A Photographic Memory

The worst part about having a photographic memory would be if you really got into playing Solitaire. You'd remember every game and every card drawn in a game that's basically played only to pass the time without thinking. Actually, the worst part would probably be not being able to forget times you were really sad. You'd always be able to remember exactly how sad it was going through a break up or watching the Packers lose an NFC Championship game. But then again, you'd remember all the really funny times just as easily. I guess I'm surprised that people with photographic memories don't constantly oscillate between crying and laughing. Also, the best part about having a photographic memory would be playing Blackjack at the high stakes table in Vegas.

My Aunt and Cousin Are There, Too

I was eating in a small, rural restaurant over the weekend and carrying on a text message conversation with my girlfriend. She told me that against all odds, her aunt and cousin were in the same restaurant at that very moment. I'd met them once, so I walked through the place but didn't see them. I saw one girl who was about the right age and could maybe be the cousin, so I kept looking at her during the meal. The girl eventually noticed the creepy way that I was starring at her, and she started staring back. I tried to stop looking, but every time I glanced in that direction, she was staring at me. So then I began to think, "Maybe this is the cousin, and she recognized me." But I couldn't approach and ask. There had been so much staring already done, that if I approached her and said, "You look familiar," it would have seemed too much like a lame pick up line.

Road Justice

People who drive on the shoulder of the highway when traffic is at a standstill are jerks. The only time it's okay is if they're going to the next exit up the road, but more often they drive past the exit and merge back in, skipping ahead in line several spaces. I do my best to not let these people merge in front of me, but the kind of people who feel entitled to skip 10 cars in traffic by driving on the shoulder are the same type of people who will take you to court over a traffic accident. It's just not worth dealing with losers. So last night, during a two-hour traffic backup at the toll booths, I was annoyed but not angry at the guy who merged off the shoulder right in front of us, but I was elated when the cop parked on the shoulder shined a flashlight in the guy's window and told him to pull back onto the shoulder. Right ahead of the cop was a long line of cars also parked on the shoulder, with a couple more cops writing tickets to all of them. The best part was passing the guy who'd merged in front of us after he was forced to pull over. It's important to appreciate the little justices in life.

Fly in Your Soup

I found a fly in the bottom of my take-away salad at a restaurant called Ready to Eat. They sell plastic wrapped sandwiches and plastic ensconced salads for people willing to pay a premium for decent food that takes no preparation. I was glad it was a fly. I wouldn't have thought twice about a gnat -- I regularly fish those out of Bloody Marys and finish the drink -- and I was glad that it wasn't a roach or a dead mouse. I don't think I could ever go back if it was a roach. But with the fly, I took one week off from the restaurant before making a trip back. The break was more of a punishment to them than anything; I just couldn't muster much outrage over a fly. Maybe I would have felt differently if the fly had surfaced in my soup halfway through a bowl.

Cheers is Filmed Before a Live Studio Audience

As a child, the intro to every episode of Cheers baffled me. They played a catchy but whiny piano song over a montage of pictures of people wearing clothing from the early 1900s. They showed the intro credits, but the names of the actors did not match the genders of the pictures or correspond with their characters in any way. Then, at the very end of the song, a different cast member each week would say, "Cheers is filmed before a live studio audience." I finally understand what this phrase means, but I still don't understand why they had to say it. Maybe it was some odd FCC compliance, or maybe they were trying to prove that the laughs were real and not a canned laugh track recorded off a bunch of people in the 50s, most of who by now are dead.

The Full Moon Theory

Our high school health teacher told us that evidence existed that proved humans act crazier during full moons. I suppose there was a spike in crime or something that could be put on a chart. She asked us to come up with a theory that would explain this behavior. I probably thought it was a dumb assignment at the time, but now I recognize that it may have been one out of four or five assignments in all of high school that required critical thought. My theory -- see if you can follow me here -- was that the moon affected brains in the same way it affects tides. Our brains float in liquid, so the stronger pull of the full moon moved people's brains in their skulls and caused wacko behavior. This theory was, of course, utter nonsense. The moon's gravity is the same whether it's full or not -- it's always there 100% no matter how much of a shadow the earth casts on it. Regardless, I was pretty impressed with myself. Still am, as a matter of fact.

Zen and The Art of Getting Hit by Cars

I'm trying to take a more Zen approach to getting hit by cars while riding my bike. When someone yells at me while driving past, I do my best not to yell back. It's not worth getting wrapped up in someone else's bad day. Not yelling is easy enough, but fairly often I catch up to the offending driver at a red light or stop sign. I don't try to catch up, but the streets are short and the traffic is heavy -- it just happens. What's a suitable Zen way to behave in this situation? Ignoring them seems weak, and yelling back is exactly what I'm trying to avoid. I've settled on a middle ground where I just lean down about six inches from them and look in their car window. Most don't look back.

Domestic Drafts

I can count on one hand the times I have not left a tip. There's the time the waiter fell asleep at the wait station and someone else brought my food -- I still tipped him. Then there's the time I was ignored at the bar for 20 minutes while reading the newspaper. They must have mistaken me for a vagrant looking for shelter in a storm and sought not to embarrass me by asking if I wanted a beer. I wanted a beer. No, sadly, my decision not to tip is a perfect storm of a bad mood and stupendously bad service. Basically, I need to have just finished a rough day at work and not have eaten all day, and then the bartender must tell me the special is 'Domestic Drafts.' Then I order a Goose Island only to find that this Chicago brewery has apparently been annexed by Canada and is no longer considered a 'domestic draft. '

Have Typewriter, Will Travel

I'm on an e-mail list for freelance copy writing jobs, and over the course of joining this list about a year ago, I've recognized a clear pattern in available jobs. Basically, there is a constant need for people who can write ads to sell two things: alcohol and pharmaceuticals. I've never seen one pitching a writing job that would combine booze and pills, but it can't be far off. I would argue that I'm uniquely qualified to work on these projects since 1) I enjoy spirits on a grand scale (alcohol), and 2. I can write at great length in vague, nonsensical terms (pharmaceuticals). That said, I've never applied for any of these jobs. It's not so much that I don't think I'm qualified as that I don't think I could survive working with access to truckloads of free booze and mood-altering pills.

Eating Oysters and Not Getting Sick

I love eating oysters though I'm at a loss to explain why. "They taste like the ocean" is probably the best defense I could give, though dunking your head into the sea and snorting saltwater into your sinuses would accomplish the same thing and I don't bother with that. I go to a restaurant near my house that gives you six blue point oysters and a pint of Pabst Blue Ribbon for $8, and I get this special every time. I have yet to get sick from eating them, but I know that eating raw oysters is a gamble since the animals are bottom feeders. They live in the muck, filtering all the toxic crap out of the ocean that gets more and more polluted. Maybe it's the roulette-style thrill of the possibility of getting grotesquely ill with each oyster that I eat that intrigues me. Or maybe it's the pint of Pabst that comes with it.

Was Spuds MacKenzie Irish?

If someone challenged me to come up with the most stereotypical Irish name I could imagine, it would have to be Spuds MacKenzie. In case the name doesn't ring a bell instantly, he was the bull terrier that was used to sell Bud Light for years. He wore Hawaiian shirts and surfed, and he played drums in a rock-and-roll band. After Bud Light halted their Spuds MacKenzie advertising campaign, rumors swirled about his death for years. The most common was that he was accidentally run over by a Budweiser delivery truck. For some reason in the 1980s, we were compelled to start rumors about horrible deaths suffered by actors used in ads. That one about Mikey from the Life cereal commercials suffering an exploded stomach after eating Pop Rocks and then drinking Coke didn't go away for ages.

People Either Love It, Hate It, or They Think It's 'Just Ok'

I love Bloody Marys but hate tomato juice. I also like ketchup and marinara sauce but don't have much love for raw tomato unless it's joined by generous helpings of bacon and lettuce between white bread. I've been on a three-year quest for the best Bloody Mary in town, and a few weeks ago, I believe I found it. So I was shocked when my co-pilot on this extensive Bloody Mary Expedition didn't share my enthusiasm for the house-made, all-natural concoction that sold for only $5 a glass. If it lacked anything, maybe a little spice, but nothing a little Sriracha or Tabasco couldn't cure. You think you know someone and then something like this happens.

Brussels Sprouts Are Great

I'm not sure what Brussels sprouts are, but they are awesome. They look like miniature cabbages, so I pretend like I'm a giant eating normal-sized cabbage when I dig into a plate. If the name 'Brussels sprouts' is literal, than there should be full-size Brussels around that people are eating, but I've never seen one. The bad reputation that Brussels sprouts have gotten is the least deserved among all foods, except maybe fruit cake. How our society got to the point that we shared such an animosity towards a dessert -- a type of cake no less -- is something volumes of psychology manuals could be written about. One day, when I have some free time, I'll sit down and write that book.

The Gender of Beverage

Most of the languages I'm familiar with besides English assign genders to nouns. Things will be masculine or feminine, and you'll have to match your verb to the noun's gender. Outside of words that literally pertain to genders (words like man, woman, girl, boy) gender designations are seemingly random. For example, 'door' in French is feminine, and 'taco' in Spanish is masculine. In the course of my own English speaking, I try not to assign genders to beverages. It'd be easy to way that wine coolers are feminine while whiskey is masculine, but what about the mimosa? Sure, it's a little dainty, but for people who consider Bloody Marys are the consistency of vomit (which they may have been trying to choke down all morning), it's the only option. I try not to judge.

Define Your Space

A bar's jukebox is an important part of its DNA. The songs that the bartender or bar owner choose (or, in a good bar, they would choose collaboratively) can make or break a place. I'll go to a terrible bar if they have great music on tap, but there's no way I'd go to a bar playing the latest pop teen R&B even if they had cheap beer and free hot dogs. You'd think that internet juke boxes that come loaded with literally thousands of choices would be fine, but they don't work. You have to define your bar with your juke box choices and not let the first idiot with a $5 bill do it for you. That said, if you happen to be the idiot with the $5 bill, you can get your Brit Rock fix for the entire year in one night -- too bad if no one else is thrilled.

Names Outside the U.S.

If you're not from the U.S. and your name has an accent in it or there are a couple dots over one of the letters, please cut me a break if I spell it without those components. I don't even know how to make them appear when I type, nor do I recognize the sound when I hear someone tell me their name. Hell, I don't even know what they're called. Maybe I'm uncultured or the public school system is a failure. All I'm saying is that we don't account for those here, so there needs to be some leniency. I don't blow up every time someone puts lingonberry chutney on a hot dog, do I? No, I allow for cultural relevancy. But that's just the way I was raised.

Addict Mistake

I was on the porch while my friend Sam spoke with our friend Tristan. I must have not said anything to indicate that I was friends with both of them, because the moment they walked away, another guy outside turned to his friend and said, "Oh my god, did you see that guy's track marks?" Sam's arms were shot up and down with scars from syringes. I told the guy that Sam donates plasma for $30 about twice a week, and his track marks are actually not from being a heroin addict. I told Sam about the funny exchange and he was thrilled. That was about five years, and Sam works in the music business now. I bet people make the same mistake in his line of work every day.

Locker Room Privacy

Choosing an open locker at the health club is a game of roulette. Ideally you lock up your clothes where there are no other locks, ensuring that you'll have the place to yourself when you return from working out to change. This is never the case. You're forced to pick an open locker that's around a few other locked ones, and hope that you don't return to your locker with two huge semi-nude guys standing on either side of the locker you want to use.

Elevator Anger

I shared an elevator with a man wearing running clothes. I was on the top floor, and he stayed in the elevator when it picked me up and rode all the way to the bottom floor. The elevator stopped at each of the nine floors on the way down, and he became visibly angrier every time that the elevator stopped. Since he stayed in when the elevator opened at the top before going down, I'd guess that he was mad at himself for getting into a car going up instead of going down. That said, why didn't he just take the stairs since he was already prepared to workout?

Infected Trees Invading My Home

I bought a new plant about a month ago and it's nearly dead. It was a $40 tree that I carried home 8 blocks. It wasn't terribly heavy, but I couldn't carry it against my body since I would have gotten dirt and mud all over my shirt, so I had to hold it away from myself while walking. It was exhausting, and I had to lay on the couch trying to get my back to chill out through 10 minutes of muscle spasms. A bit humiliating since the plant was so lightweight, but it was awkward. A week after I carried it home, my house was infested with gnats. I blamed the awful store that sold me the plant, but when I opened up my potting soil to repot my tree and get rid of the gnat eggs, a swarm of gnats came out. The infested soil? A big box store a car ride away from my house. There's a lesson in there somewhere.

Finding an Open Locker

I was at the climbing gym and couldn't find a locker. The bag I wanted to stow is ancient and my street shoes are cheap so I wasn't worried about losing them. The worst that would happen is that I'd have to bike home in my climbing shoes and use one of the new, nicer messenger bags I've bought but never get around to using. I just didn't want to lose my brand new bike helmet, though any thief that would take it would have to be pretty damn sure karma does not exist. So I took my lock and ran in through the vents in my helmet. Someone might still be able to take it, but it'll be pretty uncomfortable with my lock digging into their skull.

Lucky Charms is Long Overdue for a New Marshmallow Shape

I remember the last time Lucky Charms added a new marshmallow shape. They promoted it during cartoons by running commercials for months. The anticipation was killing us, and when they finally announced that purple horseshoes would be added, I was shocked there was any left in the grocery store. My parents wouldn't buy sugar cereal, so I didn't get to try it until a friend brought it to school. I noticed that Lucky Charms hasn't added a new marshmallow shape since then -- they're long overdue. The only logical conclusion is that their ad campaign with the horseshoe last time bombed and they don't want to spend the cash again. That, or they treat the cereal with such reverence that they only introduce new marshmallows every 20 years. Either way, it's about time. I suggest brown barbed-wire shaped marshmallows. That's just one idea.

Urban Fishing

During our broke college years, we'd occasionally fill a Styrofoam cooler with beer, carry it into the living room, and pop in a Playstation 2 fishing video game. We lived in a town with plenty of fishable lakes, but sometimes fishing license and legality surrounding beer in public parks keeps you from truly enjoying the mediocre city outdoors. And we had everything we needed for an adventure right at home. The only real downside was that sometimes the fishing videos games would be so wildly intolerable that we'd have to take the rental game back and get a new one. Corporate policy meant you could only return the game and get a different one if it didn't play, so my old roommate would twist them around in the dirt for awhile before we headed back to the store. I felt a little bad about the waste, but the truth is that we were doing everyone a favor by scratching up those terrible dull video games.

Wearing Shants

I don't wear shants. I wear shorts or pants. For me, there does not need to be a middle ground. But I realized the other day (and I don't say this often about fashion choices) that I could maybe pull off wearing shants. I roll my pants up to ride my bike, then I keep my pants rolled at the climbing gym. Why not cut out the middle man (pants in this case), and just wear shants for my cycling/climbing endeavors? The reason I don't take the fashion leap and start wearing shants is that I don't want to ever have to engage in a conversation about shants, which would surely happen on a routine basis if I started wearing them. It'd be like getting a tattoo written in Japanese -- I'd have to explain it all the time, and I've found that I get very tired of explaining the same thing all the time.

The Cost of Jamison

When I go to a new liquor store, I look for a liter bottle of Jamison. If it's $40, I laugh in the face of the clerk and walk out. If it's $35, I'll maybe buy one thing and never come back. If it's $28, I'm a customer for life. It's important to have a fixed-cost good that you can use to gauge whether or not the place you're shopping is grossly overpriced, but it's difficult in most situations. A liquor store is not one of them.

Spray Tan

I went to the beach last weekend and used some of that spray-on sunscreen. I popped it out right when I sat down in the sun and read the back, "Apply 15 minutes before going into the sun." Alright, that's not going to happen. If it's that important, they should really put that in huge bold letters on the front. Next, it says, "Don't apply in a windy environment." There was nowhere to hide from the wind on the beach, so I stood downwind and sprayed myself. The method failed to achieve full coverage; when I take my shirt off now, it looks like I have sunburn camouflage.

Give Me A Rifle and A Case of Camo

We were arguing about an impending war several years ago, and my friend Rob was on a roll. His stance could be described as 'Pro War' to the point that he advocated the U.S. government scooping him up and dropping him behind enemy lines with nothing but a rifle and a case of Camo. What's interesting about this stance is his request for a case of Camo. At the time, Camo was a new high-gravity malt liquor sold in 16oz cans for about a dollar each. It was very cheap and tasted like a cross between drinkable yogurt and Red Bull. He wouldn't really have any use for a case of malt liquor behind enemy lines, but our argument was so woefully under informed that grasping at the military-sounding malt beverage was about the only thing that made sense.

Modular Furniture

Most of my furniture has been bought flat-packed and assembled in my living room. It comes with illustrated instructions so that even those who've never learned to read can still enjoy the same coffee tables and computer desks. Of the dozens of flat-packed furniture I've put together, only one item arrived with missing parts. I convinced myself that all of the parts were there, and that these guys pack thousands of boxes a day -- there's no way they screwed up on the one I bought -- so I must just be doing it wrong. I spent a good 12-pack staring at those parts before calling the store. The apologized, sent the missing part, and balance was restored to my modular furniture lifestyle. I also learned the value in not assuming that I'm insane.

What's the Meaning in All These Sunglasses?

It's more than a coincidence that expensive sunglasses break and cheap ones last for years. It's a cosmic law. Practitioners of karma should look into putting together their first quantitative study based on sunglasses. You buy cheap ones and don't waste money, and you're rewarded with undamaged eyes. You buy expensive shades and they fall apart after two months -- you're punished for your vanity and poor money management.