a quite comical site. The goal of this establishment is to not only be friendly, but also “cool”, so as soon as you get through the door, each of the employees bellows out a welcome to you, heavily influenced by the speaking habits of today’s youth:

“Hey, man!”
“What’s up??!!!”
“Budddyyy!!!!”
“Duuuuuddddddeeee!!!”

It’s kind of like Norm entering Cheers and being heartily greeted, except it pretty much freaks you out, and as soon as it dies down, you have to fight the urge to turn right around and leave.

If you make it past the greeting, it’s time to order. The focus here is speed, which is where the stimulus money comes in handy. They’ve hired enough people so building a sandwich can be broken down into many small tasks, each performed by a different employee to achieve Maximum Sandwich Constructing Velocity. One person cuts the bread, one person puts down meat, one person puts down lettuce, one person puts down tomato, one person waits anxiously in case anybody else goes down with a knee injury and needs to be replaced, etc. It’s a true shovel ready project. The system works well, and your sandwich is typically ready before you’ve even paid. (This place may have its faults, but I can’t deny they make a good sandwich and do it quickly.)

The annoyingness really sets in if you decide to eat on location. This is because music is blared at an extremely high decibel level, in order to convey the fact that you’re in an incredibly cool place, and also that the workers don’t plan on keeping their hearing past their twenties. After you sit down, you realize you can’t have a conversation without using sign language. You also have to put up with the multitudes of workers, who are all hanging around killing time, because all of the other potential customers were smart enough to spare their eardrums and eat somewhere else, leaving the restaurant virtually deserted. Unburdened, the employees pass the time by doing one or more of the following:

Yelling loudly to one another

Singing loudly
Laughing loudly
Dancing
Banging their hands loudly on the counter to the beat of whatever song is playing

Basically, it’s a college party disguised as a fast-food joint. This may have been fun for me to experience about ten years ago, but I’ll admit that I’ve turned into a fuddy-fuddy, so I really have to be in a mood for one of their sandwiches in order to muster up the gumption to brave the gauntlet of annoyingness.

Once you finish eating, it’s time to leave, but you can’t do that without a hearty chorus of farewells, courtesy of the ever-exuberant workers:

“Later, bro!!”
“See ya!!”
“Bye, dude!!”

And so your dining experience is over. It does not, however, come without a price. Your head hurts, a terrible song is stuck in your brain, and you may never be able to again have a conversation without having to constantly say, “WHAT???”

Still, it just may have been worth it. It was a darn tasty meal.

Later, dude.

Two Years

Wow, time sure flies when you’re continually racking your brain to come up with comments and observations that you hope the greater blog-viewing public will find witty and entertaining, and, if not that, at least not bad enough to provoke the slashing of your tires by annoyed readers. #IronicReferenceToPastEntry #ApparantlyAddictedToHashTags #Sorry

What I’m getting at is that I recently celebrated my two-year blogiversary. “Celebrated” probably isn’t the right word, as I totally forgot about it until now, roughly two weeks too late. No worries, though. I’ll just do a heel-clicker and call it good. Anyway, it’s been two years of me kneading random ideas in my head until they sound feasible, followed by me giggling as I type away furiously at my word processor, then me cackling gleefully as I hit the ‘publish’ button, and finally me gasping and turning red as I notice all of my spelling and logic mistakes. (You’d think there would be a step devoted to fixing these mistakes, but I’m working on a shoestring budget here.)

On a more serious note, I’d like to thank anybody who’s taken the time to read what I’ve had to write at any point over the last two years. I’d like to think that I’d keep doing it even if nobody read it, but that’s probably not the case. Also, thanks to those who have taken the time to add their comments, especially those of you who I don’t even know. I haven’t been very good as responding to them, but please know that they have been appreciated.

So, there we have it. Another year in the books, a year in which I’ve been able to discuss, among other things, the upcoming zombie uprising, Kid Rock, migrating bruises, Bigfoot, wearing a barrel instead of clothing, and falling in love in Washington. (Hey, Peak 6 Girl! Have you found this blog yet? You’re still beautiful!) I consider that a pretty good year. With that said, I’ve already shifted gears and am looking forward to year three. Here are some of my goals:

• Lots of humorous and embarrassing tales involving my family, especially my parents, just to see how far I can stretch the limits of unconditional love. (Hi Mom! Just kidding!)
• More pictures of giant slugs.
• No more hashtags. (But I can’t promise anything.)
• Better research in order to bring my readers greater in-depth analysis and balanced…Ha! I can’t even finish that one!

Well, apparently I have no real goals. Still, that hasn’t stopped me before, and it’s probably better that way. So join me, will you, and together we’ll embark on the next leg of this journey that we’ve begun together, boldly going where this blog hasn’t gone before, without forgetting what’s gotten us this far, and possibly, but not likely, even making an occasional ounce of sense. #SuperInspiredRightNow #Goosebumps #DangThereGoesThatGoal