The Stall Street Journal.

Fox Hunting.

2005-10-19T13:32:00.000-07:00

(Another unedited version of a Whitworthian Article)

Darkness. Silence. Suddenly, both are shattered by a driving, bombastic, drumbeat and a fiery explosion. Nay! Two fiery explosions, with a flaming implosion thrown in for good measure! Amongst the dank corners of a musty tower, evil men plot dirty deeds (and they’re done dirt cheap.) We know they’re evil, because they wear black, have masks, and speak in cultured British Accents.

Suddenly, the wall behind the evildoers explodes inwards, shattering brick and mortar. As the dust clears, the villainous villains are stunned to see a middle-aged man in a suit and tie. The mysterious intruder grips a giant mace. The mace slices through the air, on the end of a massive rusted chain, bludgeoning two ninjas and a pirate.

The man turns to the camera, and arches an eyebrow. “I’m Brit Hume,”

He pauses to shoot a terrorist with a flamethrower.

“And this… is Fox News.”

To the tune of Carl Orff’s ‘O Fortuna’ a giant 3D Fox News logo, wreathed in flames, soars down from the heavens and lands with a reverberating clap of thunder.

This is how Fox News starts a report on, say, the economic effects of cotton tariffs.

Perhaps this is what makes Fox the most hated news organization since the Stall Street Journal.

Critics charge Fox News with being sensationalistic, jingoistic, narcissistic, and even, at times, capitalistic. The horror. The horror.

Fox responded to these accusations by firing an American-flag adorned Supermodel out of the official Fox News Cannon© at a Monster Truck Rally.

Clearly, Fox had the more persuasive argument.

The conflict between Fox News and the traditional media is simply another front in the Culture War. It’s just like any other war, except instead of land, they fight for ideas, instead of mustard gas, they have Nielsen Ratings, instead of machine guns, they have microphones. Wait, scratch that. Fox still has machine guns.

The elite sees Fox News as the kinda thang that possum-snarfin’ inbred yokels like da watch on da teevee box. “C’mere ma, dat sarn-snifflin’ varmint Alan Colmes jest opened ‘is lib’ral yapper again.” Think… Idaho.

That’s compared to the New York Times, a newspaper steeped in Goatee-Stroking Concern that regularly spends hundreds of pages lamenting the deforesting of America. They have a section called the Arts, where they might devote 3000 words to psychoanalyzing a moldy coffee can splattered with gopher blood. “The artist’s use of neo-surrealist overtones in the coffee ground stains are eruditely characterized by an effete use of tangential orphism. Yes, yes. Pass the caviar, good man.” Think… Oregon.

Fox News, if it paused from its Aruba coverage long enough to touch on it, would do the same story in fifteen seconds, but it would have its own theme song, sound effect, and Alarming Graphic: KILLER COFFEE CARNAGE CRISIS.

A word like ‘crisis’ is a necessary part of an effective Alarming Graphic. Trouble in Tasmania! Catastrophe in Colfax! Oopsy-Daisy in Ohio!

Critics also charge that Fox is a bit weighted on the pro-American (therefore, Republican) side. You know, just because they manage fit in a grandiosely waving American Flag in every single graphic they produce (including the one for the story on the French Revolution) Just because Geraldo happens to wear underwear sown from the Original Star-Spangled banner. Just because that dreamy American Sean Hannity is so much studlier than namby-pamby Alan Colmes. And just because they label America ‘US’ on their maps, and the rest of countries ‘THEM,’

The most infuriating part for many, however, is that Fox is owned by an incredibly wealthy man named Rupert Murdoch.

Is that a villainous name or what? ‘Rupert’ sounds like the name of a 19^th Century Robber Baron who would bet his workers’ limbs in games of Poker. And the he’d peer through a Monocle.

And Murdoch sounds like a name you’d find in one of those novels with an airbrushed Night Elf slaying a Dragon on the cover. “The Dark Lord Murdoch sinisterly brought the soul of the slain water nymph, Te’Dturner, to his blackened lips, refueling his twisted undead powers,”

Worst of all, he owns most of the media, including Fox news, the New York Post, MySpace.com, the Springfield Shopper, and even the Whitworthia---

*Gunshot*

Pure Media Shun.

2005-10-12T15:21:00.000-07:00

Note: Since this article is dealing with Bias and Inaccuracy in Media, we here at the Whitworthian understand it is pivotal that the aforementioned article not be tainted by any facts. Any facts that slip through will be summarily executed by our team of crack fact-checkers

I don’t know about you, but when I was a preteen, I had glossy posters of all my idols sticky-tacked to my bedroom wall. You know, Peter Jennings, Wolf Blitzer, Geraldo Rivera, Ron Burgandy and Richard Brown.

It was those heroes in the media who nicked Nixon, depantsed Clinton, and got the skinny on Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen. Thanks to the ever-vigilant voyeurism of the media, no politician’s gaffe goes unpunished, no celebrity’s flub goes uncaptured, no Attractive Young Middle Class White Woman’s Murder goes unprobed.

In fact some consider the Media America’s Fourth Estate, mainly because Ted Turner earns so much land.

One must heed what the Bible says, however: With Great Power comes Great Responsibility. (1 Parker 4:17)

As anybody who has taken Writing for Mass Media knows, the judicious journalist cannot allow his own personal bias to creep into his writing. “The proper term is ‘Mayor of Spokane’” my teacher would say, “not ‘Chief Doody-head’” (It later turned out he was a doody-head, but that’s beside the point)

That nagging suspicion remains however. What if the media isn’t just a group of mindless automatons, spitting out Impartial Facts and Objective Truth. What if it is composed of men and women like you and me, with their own opinions and presuppositions and idiosyncrasies?

I have some Objective Truth and Impartial Fact for you: The Media is Biased. How do I know this? Because they sometimes the “facts” they report disagree with my opinions. Most of the Media is biased towards moral equivalence and liberal orthodoxy. Fox News is biased towards being totally awesome. The Whitworthian is biased towards typos. (The Whitworthian had a display in the HUB with a quote about the power of the press from “Newies.” Ah yes, Newies. It must be the forthcoming prequel to the Disney flick , Newsies.”)

But a topic this pivotal, this self-aggrandizing, cannot be contained within the puny walls of a single article! In the first of this two part series we shall examine Liberal Media Bias, and in the second, Fox News Bias.

Oh, generally the Liberal Media remains perfectly neutral. Nauseatingly neutral.

Instead of calling a person who blows up a bus in a crowded market a terrorist, the media chooses to call him an “insurgent” or a “freedom fighter” or a “rambunctious youth” or a “guy who had a bad case of the Mondays.”

They don’t want to make any value statements. And so everything is equal, there is no right and wrong, and with just a little bit a love and a whole lot of understanding, we could buy the world a coke and teach the world to sing.

“The Military Domain of Slaughtervokya may be in their twenty-seventh year of famine, disease, and genocidal civil war, but America has their own troubles with, like, Medicare and stuff,” the media says, “Who are we to judge which way is better!”

The way with fewer heads on bloodied pikes, I would presume.

Of course, all this wonderfully nuanced unpartisan talks dies down when it comes to social and political issues.

Polls indicate that in the 2004 Presidential election 70% percent of journalists voted for John Kerry, 17% voted for Noam Chomsky, and the remaining 13% voted for Bill Clinton.

They sure love that guy.

Unfortunately, sometimes this bias manifests itself subtly, like a pimple poking its red head bashfully through your forehead. A given economic indicator during the tyrannical reign of commander-in-thief George W. Bush might be described as “ominous” “frumpy” or “WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” But that same economic data during the fun-loving, idyllic Clinton-topia years might be described as “effervescent” or “swanky.”

Presuppositions also dictate how closely a journalist will doubt a source. An informant revealing flaws in a liberal program (like Social Security or the Presbyterian Church) will be fact-checked, double-checked, analyzed, scrutinized, interrogated, denigrated, and cavity searched. For stories involving the bumbles of Bush’s buddies, however, the media prefers to use unnamed sources, meaning bumper stickers they saw on the way to work, magic 8 balls, or Triumph the Insult Comic Dog.

“A high placed administrative source who asked not to be named described America’s foreign policy as “Visionary and nuanced… for [him] to poop on!”

There’s also the question of whether journalists can accurately report news in places like Iraq, when most of what they do is sit in the Baghdad Hotel and watch Al-Jehami, the Wonder Camel on Iraqi cable. “Troubling developments,” therefore, means stale food at the continental breakfast, “disappointing progress” means that the temperature of the Jacuzzi is subpar and “quagmire” means that the toilet is backed up.

So in this world full of contradictory viewpoints, hazy facts, biases, spin, and outright lies, who are we to believe? Who can truly know right from wrong? Who truly knows what is truth and what is fabrication?

I do. Just ask me.

Striking Out

2005-10-03T10:26:00.000-07:00

This is an article I was told to write for the Whitworthian, but was not published because they “didn’t want to waste paper.” Fortunately, computer text is cheaper.

Many elements are considered and indispensable part of the word, America . Apple Pie. Fireworks. Greasy all-you-can-eat buffets. Belching Contests. War. But one part of Vintage Americana seems completely antithetical to every American value, to everything our Founding Fathers founded and fathered, to everything our veterans fought and died for on the beaches of Grenada to protect:

Baseball.

It disgusts me. It chills my very marrow, gentle reader.

Calm down. Put down your corked bats and steroid syringes. I will explain shortly, in a scholarly and studied manner. Let us participate in intellectual exchange; let us avoid ad hominem attacks, and ipso facto habeaus corpus fallacies. Let us gently engage one another in the Free Market Place of Ideas, where I show you how I am right and you are a stupid doodyhead.

Some psycho-analytical deconstructionist literary criticisms of this article might opine that the only reason why I have such animosity, such antipathy, such frenzied irrational abhorrence towards baseball is because I “really suck at it.”

I strike out in T-ball. I trip over three out of four bases. I need directions to find home. I fail at spitting sunflower seeds, for goodness sakes. They just kinda dribble out of my mouth, soup from a vending machine. For me to win a baseball game, it would take not only Angels in the Outfield, but Unicorns in the Infield, Pixies in the Dugout, Leprechauns in the stands, and Shiva the Destroyer as my Batboy. Let’s put it this way: If I ever tried out for a baseball team I would be put on the third string of the *Seattle Mariners*.

That’s how mind-blowingly klutzy I am.

But to judge my suppositions merely based on this unfortunate fact would be fallacious. If I hated everything that I was unskilled at, I would hate Football, Golf, Frisbee Football, Frisbee Golf, Basketball, Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2, and the entire Female Gender.

And some may say that my hatred for Baseball stems from ignorance. That if Baseball and I just sat down talked over our differences over coffee for a few hours, we could come to a mutual understanding that would foster enlightenment and plant a seed of Tolerance that would mature gradually into respect for each other’s cultures and someday, maybe, blossom into a beautiful friendship.

This accusation carries more currency. All I know about baseball I learned watching Adam Torkar (you don’t know him) play Super Nintendo Ken Griffey Jr. Major League Baseball in the fourth grade.

I have embarrassed myself on more than one occasion by saying my favorite Yankees player is “Nancy Kerrigan” (She actually plays for the Detroit Tigers)

I suspect, however, that Baseball will turn out to be like the “Pepperoni” “Pizza” at SAGA. The more you “understand” it, the more contempt you regard it with.

Who knows? Maybe I have a psychological disdain because of my Track Coach father. If I even mentioned Baseball, or if he found a catchers mitt under my mattress, he would beat me with a Pole Vault Pole. (He didn’t use a bat, for obvious reasons.)

My greatest beef with baseball, however, is that it’s boring.

Your average game consists of three hours of standing, two hours of posturing, and- if you’re lucky- a few minutes of scratching.

Of course, baseball fans always reply with “But Daniel, what about that time in the ninth inning, when the bases were loaded, and they were behind by three, and so they sacrificed that goat on the field and then Sammy Sosa turned into the Hulk, but the homerun was knocked away by the Rally Monkey and then Zombie Babe Ruth killed Curt Shilling with that flaming sword! And to top it all off, it was a triple play!”

That was pretty cool, I guess. But not as exciting as say… a Junior High Cross Country Meet.

How can they make baseball more exciting? Simple. Make the field rectangular, the ball bigger, the use of hands illegal, have both teams on the field at the same time, and add nets they have to get the ball into.

We could call it… Football.

UnWorthian Headlines #4

2005-09-23T09:51:00.000-07:00

LOCAL

“Community Building Day” Less Popular than “Community Vandalism day.”.

Warren Foosball Table Claims Fifth life.

“The metal pole just shot forward and… oh the

humanity!” Shocked student says.

Whitworthian Celebrates 1st Freeman article of the year.

“Freeman’s shot JFK!” Article proclaims.

SAGA finally fixes Cocoa machine, Stewville freezes over.

Flying pigs promptly caught, butchered, and served as veal at SAGA.

Editorial: Stop Bashing Sodexho, Start Bashing SAGA.

NATIONAL

Constitution Declared Unconstitutional.

“The whole section on ‘restraining judicial power’ is sooooo 1790’s,” Justice Stevens says.

Guys Are Stupid, New Study Shows.

No, there’s no joke. They’re just seriously stupid. Hate to be so blunt about it, but it is our solemn duty at the UnWorthian is to report the facts.

Potty Talk: Flags and Sweatshirts

2005-09-23T09:50:00.000-07:00

Flagging Interest:

Mac has their garish, assembly-line, 70’s nostalgia Flag. BJ has their Magic-marker smeared-on-an-old-torn-bedsheet-Flag. And yet Warren doesn’t have a single

solitary scrap of cloth to burn in effigy.

(Because remember, angrily burning things is the highest form of patriotism!)

I would love for Warren to have a flag as well, but quite tragically, when it comes to needlework, I’m only sew-sew. (I got a “D” in Life Skills in Junior High, but that was probably because I used my Flour Baby in some banana bread.)

So I’m asking for your help. I’ll pay anyone five dollars, plus material costs, for helping me make up a Warren flag. (Talk to me before going out and buying materials.) I’m thinking dark blue, with the Warren Symbol in white. Or maybe a Snake through a tire with a sword. Or maybe a whole bunch of dots that when you stare at them long enough, make you incredibly angry that you don’t have the depth perception to do Magic Eyes. Or maybe it could say “Arend” on it, just to throw everyone off.

Let’s show probably fictional historical character Betsy Ross that she has nothing on Warren Hall!

Out with the old, in with the new shirt:

I’m afraid I have some bad news guys. You know those T-shirts that everyone bought? They have a fatal flaw.

Apparently, while they are perfectly delightful for use in the summer months, as the days grow shorter, they grow less and effective. Eventually, wearing only the T-shirt becomes rather painful, as the thin material and lack of sleeves exposes one to the elements, to hypothermia, to frostbites, and to the teeth of hungry snow wolves.

Then, laying awake in the shower one night, a divine epiphany hit me: If only we could make T-shirts out of a thicker material… with sleeves! We could call it… a SWEATSHIRT! I’m a genius, I tell you! This is why they pay me the big bucks ($7.35 an hour)

However, this time, I’m soliciting designs from you. Since my greatest artistic creation is still “Stikman flieing a airplaen” when I was five (it still hangs on my refrigerator) I need you to send in your own creative designs. Since sweatshirts are more expensive (about $30,) I’m looking for a simple black and white design. E-mail it to me at dwalters08@whitworth.edu. Or just hand it to me when I’m serving Pizza at Saga on Sundays.

We’ll probably have you guys vote on it after I arbitrarily throw out all the choices I don’t like. (It’s like Iranian Democracy!) Last year, we all voted to have a giant white amorphous blob on the back of our shirt. With sparkly silver glitter writing!

Maybe, just maybe, this year’s will be even better.

The Crystal Ball: November 23rd through October 3rd

2005-09-23T09:49:00.000-07:00

Friday the 23rd.

9:00: The Third West Rave

Saturday the 24th.

8:00 PM: Mauchley Piano Duo

4:00 PM: Free Grass Volleyball Tourney.

Monday the 26th

Community Building day’s eve.

Tuesday the 27th

IT’S COMMUNITY BUILDING DAY!

Wednesday the 28th

Primetime: Making Cranes to fundraise for Katrina Victims

Thursday the 29th

Beer Factor: Warren Alcohol Awareness

Friday the 30th

9:30: Half past 9:00

My roommate’s birthday

Saturday the 1st

Tennis Tournament.

Sunday the 2nd

7:00 pm Frosh on Stage ($1)

Monday the 3rd

My roommate’s sister’s birthday.

ASWC'D! #4

2005-09-23T09:48:00.000-07:00

Community Building Day Details.

Bring your Meal card to get into the BBQ.

Stuff I brought up:

Janitors cleaning bathrooms at inconvenient times.

The third west rave

Trouble during elections.

Getting extra people for Warren Peace. (Drums? Obee?)

Stuff other peoples brought up.

Arend: Stopping the excess sprinklers in the loop at night

Result: (There will be less sprinkler.)

KWRS: We went to New York City. There was music.

Go to KWRS.fm to listen online.

S.E.R.V.E Coordinator:

Athletics: Sign up for the Grass Volleyball tournament the Friday the 23rd.

Clubs: Computer Science club begins! It’s 1337!

Meeting was really, really, really short this time.

We uh… really didn’t do much

Had some nice Café food though. Kudos on that.

Best Dorm Sports Show #4

2005-09-23T09:46:00.000-07:00

By Colin “Rock you like a Tropical Depression” Storm

Alright sports fans, it’s your favorite Sports Events

Coordinator, Colin Storm, coming at you. This weekend is a HUGE weekend for sports. On Friday night the volleyball team takes on nationally-ranked Linfield at 7 p.m. Be there in the Pirate Pit as we move it from the football field to the Fieldhouse. Then on

Saturday, the soccer teams take on Pacific at noon (women) and at 2:30 (men). That night the volleyball team takes on Pacific at 7 p.m. in the Fieldhouse. Then, on Sunday, the soccer teams have huge games against Linfield (women at noon; men at 2:30). Recap: Volleyball Friday and Saturday, Friday is a HUGE game; Soccer Saturday and Sunday, Sunday are HUGE games. Make sure to get out and enjoy a great weekend of sports!

Sports Trivia

Volleyball: Female Beach Volleyball is very popular for many males to watch because of the uh… fast paced intensity, high degree of athletic skill, and… yeah… we’ll go with that.

The Outpost: Oregon Trailing

2005-09-23T09:45:00.000-07:00

My Fellow Warrenites,

It is with sad and heavy heart that I write to you this day. Last week I stumbled upon a small, yellow packet in a stack of papers on my desk. The contents of the packet are why I am writing you, for you know not the trouble you are all in. For reasons of personal safety, I have elected not to divulge my name, and so you may call me "Deep Appendix." Not only have I discovered the secret identity of Sancho the Bullrider, I have some facts about him that are undeniable...and shocking. Sancho the Bullrider is from...gasp...OREGON!!! If that is not enough to discredit a man, I don't know what is. This Oregonian dressed his lies in sweet honey and somehow found his way into leadership last year as a dorm rep under the alias "Benjamin Thomas Works." Don't feel bad...I, too, was taken in by his smooth talking, long hair, and striking figure. But now, upon investigation, I have found that his only motivation for being a dorm rep was to bite the innocent constituents and infect them with the Oregon disease we all know and fear! My advice is this: avoid the full moon, carry a baseball bat, lace his cookies with hydrochloric acid, and stay away from the smell of Oregonian pot . As for me, I am off to sharpen my wooden stake.

-Deep Appendix

Which Hairstyle Should Jon Brewer Grow

2005-09-23T09:44:00.000-07:00

What hairstyle should Jon Brewer grow?:

· Dreads.

· Slicked black goatee, like Satan or a French PersonWhite Handlebar Moustache. (Accessorize with a monocle, a pocketwatch, and Jowls)

· Neck Beard.

· The Fu Man Chu

· The Salvador Dali

· The ZZ Top

· The Forrest Beard.

· The Martin Van Buren.

· The Rutherford B Hayes.

· The Wilfred Brimley

· The Chewbacca

· That wise ninja man from Kill Bill: Part II.

· Crazy man who yells at Bloomsday.

· Big huge beard that he, like, keeps stuff in, like a musical instrument or a tuna sandwich.

· Clean Shaven, with wads of Kleenex stuck to his bleeding gashes.

· A really long beard that you can climb up.

· Really long nosehair that he slicks back behind his ears.

Whitworth Spotlight: Community Building Day

2005-09-23T09:42:00.000-07:00

Community Building day: (Tuesday the 27th)

“IT’S COMMUNITY BUILDING DAY!”

If you don’t know why that phrase is written in all capital letters… *knowing chuckle, steeped in malice and foreshadowing*… soon you will, young padawan.

Of all the Building Days at Whitworth, Community Building Day is probably my favorite. It’s where all the freshman (and some upperclassman) head out into The Real World: Spokane improve the community.

(For you Republicans, don’t worry. We won’t tell anyone that you’ve been secretly helping poor people. We wouldn’t want to damage your street cred)

The Plan: After being gently awakened by the soft whispers of the morning breeze, we shall all file down to the Warren Lounge at 7:15. The leaders shall paint ‘W’s onto everyone’s forehead, allowing them to buy and sell goods and services, and showing their loyalty to The Beast (Russell Spots, 3rd West.) Before heading out to serve the community we shall all sup upon Juice Boxes and Poppyseed Muffins, as Mother Theresa did while serving the poor in Calcutta.

At 8:00 we shall split up into three different groups (South Warren, East Warren, and West Warren. Last I checked, North Warren is still in the hands of the Bulldogs.) We shall then each get on our buses and sing about bottles of various beverages on the wall, rotating wheels, and thank our respective bus drivers.

South Warren: The YWCA

I had about thirty-five Village People jokes until I realized that this was the YWCA. That’s right, the place where I went for swimming lessons when I was five because the Whitworth Pool made me shiver and was full of weird swimmer peoples. Daniel Walters (me) and Sarah Brogden-Thome (not me) will be leading this expedition. We’ll be bringing hedge trimmers and clippers. Hey, if anyone knows Edward S. tell him we could really use a hand.

West Warren: Cathedral Plaza Apartments and Westminster Presbyterian Church.

Cathedral Plaza Apartments sounds like one of those Apartments that’s advertised like you spend most of your time getting massages by exquisitely dressed French Servants under the Marble fountain, but in actuality the walls are held up with sticky tack and the cat next door keeps getting stuck in the water heater.

With crazy Radio personality Ben Leighton and ruthless Newspaper Baron Peter Smelser at the helm, this trip should be memorable. Do anything stupid and you’ll see your name plastered across Whitworthian headlines or hear it ridiculed to the tune of wacky flushing sound effects.

East Warren: Anna Ogden Hall and Westminster House.

The Westminster house is probably best known for having the steepest staircase this side of the equator. I suggest holding onto the handrail, and using ice picks and grappling hooks in your descent. This group will be lead by Jessica Chapman and Emily Benson.

Since there are not enough buses, upperclassmen will have to find their own transportation to the sites. You’re tough. You can handle it.

We’ll get back at 12:00, (in the noon) where there will be a BBQ in the loop.

(Fun fact: BBQ is an abbreviation for “Barbeque”- a gathering where food-often of a meaty nature- is grilled and consumed.)

Stall Street for November 25th.

2005-09-23T09:38:00.000-07:00

Slogan: For if you run out of toilet paper...

Weather-o-matic: Cloudy with a chance of meatballs

Warren Wizz Dumb: The Early Bird gets a bunch of flack from more normal, later-rising birds.

Whitworth Love Poetry:
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
Sugar is Sweet
And this Poem Freeverse, dangit.

Stan by your Man.

2005-09-18T14:15:00.000-07:00

Okay, kids, gather around! I’ve got some exciting “tight” new news for you. How many of you kids like Whitworth?

Good. Good. Now, how many of you like Sodexho?

What’s Sodexho, you say? Oh, for crying out loud, it’s what you stupid imps insist on calling “SAGA.”

Do you know how offensive that is to the good men and women who work for Sodexho anyway? Do you know all the tears and broken hearts that awful name, “SAGA” has caused student workers.

I don’t care if you DO know somebody who works there that isn’t offended. He doesn’t speak for the student body as a whole!

Okay, so he’s a Senator and his job is to speak for the student body as a whole! That’s beside the point! Now, kids, what would you like Sodexho to do for your school? What kind of stuff do you think would make Whitworth a happy joyful place where you can take your play-friends?

Cheaper Meal prices? That’s just silly! I mean, with a 2.3% inflation rate, it only makes sense that prices rise 15 percent! Plus, we just added a brand new Fried Eggplant bar in the café, and the cost of *that* was pretty hefty. No, I’m thinking of something else…

Food that doesn’t suck. Now you’re just being insolent! Do you know how long we spend leaving Bread out so it achieves that perfect crunchiness? Do you know how much of your money we spend to purchase the leftover meat from Big Gert’s Roadside Gas n’ Café? Do you know how hard it is to personally taste test every vegetable that goes into the stir fry?

Look, here’s what I’m think about. You know that area across from the Café? You know how it looks all drab, boring, grey, and just downright dreary. Where’s the spark?! Where’s the PIZZAZ?! Where’s the *funk?*

Oh, that’s right, kids. I totally used your word. The one that you and your “groovy” “chums” like to use so often. It just shows how “hep” and “with it” I am.

Here’s my idea. All that junk that’s in the café now? WE RIP IT OUT! We totally take SLUDGEHAMMERS and BULLDOZERS to it. And then, my friend, we FUNKIFY.

Christopher Lowell? We’ve hired them. The Fab Five? We’ve got ALL them. I’m going to need some Gold Paper, some stars, some fuzzy dize, some purple paint, and lots and lots of sparkles. And then we just go hog-wild! Won’t that be FUN! Won’t that be exciting! Won’t you love your tuition to be used that way!

And get this… I was going to keep this a secret, but I’m just to garsh-darn excited, so I have to tell you. We… get… THREE FLAVORS OF BLUEBERRY MUFFINS. And one flavor of a freakin’ scone! I’m sorry if I seem emotional. It’s just so… visionary! Like Dr. Martin Luther King, or possibly L. Ron Hubbard.

What this? There’s somebody already stationed there? Some business named Stan’s? Well, there are some little bits of technical details to you know work out and…

You want for him to stay? Look, we already offered him a job with Sodexho as the person who cleans under the grease vats. We offered him money to help start his own coffee business in Beruit. Coffee’s very popular there. But he turned them both down because he wanted to “stay at Whitworth.” That’s the kind of stubborn Coffee swilling scumbag he is.

Ha! Loyalty, shmoyalty! Was it loyalty that vaulted Benedict Arnold, the Rosenberg’s, or Cain into the annuals of history? No, it was looking out for number one, for the highest profit margin. That’s the stuff of a good business man.

Get this. The owner of Stan’s even wanted to bring in his own architect to help design the area around his Coffee dealey thingie. I had a simple choice of choosing the old man who’s been loyal to Whitworth for twenty years and choosing the soul-crushing culinary giant that employs hundreds of thousands across the globe. When it came right down to it, my heart belonged to Sodexho. Not to mention my first born son if I didn’t make the ‘right’ decision, but that’s a different story all together.

How many different pretentious names for coffee sizes does Stan’s have? Probably like three. Sodexho will have not only Grande, Venti and Extra Venti, but Veni, Vidi, Vici, Mussolini, Fettuccini, Vezzini, and Zamboni.

And what kind of name is “Stan’s” anyway? It certainly doesn’t sound like it was processed through a multi-level array of focus groups and high-level marketing executives. “Stan” is probably something his Mom came up with. For real Marketing genius, you turn to Sodexho, whose name conjures either images of quality foodstuffs served lovingly to smiling customers, or medication advertised by showing crinkly old people running on beaches in windbreakers.

We’ll give the new Café a flashy name that will be sure to attract you wide-eyed youngsters just by it’s pure hipness. Something like “Jazzmans” or “Crash Bandicoot’s” or “Slick Steve’s Drink Tank” or the “Vote for Pedro Café” since you young people seem to like that Neapolitan Dynamite movie so much.

In fact, were so confident about our ability to create a youthful yet serious coffee-muffin hybrid establishment, that we’re asking you college students for your advice on decorating! So, what should it be?

A Tombstone with the name Stan on it? You want to call it the “Money Pit?” Theme it around the board game, “Monopoly?” These are great ideas!

Now if only that warped, frustrated George Bailey would finally sell his drafty old Savings and Loan business to me, we could really get things done.

Potty Talk: Biking and Rep Elections

2005-09-18T14:13:00.000-07:00

Warrenians:
I like Bike:
This is just a message to all you Warren residents to lock up your bikes: Warren Residents, lock up your bikes.

Remember, we live in a world fraught with peril, seeping with evil, a place where hope is a four-letter word: Spokane, Washington. Never has there been a greater hive of scum and villainy when it comes to stealing bikes. People will not think twice about stealing your shiny pink Huffy just to fund their Grandmother’s medical treatment, food for their starving baby, and maybe a little bit for their crack habit on the side.

And don’t think you can stop them just by putting cards in the spokes or a sticky note that says “Daniel’s Bike! Do not take!”

Wily criminals have schemed up ways to defeat even those clever defenses.

I suggest locking your bike up with a U-lock, removing the tire, looping around
several yards of chains, and placing it in an impenetrable six-inch steel vault at the top of an unassailable forty-foot tower, guarded by a series of elaborate snares- each more cunning and malevolent than the last- and watched over by Argontor, a three-headed hydra that breaths fire, with a gaze that can turn mortals to stone.

If that doesn’t stop them, Whitworth Security surely will.

Dorm Henchman Elections:
Let’s say, theoretically, that I have a cunning scheme, a detailed multilevel plan to ensure Warren’s dominance, their supremacy, their absolute power over all things Whitworth… forrrreeevvveerrr…

And let’s say that I can’t accomplish this theoretical little plan without a lil’ help from my friends.

The Quest to make Warren Awesome cannot be accomplished by the strength of one man alone. Especially one who can barely bench a Tootsie Pop.

No, it will take 3 men (5 women) to be able to accomplish a task of such vision and grandeur.

Remember to vote for your dorm reps on Wednesday the 20th (primary) and Thursday the 21st (final election.)

And for those losers who don’t vote, don’t let people tell you that “If you don’t vote, you can’t complain about the result.”

You can complain about whatever you want.

This is America.

The Unworthian: Week 3

2005-09-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

LOCAL
Penalty for Holes in Walls: Holes in Wrists.
Threat of crucifixion should deter $15.25 worth of damage the holes cause, Housing says.

SAGA to follow popular Sundae Sunday’s with Mundane Mondays.
Ruby Tuesdays too expensive, culinary giant claims.

Locking Bike to Carton of Ice Cream a Mistake, Security Experts say.
Experts recommend handcuffing bike to own wrists, swallowing key.

NATIONAL
Liberals: Bush to blame for Debt, Poverty, War, Terrorism, Global Warming
Hurricane Katrina, AIDS, Spanish Inquisition, Lactose Intolerance, and the movie Alexander.
“Selected not Elected! No Blood for Oil!” They add, helpfully.

SCIENCE
Science wrong, scientists discover.
“Well, it was fun while it lasted,” Scientists say.

Scientists: Paranoia causes cancer.
Excessive worrying, concern about health, unhealthy.

The Crystal Ball: From the 16th to the 24th

2005-09-18T14:10:00.000-07:00

Friday the 16th
Third West Rave at 9:00.
Saturday the 17th
9:00 pm Homecoming Festivities
Sunday the 18th
Fairwell Brunch for families
Monday the 19th
Soccer, Volleyball, Basketball,
Intermurals begin
Tuesday the 20th
Last day to add/drop classes
11:30 Am: Blood drive!
Wednesday the 21st
9:30 am Service Learning Fair
Vote for Dorm Reps (Primary).
KWRS DJing begins
Thursday the 22nd
9:30 PM: Half-Past 9:00 Kevin Hurley, Comedio-Hypno-Magician
Vote for Dorm Reps (Final Election)
Friday the 23rd
Pirate Night XII: LeChuck Strikes back.
Saturday the 24th.
8:00 PM: Mauchley Piano Duo
Grass Volleyball Tournament.

ASWC'D!: Week 3

2005-09-18T14:09:00.000-07:00

Tech Department: We will be getting wireless in the dorms in the next couple months.
-Don’t save to the Desktop, it will get deleted as soon as you restart. Save to your student drive, instead.
Facility Services: Discussed the
rationales of the Hole policy, the time it takes to fill the holes, tape residue trouble, the possibility of having a hole “permit,” but didn’t commit to anything.
Could Ben and Jerry’s make a profit near Whit. ?
Dorm Updates
· Jazz night for Bopell?
· Daniel did good on a Math 107 Assignment.
· Off-Campus is doing Walk for Diabetes.
Coordinator Reports
· Half-Past 9:00 starting Thursday.
· Get your Yellowcard tickets, now!
· Whitworthian: Write a letter to the editor to
editor@whitworth.edu
· Costco will be here to discuss discount membership, offer free samples.
Big Issue:
Will Stan’s be canned be The Man? Whitworth has tentative plans to dramatically funkify (with our tuition money) the area where Stan’s is currently located, giving us more variety of food. The effects on Stan’s is as of now undetermined. Look for more information in upcoming Whitworthians.

E-mail me to come the next ASWC meeting (9/21), discuss important issues, and get free Café food!

The Outpost: By Sancho the Bull Rider

2005-09-18T14:08:00.001-07:00

Warrenties, I write to you from a place of lonely seclusion bearing the most somber tidings. I would tell you directly, but I have been forced into this isolation and the only contact I have is in the form of letters using a clever pseudonym. (By the way, don’t bother attempting to trace the post. Czechoslovakia no longer exists. Fun Fact: It is now divided into the Czech Republic and Slovakia.) If word of my whereabouts were to reach Scott Harmon, my life would be forfeit. But I have risked my life for your safety. My sacrifice means your survival. Yes, my delinquent dorm dwellers, Scott Harmon has an evil plan. Don’t let the homey, not-so-intelligent, cowboy look throw you off: for he is an evil genius bent on domination through any means necessary. Last year, he took over the RA (conveniently his roommate) position on 3rd West after cruelly dispatching of the RA’s limbs in a “basketball game.” Does Scott look like a basketball player to you? I think not! Now he is trying to take over, not only a hall, but the whole of Warren! Don’t believe me? Just look who his roommate is this year: the Warren senator! I’ll spare you all the gory details; suffice it to say an intervention is needed. I urge you all, stand together! While he may try to lure you out into the darkness of the loop for “Frisbee,” keep in mind that Frisbee, when the b is mirrored, the end only needs two letters to be another word: deeth…which might as well be DEATH!

Stay safe, Warren, until my next correspondence,
Sancho the Bull rider.

The Best Dorm Sports Show: Episode 3

2005-09-18T14:08:00.000-07:00

By Colin Storm

Hello sports fans! This is your Sports Events Coordinator Colin Storm telling you that this weekend (Saturday the 17th) is Homecoming. Our nationally ranked football team will be playing University of La Verne (California) at 12:30 on Saturday. Also, a new feature will be added to the games to hopefully add more spirit: The Pirate Pit. It’s the new Student Section that will be roped off so that only students can sit or stand there and make lots of noise! Be there LOUD AND PROUD! Dress up for Homecoming and support your Pirates!

Warren Rules that weren't ratified in the RAP Policy meeting

2005-09-18T14:07:00.000-07:00

1)The First Rule of Warren Hall: Don’t talk about Warren Hall.

2)Don’t eat from the tree of knowledge.

3)Gas Masks mandatory on Third West.

4)You can only speak to your Senator when spoken too.

5)Never leave a man behind! Women, however, can find their own way back.

6)Quiet hours don’t apply when you’re having a dance party in your room.

7) The “Big three” complemented by the “Medium-Sized four”
-Tapping your fake nails on metal surfaces.
-Singing along to rap music that contains incorrect grammar.
-Excessive Celebration.
-Gratuitous references to over quoted Monty Python Sketches

8)Holes in a room’s wall bigger than a mature bull ox will not be
tolerated.

9)Genocide? That’s a no-no.

10) No using the fire escape. Even if there’s a fire. The fire-escape is not designed to hold your weight, quite frankly. You fatty fatty fatso.

11) If you see somebody from the Village, punch them in the face.

12) Residence leaving food in common areas for more than three weeks shall be forced to eat said food.

13)Those caught stepping on cracks in sidewalks shall have one (1) of their mother’s vertebrates snapped for each offense.

14)The Law of Gravity is to be in full effect at all times. Those who violate this rule will be hung upside down from the floor for three hours.

15) Don’t feed the Dinosaurs.

Whitworth Spotlight: Half Past Nine and The Blood Drive

2005-09-18T14:05:00.000-07:00

Half-Past 9: Some people complain that “there’s nothing to do in Spokane.”

What a silly complaint! There’s lots of things to do in Spokane. You’ve got trails to run on… there’s the garbage-eating goat downtown you can feed… there’s a Museum of Arts and Culture if your into that Arts and Culture… and… uh… the garbage-eating goat thing again?

Anyway, even if there’s not a lot to do in Spokane, Whitworth is determined to bring exciting events to you. Such as Half Past 9.

Half-Past Nine is held on Thursdays in the Café. At 9:30, oddly enough.
During this event, outside performers will bless Whitworth with their unique brand of entertainment. Sometimes they might even use naughty words. That’s the kind of crazy risk that Whitworth College is willing to take.

The Half-Past Niner that will be performing this Thursday will be Kevin Hurley. He’s a Hypnotist, a Comedian, and a Magician.
So basically, he’ll make you think you’re a Chicken, tell a joke about you crossing the road, and then cut you in half with a hacksaw. Which brings us to the next topic:

The Blood Drive:
I’m sure you’re all on pins and needles, waiting to hear about this event. For some, it’s a hard sell, a real drain, but if you stick with it and don’t draw it out, if you step up to the plate; let your worries drip away. The Blood Drive. Good to the last drop.

Myself, I haven’t ever donated blood. It’s a nice idea, but I’ve never gotten around to it. I was always sick, or my arm was just too skinny for the width of the needle, or I didn’t really think people would want my blood– I mean, it hasn’t done me much good- or I was afraid that I would faint and pee my pants and spend the rest of the day smelling like Baldwin-Jenkins hall.

But I’ll make you a deal. If you will, I will. Deal? September 22nd! 11:30! By the Flagpole! Be there!

Or are you… chicken? Bwack Bwack Bwack!

Stall Street: Week 3

2005-09-18T14:02:00.000-07:00

Motto: Finally, a publication that lives up to its surroundings

Weather-O-Matic Forecast: Schizophrenic

Sports Trivia: Soccer: Currently, the most famous Soccer player is England’s David Beckham, or as American’s know him: “Who?”

Whitworth Haiku:
some jerk stole my bike
the one without working brakes
his death, my last laugh.

Typos discovered in last week's Stall Street: 5

Warren Wizz Dumb: You can’t make an omelet without cracking a few eggs in one basket, but if you think you’re the cock of the walk, instead of a mere chicken crossing the road, then the yolks on you.

Disclaimer:
The views expressed in this newsletter are not necessarily endorsed by Whitworth, Warren, or Walters. So you totally can’t get offended. Hah!

First Crapper of the Year

2005-09-10T01:29:00.000-07:00

Evan Cate of McMillan hall is doing the whole blog thing, too.

Here's the posted the text of his newsletter online.

Click on it, and the Stall Street and The Crapper can fight!

Disclaimer

2005-09-09T12:10:00.000-07:00

The views expressed in this publication are not necessarily representative of Warren, Whitworth, or Walters.
Your results may vary.

Whitworth Spotlight: Homecoming

2005-09-09T12:08:00.000-07:00

Homecoming: Sorry to bring up a painful memory, but you know how you never got asked to Homecoming in High School? Or you know how the girl that you did ask ended up say that gee, she’d really love to but she was already really hoping to go to the dance all by herself? And how “all by herself” turned out to be a fairly muscular senior named Chad?”

Well now’s you last chance to fulfill that dream of yours!

With a one to three guy-girl ratio you’ll have… lemme see… carry the one… a far better chance than in high school.

And let’s say that Chad came to Whitworth along with you. That’s okay, you don’t even have to have a date! Go by yourself or go with a cardboard cutout of Carrie Fisher!

Or, if you are a guy like Chad, you can go with two dates at the same time, planning on neither one of them finding out. You may continually excuse yourself to the restroom to find the other date but eventually, the tangled web of lies will unravel through a series of Wacky Hijinks, Comic Situations, and Snappy One Liners! Everybody wins! We may even learn a valuable lesson pithily summed up at the end of the half hour.

The Dance: The dance itself will have the theme, “Party like a Rockstar.” Feel free to dress us as your favorite Rockstar. But none of this modern day, namby-pamby, angsty pop music crap. Back in my day, we had real Rockstars, Rockstars who would bite the heads of bats, swing guitars around their head and then accidentally burn down the nightclub in their fiery pyrotechnic display.

Tickets will be $20, 5 of which goes to the Red Cross to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina.

The Election: Of course, an event like Homecoming could never be possible without the election of Homecoming Royalty. Each Dorm will choose a nominee for Queen and a King. They will gorge themselves in a victory feast (Pizza eating contest, Quall Hall, Sept. 14th) Then they will then dance to the death on the field of battle. (Sept. 15. Quall Hall)

Now some say that the election of Homecoming Royalty is just a popularity contest, whereas in actuality it’s… well… yeah… it’s just a popularity contest. But it’s a FUN popularity contest.

The Hall Decorating: Ever since the Stone Age, man has attempted to show his dominance over fellow man through the ancient ritual of Interior Decorating. That’s what Cave Paintings were, ancient dorm decorating contests to celebrate the upcoming Feast of the Saber Tooth. The Cro-Magnon’s, by the way, beat the Neanderthals in both the categories of Creativity and Use of

Mastodon Blood. Hall Decorating will be Thursday, September 15th. Each dorm will decide a Party or Rock Music based decorating scheme, such as “Pink Floyd’s Hallucinations” or “A Hotel Room Trashed by the Who.”

Because remember, Whitworth, you’re not hardcore… unless you live hardcore.

Whitworth Limerick

2005-09-09T12:07:00.000-07:00

There once was a meal at SAGA.
Served at Whitworth and Gonzaga.
The food on the plate’s
From Washington State,
But the bacteria’s from Nicaragua

Typos discovered in Last Week’s Stall Street:

2005-09-09T12:06:00.000-07:00

Rejected Homecoming Themes

2005-09-09T12:05:00.000-07:00

-“Homecoming: The College Years”

-“Enchantment under the Sea.”

-“Disillusionment under the Stars.”

-“Nuclear War on the Dance Floor”

-“Party like a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant Male

Raised By A Conservative Christian Family”

-“Homecoming: Destroy all Monsters”

-”Party like it’s 2005”

-“A Magical Night of No Freak Dancing”

-“An Obscure French Word Meaning ‘Mask,’ But Which is Advertised

Puzzlingly by an Image of Part of a Scantily Clad Woman.”

-“Party, Experiment with Drugs, and then Sink into a

Crushing Depression like a Rock Star”

-Party like it’s your Party and you Can Cry If You Want To”

-“Stewart Lawn Dance II: This time, it’s Homecoming!”

-“Party like a Neo-Classical Jazz Composer.”

“”You don’t have to bring a Date if You Don’t Want to”

“An Evening Under the Watchful Eyes of Security”

“Insert Popular Song Title Here”

Warren Wizz Dumb: Week II

2005-09-09T12:02:00.000-07:00

Always look on the bright side of life,
but not for too long or you could go blind.

ASWCD!

2005-09-09T11:33:00.000-07:00

“Dorm Vibes” I brought up:

-Success of Traditiation
-Great to see no Grass Signs
-Fee for holes.

-(Housing comes in to ASWC next week to discuss )

-Wireless in dorms.

-(Rep from Tech department will come in next week to discuss)

Topics discussed

Art Coordinator Position?

-No censoring art.

-Pricing, insurance, artistic concerns.

-Committee created to discuss condition.

-BJ During Mock Rock

-Problems of Mac/BJ rivalry.

-First Half-Past 9:00: Sept. 26.

-Will have Volleyball Net to use for dorms.

-Intramural Due Dates: Ref. Apps: 10^th. Frisbee: 11^th. Soccer, Volleyball, Basketball: 14^th

-Yearbook will be full color, bigger, same price (buy at Info Desk for $40)

-Sept. 11th: Prayer at the Campanile at 1:00.

E-mail me to come the next ASWC meeting (9/14) and get free Café food!

Special deals Whitworth Students receive:

2005-09-09T11:32:00.000-07:00

Del Taco: Three Hard or soft taco’s for 99

Fat Daddy’s: Large 1-topping pizza delivered to campus: $7.99

Pizza Hut: Large 1-topping pizza for dine in or carry out: $8.99

Bruchi’s:: 10% off subs.

Quizno’s: 20% off anything.

Pleasant Blends: 10% off beverages

Twig’s Bistro: Happy Hour prices all day.

The Crystal Ball: Predicting Whitworth's Future

2005-09-09T11:31:00.000-07:00

Friday the 9th:

8:00 pm: Stewart Lawn Dance

Saturday the 10th

8:00 pm: Bingo!

Monday the 12th

Fall Job internship fair.

Tuesday the 13th

Last day to add to drop//add classes without fee

Frisbee Kick Off Game: “Battle for Power”

Wednesday the 14th

6:00 pm: Auditions for Our Town.

7:00 am Constitution day program

Thursday the 15th

Homecoming DJ plays music during lunch.

Smoothie Mix and Mingle

7:00 pm: Stem Cell Science Lecture.

Friday the 16th

Homecoming Weekend begins.

5:00 pm: SENIOR PIZZA NIGHT @ FAT DADDY’S

Saturday the 17th

3:00: Rock climbing Trip ($5.00)

11:30 am: Whitworth Family Picnic.

9:00 pm: Homecoming Dance ($20.00)

Dressing up as stuff days:

Monday: Pajama Day
Tuesday: Mismatch Day
Wednesday: Blast from the Past Day.
Thursday: Sports
Friday: Pirate Day
Saturday: FOOTBALL!

Sports Trivia

2005-09-09T11:29:00.001-07:00

Football: In 1968, one of the best comeback endings in Football history was cut off by NBC to show the movie Heidi. Fortunately, the hearts of America were so warmed by the good-natured tale of a girl, her grandfather, and her goat, that nobody cared.

The Best Dorm Sports Show: Week II

2005-09-09T11:29:00.000-07:00

By Colin "Rock like El Nino" Storm.

The Outpost: By Ruth Bumgarner

2005-09-09T11:27:00.000-07:00

I would just like to give a little shout-out to my girl, Kim Henderson. Yeah, that's right....maroon tie with white seagulls girl. The bravest, baddest blonde to have ever been publicly wooed in 2nd East's history. Thank you, Warren men, for your outstanding performance at the yell-off. Just remember, my hall is full of more undiscovered beauties so don't forget to stop by and drop a tune once in a while! Go 2nd East!!

Ruth Bumgarner is an RA in Second East. She is the author of “An Essay on C.S. Lewis for Core” and “The Bible”

Unworthian Headline: Week II

2005-09-09T11:26:00.000-07:00

LOCAL

Ark of the Covenant found behind old carpets in Warren Storage.

Six priests have difficulty moving the scratched-up holy relic past plywood dressers and moldy plaid couches.

Shattering Stereotype, BJ boys a perfect
example of tact and poised courtesy at Mock Rock.

Just kidding.

Like Berlin Wall before it, Keep Off Grass Signs finally torn down.

News greeted by cheering, weeping, dancing, playing Frisbee football.

Entertainment

Kanye West and Jay-Z to mix together “Jesus Walks” and “Big Pimpin’”

Can’t decide whether to call album “ironee” or “hip-ocrizzy”

National

Bush narrows down Rehnquist replacement to judges Judy, Dredd,
and Bob the Builder.
Conservatives worry that Bob might be a “Loose Constructionist.”

Potty Talk: Counting on Accountability

2005-09-09T11:25:00.000-07:00

Warrenians:

By now the frenzied Mardi Gras adrenaline-riddled atmosphere of Traditiation and Moving In has given way to a less cheerful creeping

realization: You actually have to do work.

You’d think, that for a thirty thousand dollar tuition, they could figure out how to give us an education, diploma and degree without forcing us to learn stuff.

College is one of those few places where you pay them to allow you to do work. The other is the NorthPark fitness center, which tried to kill a friend of mine last year.

Fortunately, there’s still a veritable bevy entertaining

entertainment planned to entertain you with. For example, this week the Homecoming dance (see page 3)

But to awkwardly transition to the main point of this article:

As your Senator, I need your help. I have a favor to ask you. One that doesn’t involve buying t-shirts. (Although, you know, if you want to still buy a T-shirt, that’s cool and everything. I mean, I really wouldn’t mind.)

You know what you want from me as a Senator. You know what I promised you during my campaign:

That I would spread your ideas throughout Whitworth, fight for a better

college year, inform you of events, write entertaining newsletters, adhere to strict financial responsibility, and have a Giant Monkey climb the Campanile to protest Frisbee restrictions.

There may be times that I screw up. I’m expecting that. The difficulty is, is sometimes I screw up and don’t know it.

That’s where you guys come in. I want you to hold me accountable to my promises.

I’m fully expecting to be jerked out of bed one night by five men in ski masks, bound and gagged, driven to a dark warehouse, hit with a tire iron a couple times and then pressed up against the brick wall as the apparent leader of the thugs hisses, “Walters! Your Stall Street’s have been uninspired as of lately, and resort to tacky gimmicks instead of incisive analysis and finely honed humor! That makes me and da boys upset. Capiche?”

I’ll wake up the next day with new

vision, energy, and bruises!

So, let me know if I’m doing a bad job. I may cry, but it’s better for Warren in the long run.

Stall Street Slogan: Week 2

2005-09-09T11:24:00.000-07:00

Like WALL street journal, but STALL instead. Get it?

Weather-O-Matic: Week Two

2005-09-09T11:22:00.000-07:00

So beautiful that you suspect something… somewhere is amiss. As if not everything is as it seems. Be on your guard.

Potty Talk: Intro to the Stall Street

2005-09-01T21:03:00.000-07:00

Good People of Warren Hall:
And so it begins.

The year that shall forever be known- seared into memories, etched into history books- as “The Year of 2005-2006.” And rightly so.

Let me tell you something about this year. You know how on every Late Night show, they always say, “we’ve got an incredible show for you tonight,” even if the only guests they’ve booked are Paulie Shore, The Guy Who Used to do the “Dude, you got a Dell” commercials, and Special Musical Guest The Bulgarian Polka Trio?

I’m not going to do that to you. I don’t know if this year’s going to be good or bad. Clouded, the future is. And magic 8-balls and fortune cookies can only tell you so much.

But here’s what I do know. This year is going to be eventful. Stuff is going to happen, man. Stuff that will blow... your... mind... Some things might be good. Maybe one of you might celebrate a birthday. Some things might be bad. Maybe the dorm might catch ablaze, trapping us all in a raging inferno, and the worst part is, while we have marshmallows and chocolate, we’re all out of Graham Crackers.

Either way, I foresee a torrential swirl of events, some planned and some unplanned. I feel it in the earth. I feel it in the water. I smell it in the air. Or maybe that’s just the regular trademark smell of 3rd West.

And I can promise you, the Stall Street Journal will be there every step of the way, chronicling the journey, bringing you information, seeking change, and humbly requesting your assistance to make Warren Hall even better. I, Daniel Walters, your Senator, have three goals for this vaunted publication, the Stall Street Journal.

1) To bring you information about future, past, and present events, as well as Issues that Concern You.

2) To allow you a platform to voice your concerns, non-sequiters, and wacky conspiracy theories.

3) And most importantly, to entertain.

Buckle your seatbelt. Becaue it’s going to be a wild ride.

If I was you, I’d get Triple A.

Warren Calendar for Sept. 3rd through Sept 12

2005-09-01T21:02:00.000-07:00

Saturday, Sept. 3rd.
-10 a.m.: Residence Halls Open.
-4.30 p.m: Taste of the Northwest
-9:00 pm. Residence Hall meetings
Sunday, Sept. 4th.
-9:30 a.m.: Church.
-3:00 p.m: Floor Meetings
-8:00 p.m. Traditiation!
Monday, Sept. 5th
-Returning Students Return.
-8:00 pm: The Yell-Off.
Tuesday, Sept. 6th
-9:00 pm: Mock Rock!
Wednesday, Sept. 7th
10:30 pm: Convocation
8 pm: Residence Hall meetings
Friday, September, 9th
8 pm: Stewart Lawn Dance.

Saturday, September 10th
8 pm: Bingo

Whitworth Spotlight: Traditiation

2005-09-01T21:00:00.000-07:00

Some colleges have traditions. Some have initiations. Only Whitworth has the audacity, the madness, to combine them together into one unstoppable monster hybrid of a Franken-event. And they said we were crazy! Not since Gogurt has there been a Chimera created of this level of twisted genius.

Every Warren Traditiation has at least three of these four events:

The Wooing of the Ladies: All that practicing your deep,sultry voice in front of the mirror is about to pay off, as the Warren Gentlemen attempt to woo the Lovely Ladies of Whitworth college. Remember, Warrenites, we are gentlemen, so the wooing is more of the “Let me open that stage coach door for you, fair maiden of Whitworth,” and less of the “Giggety-Giggety-Giggety” variety.

Yell-Off: A no-holds-barred, marathon scream-fest. This time its not between you and your parents. Points will be given for clever cheers, pure uncut volume, and visibility of angry spittle. Howard Dean has nothing on Whitworth College Freshmen.

The Mock Rock: Inspired by the musical genius of Ashley Simpson and Milli Vanilli (except we have talent), the Mock Rock takes lip-synching to a whole new level, adding interpretative dance and full-contact miming into the mix. The Gentlemen of Warren hall have won this contest two years in a row.

Read my lips: “What’s that in the air... smells like the sweet stench of... three-peat...”

The Buying of the Warren Hall T-Shirt: You are going to get very sick of me talking about this, very fast.

ASWC'd

2005-09-01T20:59:00.000-07:00

The ASWC is a ragtag group of rugged individuals formed for one purpose and one purpose only:

To represent, inform, and entertain. Since those are three things, I’ll combine them into one: Repfotainment.

We will report back the important Issues of the ASWC in this space.

Look for reports on decisions made, surveys taken, events planned, and frivolous points argued over.

It’s your government. Keep it in check.

The Best Dorm Sports Show Period 1

2005-09-01T20:58:00.001-07:00

By Colin “Rock you like a Hurricane” Storm.

Hey guys, I’m your ASWC Sports Events Coordinator. This is my second year performing this job and I’m really excited to get a bunch of stuff going. This section is aimed at giving you an idea of what sports events and promotions are coming up. This will be a sweet year, as almost all six of our fall sports teams are ranked in the top-25 in the nation. Make sure to check this section out and get out to those events to show your Whitworth pride and spirit! Oh yeah. Have a nice poop!

HOME SPORTING EVENTS FOR THE WEEKEND OF 9/3-9/5
Saturday
-Women’s Soccer vs. CSU East Bay @ 11 a.m.
Sunday
-Women’s Soccer vs. Chapman @ 1:30 p.m.

Whitworth Haiku 1

2005-09-01T20:58:00.000-07:00

Back to school, again.
An old sign clutches the loop:
Keep off the grass, punks!

Warren Hall T-Shirts Ad

2005-09-01T20:57:00.000-07:00

A suave, debonair design, combined with a chic easy-going fabric that will bring you happiness for the rest of your life! All for 10 dollars at your local Senator’s! Or get eight for $79.20 in our special limited time only offer! Buy them now before they hit Value Village and become cool! If we sell them all, I’ll stop using so many exclamation points!!!!!

Changes to Traditiation from Last Year

2005-09-01T20:56:00.000-07:00

-More focus on traditiation. Less on traditi-hazing.

-Ground White Rhino Tusk powder no longer used for wooing.

-The Trial of Fire, the Trial of Ice, and the Trial of Blood replaced by less problamatic- but still exciting “Root Beer Baseball.”

-Frank F. Warren’s Ghost scheduled to speak Saturday, instead of Sunday.

-Freshmen no longer forced to lick upperclassmen’s boots. Now allowed to just use regular shoe polish.

-The Scavenger Hunt no longer requires freshmen to bring back “The head of at least one (1) Arend R.A.”

-Less Mock. More Rock.

-Tradition fees reduced to hundred and twenty dollars, or three oxen.

-Not as much use of Shaving Cream, Duct tape, and/or Boiling Oil.

The Outpost: Intro to the Outpost.

2005-09-01T20:54:00.000-07:00

By Daniel Walters:

Pocket that pocketknife. Your days of needing to advertise on the Bathroom Wall with etched carvings are over. We here at the Stall Street Journal™©® are committed to serving you, the consumer. We- I say “we” to sound more powerful- introduce the “Outpost” feature of the Stall Street. Where you write my Stall Street for me. Send me a 200-word-or-so feature, poem, advertisement, happy birthday announcement, diatribe, or glowing compliment and I’ll publish it in this very space. That is, if you can beat out all the other letters that I’m sure to receive for that week. (I’m hoping for the E-mail version of the Miracle on 34th Street finale: “All these letters for a Mr. dwalters08@whitworth.edu? He is real! He’s really really real!”)
Just think about it. Is there anyplace more romantic to propose to your girlfriend than this space right here?

“So, Mom, where did Dad ask you to marry him?”

“Uh… eh… the beach. Yup. A sunny… sandy… romantic beach… Well… I gotta go… do something… someplace. Without you.”

Mail away, budding authors. Write me a story. Pen me a sonnet. Shamelessly plug the sale of your used Chia Pet. Whatever it is, make sure it fills space. As any good nihilist will tell you, filling space is what life is all about.

Stall Street: The beginning of the Big Inning

2005-09-01T20:49:00.000-07:00

Slogan: It's Back. And this Time. There's Personals.

Weather-o-matic Reading: Perdy

Warren Peace Counter:
2 Months, 1 week, 3 days, 4 hours and 32 seconds until Warren Peace...

Warren "Wizz" Dumb:
Relationships are a lot like Baseball. I know absolutely nothing about either one.

Disclaimer:
The views expressed in this publication are not necessarily representative of the views of Warren, Whitworth, or Walters. Void where prohibited, and in the state of Wyoming.

Whitworthian Headlines: Week 1

2005-09-01T20:43:00.000-07:00

Local
Nails, Angry Punches, banned from use in Room Decorating.
“Posters can still be hung using static electricity, pure force of will,” Housing allows.

‘Wallet Donations,’ not actually part of Traditiation, Senator reluctantly admits.
-“Do you wanna buy an elevator key?” adds Walters.
Entertainment
Parents outraged to discover Grand Theft Auto: Vice City has Theft, Vice.
“They make it seem so Grand,” Critics complain.

Comedians still depressed over Jackson’s ‘Innocent’ verdict.
“At least I still have O.J. jokes,” Leno says.

National
Hurricane devestation makes Colin Storm’s last name seem insensitive.
-Couldn’t he just call himself Colin S?” critics say.

Many unable to differentiate between satire, reality.
-Protesters riot over inaccuracies in Ziggy, Hagar the Horrible.

Alternative Mascots for Whitworth, since Pirates seem out of vogue as of late.

2005-09-01T20:27:00.000-07:00

Alternative Mascots for Whitworth:

-“The Killer Deaths”

-“The ‘Insert Mascot Here’s

-“The Fighting Peaceniks.”

“The Redistribution of Loot and Plunder Facilitators”

“The Colin Storms”

“The Night Riders”

“The Fighting Dumples”

“The Offensive Ethnic Caricatures.”

“The Whitworth Seattle Mariners”
”The Spokanasauruses.”

“The Scurvy Bilgedogs”

“The Killer Flags”

“The fighting W’s”

“The Bob the Builders”

“The Mission Statements”
”The Needless Redesigns”

“The Fighting Hearts and Minds”

“The Rodents of Unusual Size”

“The Zealots”

“The Senators”

“The Student Loans”

“The Crushing Disillusionments”

“The Torn ACLs”

“The Anthropomorphic Animals”

“The United Nations”

“The Diplomats”

“The Business Majors”

“The Hantaviruses.”

“The Goatmen”

“The Red Robins”

“The White, Middle-Class, Conservative Christians”

“The Promoting Diversities”

“The Killer Cliché’s”

“The Athletes”

"The Flinstones Vitamins"

“The Board of Trustees”

“The Benjamins”

“The Zoot Suit Rioters”

“The Mad Cows”

“The Serial Killers”

“The Shameless Plugs”

“The Patrons of the Arts”

“The Fashionistas”
”The Victims”

“The Judge, The Jury and the Executioners.”

Or, my favorite idea:

The Whitworth Pirates.

Rejected ASWC Mission Statement 1

2005-08-31T00:37:00.000-07:00

We, the ASWC, do hereby deign to bequeath our most erudite vision unto the plebian masses- naively frittering away their empty lives tilling barren austerity outside their meager wattle-and-daub fiefdom- by fervently striving for ubiquitous superciliousness, venerating ham-handed and haughty hubris, and endeavoring to embark upon an expedition of extraordinary effusive, garrulous, and loquacious verbosity.

Every Minute Counts Part Two: Camp Scalding.

2005-08-29T14:36:00.000-07:00

12:00- The ASWC (Associated Society of Whitworth Commissions) team sets out for Camp Spalding, with the objective of building a team, planning an agenda, getting to know eachother, making arts and crafts bracelets, experiencing the ropes course, and hopefully, if somebody dares us for a dollar, totally swallowing a worm. I swallowed one at Camp Spalding in 6th grade, but now thanks to my years of experience and maturity I know that now, I should probably swallow without chewing.

12:55- A thunderstorm brews above us as we carpool to Camp Spalding, an ominous omen if I’ve ever seen one. The black cat, the broken mirror, and the audible “Dun! Dun! Dun!” add to my nervousness. The firey car crash that kills two ASWC senators on the way is also rather portentous.

1:20- We arrive at Camp Spalding, surrounded only by quite solitude, scenic vistas, ancient trees, and a sprawling vacant lot with the sign, “Future Home of the Camp Spalding Wal-Mart.”

1:59- President Jeff Hunter starts out the meeting of the ASWC (Algerian-Serbian Wicca Cabal), with a message about working together, striving for diversity, taking pride in each others differences, and working out conflict in a peaceful manner.

2:00- Financial Vice President Denise Hewett hits Jeff over the head with a two-by-four. As Jeff lays crumpled on the ground, Denise triumphantly places her foot on his neck proclaiming, “Now I am, ASWC President! Look upon my works, ye mighty, and Despair!”

2:10- We all go ‘round the circle and introduce ourselves. Surprisingly, there are three Turd Fergusons and only two I.P. Freelys

2:50- As a way to get to know eachother, we play the “I never game.” Basically, the person in the middle has to say something they’ve never done, like “I’ve never had a meaningful relationship with anyone.” And then everyone who HAD had a meaningful relationship would have to cross the middle and try to sit in a chair before somebody else got to it. Everyone plays very intensely has a fun time, except for the coordinator who has his eye put out by a chair. “I’ve never had my eye put out by a chair,” the person in the middle says, forcing the disappointed and half-blind coordinator to cross the middle and find another chair.

We find out many other interesting things about the students in leadership positions, specifically that most of the students should really not be in leadership positions. And while Evan Cate (Senator, Mac) may have “never killed more than three hobos with a bowie knife,” Brian Baumann (Senator, Arend) and Jackson Williams (Senior Class Coordinator) have.

3:40: Free time! Of course, as any economist will tell you, there’s no such thing as ‘free’ time.

3:50: The ASWC (Associated Studs and their Women Colleagues) decides to play on THE BLOB. The name is based on a 1958 horror movie, where an indescribable, indestructible mass of tofu tries to kill Steve McQueen.

THE BLOB, a massive inflatable floating mass set out in the lake, coyly invites a light girl to get on one end. Then, two heavy males jump from a fifteen foot platform onto the other end of the blob, catapulting the flailing screaming girl into the air. What could possibly go wrong!

4:07: Something goes wrong.

4:30: The paramedics are quite friendly and the Emergency helicopter pilot quite adept. The doctors say that everyone is going to be fine, although Natishi Editor-in-Chief Amanda Smith will be left with a scar the shape of Indonesia on her back for the rest of her life.

4:35: The ASWC receives its first challenge! Trying to explain to the Student Body why we have to pay three hundred dollars out of unallocated to replace the Camp Spalding Paddle Boat that we sunk.

4:50: The ASWC plays an impromptu game of pick-up volleyball, showing why they are involved in Student Government, and not in something involving more hand-eye- coordination, like being popular.

6:30: In another meeting, we start to tell our Life Stories. We find out many interesting details about the executive officers, such as that Denise Hewett’s favorite Neopolitan flavor is Strawberry, Colette Reid speaks seven languages, including Ewok and Klingon, and Jeff Hunter’s actual name is Jennifer.

7:20: We brainstorm values and ideas for the ASWC. While many good ideas are put forth, our policy of not rejecting any ideas leaves us with, among others, “Jerky flavored toothpaste,” “Change the name ‘Whitworth College’ to “McGrady’s House of Funtime Education”, “Kill all the Squirrels,” and “Get people more involved.” Ha! Get more people involved… The crazy things people come up with…

9:00: For the rest of the night, we play a game of no-hold-barred Pictionary. After a few hours, the drawings become crude, obscene, and almost completely indiscernible. The National Endowment of the Arts immediately gives us a 10,000 dollar grant. Somehow, Senator Jeff Brown mortally wounds himself with the Felt Tip Magic Marker. “Romeo and Juliet! Hamlet! Anthony and Cleopatra!” the teams guess.

12:30: Instead of sleeping in the cozy cabins on soft, comfy mattresses, we decide to sleep in the lodge on a thin layer of carpet that tops a floor made entirely out of diamond-hard concrete. Builds character.

3:00: We are woken up by an obnoxious jerk with a hockey mask and a chainsaw. “Go back to sleep, Jason!” Colin Storm groans, before turning over and going back to sleep. That was the last time we ever saw Jackson Williams or Chad Boyer alive and with all their limbs and organs attached to their bodies.

7:30: After waking up seventeen times in the middle of the night, I finally get out of my paper sleeping bag and off that stupid merciless rock hard floor. On the plus side, after lying on my back all night, my Scoliosis is completely cured. A few other ASWC members were not so lucky, however.

They woke up…

Dead.

8:30: We begin to discuss the exact wording of the ASWC mission statement. Because, you know, without a buzzword-laden official-sounding, pretentious mission statement, we’d completely fail as an organization. I don’t know how many times when I’ve been in meetings and everyone has lost all hope and then suddenly somebody remembers. The mission statement! they say. And we all look at the mission statement and are completely revitalized and filled with purpose.

Despite the importance, the solemn gravity of our task, however, we agree to get it done quickly without petty squabbles or disagreements.

12:30: The first punch is thrown in the middle of a screaming match over the placement of a semi-colon in the Mission Statement.

12:35: We finally head home. “Well, that was a successful retreat,” Evan Cate, the driver of the car says, looking back at me. In retrospect, he should have been watching the road. Last thing I saw was the fender of a Mach Truck bashing Evan’s Pine-Scent Air Freshener to the back of the car…

Every Minute Counts. A Series.

2005-08-28T01:22:00.000-07:00

Many people may think that being a Senator is easy. That they just spontaneously appear at the beginning of school with a clipboard in one hand, T-shirts in the other, and the Magical Senatorial Scepter of Power in still another. (All Senators get a third arm. It’s quite a nifty perk. A baseball pitcher could pitch and scratch at the same time.)

Well, for many Senators, it is that easy. They shuffle in, throw a few value village T-shirts on a card table, scratch out a bathroom newsletter with a broken green crayon on a sticky note, and call it a year.

But not me. No, I have to make things extraordinarily difficult for myself, with no foreseeable long term benefit for anyone. It’s that pesky Protestant Work Ethic. It’s why Alfred Kaerche built Mt. Rushmore when he supposed to be on vacation.

“Relax,” Alfred’s wife said.

“And WASTE MY TIME! NEVER!”

“We’re out in the mountains, honey. Of South Dakota. There’s no tasks to accomplish, nothing you can do besides sitting here, on this nice white, granite, surface.”

“Or is there? Wife, I’m going to dig a trench! In case it rains.”

“Okay. Just don’t get carried away.”

I thought I’d give you an idea, of what I’m doing, a week before school starts, to get ready for this coming year I give you this minute by minute account. Be warned, my memories not so good. It may have some inaccuracies.

DAY ONE: SATURDAY THE 27th.

12:30: Having satiated myself with the an apricot peanut butter sandwich, the last remnants of not-SAGA food I may taste in months, I set out for college. The calls of goodbye from my parents almost obscure the sound of the sledgehammer tearing apart my room to make for the Jacuzzi.

12:55: I gaze once again upon the beautiful campus of Whitworth and reminded of the truth of Whitworth’s noble motto: Servo off Gramen. Latin, for “Keep off the Grass”

1:00: I arrive at the HUB right on time and pick up my room key. Nostalgically, I think of my previous room key, who seemed nice at first, but run off, leaving me with a broken heart and a fifty dollar fine. Oh, how I miss you, Room Key. Oh, how I miss you fifty dollars.

1:30: I shove the key into the lock of my new room, aptly named room 339. I dramatically turn the key and find… the key doesn’t work. Ha! They got me!

1:45: I return, this time with the correct key. I open the door of room 339 and take a look around. It seems a bit Spartan, though the color scheme is consistent. The white walls match the white floors and the white sheets. Though I found the straitjacket a bit restricting.

3:00: I begin decorating, aiming to borrow from both late Etruscan period and the Byzantine designs, with both hints of Frank Lloyd Wright and Frank Gehry. Maybe some posters, too.

3:15: Since Housing forbids use of nails, I am forced to hang my $3000 plasma flate screen T.V. using only spittle and stale chewing gum.

3:17: The Plasma screen TV comes crashing down, shattering, and getting plasma all over the floor. Plasma is a PAIN to clean out of the carpet.

3:18: Housing calls, to pleasantly remind me that chewing gum is prohibited under the new decorating rules as well. Fortunately, the twenty-five dollar fine is easily affordable.

5:00: Leadership BBQ. Enchiladas and corn are served, which while it tastes really good, looks kinda like… uh… well, it tastes really good.

6:00: The games begin! To hone our leadership skills, we play a game where you try to grab a finger- to train our enthusiasm. A game where we try to poke other people- to teach us persistence. And finally a game where we break up into teams to form a giant machine using people- to show us that while we may feign individuality, our idealism will fade until we realize that we are mere cogs in the soul-crushing machine of bureaucracy, drones assigned to carry out a series of repetitious tasks. It was fun!

7:30: President Bill Robinson gives his address to the students. He focuses on the 6 dances of leadership: The tango, the twist, the electric slide, the Macarena, the freak dance, and that Russian Dance where you squat down, kick your legs and go “Hey! Hey! Hey!” There are no scarier words in the English language than: You’re going to have to learn to do several dances.

8:00: The leadership of Warren meets together for a Team Building Exercise. In a blatant act of symbolism, we write all of our fears on two eggs (hardboiled for safety reasons).

I wanted to write “That one dream where everything seems all nice and peaceful and all of a sudden this huge wolf with six-inch razor sharp teeth comes bounding out of the forest and he turns to you with his gleaming canines and his red demon eyes and starts chasing you, but you try as you might you can’t seem to run, you seem to be trapped in Molasses and can only inch forward, achingly slowly, as the wolf pounces and sinks his teeth into your neck and then you wake up, dripping in sweat and breathing heavily,” but it wouldn’t fit on my egg.
Then you put all of your hopes on two strips of tape, which we would place on an aluminum baseball bat. For my hopes I wrote, “Not burning down the building in the first couple of weeks.” I find it’s best to start with dreams that may seem difficult, but are in the realm of possibility.

We would then attempt to hit the Egg of Fear wit h the Bat of Hope, a poignant and poetic metaphor that resonates with America’s soul. After all, what is scarier than an egg- a harbinger of cholesterol, a veritable hive of swirling salmonella? And what is more hopeful than a bat- the symbol of the American pastimes, proof that with big dreams, a little bit of work, and a whole lot of Creatine you can be anything you want to be? As long as that thing is a ill-tempered, greedy, brooding hulk-man. Of course, if you swung the Bat of Hope at the Egg of Fear, and missed, instead hitting the Umpire of Crushed Dreams, that means that in the coming year, you will never get over your fears, and your hopes will simply be wiffs in the air, marred with the stench of missed opportunity.

Guess what happened when I swung?

Re: Credit where credit's due.

2005-08-26T22:34:00.000-07:00

Found it! I'll never take money for granted again!

Credit where credit's due.

2005-08-26T22:08:00.000-07:00

Have you seen me?

Last seen with:

If you see the credit card, its owner would like it back very soon, as he loves it very much. He promises to continue to give it a good home in the back pocket of his pants.

www.stallstreet.com

2005-08-25T21:59:00.000-07:00

The Stall Street Journal has a new address.

www.stallstreet.com

Because, you know, typing in stallstreet.blogspot.com was just absurd. Those extra five letters. Whew!

"Emotional Weakness dictates that I will illogically miss you."

2005-08-25T21:29:00.000-07:00

As I near the end of my tenure at Red Robin, I find that- against all logic- people are becoming nicer to me.

For example, I said, "Yeah, I'll be leaving in a few days, but I'd love to come back and work next summer."

The manager replied, "Eh... yeah. We're... always hiring!"

It's that kind of hope that keeps me going.

I have noticed people using my actual name instead of the profane nickname, and people tend to wave when they greet me instead of kicking me in the shins.

It's like when someone dies and everybody forgets the bad things they did and remembers them for the good.

"Yeah, Yasser Arafat may have invented the modern suicide bomber, fueled extremism in the region, broken treaties, promises and hearts, and set back the Middle East peace process decades, but hey! He could sure make some mean hummus! And you know, he had a great sense of humor- a bit offensive- but great none-the-less. He had that winsome smile, and that thing where he'd sneak up behind you and grab you and yell, "BANG," that would make you leap out of your skin in terror. That Yasser. We're gunna miss him."

The Secret of the Smiling Burger.

2005-08-24T12:20:00.000-07:00

Every blogster has posts that he doesn’t know if he it would really be a good idea he publishes. For example:

Red Letter Day

Today I had cheated on my wife of thirteen years- who has bore five children with me- with my coworker, Helga. Also, I picked up the new White Stripes CD. Not as visionary as their earlier efforts.

See, that post could have problematic consequences. What if his wife reads it and finds that he was wasting his money on the White Stripes. He’d be in the doghouse for sure!

With the same concern, I hesitated publishing this piece. After all, it was about work. I could see myself being called into the office, with an angry manager, holding a tightly clenched laptop in his hands and saying, “WAAAAAALLLLLTEEEERRRSSS! You’re fired!”

“Was it because of my post on my blog lightly making satire of the idiosyncrasies and intricacies of the absurdities of my work environment?” I ask?

“What the heck’s a blog? No! It was for accidentally saying that word near those elderly customers, and accidentally setting that fire, and accidentally dropping that infant child of the City Council member in the deep fryer.”

“Oh. Sorry. Those were… all… accidents. Whoops.”

Of course, my fears were absurd. First of all, one of the beautiful part about having a blog is that nobody… well… reads it. I could publish CIA secrets on this thing, and the only hits I’d get would be logging onto different computers in the library myself.

But, it’s better safe than unemployed, as I always say. Having experienced both. So now that I’m only a few days away from leaving my cushy job at Red Robin to return to my job pushing stale pizza crust onto unsuspecting freshmen, I can feel safe to publish this post. This post that’s… TOO HOT FOR T.V.! So that’s why we put in on the internet.

And in all serious, Red Robin is a great place for work. Great food, great people. I love it. But, since I’m emotionally stunted, I show my love by mocking it.

------

“Thank you for calling the North Pointe Red Robin, home of the Smiling Burger! This is Daniel! Can I help you!”

These are the words that compose my life. These are the words that I chant forth dozens of times a day. They dominate my dreams, ricochet off my consciousness, and echo incessantly through my thoughts. I have tried every variation of rate, pitch, and volume possible, every dramatic interpretation of that accursed phrase I can think of. I say it like Christopher Walken. James Earl Jones. President Bush. Even Cookie Monster.

Eventually, the words- through the numbing ritual of repetition- lose their power, their meaning, their *punch.* They begin to run together into one massive melded mush of a statement: Thankyouforcallingthenorthpointeredrobinhomeofthesmilingburger-thisisdanielcanihelpyou?

On the other hand, with each reiteration of this mantra, the words become etched into my very essence. I start to believe the ideas contained within, to take them as my own. Other ‘truths’ seem paltry by comparison. Our burgers ARE smiling, dangit! And I am willing to *kill* to prove it! War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is strength. Burgers are Smiling.

-------

So a blind woman walks into Red Robin…

Don’t worry. This isn’t the start of one of those Jokes.

She has me walk her to her table (table #36, if you’re curious). As she grabs my arm to help guide her, she sagely comments, “Honey! You are *skinny*!”

Sometimes it is the blind who can truly see.

In retrospect, I could have just as easily told her she was only holding onto my pinky finger and she would have believed me.

--------

Red Robin- along with my former work at the Country club- has revealed to me a valuable secret. A secret about myself: Turns out, I’m not good at uh… *doing stuff*. In the future I’ll try to avoid jobs that make use of this skill I lack.

“So, Daniel, before we hire you, do you have any questions?”

“Yeah… Will this job involve… well… *doing stuff*?”

“Uh… yes…”

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you, sir. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

-----

I have also discovered several unwritten laws of nature that seem to govern Red Robin and probably the rest of the restaurant industry.

Red Robin Rule #1: Give me a Booth or give me death.

People *hate* sitting at tables. I mean *really* hate it. The kind of hatred usually reserved for Hitler or opposing football teams. A person would kill his own Grandmother- with a mint-flavored toothpick, if necessary, to insure himself a booth. If the wardens at Guantanamo Bay sat the suspected terrorists at a table while serving them their filet mignon, Amnesty International would have a *fit*!

Red Robin Rule #2: Call a Spade a “Soil Redistribution Facilitation Device.”

Apparently, words like “bar” and “waiter” are copyrighted, so Red Robin has to come up with their own creative synonyms. As a result, the bar is called the “refreshment center,” bartenders, “Mixologists,” bussers, “sales support staff,” employees, “team members,” E.Coli “a negative dining experience,” bathrooms the “Numbers 1 and 2 liberation chambers” and bullsh---, “euphemisms.”

Red Robin Rule #3: The demeanor of any given waiter at the table is inversely proportional to the aforementioned waiter’s demeanor away from the table.

The plight of the server is a thankless one. They get blamed for *everything.* “Waiter! There’s a fly in my soup,” “Waiter! My stock portfolio is down!” “Waiter! The ethnic tensions and poverty level in the Sudan have lead to genocide, and the tepid response of the international community is despicable!”

It’s no wonder, then, that the server’s ‘offstage’ personality is not nearly as sunshiny as their onstage one.

They usually greet the customer with bright-eyes, a plastered plastic smile, and a sing-song voice usually reserved for telling children about the power of their imagination on PBS shows. “Hi! I’m Dr. Jekyll and I’ll be your server today!”

When they leave, however, their yin flashes to yang. Their smile drops into a grimace, and their eyes narrow to angry slits. “Stupid customer…” they mumble, “Always wantin’ me to serve this, get that, bus this, order that... It’s always… Food, food food… eat eat eat… the polite thing to do would be to refuse to get them food… they could stand to lose about fifty pounds… *grumble grumble* I’ll show THEM a tip… the tip of an icepick shoved through the back of their head…”

Red Robin Rule #4: 30% of all children that leave with balloons in their hand and a gleam in their eyes return with nothing in their hand and tears in their eyes.

Balloons are lot like Cocaine. It’s fun when you first have it, but eventually, that bubble’s going to pop. And once it does, you’re worse off than ever. And if the balloon doesn’t pop, it’s bound to slip through your fingers and shoot away from your panicked, grasping hand. It soars up through the clouds and past your vision, engulfed heart-wrenchingly by oblivion.

I had a balloon once. It was green. From Albertsons. I loved it. But I… I… tried to tie it to my trike… and… and… I didn’t tie it right. I tried to catch it before it flew away, but I was too slow! I never even got a chance to say goodbye… No, I will NOT “get over it” I held it close, but it faded in the night. Slip-sliding away into nothingness.

Sometimes, as I wander the streets at night, I pause to look up at the starry sky. And through that gaping space and twinkling lights, above the harvest moon, I see a speck- just a speck- of the green balloon I once called my own.

Of course, the *government* says it’s just aliens.

They’re always trying to cover up the facts.

-----

Of course, in just a few days the whole Red Robin saga will be over. And I will restart my saga with… well… SAGA.

The Burgers are still smiling. But their lips are trembling and their eyes are moist.

How to Not Succeed in Business While Really Trying

2005-08-17T10:05:00.000-07:00

Work. I don’t think I’m cut out for it.

It isn’t that I hate work, or can’t handle it. It’s just that whatever I try to do always seems to escalate into a Wacky Series of Escalating Mistakes, that we may Laugh About Later, but might lose A Lot of Business, Money, and Respect in the World, right now.

Here are some of the reasons I’m beginning to suspect that I may not win the Most Valuablest Employee of the Month award anytime soon. These, generally, are true:

1) Employees who’ve been there a month tell employees who’ve been there a week that “It’s okay. He’s new.” Even though I’ve been working there for three months. I guess I just give off that naïve, wide-eyed, new guy aura. I’ll be at my retirement party, spill the punch, and somebody will say, “Don’t mind him. He’s new here.” And nobody will notice!

2) The glares I get from the fellow coworkers are beginning to seem more weary than angry. As if their glares of malice have withered into mere glares of resignation.

3) When I tell those around me that I’ll be leaving in a few weeks, it’s hard to tell if they are *upset*, *saddened,* or merely *chagrined,*- what with their smiles and jumping and heel-clicking.

4) All my pre-packaged phrases and repetitive clichés are beginning to run together into one sloppy, mess of incoherence. “Thank you for hello of the smiling enjoy server right this way balloon crayon one moment burger, please,” I’ll say with a chipper smile naively plastered on my face. It won’t be long before somebody is heading to the bathroom and I say, “Enjoy your food.”

5) Sometimes I say things that I regret later. For example, a nice woman and her child walked into our fine dining establishment. Her child had short hair and a green tanktop. The child looked like a girl, so I said, “Will you want a kid’s menu for her?”

Suddenly, my eyes widened in fear. What if… what if the child was actually a boy. I mean, the kid had short hair and a baseball cap and everything. Then his entire gender identity could be scarred for the rest of his life by my callous ignorant remark! I had to say something. So I came up with the best recovery in the history of Red Robin…

“I mean…” I stuttered, “He or She…”

“It’s a she,” the mother said.

So. While I had had a 50-50 chance if I had just shut up, I completely blew it by saying essentially, “I have no idea if your child is a boy or a girl. He or she could be completely androgynous, like a Sea Sponge or C3P0, for all I know.

6) I don’t seem to be given very… pivotal… responsibilities. When the manager is giving jobs for the hosts to do, he says something like, “Johnson! I want you recalibrating the Silverware Distribution Line, honing it to maximum efficiency! Chavez! I want you to call into Corporate and reorder 12 stock in items 56-32a and 3 stock in 74-23. Pyle! I want you to set up three 12-top tables in sectors 5 and 2, aligning them in a way to not offend the religious sensibilities of Muslims, feng shui advocates, and scientologists! Patton! You’re on command duty, you’re in control of who gets sat where. You have great power, but great responsibility, got it! I don’t want a four-top sat at a two top, or a three top sat at a seven top, you got that! And Daniel… uh… I guess you can open the door for people and say “hi” to them and stuff. Do you think you can handle that? Because if it’s too tough I can have you just stand over there instead… Out of everyone’s way…”

I think my major problem is two-fold. First, I can’t do anything right. That contributes heavily to my failure rate, as you can imagine.

Secondly, I’m too… nuanced.

Most people decide where to seat people via the George Bush Method. They squint at the seating map for a second, grit their teeth, look up and say, “Eh… we’ll seat ‘em at 32.”

“Uh… why… table 32?” I ask.

“I just have maself a good feelin’ ‘bout it,” they say. And then they stick with it.

I decide where to seat people via the John Kerry method. “Well… I guess in this case it is possible to consider seating at 71, but on the other hand, 71 is too close to the child at 72. But if we seat at 70, they’ll be too close to the sidestation, most likely. 60’s too cold, 66 is too close the fire exit, and 44 too close to the kitchen. I suppose 52 is a possibility, but we just sat in that server’s section three minutes ago. But the server at 54 isn’t experienced enough to take more than three tables and we could consider taking them to 13, but they’re probably a bit too large for that table. Table 41, on the other hand, is too large for them. Table 12 keeps wanting refills on their steakfries, so *of course* we can’t sit them at table 22. Naturally. And besides, table 10 won’t work with a highchair, and table 24 won’t work with a booster seat. The light streaming through to table 73 is a bit blinding, and the music is too loud at table 50. They aren’t old enough to sit at the bar, and it’s too hot to consider seating on the patio. 32’s in the center, so they won’t like that….”

By this time, the customer has either left or has faded away into a crumbling skeleton covered in dusty cobwebs.

But hey, with no customers, we can save *thousands* in labor costs, by letting go some of our workers.

But who to start with first?

The Possibly Offensive Guide to the United Kingdom

2005-08-16T21:25:00.000-07:00

-The UK is named for the sound you make when you bite into their food: Uck!

-It is also called the “United Kingdom,” from how Ireland, Scotland, and Wales are united against England.

-Britain’s primary source of income comes from the Tooth Fairy. Poor, poor, overworked tooth fairy.

-Actually, many Britons are sensitive about jokes about their teeth, and will bite you with their gums if you tell one.

-Britain’s Queen is only a figurehead- the actual country is ruled by Soccer Mobs.

-The Queen has the power to bestow knighthood, the highest honor, to heroes of the realm. Some say that the standards for knighting have grown a bit lax, with the honor being given to Paul McCartney, Judi Dench, Elton John, Bill Gates, Harry Potter, Mary Poppins, the Pillsbury Doughboy, and both Wallace and Gromit.

-One of the most famous Britons was Princess Diana, or as she was nicknamed in a artfully-done bit of foreshadowing, Princess “Di.”

-English Press Law dictates that no newspaper can have a headline mentioning ‘Prince Albert’ without the word ‘Can’ somewhere else in the headline.

-In a victory for feminists everywhere, England elected Margaret Thatcher, the first harpy shrew Prime Minister.

-Britain can claim the honor of having one of the Biggest Bens in the world.

-British scientists have discovered how to synthetically inject the letter ‘u’ into words that normally lack them, creating mutant variants such as “honour” “armour” and “colour.” Efforts to put an “i" in the word “team” have thus far proved unsuccessful.

-A few months ago, French Leader Jacques Chirac got in trouble for mocking British food. Stereotyping other cultures… how typical of those smelly, rude, hypocritical French.

-Some British guards will not move no matter what you do. Think of them as like Whitworth Security with funny hats.

-In Britain, a cigarette is called a “Censored Due to Political Correctness”

-Britain’s flag is totally ripped off from the design in the corner of Australia’s flag. Idea-Stealers!

-In Britain the common response to an offense is a polite smile, a “That’s quite all right, good chap!” and a hearty handshake, just to make sure you are parting on good terms. In America, we usually replace those with, a middle finger, a “the f-word” and a hearty gunshot wound, just to make sure that you are parting with at least one of you dead. Hey, to each his own.

-Britain is covered by thousands of closed-circuit surveillance cameras. They hope to watch the populace of Britain constantly, night and day, until they have a blooper funny enough to go on America’s Funniest Home Videos. The Brits love Bob Saget as much as the French love Jerry Lewis.

-Most British police, or “bobbies and bobettes” as their called, don’t carry guns. Instead of the American system of police brutality, therefore, they have to use a little something called “asking nicely.” It works well enough in Britain.

-Britian has a long and storied history of people with Roman Numerals fighting pointless wars. These include the hundred year war (Which lasted only 93 years, but they use the metric system), the Battle of Hastings (started over an overdue video rental), the Battle of Bouvines (Which they completely and udderly lost. Teehee), the War of the Roses, the Invasion of the Geraniums, the Chrysanthemum Coup, the disappointingly Bloodless Revolution, the British Invasion, the War of Jenkins Ear, the Conflict of Nigel’s Toe, the Massacre of Alfred’s Liver (that was in Ireland), the very aptly named Boer War, and a little something called the “American War for Independence.”

-Remember, in Britain you drive on the left side of the road. I keep trying to convince America to do this by leading by example, but judging from their hand gestures, their not yet convinced.

-Britain has double decker busses. Now with TWICE as much decker.

-If you’re ever injured in Britain, remember, they have socialized health care! Simply fill out Injury Treatment Request forms G-632 and 7S-17 in triplicate, then send the pink copy to the Committee on Provisional Medical Resources Allocation, and the yellow copy to the Ministry of Health and Human Services. Allow for four to six weeks, for the Secretary of Issues Concerning Lacerations and Abrasions to forward it to the Deputy Undersecretary of Pharmaceutical Affairs, who has delegated the reading to three underlings and a shredder machine. If there’s room on the schedule (pronounced shchedule), and if your case meets the requirements outlined in Obligatory Manner for Fulfilling Medical Requisitions (Fifth Edition) and if the Angels win the pennant, then you have a moderately good chance of receiving medical attention in the next few months. And that’s if you need CPR.

-The British can’t afford television like the Americans, so they buy a “telly”- a cheap, shabby knockoff- instead.

-Tellies carry four channels, all of them named BBC. The first three have shows with British housewives yelling in shrill, high-pitched, cockney accents. The last one has Antiques Roadshow.

-The best shows on British Television- and quite possibly ever- are Thomas the Tank Engine and Postman Pat. Their controversial, no-holds barred, in-depth, thought-provoking storylines challenge the status quo, while refusing to sacrifice character development, witty dialogue, or whimsical set-design to meet their ripped-from-the-headlines standards. At least that’s what I remember from when I visited Britain when I was four.

-If a Brit is ever rude to you, remind them, “Hey! America saved your butt in the War of 1812!”

-The British developed the game “Cricket” after an epic twenty-year search to find a game more nonsensical than baseball.

-Cricket is named after the sounds that you get if you ask if any American wants to play it.

-Mind the Gap! For the love of all that is holy, Mind the Gap!

-Parliament is composed of two groups, the House of Lords, a snobby elite group of unelected patricians who’ve never been beaten, and the House of Commons, a ragtag group of democratically elected average Joe’s (or Average Nigel’s in the this case) who may not have a lot of talent or skill, but have a drive to achieve and a hard-as-nails coach who will teach them to put their differences behind them, play as a team, and have fun while doing it. At the end of the term, the House of Lords and the House of Commons will face eachother in a climactic legislative session dubbed the “Blimey Bowl.” Who will win? Does the House of Commons even have a chance, now that they have a girl on their team!!!?

-Never look directly into Tony Blair’s smile. You’ll go blind.

-Though Britain has an “England” they do not speak English. Instead they say things like, “I flipped open my boot on my lorry near the lift in my flat and it bloody well hit me in the Fish and Chips. Blimey! Now, that’s a sticky wicket, Jack’s a donut, yes he is, ol’ chap.”

-Some Brits speak with a cockney accent when they are too poor to afford the letter “H.”

Remember, Britain uses the metric or “stupid” system of measurement. Here are some handy conversions:
Length: 100 decapedes = 1 millipede.
Weight: 1000 kilograms = 1 American. Or 1000 grams = 1 candygram.
Area: 100 Carloses = 1 Hectare.
Hyperbole: 1000 zillions= 1 bajagillion.
Cooking: 1 smidgen= 4 skohtches.

Scotland

-Scotland was the host of this year’s G8 conference, where the eight richest countries gather together to discuss policy, combat poverty, gossip about the nations who weren’t invited, and paint each other’s nails.

-Scotland is known for it’s dreary rainy climate and its fish and chip stands. With just a couple thousand more homeless people, it could pass for Seattle.

-The Scottish Highland games celebrates with a number of traditional Scottish Activities: Caber Tossing, he Hammer Throw, Log Rolling, “R” rolling, Kilt Weaving, Haggis eating, and Mooning the British.

-Scotland highly values masculinity, is very cold and windy, and so naturally, they wear kilts.

-When a group of Scottish teens are feeling wild and rambunctious, they’ll engage in Scotland’s favorite pastime: Sheep herding.

-Scotland was also the country that invented Golf, in an unsuccessful effort to match the scintillating excitement of Sheep herding.

-Scotland is home to roaming herds of Wooly Cows. Their looks are reminiscent of a cross between the Wooly Mammoth and the Wooly Bully.

-The Scottish flag consists of a blue X. It’s there way of making the flag really really easy for elementary students to draw. Mexico could learn a thing or two from them. Libya, however, is the master.

The popular Scottish dish, Haggis, is made of a sheep’s liver, lungs, and heart, minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, and salt. This lovely concoction is cooked inside a sheep stomach and served on fine china with parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. Of course, the SAGA version of this food is not quite as tasty, and uses lower grade organs.

Ireland

-Catholics and Protestants in Ireland like to blow each other up in a contest to see which group can follow Jesus’s example better.

-Ireland’s patron saint is St. Patrick, who achieved sainthood when he created the 4th lucky charm marshmallow- lucky’s hat.

-Some people think that he drove all the snakes out of Ireland, but that’s a myth. It was actually Bono and U2, that did that, through the power of Rock and Roll.

-Ireland celebrates St. Patrick’s day by drinking. As they do with St. Valentine’s Day, St. Luciuses Day, St. Thomas More’s Day, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Arbor Day, Poultry Awareness Week, anytime anybody anywhere has a birthday, and 3 out of 4 lunar phases.

-“Teacher says, every time a bell rings, an Irish takes a drink!”

-On St. Patrick’s day, many Irish dye their local river’s green, the color of the Thames the rest of the year.

-Some dye the streets green as well- with chunky speckles of brown- but that’s not entirely intentional.

-St. Patrick’s day is followed by St. Aspirin’s day- the patron saint of staying in bed with a headache.

-The traditional respectful Irish greeting is to say, “I’m a wee littl’ Irishman!” and jump into the air, clicking your heels. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya,” works as well.

-Nortre Dame’s mascot is the “Fighting Irish” because the “Redundant Redundancies” didn’t get approved by the board of trustees.

-Irishmen are often stereotyped as being rather fiesty, with a short temper. If an Irishmen ever hears you saying that however, he’ll smash you over a head with a beer bottle, grab your hair and slam your head into the table, kick you in the gut, claw out your eyes, before shoving his arm through your chest, ripping out your still-pumping heart, throwing it to the ground, and pounding it to a pulp with his foot. And that’s while he’s sober.

-Millions of Irish Refugees fled to America during the Potato Blight. They didn’t run out of potatoes, they were just really really tired of eating them. But their mothers said, “No going to America until you finish your potatoes.” When their mothers’ backs were turned, however, they surreptitiously slipped them under the table to their dogs, and off they went.

-The Irish flag is Green, symbolizing Catholicism, Orange, symbolizing Protestantism, and White, symbolizing the one thing that all Irish have in common.

-Ireland is home to over 40,000 leprechauns. Evolutionists maintain that Leprechauns are related to the fairy, the hobbit, the Danny DeVito, and that ubiquitous creature that roamed the Jurassic plains: the mighty Oompa Loompa.

-If you catch a leprechaun you can get him to tell you where he buried either his pot of gold, or the body of the last person who caught him.

-Sometimes a Leprechaun will give you three wishes, as long as you don’t wish for more wishes, true love, or a Klondike Bar.

-Invariably, anything you wish for will come with a catch. For example, if you wish for a Pony, you’ll get it *BUT* the earth will crash into the sun. You’ve just got to take the good with the bad.

Wales:

-Wales is probably most famous for when Daniel Walters did a report on the country in third grade and built a diorama of a castle with LEGOs.

-The Encyclopedia Britannica says that Wales can grow to over 180 tons, can eat and drink an enormous amount, and…

-Whoops! That’s not the entry for WALES, that’s the entry for Ted Kennedy.

-In what is quite possibly the coolest flag to ever grace a flagpole, the Welsh Flag consists of a dragon doing the “Oh, no you di’int, girlfriend” hand gesture.

Life's a Blur

2005-08-09T22:52:00.000-07:00

Eyes are funny things. Not “Beatle-Bailey-Uproariously-Gutbusting Funny” but more of a “Garrison-Keilor-vaguely-amusing-to-a-
haughty-intellectual-NPR-Listener-drinking-a-
Bavarian-Mint- Cappuccino” kind of way.

To many, eyes are very useful things. You can like… see with them. If somebody says something stupid, you can express your own dismay at their lowbrow plebian foolishness, and your own comparative superiority with a mere roll of them. You can narrow them to express incisive skepticism. You can use them to express dominance over another person in a staring contest. If you’re being held hostage, and have to deliver a video ransom message, you can use your eyes to blink a message in Morse Code: H-E-Y. I-M-A-C-T-U-A-L-LY-T-A-L-K-I-N-G-I-N-M-O-R-S-E-C-O-D-E. D-O-N-T-G-I-V-E-I-N-T-O-T-H-E-I-R-D-E-M-A-N-D-S. S-E-N-D-H-E-L-P. A-N-D-S-O-M-E-V-I-S-I-N-E.

But yet, for all their usefulness, they are like a delicate flower, perched preciously on the slippery cliffs of a Scottish Moor. (Feel free to use that bit of poetic genius. Just give me credit.)

They are one Three Stooges Eye Poke or Shish-ka-bob skewer away from being rendered completely inoperative.

I, like many, have two different eyes. They don’t get along very well. My right eye, like Felix Unger, demands perfection, excels at providing clean sharp vision, is willing to go the extra mile, shows management potential, and is a pleasure to have in class. But the other, like Oscar, is relaxed, messy, play by his own rules, and has a penchant for staying open all night and waking up in a pile of eye goop, or in some cases, pink eye.

As you can guess, the differences between these two have provided for many Wacky Hijiinks and Comic Misunderstandings that have fueled many a laugh from the studio audience of my life.

Let’s say- in a very theoretical situation, for the purposes of the argument- I’m playing “baseball.” As the ball-thrower throws the ball my right eye says, “The ball is currently exactly 1.2 meters away from you, and located at grid coordinates (5.34, -3.76) Swing now.”

The other eye, meanwhile, is saying that the ball’s more like 4 feet away from me, and may not be a ball at all. It could, for all the left eye knows, be a kitten. So all I have left to do is to close both eyes, swinging widely and hitting the umpire.

I blame my poor depth perception for my lack at skill at Baseball, Basketball, Tennis, Ping-Pong, Interpretive Dance, Cross-Country, Music, Driving, and the popular board game, “Operation.”

Still, for a while, all was good. I could simply be satisfied to wallow in my own athletic ineptitude and pursue other more Noble Pastimes, like Video Games and Sleeping.

Then my right eye starting going bad. I had been worried about the right eye for a while. He was spending too much time hanging around the left eye, and the left eye’s sloppiness was beginning to rub off on him.

Pretty soon everything started to look blurry- whiteboards, powerpoint slides, even Van Gogh paintings When police cars started to pull me over because I had no idea what the heck Stop Signs said, I knew I had a problem.

I didn’t want to get contacts because since I’m a person who’s lost my keys, my coat, my wallet, my 1998 Toyota Camry, and my baby brother (his name’s Josh and has brown hair. If you see him, E-mail me)- somehow, I didn’t think I’d do very well with an inch long clear plastic disk. Also, the concept of putting anything into your eye disturbs me. Putting anything into MY eye disturbs me even more.

Glasses, on the other hand. Well, I’m a person who did quite well in School, reads the newspaper every day, spends an excessive amount of time on the Internet, has read ninety percent of the Star Wars novels, wrote a 120 page Star Wars: Episode One parody when I was in eighth grade, is socially unaware, and has more skin conditions than friends, but glasses! That would make me look like a… Nerd.

But I, like many people, was fated to fulfill my own stereotype. I went to the Eye-ologist for the purpose of getting a prescription. He did his usual prodding and poking and chemical dropping, until my eyes look like a very surprised anime character.

“Hmm…” the doctor said, as all doctors must. “Your eyes seem very bloodshot and your pupils are HUGE! Are you sure that you haven’t been using marijuana?”

“No.” I reply “The only thing I’m addicted to… is love.”

“Too bad. Pot does wonders for relieving Glaucoma.”

Finally, my eye doctor handed me a slip of paper with what looked like the Quadratic formula written on it.

“Bring this message to the operative known only as “The Myopic Fury,” the Eye-Doctor said. “She’s dressed in a white windbreaker, and will be carrying an a Wall Street Journal in her left hand. You’ll find her behind the counter at the LensCrafting both at Costco. Tell her, ‘Here’s my prescription.’ She’ll know what to do.”

It was at Costco that I purchased my glasses, as a part of a pack of twenty-four.

“Can I get glasses that allow me to see through walls?” I asked.

“No,” the salesperson replied.

“How about ones that shoot lasers?”

“No.”

“How about ones that have a 14 strength focus, +3.74 diopter curvature, progessive lenses, +78 magnification, with enhanced active viewing zones, anti-reflective coating, and a sturdy yet fashionable frame that exudes both confidence and chic intellectualism?”

“Now those, we have.”

I slipped on the glasses. “I think the prescription’s wrong. Everything still seems blurry.”

“We have to put the lenses in first.”

“Oh.”

“Here. Try these.”

“Wow! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Everyone looks happy, and the future has never looked. Now that I have these, I’ll be popular in school, I’ll finally finish that novel I’ve been working on, and Bob Geldof recruiting Pink Floyd and U2 play music is sure to be the thing that will finally set Africa on the road out of poverty!”

“Yup. That’s our rose-tinted model.”

A week, later, my prescription finally arrived. I suavely donned my new specs. It was like… I saw the world in a whole different way. Colors became stronger. Fuzzy streaks snapped into solid lines. You know trees? They’re made up of individual components called “needles.” And I swore- that when I was REALLY tired- I could see the individual atoms in my hand.

But sight has its downsides. I could never figure out why I looked so dashing, so smashing, so ruggedly handsome in the mirror, but so hideous in pictures. That is, until I looked into the mirror with my glasses. My every flaw, my every imperfection, every nosehair, every dandruff flake, every smear of Tartar Sauce was finally illuminated. I could see myself for who I truly was.

Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall. If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.

Still, my new glasses gave me confidence. Perhaps now I can catch footballs, decipher magic eyes, and tell which bathroom is the guys and the girls. Perhaps this will be the edge I need, to finally surmount my social barriers. Perhaps these will be the key to popularity. Perhaps…

Suddenly, a yelling voice jolts me out of my revelry:

“NERD!”

I guess if I was less nearsighted, I would have seen that coming.

You say you've got a Constitution...

2005-07-27T09:21:00.000-07:00

“Arr. The United States Constitution is more of what you call *guidelines*, than actual rules. Welcome aboard the Supreme Court, Miss O’Connor!”
-Supreme Court Justice Barbossa.

To Americans, the Constitution is as an important document as the Declaration of Independence, the Federalist Papers, the DaVinci Code, and even the Complete Hagar the Horrible. While the Constitution is a little dry and stodgy in some places, (censors made the founding fathers take out the steamier parts due to colonial sensibilities, and the funnier jokes due to time constraints), and could use some more realistic character development, it contains a heartwarming message that the whole family can enjoy.

Unfortunately, while inspirational, the Constitution is unmanageably long. Weighing in at a hefty seven pages (even more for the paperback edition), it was too long for most lawmakers to deal with, especially when they had slaves that needed whipping.

So after deciding against the names “The Constitution Guys!” “Judge-o-Rama” and “Jay and Marshall’s Most Excellent Legal Adventure,” the Supreme Court was created. Their mission: To read the Constitution, annotate it, and be ready for the exam on Monday.

And so to those of you who know the Constitution as only an important character stat in your Dungeons and Dragon’s 3rd Edition games (this is the internet after all), I offer a couple of the most important Supreme Court cases. In most of these, the Supreme Court shows that the Constitution is a living document- a fickle, schizophrenic, living document that constantly gets the crap beat of out of it. Somebody call PETA:

Marbury vs. Madison

Marbury v. Madison will go down in history as the first Supreme Court case mentioned in most history textbooks. While there were cases before this case, Marbury v. Madison changed the Supreme Court from a ragtag group of mild-mannered, soft-spoken, intellectuals to a Fantastic Force, shrewder than a speeding legislator, able to rewrite laws in a single stroke, more powerful than a locomotive in the case of Western Union Locomotive co. vs Des Moines Independent School District.

The case boiled down to this:

After being defeated by Jefferson for the Presidency, but before leaving the presidency, John Adams, during a late-night bender, went on a crazed, judge-appointing spree. He woke up the next morning to discover that he had appointed 42 federal judges, all of them Federalists. One of those was William Marbury. However, these appointments were only approved on the day of Jefferson’s Inauguration.

You know that Teacher you had where no matter what circumstances- death in the family, printer failure, canine consumption, monkey flu, or space/time continuum anomaly- she wouldn’t accept late work? That was Jefferson. Since the paperwork on the judges hadn’t been delivered yet, Jefferson rejected 25 of the 42 judges. (He thought that half-credit was *more* than fair) That included Marbury. He ordered his Secretary of State, James Madison, not to deliver the positions to the judges.

Naturally, none of this has any to do with the fallout of Marbury vs. Madison.

During the Supreme Court hearing over this topic, John Marshall had two choices. He could

A) Take the appointment away from Marbury, thus ruining their friendship, and possibly endangering the chance that Marshall would be invited to Marbury’s birthday party. Not only that, but the other guys would call Marshall a wimp and maybe even a ‘wuss’ for being scared of ‘big bad Mr. Jefferson,’ so easily.

B) Give the appointment to Marbury and have President Jefferson ignore the ruling entirely, not return Marshall’s phone calls, and take Marshall of his Christmas card list. In doing so, the Supreme Court powers would be weakened.

Naturally, Marshall, decided to go with (C), decree that the Supreme Court has the power of ‘Judicial Review’ which allows them decide which acts of the president, acts of the legislature, and acts of God are unconstitutional. Also, the Chief Justice gets a special reserved parking space. And free weekend minutes. Technically, there was nothing in the Constitution about the Supreme court having the power of Judicial Review, but hey! it's not like anybody other than the supreme court is going to read the thing, anyway.

This decision had many repercussions, as in the future, the Supreme Court will determine that, in fact, parts of the Constitution are unconstitutional.

Worcester vs. Georgia

This is the case where the Supreme Court said that the Cherokee Indians can not be constitutionally removed from Georgia. When Chief Justice John Marshall looked to President Jackson to execute the order, as part of the Executive Branch, Jefferson mailed him this reply.

Dear John,
Make me. You fat tub of lard. Oh, what!? Not so hot now, are you judge-y boy? You’re all smart and pompous when you have that hammer and you’re wearing your little black Supreme Court issue dress, but now that it’s just you and me, and these two guns? That’s right these, babies can bench 235. That’s A LOT stronger than your bench on the so-called Supreme Court. What, you want to end up a habeas corpse-us? Wuss.
Yours Truly,
Andrew Jackson.

Yeah, our Jacksons were a lot more manly back them. So he was a jerk. But he was a jerk who could kill Indians, and that’s why America loved him at the time.

Dred Scott v. Sanford (and sons).

Dred Scott was a slave who sued for his freedom after his master died. Previously, he had been taken by his master been taken to Illinois during a family vacation. He sued on two grounds.

1)Illinois was a free state.

2)He had to be taken to ILLINOIS on his summer vacation. I mean, c’mon! They have what?
Lincoln’s birthplace. Why couldn’t he just hang out at the Lake with his friends that summer?

You know how you feel when your parents tell you that not only will they not give you what you want, but they’ll ground you for a week, you can’t play video games, and the entire abolition movement, the unity of the country, and the reputation of the Supreme Court is ruined for decades? That was how Dred Scott felt.

Justice Roger Taney wrote that not only would Dred Scott not get his freedom, but he never even had a right to sue. I mean, come on, he’s only 3/5th of a person. Who’s next to sue? Midgets? Women!?!

Taney ruled that slaves were legally property. They could be taken wherever you go, and it would still remain your property. This also meant that if your slave was stolen at the YMCA while you were swimming, the YMCA was not responsible or liable. (Many people took to writing their initals and phone number on their slaves in permanent marker to avoid this.)

Free states had no meaning now, recent acts by congress were voided, and the Civil War broke out into the bloodiest conflict the United States has ever fought.

How’s THAT for supreme power?

Reynolds vs. the United States:

In one of the saddest rulings for males of all time, the Supreme Court ruled that polygamy was illegal, and men could only have one wife at a time. The ruling was rushed, however, as many Justices had to hurry to get home to their mistresses.

Plessy vs. Ferguson.

In another one of the Supreme’s greatest hits, the Supreme Court decides that they can have separate facilities for Blacks and Whites, as long as they are equal. (But some are more equal than others.) In his dissent, Justice John Harlan predicted that this case will “like the Dred Scott case, totally appear in future History Textbooks.” He was right.

Plessy vs. Ferguson II: Brown vs. the Board of Education.

The Supreme Court admits that while the decision in Plessy may have been, “funny at the time, in retrospect, it was irresponsible, and even insensitive. We the court would apologize to both Mr. Plessy, and Mr. Dredd Scott, if they weren’t dead. Maybe will send your families a fruit basket or something.”

This ruling paved the way for desegregation of everything but Golf, Cricket, Badminton, the NAACP, and the entire state of Massachusetts.

Miranda v. Arizona.

This case is the one that dictates that the police must say, “You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you at no cost. During any questioning, you may decide at any time to exercise these rights, not answer any questions or make any statements,” while beating the crap out of you.

Lemon vs. Kurtzman

The Supreme court decides that it does not violate the Establishment Clause for the state to provide Catholic schools with textbooks, curriculums, and rulers for rapping kids on the wrist. This is the origin of the Lemon test, which states, “If a vehicle has traversed more than 100,000 miles, it’s time to purchase a new vehicle.”

Roe v. Wade.

Roe v. Wade is the case that causes the second-most bitter debate and protest today. (The first is Consolidated Edison Co. v. Public Service Comm'n, which addressed the free-speech writes of public utility corporations.)

This was one of the cases where the Supreme Court suddenly found the Right to Privacy in the constitution. As Henry Blackmun writes in his majority opinion:

“When the Constitution says, “We the People of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America,” what it actually means is, “You can have an abortion when ever you want, and its none of the government’s business what you do with your body or your little baby’s body.' But you probably already knew that.”

Roe v. Wade has two major repercussions:

1) The slaughter of over a million unborn babies a year, children that will never get to laugh, never get to smile, never get to feel the warmth of an embrace, or the cool breeze on their face. Never. Ever.

2) Newspapers will try to fit in “Row vs. Wade” puns into any boating/swimming caption or headline.

Since Roe vs. Wade, Jane Roe, the woman who had the abortion, has changed her mind and deeply regrets the fallout of her testimony. “Sorry! No takesy backsies!” the Supreme Court replied.

Bush v. Gore

During the hubbub of the Florida Election recount, the Supreme Court was asked to decide whether ANOTHER recount could be held. The Court issued a statement saying that, “While the Supreme Court has no constitutional reasoning for shutting down the recount, we’re really sick of the whole thing, and wish everybody would just shut up about it.”

Bush, therefore, won the election, but if a different recount had been taken that Gore had requested, that counted the entire state of Florida, divined voter intent, counted dangling, hanging, pregnant, and suspicious-looking chads, and accepted votes from convicted felons and people like Mr. FluffyKittens the III (deceased), Gore totally would have won.

Alien vs. Predator.

In this landmark case, Predator argues that Alien borrowing inside Predator’s chest and then gorily bursting out of the cavity violated Predator’s property rights. The Supreme Court denies both their claims, and sentences each to give the sum of 14 million dollars to the estates of Sigourney Weaver, Jesse “the Body” Ventura, and Gov. Arnold Swarzeneggar (R-Ca.) Chief Justice William Rhenquist, writes famously in his majority opinion: “Whoever wins. We lose.”

(Note. This article may have contained factual errors. This is because most of the “facts” were “lies.” If not lies, pure ignorance and laziness on my part. So, Mr. John Roberts, you might want to check into my sourcing before using any of my case review in your confirmation hearings. Nevertheless, I appreciate your questions. Be sure to stay in touch, especially after you get confirmed to the Court.)

The Night they Sued Christmas.

2005-07-23T09:37:00.000-07:00

The saddest part about Sandra Day O'connor's retirement is that now my epic Christmas Ballad, The Night They Sued Christmas, won't make any sense. Okay, it will make even less sense that it does now. I wrote this for the Spokesman-Review Christmas Song contest. My friend and I performed it and sent it in, a few minutes before the deadline. Suprisingly, we didn't win the contest. I figure this is because of two reasons:

1) The mainsteam Spokesman-Review couldn't handle the radical status-quo challenging, preconception-shattering ideas contained within the soul of the song's musical genius.

2) The Musical Quality was that of a Garbage Truck being recorded by a muffled answering machine.

Without further delay, here's the song:

The Night they Sued Christmas

Here’s a little song… A song about a man.. a man named Santa… Now Santa Claus… was in some trouble… more and more Children said they didn’t BELIEVE in Santa Claus.
So Santa Claus began to make public appearances… he appeared at thousands of shopping malls simultaneously… and gradually that Doubt… THAT doubt… began to go away…
But then Santa made a mistake… a dreadful mistake!

Visiting one night… amongst the Christmas craze…
He raised his jolly voice and said his catchphrase.
He said “Merry Christmas,” and also, Ho, Ho.
But some people who were listening said “Oh No”

Christmas is offensive if its mentioned audibly,
Cuz it mentions something with which some may disagree
So the politically correct knew just what To Do.
They picked up the phone and called the ACLU

Santa was making gifts for Alex and also for Tina,
When he heard a knock at his door and got a Subpoena.
It said “Mr. Claus, read the entire report.
You said “Merry Christmas” now we’ll see you in court.

Chorus:
On Dasher, On Vixen, on Rudolph, and Donnor,
On Rhenquist, and also Sandra Day O’connor.
Supreme Justice in all your Church-State Separation,
I wish you a merry Hanukkah Kwanzaa Ramadaan Seasonal Festive Winter celebration.

Like Brown versus… the Board of Education,
This case would be watched… with much anticipation
The case worked it’s way up to the Court Supreme,
So Santa hired Frosty to be on his Legal Team

The prosecution, said Mr. Claus, you are not a good neighbor
Your giving makes inflation, and uses midget slave labor.
You’ve broken and entered, stuffing stockings with coal
And flying reindeer wrecks havoc on air traffic control.

Santa started to Sob but the lawyer didn’t cease
“You drink so much eggnog you are getting obese”
You’ve been spying on kids, and you have a list to show,
That giving to the nice is giving quid pro quo.

(Chorus)

The tnese heat in the court was vividly felt,
And so Frosty the Snowman started to Melt
The case was drawing to an end, it was a quarter after four
When Santa’s legal team, was a puddle on the floor.

But then the Rudolph the reindeer, nose red from a cold
Let out a sneeze that he couldn’t quite hold
The prosecution, hearing Rudolph’s loud “Achoo”
Kindly, spoke up and Said “God Bless You”

Santa looked up, eyes twinkled with a smile,
“Now you said ‘God’. A Countersuit I will file”.
The expense will be tremendous but I have the Wealth
The ACLU will have to argue against themselves

Wonka gives me the Willies.

2005-07-16T21:22:00.000-07:00

What do you get when you remake a flick?
With scenery bright, and the CGI thick?
What do you get when you’re so out of step?
Memories smashed by Burton and Depp?

Childhood lost forever…

Oompa Loompa Doompity-Doo.
In Willy’s voice there’s something askew.
Oompa Loompa Doompity Deep…
Something about him gives me the creeps….

Now, let it be known, for public record that, overall, I liked both Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. But there’s nothing funny or clever or witty or insightful about liking something. That’s fine for moviegoers, but not for critics. The job of a critic is to be *negative,* to be *critical.* To meet everything that is pure and beautiful and funny and enjoyable with a haughty raised eyebrow, crossed arms, and a lips contemptuously pulled back into a smear. The job of the critic is to use lofty latiny or frenchy sounding words like “oeuvre” and “magnum opus” and “frommage l’escargo pluribus unum.” The job of a critic, most of all, is to make clever demeaning puns using the movie titles. Like, say, “Fantastic Fart” or “Bad News Bears Bares Bad News Badly.”

Many movies have subtle messages woven into them. For example, the basic message of Jurassic Park was, “Dude. Don’t try to resurrect dinosaurs from extinction and put them in a modern day secluded theme park and hire a corrupt computer expert”, which is a lesson we, quite frankly, can all learn from.

Here are several of the messages woven into Charlie and the Chocolate factory.

1)Play Lotto. ESPECIALLY if you’re poor. Now, some people may say you’re wasting your time, or wasting your money, and that you should spend it on other things like “food” or “utilities” or “insulin,” but don’t let their negative Nancy attitude deter you. There’s always a chance you may win. And if you do, for goodness sakes, don’t spend it on something ‘responsible.’ Splurge! You only get one go-around at life, and you should make it short as possible.

2) Don’t listen to your Dentist. Dentists are evil, kids! They never want you to have *any* fun. Braces are shackles. Toothpaste is the opiate of the massess. Flossing is what the *man* want’s you to do. Instead, eat candy! (But not too much.)

You’ve probably already heard about the plot. Willy Wonka grows up psychologically scarred from having Count Dooku as his father and dentist. (“You have chosen the way of PAIN!” his father bellows as he tightens Willy’s braces.)

Willy runs away from home and starts his own Chocolate Store, gradually, through a series of shrewd competitive business strategies, malicious mergers, blitzkrieg buyouts, insider trading, and by selling what is possibly the most addictive substance on earth- he creates the largest chocolate Empire in the world. Of course, there were mysterious accidents. The CEO of World Famous Chocolate found dead with an everlasting Gobstopper stuck in his throat, the fire that consumed Hershey, Pennsylvania triggered by an errant squirrel, and the allegations leaked to the press that Mr. Goodbar had been using Charleston Chew.

Soon Wonka reigned supreme. The cold-hearted chocolate baron, however, was always looking for ways to increase his profit margin. He turned his merciless eye to his employees. He’d already cut all the benefits that he could think of. Medical. Auto. And especially Dental. He could make even more money, he realized, by hiring workers from across the border. While it wasn’t exactly legal, the immigrants from Oompa Loompa Land would work for cheaper wages, longer hours, and most of all- they could dance Man! they could dance..

Later, Wonka sends out five golden tickets, hidden within five Wonka bars.

Chaos ensues. There are massive lines. Riots in the streets. Fires. Forgery. Leaked Information. And that was just over the newest Harry Potter book.

The tickets cause quite a stir as well, and soon the Golden tickets are discovered by five different children, one finds one because he eats a lot of Chocolate, another finds one because she is competitive, another because she has a rich Dad, another uses an algorithmic approach to reverse engineering the likely destinations based on mathematical probabilities and string theory. And one, Charlie, wins one because- hey!- he’s the protagonist!

That’s when the movie starts getting weird.

Willy Wonka isn’t your typical egomaniacal businessman. He’s a pale-faced, socially-challenged, childish creep of a man, with hints Peter Pan Syndrome, narcissism, repression, schizophrenia, denial, delusions of grandeur, mood swings, avoidance syndrome, obsessive-compulsion, anti-social personality disorder, and B.O. (Although, as a friend of mine might say, on the plus side, he *does* have nice teeth.)

In layman’s terms, Wonka is a few snozzberries short of a snozzberry bush.

And this movie is about this guy trying to give kids CANDY.

I SAW FILMS ABOUT THIS IN FOURTH GRADE! “If a man tries to lure you into his mysterious factory, using offers of Candy, just say “NO!” Even if he promises the candy will have nougats.

The movie takes a disturbing turn from there, like a Slasher film meets the Yellow Submarine music video. In a way, it’s like the movie Se7en (pronounced Sesevenen). One by one, creative poetic justice is payed out upon those who transgress. Except instead of popular sins like “murder” or “adultery” these sins seem less… well… mortal.

Gum Chewing? Greed? Liking TV? Gluttony? This is America! We don’t have the Statue of Lipid-ity swaying back and forth over New York for nothing.

Nevertheless, like a perverse Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle, one by one, the children are offed in cruel and unusual ways. Let’s just say that you’ll never look at a squirrel the same way again. The children survive- like the son in the Monkey’s Paw- but each are mutilated beyond repair. That’s just what you get… for chewing gum. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

I can just see the personal injury lawsuits.

“Now, Violet, can you please state for the jury exactly *what* the accused turned you into?”

“A… blueberry, sir.”

“And did Mr. Wonka have a PERMIT for transmogrification? Did he even keep Violet refrigerated so she didn’t spoil? Did he spray her with pesticides to keep the bugs away? No! No! And No! Mr. William W. Wonka- if that is his *real* name- might have well have prepared a giant pool of *pancake batter*!
---------

As to this movie compared to the old one… let’s just say I was… Wilder… about the old one. Gene was insane in a happy, whimsical sort of way. Depp’s insane in an “I just might add some human babies into my chocolate stew” kind of way.

And don’t even get me started on Oompa Loompas. If you really want me to get filled with righteous anger, get me started on Oompa Loompas. First of all- this is a fact, you can look it up on Encarta- Oompa Loompa’s are orange. And they have a certain song that they sing. It involves the word Oompa Loompa. It’s not technically synthesized or fused with Danny Elfman vocals. It’s a simple song, that says the word Oompa Loompa a lot. Possibly Doompity Doo. But definitely Oompa Loompa.

Oompa Loompa’s are not, experts agree, Indian Midget Variety Actor clones dressed in silver jumpsuits.

Of course, the biggest change is the ending, which has the typical Tim Burton twist:

Charlie finally escapes from the nightmarish topsy-turvy funhouse world of the Chocolate Factory. His last sight of his grandfather is of him being swarmed by Oompa Loompas brandishing Miltary-Issue Lolipops. “Run, Charlie!” his grandpa yells in between blows, “I can’t hold them off forever!”

Charlie stumbles out into the rain, dazed. Wearily, we staggers over to the nearby Lincoln Memorial. As he stares up into Lincoln’s eyes, a flash of lightning reveals the frightening truth. Lincoln’s face is that of an Oompa Loompa.

Charlie falls to his knees in despair, “NOOOOOOOOO! Dang them! Dang them all to heck!”

Now if I could trouble you for a stick of gum? Yes, I’ll take the blueberry one.

Bird Botching

2005-07-15T10:47:00.000-07:00

Any comic book connoisseur worth his weight in Kryptonite knows the background story of Red Robin. In The Amazing Red Robin: Issue 1: Fowl Play, Robert Crow,a mild-mannered restaurant waiter, is fatefully hit by a radioactive bird dropping (The bird had been feeding on worms near Hanford. You know, the ones with the red eyes and teeth.)

Naturally, before he could clean it off the DNA and RNA and ACL and the Mitosises… all combined and merged and altered Robert Crow… permanently. Now, whenever there was a wiff of injustice in the air, whenever they were children in the need of being entertained, whenever there was a photo-op that needed to be created, Robert could run to the nearest supply closet, and in a matter of fifteen minutes be transformed into RED ROBIN! THE AVIAN AVENGER! He steps out of the closet and utters that heroic catchphrase, “Uh… could somebody help me with this zipper?

Yesterday, I was first called upon to assume the mantle of Red Robin. I slipped into the costume- well, maybe slipped isn’t the right word. I *bungled* into the costume in the 2x3 supply closet. And *yes* the Red Robin Costume does make me look fat.

The bottom of the costume consists of yellow tights. Although I am very secure in my masculinity, I *usually* avoid wearing tights. Except at Ballet lessons, of course. And in emergencies. And on Tuesdays.

It took me the longest time to figure out how to put the gloves on. No matter which way I turned them, they still felt wrong, somehow. Finally, I fingered the problem: The glove only had *four* fingers.

If I had been a comic book fan, I would have known, of course. Red loses his fifth fingers in The Amazing Red Robin issue #348: Red Robin vs. The Sinister Dr. Applebee. I’m sure you’ve read that one.

Finally, I placed Red’s massive decapitated and hollowed-out head onto my own, and stumbled out of the closet. The supply closet, I mean. No more “tights” jokes.

For some reason, little kids seem to love the giant bird with blank glassy eyes and a coy smile that seems to be hiding a darker secret. They hug him and high five him and take pictures with him. Obviously, they weren’t brought up on Hitchcock movies like me.

I had all sorts of plans for my stint as Red Robin. To amuse the children, and would flap my arms as hard as I could and then BAM! run into the glass doors and fall down, twitching on the floor.

The nice thing about wearing the Red Robin suit is that your identity is concealed. I could do anything: Whether it be dancing the Chattanooga Choo Choo or going on a maniacal gun-blazing crime spree… and NOBODY would know it was me. When the witnesses were questioned by police later, they would have to say, well he was about 6’1, had four fingers, was… uh… furry and red… and had a beak attached to his massive head. Oh! And he was doing the hussle!”

Unfortunately, as soon as I came out of the supply closet, one of my coworkers lets out a stifled snicker and yells, “Hey! You’ve got to see this!”

As an experienced expert in the field of humiliating myself, I know, instinctually, that “Hey! You’ve to see this,” is *not* a good phrase to hear.

It turns out that, through the outline of my tights (remember those) one could see the outline of my shorts, my keys, my wallet, my inhaler, and my Duncan Donuts punch card. (It had five punches, witnesses recall.) Curse you, yellow tights! Curse you!

It also happens, that after reading the Red Robin Code, the costume has a maximum height of 5 foot 7. I’m a half a foot too large.

You know how, when you’re growing up, people tell you that you can be anything you want to be? It’s not true. Sometimes, you’re just too tall.

I haven’t given up all hope, however. I hear there’s a place called “Chuck E. Cheese” that’s hiring…

Squeak Squeak.

War of the Worlds: What I remember.

2005-07-10T00:04:00.000-07:00

*Spoiler Warning! This review contains spoilers, and will spoil your viewing of War of the Worlds. Seriously, it will completely ruin it. Even if you’ve already seen the movie, it will spoil it retroactively. That’s how bad it is.*

War of the Worlds, like many great movies, began with twenty minutes of previews. This was followed by a commercial for Coca-Cola, a notice to keep your cell phones turned off and your seats in their upright and locked position, and finally a cameo by the And Now for Your Feature Presentation Man.

The actual movie started out with showing cells dividing in the midst of a deep, swirling, voiceover. If you listened closely, you could hear the whir of the filmstrip and Mr. Skillestad warning you to take good notes; there will be a quiz on mitosis and miosis on Friday.

The world, and the characters that populated it, were being watched, the voiceover ominously warned. This was a classic Speilburgian touch: a wink at the audience, who, for the last 30 seconds had indeed been watching the world and the characters that populated it.

Most summer blockbusters have a hair-raising action sequence within the first five minutes, and the War of the Worlds is no different. The audience watches breathlessly as Tom Cruise (Tom Cruise) deftly maneuvers a boxcar onto a train from his crane. This is an important scene, as it showcases Tom’s crane maneuvering ability, a trait which come in handy in the crane-maneuvering finale at the end.

Unfortunately, Tom Cruise has more problems than a low-paying job without dental benefits. He is divorced, is house is a mess, there’s nothing in the refrigerator, and his e-meter’s running on empty. To make matters worse his two kids are staying with him for the weekend. His daughter (Katie Holmes) is a typical girl in the sense that she always freaks out over little things like buildings collapsing, and people being vaporized, and hundreds of bodies drifting pass in the rivers, and when somebody jumps out behind her and yells, “Ooogidyboogidy boo!” And his son, Napoleon Dynamite (Hayden Christenson) is just as bad. Always listening to Emo music on his Ipod and complaining about his Dad.

Nothing short of an Alien Attack could heal the rift between them. Fortunately, an attack is just what the aliens have been planning!

Like most aliens, they decide to operate through the device of ominous foreshadowing. A freakin’ freak lightning storm freaks the freaks out. Tom Cruise sings to his daughter, reminding her to remember a few of her favorite things. The only things she can think of are Gogurt and Sparkle paint.

Finally, the storm quells, and Tom and his friends go to investigate a mysterious smoking crater. Fortunately, the action doesn’t take place in Spokane, where big smoking craters are a common occurrence on most Spokane roads.

Suddenly, a massive metal Martian machine blasts through the asphalt. “ET’s back!” It said, “And this time, I have free long distance service through Verizon!”

“Curse you, Verizon! I knew you would be the end of us!” the crowd says, before the Aliens begin ‘sploding everything, like good aliens should. Highlights include:

-We never really find out why the aliens are attacking Earth, but it becomes pretty obvious: They are angry at the unilateral way that the United States recklessly invaded the sovereign nation of Iraq. If we’d never made them angry with our cowboy actions, they would have stayed buried.

-Turns out that the Aliens had been buried beneath the ground for millions of years, and in the process of digging water mains, construction workers even found a few, but threw them away because OSHA regulations forbid examination of alien artifacts, under section C, part 56-7.

-The aliens also used their zapper ability to ruin all electronic devices, including TV’s, iPods, gameboys, joy buzzers, and cars. Fortunately, Tom Cruise, being the blue collar guy that he is, knows the problem. “Prob’ly a warped camshaft,” Cruise tells his mechanic, “You might need to unclog the discarbanotor or cleaning the corrugation gaskets.”

“Thanks, Tom!” the mechanic says,

“I’ll get vaporized later!” He adds in another subtle bit of foreshadowing.

-Tom steals a car, runs a red light, and makes SEVERAL lane violations. Unfortunately, they run into a group of Raiders fans…

The aliens just interrupted their football game… and they are P… Oed.

-Tom’s daughter tries to blow up the aliens brains through high-pitched screaming. The aliens are able to match it out with a low bassoon foghorn blast, which sounds like either robot flatulence, or the sounds of an angry walrus as recorded on a YakPak.

-I know! Let’s all pack ourselves into a boat like sardines! Where there’s no way out! And lets not wear life jackets, or even water wings! Nothing bad can possibly happen.

-The aliens, monsters that they are, blow up a Thrift Store, causing hundreds of T-shirts to rain down. The ones with pink-tags are half-price on Tuesdays.

-Naturally, the military is tasked with the charge of preventing panic in the streets. “Nothing to see here folks. Just line up, single file, to be vaporized in an orderly fashion. Aliens? What aliens? Oh, thosssse. Those are just uh… Weather Balloons, haven’t you heard?”

-The military does try to attack the Aliens, foolishly. C’mon military! Haven’t you seen, Mothra! You can’t fight these guys! You need to use radiation to make a BIGGER monster to have a mano-e-martian showdown. There’s a procedure, a process, for these things, you know.

-Eventually, Tom’s son decides that since his dad is like being a total jerk, and won’t let him do ANYTHING, he’s going to pack up his bags and just go hang out with the aliens. This worries Tom, as it should any parent. First, they start hanging out with Aliens, then they start experimenting with probing. Next thing you know, they’ve stolen a Tripod and are joyriding (or joywalking) it to Vegas, vaporizing random cars along the way. Then they start becoming interested in Scientology. That’s where it becomes really bad.

-They run across a crazy character with a shaky grip on reality and wacky political beliefs. He’s played by Tim Robbins,

-Robbins has a plan to deal with the aliens. He’ll leave a trail of Reeses Pieces on the floor to his basement. Then when the unsuspecting alien comes through the door… he’ll whack ‘em on the head with a shovel! Teehee!

-Remember that suspenseful scene in Jurassic Park, where the raptors follow the kids around the kitchen, and they sneak around and try to not be seen? Spielberg, wanting to be known for creating new cinemographic art as opposed to simply rehashing what’s already been done, has absolutely nothing like it in War of the Worlds.

-Remember that scene in Independence Day, where they can’t seem to destroy the aliens, but then that one guy figures out that you can blow them up from INSIDE the ship? Spielberg, wanting to be known for creating new cinemographic art as opposed to simply rehashing what’s already been done, has absolutely nothing like it in War of the Worlds.

-Remember that scene in Shawshank Redemption, where Tim Robbins decides he’s going to dig his way out to safety? Spielberg, wanting to be known for creating new cinemographic art as opposed to simply rehashing what’s already been done, has absolutely nothing like it in War of the Worlds.

-Remember that scene in Toy Story, where they are trapped in that machine with all those other guys, and the claw comes up to take Buzz away, but Woody tries to stop it by pulling him down and away from the claw? Spielberg, wanting to be known for creating new cinemographic art as opposed to simply rehashing what’s already been done, has absolutely nothing like it in War of the Worlds.

-Remember that scene in Star Wars, where after the final scene in the movie, the credits roll? SPIELBURG TOTALLY RIPS THAT OFF!

Boom! Pow! Eeeee..... YEAAAHGGH!

2005-07-04T10:21:00.000-07:00

Ah, the fourth of July! The time which we celebrate our Founding Fathers fighting for our rights, for our freedom, for our liberty, by not being able to shoot off fireworks.

It’s no fair, I used to complain. The Founding Fathers got their independence using fireworks, why can’t WE! Of course, their fireworks consisted more of cannonballs than bottlerockets, but the point remains: While it’s okay to burn the flag, it’s not okay to shoot the flag up into the air, and have it explode into a dozen sparking plumes.

The law was enacted in Spokane, Washington because a special interest group known as “Firefighters” started whining about all the “fires” that fireworks were setting.

That’s why they’re called fireworks! If you want to see ‘waterworks’, Mr. or Mrs. Joe Firefighter, call the Sewage Treatment plant.

Putting out fires is what the Volunteer Fire Department gets paid for, for goodness sakes.

So, sure the “evidence” may “suggest” that fireworks may cause a few singed eyebrows, a few brush fires, a raging inferno here and there, maybe a few “deaths” for those too wussy to take a rocket to their socket, but consider this:

Fireworks are cool.

They’re loud, they’re invasive, they’re dangerous. Is there anything more American?

----------
There was a time, a more innocent time, when we allowed the 4th of July equivalent of Urban Warfare. The next morning, there were *craters*. I love the smell of sulfur in the morning.

When I was child, however, I learned the sad truth about economic disparity. There are two types of Middle Class Families.

Those who spent their money, and families that were frugal. While the neighbors would be buying jet-skis, purchasing cars, eating at restaurants, and swiping their credit cards, we had this nefarious little thing called a “Savings Account.”

“I’m sorry kids,” my Dad would say, “But ‘Lunchables’ are a luxury.” So were fireworks.

So the firework display would unfold at my neighbors. They had everything, cherry bombs, bottle rockets, sliders, screamers, shriekers, yelpers, bellowers, M-80’s, SP350’s, Ak-47’s, Claymore Mines- and in the air! The heavens parted and rained down fiery vengeance. An apocalyptic clash of principalities and powers, unfolding before our trembling- and occasionally dodging- selves! The Rockets Red Glare! Bombs bursting in Air! Smoke on the Asphalt! Fire in the sky!

Meanwhile, in my backyard, my mother would be vigilantly warning us, “Careful with those sparklers kids! They may be sparkly, but they’re dangerous!”

That doesn’t mean we haven’t had some wonderful Fourth of July’s. Far from it. I will never forget our 4th of July, at Mount Rushmore, when- with the wondrous sculptures of some of the Greatest Americans majestically rising behind us- we were told that the Mount Rushmore firework display had been the day before. You know, because the 3rd of July is such a pivotal moment in our nation’s history. 4th of July’s Eve.

Most of our celebrations took place at our fireworks-legal lake cabin. One year, my father decided to throw caution to the wind, and really go all out! That year, we packed in the van, drove up to one of those sleazy firework shanties, and spent almost *25 bucks* on the ‘works. That included such favorites:

Sparklers- 4th of July, held in your hand. The major selling point of sparklers, if I remember, was that you could write your name with fire. Of course, you can do the same thing with a tank of lighter fluid and a nicely manicured lawn and to greater effect. Still, sparklers provide an ingenious- if unorthodox- highly-effective Q-tip. Just be sure to keep the emergency room on speeddial.

Bottle Rockets: The shriek of the bottle rocket is nothing compared of the shriek of the person who gets it shot into their eye.

The Worm: Yes, it is as exciting as the name indicates! Light this wonder of modern science, and watch Spontaneous Generation create a worm entirely out of ash! Keep the kids amused for hours! You know, the ones inside playing videogames.

The Tank: This was my favorite. This was actually a little tank, that when lit, simulated a tank controlled by a very disgruntled and underqualified tank crew. With a few LEGO men, you can teach your child about the history of Tienamen square.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom- The Firework: This was one of the big ones. It cost us four whole dollars. For the name, I was expecting a lot. Like maybe it would start out with a Ball of Fire rolling down towards us, and then change into a cracking whip, and the whole time be playing the firecracker version of the theme from Raiders of the Lost Ark. I was hoping that, if you looked directly at it, your face would melt. Instead the only thing in common that it had with the Temple of Doom was that it had a Short Round. *Rimshot*

Fortunately, the moment wasn’t entirely lost.

“We still have some Worms left, kids!” Dad said.

The kids: “Yaaaaay!”

Shaving Face

2005-06-07T22:43:00.000-07:00

The haggard visage stared blearily back at me. It’s face- if you can call it that- the slashed, torn, gory remnants of a nightmare, wince wearily. Trickles and spurts of bright red blood flow over older blood- caked, coagulated, and cracked.

In my right hand, I hold a bladed implement, razor sharp and dripping with crimson.

I am responsible for this vision of horror, this specter of disfigurement.

I am the one who- once again- has brought this ghastly mutilation to the features bleeding in the mirror.

It isn’t that I try to have some twisted masochistic ritual- though, in a sense, it is. It isn’t a desperate cry for attention. I would like nothing more to avoid it. No, to cut to the chase, the cuts on my face are a part of that futile war against my facial hair.

You can beat it out, you can cut it, you can pull it, you can burn it off, but STILL it comes back for more. Each time, it is stronger, quicker, savvier. The hair force quickly learns the lessons of their fellow fallen follicles. They can change, adapt to whatever I throw at them.

I have a dastardly combination: Black, coarse, quick-growing hair and a wussy face.

I can go from clean-shaven to Fidel Castro to ZZ top in a matter of minutes. As soon as I’ve shaved, even while my blood is still fresh, then you know my friends, I got Stubble. Stubble in razor city.

Back in Prehistoric times, this would have been an evolutionary benefit. If the ice age hit, I’d be warm and cozy in my insulated coat of fur. I could even keep little scraps of food in my beard, in case a famine hit.

Nowdays, however, the Cro-Magnon look is out, while the PeeWee Herman look is in.

So I have two choices: The Electric Razor… or THE BLADE.

The problem with the Electric Razor is that, while it doesn’t cut me, it also doesn’t, technically, *cut hair*. Oh, it makes a lot of noise, it puts on a nice show, with a lot of whirring and scraping. But when the dust clears, the Before Picture and the After Picture look exactly the same. Even if I really dig in, if I shave for hours, violently, still a legion of octopus-like facial hair juts out through the red razor burn, smugly blowing in the wind.

The problem with the blade are obvious. I can clear the weeds, but it looks like I’ve used a WeedWacker. I can shave my entire face, and it all looks clear. For a moment, it looks like I’ve succeeded. Then one by one, a hundred minuscule pinpricks of red appear. And then, like Moses’ Second Plague, here comes da blood. Sometimes you have cuts in places you don’t even remember shaving (Wha… I don’t remember shaving my forehead.)

The ironic part of it, is that you only shave with the blade when you really want to look sharp, clean-shaven, professional, and dashingly handsome. So it’s always right before important events that you reduce your image to shreds. It’s always ackward, during a job interview, that you start bleeding all over your resume. Most career services recommend against this. I’ve gone to many classes with large wads of Kleenex bonded to my face. Nobody seems to notice.

There are ads, of course, for better blades: “Try the Dodecahedronra Techno-Razor! Our laser guided technology actually seeks out hair follicules and fries them at the source! Our patented terrain-mapping GPS system in the handle prevents nicks and cuts! Only four easy payments of 47.95! Good for up to three uses!”

Unfortunately, as a College Student on a Top Ramen Budget I can only afford Western Family’s Generic Razors. A single blade! Not all that rusty! Can also be used for shearing sheep! Two complimentary band-aids in every package!

Now if you’ll excuse me, the Kleenex on my face needs replacing.

Lately Fashionable.

2005-06-01T14:55:00.000-07:00

Here's another newspaper article I wrote, this one on fashion. This was probably my most popular article.

It was during one of our Newspaper Reviewing sessions, in between everybody insulting Erik’s layout job and passing a motion to get some pizza, that Mo made the suggestion. Why don’t each of us Newspaperians write a column about something we didn’t know anything about. I was game. Having been in AP classes for two years I am an expert in writing about things I don’t know anything about. I thought about writing about a subject like “Failure”, but Mo suggested I write about “Fashion”.

I don’t know what he was trying to say. Maybe it’s because I use the tried and true “close your eyes and pick whatever’s on the top of the drawer” method of getting dressed. Maybe the Ketchup stains on my shirts clash with the Arby’s Sauce stains. Either way, I decided to delve into the exotic world of fashion designers, many of whom have fúnny márks abóve the léttérs in their ñämęś. Throughout my research I found many helpful fashion tips like “Do not pull your Corduroys above your pocket protector”. But instead of regaling you with the latest fashion trends (defined as “whatever fashion designers come up with in the shower”) I’ve decided to deal with the most basic elements of fashion first:

Shirts: The primary use of the shirt is to distinguish the Shirts Team from the Skins Team in Frisbee Football. Many shirts have witty and incisive slogans on them like “I’m with stoopid” “I paid $29.95 for this stupid T-shirt and all I got was this stupid T-Shirt”, and “Old Navy”

Pants: Most cultures in the world, with the exception of some indigenous tribes and Abercrombie and Fitch Models, wear pants. Recently, however, there has been quite a controversy because some women are wearing pants (or ‘knickers’ as they call them) instead of the more socially acceptable dress and corset combination. Next thing you know they’ll be asking for the right to vote!

Shoes: Unless you are a Hobbit or Hippie (they both smell similar), you probably wear shoes of some type. For example, your mother wears army boots. Shoes are very handy for killing spiders to big to wrangle with kleenex. Some people even own more than one pair of shoes, presumably because they are extraordinarily wealthy.

Hats: There are many types of hats: Baseball caps, beanies, three-cornered hats, cowboy hats, hats with those spinny propellers on them, and my father’s favorite, the toupee. Some people are so cool that they turn their hats sideways or backwards. This is what Abraham Lincoln did with his top hat. Unfortunately, the South mistook this for a gang symbol, and Lincoln was later shot.

Piercings: In an effort to counteract their attractiveness many people stab small holes in their flesh and fill them with metal objects. It used to be that this activity was limited to earlobes and voodoo dolls. But now, to rebel against people who were doing the exact same thing 10 years ago, people pierce their noses, navels, eyebrows, tongues, hair, eyeballs, small intestines, uvulas, mitochondria, and brains. The human-tacklebox look may seem painful but it is not without its benefits. During Christmas many of these people hang festive ornaments from their person. Those caught in avalanches can be easily found by any rescue team equipped with a metal detector.

Of course, the subtleties and nuance of fashion come from picking the correct combination of the above articles of clothing. Some, like the black and white striped shirt with the ball-and-chain accessory, go great together, while others are faux pas. (French for “Fox Pass”) For example, they tell me that wearing red wine with fish is just not done. Fortunately, after all my tireless and tiring research I discovered the secret to dressing sharp, dapper, and as in vogue as the people in Vogue.

I simply ask my sister.

Walters World Factbook Guide to: Romania

2005-05-24T13:32:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year when many people, tired of living in the bliss of modernity, to visit a third-world country, experience its culture, and get horribly ill. Last year, one of my friends went to a little known country called, "Romania" to be a missionary there. I decided it would be helpful to research a few travel tips to make the Romanian trip more entertaining. I've deleted the tips that would make absolutely no sense to you, since you don't KNOW ME

-Start the trip off with a BANG! But not on the plane. You might make Airport Security nervous.

-Make a lighthearted comment as you pass through airport security, like “Whoops! Forgot my bomb!” Everyone will have a good belly laugh. Hopefully the handcuffs won’t chafe too much.

-You’ll take a 757 to Minneapolis, a 747 to Paris, a Cessna to Kazakhstan, and then finally a Yak with paper-maché wings to Bucharest, Romania. Try to sit lightly.

-No trip to Romania is complete without seeing the Parthenon and the Coliseum.

-In a fight knock down, drag out, cage match between Romania and Poland, Poland would win. That’s how third-world Romania is.

-Romania is known to be teaming with flagrant Vampires. In fact, the Romanian legislature just passed a controversial law that allows vampires to marry.

-Vampires can be identified by their black cloaks, their stark white faces, their sharp, pointy, teeth, and the fact that their favorite beverage of choice is Blood. (Or Blood Lite for weight-conscious vampires). Of course, this is also the description of the average Metallica fan.

-Try not to get confused, because the Metallica fans are far more dangerous. Just remember: one makes your neck bleed, the other makes your ears bleed.

-Even more dangerous than Vampires themselves, is the dreaded Vampire Guano.

-If you wake up with a small bite mark on your neck, turn into a bat, or when exposed to sunlight start getting burnt really easily instead of tanning, seek medical attention immediately.

-So be prepared. At all times carry a silver stake, a couple Crucifixes, Garlic and Off Spray.

-Romania is a former Communist Bloc country. Or as they say in Britain, a former Communist Bloke country

-Take care not to remind them of their communist past. For example: Never offer to share anything.

-Romania is strictly BYOTP (Bring Your Own Toilet Paper)

-Make sure you exchange your American Currency (Dollars) for Romanian currency (Mud)

-Tell everyone you’ve come down with a case of roMANIA! They’ll appreciate your enthusiasm.

-If you are offered an interpreter, say thanks, but no thanks. You already know a year of Spanish.

-If you are building a church, I suggest drawing from Baroque or Gothic Architecture, possibly with a subtle hint of Frank Lloyd Wright and Post-modernist influence. ‘Four walls and a roof’ is nice too.

-You might want to bring some music CDs. Romania only gets rap and country stations.

-No trip to Romania is complete without stopping at the most popular clothing store in Bucharest: American Eagle.

-While you’re there you should catch a movie at the cinema. Romania finally gets “The Wizard of Oz” next week. In Technicolor!

-Watch out for bloody coups!

-The prime minister of Romania is Adrian Nastase… wait… correction. It’s Corneliu Vadim Tudor… this just in, now it’s Ivan Snetzylofkinitzkinova… I’m sorry, there’s been a sudden change, make that Chekov Slovokya… Your results may vary.

-Romania is known as an ‘unstable country’. Don’t make any sudden moves.

-The Romanian flag is composed of three vertical stripes, each with a different color. Way to be creative, Romania.

-Romania is about the same size as Oregon, but with less salt-water taffy.

-Make sure you know Romania’s national anthem- ‘Baby got Back’

-The people of Romania are hungry, but their plight is nothing compared to their neighbor to the NorthEast.

-Due to its very high humidity, Romania leads the world in the Exportation of Sweat.

-Conveniently, if you ever get lost in Romania, you can just follow the scent right back to a place of population.

-Romanian’s Waste Treatment system isn’t quite as advanced as ours. Also, Romania borders the ‘Black Sea’. Not sure if these two things are related…

- Hundreds of nuclear weapons were lost in the collapse of the Soviet Union. So be careful when cooking.

-Unlike the Dominican Republic, drinking the water doesn’t give you Montezuma’s Revenge. It does, however, turn you into a Frog.

-Make sure to send your friends lots of postcards that will arrive two or three months after you get home.

Episode SPOILER III Favorite Scenes SPOILER

2005-05-21T11:33:00.000-07:00

I went and saw Revenge of the Sith last night. If you’re worried about this movie, worry no longer. If you liked Battlefield Earth, Chronicles of Riddick, Gigli, and Howard the Duck then you’ll LOVE Revenge of the Sith. Actually, it’s a pretty good movie by my standards of pretty good movies. Here’s my favorite scenes. If you haven’t seen the movie READ NO FURTHER. You’ll spoil your movie experience and become terribly mad at me.

-Jar Jar and R2D2 doing the Charleston and Jitterbug at the party at the end.

-The oh-so-cute baby Admiral Ackbar saying, “It’s a twap!”

-The part where evil Palpatine tries to kill one hundred and one wookies to make himself a warm wookie coat.

-Palpatine using his dark side powers of energy to recharge his laptop.

-Darth Vader and Palpatine performing “It had to be you,” vaudeville style, with lightsabers.

-The part where Anakin switches the statue in the temple with a bag of dust, and then has to outrun a boulder.

-Obi-wan explaining to the cop that he was following the speed limit- from a certain point of view.

-Qui-Gonn Jinn’s ghost endorsing Frito-Lays.

-Palpatine initiating “Order 67,” which made License Tabs only 30 dollars, but at the redcution of public transportation and public services funds. That evil monster!

-The much anticipated Yoda Vs. Alf fight.

-The explanation for why “Kashyyyk” has so many y’s.

-The scene with Count Dooku flushing the Jedi Code down the toilet.

-The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man marching through Coruscant.

-General Grievous yelling at Tom Cruise that he “can’t handle the truth.”

-Senator Bail Organa arguing Resolution 365-15-1 before the Galatic Senate (The water fluoridation resolution)

-Anakin telling Padme, “I hate Mayonnaise. It’s all slimy and goopy. Unlike you, shnookums” in the most romantic scene in the movie.

-Padme craving, “bantha meat drizzled in Jawa sauce topped with Kessel vinegar and peanut butter,” during her pregnancy.

-George Lucas’s cameo as a rich, powerful, member of the Trade Federation who cares nothing for the demands and complaints of his customers.

-The scene where Obi-Wan and Anakin fail to do the Volcano Dance correctly and anger Mustafar, God of Fire. The consequences are impressive.

-George Lucas’s subtle political message when he has Anakin say, “Now I’m evil! Just like George W. Bush, President of the United States of America, who was elected not selected and who got us in an unwinnable war in Iraq, which is a quagmire just like Vietnam!”

-The discovery that the entire Separatist vs. Republic conflict was all a scheme to get oil. Sweet, sweet, oil.

-And my favorite scene: The Super Bombad Racing.

The "Top Five Posts That I Could Read In The Carnival of Comedy" Awards.

2005-05-20T10:11:00.000-07:00

The great thing about the Carnival of Comedy is that it allows all sorts of people in, without "judging" who's the "best" and who's "first" and all those socially-damaging capatilistic aspects of our culture. Instead, everyone sits at the Round Table, equal in the carnival of love.

I'm here to put a stop to that.

Here's the rankings to what I feel are the top five posts in the Carnival of Comedy that I could read. I have a filter that filters out random websites, and so if you didn't get on my top five, it's probably because your server is blocked. Just keep thinking that, and you'll be happy.

Members of the IMAO.us groupblo g are disqualified for being too funny and overexposed as it is.

5) -Respectful Insolence presents A Field Guide to Biomedical Meeting Creatures. The Word Biomedical scared me, but I have bared witness to enough after-speech questions that this was amusing to me. My favorite were the kids at Scholarship competitions who'd ask questions like, "Are we going to get a chance to Expand our Horizons and meet Experience Diverse and Exciting New Learning Opportunities?"

I was more of the, "Is there going to be any Cake after this speech is finally over" type questioner.

4) Willisms gives some amusing/frightening photoshops for this eventful weekend in our World's History..

3) North Shore politics presents: For those times that you absolutely crave human. It's a sick and twisted world we live in. But tasty. Sick and twisted- but tasty.

2) -PointFiveStep presents The Puffington pos t. A lot of it doesn't technically make sense to me, and it uses the A-Hole word, but it has a picture of Mayor McCheese. That's what put it over the top for me.

1) Finally, coming it at number one, is one of the most underrated satirists on the web, and one my favorite bloggers that I am always forgetting about: The Therapist: with Senator Boxer decries abuses at "Abby Grub."

For those who didn't qualify, don't sweat it. Senses of humor can be radically different. For example, some people find the crude, plebian humor of the "Royal Tannenbuams" funny, while others prefer the higher, more artsy and insisive musings of the critically aclaimed "Naked Gun" series.

New Post! New Post! New Post!

2005-05-19T10:20:00.000-07:00

Eject! Eject! Eject!, my favorite writer in the entire write-o-sphere this side of James Lileks, has finally posted the next in his series of compelling essays. As always the analysis is thought-provoking, the conclusion is mind blowing, and the special effects- while sometimes overblown- are entertaining.

Click. Read. Conquer.

2005-05-18T12:48:00.000-07:00

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

He's even more twisted and evil than we ever imagined!

2005-05-18T12:13:00.000-07:00

Patrick Ruffini offers an ominous picture of Darth Vader's true, but predictable, political affiliation.

I, too, have required an exclusive photo- this one of Darth Vader's earlier years.

Who knew that he was this depraved?!

Full size Image.

Chilling. He had a pretty good batting average, the ESPN.com archives say, but his Asthma condition made him a lousy runner.

Take that Gonzaga!

2005-05-18T10:23:00.000-07:00

So the dearth of publicity about Whitworth has finally ended! We finally get the recognition we deserve, and in a quality publication like the Spokesman "Registration Required" Review, as well.

The Bad News. It's not a glowing article about sports, or community service, or scientific discoveries made in the SAGA food. It's mainly focused about two Whitworth kids lining up, eyes aglow, ready to see the opening of Star Wars: Episode III: Revenge of the Excessively Long Title.

In one sense it's heartening. There are still kids out there willing to waste an excessively long amount of time for something useless they believe in. (It's kinda like the Democratic Convention. Ha!)

But in the other sense, this shows that Spokane, sadly, is a dying city. In a city like Seattle there would be HUNDREDS of Star Wars fans lined up in the cold wet rain to see something they could easily get into the next day.

We have but two. Always two there are. No more. No less.

By the way, big warning about reading the Spokesman Article. There are MAJOR SPOILERS. Which I shall reproduce fiendishly without a spoiler warning.

After that cheer-inducing yellow script scrolls, "Star Wars" super fans will watch as characters Master Yoda, Obi Wan Kenobi, Emperor Palpatine and Anakin Skywalker, otherwise known as Darth Vader, log their final cinematic appearances in "Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith," the sixth and reportedly last film to be released in the series.

ANAKIN SKYWALKER IS DARTH VADER! Oh, my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh. Now that I think about it, it all becomes clear.

Anakin Skywalker= Whiny

"I wanna become a Jedi. My mom died. Wah. Wah. Wah!"

Darth Vader= Whiny.

"But Officer Needddaaaa.... I wanted the Millennium Falcon! Gosh! Your lack of faith is soooo DISTURBING! *Stomp Stomp Stomp* *SLAM* *Choke Choke Choke*"

The only thing that doesn't make sense is the voice. Anakin sounds kinda like Hayden Christiansen, whereas Darth Vader has a voice almost reminiscent of James Earl Jones. Maybe Anakin goes through puberty in this episode. I can't wait to see what effect Teen Angst has on a Jedi.

Let's just hope the movie turns out quality. Good things there's no anagram for "Sith" describing a "substance of inferior quality."

This just in!

2005-05-17T12:21:00.000-07:00

Dude. Dude...

An Anagram of B. Gates is B. Saget.

Hope I didn't just blow your mind.

Newsweek: Uh-More Like... BOOZE SEEK!

2005-05-17T11:59:00.000-07:00

The Newsweek scandal, of course, spawned dozens of blog-o-posts which used the word Newsweak. As if to imply the news in Newsweek, was, in fact, weak. Heh heh. It's a diabolically clever play-on-words.

Jonah Goldberg suggested "Todd," which, of course, doesn’t even rhyme! With a name like “Newsweek,” there are so many options, including
-ViewsBleak
-SkewsMeek
-Jooooos, Eeek!.
-WoosShiek.
-ChoosePink
-PoosReek.
-CluesLeak
-NewsGleek*
-DudesFreak
-U.S. News and World Report.

Of course, one might ask, why would we even want to come up with a disparaging nickname for an adversary? Isn’t that a symptom of Maureen Dowd Syndrome? (“…ChimpChimpMcBushington and Slick Cheney helping out their Corpulent-Corpse-Corporation, HELLiburt-and-ernie-ton.”)

*Gleeking, is of course, slang for a certain type of spitting between ones teeth- which was very popular at North Central in 11th grade.

The Restaurant Roughly Around the Center of the Universe.

2005-05-17T10:38:00.000-07:00

Red Robin has a family-friendly policy to try to make their customers as smiling,, satisfied, and satiated as possible. That’s all nice and good, in a pre-Wall Mart Pleasantville land. But what if *I* was running a restaurant. How would it look? What would be *my* instructions to *my* employees. Do all of *my* personal pronouns have to be encased in *asterisks*? There’s only one way to find out! Keep reading… in my LONGEST POST YET TWO HOUR SEASON FINALE!

Restaurant Name.

A Restaurant by any other name may still taste as sweet, but can you imagine if McDonald’s was called McBain’s or McBeth’s? Superstitious theatre majors would never eat there. (And they would have a dastardly time cleaning dishes. Out, out, damn spot!)

Therefore, a title is important. With “Dick’s Drive Thru” already taken, I had a hard time coming up with a better name. But then it came to me: “Pity the Food.” It has the word “Food” in it, it makes people eat there out of Pity and it references Mr. T! It’s PERFECT!

Theme

Most popular restaurants have a theme as well. Red Robin has Family Values, Outback Steakhouse has Western, Wolfy’s drive thru has The Swinging 50’s, Del Taco has El Españolamente Languagemos, and Wendy’s has Surprise Human Limb Discoveries. Well, with Pity the Food the theme is obvious. FOOD! We can have all sorts of signs with Food on them. Maybe a mascot dressed up as a giant food. We can even- get this- sell food-related items along with serving our normal menu entrees.

Underlying Philosophy.

Thomas Hobbes, Nicholae Machiavelli and Adam Smith. Of course, even these brilliant mind bow to the enlightened thinking of George Washington. Abraham Lincoln. Alexander Hamilton. Thomas Jefferson. Benjamin Franklin. Ulysses S. Grant. You get the picture. The Green is King.

Birthday Song
Every good restaurant needs its own special birthday song, usually dealing with these two important themes:

1) Happy

2)Birthday

Unfortunately, the most popular Happy Birthday song, “Happy Birthday,” is copyrighted.

(Those that were at my 9th Birthday party remember when the door to my house was kicked down by a team of subpoena-wielding copyright lawyers, in the middle of singing Happy Birthday. Thinking fast, I threw my Power Rangers cake through the air as a distraction, there was a flash of exploding party favors, and I had disappeared, leaving only red streamers blowing lonely in the wind.)

Usually, restaurants parody a popular public domain song like “The Flintstones,” “Ring around the Rosy,” “Handel’s Messiah,” or “Taps” but these can’t hold a candle to Pity the Food’s symphonic masterpiece:

Your birthday will be happy! Gifts you’ll get a lot!
You’ll have a happy birthday, unless of course it’s not!
Because if your faking it’s your birthday, just to get dessert!
We’ll hunt you down in vengeance… and make it really hurt!

Of course, it’s always best to flatter the customers by guessing low on their age.

Waiter: Why, you must be like, sixteen today!
Customer: Thank, you deary. But I’m seventy-five today. Consarn it! Sonny, have you seen my dentures?
Waiter: And you and I’m guessing you’re- what- 110 pounds?
Customer: You’re only 200 off. Can I get a ladle to eat this Chili with?
Waiter: And your Social Security number is 345-52-8345? With a pin number of 8453?
Customer: Now you’re just being creepy.

We used to give the customer as many spankings as was their age, until the lawsuit.

Employee Tips:

Hosting

Hopefully, we can get either Billy Crystal or a team of two wisecracking African-American homedogskillets. If not, here are the tips for our employees. They shall be chosen on basis of personality, experience, and dancing ability.

-Greet every customer that comes through the door with something like “Good morning!” “How ya be!” “Heidy-Ho, customerino!” “Where can we sit you and your two baboons?” “We don’t serve your kind in here!” “I thought I told you never to show your stinkin’ face in here again!” or “IT’S A TRAP! Ha, ha! Just kidding. Come on in.”

-If you recognize them, greet the customer by name. “Why, Hello, Mr. Tony Blair, Prime Minister of England” or or “Hello, Dolly” or “Hello, Darkness, my old friend!” or “Hello, Ozzy Osborn, Prince of Darkness,” or “Hello, Bob Saget, Jester of Darkness.”

-If you don’t know his or her or its name, guess, and maybe you’ll get lucky. “Hello, Zit face!” or “Hello, Bug Breath,” or “Hello, Fatty McTubster!”

-Of course, in a year, you’ll have to greet most customers with, “Buenos Dias, Señor!”

-The most important thing a Host can wear is a smile. Also, pants.

-If there are any kids in a dining party, offer them the official Pity the Food placemat with all sort of fun games, including “Mini-Twister,” “The Screaming Game” and “Quarters.”

-Also offer the kids crayons to draw on the placemat, the walls, their parents, etc. Popular Pity the Food colors include “Melancholic Muave,” “Michael Jackson Black” and “Hamburger Patty Pink.”

-Be sure to offer booster seats to all babies, midgets, and Danny DeVito.

-As you walk to the table, make small talk with the party, asking them about their day, how they are, why did their husband leave them, if they’d be willing to spare any change for a poor Restaurant Host, etc.

-Hosts don’t get tips, but sometimes you can trick the customers into thinking they do.

-Choose a table that fits the customers. If they are a large party, give them a large table. If they are a small party, give them a smaller table. If they are a just-right party, give them a just-right table. If they are a table of WSU students, seat them as close to the bar and bathroom as possible.

-Give each of the customers a menu and recommend some specials, such as the “E-Coli Burger,” “Leftover Surprise” “Chilled Flambé” “The Ungodly Monstrosity Slab of Beef,” and the “Broken Jaw Beef Stew Milkshake”

-Answer the phone with “Hello, this is Mike Rotch, our refrigerator is running and all of our Prince Albert are in cans. *Heavy Breathing* Can I help you?” It’s called preemptive warfare.

-Offer leaving customers either complimentary mints or complimentary MACE, depending on if you’re in the Suburban or Downtown location.

-Also try to convince the customers to return with a hardy “Goodbye!” “Ya’ll come again now!” “Sorry about the whole dismemberment thing!” “Oh… you’ll be back. You’ll come crawling back, on your knees, begging for our tasty burgers,” “You may get away this time, customer! But I’ll get you back, if it’s the last thing I DO!”

Waiter/ Waitress/ Waitperson/Waitoid

-Male waiters have their choice of British or French accents. The advantage of a British Accent is that women seem to find it attractive. The Advantage of the French accent is that it allows you to spit in your customer’s food.

-Female Waitresses basically… well… all they have to do is be pretty. Nope. That’s not pretty enough! Try harder!

-If you can’t master that, work on your New Yoik Accent’s and smelling like an ashtray. There’s always the other end of the spectrum.

-Master the “Customer’s always funny” laugh”

Customer: “I’ll have a martini. Shaken, not stirred.”
Waitress: “Teeheehee.”
--
Customer: “I’m sorry, I’m out of it. My wife just died of cancer.”
Waitress: Teeheehee!
Customer: No. I’m serious.
Waitress: Teeheehee!

-The customer probably wants his food as fast as possible, that greedy schmoe! He’ll never learn patience without your assistance. That’s what waiters do. They wait.

-Allow the customers to fill themselves up on bread or tortilla chips before the real food comes. While the restaurant loses money on this practice, it’s more than worth the entertainment value trying to see already-full customers gorge themselves. Just keep eating, obese America! You’re a pound closer to being fat enough to push into my candy-house oven!

-A customer might fall down, the clumsy oafs that they are. A great business practice is to help them up. Usually, their wallet will be in their right jean pocket.

-The best waiters can bring enormous quantities of food at a time. Some waiters miss the possibility that the pockets, mouth, and ears provide.

-Bring your customer their bill. Then run. Run like the wind.

-Right before the time comes to collect your tip, “happen” to mention that your mother died and your father got in a car accident and your seven children can’t eat because you spent all your money on little Johnny’s kidney transplant- which is came from your own body- and so all you need is just a few schillings, guv’nor… please sir, you want some more.

Bartender

-Every bartender must have a special drink they can mix-up. I call mine, “Orange Juice.”

-Know the signs of intoxication. If a customer is slurring his speech, drooling, staggering, using lampshades and chandeliers for unintended purposes, or laughing at “Everybody Loves Raymond” he’s clearly drunk.

-Make sure to withhold liquor from drunk patrons. Unless they’re just being hi-larious drunks. You don’t want to be a wet blanket (or a dry blanket, in this case, I suppose)

-ID everyone who can’t doesn’t know the theme song to Miami Vice.

-The ONLY acceptable forms of ID are drivers licenses, school IDs, social security cards, family pictures, narcissistic tattoos, embroidered underwear, and friends who can vouch for him.

-A good bartender ducks under the table when Gunslingin’ Gus the Sagebrush Strangler comes in. The piano seems to say that he’s a bad guy.

-Remember: Happy Hour is followed by Really Happy Hour, Aggressive Hour, Hallucination Hour, Sleepy Hour, and then finally, Headache Hour.

Dishwasher, Buser, Food Expeditor, Chef

What goes on in the back of the house, stays in the back of the house. I’m not one to reveal trade secrets.

Publicity.

If we follow all those suggestions listed above… I think we’ll get all the publicity we’ll ever need. Thank you, muckraking news media!

The Stall Street Covers the Flushing of Holy Water.

2005-05-16T20:08:00.000-07:00

Okay… funny story. You know that whole Newsweek item about how the Imperialist TortureMongers at Guantanomo Bay were flushing down pages of the Koran that incited hundreds of people to riot and left like a whole bunch of people dead and injured and stuff?

Well… TURNS OUT… it was kinda… like… not true.

Ha! You got punk’d, world! Of course, poor Newsweek now has to consider discontinuing their popular “Darth Bush” series. That puts powerful articles like these in jeopardy:

Iraqis: America killed your Mom!

Tom Delay and the Filibuster: Shades of Vietnam.

Democracy in Iraq: Another sign of Swirling Quagmire.

Bush: Still looks like Monkey.
More on this as it develops.

Bush orders BatBoy to kill Runaway Bride!

Bush’s Hit List: Is your son or daughter’s life in danger?

Top Ten Changes to Saga After the Incident At Gonzaga

2005-05-16T19:07:00.000-07:00

Red Robin, Red Robin,
Send Daniel a Job’in.

The rumors are true, I have a job. It’s not even a job that’s primary focus is on urinal scrubbing. Instead, it’s at a respectable dining establishment that doesn’t even have a “Mc” in its name: Red Robin. Red Robin respects their customers, prepares quality food, and strives to serve with a smile. In other words, after working at SAGA, its going to be a pretty big culture shock.

Here’s a top ten list I wrote mid-year, after 150 students were poisoned because of a student working at the Sodexho-Mariott at Gonzaga- the same company that owns the food service (SAGA) at Whitworth- where I worked. Fortunately, SAGA was a flexible company and willing to make changes.

(Disclaimer: This is Satire. Not necessarily funny, poignant, or remarkable, but Satire nonetheless. Don’t fire me, SAGA. I love you.)

10. Workers are now required to brush their teeth before spitting into the food.
9. Botulism must now be served before the expiration date.
8. Silverware must now be spit-shined twice.
7. Soiled Greens replaced with Soylent Green.
6. Instead of Imitation Rat, we now serve genuine Rat.
5. Fortune Cookies no longer have the “A stomach pump will play prominently in your future” fortune.
4. Complimentary mints replaced with Complimentary Advils.
3. Workers taught a radical and extreme new hygienic technique: Hand Washing.
2. It’s now the ‘four second’ rule.
1. The International dish, “Montezuma’s Revenge with Dysentery Sauce” will no longer be available.

Can't see my own reflection.

2005-05-16T10:43:00.000-07:00

I have this Internet filter called 'Spocom'. (Spo as in Spokane and Com as in Communist.) In many ways, it's nice, because it blocks out most of the smut that slithers around the dark alleys of the Internet.

But there are also downsides.

I can't seem to look at my own blog. Oh, I can post on it, but after I've hit the Publish button it dissapears from me forever. Did I make a horrific typo. I may never know.

I can't access any Blogspot blog spot. That includes medicalmadhouse.blogspot.com, which I was going to add to my list o' links. I feel kinda funny linking something, however, which I have no IDEA what it is. Maybe it's a site where Terrorists hang out and discuss which Nuclear Warhead to steal next. Maybe it's a site so full of smut that even linking to it gives you seventy-three popup ads, all animated and with MIDI music. Maybe- even worse- it's a site with political views that differ from my own. I may never know.

So why does this Blog still suck?

2005-05-12T08:22:00.000-07:00

Huh, Walters? Why? Why is it not overflowing with rich, analytical, Whitworth College goodness?

Well, hypothetical questioner, there's several reasons for that.

1) I'm afraid I'm very ill. As happens to many students at the end of the school year, I have been stricken with a nasty case of AIDS (Apathy Induced Dangnab Syndrome). The symptoms include not going to class, not going to study, not going to lunch, and not going to update a blog that nobody reads. 'Cept now.

2) Maybe I am updating it, but you never stopped to listen. Ever, thought of that, hypothetical questioner? Huh?

3) The real blogs going to hit the fan next year with the release of the First Stall Street Journal (Print Edition). Look for the following things.

-Satirical UnWorthian Headlines covering things such as Local Events, World Events, National Events, and Ben Affleck and Princess Diana (Is their secret marriage in trouble?!)

-Weather reports that give you absolutely no information about the weather.

-Letters and comments from people throughout Warren Hall.

-Sports Trivia. But unlike other Sports Trivia sites, this Sports Trivia is completely wrong and made up.

-Hard-Hitting Fiskings of Whitworthian Articles.

-Completely Inane and useless updates on the dangnab consarn state of things these days.

-Crazy hat day!

I have do some stupid speech in stupid speech class today.

2005-05-09T08:06:00.000-07:00

Grumble Grumble Grumble. So I have to do a speech on "The Internet" today. Whatever that is.

Will Work for Money

2005-05-06T22:40:00.000-07:00

I spent most of the last couple o' days looking for jobs. Those of you that know me know that last summer was spent entirely applying for jobs, getting rejected from jobs, getting a Janitor Job, then getting fired from that Janitor Job. Then back to the job search, where I eventually became the Pizza Man I am today.

Who gets fired from a job as a JANITOR? There's not much lower rung on the professional ladder than that. (Cept for politics, of course) Here's an article I wrote last year about my job search:

--------------------------------------------

Will Work for Money.

Yes, there is a prospect even more terrifying than College. They call it, ominously enough, ‘work’. I’d heard of it before, but only in hushed whispers and chilling stories around the campfire. I even had a few unforgettable narrow brushes with the ‘w word’, in the form of lawn mowing, dish washing, and clothes laundering. There was even a time- I shudder even as I type this- that, lacking a remote, I actually had to pick myself up from the couch and walk over to my television and manually change the channel. Fortunately, thanks to several months of therapy the nightmares have finally ceased. This ‘work’ usually requires physical exertion, discipline, character and several other nasty and disgusting concepts.

But as any good Marxist will tell you, sometimes poverty drives the innocent to do the unthinkable. Since my original plan of ‘having my extremely wealthy Teacher Father pay for all of my college expenses’ fell through, I was forced, like Jean Valjean stealing a loaf of bread to save his sister’s son, to start seriously considering this concept of ‘work’ and even ‘work’s disfigured cousin, a “Job”.

I’ve read the Bible. ‘Job’ is a book filled mainly with suffering and death. And boils. Lots and lots of boils.

But what job? My computerized tests in the Career Center kept coming up “Midwife”, “Cosmetologist” and “Please retake this test and this time, answer these questions seriously”. They say that one should pursue a job based on your interests and skills. But when my interests are “eating” “sleeping” and “the Progressive Era” and my skills are “blowing spit bubbles” and “armpit noises” no obvious job presented itself.

So I simply started listing possibilities: Bask ‘n Red Robbins, StoneCold Creamery, Barnes, Noble’s, A or W, Ricky Ricardo’s Pizza, OK-mart, Fred Meyer’s, Oscar Meyer’s, Warren’s Buffet, Kaiser Aluminum, the Packingtown MeatPacking plant, the Coal mines, the Saw Mill, the Family Farm, become a British Pop Icon, join the Navy SEALS, help that generous and wealthy Nigerian Businessman, play Powerball or pull off One Last Heist!

Since I couldn’t decide between these tempting choices, like a Football Player at a Roadside Diner I decided to order D) All of the Above. But as I picked up the reams of applications, one problem became increasingly evident. This would require handwriting. Curse the villains! My greatest weakness! No matter how carefully I form my letters they always looks like a drunken dyslexic writing hieroglyphics with a broken crayon clutched between his teeth along a bumpy road. My cursive is even worse.

Fortunately, my Sister was willing to fill out my applications for me. The downside with this is that all the letters have curls at the end, all the ‘i’s have hearts over them, and my name reads “Anna Walters”, but I don’t want to criticize someone whose helped me so much.

I delivered all of these applications to their respective corporations, but I haven’t received any phone calls back. And whenever I call them, they say they’re ‘too busy’ or they’re ‘doing homework’ or ‘they have to wash their hair that night’. My employed friends tell me I need to be even more aggressive, and to ‘follow-up’. Maybe I should leave little ‘thinking of you’ notes where the managers might see it, or canvas their house with smiling portraits of me, or deliver a professionally formatted letter in professional stationary with letters cut out of professional magazines that says “Dear Sir, If you ever want to see your precious Fido again, consider hiring me for an entry-level employment position. Sincerely, Daniel T. Walters.”

That’s how Donald Trump got his job. At least they’ll recognize my name when they’re looking through applications.

When it comes right down to it, it’s all about money. Just show me the money, and I’ll work almost anywhere.

But if I’m doing 10 to 20 on a 9-5 at a 7/11, 24/7 in 2004, someone call 911.

Hello Walk, My Old Friend...

2005-05-05T09:40:00.000-07:00

Okay so I'm reading the Whitworthian the other day. Everything is going fine...

Until...

I read this article.

Whitworth is planning nearly $80 million dollars worth of projects, improvements and additions to the college's facilities and programs for the next five years.

The Board of Trustees voted on the long-awaited and much-discussed five-year plan to put [the college] in a place to become one of the great Christian liberal arts institutions in the country, said Dale Soden, the chief author of the plan.

I skipped past this part because it was boring. Suddenly, I read that a new walkway will be built. Great. Many a tragic day have I slogged across the sloshing, muddy, wasteland between Warren and the HUB. It doesn't make sense that there isn't a walkway directly connecting the two most important buildings on campus. But my something doesn't feel right. Senator-sense... tingling...

Also, a new sidewalk nicknamed "hello walk" that will reach from the Hixson Union Building to the Field House will replace the current walkway. The new sidewalk will be a double-breasted walkway with a grass medium similar to the double-breasted sidewalk in front of Dixon Hall and Warren Hall.

Woah... Stop. Hammer time.

"Hello Walk?"

Uh... I don't mean to be cruel but... "Hello Walk" is the dumbest name for anything ever. Even worse than "Safeco Field" or "Pepsi Blue." At least "Hello Kitty" has some bit of rhythm to it. Hello Walk is an abhorrent cacophonous mouthful. Whitworth should continue the proud American tradition of naming things after Dead Presidents or Rich People.

Chester A. Arthur Walkway? Now, there's a name worthy of Whitworth footsteps.

But wait. Continue reading the quote I quoted above. Not the quote at the top of the page, the one a little bit further on. That one. Good. Keep reading. There. Stop.

The walkway will REPLACE the CURRENT one.

This is the thing that seems kinda weird. We're going to spend hundreds of dollars, hundreds of hours, and for what?

A-Nothing!

The new walkway will be an eensy bit bigger than the previous one, thereby preventing the walkway traffic jams that have become all too common, making people late to class, rousing Sidewalk Rage, resulting in far too many fights and deaths.

But is the prevention of those deaths worth the cost?

The board of trustees need to say, "Goodbye," to "Hello Walk."

Unworthian Headline -May 3rd, 2005-

2005-05-03T09:56:00.000-07:00

Karen Heller played Hackysack with Pope back in 'Nam
-Cardinal Ratzinger asked her to correct his Core 15o papers.

A Promise is a Promise, No Matter How Small.

2005-05-02T19:54:00.000-07:00

Well, I promised myself I would post every weekday and so here's my post. And if you break a promise to yourself- well, if you can't trust yourself, who can you trust?

Besides, of course, the Government. You can always trust them.

Es El Idioma Diablo!

2005-04-29T10:14:00.000-07:00

Just got back another successful Spanish test.

That is, if we take the government definition of successful.

Yeah...

I got a 67%. But if you round it to the nearest 100%, that's not a bad score at all.

Apparently "Direct Object Pronouns" and "Indirect Object Pronouns"... are different things. Who knew?

Curse that treacherous labyrinthian enigma that be the twists and turns of the Spanish Language! I shame my the honor of mi familia. Ay Bandito!

I swear here and now, with the PopUpAds as my witness, once Spanish 102 is over, I shall only use Spanish when ordering Baja Chalupas con Fuego Sauce. And Mexi-Fries- but only in an emergency.

And of course, in 2020, when Spanish becomes the official language of the United States due to immigration population. Let's just hope they have better freetranslation.com technology by then.

Post #3

2005-04-28T15:13:00.000-07:00

Three posts in one day! I'm awesome!

This Blog's Design.

2005-04-28T14:51:00.000-07:00

I like it. It speaks to me. It gives an aura of simplicity, of open mindedness, of peaceful tranquility of...

... well, of "I have no idea how to do this stuff. Help? Is there anybody out there? Does anybody care?"

The Stall Street Journal.

2005-04-28T14:16:00.000-07:00

So, is this the thing they call the Internets? With all of its worldliness and wideness and web-ness? Am I now a member of the Global community? Only time will tell, World, only time will tell.

The Stall Street Journal.

Fox Hunting.

Pure Media Shun.

Striking Out

UnWorthian Headlines #4

Potty Talk: Flags and Sweatshirts

The Crystal Ball: November 23rd through October 3rd

ASWC'D! #4

Best Dorm Sports Show #4

The Outpost: Oregon Trailing

Which Hairstyle Should Jon Brewer Grow

Whitworth Spotlight: Community Building Day

Stall Street for November 25th.

Stan by your Man.

Potty Talk: Biking and Rep Elections

The Unworthian: Week 3

The Crystal Ball: From the 16th to the 24th

ASWC'D!: Week 3

The Outpost: By Sancho the Bull Rider

The Best Dorm Sports Show: Episode 3

Warren Rules that weren't ratified in the RAP Policy meeting

Whitworth Spotlight: Half Past Nine and The Blood Drive

Stall Street: Week 3

First Crapper of the Year

Disclaimer

Whitworth Spotlight: Homecoming

Whitworth Limerick

Typos discovered in Last Week’s Stall Street:

Rejected Homecoming Themes

Warren Wizz Dumb: Week II

ASWCD!

Special deals Whitworth Students receive:

The Crystal Ball: Predicting Whitworth's Future

Sports Trivia

The Best Dorm Sports Show: Week II

The Outpost: By Ruth Bumgarner

Unworthian Headline: Week II

Potty Talk: Counting on Accountability

Stall Street Slogan: Week 2

Weather-O-Matic: Week Two

Potty Talk: Intro to the Stall Street

Warren Calendar for Sept. 3rd through Sept 12

Whitworth Spotlight: Traditiation

ASWC'd

The Best Dorm Sports Show Period 1

Whitworth Haiku 1

Warren Hall T-Shirts Ad

Changes to Traditiation from Last Year

The Outpost: Intro to the Outpost.

Stall Street: The beginning of the Big Inning

Whitworthian Headlines: Week 1

Alternative Mascots for Whitworth, since Pirates seem out of vogue as of late.

Rejected ASWC Mission Statement 1

Every Minute Counts Part Two: Camp Scalding.

Every Minute Counts. A Series.

Re: Credit where credit's due.

Credit where credit's due.

www.stallstreet.com

"Emotional Weakness dictates that I will illogically miss you."

The Secret of the Smiling Burger.

How to Not Succeed in Business While Really Trying

The Possibly Offensive Guide to the United Kingdom

Life's a Blur

You say you've got a Constitution...

The Night they Sued Christmas.

Wonka gives me the Willies.

Bird Botching

War of the Worlds: What *I* remember.

Boom! Pow! Eeeee..... YEAAAHGGH!

Shaving Face

Lately Fashionable.

Walters World Factbook Guide to: Romania

Episode SPOILER III Favorite Scenes SPOILER

The "Top Five Posts That I Could Read In The Carnival of Comedy" Awards.

New Post! New Post! New Post!

He's even more twisted and evil than we ever imagined!

Take that Gonzaga!

This just in!

Newsweek: Uh-More Like... BOOZE SEEK!

The Restaurant Roughly Around the Center of the Universe.

War of the Worlds: What I remember.