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Leftover pizza presents an interesting challenge for me. There are so many different factors and options that there’s no clear-cut obvious answer. Don’t finish Chinese food? Save it for later! Can’t finish a salad? Throw it out. But pizza is more challenging.
Probably the biggest obstacle leftover pizza presents is there doesn’t have to be leftover pizza. I might be full after two or three slices–but that doesn’t mean I have to stop eating. The only time I truly have to stop eating pizza is when there’s no more pizza left. My ability to continuously (and gluttonously) eat pizza is slightly short of being remarkable (probably because it’s disgusting to see a guy eat slice after slice of pizza for three hours). Back when I was a teenager Pizza Hut started to roll out all-you-can-eat pizza buffets. Now they’re all gone. Why? Because they all lost money when I came in through the door. A lot of money. Why, I think it’s safe to say I am solely responsible for Pizza Hut’s disappointing third quarter in 1996.
I like to eat–this is no surprise to anyone who knows me. I’ve often said eating if my favorite hobby–and pizza is perhaps . . . . .
One of my goals in life has been to steal cable (either I have low ambitions or I’m more morally ambiguous than I realized). Free Cable is like the Holy Grail to this cheapskate. I like the idea of having cable, but I can’t fiscally justify it. Cable bills run north of $60, and I simply can’t see getting $60 a month of entertainment out of television. If I had an extra $2 a day to spend on something, I would blow it on food. A supersize here. A soda there. Maybe even upgrade from London broil to rib eye. Mmmm….rib eye.
I also take great joy in the idea of stealing cable. I hate the pay-TV services. Satellite, fiber optics, cable–they’re all the same. They toy with packages and plans–trying to outdo each other and market the lowest price. But the truth is, they’re all the same. Because $19.99 might seem like a great deal for television. But then you need to add a $10 box rental fee, another $10 for HD–oh, and that $19.99 price only includes local channels (ya know–the free stuff you get with an antenna). If you want TBS, ESPN, or USA that’s a different . . . . .
When text messaging was first introduced to the world, I thought it was an absurd concept. I mean, why take the time to type someone a message when it’s much easier to verbally tell them? Cell phone companies tried to tell us how useful texting was. I remember a commercial that showed two people at a party who were unable to talk to each other because the music was too loud. Being hip and smart, they used their cell phones and communicated via text messaging. Seemed foolish to me. If a party is that loud, go outside. And who goes to a party with music that loud? Plus, it cost something like 10 cents a message. Nothing I ever had to say seemed worth 10 cents. I stayed away from text messaging like Tigers Woods stayed away from controversy. But that was then…
…this is now. Today, I’m a big texter. The Wife gets angry ’cause I spend way too much texting other people instead of talking to her. I’m glad I’m on an unlimited texting plan ’cause if I wasn’t, I’d probably spend a full month’s unemployment check on text messages. I send and receive more texts than you’re . . . . .
Last week in soccer class, one of the girls kicked me in the shin. While that’s not an interesting story (actually, it’s a bit embarrassing), the aftermath that followed certainly worth telling. Besides the three-inch by one-inch scab, I also developed a large, yellowish-purple bruise on my leg that could be seen from outer space. My shin became incredibly sensitive to touch (I even hurt myself putting on socks) and on occasions it hurt to walk because I couldn’t put too much weight on it. Since the injury happened at school, I figured I ought to let the school’s health center check me out (that and I don’t have health insurance).
After being admitted, a youngish doctor entered the examining room carrying my chart and an iPhone. “How did you hurt yourself,” she asked me.
“Someone kicked me in the shin,” I told her as she looked at her iPhone. “Since it’s been a week and hasn’t shown any signs of healing, I figured I better get it checked out.”
There was a moment of silence as she typed something on her iPhone. “Uh-huh. What kind of pain do you feel?”
“Ungawdly, tremendous amounts of pain if I touch it . . . . .
I read an article about a woman who was hit by four separate cars while trying to walk across the freeway (and you thought you were having a bad day). The first car hit her and pulled over. As the woman started to get up, another car hit her. A third and fourth car hit her as she was lying on the road. Needless to say, the pedestrian didn’t make it (further proof people are not cars and shouldn’t be walking on the freeway).
But the part that stands out most to me is two of the four drivers drove off without sticking around to make sure she was okay or talk to the police. I gotta hope there’s a special place in Hell for people that hit someone with their car and drive away because they don’t want to be held liable for their actions. I understand if someone robs a liquor store because they need the money. I can relate to someone who kills their wife for the insurance money. I can even fathom stabbing someone over a pair of sneakers. But I have no sympathy for the people who ran over this gal on the freeway. After . . . . .
With my full-time return to school, I feel older and wiser than all my classmates (that’s probably because I am older and wiser). I bring about one third more life experience to the classroom–not to mention a BA in creative writing. I’m not afraid to speak my mind or do my homework because I know I can do so without thoroughly embarrassing myself (except when it comes to analyzing poetry). My wisdom really shines in Groupwork. I think because in Groupwork students are left entirely on their own with little teacher interaction. Since I am the oldest, I become the pseudo teacher of the group and often its leader.
When unaccustomed students are thrust together for the first time there’s a brief, “getting to know you” phase with an exchange of information. How old are you? What kind of music do you like? What’s your major? Since I refuse to answer the first question and name bands they never heard of (is 1995 really that far in the past?), my academic history proves to be the most topical. The majority of classmates are impressed when I tell them I already have a BA and I’m currently a graduate student. Usually . . . . .
Air travel is far from an exact science. I’m not much of a flyer because I rarely go anywhere. When I do, I wonder if it’s worth the inconvenience. Don’t get me wrong: if you’re traveling to Hawaii, it’s worth flying because no one has built a bridge yet. But the hoops and hassles you need to go through for short trips has me wondering if it just be easy to drive.
Passengers are required to get to the airport 90 minutes before their flight leaves. You gotta check in your bags. Worry if the bags weigh too much. Go through the gate. Take off your shoes. Be subjected to random searches. Turn on your electronics. Turn off your electronics. Getting on a plane feels like a twisted version of “Simon Says.”
I understand the need for these security steps but it’s a darn shame that everyone has to go through this because of a few bad apples. A few years ago, some idiot tried to smuggle a bomb on a plane through his shoes and now every commercial passenger is required to put their shoes through an x-ray machine. Eight years ago, a bunch of deranged idiots decided to . . . . .
I’m tempted to add the US Postal Service to my long list of banned businesses (including, but not limited to: Toys-R-Us, Purrfect Auto Care, the Walt Disney Corporation, Bank of America, Kevin Costner movies, and KFC–which has since been rescinded). That’s right: the Post Office will never get another dime out of me. Kramer was right ten years ago: the Post Office is simply an entity that outlived its time.
I was at the Post Office because I had to ship a package. When it came time to pay for the postage, the clerk refused my credit card because it wasn’t signed in the back. See, I like to think I’m smarter than the average bear. A signed credit card doesn’t protect you from fraud–hell, it just makes it easier for the criminals to pull off a heist. That’s because with a signed credit card, the deviants have an exact sample of your signature. All they gotta do is practice it at home and–viola!–a perfect forgery. But leaving a blank card is pretty foolish too because the criminal simply sign the card and make “your” signature look anyway he wants. So many years ago, I came up with a foolproof . . . . .
The PayPal thing turned out about how I expected…which wasn’t good for me. The automated response I received did nothing to help my concerns and had little to do with the problem. I was “assured” that PayPal was safe and secure (because if you can’t trust the emailed words of a stranger, who can you trust). There was no mention to why my bank account was removed; no reason given to why my purchases are being denied. We’ll see how they respond to my next letter. If this fails, I guarantee the third email will contain far more profanity (and perhaps a few comments about the sexual liberation of their mothers).
This is gold. A few months ago there was an officer-involved shooting in Anaheim–I remember the story when it happened. The police were called out to a neighborhood in the middle of the night because someone reported a robbery. Meanwhile, 20-year old Julian Alexander was sleeping in his house when he thought he heard someone outside. He went outside to confront the prowler; the police were looking for a suspect. It was dark and…well, the wrong place at the wrong time. I feel bad for the family; I feel . . . . .
I spent much of November badmouthing elections–always with the disclaimer that I don’t vote. I figured I didn’t have to expand on the issue because it had already been discussed. But when I looked back through past archives, I realized that I never directly explained why I don’t vote. I’ve made comments here and there, but I have never sat down and detailed my logical reasons as to what I’m not part of the process. So here goes.
I don’t vote because I hate the system. It’s flawed, hypocritical, and a total charade. What we call modern elections isn’t what our forefathers conceived 200 years ago. It’s a far cry from the practice Socrates and Aristotle practiced in ancient Greece. Elections are a joke and I refuse to be a part of them.
Elections have nothing to do with candidates or issues: it’s about who puts on the better ad campaign. I’ve heard numerous pundits discuss how excellent Obama’s campaign was and that’s probably why he won. Meanwhile, most experts agreed McCain’s campaign was hectic, unorganized, and a bit of joke. That’s why he lost.
Ideally, a voter listens to both candidate discuss the issues and chooses the one he . . . . .
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