Strange Bears, Part 4

(Part 3: Capybara)
(Part 2: Koalas)
(Part 1: Pandas)

Grasshoppers


OK, so now I'm definitely kidding about the bear thing.

Or maybe we're all bears.

Maybe everything's a bear.

Maybe your rommates or your spouse or your children are bears.

Maybe you're a bear but you don't know it.

Maybe you're not a bear, but everything else is a bear.

Or maybe there's no such thing as bears at all.



GAH!

Strange Bears, Part 3

(Part 2: Koalas)
(Part 1: Pandas)

Capybara


I overheard some of you say that the capybara is "definitely not a bear." As a humble blogger, I can neither confirm nor deny that statement, so here are a scientist and a lawyer to discuss with you the validity of this creature's membership in the bear pantheon.

SCIENTIST: Many people believe that the capybara is the world's largest rodent.
LAWYER: But none of them have any evidence to back it up.
SCIENTIST: Quite true. Everyone of these people who I've spoken to have either made vague and inconclusive statements or failed to cite any credible sources.
LAWYER: Sorry, folks. Maybe you shouldn't have wasted all your time in community college.
SCIENTIST: You don't have to be so harsh.
LAWYER: It's tough love. I quip because I care.
SCIENTIST: Very well. So we are hear to offer a vast array of circumstantial evidence to testify to the fact that the capybara is actually a bear.
LAWYER: Circumstantial evidence is the most valid kind of evidence there is.
SCIENTIST: Really?
LAWYER: I'm a lawyer, aren't I?
SCIENTIST: OK. So exhibit A: the capybara is distinctly bear-shaped.
LAWYER: See the above photograph.
SCIENTIST: Exhibit B: the capybara tastes like bear.
LAWYER: Have you eaten a capybara? Or bear for that matter?
SCIENTIST: No. But I'm a nutritionist, so I know these things.
LAWYER: Good enough.
SCIENTIST: Exhibit C: the capybara's attack behaviors are exactly like those of the American grizzly bear.
LAWYER: Here's a picture of it sneaking up on somebody to claw his face off.

As you could probably guess, the guy didn't make it.
SCIENTIST: Mmhmm. Very bear-like.
LAWYER: So there you have it. Capybara equals bear.
SCIENTIST: It even almost says "bear" in its name!
LAWYER: Yeah, capy-bear-a.
SCIENTIST: Case dismissed. I mean, case closed.
LAWYER: Hey, I'm supposed to say that.

There you have it. Now maybe you'll know better than to question me when it comes to bear matters.

Strange Bears, Part 2

(Part 1: Pandas)

Koalas


Koalas are unique in beardom for being marsupials and therefore technically not being mammals and therefore not being bears. Most biologists believe that a bear must be a mammal, but that doesn't mean you have to agree with them. If most biologists jumped off a bridge, would you? Let's just be thankful that that's a rhetorical question.

Koalas are known in Australia for being the most vicious of all bears. The rest of the world, however, knows that Australia doesn't know what they're talking about. But I guess when your only indigenous wildlife is either cute as the dickens or the weirdest looking creature alive, your idea of vicious will be somewhat off balance.

According to a recent documentary about Australian culture, koalas are thought to be telepathic and control the weather. You would think that animals that combine the powers of at least two X-Men would be able to avoid being eaten by dingos, but you'd be wrong.

Strange Bears, Part 1

To celebrate Leap Day, I'll be posting four parts in a series about strange bears. I won't explain any more than that, because there's far too much in that one sentence that doesn't make any sense.

Pandas


There are a lot of confusing things about pandas. One, they're actually called "Giant Pandas," but since there is no other variety of panda, the term "giant" is arbitrary. Also, though the panda is called a bear, it bears much more resemblance to the racoon, and it is technically part of the pachyderm family with the elephant and the hippopotamus.

A common Chinese myth says that pandas were originally a rogue band of polar bears who had taken command of a Spanish pirate ship in the mid-1300s. The ship crashed on the Chinese mainland, and the polar bears, worried they wouldn't fit in with the native people, painted their eyes and ears black. The Chinese welcomed them as kinsmen, and the polar bears proceeded to destroy and plunder their cities. They retreated to mountainous inland China to enjoy their wealth, and the black spots of their fur were passed down to all generations.

The panda is one of two mammals that can fly. The other is the bat.

The Last Real Day in February

I don't believe in leap year. Every fourth year I despise the fact that we have a 29th day in this wonderful month. The only good thing about leap day is the usual Quantum Leap marathon on the Sci-Fi channel, which I won't even get to watch this year because I have to work. So I guess the only way I could stand this terrible day is if it was a paid holiday.

I understand this whole leap year thing started when scientists realized that our planet's revolution around the sun takes 365.25 days. I assume the scientists colluded with the Masons or something to make it so that the world added an extra day to its calendars every four years. Wouldn't it just have been easier to do nothing? Sure, maybe the seasons would get a little out of whack, but they'd readjust every 366 years or so. I'd much rather endure the confusion of a snowy July every few centuries than the indignity of a 29th day in February.

I don't care what the world says, tomorrow is March 1st in my book. The rest of you can go ahead and celebrate your birthdays and national holidays a day late. That's your problem.

Sandstone

If I had to choose my favorite variety of sedimentary rock, it'd be sandstone.
If I were to build statues of all of my friends, I would build them out of sandstone.
If I had to sleep outdoors in some desert canyon, I would carve a bed out of sandstone.
If I had to hide from some bloodthirsty animal out to eat me alive, I would hide behind sandstone.
If I had to pretend like I was a geologist of some kind with a special new discovery, I would pretend like I discovered sandstone.
If somebody tried to tell me that marble was better than sandstone, I would respectfully disagree.
If sandstone came to life and tried to break into my house and kidnap my children, I would not hesitate to shoot it or beat it to death with a baseball bat.

Roomful of Rabbits

There is nothing weirder that I can imagine at this moment than opening the door to your bedroom and finding your room packed to the ceiling with rabbits. As weird as you might think it would be to be trapped in that room with those rabbits, it would be weirder to open the door. Because if you were trapped in the room, you would probably have some idea where those rabbits came from. Also, you would not be able to breathe, which means you would be dead, which would not be very weird.

But imagine opening that door again and discovering your bedroom full of thousands upon thousands of rabbits. Maybe a few of them would tumble out of the room as you opened the door. Some of them would be alive and hop off into the inner sanctum of your home, while some would likely have suffocated or broken their spines, and their cute, furry bodies would lie with limbs akimbo at your feet. I bet you would have no idea how to react.

I'm sorry for including that part about the dead rabbits. I would have preferred to imagine a roomful of living rabbits to surprise and horrify you, but it's just a fact of life that when you fill a room with something, there isn't that much air, and if you fill it with things that need to breathe, they eventually won't be able to breathe like they should. You could leave a window open, but then I'm sure a lot of the rabbits would jump out. And maybe that would be the weirdest thing I can imagine right now: scores of bunny rabbits hopping out of your house through your bedroom window and into the wild bluish yonder.

No Haircuts

When I got to work this morning, I went to the restroom to check myself out in the mirror, as I always do. This morning it looked a little like my head exploded. My hair has once again gotten out of control.

Usually when this time rolls around, I'd get a haircut. But I've been so disappointed with my last several haircut experiences (the one where they cut only one side of my head, the time I went to the shop whose most recent magazine was from 1987, and the time I walked to the place and it was really cold), that I decided I'd try something new. I briefly considered a more professional salon, but I don't like their prices or their sneers. I thought about cutting my own hair, but then I realized that I would suck at it.

So I found myself on the Interweb looking for some alternative haircut options, and I decided that I'm going to sign up for the world's only lemur barber. He lives in Madagascar, and he only does one appointment every year. And it's free! I don't know how long the waiting list is, but I'm willing to wait as long as it takes.


Next time you see me, I may have had my hair cut by this fella.

You know, I don't think I emphasized that whole thing about the lemur barber enough. Allow me to reiterate. I'm going to Madagascar to get my hair cut by a lemur. That's really what this post was about--getting my hair cut by a lemur in his home country. You should really just ignore those first two paragraphs and think about a lemur cutting my hair.

Three Cans of Soda

Last night was crazy. Colin Farrell almost slipped at the Oscars, my friend got hit in the eye when twist-off top from a bottle of wine exploded in her face, and I had three cans of soda.

I don't think I've had that many sodas since that night in high school when my friends and I watched three Stanley Kubrick movies at like five cans per film. One of my friends ate a whole package of Oreos, too. Oh, memories.

I didn't really contribute to any craziness, I guess. I tied for the win of an Oscar pool with my friends, so once again I share ownership of the giant papier-mache mechanical arm trophy. And once again, I didn't have to take it home.

Zombie Pigeon

Remember when that pigeon died at my work? Neither do I, really, but I was suddenly reminded of it this morning when I saw a zombie pigeon attacking his pigeon brethren in my work parking lot.

How did I know it was a zombie and not just a cannibal or the unpopular one? Obviously, if you're asking that, you don't care about nature very much. If you did, you'd notice the difference between zombies, cannibals, and social outcasts out for revenge. Maybe next time you should read a little National Geographic before you ask a question.


Thankfully there was only one zombie pigeon out there when I arrived, but I'm a little worried about what it'll be like when I leave. There might be hundreds of zombie pigeons just waiting to peck at my tasty living flesh and still-functioning brain. How do you fight off hundreds upon hundreds of zombie pigeons? I better get my hands on a tank or a flamethrower before they're all gone.

And don't think that these zombie pigeons will be limited to Eden Prairie. It won't be long before they reach your workplace and bust through your windows and start to eat your friend's eyeballs. If I were you, I'd punch your friend in the lower back and get out of there while you still can.


Good luck out there.

My Endorsement

I spent most of my President's Day trying to figure out which presidential candidate I should vote for. To be honest, I've done absolutely no research about the front-running candidates, and I already know that I don't want to vote for any of them. I don't think any of them really have what it takes to run this country for at least four years.

So I looked into the fringe candidates. When I discovered that Allen Iverson was not, in fact, running for president, I found the second-best option. The candidate for me is none other than Christopher Walken. He's no 2001 NBA MVP, but in this apocalyptic political landscape, he'll have to do.


At first I thought I'd just vote for him as a joke, but the quotes on his website totally change my mind. Check out these Walken gems:

If you want to learn how to build a house, build a house. Don't ask anybody, just build a house. --Christopher Walken

I make movies that nobody will see. I've made movies that I have never seen. --Christopher Walken

I believe in saving money. I believe in having a house. I believe in keeping things clean. I believe in exercising. --Christopher Walken

I too found it hard to believe that these were the quotes he chose to support his campaign. I too thought that this whole Walken for Prez thing was a joke. And if it is a joke, it's a good one, so I don't really care. Good jokes for president!

Legless

Would you still like me if I had my left leg amputated? Don't laugh. This is a serious question. No longer is this some distant hypothetical situation. It's becoming a real possibility. In a few weeks, I may have to just find a guy with a chainsaw and a jar of ether and get this darn thing hacked off in an alley.

Allow me to explain the present situation. I walked to church on Friday, and after about half a block, I got a really sharp pain in my knee. I probably shouldn't have walked to church to begin with. I mean, this is America. We're too rich to walk. That's what I get for not abusing luxury, huh?

So yeah, I might have to get my whole leg removed. I understand if you won't really want to read my blog anymore after that. That would be really shallow if you did stop, but in the long run, it might be the better decision. But if enough people stop taking me seriously, I'll get it reattached. I'll save it in my closet until the time comes.

Too Old

Someday over the last couple weeks I turned 25. It's the most horrifying age I've ever been. I'm now a quarter-of-a-century old. I'm halfway to halfway dead. My best years are behind me, and now my life is like a train recklessly speeding toward the wasteland of 30, where it will inevitably crash and kill millions.

Already I'm experiencing some signs of old age:
-Arthritis: My hands can no longer type without significant pain, so I hired a typing monkey to do all my word processing at work. I dictate, he types. He's not as literate as I would like, but you work with what you get. So I get to work with a monkey.
-Memory loss: This has always been a problem, so I don't really care.
-Yelling at punk kids: The monkey knows how to skateboard, so I find myself shaking my fist at him and yelling about his shenanigans as he rolls by. It's embarassing for both of us, but mostly for him, I imagine.

I can't remember what else I was going to write.

Subconscious on Stage

Last night I once again had a very strange dream. Perhaps most strangely, it had no plot whatsoever. Usually dreams have some sort of conflict or driving force, like being chased by a trolley full of zombie toddlers or being faced with the existential quandary of why Death won't give hats to your elves, but this one had nothing like that.

Highlight #1: My friend Jes dressed up like Santa Claus, in a wheelchair, singing "We're Not Gonna Take It" acapella. I wish I could laugh in dreams because this is perhaps the funniest thing I've ever seen. A chorus line of people eventually came out to sing the song, and he disappeared behind them, which sucked.

Highlight #2: Me, dressed as a robot on a pogo stick, doing a tap dance routine. You may wonder how a robot on a pogo stick could do a tap dance routine, and I can tell you that I wondered the same thing as I dreamt it. But amazingly, I can tap dance pretty well as a robot on a pogo stick in the weirdest dream ever.

Valentine's Eve

Hey Everybody! It's Valentine's Day tomorrow! I, like some seemingly miniscule percentage of the world's population, am single, so I will be spending this datingest of days filling my face with spaghetti and watching Kurt Russell movies in my cold, dank basement. But here are my wishes for a perfect Valentine's Day....

=I wish my Valentine's Day would be like the movie True Lies. I begin the day as a mild-mannered, paper-pusher of some sort with a passive-agressive, divorce-bound marriage. Over the course of the next 24 hours, it's revealed that I'm a secret government agent, my wife nearly dies, and we end up much more in love than ever before.

=I wish that I would go into space on Valentine's Day to blow up an asteroid that's about to destroy the earth. When the bomb mechanism doesn't work, I'll make the ultimate sacrifice so that my daughter's boyfriend survives and they both share true love forever. It would be different from Armageddon in small ways that most people wouldn't notice.

=I wish that for Valentine's Day I would travel to some distant island with a movie star, where we would kidnap a giant ape. Then, after the ape falls in love with the movie star and wreaks havoc in downtown New York, I would blow up the Empire State Building, miraculously rescuing the movie star, who then falls in love with me instead. The ape, however, survives and learns a very important lesson about something. And though I've never seen King Kong, I'm pretty sure it doesn't end like that.

=Actually, all the rest of my Valentine's Day wishes involved me saving the world in the style of other unbelievable action movies.

=Oh wait, I also wish my Valentine's Day would involve dancing crabs or lobsters that, when viewed from above, spell out things like, "I love robots," "Where's the post office?" or "Free chicken fingers."

The Grapes of Indifference

GUY #1: Hey.
GUY #2: Hey, how's it goin'?
GUY #1: Pretty good, you?
GUY #2: Can't complain.
GUY #1: Why not?
GUY #2: Well, I could, but I don't really want to.
GUY #1: Oh.
GUY #2: How's that goat treatin' you?
GUY #1: Most of the time it's all right. But I had to go to the hospital the other day because it kicked me. Broke a few ribs.
GUY #2: I hear that.
GUY #1: You did?
GUY #2: No, I meant, I know what you mean.
GUY #1: Why, do you have a goat too?
GUY #2: No.
GUY #1: Then you don't really know what I mean, do you?
GUY #2: I guess not, but do I really need to get kicked by a goat to have sympathy for you?
GUY #1: I don't know. It just seems pretty shallow to say you know what I mean about having my ribs broken from getting kicked by a goat when you've never had your ribs broken from getting kicked by a goat.
GUY #2: Do you want me to get kicked by your goat?
GUY #1: Do you want to get kicked by my goat?
GUY #2: Not really.
GUY #1: I guess our friendship isn't that important to you.
GUY #2: Why do you even keep a goat in your office?
Enter Guy #3
GUY #3: Dude, your goat's on fire.
GUY #1: How'd that happen?
GUY #3: Goats just light on fire sometimes.

I Hate America

I did my taxes last night, and it did not go well. But with many hard experiences we learn hard truths, and from this experience I learned that we live in a ruthless and tyrannical nation that will stop at nothing to bleed every last one of its citizens dry. The goal, as I understand it, is to force every American onto the cold, lonely streets so that the weak ones will die and the strong can be moved to corrals where they can be eaten alive by pigs.

Isn't this why they had the Boston Tea Party? So the evil empire would quit taxing us? Let me tell ya, if I had a ship full of tea, I would blow it sky high right now. That'll show those fat cats in Washington I mean business. Feel free to get in on this if you want to blow up some tea too.

Don't try and tell me that we need taxes for things like the police or fire department. I'd rather keep my money and lose the fire department cuz I'm going to need as much cash as I can get when my house burns down. And has anybody ever heard of a volunteer fire department? Probably not because the IRS has every responsible citizen tied and gagged in their own basement.

I'm not going to pay my taxes this year. I don't owe the government--it's the government who owes me. I've lived in their stupid country for 25 years, and what have I got to show for it? NOTHING, except for a speeding ticket I got two years ago. Maybe I'll reconsider if they decide to stop being such flaming jerks.

Animals

A couple days ago, I hung out with my good friend Jim (you should read his blog--he just had a post that used that o with two dots over it!), and we ended up spending something like an hour watching you-tube video of animal wackiness. Here's a summary of our viewing pleasures:

-a sloth doing nothing
-a sloth that almost fell off its branch
-an armadillo that came out of its hole and then went back
-an armadillo that was digging around in some guy's junk box
-two raccoons fighting
-an alligator eating a raccoon (not as cool as it sounds)
-a kangaroo boxing its owners on a talk show
-a kodiak bear eating more hot dogs than a Japanese guy
-an elephant and 44 midgets racing while pulling a jet

My conclusion: people are better than animals, unless they're pitted in direct competition.

I realize that sounds confusing. After all, if animals are better than humans when they're in direct competition, wouldn't they always be better than humans? The answer is an emphatic and belligerent no. Without the competitive drive, animals are very boring, as you-tube videos galore are waiting to demonstrate for you.

I highly recommend watching the midgets vs elephant race, though. I've already implied that the elephant wins, and that's correct, but it's still really funny. And you have to wonder, could 50 little people beat the elephant? We may never know.

Sweaters

I used to always look forward to winter so I could start wearing my sweaters. I used to love sweaters. I would always ask for some for Christmas. Now that I've matured a little, I realize that winter's whole plan is to eat me alive, and sweaters a key element in the overall scheme.

The thing with my sweaters is that they literally want to eat me alive. Most of them--thankfully not all of them--have grown fearsome jaws in the belly area. I like to rub my belly a lot, and I almost got my hand ripped off the other day. Now I have to lift up my sweater to rub my belly, and that, my friends, is a very awkward thing to do.

One of them even started to talk, and I don't think I can begin to describe how disturbing that was. I was trying to get to sleep when I heard a deep voice say, "Hey, do you have any gerbils?" We talked a little bit, and apparently his favorite food is gerbil. So I decided to burn him in my bathtub.

The point of all this is just to tell you that I'm going to wear more hoodies from now on, so you can start putting all your trash in my hoods again.

Doctors

Because I like to begin my blog posts with my opinions, here's one: I'm not a fan of the medical profession. I think they're too sarcastic, or too melodramatic, or too pretty, or too superficial, or having too much sex all the time. And if there are any doctors that aren't like the ones on TV, then they're probably too boring.

Opinions aside, I wish doctors hadn't stolen my email address and that they would stop sending me emails full of exclamation points. Now I enjoy overemphasis and hyperbole as much as approximately half the population, but like a different half of the population, I don't like having my inbox filled with it.

My solution is twofold. First, to the doctors out there. Thank you for your love and for your enthusiasm. However, leave me alone forever. Thanks.

Second, to the rest of the world, I call you to boycott your doctor. They'll never learn to stop emailing me unless we, every patient they've ever had, take a stand against them. I'll let you know when it's OK to go back.

Make-Up Post

I didn't have anything to blog about on Monday, and I still don't, but I figure I'd give you a post to make up for the missed day anyway.

Check this out.


Pretty cool, huh?

In other news, I almost asked Christine for ideas of something to blog about today because I was so out of ideas. How's that for a turn of the tables? Et tu, James W. Marshall?

I totally should have gone with something about whale explosions.

Spine

My back hurts. I guess all those years of leaning sideways instead of standing up straight are catching up to me. Something must be done, and it certainly won't be anything related to posture correction.

I've heard a number of people talk about chiropractors this week, but I don't think I'm ready to take that step. Something about chiropractics doesn't gel with me. I think it's cuz I associate the whole thing with snakes. I've always imagined a chiropractor's office to be full of snakes. Sometimes the chiropractor has snakes for arms, too. There's a reason for that, but I'm not gonna waste our time explaining it.

I've also considered massage therapy, but the thought of being rubbed by hands is incredibly disconcerting to me. I think I'd react a little like Charlton Heston from Planet of the Apes. You know, "Get your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape!" I know that's not a really healthy attitude to have, and I should probably get over that, but I'm kinda too busy.

That leaves two solutions that I consider reasonable. One, get attacked by an octopus or squid, or two, spine removal. So if any of you can get your hands on a giant squid, let me know.

Groundhog Existentialism

Tomorrow is Saturday, which means I'm not going to blog. But tomorrow is also Groundhog Day, which means I have to blog about it a day in advance. Such are the obligations of a blogger who somehow got duped into talking about Groundhog Day every year.

But it's only February 1st, and there's really not anything to say. Nothing's happened yet. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, they're setting up their little groundhog festivities, but for now, Phil is just stewing in his cage, silently composing some Kafka-esque novel about a groundhog who is proudly displayed one day a year and then locked in a pitch black cellar.

So that leaves us here, staring at a virtual "page" in cyberspace that's really not connected to anything, pondering the nature and worth of our existence, waiting for a groundhog to fulfill the desires of our hearts and make all our dreams come true. And tomorrow, just like every year, the groundhog will predict six more weeks of winter, and we'll slump home, secretly hoping that the groundhog will escape and get run over by a train or something.

Such is life. Life without groundhogs would be significantly less depressing, like instead of Groundhog Day we'd have Free Pizza For Everyone Day.