Monday, February 28, 2011

The Man, the Myth, the Muppet

I recently discovered a show from the 80's on Netflix called Jim Henson's The Story Teller. (You may remember Jim Henson from his part in The Muppets. Hooray for The Muppets!) The idea behind the show is that a character sits around his old fireplace and tells his dog stories based on popular myths and legends. It really brought to mind that the art of storytelling is dead. Certainly Western culture has whipped up a replacement with television, movies, radio and internet, but gone are the days when a man or woman can sit around and rhythmically weave a story to an entranced audience. Media has created an outlet that shapes our minds to think in tiny fragments rather than to be immersed in a hypnotic tale. They slap in a massive speckling of commercials and advertisements to keep our mind racing and sucking in information, but never interacting or using our own minds in turn. Mushy minds are made of those societies without story tellers, my own mind included. I just find this topic sad and thought provoking. Where have all the story tellers gone?

Friday, February 18, 2011

Worms

So my house was built in the '80's with the idea of some family eventually putting in a pool some day. While the pool was never built, we still have a bathroom that has a glass sliding door directly to the backyard. This would make perfect sense, and even be wise, if we had a pool. But, alas, we do not. So in the spirit of ghetto fabulous-ness, we decided to paint the sliding glass door the same color as the house. This kept the world out of our bathroom-business.
Richard and I: 1
Smart ass house builders: 0

In time the paint has developed a few pin-prick sized holes in it which allow tiny rays of light to enter the bathroom. One day I was inspired to bring in my camera, set the shutter speed to "painfully slow" and wobble about with the camera for a bit. This was the result:

Thursday, February 10, 2011

On Camels and Straws

I saw this little gem on an employee warning notice recently:

"This was the camel that broke the final straw."

I laughed a good, hard laugh. It still sneaks up on me unexpectedly in times of solitude and draws forth much creepy alone-time laughter.

Monday, February 7, 2011

The Scent of A Lady Bug

Since I live in a tiny triangle (Home --> Work --> School. Repeat.), Richard is my main source of entertainment. What's great about him is the fact that he is always getting himself into peculiar situations.
A few months back, he was going to do a cabinet installation in a gated community. The guard at the gate came out and asked him the usual questions, and just before he let him in Richard nonchalantly stated "Wow, it really smells like lady bugs out here."
The guard looked at him with unease. "You must have seen that landscaping truck come by hauling those sacks of lady bugs. He was just here about 10 minutes ago. No one can smell lady bugs" replied the guard.
"Oh really? I didn't see any landscaping truck."
"Yep, full of lady bugs."
"Wow. That's weird. Haha." (Awkward pause.) "Well, see ya later..."
Richard called me shortly thereafter and expressed his shock that the fellow didn't know what a lady bug smelled like. Naturally, the scent given off by lady bugs was completely foreign to me. In his own words, they smell "like a walnut that's a little extra bitter when you crack into it and eat it," and also "dark and waxy."
Yeah, just try farting around a guy that can bloodhound the scent of a ladybug.