Banana Phone

I met some folks at the beach today and, even though I took my cell phone out of my pants before getting wet, it still got waterlogged. Now I know where my next paycheck is going.

——

Update Sunday, July 25, 2004 – 3:44PM:
Turns out it wasn’t as bad as I expected. I think it was because I was a cute kid, but no matter. My service representative Jessica hooked me up with a new phone and battery for a mere $40.00. Much better than the hundreds I was expecting to have to pay.

I'm only sleeping

This summer, I’ve started to take naps in the afternoon. After a day of watching a bunch of kids, I can be quite tuckered.

If someone’s home with me at the time, I tell them I’m going to be napping as to reduce inadvertent sequences of awakening. Usually I say, “Good night,” but now I realize this goodbye is potentially inaccurate.

I take my naps from (roughly) 3:30PM EST to 5:00-6:00PM EST. Therefore, it’s not nighttime when I retire to my quarters.

What am I supposed to say, then? “Goodnight” doesn’t suit the situation, and “good afternoon” is typically associated with a greeting, not a declaration of absence.

You know it’s summer when I fret over silly things like this.

The Doctor is In

I work at a summer camp at my church counseling elementary-aged schoolchildren. A few days ago, a little girl of no more than 6 told a younger girl that she wanted to kill her and her family. Oh, the hilarity.

In other news, my car broke so we took it to the guy who’s been our mechanic for 3 generations. His name? Charlie Brown. Seriously.

Smarter than the average bear

I remember one day during this last school year, as I was walking through the courtyard at school I overheard these kids and they said I looked like a bear.

Roar.

I suck.

Taryn yelled at me the other day and said I was neglecting those of you with no lives, so after a week, here’s the token entry.

Actually, I haven’t been slaying you with my unceasing wit because I’m a very busy man. I started driving school on Tuesday. I get up early in the morning so I can go stand outside (not in a car, the school can only afford nine) for 4 hours until 12. Having so much time to converse with the good folks there, I have come to many conclusions:

If I were a circus animal, I would want to be a tiger.
If I could kill someone with any garden tool, it would be a rake. Not those hard, pitchfork types, but the kind made of flimsy aluminum as to perpetuate the dying process.
Cones are retarded.

Wow, that’s not many conclusions at all. I’m really, really not in the mood to write. I think I’m gonna go now. Sorry to disappoint.

Death by Mouse

I’m home alone this Saturday night because my mom went to a funeral party.

Funeral party? Seems rather abstract. Someone dies, so you invite all of your best friends over to boogie down. I love it.

In fact, when I die I request, nay, demand that my funeral be held at Chuck-e-Cheese. I realize the games are worse there than say, Celebration Station, but they serve beer there. I wouldn’t want to deny anyone their God-given right to drink themselves into a painless stupor following the death of a dear friend. In fact, to maintain the quazi-cheerfulness of the occasion, it’ll be a costume funeral. That’s right, no one gets in without a minimum of dyed hair and a silly hat. So if you’re a crabby McGee who won’t play, you can stay out of my funeral and hang out at the Burlington Coat Factory next door. Party pooper.

Knobby Knees

Sort of like the white Tom Willis, this is my token post because it’s been about a week; I reinstalled Windows last weekend, so I had to reinstall all my programs and haven’t had much spare time.

You know what’s really amazing? Doorknobs. I was thinking the other day about how cool they are. Think about it: you turn a knob and, somehow, through a complex and interconnected series of gears and metal mechanisms, a little piece of metal moves so we can open the door. As if that were enough, you can lock the door. Just a flick of the wrist and you’re protected against intrusion. Which, incidentally, brings me to hinges. What genius figured that if you put two pieces of metal together you can move a giant slab of wood? Whoever he was, God bless him.

I just typed 102 words about the wonders of doors. Perhaps this is why I haven’t been posting much… When something worthwhile happens I should be sure to post it.

Bedtime reading.

-Casey

Anger Management

Death to Blinky

Bologna

Merriam Webster defines it as “a large smoked sausage of beef, veal, and pork; also : a sausage made (as of turkey) to resemble bologna.” And I would agree – its bologna.

But it’s pronounced “baloney.” Come to think of it, Merriam Webster also defines such a word in that whimsical book of theirs: “pretentious nonsense : BUNKUM — often used as a generalized expression of disagreement.”

So, what we have on our hands here are two different words! Up until five minutes ago, I thought it was “bologna” in all contexts. Like, for example, when that Flick character on A Christmas Story argues with Shwartz about the notion that his tongue would stick to the flagpole, he cries (phonetically), “BALL-OH-NEE!” For sixteen years I always thought it would have to have been written “bologna” in the script, and for sixteen years I thought that such a spelling would be outrageously aesthetically unpleasing. Now I have been shown the light.

But what about other uses of bologna, not necessarily relating to pretentious nonsense? Admit it, it’s a funny word, but you’re telling me, Mr. Webster, that I’m supposed to spell it like you say even when I know full well that’s not how it sounds? When one uses the word “bologna” in somewhat humorous ways, I find that it takes away from the comedy when one spells it as if it were a deli meat.

So, here I am, submitting that whenever we aren’t talking about meat or a city in Italy, we spell it “baloney.”

QED

Grey Poupon