Blog Leeches

I'm getting a little tired of this "Stig" fellow stealing my thunder. I've graciously allowed access to my blog, and I am pleased to have friendly comments posted. I do not appreciate, however, clever little weasels posting responses that are far more funny than anything I have contributed. So, to Stig I would like to say: I started this blog, you wretched little traffic kone, and if you have so much entertaining nonsense to spew, please create your own site. Parasites like you make me want to spray pesticides all over the place, and I am a proponent of organic farming.
Incidently, Stig, you seem remarkably like a pathological liar.
There. I feel better now, getting that off my chest. Now I can spend time writing entries on my experiences fighting off Yeti attacks in Nepal and chronicling that year I excavated both dinosaurs and mummies (and a few mummified dinosaurs--very cool Pharoah Pterodactyls) in central Greenland. Not to mention the time I spent cultivating the Venus Cockroach Trap species of plant (also known as the "Venus Palmetto Bug Trap" in the Southeast) as a natural alternative to bug spray. Well, more on all of that later.

Sidewalk Worries

I have always had plenty of normal, everyday fears. I've felt afraid of drowning when on a boat, frightened of creepy lurkers in dark alleys, and panicky around wasp nests or swarming bees. These fears, while potentially embarrassing in public, may simply be survival instincts and onlookers and friends seem to forgive them quite easily. One fear, however, seems to bring only cruel, endless mockery.

I try to hide it. I nonchalantly skirt to one side of the sidewalk, pretending to look in a store window or check out a parked car. I kindly stand aside to let others pass by. I tie my shoelaces loosely so that I can move out of the way to retie them. In the end, though, no matter how hard I try, walking in the city reveals my secret fear: sidewalk grates.

My logical mind understands that the chances of a steel door crashing down when I step on it is highly unlikely. I'm sure newspapers would report tragic sidewalk grate accidents with enthusiasm if they were to occur. I must admit that I've never passed a kollapsed grate to see someone below krumpled and krying, but that fact does little to komfort me. I simply cannot bring myself to walk on any metal doors in the sidewalk unless I have no other option.

What are they hiding behind those steel doors? Do rats, bugs, and monsters lurk just on the other side? How far would I fall if the grate didn't hold? Do they really need so many openings in the sidewalk? No one will help me find the answers. If I confide my fear, I simply get pushed onto the nearest sidewalk grate in the vicinity. Oh, very funny. How would you like it if I filled your bed with spiders or shoved you into shark-filled waters?

"K" Aint Takin' No More Krap

I've always thought that "k" has been forced to take an undeserved backseat to the smug "c". "K" has so much more potential and strength than boring, average "c". Doesn't the word "klang" fit the sound much better? (Yea, onomatopoeia!) "Kake" would better fulfill its sweet destiny with two layers of "k", and "kozy" would be worth more in Scrabble. "Krispy Kreme" and "Krusty the Klown" (or is that still Clown?) have got the idea that "k" just looks more interesting. Kris Kringle, not Chris Cringle, got all that mail delivered on 34th Street. While the English Major in me automatically kringes at the use of some "k"s in advertising--"Kiddie Kollege" and "Komfort Kamper" come to mind--I think some of our standardized spellings should be revisited. I'm just saying.

Kute Kats ---------------------------------------------- Kaskade

Okay, Now What?

Now that I've started this blog, I have to try to come up with new and exciting topics: Moses supposes his toes(es) are roses, but Moses supposes erroneously. Discuss.
I like the corniness of old musicals. Life would be a lot more fun if events paused for a song and a little silliness. Most of us sing out of key and lack any skill in dancing, but I still think an attempt to convey ideas and emotions through a musical number might alleviate some of the tension and boredom of everyday activities.
I'd like to have the nerve to attempt this course of action, but I know it wouldn't be appreciated. Besides the risk of losing job and friends and being placed into protective custody, many people would just be angered by this deliberate waste of their time. They would probably even stop Fred Astaire mid-routine to insist that he get to the point. To them I say, just think: would you rather be Gene Kelly singing in the rain or the grumpy cop who treats him like a criminal nuisance?
The best things happen while you're dancing.

Joining the Crowd

My literary friend has finally plied me with enough compliments and guilt to force me to go along with this blogging nonsense. Having always been harshly critical, especially of my own life and creations, I have felt hesitant about posting my thoughts to the internet world. My journal attempts of the past have always ended up shredded or destroyed in available fireplaces, so I do have some legitimate concerns for the safety of my computer. I've decided to graciously go along with this idea in the smug comfort that all computers eventually crash and my words will soon end up in some internet black hole.

Therefore, I will attempt a healthy catharsis by foisting my opinions on the unsuspecting reader.

Some opinions hereby foisted: People should stop dressing animals up as humans. Leaf blowers are useless and annoying. Americans would benefit from a daily siesta or tea-time (or both). Watching lizards do push-ups is a worthwhile activity.