Black Cat Lore According to Paul

Now this is sound advice for anyone interested in avoiding the uncommonly bad luck, possibly resulting in death or dismemberment, brought on this season by the legendary black cat crossing one's path. Two days ago Paul and I were walking through the school parking lot at an hour too early to relate when a black cat slinked (yes, it slinked) from between some parked cars in front of us and walked directly across our path so boldly and broadly that there was no avoiding the cursed trail he left in his wake. I was, naturally, frozen in superstitious fear, but Paul immediately sprang into action. He took my hand and led me in sort of a wobbly circle which eventually rejoined our original course toward the business building.

"There" he looked triumphant, "we are now safe."
"How?" I asked confused, and a little dizzy. "We still have to cross it's path."
"No," he insisted confidently, "we have negated his powers by curving our path into his path but still away from it..." and then I think there was something about a trajectory and the healing powers of spinning in a circle. Needless to say I was a bit skeptical with regard to Paul's certain knowledge of black cat lore that seemed to come out of nowhere, but the prospect of being late to class eventually drove all thoughts of cats, black or otherwise, out of our minds and we speed-walked directly through the ominous path of said cat on to class.

Due to the fact that I am still alive and in possession of all my limbs one or more assertions can be drawn from this scientific experience. First Paul's take on counteracting black cat powers must be accurate. I have also considered the possibility that the cat was actually not black and it was just too dark outside. In the event that Paul's little cat dance actually worked, the scientific method would also dictate that handstands deter werewolves and leeches hate loud music. You are welcome to use this powerful information to your advantage. Have a safe and fun Halloween everyone!

The Return of the Butterfinger

When I was young and in my trick-or-treating phase of life (let's face it, if it was socially acceptable I still probably would be trick or treating), the Butterfinger Bar was considered the payload of trick-or-treat candy. Not being bold enough to actually rifle through an outstretched bowl of candy for my favourite bar, I had trained my eyes to search out even the tiniest speck of characteristic orange wrapper poking up among other, lesser-quality, offerings. The night's take was pretty much valued by the pile of Butterfingers lovingly separated from the evening's regular revenue.

Since those days I have lost touch with Butterfinger. It may have had something to do with four years of braces or limited expendable income, but for some reason Butterfinger and I became estranged. I am pleased to report that his year, with the full support of Paul, Butterfinger and I have rekindled our affair. It was only last Sunday that my Grandma persuaded me to take home a handful candy bars and the spark of passion that had lain latent all these years was reignited into a candy-craving inferno. I'm not expecting this wild rendezvous to last long (most likely until Halloween is over) but I'm glad that for a few fun-sized bites every once in a while I get to relive my childhood. I encourage everyone to dig out the phone number of a favourite childhood treat from which you've grown apart and re-live a bit of the fun of the Halloween season.

Footage Revealed!

Due to the extremely sensitive nature of the footage you are about to see from deep within the recesses of the famed Club 33 this blog must be posted anonymously in complete anonymity and under anonymous circumstances by yours truly, who shall not be named. That said, I think the music selection by the Club 33 Sound and Light crew is quite apropos.

Surprise Denial

I am a little ashamed to admit that some things in this life still take me by surprise when there is absolutely no reason to be shocked. For example, yesterday the low fuel light in my car came on and I was, naturally, flabbergasted. Had I not been watching the little white needle creep toward the ominous orange hash mark for the past week and a half? This morning I opened the dishwasher and was blown away to find the dishes in it were not sparkly clean, although I don't know why I was so surprised because since I didn't start it last night the laws of physics dictate that the dishes would remain besmirched with remnants of the evening meal. My car registration bill came in the mail yesterday and I acted like it doesn't come each and every year. All those mornings that I settled on a black shirt I staggered backward with shock when I got to work and noticed a deodorant smear on one side. What I should be saying on the non-deodorant day is "Hey? This is a black shirt isn't it? Where's the white streak of shame?" Why do I go on like this? I'm not sure except that maybe I'm in denial about my lack of automobile fuel and the state of my wardrobe.

Life doesn't only take me by repeated surprise in negative ways. Sometimes these pseudo-surprises are really pleasant. For the past three weeks I have driven down the street gaping like an idiot at the trees and saying to Paul "Look at that one! Look at those amazing colors!" The trees change colors every year and yet they still amaze me. Every time the phone rings and I see it is a good friend calling I feel a pleasant twinge of startlement, and every year when Christmas comes around I get excited like it might not come again next year. To everyone else out there in surprise-denial, here's to enjoying the unexpected, or at least indulging in the life-affirming shock of what we probably should have expected.

How did this happen?

Today I want to address something that has been on my mind... and stuck to my forehead, and poking me in the eye; in other words, my bangs. Bangs have been an interesting fashion development over the last seven or so years, and although they have been around since the pyramids (according to the Charleton Heston version of the Ten Commandments), the latest emergence of facial fringe has brought together past and future styles of bangs in an unprecedented display of follicular creativity. You all know what I'm talking about:

1. "Extreme Swoop" makes you legally blind in at least one eye, but very dramatic
2. "Black Ops Bangs" are grown so long and straight over the forehead that the eyelashes actually have to lift hair as the eyelid opens. Meant to camouflage the wearer in urban surroundings.
3. "Cold War Bangs" are worn short and bluntly straight, accompanied by arrestingly straight sides. Strikes fear into the heart of any opponent or fellow commuter.
4. "Uncommitted Bangs" I think those are supposed to be bangs aren't they? Does that person even KNOW they have bangs? who can tell.
5. "Feather Bangs" unusual hybrid of the late seventies and early eighties. Often accompanied by a mullet or hairspray wings. Have been observed to have mind controlling powers in that once you wear them, you can't seem to let go.
6. "The Tube" We all had it, some still do. You know, it's perfectly curled and sprayed so as to resemble a section of Slinky taped to one's forehead.
7. "Shag Bangs" Imagine Garth from Wayne's World.
8. "The Pyramid" This is a structural anomalie in which the wearer has expertly swept a section of bangs back and secured it with an arsenal of bobby pins, creating a dome so indestructable modern science is still trying to replicate it. This structure often gives rise to:
9. "The Alfalfa" an excapee of bangs intended to be swept back sticks straight up in the air and refuses to lay neither forward nor back.

The style I am currently sporting, and what led to this literary overture on bangs, is what I affectionately call the scarecrow look. It is characterized by scraggely bits of hair in so many varying shades of blond and brown and so many different lengths that it literally looks like I picked up pieces of straw off the ground and taped them to my forehead. Everywhere I go if someone's eyes stray to my forehead region I want to yell "I know! Scarecrow bangs right?" because I do know how unfortunate they are. It's not my fault! They sort of evolved over time and there is nothing I can do, short of setting my hair on fire, until July 3rd at which time I hope to pay a professional to get this thing under control. In the meantime can I borrow a weedwacker from someone?

Imposter M&M

I don't want to fill my blog with negativity, but indulge me for a second while I get something off my chest. I hate when peanut M&Ms masquerade as almond M&Ms. They parade around in the almond bag showing off identical flashy colors and sporting the same basic shape as their almond counterparts, but inside they're just a peanut! I know, I know, it's a nut surrounded by chocolate right, why does it matter? But there is something about the way the almond cracks into fractal shards when you bite into it that makes it fun to crunch. The peanut simply doesn't measure up. (I extend my apologies to any solid peanut fans, but it's the truth.) When I bite into an almond M&M I expect to get an almond M&M and not a peanut in almond clothing. Tune in next time when I address the injustice of Coolaid that looks just like water...

Seattle Sentiments

Our road trip to Seattle was amazing! We went to the Univeristy of Washington campus, the Space Needle, the Seattle LDS Temple, Pike's Place Market, and my personal favorite, the Seattle Aquarium. The aquarium was right on the water front and had a petting pool where you could touch (with one finger and one finger only, according to the staff) all kinds of starfish, sea cucumbers, and anemonies. Starfish are rough and not as spongy as they look, but sea cucumbers are slimey and very squishy. I felt quite invasive touching them. My favorite animals to watch were the otters and a giant puffer fish that floated around and bumped into things like he had special needs. All in all, our trip was a huge success and I would like to thank Anna, Eric, Curt, and Meg for sponsoring it. Below are some photos of our adventure!