It's Easier This Way

Anyone who has read my blog knows how I feel about toe hair. Now, after special inspiration from multiple offenders, we turn to the fellas. I don't feel comfortable telling people this to their faces, so I'm telling the world instead.

The following are lyrics to be read to the tune of Rose Garden, by Lynn Anderson:

NOSE GARDEN

I beg your pardon,
I don't wanna see your nose garden.
It's supposed to stay inside,
Don't let those nose hairs stray outside.
You could clip, you could shave, make those nose hairs behave,
Make them go.
I beg your pardon,
I don't wanna see your nose garden.

I keep seeing things that I just can't believe,
And I almost think that the bad ones need a mower.
I wish some would think it over.
Well, if a sweet-talkin' me could make the world see,
That a mustache belongs on a lip and not one's nose,
It's gross when it grows.
So like a toe a nose shouldn't be so hairy,
Or maybe those two types should marry.
It's your civic duty to inform such men.

I beg your pardon,
I don't wanna see your nose garden.
It's supposed to stay inside,
Don't let those nose hairs stray outside.

Instrumental break.

I beg your pardon,
I don't wanna see your nose garden.

When it comes to your nose everybody knows,
But if this is what it takes to tell you,
I'd just as soon let it go, but there's one thing I want you to know.
You better give a little snip, to that hair above your lip,
There are lots of little little tools to help you cut it out,
And you know what I'm talkin' about.
So like a toe a nose shouldn't be so hairy,
Or maybe those two types should marry.
It's your civic duty to inform such men.

I beg your pardon,
I don't wanna see your nose garden.
It's supposed to stay inside,
Don't let those nose hairs stray outside.

Don't Call Me Mr., Mrs.

I don't know what it is, but an unusually large percentage of people, mostly women, call me Mr. Zak.  I hate it.  It's mostly at work, either from patients or co-workers.  I don't know if it's a desire to lengthen a mono-syllabic name, to condescendingly validate my professional status while still being young or what.  I do know that I don't want people always calling me Zakary, and I don't need the "respect" of the "Mister" preceding my name.  The whole Title-First name thing bothers me.  From Dr. Phil, to the Dr. First Name in tangents of my social circles, it rubs me the wrong way.  Artificially being raised up by a title, but then made accessible by your name seems transparently insecure.  Thus, I refuse to validate peoples neurosis and refer to them as such.  Call me old school, but I'll stick last names with titles, and first names shall stand alone.  

Worst Job Screening Ever

Most of us work with somebody who seems to have gotten a job without having an interview.  The person who must have a job because they're related to the boss, slept with the president, or was offered a job as part of a settlement.  Usually these employees are relative unknowns.  This is what makes Tony Kornheiser's presence on Monday Night Football so mind-boggling.  He seriously almost makes me want to miss MNF.  Nobody likes him.  Everybody knew they didn't like him.  He's had a radio show since 1992, and has been part of the most annoying show on ESPN (Pardon the Interruption) since 2001.  That's effectively a five year television interview before he joined MNF in 2006.  There has to be an explanation.  Admittedly, he gained fame as a writer/journalist, but being a successful writer does not qualify you to sneak your way into living rooms across America every Monday night.  It makes me nostalgic for the days of Al, Dan and Frank.

Speed Limits

The trouble with speed limits is that they only have an upper limit.  We need lower limits as well.  Many signs list the maximum speed, which admittedly seems like a suggestion, but we need to come to an understanding about the implied minimum speed limit.  Conditions being what they may, this would often be unenforceable, but the greatest unpunished freeway offense is driving too slow.  There is a rule about impeding traffic, which supposedly is punishable, but tell me how many people you know who have been ticketed for driving too slow.  This total and complete disregard for the flow of traffic will raise blood pressure as well as middle fingers, and trigger road rage more than waiting too long at a traffic light.  Living in one of the greatest freeway clusterf*@ks in the country, I might be more sensitive to this than most.  But this also begs an explanation of fast and slow lanes.  If we are to believe that the words are license to drive fast in the fast lane, then it is reasonable to believe that the slow lanes are for driving slow.  But the fact of the matter is that if you drive fast in the fast lane (any lane for that matter), you'll get a ticket.  The naming system has lost credibility, and is no longer to be considered reliable.  Granted, the very idea of having one speed for up to four lanes is laughable.  The spirit of the fast/slow lane system is commendable, but for the sake of efficiency and safety, something must be done about the super slab slow pokes.  They say it never rains in Southern California, which is almost true, so other than sheer volume of automobiles, there are few excuses to drive so slowly.  My closing words are the reminder that if you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem.  Get some lead in your foot.

The Dream

Recently someone was asking me if I knew about interpreting symbols in dreams.  Of course I don't, but the internet sure does, so I decided to look up some symbols from my own dreams.  I'm not convinced that I dream often, but I'm quite sure that I remember very little.  But there is one dream that took place some twenty years ago, that after the second or third time, stuck in my memory.  

I find myself on the deck of a pirate ship, near the bow.  Lined up across the deck are all the pirates.  At the cabin door is the captain, complete with a peg for a leg, a hook for a hand, and patch over his eye (seems a little over the top, but he was like a super-pirate).  The entire crew is laughing at me as the captain opens the door.  Out of the door comes a herd of buffalo, stampeding toward me.  The next thing I know, I'm treading water next to the ship, surrounded by buffalo, swimming around me.  These giant buffalo, having just imitated tiny lemmings, are circling like sharks, but are no longer threatening, but probably circle because they cannot tread water.  Perhaps if they were water buffalo, they would be more adept in the water, but they are American Bison--plains animals.

With the help from a quick Google search, I learn that pirates can either represent chaos in one's emotional life, or may symbolize freedom and defiance of authority.  A herd of buffalo signifies tranquility and plentitude.  Neither of these seem to have any particular significance to a happy ten year old, but with these symbols having about as much reliability as the horoscope in the local paper, I have decided to forgo any further research, and just enjoy the memory as an amusing conversation piece.

Encouragement in a Civic

For the last eight years I've been talking about moving away from Southern California. I've made very loose lists of places I would like to go, but it never really mattered how they were ranked. Now I'm reaching the point where I almost have a date set, and while it's still over a year away, it somehow seems real. I still need to research some more, but a phone call from the cuz (barrettbenson.blogspot.com) moved Portland, OR from a nice idea cracking the top ten to the top of the list. I've only spent two weekends in Portland, but it rubs me right. I have more acquaintances than friends there, but it has loads of potential. I am encouraged that I can handle the rain by it's inclusion on frequent Best Places to Live lists, as well as the testimonials from past and present residents. A couple of weeks ago I got to put a mark in the plus column that is not open to the subjective interpretation of others. Driving on the 215 I see an Oregon license plate gracing a Honda Civic, the frame from Beaverton, which is essentially Portland. As I pass, I am pleased to see that the female behind the wheel is attractive, lacking all of the traits of the stereotyped Portland Granola Girl. I am not concerned that she was not in Portland. I am not concerned that there was a dude in the passenger seat. I am perfectly content to rationalize my desire to move to a place I know little about, whether the reasons are legitimate or imagined. I see the glass as half full. I don't have a lot marks in the minus column for Portland, but the one that most people point out first is the rain. But there is a silver lining on even that cloud -- I like wet girls. Viva Portland!