Do it for the Children

So, I was walking to college today and it dawned on me: I was brought up all wrong. When it came to dating, I was encouraged to see people for their inner person. Well, I tell you right now, that's horse maneur.

Riddle me this, Batman... how many of your little elementary school play-pals do you still hang with? I can count mine on a moose-knuckle. And, for kicks and giggles, let's just count those from high school. Why so few? I'll tell you why. Personality changes. Think of every single friend you've ever had that you no longer hang out with. It's all the same story: you've changed and/or your friends have changed. And guess what? They all look pretty much the same as they did at the younger age. That's right, I said it.

I was taught at a young age that appearance fades, but personality is everlasting. That's just ugly-talk right there. If you're ugly, you're gonna be ugly forever. If you're hot, you'll always be hotter than the ugly people... no matter the age. Sure there are make-overs, but what does that do? Makes people better looking. Are there make-overs to make people ugly? Maybe somewhere, but that's besides the point.

I suppose you could count some horrific accident. But not only would that provide you with a solid excuse, I'm pretty sure their personality is gonna be affected as well. My point is this: people don't typically get ugly over time. So what have you got to lose? I mean, let's face it, once you hit 60... everybody looks the same. A few wrinkles here, a couple there, maybe a few hairs left on the head, maybe a couple liver spots. So make it to 60 and you're golden.

Why do you think there are so many women dealing with abusive spouses? Because their charming personality persisted through the wedding and three screaming children? Doubtful. But I'd bet 23 ruples on him looking the same way.

So, college kids, use this time well. Stop wasting your time with ugly people. I mean, sure, they're great people, some are even kind of funny. I mean, when you gotta rely on personality, that's gotta be your bread and butter (I know from experience). Why have toast when you can have a beauty pageant winner? Precisely.

If anything... Do it for your children!

Open Season

Lawrence, Ks-- Pocket season opens today and people are talking. The season is looking at its highest turnout in over twenty years... despite much opposition.

Pocket season began with the conception of pockets in the late 1930's by George Washington Carver. Some say that Carver stole the idea from rough drawings in a DaVinci sketchbook. Those early arguments have been researched and discarded as rubbish. Carver's explanation for pockets: "Where else you gon' put your peanut butter?" Due to the popularity of the recently invented peanut butter, pockets became a hot item. People wanted them in their pants, jackets, and shirts. By the time jars were invented in 1946, Carver's pockets had become a valued nutrient to the American clothing diet... and had begun taking over Europe as well as parts of Africa and Asia.

But not everyone was so eager to hop on the pocket-train. Sam Jarr, the creator of the jar, built his product out of spite for the pocket. His idea: if he jarred up peanut butter, there would be no excuse for pockets. His plan worked... at least in its conception. People did stop carrying their peanut butter in their pockets, but they were so in love with the pockets, they put other items in there. That year marked the invention of the wallet and pocketwatch. After a while, people were just content with putting their hands in their pockets. Jarr's plan had backfired and did nothing more than popularize the famed pocket.

The 50's through 70's were slow times, people started to forget about the pocket. People got tired of bulging objects protruding from their clothing. It was just another clothing accessory... that is, 'til the 80's.

The 1980's revived the pocket. Everybody wanted pockets and they wanted them everywhere. Pockets became a status symbol. Jackets came with upwards of 15 pockets... most with zippers. They were even introduced to shoes in 1986 by the 'Roos corporation. Nitro, a member of the American Gladiators was an avid fan of the zipper, "If you don't get pumped when you put on your pockets, you ain't got no pulse, man."

Richard Dean Anderson aka MacGyver said, "If I didn't have pockets, there's no telling how many sticky situations I wouldn't have escaped. I mean, where else would I carry my pocket knife or molding clay... or even my matches? A utility belt? Yeah right, I ain't Batman. You see tights on these legs?"

While heroes of the 80's and 90's brought back the pocket, there was still opposition. Followers of Sam Jarr kept trying to bury the pocket. Their reasoning: "What are they trying to hide?" said spokesman Jerry Crumspel. Crumspel invented the fanny pack in '93 to rid the world forever of pockets. "I'm tired of not seeing hands. I want to see some hands derg nerbit!"

Crumspel was joined by PETA to create a force to shut-down pockets for all time. PETA claims that that the abolition of pockets and all pocketry will save approximately four sheep, two cows and a pig. Where they get their figures: reportedly from Happyland, where people and animals have tea together and eat crumpets made from synthesized oxygen. Everybody skips and sings tra la la.

Pocket season was created in the mid 80's by the PPPPU: People for the Preservation of Pockets... and Public Urination. Their claim is that pockets need to be celebrated. When it starts getting cold, find something, anything to put in those pockets. Wear all the pockets you can. Pick stuff up and fill them with rocks and gems and critters. Larry Jin, PPPPU spokesman said of 2005's Pocket season: "Take advantage of it while you can. Go stick your mitts in a pocket. His pocket, her pocket, it's all open game when it's pocket season."

Solids & Stripes

Okay, y'all haven't heard from me in a while. I meant to put it down before I left, but I was out doing the iditarod. Why back so soon? Well, I forgot I was allergic to dogs and when I got out there and they introduced me to my team, I went into asthmatic shock and nearly died. And when the head dog tried giving me CPR, they had to send me to the hospital. They escorted me through the Royal Peppermint Forest, where Mr. Mint gave me an emergency tracheotomy with a hollowed out candy cane. The sweet nectar of the mint that drizzled through my lungs gave me the bresh burst of life I needed. Now, let me tell you about this Mr. Mint fellow.

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The Legend of Mr. Mint
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His name is Laverneus, but if you call him that to his face, he'll probably slap you back to Princess Lolly's gumdrop patch. All jokes aside, the man's a bit crazy. Nobody's quite sure when he was born, but legend has it, it was a long time ago... and possibly in a galaxy far, far away. Anyways, months after his birth, his parents vacationed to their favorite ski resort: Rocky Road Mountains. Well, for those of you who don't remember the Great Melting of '49, I'll spare you the gory details and simply let you know that led to the peril Dr. and Mrs. Mint. And with his parents gone, nobody wanted little Laverneus. He was passed from one orphanage to another, where the other kids just chipped away at his hard candy shell. It wasn't till the 60's that he was finally adopted by a band of hippies. It was when they left him for Woodstock that he took on his hike through the Poppy Seed Prairie, where he was picked up by a man named Thomas Edison. Yes, THE Thomas Edison. Many people don't know that after he created electricity, he was so ashamed of himself, he went out and started a cult called "the Amish." Well, long story short, he had a bit of a sweet-tooth and brought 'Verne back home with him. There, he learned his trade... cutthroat doctoring. By day, he worked the fields, by night, he studied. One late night, he snuck out to get licensed as a practicing doctor. He returned to an angry mob. They couldn't believe he'd disgrace their community by becoming accepted to the modern world. They stripped him of his loins and shaved away his beard... and chased him out of 'town' with pitchforks and fire. Longing for a group, he joined a gang of rebels. They clothed him in white and rode about looking for trouble... and lived on a steady diet of possum and chicken gizzards. They were the same ignorant, simple people he'd grown up with. Simple clothes, simple lives, simple ideas, and a fascination with fire. Hippies, Amish, and Klansmen. Well, time caught up with Mr. Mint and he took a solid look at himself. A pink man, he was.... with a bright red nose, and red and white striped arms. The guy simply bled America. And this group of friends wasn't what he wanted to be. He despised the ignorance of the groups he hung out with and ran away to the wilderness of Alaska. He was a hermit in his forest. Lived in a little mushroom shape hut made from graham crackers, and mortared together with frosting. He killed and ate gummy bears for breakfast and rode the whales of the Ice Cream Sea for pleasure. A simple man, but also a force to be reckoned with.
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Well, they shipped me off to the hospital for recovery. And I don't know if y'all are familiar with the Alaskan Health Care system, but it's pretty rad. The hospitals are made of emerald and the doctors are walking, talking heaps of chocolate. They pretty much know you're healthy when your doctor stops showing up for work. It's a solid system.

I heart VD

Speaking of dreams, I've always wanted to be in a band. I guess that's why I like the idea of a carney man so much: just being with a bunch of really crazy people all the time. Kinda sounds like my recent college career. Back in my yesteryear, I used to get together with friends and karaoke whatever songs we knew. I don't know if you've ever tried to remember the songs you enjoyed before 3rd grade, but it's rough. So far I've come up with Weird Al and Vanilla Ice (shocking). Anyways, I'd sing till I lost my voice. Can't really say it was there much to begin with, but I still liked doing it.

In high school, I came up with an unofficial life list. Basically consisted of things I needed to do before I die. I'll have you know that number one on the list was see all 6 of the Star Wars movies. I always said that I'd consider my life cheated if I perished before Episode III was released. If I died after Episode I, that might very well have been the greatest injustice known to modern man.

So, back to the band thing. That was on my list. I'd always sit around and come up with band names and album titles and the like. Over time, I decided that if I were to start a band, I'd call it the Ceiling. I mean, think about it. It's the highest point in a room, for one. Basically, another word for pinnacle. Basically, it's about as awesome as calling your band The Awesomest, or The Best, only not sounding as arrogant. Honestly, the kicker was that I'd start out each show by shouting out that our first song goes out to "all you Ceiling fans." There'd be a Ceiling Fan Club and all that great stuff.

I got another band name from a mixture drink I made at Quik Trip. I called it VanillaDew. Well, you can only imagine where that one went. This was actually the very beginning of what has become my Tshirt clothing empire. I thought it would be super-rad to make shirts for VanillaDew that said stuff like, "have you heard your VD today?" and "its 9pm, do you know where your VD is?" and the classic "I heart VD."

Of course, I'd probably end up in some sort of legal battle with PepsiCo over using the likeness of one of their drinks.

Vicarious Lifestyles

So, in the past few days, my life has consisted almost entirely of sitting in the captain seat of the famed Awesomemobile. While on the road, I had my mind on all sorts of things. Mostly, I decided at some point I'd like to start up some sort of entrepeneurship. Perhaps in the form of owning my own business. If you haven't noticed, a captain's first priority is style. Think about it: Cap'n Crunch with his coordinating blues, Captain Hook with his curly locks of brilliant brunette and his velvety red trenchcoat... and his platinum encrested hook, and lest we forget the sea captain from the simpsons, what with his cork pipe and blues and greens. Long story short, I say to myself that I need to open a children's clothing store. I'd call it Vicarious Lifestyles. I'd pretty much only stock things like Starter jackets and Reebok Pumps. Basically, anything that parents couldn't have when they were children. I'd also have a lot of reading material, including the books: So You Didn't Stack Up? That's Why We Procreate and Getting Your Kids Involved Where You Failed Miserably. Oh, and I nearly forgot about the best seller Boxing Lessons for the Spawn of Spineless, Four-eyed, Pocket-Protecting Parents.

My dad always wanted to open up a self-help store, but his dreams were shattered by being admitted into Med School. Sadly, he was never much of a risk-taker, so he took the easy way out. He has, however, told me time and time again that if he could do it over again, he would have gone about opening his own store. Knowing I have my parents' "approval" I think I'll be fairly successful. But I'm kind of torn on the matter. While I know my parents want me to open a store, I have my reservations. I've never liked business, I doubt I'm really cut out for it. Honestly, I want to join the circus. The circus looks like fun. I'll sit and work the gate, or I can guess your weight. I'll even sell the corndogs. I don't care as long as I'm there. So there it is folks. My life decision boiled down to two choices: Vicarious Lifestyles or Carney Man.

The first day of wasting the rest of your life

Welcome to Awesomeland: where according to pat, 'the streets are paved with gold and original ideas flow like raging water through a broken levee.' You may be thinking "where is this Awesomeland? Pennsylvania?" While Pennsylvania is a good guess, you'd be wrong.

Well, enough about the setting, let's talk about me. Being the main character of this story, it's imperative that you know a few things about me. For starters, my name. It's Nick, but my friends call me names. Well, I'm really not going to just tell you about me, that'd be cheating (perhaps one day I'll have a girl write up the Cliff's Notes version that bottles my character up into 4 or 5 words and truly misses the point of all of it). If you're a girl and you're reading this, you'd probably have more fun if you imagined you were a guy. Right now you're thinking that there'll probably be a lot of girl-bashing on here, and if you think that, well you just proved me right and misinterpreted me entirely.

Anyways, I'm not anti-girl, I'm just fairly sure most readers are gonna be dudes. Don't get me wrong, my life's got stories for everybody... and that's why you're embarking on the greatest story ever told. While there are a lot of really great stories out there, this one, my friends, is based on a true story. It's chalk full of romance, intrigue, adventure, and espionage. And unlike every other blog out there... this one is real.

You see, my life started out nearly 24 years ago... chronologically. But, today, I give you the first day of the rest of my life. The past quarter of a century: merely the training that led me to the proverbial foot of Everest. Cynics would say I've plateaued. They know nothing. Consider this your cliffhanger... dun dun dun.

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