sevencagedtigers's Xanga

An Ode to Orville Redenbacher (or why did I leave my popcorn in the microwave for so long?)

Fri, 25 May 2007 18:40:02 GMT

I saw you on aisle twelve at the grocery store. “Orville Redenbacher’s Gourmet Popping Corn” was written on you in big, cursive letters. You lured me in with your smiling, awkward picture and promises of 30-calorie servings. I put you into my grocery cart and dreamed of the “94% Fat Free Butter” snacking I would soon enjoy.

If only I had known the tragedy that would follow.

Read the rest at my other blog.

Denis Story #143: Tuna and Cranberry Sauce

Fri, 11 May 2007 13:23:14 GMT

Those who know me know that I have an unholy hatred for tuna. I won’t eat it, I don’t like looking at it, and I absolutely despise the smell of it. Until I got to college, I didn’t like tuna, but I would eat it on occasion. Of course, that was pre-Denis...

What did Denis do make me despise tuna the way a Frenchman despises good manners and baths? Find out at my other blog, www.specialkindofstupid.com.

Clemens Signs with Yankees, Vows to let Money go to his Head

Wed, 09 May 2007 17:07:23 GMT

"It wasn't just about the money," Clemens assured reporters at his press conference.

"It was the perks, too. They are going to treat me like the diva I've always imagined myself to be, and you just can't put a price on that."

Read more at my regular blog, www.specialkindofstupid.com.

God Answers Critics, Sentences Paris Hilton to Jail

Mon, 07 May 2007 16:58:34 GMT

In a move experts predict will once and for all prove His existence, God used the Los Angeles legal system to sentence socialite/moron Paris Hilton to 45 days in jail for violating her probation in an alcohol-related reckless driving case.

The sentencing has been met by unanimous approval by every person in the entire world...

Read more at www.specialkindofstupid.com.

My Other Blog

Mon, 07 May 2007 01:08:37 GMT

www.specialkindofstupid.com

Don't let the name fool you...there's nothing special about it.

50% Fur, 50% Awesome

Fri, 15 Dec 2006 15:51:45 GMT

I have now had a Xanga for 580 days and, to my amazement, I have yet to write about my cat, Smokey. Considering he is the greatest cat in the world, this is a situation that must be immediately rectified.

Smokey is the son of the kitten I had when I lived away from home my first year in college. Smokey had a brother named "Bandit" and a sister named "Cannonball Run." Yes, we had a Burt Reynolds' movie theme going on. Both his mom and siblings have passed, but Smokey lives on.

He loves sleeping on top of my computer monitor. If there is ever something new in the house (a box from the Post Office, a new table, a bag out of place), Smokey immediately claims it as his own by sitting on it. If you bring a laptop to my house and set it down, Smokey will sit on it. It's the law. Smokey's Law.

Smokey's an inside cat, but he's always trying to escape to have what my mom describes as "an adventure." While I freely admit Smokey is probably saving lives and fighting evil when he escapes, I still prefer for him to stay indoors where it's safe. Let the cops catch the bad guys. You stay inside so I can scratch behind your ears.

Smokey 411

How can I best describe Smokey? He is, as I like to say, 50% fur and 50% awesome.

Smokey's like Garfield, but without all the attitude.

Smokey's meow has the ability to heal - I once put a dead plant in front of him, and it came back to life.

At birth, God offered Smokey the ability to fly, but he turned it down in favor of extra furriness.

If Smokey was President, Osama bin Laden would cower in fear and surrender.

If Smokey was in your college English class, he would ruin the curve for you.

The letters in Smokey's name can be rearranged to spell "awesome" in 15 different languages. French is not one of them, but only because Smokey fails to recognize it as a legitimate language.

If Smokey was on the Titanic, Leonardo Dicaprio would still have died, but much sooner. Also, the iceberg would have been too scared to hit the ship.

That Guy

Tue, 05 Dec 2006 19:58:15 GMT

"Look at that guy."

"Poor, pathetic, shell of a man."

"Mommy, that man is holding a purse."

These are phrases uttered at malls, grocery stores and Wal-Marts all over the nation. You're just a guy minding his own business when your girlfriend, wife, female acquaintance or confused cousin Steve hands you a purse.

It's not a pretty sight. And yet, day after day men everywhere are asked to hold the bag of shame.

No more.

The time has come for us men to rise up. We must throw down the lacey, feminine shackles that bind us. When we are handed a purse to carry, we must stand strong.

If you are handed a purse, give the purse giver your wallet and keys to hold. If she questions, tell her you are just supporting women's equality.

If you are shopping for clothes, take off your baseball cap and give it to the purse giver saying, "hold this for me while I go try this on." And then take a nap inside the changing room while she waits outside, cap in hand.

The time for battle is at hand.

We must not acquiesce. We must fight the good fight. We must shout for all the world to hear:

"Nay woman (or cousin Steve), I will not hold your purse. For I am a man!"

Stranger Than Fiction

Mon, 04 Dec 2006 19:00:52 GMT

To continue the "Where are they now?" theme I had going on back in August (see Durst, Fred and Dude, The Dell), a couple months ago I began to write a blog entry about Michael Richards ("Kramer" on Seinfeld), Joe Pesci (My Cousin Vinny, Home Alone) and Emilio Estevez (The Mighty Ducks Trilogy). Due to time constraints, writer's block, and a haunting "I am wasting my life" feeling once it dawned on me I was researching the career of Emilio Estevez, I pulled the plug on the entry. I then cried myself to sleep.

However, much like those scrappy (i.e. annoying) kids in The Mighty Ducks, the stars of my forgotten blog entry would not die. Joe Pesci, after having not appeared in a movie since 1998's Lethal Weapon 4, is co-starring in the new Matt Damon flick The Good Shepherd. Emilio Estevez is directing and starring in the new star-studded film Bobby. And Michael Richards, after apparently spending the past six years hanging out with John Rocker, is making the rounds as a stand-up comedian.

Since I, for the purpose of this entry, do not believe in coincidences, I have come to the following, inevitable conclusion: My blog entries have special powers.

With this knowledge in hand, the obvious question is will I use this power for good or evil? Will I write an entry about someone inventing an ice cream that burns calories, or will I write about a new TV channel that shows nothing except Old Navy commercials? Will I write about Rosie O'Donnell coming down with a permanent case of laryngitis, or will I write about the members of Backstreet Boys and N'Sync joining forces to create a Christmas-themed album full of Limp Bizkit cover songs?

Until I decide whether or not I want to be a criminal mastermind, I'll write about my winning the lottery. Good or evil, $200 million will definitely come in handy.

I Was Promised Snow

Thu, 30 Nov 2006 19:03:43 GMT

Lauren and I are back from our Thanksgiving-week visit to the allegedly cold, wintery state of Minnesota. It was a fun trip and I thoroughly enjoyed spending the 5 1/2 days with Lauren's family. They treated me like royalty. However...

I was promised snow.

As a Georgia boy, I do not get to see very much snow. In fact, it hasn't snowed here in years. The times it does snow, it's all melted in a manner of hours. And in the precious few hours it's here, it's barely enough to make snow balls much less a snow man. How are you supposed to torment the neighbor's kids when you can't destroy their snow men or pelt them with snow balls?

In the weeks leading up to the trip, Lauren assured me we would see plenty of snow. In fact, it had already snowed in Minnesota three weeks prior to Thanksgiving. Her parents' home, I was told, was covered in snow. Finally, after over a quarter of a century dwelling in a snowless environment, I was going to witness real snow. Real, honest to goodness, pelt your neighbor's kids as you laugh out loud and take pictures snow.

I wanted to be prepared, so I hit the stores. A wool coat to wear so that my leather jacket doesn't have to get wet? Check. Isotoner gloves to keep my hands warm? Check. An Old Navy scarf to help me better blend in with the Northerners? Check. The book Snow for Dummies to read on the plane? Check.

I was ready. Ready for an avalanche of snow. Instead, what I got was this - no snow, no snow balls, no snow men. In short, Minnesota had the exact same weather as Georgia.

It reminded me of the time I went to Burger King over lunch and they were out of hamburgers. Burker King not having hamburgers and Minnesota not having snow is like someone who is really good at metaphors not being able to think of a good metaphor.

"I've Never Torn My Groin"

Tue, 21 Nov 2006 20:17:01 GMT

With the huge sums of money being thrown at Major League Baseball players this offseason, I would like to take this opportunity to announce I have opted out of my contract with "Hank's Hardware and Fine Linens" co-ed softball team and am now a free agent available to the highest bidder.

Given how weak this year's free agent crop is, I have no doubt I will be in high demand. But just in case there are a few Major League teams in need of convincing, allow me to outline my qualifications:

In my Prime

The ages 27 to 31 are considered the prime years for baseball players - the ages where they reach their peak performance. Since I am at the beginning of this range, any team that signs me can be confident I will maintain my current level of ability, whatever that may be, for the duration of my contract.

Would the Mets have been better off giving $12 million to 37-year-old Orlando Hernandez, a pitcher with a 4.66 ERA last season; or $6 million to your's truly, a 28-year-old in his prime who used to pitch in Little League? I think the answer's pretty obvious.

Durable

In three years as a high school teacher and 13 months as a web developer, I have missed only one day of work due to illness or injury. And to be honest, I could have gone to work that one day. Sure I had lost my voice, but the ability to talk and form sentences is overrated in the teaching profession.

In other words, I am reliable. I will show up at the stadium each day ready to play. In an age where injury-prone J.D. Drew is about to get $15 million a year and Moises "I only played in 60% of my team's games last year" Alou signs for $8.5 million, isn't my durability great value? It's at least worth $5 million.

A Bargain

In this market, I am a bargain. Juan Pierre just signed a 5-year, $44 million contract with the Los Angeles Dodgers. Pierre is fast, but he can't hit, play defense, or throw. Except for speed, I bring everything to the table that Pierre brings. Plus, I'm one year younger.

Nomar Garciaparra signed a 2-year, $18 million deal with the Dodgers even though he is only two years removed from tearing his groin muscle. I am five years younger than Garciaparra, and I'm happy to report I've never torn my groin.

Alfonso Soriano just signed an 8-year, $136 million contract with the Chicago Cubs. He struck out 160 times last year. I could strike out 160 times for half the money.

5-years, $25 Million

That's all it will take to get me to sign on the dotted line. For that price, you get a durable, in-his-prime player with no groin problems. I'll even throw in my Buffy the Vampire Slayer DVDs.

Let the bidding begin.