Ben

A few years ago, when I was about 11 or 12, our dog died. I watched it happen. It was quite traumatic for me, as you can imagine; a boy entering into the new millennium with his one true friend, a miniature sheltie named Chelsey, who suddenly has half of his duo taken from him by the fact that dogs are seven times as mortal as humans.

I remember the day it happened. I was sitting in the very spot I’m in now as I write this. We all knew the dog was in poor health, but we just kept on living merrily without the fact at the forefront of our minds that this day was inevitable. I even remember how, in her waning months, I would take the care to pick out the disgusting little clumps of dead hair and crust to which I can only imagine those who are in line for the elevator up to doggie Heaven are entitled.

As I sat in this room, Mom called for me. I ran into her bedroom to find Chelsey on the floor, convulsing like I had never seen before. Not many preteens are privy to the uncontrollable shaking of a canine seizure so early in their lives, I suppose. After writhing on the floor for a minute or so, she calmed down. And, in a last gasp of life, Chelsey moved her little peg legs because she thought she was running. Then, complete still.

You know how when you get on in age, what you did during the first fifteen or so years in your life become a giant blur and you can’t really put your finger on exact happenings of the distant past? Well, and this sticks out in my mind as clear as day, for some reason I remember the exact dialogue between me and my mother:

“Is it over?”

“I think so.”

Then, we cried. Mother because she had witnessed – and had her son witness – a depressing doggie death. Me because I knew nothing would ever come along as great as that dog.

Boy, was I wrong.

A short time later, we came driving home with a new golden retriever. I knew this one could never fill his predecessor’s paw socks, but the family was lonesome with no trouble making varmint around Peterson Manor. Again, was I ever wrong. Ben is, without a doubt, the sweetest and most loyal animal with which we may share our world.

As I sit here in this same room where I heard my mom’s call so many years ago, Ben lies at my feet. I know he may not be here forever, but I should enjoy what time I have with him and move on to the great things life has to offer me after his departure.

I realize that this entry is seemingly not in keeping with my overtly optimistic posting style, but the entire point is one of hope and goodness: While you may be disappointed and sure that the world will never be as good tomorrow as it is today, you are very likely wrong. Life has a funny way of working itself out.

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A Christmas Miracle!

You know how in A Christmas Story, when The Old Man pointed to the solitary gift in the corner behind the desk, Ralphie’s eyes lit up like two beacons of childhood splendor?

And you know how the movie ended, with Ralphie clinging on to Old Blue while he drifted into the best sleep he ever had?

Do you remember that?

I had eerily similar emotions this past Christmas, when I welcomed into the family a shiny new 80 gigabyte Playstation 3.

God bless us, everyone!

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Santa Maria!

Well, it happened.

The Bucs returned a kickoff for a touchdown.

And I was there to see it.

All in all, it was a memorable day: I saw Michael Spurlock jet his way into Buccaneers history; I saw my Bucs win the division… again; and, of course, Ian was the victim of collateral damage from an accident on the way home and the police took two hours to get to the wreck.

Funny how they’re always around when they want to give me a ticket, but when I need them they take their own sweet time. Ridiculous.

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A simple formula for scary success

You know, the plot for any given movie in the horror genre can be essentially boiled down to an intensely silly game of mad libs. The Child’s play movies are prime examples of this.

A (spooky human figure) transforms into a (inanimate object not generally associated with blood and gore) and attacks (defenseless thing) to regain his life. The (defenseless thing) cleverly attacks the (inanimate object not generally associated with blood and gore) with (silly object) and the (inanimate object not generally associated with blood and gore) appears to be defeated. However, the (part of inanimate object not generally associated with blood and gore) moves in the closing shot of the film, leaving the story wide open for a sequel.

With this simple formula, let’s write our own movie idea, shall we?

A man who has had plastic surgery to look exactly like Liza Minelli transforms into a talking wooden spoon and attacks the adorable residents of Meerkat Manor to regain his life. The adorable residents of Meerkat Manor cleverly attack the talking wooden spoon with a colony of mutated termites and the talking wooden spoon appears to be defeated. However, the handle of the talking wooden spoon moves in the closing shot of the film, leaving the story wide open for a sequel.

Now that, my friends, is spooky stuff.

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History of the World According to Tim Tebow, Part One

In light of the recent Heisman Hoopla surrounding Alachua County’s Prince Charming (and my best friend!) Tim Tebow, I figured it was about time to release this photographic evidence that Timmy is immortal. So without further ado, I present to you History of the World According to Tim Tebow, Part One:

Philadelphia, 1787 – After hours of grueling debating and arguing, Tim Tebow presides over the signing of the newfound American Constitution. John Hancock tries to be an attention whore and is stiff armed into oblivion. When leaving, Tebow mentions that they should really add something about the right to bear arms, because his biceps are a thousand times more powerful than any musket of the era.

Kitty Hawk, 1903 – On a blustery day that winter, Tim Tebow creates a new flying machine, but humbly allows two sibling bicycle repairmen to take credit for his invention, fearing that the government might force him to use his machine for evil. A century later, Tebow will find out how to take to the air in a different way.

Iwo Jima, 1945 – High atop Mount Suribachi, Tim Tebow and six other soldiers raise the American Flag in a moment captured for American antiquity. It is after this war, however, that Tebow decides to abstain from further combat, for fear of breaking the hearts of girls around the world. The United States would regret issuing his leave in later conflicts. Whoops.

Times Square, 1945 – After beating the Japanese with two bombs comprised of Tim Tebow’s concentrated semen, blood, and elbow grease, Tebow returns to America and is photographed kissing this girl. She would later find out that she is pregnant, as did every other female within a fifteen foot radius of Tebow when this photo was taken.

Cuba, 1958 – Forever a proponent of freedom, Tim Tebow leads a revolution against Dictator Fulgencio Batista. In order to cause Batista to flee the country, Tebow does a pile driver into his sternum and rushes for seven touchdowns while penetrating the entire Cuban cheerleading squad.

London, 1969 – Tim Tebow, in England to plant his seed to field a potential rugby team, is asked by the three remaining Beatles to fill in for the recently deceased Paul McCartney. Reluctant at first, Tebow accepted when he found out that if he posed as Paul McCartney for the rest of time, he could marry and bone a model half his age. Not to say he couldn’t bone her anyway, of course.

Tiananmen Square, 1989 – In an everyday show of bravery, Tim Tebow stands up to a line of military tanks. He had actually just stepped out from a burning apartment building filled with Chinese babies and their attractively vulnerable mothers and was on his way to not take a nap because Tim Tebow never sleeps. Upon seeing the Seminole-esque red stars on the side of the tanks in the square, Tebow briefly stood in front of them before melting the war machines with his gaze of hatred.

But no, really. Congratulations, Timmy!

I love you.

…Too much?

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Exams drive me to do crazy things

If you go to the University of Florida, I’m sure you’re familiar with TutoringZone. I had never before used their services – a four hour lecture that tells you everything you need to know for a myriad of classes – until I realized that my statistics test is Saturday and I have yet to watch any class on the Internet.

Whoops.

But there I went, into the green room with a few hundred of my closest friends, where I actually learned. It was epic.

Oh, and I counted. The guy who taught the review dropped the F-bomb 127 times. Awesome.

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When the taser's away, the bored cops will play

Dear police officers on bicycles patrolling the sparse crowds on Newell Drive around lunchtime,

You guys need to get real jobs. Writing tickets to people who ride bikes all day is a feeble attempt at squeezing some power out of your otherwise laughable profession.

Love,
Casey

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