I just blew your mind, didn't I?

I've been golfing with Greg Ostertag.
I've sold golf shoes to Scott Wolff more than once. In fact, at a time last fall, he knew me by my first name.
Back in '95, I was one of the last people to leave Sea World and I saw David Hasselhoff wearing a all purple suit and pushing a stroller.

But until today, I had never been star-struck. Today, I met Dave Allen. At around 4 p.m., I saw someone at the golf store who looked a lot like Jeff Rosso from Freaks and Geeks. Then, I looked closer and realized he looked exactly like Jeff Rosso. I went up and asked if he needed any help and the familar voice of McKinley High School's guidance couselor. I lost my breath for a second. For about twenty seconds, I debated talking to him about it. I couldn't resist it, and went up to him and out of my mouth came, "Are you an Actor?" He said he was. I said, "You were in Freaks and Geeks." His face brightened up and he held out his hand and said, "I'm Dave."


We talked about the show for about five minutes. I wish I could have said more profound things to him, but I was excited to meet him. I told him that me and a few kids had just spent the last week watching every episode, and he replied, "That's the only way to do it!" He also said that the roles were so well written that he didn't even need to bring something extra to the part of Jeff Rosso (though he did say that he had a teacher exactly like his Jeff Rosso).

He called being part of Freaks and Geeks the 'highlight of his career' and said, "What was great about that show is I was right in the middle of the freaks and geeks group, and I'm guessing you were too."

As he was leaving, he introduced me to his dad by saying, "This is Lee, my new fan."
You know how I do.

Will girls ever like us?

School is all but over at the University of Utah and most of the flyers promoting causes and artistic endeavors that pile upon each other on the walls and doors have been removed. Except, that is, for a few new ones that say "What's your issue?" and then in a red-orange box below those words different issues have been entered in white capital letters like WAR IN IRAQ, SEXUAL ASSAULT, LOCAL FOOD, and the like. Which are all good causes and all, but why should I care? These are causes that when they are fixed, they aren't necessarily fixed because another faction have issue with the fact that they fixed it. Do you see where I'm going with that? Good, then I can move on to what my issues are.

My issue is that I have to come back here to school to turn in my portfolio for the semester because I didn't get to the Department of Communication in time to turn it in this evening. This means that I will have to wake up a little bit earlier tomorrow morning, be a little bit more committed to making it out the door at the predetermined time (which will be earlier than the usual), drive all the way to school just to turn it in, and then go to work.

My issue is with myself. I had almost four hours to work on the portfolio, but I messed around on the computer for a few hours and the portfolio was a little more difficult than I figured it would be. I used to be good at eating my vegetables before my dessert, but now I have gotten in the habit of doing the opposite and it leaves me with no room for nutrition. Metaphor? Simile? Whatever.

My issue is with mistletoe. Why doesn't anyone use it? You know you want to. I would, but I am afraid of gaining the reputation - however true it may be - of being the pervert who tongues women who without asking. So, if I tongue you down this holiday season, just be greatful for my boldness.

My issue is with this month going by too fast. Come on, clock, you did a great job of slowing down during school, why can't you do the same for winter vacation? I just barely started listeing to Christmas music and haven't had time to make the Christmas mix I would like to give to some folks. Oh, and Christmas shopping hasn't even been considered.

My issue is with Freaks and Geeks. This is the best show I have ever seen. Maybe it's the honeymoon phase, but I really believe that it's true. If only it had lasted more than one season. On Monday night, I stayed and Suzanne, Lisa, and Kristin's until almost 3 a.m. watching five episodes. Last night, I only watched one episode, but we didn't start it until about 12:30 a.m.

This year more than ever.....

The paper is done. I stayed up way too late finishing it and it shouldn't have taken as long as it did, but it turned out pretty good. This has been the most stressed I have been about school in a long time - maybe in forever. It was strange to actually care about an assignment. I reckon that is how it is when one finally starts working on their (undeclared) major.

Because the paper had been occupying my thoughts, I haven't yet thrown myself into the Christmas season. As soon as I printed it out, I started to feel Christmas. I am excited to pull out my Christmas music and make a mix to give to a woman who gave me a Christmas mix last week. This is my first iPod Christmas, and I am excited to be able to load all my Christmas music on my iPod and not have to carry eight CDs in my car all month.

Before all that happens, though, I am going to go home and take a nap.

Do you want some Christmas music? Nathaniel Tyrant and Gentle Rob will supply your needs.

Remember the zombie survival tips? Here's an example.

Right about now, the funk soul brother

The cool thing about majoring in journalism (even if it is undeclaredly so), is that the papers you write don't have to be long. The bad thing is that you have to write papers more often and odds are they require more meticulous research than most undergraduate student's papers do, on account of plagerism and libel and crap. Well, maybe it is more because one day the student might be writing something that will actually be read by the public and it won't look too great if they are using freshmen psychology students as their sources because the psychology student posted a paper he wrote on the Internet.

Another thing that makes being a journalism student trying is that you are asked to write papers and your sources aren't folks you found on the Internet, they are real people and you have to interview them. I have decided to do my final paper of the semester on hip-hop. I am currently having a hard time putting into words what about hip-hop I am writing on. I reckon it would be best put by saying it is about the general opinions society has on hip-hop. You know, that it promotes violence and objectifies women. Both of which, by the way, it does. But so do most types of music. And not all hip-hop does. To put it more simply, my paper is about showing this.

Though hip-hop has been clouding my mind over the past week as I am more stressed about school than I ever have been (paper due on Thursday morning - no interviews so far [but two people have agreed to do be interviewed]), the song I can't stop thinking about is this one from this. I think it is my favorite song of the moment. I love how it cuts into the song as soon as you push play and never loses your attention. Hooner deserves so much for posting this song.

Also, if you want some Christmas music, visit Rob's (and on the rarest occasion, Nathaniel's) blog. It got the attention of bestweekever.tv yesterday. See?

The phrase, "bumping uglies" is really funny.

Cosmopolitan like that

Sunday night, Jeff the Dentist invited me over to watch a movie at his house on his huge TV with HD. And HD it is. I've never seen def so high.

Maybe that isn't the best lead for this blog post. Look at the title, though. Awesome, eh? I got it from one of my five favorite people, Caroline (you might remember her from such blogs as "Mom and Dad, there's a girl I'd like you to meet" - which I was wondering just last night if I should rename it to something like "you hurt her, I hurt you"). On Saturday, she described her friend Kosher John (visiting from New York) as " so cosmopolitan like that" because you can hook up with him and it won't be weird when you see them in the future. (Marshall- Caroline and Kosher John were both among the folks I was hanging out with the day you called me a girl part.) The next day, I looked up the word cosmopolitan to make sure that when I start using it, I use it correctly. I also like the word because I developed a fascination for the woman who invented the 'cosmo girl' concept and made Cosmopolitan Magazine a big deal, Helen Gurley Brown, about a year ago. For real. I wrote this about her almost a year ago:

"Back in '65, Helen Gurley Brown said, "I am a materialist, and it is a materialistic world." Twenty-some years later, Madonna ripped her off. What's up with that?"

Have you ever heard that song by the Dandy Warhols called "Bohemian Like Me"? I don't love the Dandy Warhols a lot, but I like that song so much. The title of this reminds me of that song.

Anyway, the title also works for this blog because of something I have realized about myself that isn't very cosmopolitan. Over the past year, I have noticed that my shirts have become crumb magnets. My ignorance has always just chalked it up to the fabric of the shirt. Imagine the inner-monologue that came up with that theory: "Nuts. Crumbs again? These shirts I wear to work will latch on to anything." Sometimes, me and my brain don't make a good team.

Jeff the Dentist had also promised treats to go along with the movie. Surprising to even myself, treats weren't as much as a motivating factor as they usually are. Treats do motivate me, though. If I had two people of equal value inviting me over to their houses to do the exact same thing - like watch Pitch Black as Jeff the Dentist did - and the only difference was one was offering me dinner and the other was offering treats (treats = cake, brownies, cookies and the like), I would go to the treat house. Need more proof? Over the past few weeks, I formed an friendship on the linkup with a pretty girl that was based on talking about pie (the relationship seems to have died - and it is probably no coincidence that the death came when pie stopped being the subject of discussion).

The treats promised were cookies freshly made by Ellen and Rocky Road ice cream. Like I said, I wasn't as intrested in treats as I normally would have been, but the cookies looked so delicious. And they were. I had like four. I don't love Rocky Road ice cream (nuts in ice cream? ew), but I took Jeff the Dentist up on his offer and had a small portion. When I finished the ice cream, I decided to dip a cookie in the residue. Not a bad idea, except that I slouch when I sit and I was sitting in a comfortable chair while I ate and I got two drops of ice cream on my yello shirt. See?

Do you need everything pointed out to you? Okay:

I realized that my bad posture (or, is it actually good posture?) is the culprit for my crumbs because I sit on a couch when I eat at work too. (I should clarify, the crumbs aren't huge and maybe nobody but me can see them.) I don't plan on changing the way I eat at work, though, because it is too comfortable to kick my legs up and sit back and watch ESPN. But, maybe the next time I am dipping a cookie in ice cream residue, I will be more careful because that yellow shirt has been one of my favorites lately. Or maybe I will just say 'no' to Rocky Road ice cream.

The more I think about it, maybe I do kind of like the Dandy Warhols more than I let on. I just don't love them like some people. I think they are one of those bands that you have to be cautious about how you describe your feelings for them or you might get clumped into a category that you don't necessarily belong in. Not that it is a bad category, it just isn't for you.

Marshall's vagina monologue

Marshall said,

2. I had thanks-for-giving-us-your-country-natives dinner at
Suzanne's family's house. It was fun.
3. sometimes I don't get people. I
will tell you why. we went to see a movie on thanks-for-giving and we picked up
these boys and one boy came with us and the other was going to come, but
apparantly didn't because I called him a pussy and I guess he can't handle being
called a pussy.
4. Dear [sugarcube], I'm sorry that I called you a pussy.
Obviously I wouldn't have called you a pussy if I had known you were such a
pussy. Grow some balls, you big pussy. love, marshall p.

Dear Marsha,
I thought this was funny. The more I think about it, the more funny I think it is because I have never even met you.
I should clarify, though, that I was never going to go to the movie. I was just coming to say "hello" to Suzanne. So, your salty language had no impact on me. That probably pisses you off.
I'm glad our first semi-meeting had such an impact on you that you wrote a blog. Don't worry, I don't hate people just because they are unpleasant at first. I hope we can be friends, maybe more.
Sincerely,
sugarcube

p.s. - I'm glad you liked Bond

Despite your stereotypes, I think it handsome.

Ever had a blog that you typed up and it was amazing, but when you went to publish it, this site had some type of error? That is was happened with this one. I know nothing is ever as magical as the first time, but here's take two:

Until this morning, I had a mustache that had been growing for 13 days. I didn't really do it as a joke, but I have to admit that it was hard to keep a straight face when someone noticed it for the first time. I also couldn't help but put two fingers under my nostrils, and spread them out and slide them down the mustache. Some readers might wonder, "Is this just a ploy to prove he is a man after his stint as a girl?" No, it is not. I have nothing to prove.

Here is the story of the mustache:

On November 9, I decided to skip class and go to a high school football game. It was the 5A semifinals. Alta ('98 dominate) was playing Fremont. Chris H. came with me. We arrived just in time to pay $6US to see most of the fourth quarter. Alta won, 28-0. We committed to attend the championship game a week later. Chris suggested that we grow mustaches in honor of it. I had already had a day's worth of growth on my face (on account of not shaving on school days, just work days).

The next few days I was sick and had a tissue to my mouth most of the time. This turned out to be a good thing because then the mustache would debut in people's hearts and minds after it had already had some time to grow. My boss saw it and a few hours later said, "I just went through the employee handbook and unfortunately I can't find anything that says you can't have it."

The championship game came and went. Alta lost, but they had a chance to tie the game at the end. The next day, the mustache was still alive. I decided that it had something to prove because people were saying things like, "Is that a goatee?" Anyone who knows me should know that goatees are not how I do. They are more how Lance Armstrong do.

Yesterday, I went to work with the mustache, messy hair, and neck hair that was ungroomed (I shaved my head on September 1 and had yet to cut it anywhere). When I walked into work, my boss said, "I think I'm going to edit the employee handbook. Not because of the mustache, but because of the neck hair." Later in the day, I called him and asked him a question that he didn't know the answer to. As I hung up the phone, I thanked him. Recognizing an error, I quickly picked the phone back up, called him, and said, "Just to clarify: when I thanked you, I really meant to say, 'thanks for nothing.'" He retaliated by picking up the phone, pressing the 8 then the 1 (to access the intercom), and said, "Adam Morrison to shoes. Adam Morrison to shoes." Touche.

Here it is:

Lest there be a misconception

This blog is:

One night it Salt Lake makes a hard man humble

I'm a big advocate of Nathaniel moving back to the SLC.

Or visiting more. He's good people.

On Friday, I drove home from work, registered for next semester, grabbed a bacon cheeseburger and fries at Apollo Burger, and watched WWE Smackdown (while I ate). Oh, and I was pretty sick. I was sick enough to spend a Friday night laying around thinking about how great being healthy feels because you don't feel sickness. In other words, feeling nothing feels great. But...not this Friday night. I had a plan.

Nathaniel had asked me to pick him up from the airport at 8:30 p.m.. I was expecting to get there at around 8:45, but he called at 8:04 and said he was already in. I still showed up at about 8:45. One of the first things he said was, "I'm rich!" Seattle has paid him a lot. And he has taken their money and gone out and bought happiness.
See?:


One thing he can't buy in Seattle is the Dushane Dames and their affiliates. So, the first thing we did was stop by and visit Natani, Natasha, and Jaime (who, by the way, needs to be given credit for taking all of the pictures that I posted from Caroline's Halloween party). We mostly talked about the K-Fed and B-Spe breakup and the "How to Catch a Predator" series on NBC. After there, me and Nathaniel went to Taco Bell. We had to wait for awhile to even order, but guess what:In case you didn't know. I ordered the new crunchy cheesy gordita, Nathaniel two bean burritos. Nathaniel paid. While waiting to get our stuff, we took more pictures of us:

And that is pretty much all the pictures we took. And it is pretty much the end of this blog.
I guess I could tell you about going over to Chris' house and watching Bear Grylls survive Moab on Man vs. Wild. Or how we went to Freaky Dee's (which is nowhere near as freaky as it used be [although, there were these three tough girls]) with Chris, Danny, and Hoon, and how Nathaniel and Daniel were singing One Night in Bangkok while we were eating.

Even though I was sick, it was filthy to hang out with my rich friend.

It might be time to stop wearing your Livestrong bracelet

Lance Armstrong ran a marathon this weekend and said it was harder than the Tour De France. I think it it because steriods don't help one as much in marathons.

Body off Baywatch, face off Crimewatch

"The first text message was sent Dec. 3, 1992, when British engineer Neil Papworth sent an early ''MERRY CHRISTMAS'' from his computer to a colleague's mobile phone. It wasn't Samuel Morse's telegraphed ''What hath God wrought?'' or even Alexander Graham Bell's sublimely mundane telephone request, ''Mr. Watson - come here - I want to see you.'' But Papworth's concise, two-word greeting was the harbinger of a communications revolution that has encircled the globe." (click link for the reference to this quote)

My friend told me - via text message, of course - that her predictive text brings up "ho" before "in" when she presses the '4' and '6' keys on her phone (probably a Razor - everyone has those these days). I told her - via text message, of course - that it shows what our world has come to. Folks no longer want to be "in with the in-crowd as much as they want to be ho with the ho-crowd." She responded, "I had no idea that predictive text was a barometer on the state of the world." (Then she somehow segued into a text message about how a bird is chirping outside her window and that Oprah has a nice butt. Yes, all that in the same text message.)

I like text messages more than a friend. My text message plan is more important that how many minutes I get, or whether or not I "roll over" (which, by the way, I do). So many good jokes can come from it. One time, my friend was using the phone of our friend who was uptight about her text message numbers. So, we would send our messages one letter at a time or with only the first letter of the words in our message - which made it so we had to waste (her word, not ours) more of her text messages by asking each other what the sentence was, then making the other guess.

Another time, I had a friendship that was founded on text messages. We would often talk about what awesome text messagengers we were because we messaged in complete words and sentences. One day, I sent her only text messages that were abbreviated words - or shortcuts, if you will. Stuff like:
r u cool 2day?
wut r u up 2?
I just 8 lunch
Those aren't direct quotes from that day, just examples of stuff I might have written. Anyway, she was pretty mad.

But, I think there is a downside to text messages. And not just that some fools refer to it as 'texting' or talk of receiving 'a text'. Instead, I advocate calling it 'messaging' or being a patient person not afraid to say the entire name of something and call it a 'text message' (some day, this blog will discuss the heinousness of abbreviations - I promise). I digress. Really, I do. Text messaging has turned me into what I have labeled a "One-liner" personality. I can no longer write a long essay on anything anymore because after two or three sentences, I run out of thoughts. Also, not since reading the Bible has something affected my near-perfect spelling like messaging has - due mostly to my reliance on predictive text (T9).

Part of the purpose of this blog is to give me practice on writing longer ramblings about whatever. Hence, the long (and perhaps boring) blog posts. Thank you for reading. I really hope it will get better. Last week, I expressed - via a text message, of course - disappointment that one of my earliest commenters hadn't commented lately and feared that I had bored him to death. The response I got - via text message, of course - was:

"Manfoom is like the lord. He'll always be there."

I hope so. I sure do.

Scurvy is overrated

The real Halloween Day.
I decided that there was no better place to go that to the UC. I showed up and had to wait while certain people took forever to get ready. No pictures came from my waiting because I didn't want to ever re-live the experience. I was the Unabomber, so I was practically ready.

(Note: a kid in my class just said this a girl in my class (about Halloween): "Every girl was a pirate. Or a 'naughty' something.)

We had a plan, but before we left the house we took pictures. I forgot my sunglasses, so I improvised.



Then we went to see Monkey Grinder at Velour. Only we had to wait outside for like 30 minutes before they let us in. This made nobody more mad than it made Melissa. Luckily, we butted to the front of the line, enabling us to get chairs to sit in when they finally did let us in. While waiting for the opening band to play, we took some more pictures. Like this one:

And this one:

Hulk Hogan just laughed when I asked if he wanted a picture of just us.

As luck would have it, the Future Girls were there too. I didn't get a picture with them, but this is what they looked like on Saturday.

After Monkey Grinder played, rocked, and scared (there was this part at the very end where they had about seven people on stage with accordians; it was incredible), Becky wanted to go to Arby's. If there is one thing I learned this Halloween, it is that you do whatever someone dressed like Marilyn Monroe says (even if you are pissed that she hasn't called you "Mr. President" at all). So, we went to Arby's. As we were ordering in the drive-thru, the Arby's worker was being kind of dumb. We thought he might be a douchebag. It turns out, he was just an All-American slacker who cares about his job as much of the rest of us. He told us he would give us candy if we could guess what he was dressed up as. He was wearing the usual Arby's employee garb, so we knew there had to be an underlying concept to his costume. We guessed a lot of guesses. One of my guesses was a curly fry. Becky guessed "a lazy Arby's employee," and it turns out she was right. He gave us a bowl to pass around the car. I took a SweeTart Chew. After I took it out of its wrapper, I realized how gross some candy looks. When I ate it, I realized how delicious some candy tastes.

We went back to Becky's house and watched TV. This mindfreak dude cheated our eyes out of truth, and I hate him for it. We also watched Laguna Beach, or whatever that show is called. When I got home, I predicted that I would either dream about Marylin Monroe or breaking a Laguna Beach girl's heart. I ended up dreaming about my mechanic, Butch.

It was a good Halloween season. Even thought it is my least favorite holiday*, I felt a huge comedown yesterday. It was like the day after Christmas, only not half as bad. Want to know the best costume of the year? Okay:

*= Note to the government: if you gave us the day off, it would no longer be my least favorite holiday. Why do you think I like President's Day? Duh.

Say "no" to vember.

bored board

I am so bored here at work that I decided to google 'pictures of boring' to murder some time. Here are some that I saw:

Rolen's barehanded grab

Dear Yankees,
I don't think you should trade A-Rod. The only way you should is if you get Scott Rolen for him.

If you are around me when the living dead attack, don't worry. I know a few things.

Are YOU ready for a zombie outbreak?
Last night, I went to a zombie survival lecture by Max Brooks . I realized that I wasn't ready at all. But, I learned a few things and I am willing to help anyone who reads my blog survive.
I bought The Zombie Survival Guide and here are Brooks' top 10 lessons for surviving a zombie attack (followed by some things I learned):

1. Organize before they rise - We have to work together. The zombies are already against us, we don't need people against us too. But, if you really hate someone, push them in front of a zombie and they won't be around to hate anymore.
2. They feel no fear, why should you? - Zombies are pretty slow, so don't be scared.
3. Use your head: cut off theirs - Grotesque? Maybe, but it is better than getting eaten or bitten and turned into a zombie whose head someone else will try to cut off. Am I right? Also, the virus is in the brain, so if at all possible, find something to smash their head with.
4. Blades don't need reloading - Guns do. Get a machete.
5. Ideal protection = tight clothes, short hair.
6. Get up the staircase, then destroy it - Don't get yourself in a situation where you are cornered and your only option is to jump out a window or get eaten by a zombie. Obviously, you'll jump, but don't put that kind of stress in you life.
7. Get out of the car, get onto the bike - Bikes are more than fast enough, and the freeway won't get crowded with them in an zombie outbreak. Plus: portability.
8. Keep moving, keep low, keep quiet, keep alert - If you freak out, a zombie will eat the freak out of you.
9. No place is safe, only safer - And going along with #8, don't stay in one place for an extended amount of time. Brooks said, "Cabins are only good for weekend outbreaks."
10. The zombie may be gone, but the threat lives on.

After the lecture, me and BC each bought one of Brooks' books and got in line to have them signed. I told Brooks that my favorite zombie movie is Dead Alive and so he signed my book:

To sugarcube- Who loves Peter Jackson (but still bought my book!). Max Brooks.

I was kind of mad because I don't really like Peter Jackson. I just like Dead Alive.

BC wanted him to write, "Hey douchebag, I hope you go down." Brooks asked BC how to spell 'douchebag' and wrote:

To BC- Hey douchebag, if you want to go down, who am I to stop you? Max Brooks

Anyway, I had to write about the lecture for my class. This is what I turned in (I kind of didn't finish it, but I think the ending of this isn't a bad ending):

Despite being an Emmy Award Winning writer for Saturday Night Live and the son of comic legend Mel Brooks (and actress Anne Bancroft), Max Brooks takes surviving a zombie uprising seriously.

“I don’t think there is anything remotely funny about being killed and eaten by zombies,” says Brooks said during his lecture on zombie survival at Westminster College on Wednesday evening. He is also the author of two books on the New York Times Bestseller List, The Zombie Survival Guide and World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War. He made the purpose of his lecture clear when he said, “I’m not interested in entertaining. I’m interested in saving lives.”

Brooks said that a lot of the best survival ideas have been hi-jacked by hippies, whom he referred to as “those people” for most of his lecture. Some ideas he said they ruined were boiling water, storing food, and living off the land. Because of the negative view hippies have given of these things, Brooks said, “I’m going to train all of you not to be out-survived by ‘those people.’”
One of the first tips Brooks gave the audience is to think less like Rambo and more like Woody Allen in the case of a zombie outbreak. Brooks said that not only is Rambo half-naked, he probably wouldn’t have items like water bottles and Vitamin C. But someone like Woody Allen probably would.

When he asked the audience what they thought the best weapon would be, “If….When the living dead rise.” Brooks was answered with all sorts of guns and even a tank. He pulled out a samuri sword and said it was the best possible weapon, but they are expensive and rarely made for actual combat. Brooks instead recommends a machete because they are light-weight, concealable and legal. Later in the lecture, he also suggested finding something heavy to smash a fallen zombie’s head with because the zombie virus lives on in the brain. Otherwise, “That’s a landmine you just left,” Brooks said.

Brooks repeatedly emphasized being prepared for a rising of the living dead and showed his own preparedness by wearing a machete in his sheath most of the lecture. He shared what his plan would be if a the living dead attacked in the auditorium at that exact moment. Without hesitation, he said that if the outbreak happened towards the front of the auditorium it would be minor because, he said with his hand on his machete, “I’m there.” If the outbreak happened at the top of the auditorium, he would quickly leave out the door off the side of the stage.

After his lecture, Brooks had a question and answer with the audience. One audience member, Brian Christensen, found this to be the most helpful part of the presentation. “Sometimes the best information is the answer to the question that goes unaddressed,” Christensen said.

During the question and answer period, Brooks taught the audience that it is not possible to sterilize zombie meat for eating (“Not possible. Don’t even try it.” [unless you are going to give it to someone you don't like - like Lance Armstrong). He also recommended not fighting a zombie if you have open sores because the zombie virus is transmitted through fluid to fluid contact. In case of a situation where it was necessary to kill a zombie while one has open wounds, Brooks demonstrated an up-and-under move that wouldn’t have a zombie’s blood splashing all over its attacker.

Dear Big Brother,

Thanks for watching me.

Sincerely,

sugarcube

Handshake Earthquake

Judith Bowman and Protocol Consultants International says:

"There is really only one correct way to shake hands here in America: - connect the "v"; between the thumb and index finger of your left hand with the "v" between the thumb and index finger of your right hand --- one to two "pumps"; and make eye contact!

Note: a good firm grasp is key; avoid sweaty palms by washing hands thoroughly before the anticipated handshake, using soap and drying thoroughly. There is nothing worse than a clammy handshake - a clammy handshake is the "kiss of death"!

The person who initiates the handshake is generally the person in control - which is what you want."

If ony that solved everything. Today, I visted Shade Clothing to pick up a key so I could come to where I currently am and watch a football game that doesn't start for a bit. While there, I was introduced to a couple of people who were female. I hope things didn't get awkward, but they might have. I was sitting in a comfortable office chair when I was introduced to the first woman. I figured a smile, a nod, and a "Sup, dog?" would be enough of a greeting. Especially since she had a box in her hand. Then she put her box down. Now, it is absolutely possible that she didn't put the box down to shake my hand; and if she did want to shake my hand, she did a great job of saving herself (and my self) some awkwardness by making it look like she put the box down for another reason. Not knowing her intentions notwithstanding, this got in my head. A few minutes later, I was introduced to another employee and by this point I was a social mess. I didn't know what to do. So, I did what I would do in most situations where I don't know what to do: I just stood there and said, "Hi."

On the drive back, I kept thinking, "What's the social protocol for shaking hands with someone of the opposite sex?"

Until about a year ago, this was a non-issue for me. I shook their hands. Then I was talking to my friend Annabelle and she told me that boys should never shake a girl's hand. This killed me. Then she showed me how to do what we called a 'sensual handshake,' in case I got in a situation where I had to shake the hand of a female. Such handshakes are tough to pull off, so I scrapped the idea and just stopped shaking hands. Besides, I think the 'sensual handshake' was more creepy than effective.

Until today, I think I had gotten over the handshake issue. Maybe the whole thought that I shouldn't shake hands with ladies is sexist, anyhow. But that isn't what this is about. This is about social protocol. I've decided that I will shake hands with females. If Lance Armstrong can shake hands with steriods, then I can shake hands with girls.

Bad Religion said, "Handshakes are nothing but a solemn f___ you." Yeah, maybe.

Dear Betsy and Becca,

My blog is the new awesome.

Roast.

Wednesday night television will never be the same for me.

In a conversation with my friend The President yesterday, I asked if I could come over to her house and watchthe season finale of Project Runway. I told her that I was kind of excited about it and that I was disappointed that the USA Today didn't mention much about it.
The President said, "Good! You're getting into it!"
And I thought to myself, "Crap. I might be."

We continued talking and I said, "I'll probably come over earlier, because it is kind of weird to leave my house at 10:00 pm to drive to Salt Lake to watch a show about fashion." As soon as I said it, I realized that yes, I am into it. Just like Lance Armstrong is into steriods.

I spent the next few hours wondering why. I drank Project Runway Haterade at first and I still am not interested in fashion (except when The President put on a coat that made it look like she was nude underneath. That was pretty). Maybe the main reason I like it because it was a reason to hang out with good people on a Wednesday night.

Anyway, you can buy one of these at the site linked in the title of this blog:

Is it strange that the same person who made this (look to the left) won? Michael was cool throughout the show, but the last three or four things he made (that I saw, at least) were pretty bad. He was a weak finisher. Laura is a ho and I am really glad that she lost. From the first episode I watched, she was my least favorite contestant on the show. Uli did the opposite of Michael and finished strong after subpar start. She also turned out to be one of the coolest contestants.

I just did a summary of Project Runway. Hmm.

"Give me something to chew on," she said.

Instead of having news writing class two days ago, the teacher told us to go somewhere for 30 minutes and write what we see. My friend Lewinski helped me scout and find a spot in the Marriott Library.

Instead of writing descriptive thoughts about the weather or the clothes people were wearing (or even what sort of stupid deep thoughts they are thinking), I just decided to write what came to my brain based on what I was seeing. It was one of the fastest 30 minutes I have ever had at school. They call this freewriting:

I think the biggest topic of interest will be which pen I use the majority of the time. The problem I have with this pen is it makes me misspell so many words. I always leave out one letter of a word.

Fellow next to me is having a phone conversation with someone whose reception keeps cutting out. Apparently, he is going bowling tonight on State Street. I know the place. One of my friends goes there every Tuesday night because it is Dollar Bowling Night. He invites me almost every week, but I have never gone. The catch is, you have to pay for three games and shoes, which means you pay a minimum of $4. Still a good deal, but I despise that there is a catch.

Some dude in a scarf and a dorky hat just walked by. I hate dorky hats.

There are two girls at a table about 20 feet away. I wish I could get closer and listen to their conversation. I can tell it is a good one.

The two girls to my left have both gotten up and left at different times within the last minute. Their seats were just taken by a girl and her boy toy.

Most people are reading newspapers, but a couple are studying. I am going to stare at one of the study folk.

She is copying something from a textbook into her notebook. A boy and a girl are right above her having a conversation that has been on-going for since long before I got here. Yes, I scouted this location before choosing it. Study girl is still studiously writing in her notebook. I can tell her attention span is pretty good. I have no attention span. She is now looking around, scanning the room. She did it again as she turned the page of her notebook. She just got up and left. Maybe I shouldn’t stare.

A dork with curly hair is talking on speaker phone. Cool, dude, you’re important.

A pretty girl just came and started talking loudly to the kid seated two to my right. The pretty girl just said, “So, come here often?” It sounded like a pickup line. The pretty girl and the kid just said goodbye to each other and she went over where study girl was sitting to talk to the girl who took her chair after she left. I would call her ‘Study Girl #2,” but she isn’t studying. She is just eating pretzels and drinking PowerAde.

It needs to be noted that the two girls whose conversation I wanted to hear left about five minutes ago.

People to my left keep leaving.

A girl just dropped her coat and I caught it with my foot. She didn’t thank me, but she didn’t really have to because it just fell on my foot.

I’m glad my 30 minutes are done because three annoying folks just sat by me.
[Note: I used the same pen the entire time. Hopefully Lance Armstong didn't use the same needle every time he took steroids.]

What nice lies would you tell at my funeral?

Today in news writing class, we had to write our own obituary. Some people in class chickened-out and wrote a blog for other people. What is so scary about making up your death? If anything, it assures you won't die the way you write about because nobody is smart enough to guess their own death. But, many people are smart enought to guess why other people will die. For instance, I bet Lance Armstrong will die from taking steriods.

Here's my obituary (identity theft freaks me out, so I will replace my name with 'sugarcube' and I will put '____' in place of name, dates, and other important things [and sometimes just because I think it is funny]):

SALT LAKE CITY – sugarcube died of natural causes in the Salt Lake County Jail on Tuesday, October 17. He was 26.

He was born in Sandy, Utah on ___ 10, 19__ to _______ and ______ _____. He spent his entire childhood in Sandy and graduated from Alta High school in 19__. Up to his death, he had spent six years attending the University of ___, without ever receiving a diploma.

sugarcube began a life of crime when he was 19. He was attracted to the get-rich-quick lifestyle of con men, and they were attracted to his charming personality. Soon after, he conned them out of all their money. Although he had a violent streak, he took a lot of pride in never having killed anyone. This was also a source of pride for his parents.

He became well-known in the state of Utah early last year when he was convicted of being the leader of a group of con men and women called The Affiliation. Through strategic planning, The Affiliation swindled millions of dollars from some of Utah’s most successful businesses. Half of the members of The Affiliation were arrested for conning thousands of dollars from elderly people at rest homes throughout Salt Lake and Utah counties. Sugarcube was unaware of their plans, but they made a deal with federal agents to give him and other members up in exchange for lesser sentences.

One of those who gave him up was Jane Simpson. When told of her former bosses’ death, she said, “He was a person that didn’t hold a grudge. When I went to visit him in jail soon after I sent them there, he kept saying, ‘Well played, Simpson. Well played.’”

sugarcube is survived by his parents and siblings.