Peaceful Idyl: Over!

I'm going to divulge my very greatest secret to you, my friends:

my route home from work.

I know what you're thinking, but it is a Big. Deal. to find a route from Notre Dame to Niles that doesn't include the possibility of losing an axle or a tooth hitting or dodging the giant potholes for which every road within the greater Michiana area is famous. Not to mention the road rage and swearing that goes on on 933.


What? Driving makes me angry.


And I found the perfect route: Kenilworth Road, which turns into Third Street.

I've only ever seen one pothole, and it's in a weird place on the road, so there's no chance I could ever hit it. There's nobody on the road in front of me, driving too slowly. There's nobody behind me, riding my bumper because they think I drive too slowly. Nobody cuts me off (with or without using basic turn signal courtesy). I can drive whatever speed I want and no one cares, because no one is there!

And it's not even that long of a trip! My old route(s) took me between 20 and 35 minutes, depending on how fast/aggressively I drove. This route takes 25 minutes.

Twenty-five blissful, perfect minutes from Ave to my driveway. Ninety-nine percent of the time I arrive home in such a good mood that people take notice.

Until yesterday.

Seven cars in front of me. Seven. Cars. The first car was a beat-up junker that proceeded to go 30 in a 40 and 25 in a 30. The only downside to my route is the lack of opportunities to pass, but that's never been a problem before. Argh!

What happened? Who told?

I'm praying that it was a fluke. It better have been, or someone will pay for this. And I'm not kidding.

Tell no one.

Haikuvie

There's a website that summarizes movies with haiku that you're sure to love. Here's one from one of my favorite movies:

Iocane powder
brings end to battle of wits
ha ha ha ha... flop

That's just genius!

Grooming Day

I put it off as long as possible, but it finally happened.

Grooming Day (Dun dun duuuuunnnnn!)

My cute little Max went from inches of (warm) curly, kinky, hair-like fur, to this:

Which, while still cute, isn't right. In fact, when you look at the closeup, you can see it better.



Ladies and gentlemen, former president Martin Van Buren.

No, really, look at the resemblance.


Poodles have pretty specific hairstyles, and this just isn't one of them. He's gonna have to go back next week and be traumatized all over again.

Speaking of which, I'm pretty sure, even though the groomer said he was good, that Max's visit went a little something like this:

Grooming?

If it's Thursday it must be...

That's Not Right!

I'm gonna try and restrict myself to only posting about things that I find wacky or wrong on Thursdays. We'll see how well that works down the line, but for now, here's a doozy:

One Hand Jason

"Jason" is a guy who cut off one of his hands, because having "two hands was a defect in my body."

Years ago, after a lifetime of anguish due to having an extra hand — essentially a birth defect in his opinion — he took the radical step of amputating this hand just above the wrist. He’s never regretted his action, and feels that now his body is “right”. Other than his former BIID (“Body Integrity Identity Disorder”) affectation, he’s completely normal, and now that he’s surgically corrected himself his life has improved drastically.

Saaaaaaaaaay whaaaaaaaaaaaat? (Bonus points if you recognize the reference)

Where to start? Oh, how about, who let him get so far that he was able to stage an accident where he cut off his own hand?! Isn't there some sort of treatment for this?

It's sad to think that this guy spent his entire life basically thinking he was lopsided, and no one knew it. He's obviously pretty smart (has a master's, owns his own business), but why couldn't he at least talk to his parents?



And in a completely unrelated note, boos all around to the Notre Dame Observer for their crappy job abbreviating an article's title to fit the page in the National News section on Tuesday (Repairs Start in Twister-Damaged South).

The abbreviated title read: "Recovery starts in 'Bama." 'Bama? The article's not about sports or the guy I sat next to at high school graduation! 11000 homes and businesses were trashed in that tornado. Let's show a little respect for the state of Alabama here.

The New York Times: A Love Story

(Imagine a heart around this)







Oh, New York Times, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways:

1) Your crazy, yet classy, old west/old world-style font (see above).


2) I often get complaints when I insist that my coworkers follow the Chicago Manual of Style to the letter. "Why does it matter?" G-money* whines.

Celebrating the Semicolon in a Most Unlikely Location

Well, G, here's your answer:

People have lost fortunes and even been put to death because of imprecise punctuation involving semicolons in legal papers.

3) Why is it so bad to be an intelligent person? I'm smart about a lot of things**. I have a freakish memory for historical trivia, and ask me about television guest stars. I know 'em. Why? Dunno.

Dumb and Dumber: Are Americans Hostile to Knowledge?

. . . eggheads, nerds, bookworms, longhairs, pointy heads, highbrows and know-it-alls have been mocked and dismissed throughout American history.

So this just confirms my suspicions: Witnessing other peoples' idiocy makes us feel smarter. Even the book's author (in the article) does it.

I know it's the reason I love to watch Cops.




* Purely as an example. I know G-money would never question my "my rule is law" law.
** Ignore anything K-10 says about my aversion to correct spelling.