Twitter Quip

    The philosophy of volunteering & prequels

    The other day I walked passed a booth of volunteers trying to get people to register to vote. A chik jumped in front of me and asked with her biggest smile, “Are you registered to vote?”

    “Of course I am,” I said politely. While I saw no need to be rude, this was a conversation I really didn’t want to participate in. With finals to worry about, 90 percent of my brainpower was focused on something else and I didn’t even realize I was talking to her.

    “That’s wonderful,” she replied. “Would you like to volunteer your time?”

    And without realizing what I was doing, I blurted out a laugh. I feel a little bad because I respect what she was doing…but volunteer work is just something I don’t believe in. Kinda like charity and the Easter Bunny.

    The “Terminator” movie recently came out. I have little interest in seeing it in the theaters because of my “no sequel” policy. The Wife, on the other hand, is dying to see it. Even though she’s never seen a Terminator movie before, she’s driven to view this incarnation because she finds Christian Bale dreamy. Seems like faulty logic to me. I think . . . . .

     

    Vanity vs. comfort: A new look for a big head

    With summer time fast approaching, I felt it was time to embrace my summer ‘do and shave my head. I wasn’t allowed to shave my head last summer because The Wife wanted to make sure I had hair for our wedding (which is kinda silly because it takes me about three weeks to grow a full head of hair). I like to buzz my hair short for the summer because it gets ungodly hot. Plus, sometimes I just get sick of hair. All the washing and conditioning. Spending two or three minutes every morning styling it. Not being able to wear a hat because I’ll mess it up. Just between you, me, and the World Wide Web I’d much rather sport a maintenance-free shaved head than look good with my dark, curly locks.

    I have always put comfort over appearance (a trait that’s obvious to anyone who has ever seen my wardrobe). Funny thing about personal appearance, you rarely get to look at it. Sure, there are those few minutes in front of the mirror in the morning or perhaps if someone snaps a photo. But for the most part, you never look at yourself. Suppose I buy a new . . . . .

     

    Drawing on the wall; lying on the stand

    While using a public restroom earlier today, I couldn’t help but notice the, uh, ‘artwork’ that decorated the stalls. Besides the dirty lyrics and phone numbers of girls looking for a good time, there were quite a few penises drawn on the walls. What compelled a man to draw a penis (I’m assuming man–this was a men’s room)? Much like any other drawing, it’s a skill that is perfected and mastered through time. Did Matt Groening draw a perfect Homer first time he sketched with his crayons? Of course not–through practice, he evolved to the point he could sketch the entire Simpson family in about 15 seconds. Same is probably true for the penis-sketchers. They spend their free time doodling ding-a-lings that they can throw one on a bathroom wall in seconds. I find a bit of irony in that. Those who write are walls do so to prove their manhood. They tend to be lowlife scumbags who masquerade in a macho persona. But if you’re a guy who spends his free time drawing penis replications, exactly how manly are you? If anything, that kinda fascinated with male genitals strikes me as a bit gay. But that’s just my take. . . . . .

     

    Being Grownup doesn’t make you smarter…just taller

    When I was little, I thought Grownups knew everything. Whether it be a math problem, spelling a word, or trying to identify a rash, I felt like a Grownup would know the answer. Grownups were always so together–so calm and knowledgeable. That’s what made Grownups better than kids–they knew everything about everything. Maybe it’s because both of my parents were smart so I grew up in a home where knowledge was prevalent. Grownups weren’t just older kids–they were perfect people. They went to school, got smart, and became Grownups.

    Six-year olds are naïve I was no different. I thought there was nothing a Grownup didn’t know or couldn’t do. My dad was always repairing the house, growing plants, and watching sports–it felt like he knew everything. My mom use to cook, fix all my booboos, and could answer any question I ever gave her. They were Grownups and in complete control of their lives.

    My folks had me in their mid-20s–I’m getting close to an age when I can remember my parents being as old as I am now. I have memories dating back to when I was three-years old. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m older . . . . .