His hat said "Show Me Your Tits." It was for special occassions.

I may have mentioned before that I fancy myself a writer. I am sometimes asked, as I'm sure many writers are, where ideas for stories come from. The reality is that they come from everywhere, but the most recent incident is from a story I was just reading earlier this evening.

I was reading a story in which one of the main characters was upset with the other, and due to the situation he couldn't do anything to react outwardly, so he went into the bathroom and bit his own arm, drawing blood. See, that's one of those strange scenes/occurrences that hit me weird and then my train of thought goes off the tracks.

• I start to think about what kind of person would bite their own arm when left with nothing else to do.
  
• I start to wonder what else someone could do in lashing out that would be relatively equal to biting yourself.
  
• I try to imagine what would happen if the character had stayed in the room and bitten the other person's arm instead.
  
• I think about how much it would hurt to bite your own arm until you draw blood.
  
• I wonder if I could bite my own arm that hard.
  
• I consider biting my own arm--then decide against it.
  
• I wonder how much harder you would have to bite to just take out a chunk of your own skin.
  
• I start to think about the zombie movie I watched the other night when the damage ranged from a single bite to people being torn apart screaming.
  
• I wonder why I don't take more notice of the people who receive a single bite and scream at first, but then are ridiculously fine and shooting at the zombie horde with the rest of the survivors--that is, until they either sacrifice themselves or the infected bite turns them into a zombie.
  
• I try to think of ways someone could take a bite out of themselves or someone else without there having to be zombies involved, like in the story I mentioned earlier (mostly because zombies seem to be fighting vampires for the rank of trendiest monster, and I don't want to be a bandwagoner).
  
• I decide that it could probably be done (obviously), but since it hasn't come to me right away, I'll put it on a shelf and if it comes to me eventually, then it comes to me. If the initial image is good enough, it'll come to me.
  

So that's a short glimpse into what goes on. Nothing too glamorous, I'm sure. Maybe even a bit disappointing. But if you're ever hanging out with a writer and their eyes suddenly sort of go out of focus on you, snap back, and then they act impatient for no apparent reason, they'll probably appreciate it if you'd wrap it up or allow them a gracious retreat, because they're either going to go write or to the toilet. Either way, there's a massive dump about to happen.

Super-size my science; hold the patriotism.

Posting this video in response to a request about emphasizing climate as opposed to weather.



And by saying "hold the patriotism," I don't mean stop being a patriot, you nutty-nuts who will surely try to label me a gay communist for uttering such a thing (although I'd be willing to bet most people know at least one gay communist without even realizing it). I mean that I don't necessarily see the need for politicizing (accusations of being unpatriotic) during a report about science (climate change). I'd like to think that no matter where you fall in the political spectrum, you can at least acknowledge that the collection of unbiased research on climate change is in everyone's best interests. Let's all take The Science Guy's advice and consult with actual scientists--preferably many of them, as long as they're reputable.

Oh, and please stop laughing triumphantly every time it snows in winter, claiming that the weather (not climate) has proven you know more about climate change than anyone else, ever. Having lived in Iowa all my life, I've seen my share of snow, and I tend to be more annoyed by the extreme cold snaps than the snow--unless we get the sheer amounts that have dropped recently. One thing I did happen to notice during our storm is that the temps didn't drop to anywhere near what they were earlier this season. That prompted me to check some numbers for the nation's capital, where the politics are piling up as high as the snow. Here's what I found:

Feb.6th - Low 25.9 - Mean 29.5 - High 32.2
Feb.7th - Low 18.3 - Mean 24.7 - High 32.5
Feb.8th - Low 21.6 - Mean 27.0 - High 34.5
Feb.9th - Low 24.8 - Mean 29.5 - High 36.9
Average - Low 22.6 - Mean 27.7 - High 34.0

I didn't take the time to factor in wind chill or the "feels like" temps, but that's where it stands. I'm sorry, but even when you average the average, it's not that cold. I even searched around for news reports on the so-called "snowpocalypse," or whatever other buzzwords have been flung about, but I don't recall seeing mention of record low temps mixed in anywhere with the reports of record snowfall. I'm willing to concede that someone who knows a thing or three about meteorology could very well school me here and explain how wrong I am, but I would much rather take their word than, as Rahm Emanuel would say, some fucking retard who's pushing a political agenda. Those people should just grab their shiny red sleds and go tire themselves out on the nearest sledding hill, then warm up with a nice cup of shut the hell up.

Huge herds of migratory poodles are on the move.

No matter what you think about global warming, the past few days have opened my eyes to just how fickle people are. First, some background: I saw a status on one of the popular social networking sites this last spring from someone complaining about the unseasonably cold temperatures. Understandable, but the thing that caught my eye was the blatant comment that went something along the lines of, "Global warming my ass, dumb motherfuckers!" I recall wanting to respond by asking if they knew the difference between weather and climate, but I held back.

Flash forward to today, well into November and the second consecutive day of 70° temps, and all I've heard concerning the weather is how nice it is and all the fun things people did or are going to do. Well, in all fairness, I've seen a lot of cheers and jeers over the House's health care vote, which is important, but I still find the silence curious. I guess I can assume that a yearlong mild summer is a good thing. In Iowa.

I'm allergic to my hair.

*blows off huge layer of dust*

Hey there, I'm sitting and waiting for my yummy chicken to cook because I was an idiot and didn't let it thaw completely, so I had to turn the heat down and increase my wait. Now I'm blogging.

I haven't been here for a couple months, and chances are that after this post, I may disappear again for a while. Most of the trials of grad school are behind me now, but I still have classwork and a bit of hoop-jumping to perform for the ringleader (who apparently likes to set the hoops on fire once in a while). All in all, it looks like only a little over a month to go and I'm done, and two months before the lease on my apartment runs out. While wrapping things up, I realized that I'm unconsciously obsessing about the transition, and one of those things is admittedly quite strange in comparison to the big picture; I must plan my meals and budget the food left in my kitchen so that it's all gone by the end of December.

Seriously, I worry about my mental health sometimes.

Cheese isn't a right; it's a privilege.

i was walking home last night with a friend after our night class, and the route we take cuts through a parking lot located between a rental property and a bar. Partway through the lot, we're interrupted by this piercing scream--the epitome of bloody murder. I flinched and started looking around to see where it came from, but with the acoustics in that area, I couldn't tell exactly. I finally looked up and saw this couple (I suppose you could call them chubby, portly, big-boned, etc.) standing at the railing of the deck, smoking and looking down at us. Apparently it was purely for our benefit. Gee, thanks.

After finding that the source was not someone being repeatedly stabbed in the shadows beside the bar, I turned away and shook my head in disbelief. From above we hear her say, dripping with disdain, "Pussies."

This is a prime example of why I'm torn about college. I can't describe how happy I am that I finally returned to school or how well things have turned out for me since then, but every fall I feel this strange mixture of rage and disappointment at the ignorance displayed by the hordes of returning students. How do you tell a drunk, stupid sow you're more afraid of the prospect that she is a representative of what I think is wrong with the upcoming generations than the fact that she gave us a few seconds of fright from a slasher-film scream? Or should I say, how do you tell her that without stooping to her level?

So after getting home, I decided to take the night off with a movie and headed to the local Hy-Vee in order to pick up some junk food to enhance my viewing pleasure. The conversation at the checkout lifted my spirits.

There's a guy who has worked there for what seems like forever, but I don't see him all that often. When I do, I don't hesitate to head for his register. Here's why, and I should mention that he'd just finished commenting on the previous customer's two boxes of Froot Loops:

Him: "How're you doing, sir? Do you like Froot Loops?"
Me: "I do enjoy Froot Loops once in a while, yes."
Him: "Me too. I always steal some from my little cousin when he eats them."
Me: "Ah, so you're one of those kinda guys."
Him: "No, I don't steal Froot Loops from babies." (pause) "Well, yeah I do, but it's okay, because he's stupid. I say stuff like, 'Hey, good job! You finished all your Froot Loops!'"

At this point the people behind me in line and I are laughing.

Him: "So, you got any plans tonight?" (This may sound strange, but I've never heard him not ask someone this question.)
Me: "Nope. The plan is to not have plans tonight."
Him: "Oh. You're dressed all spiffy, so I thought maybe you'd just come from somewhere or were headed out for the night."

I was dressed in a Dickies shirt, cargo shorts, and grubby work boots.

Me: "Wow, you call this spiffy?"
Him: "What can I say? I'm easily impressed."

That exchange was typical of every single conversation I've had with that guy, and I'm always chuckling about it afterward. Seriously, if there were only two registers open and I had to choose between him and some gorgeous, swimsuit model-type, I'd probably go through his lane. But I'd be craning my neck to see into the next lane.