Wednesday, September 30, 2009

The Battle For Baked Goods Is Not Yet Won

Many of you cannot follow directions. Admittedly, it's next to impossible NOT to consider the men's lives and how it may have affected both Dali and Hemingway's choice mustache shape and width, but rules are rules! That being said, there are two contenders for cookies. If we can't break the tie with your opinions, well then...I guess I have a shit ton of baking to do this weekend. Boo.

Answer one comes to us from Amanda - groupie...and longtime friend of B. She is also apparently the female version of the comic book guy from The Simpsons with her oddly anecdotal Hemingway trivia:

Hemingway did not actually have a mustache. What was believed to be a mustache are actually two very furry cat toes, as Hemingway was polydactyl, leading to his love for polydactyl cats.

What impresses me about this response, besides the fact that it's got a bibliography, is the idea that the mustache is there against his will. That regardless of whatever happens in his daily life, every morning he'll wake up and there it is. Looking like a ginkgo leaf. I like this.


The second one comes from Randy...a non-reader of the blog....more specifically, an innocent bystander who was dragged into the debate via the Face of Book by a darling friend Sarah. I've met Randy once and find him to be a convivial fellow. Even more so after this:

Well, from my perspective, it appears that both their mustaches are pathetically girly, and frankly makes them each look like a Frenchman. On further analysis, the mustachioed upper lip of Dali does look like it has a mind of it's own, and almost appears to be sentient, moving, all be it slowly, from one side of his face to the big bonus points there.
On the other hand, Papa's harried protuberance is slightly reminiscent of one Inspector Clouseau
(again moving me towards the girly Frenchman indication), yet the Clouseau does no favors here for the Big Earn as it seems to have been left in the dryer on high heat just a bit too long and has thus shrunk two sizes. Although, each man's facial follicles are both lacking in what I'd like to term, the Selleck Coefficient, where the mustache itself, disembodied from it's wearer, is capable of solving crimes and bedding damsels in distress while looking badass in a Hawaiian shirt and a 1983 Ferrari, they do both serve a slightly more delicate function, that of keeping ants and other nefarious small organisms from entering each of its wearers nasal passages.
Dali's, if I'm correct, would do a whip flick motion to keep the little critters at bay, while Papasano's takes a less aggressive and more sluggish route, boring the small animals to death with overly long diatribes regarding how each individual hair grows "ever so slowly on the sloppiest of slopes on the faciest of faces, blah, blah, blah....". In conclusion then, I proclaim the Hemmingmouthwig to be the more tragic of the two, based solely on the fact that it looks dumb.
Thank you reading, and I appreciate your time on this matter. Marty "The Bald Lip" Higgins

Though I have no idea what exactly makes a mustache "girly" since typically, women do not sport coiffed facial hair...and if they do, it's rarely on purpose...the effort put into the analysis demands respect.


What I find the MOST interesting, and not just because I've worked straight through the day from 8 am until 9 pm and am on my 3rd glass of wine, is that it was really hard to call who won the label "most tragic". I'd like to say that a tally was possible, but many of the arguments were so garbled that I couldn't necessarily make out a definitive answer either way. The two contenders name Hemingway as the loser in the scenario, but in general answers were all over the map. I'm going to have to call it a draw.

But feel free to tell me your opinion on the matter. I know you will anyway.

So...on to things that matter...

I need to know what level of maimery (totally a word) will result if a yoga ball is dropped from 9 stories up. Thoughts?

Saturday, September 26, 2009


When considering only their mustaches and not their lives...who is more tragic...Dali or Hemingway?

Think about it for a bit and get back to me. Best answer gets cookies.*

*Cookies will be chocolate chip and baked by me so taste cannot be vouched for. They'll be sent to the winner via USPS within one day of completion whenever that day actually happens to be.

Thursday, September 24, 2009


Yesterday afternoon, I discovered that I was getting something that would require medicine. I knew exactly what it was and exactly what I'd need. So, at the end of the work day, around 5:30pm, B picked me up and took me to an urgent care clinic.

$20 office copay with my shitty insurance is handed over. I'm told the wait would be about 1 hour, 45 minutes.

The wait was 1 hour and 35 minutes. It's 7:30pm.

In the examination room, 5 minutes to have vitals checked and another 5 to pee in a cup. Sample handed off to lab.

Sit in examination room for FORTY-FIVE minutes.

Consider throwing something.

But don't.

Doctor comes in all harried and says "yes, you have what you thought you had. here's a perscription".

Out the door another $100 lighter thanks to lab fees (to be billed at a later date) and off to the

Antibiotics for 7 days - $4 (a steal).

Doritos were $3.

Home 4 1/2 hours later.

If this had happened last week, I could've walked into a chemist/apotek/pharmacie and just asked for what I needed to combat what I knew I had. Spent $10 on it...and walked out 10 minutes later.
Anyone who doesn't think the United States' health care system needs a massive overhaul can bite me.

Europe was fantastic, by the way. I'll put up some choice pics when I decide to go through them.

That is all.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Sleep is for Pansies

I'm currently operating on a different plane. The other one. The non-lucid, head-floaty, could probably talk me into a ponzi scheme plane. The one where people are talking to you but you can only look at them blankly before shaking your head and saying, "what?". That plane. Some people call that plane "jet lag". I think that's a negative term for something that allows you to see fairies. And Elvis. With fairies. It's the plane for selecting lotto numbers. And art. And lipstick colors. It's the reason for printed warnings regarding operating heavy machinery. And ABBA. I think you see.

Some people think you have to ingest something to reach this plane. Pharmaceuticals or organic matter best left planted in the earth. But you don't. All you have to do is be awake on one side of the world and then continue to be awake on the other. That's it. Easy.

Now you try. Then we can maybe choose lipsticks together.

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

On An Escapade...Baby

For any of you who really know me (and by that I mean have been reading this drivel for two years or more), you know that I like to take my boys for a test drive to make sure they'll stick for the long term. And by test drive, I mean I travel with them to somewhere far away from here for an extended period of time. B-rock's getting off easy...we're just hopping over to Europe to visit some friends and attend a wedding, but it's still going to be two weeks of non-stop togetherness. No soccer matches or True Blood girls nights or ultimate frisbee to give us our "apart" time. It could be interesting as we fight CONSTANTLY.

An example of which is below:

(3:57:08 PM)
kara: jesus, it's 4:00
(3:59:02 PM) Brendan: yeah
(4:17:15 PM) kara: i'ma make porkchops
(4:18:19 PM)
Brendan: really? I was going to make dinner, but I will not object if you want to
(4:18:52 PM) kara: what nonsense were you going to make?
(4:19:40 PM)
Brendan: I don't know.
(4:19:51 PM) kara: well then you lose.
(4:19:54 PM)
Brendan: I was going to rummage around until something came out
(4:20:02 PM) kara: ew
(4:20:13 PM)
Brendan: and then you would eat it. delicious.
(4:20:27 PM)
kara: YOU LOSE

I won that fight. How do you think we'll do?

Anyways, we're gonna be in London for a few days doing whatever. I hope to knock back some
pints London-style (which means until 11:00pm when all the shit closes) and maybe take in something cultural like a wagamama. Or a wax museum.

Then it's off to Denmark where one of my high schools friends is getting married. I'm excited to be going back as my last visit was 6 years ago...though my Danish is painfully rusty. Oh well, it's better than brendan's.

And THEN we're weekending in Paris because b's never been there and I really want a gyro.

So yeah, that's what's up.
I imagine I won't totally disappear for the whole two weeks. If I could manage to blog from Romania and Morocco, I can probably post a little something from a public place in the EU. Unless they don't have free wi-fi. Assholes. But, you know, it will only be if I feel like it.

I think you should know that I'm watching The Big Lebowski on TV for perhaps the millionth time. This movie, Dr. Zhivago and Beastmaster, are the only movies I absolutely can't bring my self to turn off if I happen upon them. Lebowski is my security elliot smith and gummy worms. However, watching it on TV does have its, *ahem*, quirks. Like this little gem:

See what happens when you find(fuck) a stranger in the alps(ass)?!?!

I wonder who's job it is to re-write scenes such as this for the general audiences. I also wonder how I might take their job from them and make it my own.

One time on a plane they showed
There's Something About Mary. Normally I hate that movie, but it felt like Christmas when Ben Stiller yelled "you're such a froggin' ashpole!" at someone.

Anyway, in other Lebowski-related news, thanks these label things we give our posts, I am reminded that I wrote a
half-assed Lebowski movie review back before I was calling them that. Oh memories...of earlier this year. And now you can share in them too. Because I give.

As to that travel business, we don't leave until Saturday so I may still have stuff to say about nothing. Or I'll get busy throwing things at the cat or working or something and you'll get n
othing. It all depends.

Until then - see ya, you human paraquats.