Psychic Television Commercial

Seinfeld cuts to commercial. Suddenly this middle-aged lady appears and says, "I know you." A multitude of questions come to mind. For instance, How? She goes on to say, "You're sitting there with rheumatoid arthritis...blah blah etc."

So it turns out she was talking to someone else. I sure hope she doesn't make that mistake again; it was pretty awkward for the both of us.

The Subliminal Nap

Today during my nap during lunch, I heard two songs playing in the lobby of my building. One right after the other. They were as follows.

"Soul Meets Body" by Death Cab
"Since You've Been Gone" by Kelly Clarkson

In my half-waking, half-sleeping mind, I first thought I was on the OC, and then I thought I was on Laguna Beach. Thankfully they played Shakira next and I was back in the real world.

My favorite things to write are made-up coversations.

An imagined conversation between the New Year (2006) and the Old Year (2005).

New Year to Old Year: You're old.
Old Year: You're ugly.
New Year: Not as ugly as your mom!
Old Year: We have the same mom.
New Year: I know you are, but what am I?
Old Year: You suck.
New Year: Whatever. I'm gonna go hang out with Hilary Duff.

Bagels

I like bagels. I especially liked buying them for everyone. Then I liked eating the one that I ate. But now there is a quandary. I, having eaten only one bagel, am not full, yet I, having felt the severity of the bagel, do not want to eat another one. Well, if I puke, I puke. No way around it. Bagel #2, you're about to die.

The thing I was going to talk about before that I just remembered

I enjoy hanging out with [names deleted to preserve the sacred anonymity of the white car] a great deal. They say things no one else I know would ever say (in a smart way), and that's very cool. Even when they talk about cancer.

Ideas that came up when talking about this person they knew who had cancer:
--He looked like the kind of person would get cancer. (I, fortunately, do not look like that kind of person.)
--One should not hang out with someone who has cancer solely because they have cancer because cancer does not mean that you have to like someone.
--Not asking this one important thing about someone's cancer is similar to not finding out what kind of dog a person got. (I don't remember what the important thing was.)
--Cutting off someone's conversation with a cancer patient so that we can go to a book store is insensitive but OK.
--[Name deleted again because she told me to not tell anyone what we talked about] is a difficult girlfriend to get over.

Oh, I just realized that what happens in the car stays in the car. Crap. So I deleted the names just now.

I had one thing to say, but now I have a different thing to say.

I just encountered, for like the fifth time in my life, the word "webinar." This word bothers me. It means "seminar on the web." I'm not too concerned with the linguistic nonsense of the word. I don't care that a "seminar" is not hosted in a "sem" or that "sem" is not a prefix at all and therefore cannot be so haphazardly replaced. I'm upset because this word sounds ugly.

Let's explore this issue. Webinar. Sounds more like the name of a wizard or a really lame board game, and let's face it, those things are not known for their cool sounding names (names like Gandalf and Parcheesi).

I suggest we abandon this word. And let us abandon the thing that this word means.

My New Favorite Language

Cockney Rhyming Slang is about the smartest thing ever developed. For those unfamiliar, here's how it works: you have a word (balls), then you find a phrase that rhymes with that word (cobblers' awls), then you drop off the part that rhymes and you get your slang (cobblers). It's excellent, and I plan to bring some of the obscure ones into everyday use.

Intersesting Cockney Rhyming Slang fact: the use of the word "bread" for money originates in the slang because of the phrase "bread and honey." Bet you didn't know that, smart guy.

Good Idea, Bad Idea

Good Idea: going to sleep at 10:30 or 11 to rest up for an early day of work.
Bad Idea: going to see a late movie, not getting to sleep until 2, and earning a hot 5 hours of sleep.

Good Idea: buying maybe a dozen bagels for my work team this morning, keeping in mind that most of them won't be in today.
Bad Idea: buying 19 bagels and three tubs of cream cheese for what turned out to be about 10 people.

Good Idea: thinking of more of these things because two is boring.
Bad Idea: not thinking of any more because I'm tired.

Day of a Billion Posts

Like last Friday, today is a day that I will most certainly be bored because I am anxious for my three-day weekend. Because I will be bored, I will, also like last week, post a lot.

Expect zaniness. And try not to let your head explode.

My New Life Goal

Right now I want more than anything to see the Timberwolves play the Boston Celtics on Monday, January 30th. And I think other people should come.

Music Reached Its Peak in 1986

The greatest human achievement in the realm of music is without a doubt Fore! by Huey Lewis and the News. Everything before its release endeavored to reach this pinnacle of greatness, and everything after will always fall short. I'd like to see someone try to argue with me on this one because I'm pretty sure if you try, your head will explode.

Yet Another Ben-trospective

To celebrate the years I've spent blogging, I decided that I would post links to everything I've posted on this day in my life. But I've never posted on December 23rd before because I was always on break from school and enjoying my relaxation. So I decided that I'd do January 23rd. Turns out I've never posted on January 23rd either, but that I don't understand. And then I looked at one post from February 23rd and it sucked. So you get nothing but Bennew, which is make I call the new things I'm posting. But don't worry, I'll never call them that again.

Here's My Plan

OK, so lunches begin at 11. So if they're going to send us home early, they're gonna have to do it by 11 so that some people don't miss the message. So my plan is if they don't send us home by 11, I'm just gonna make a run for it. A mad dash out the door, a slow descent down the elevator, then another mad dash to my car, and a peel out of the parking lot. They'll never know I left. At least maybe not for a couple minutes. I should have thought ahead and brought a dummy of me.

White-Out Makes Things Disappear!

It also might be able to pull rabbits out of hats, but I walked in just as the magic show was ending.

This post exists because I'm killing time while the white-out dries.

Doot doot doot. Dooty dooty doo.

It's a litte something called class. You, my friend, do not have it. Class.

I think I was going to post something kind of clever related to another one of Brie's posts I just read, but as I wrote that subject line, I realized that I no longer have class. As in school. And I have never missed school more in my life. Where's a soggy bagel machine when you need one?

I just took a donut to eat, but I couldn't finish it. It's too sweet. So I'm stuck with half a donut. If I were keeping score, the score would be something like Me-1, Donut-1. Or Me-50, Donut-50. Or Me-3.5, Donut-3.5. Basically anything that signifies a tie. But not Me-11, Donut-11.

A Banner Day

You know what's incredibly depressing? I have been here for an hour. No longer than a single hour. Sixty minutes of the four hundred and eighty minute day. Four hundred and twenty minutes to go. Unless I find a bathtub and toaster. Because I heard those are the two key ingredients for a time machine. Well, I can't remember if that was actually time machine or soggy bagels, but I think both would be a worthwhile venture.

An Episode from the Lives of Ben and Cockney-Speaking Stress Ball

"Hey," says Ben.
"Shut the 'ell up, you daf' quack!" says Cockney-Speaking Stress Ball.
"Geez, what's your problem?"
"I just foun' out I got lung cancer. Too many ciggies, I'm afraid."
"I'm sorry."
"AY! I don't need yow bleedin' pity! I'll wallop you in the gulliver, I will!"
"Hey calm down, there. Maybe you need to release some stress."
"Oh, tryin' to be bloody ironical. So bleedin' clever, you are. I oughtta tear off a rabbit's ears, tie 'em in a bow, and ram 'em up yer arse. That'll show you clever, you bleedin' canary!"
"I don't get it."

Another Update Means Two Updates in One Hour

I have a Cigna Behavioral Health stress ball. You know what stress balls are, right? Things you squeeze to make you feel less stressed. Except this is not a ball, it's in the shape of a star. It's kind of cute. And it was free.

The most interesting thing about this stress star, though, is that it talks in a dirty Cockney accent. Bleedin' this and bloody that all day. It makes me laugh. Now we're best friends.

Why Are We Here?

Today is Friday. The Friday before Christmas. And I am in an office building in Eden Prairie, which is (probably not) ironically far from Edenic. I would rather be anywhere else right now. Including the insides of a volcano or POW camp in Vietnam. I'd appreciate the change of scenery.

There are very few things that have brightened my day so far. There were two when I started writing this, now there are three.

#1: Brie's old post about how she totally pissed off a Caribou customer. Good f'ing morning indeed.

#2: A story my coworker told me. Her son came back from kindergarten one day and said, "How much money do I have in my college fund?" His mom laughed at him. Then he said, "And another thing. I'm six years old and I haven't been to Japan yet!" So his mom said, "I'm 26 and I haven't either!" Take that, kid. Put that in your hot air balloon and fly to Asia.

#3: As I wrote about being inside a volcano, I remembered the Simpsons episode when Bart calls Australia. When he makes random calls, he calls some area that's full of lava. A house floats by the pay phone, and a guy sitting on the house grabs the phone, but the house keeps floating and he falls in the lava. This call appears on the phone bill as "Disputed Zone." I just want to sit on the couch and watch Simpsons all day.

Merry Christmas to all, and I hope you never have to work a day in your life.

It's a Wonderful Movie

Last night I went to see It's a Wonderful Life at Oak Street Cinema. What a great movie. Just fantastic all around.

That is all.

It's Funny.

What do you call a fish with no eyes?

A fsh. Wait, no. That's with no "i"s. Crap. How about "a blind fish"? That's almost funny. Blindness is funny.

Something to Immortalize

I sent this to Will via facebook back when I still had access to facebook at work. Apparently it was great, so I felt it should be shared with everyone. So, ta da.

Today's episode is... "I would rather be a railroad conductor than _______."
I would rather be a railroad conductor than a vampire.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than swallow a stick of dynamite.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than spend the rest of my life on stilts.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than a short man.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than read The Da Vinci Code.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than have more infrequent bouts of cleverness.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than be unable to grow facial hair.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than an apple.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than be violently dismembered.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than wear the same the shirt all the time.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than be born on leap day.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than wait in line for hours to buy grapes.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than a Canadian.
I would rather be a railroad conductor than have anything to do with the letter "w." And so on. Good day to you. ~~Ben

Twin Peaks 2: Eden Prairie

There's this guy I work with who looks just like the one-armed man from Twin Peaks. Except he has glasses and is slightly fattter than the one-armed man. Plus he has two arms. Nonetheless, I am convinced that this is what the one-armed man would look like fiteen years after his appearance on Twin Peaks. Assuming he can regrow arms, that is.

Tonight I look forward to a dream featuring a backwards-talking midget and Laura Palmer's cousin.

The Ice Cold Bitch Goddess

Today I nicknamed traffic "The Ice Cold Bitch Goddess." I have never experienced such horrid stasis. Before today, I did not believe so many cars were in existence.

I left work at 5, and immediately hit a stone wall on the freeway. Usually the freeway traffic is loose for the first mile or so, but today not at all. The traffic was stop and go (more stop than go, and the go was usually slower than walking speed) for as far as the eye could see and probably much further beyond that.

I exited the freeway at my first chance, and even that took twenty-five minutes (which, by the way, was longer than it took me to get home yesterday during a worse snowstorm). After I exited, I spent more than ten minutes at a single intersection as well as a total of fifteen more minutes at other intersections.

Overall it took me 1.25 hours to take a drive that took me .25 hours yesterday.


Man has never more desperately needed flying cars.

Close Calls

Yesterday it snowed. A lot.

Today on my drive to work, my car's wheels acted a little more like skis. I nearly spun out twice, and I practically hit a pile of snow in the parking lot. But somehow I didn't actually spin out or hit the snow pile.

The lesson: I am an awesome driver.

"Say something wise, Ben."

The Monster Mash is one of the top five greatest songs ever written.

I Hate Metal

One of the problems of having an apartment is that I am now a walking, talking ball of static electricity. Don't know how it happened, and it's too late to start caring. I'm doomed.

It's only really a problem at work, where all of the door handles are especially conducive to static shock. It's happened so often now that I cringe everytime I reach for a handle. Ouch.

I wonder if I can get disability for inclination toward severe static shock.

Weekends in the Eau C. always make it to the blog.

Mary Beth and I visited Eau Claire Friday night and Saturday afternoon (it was all part of the same trip). As usual, the Robisons wrought some awesome havoc. Here's a highlight reel.

Part 1.
We saw The Chronicles of Narnia. (I didn't like that much because it wasn't as good as the animated L,W,W or the BBC Narnias, but it was still pretty good.) We were in a hilarious mood to begin with, and it spilled over into the movie and resulted in us ruining the movie for everyone. First, you know that St. Jude's Children's Hospital thing that they're running at the beginning of the movies now? With all the celebrities and cancerous kids? I laughed through the whole thing. So hard that I cried. When it started, Brad said, "This isn't funny," so I laughed and I could not control myself. It was OK at first cuz it was just the celebrities, but when the tragic-looking children came on, I must have seemed like a terrorist.

During the movie, there was a scene that was straight out of Lord of the Rings--that one where the hobbits all hide from the Ring Wraiths under that tree--where all the kids hid under a rock. Derivative, fine, whatever, but the funny part was that both Dan and Brad made a Ring Wraith crack at the same time. There were several other Lord of the Rings moments, and the ending was exactly like the ending of Star Wars. So I started singing the Star Wars theme.

Part 2.
We went to lunch, and then we went to Savers. At Savers, Dan found a little one-and-a-half-octave toy keyboard that played exactly (and I mean exactly) the same drum machine line from "Photobooth" by Death Cab for Cutie. It was amazing. He bought it and will most likely show it off to anyone who cares.

Part 3.
There is no part 3.

Short People

Does anybody remember the midget tossing game? Where you toss midgets into a bucket? I just tried to play it at work, and of course it's blocked. But the interetsing thing is that I expected it to be blocked under the "Games" category, but instead it was blocked under the "Adult Content" category. So I'm thinking maybe they changed it to Naked Midget Tossing, and that disgusts me.

Fame

The name "Unspar" has somehow garnered a reputation of its own. I'm a celebrity...of sorts.

Last night I met three people who I've never heard of before. Mark introduced me as his friend Ben, and they were all like "Unspar Ben?" How does this happen? Does my fame precede me? Are there some teeming millions of Unspar devotees out there that could never refer to me by my real name? The answer is apparently and undeniably yes. I don't know if these people just read the things I write or if Mark and Polley have just told them stories about me (what stories, I can't imagine). Either way, I'm both proud and paranoid.

At the end of the night, one of these new friends said, "Unspar, always a pleasure." Indeed? Indeed.

The Inferno

I refuse to do what work there is yet to do today, so I decided to compare my workday to Dante’s descent into Hell because my workday so closely resembles Dante's descent into Hell. For those unfamiliar with the Inferno, Dante describes nine circles of hell, each progressively more evil than the next, beginning with Limbo, the home of the virtuous pagans.

Circle One (Limbo): I begin the day with a slightly indifferent, slightly positive attitude, yet I have a vague hollow feeling at being deprived of home and bed for the next eight and a half hours. I work, and I exist, but I feel like nothing.

Circle Two (The Lustful): Umm…I don’t think this circle really applies to work. At least not until I do it in the elevator, and that’s highly unlikely.

Circle Thee (The Gluttons): I get really really hungry, but I’m not allowed to eat until 12. Jerks.

Circle Four (The Avaricious and Prodigal): I revive my energy with the thought that I’m making a lot of money. But the work for it is like pushing and pulling a giant rock back and forth. (The rock has a money sign drawn on it.)

Circle Five (The Wrathful): So I start to get angry. And some jerk starts ramming a boat in my face. It’s uncomfortable.

Circle Six (The Heretics): Why not lose hope? I’m buried here for the next couple years, so why believe in anything? Except that I still believe in the existence of the soul because of the constant torment of it.

Circle Seven (The Violent): Eh, not my thing. But this circle is home to the sodomites, and I sometimes feel like I’m being sodomized. Makes you think.

Circle Eight (The Fraudulent): This is the part when I sleep during lunch.

Circle Nine (The Traitors): The worst of the members of this circle get chewed up by Satan for eternity. So my company’s like Satan, and for my treachery of comparing the company to Satan, I am eaten alive. Fitting.

And so ends my descent. When Dante finished his journey through Hell, he climbed up the mountain of Purgatory to Paradise. So I guess I have more metaphors to look forward to. Hooray.

This Morning's Pains

Today I woke up and thought it was Wednesday. I love Wednesdays. But it's actually Tuesday. That's depressing.

Also, last night I had a pretty cool dream. In it, I was about to fall asleep, but the moment I was going to fall asleep, my alarm went off. So I woke up feeling like I got no sleep at all.

Also, my bathroom sink is still clogged.

At least I still have more than six hours left at work.

A Not-So-Medieval Tragedy

Somebody totally stole my lunch today. That was my lunch. Mine. I made it. I was planning to eat. It contained things I paid for with my own money. My lunch. Why would anyone steal my lunch?

Which got me thinking. I love it when things like this happen. Thing beyond my control or influence. Because if something has nothing to do with me, it means there's something to learn from the situation. Like when I got a speeding ticket. There's a lesson, and it's not just "Put your lunch somewhere else," or "Don't speed," it has more to do with what happens afterwards or how that event affects my plans.

So what lesson did I learn from getting my lunch stolen? It's hard to say. But it has produced two new lines of thought: 1) Maybe my lunch was diseased and God delivered me from it, and 2) I hope whoever stole it enjoyed it.

Alas

I'm afraid I'm much too perpetually bored to give this up. There's no reason to get rid of it, though there's no reason to keep it either. So I shall relish in the status quo, enjoying the identity crisis and concern over expenses that naturally accompany it.

If I was two inches taller, all my problems would be solved.