"Best Of..."

After a little gentle coaxing from my friend, John, I decided to make a sort of greatest hits list. Now, I don't really know how to set up a polling type thing, but I'd like to get some feedback on people's favorites. I went through my entire archives, and with painstaking attention to mood, humor, message, attitude, and overall quality, I narrowed my 300-odd posts down to 68 favorites. Then, they got whittled down to 47, then 27, then finally a list of my personal favorite 25 blog posts. I'm sure my tastes differ wildly from a lot of other people, but this is all I could really do. So, without further ado, the top 25 posts from the House of Vaughan, in a very rough chronological order, having nothing to do with rank:

Fat people suck

Something about the NBA

AIDS, and why I don't particularly care for it

The movies

Comics

Some famous things

My family

The Hyundai Tiburon

Fending for yourself

Prison overcrowding

American Idol

Some thoughts on complexity

Saturn's moon, Titan

Banning words

A few New Year's resolutions

I think this is a reaction to some quotation

Kickball

Starbucks, and the people who get their coffee there

Spring Break!

A googol, man.

Emo jackasses

A new Bill of Rights

I really do love Monopoly

Adult Bible Fellowship

The day I nearly killed a man

And that's it! I don't expect you people who haven't read these anyway to try and read through them all, but for those of you who've read most of these, I'd really like to get a little market research by finding out which one (or several) you liked the best. They don't even have to be on the list, if you really liked them. I know what I think is good, but I want to know about you guys, too. Thanks a lot.

Hey! You're Sexist!

I'm so sick of the blatantly sexist attitude with which tv producers treat men. We're constantly portrayed as pigs, complete idiots, power-hungry businessmen, complete idiots, heartless thugs, and complete idiots. Examples: Ray Barone, Tim Taylor, George Costanza, Cosmo Kramer, Michael J. Fox's character in Spin City, Charlie Sheen's character in... pretty much every project he's ever worked on. They're all that way. And what about that show on VH1, "Kept," the whole premise of which is to chronicle Jerry Hall's search for a boy-toy? It's disgraceful. If VH1 tried to air a show called "Arm Candy," about Donald Trump's search for a woman whose only purpose was to... um... satisfy him, feminist groups across the country would be burning bras and marching on Washington faster than you could say "bull dyke." Sorry, but it really pisses me off. I'm lobbying for the fair and equal treatment of men, of which we have been deprived as long as tv has existed. No, it's not "making up for all the years of oppression." It's just sexist, and I want it to stop. Either that, or I want to see a show about women who forget their anniversaries, have major car accidents, work as homemakers, and have mid-life crises. That's real, people. Not this "lovable idiot husband" crap you see everywhere.

"I'm A Consultant"

I don't know about you, but when I hear those three words strung together, it sends a chill down my spine. I hate hearing someone tell me that they're a consultant. It's not a real job. You want to know what a consultant REALLY is? It's a guy who thinks he knows more than he really does about a particular industry in which he is currently NOT WORKING. That's a consultant. I guess instead of telling people I'm in a "transitional phase," I should just say I'm a consultant. At least that way, it makes me sound like I know what kind of job I don't yet have. I mean, when I say I'm looking for a job, most people take a good, long look at me, and assume I'm a male prostitute. I know I can't really blame them, but it hurts nonetheless. Consulting, however, is a perfectly ambiguous term that seems to guarantee both that people will give me more respect than I deserve, and that they'll remain completely clueless as to what I actually do. That, my friends, is a powerful thing.

Just Too Normal

I watched "The Life and Death of Peter Sellers" last night, and it made me realize something: I'm far too normal to ever be a comedian. All the truly great comedic minds have been really messed up guys. Well, either that, or they had some horribly traumatic experience at some point in their lives. Jim Carrey, Bill Cosby, John Candy, Chris Farley, John Belushi, Woody Allen, Andy Kaufman, and Peter Sellers were all troubled in some way. Comedy is the one industry in which a normal, well-adjusted upbringing is generally considered a bad thing. Well, I'm royally screwed, because I'm not troubled AT ALL. Besides, I'm nowhere near depressed or moody enough. I've got the neuroticism down, but I'm still too even-keeled for that to matter. This realization is depressing me, though. With my background, I think I'm being psychologically prepared for nothing less than a dynamic career in sod-laying, or maybe as a toner salesman, or I might just break into the wonderful world of professional boring people, whom you hire to clear a room after wedding receptions. Is it wrong for me to wish I could get diagnosed with some sort of disease or neurotic disorder? Or maybe just have some sort of traumatic encounter with a mugger and/or transvestite ice cream salesman? Something. Anything. I don't want to grow up to be a paper consultant, or a felt-tip pen salesman. I might just be forced to kill someone and do a little hard time, just for the surely traumatic experience of living in prison.

An Offhand Comment

I really need to think about what I say before I say it sometimes. I was at a friend's house last night, and we were talking with his parents about his younger brother's job. He works at the Flying W Ranch, a local gulag/slave-labor camp for troubled teens, runaway circus performers, and closet homosexuals. Anyway, we were trying to nail down his exact title, because no one was sure what he does. One person said something about general manual labor. Another person jokingly called him a "slave laborer." I, in my infinite stupidity, blurted out, "They call 'em 'Jews' for short." A couple people nervously laughed. A couple others tried to lynch me. It was quite a mixed reaction, to say the least. Good thing I smoothed it over with the qualifier, "Or black people."

Friends

While I enjoy the wacky goings-on among a group of six good friends in their upper-east-side apartments, that's not what this post is about. It's about MY friends. I love my friends. After having tried to find people who don't look at me like I have a swastika burned in my forehead every time I make a joke, it's good to be around friends who already know about the swastika on my calf. Er... get my jokes. Whatever. You know what I mean. Anyway, I was just thinking that I only recently realized how good I have it with them. Most other people, or at least most other people I've hung out with this summer, don't have the same sophisticated sense of humor as we do. A perfect example of such highbrow humor came a few nights ago. We were all sitting down to a game of Texas Hold 'Em, when somebody made an offhand comment about the word "phallic" being very funny-sounding. Later, he said something else about "flaccid" being the worst word in the English language. For some reason, this sparked a nearly ten minute long debate over whether or not "phallic" was indeed a funny word, and whether or not there was a worse-sounding word than "flaccid." I tell you, people, you can't get much more sophisticated than that. No, sir. In fact, halfway through the argument, I lit a cigar and downed a snifter of brandy. Then again, I bet a quarter of the people reading this don't know what "flaccid" and "phallic" mean.

Be Yourself

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's fat people, but if there's two things I can't stand, it's fat people and people telling others to "just be themselves." That's probably the stupidest thought ever uttered aloud, at least since someone once said, "Oh, come on. This is the North Atlantic. There couldn't possibly be any icebergs out there big enough to sink this ship." I guess there are certain dumb things that are just destined to be said. I have been myself for as long as I can remember, and probably for a few years before that. Seriously. Now, maybe I'm just an outlier here or something, but I like to assume that I'm mostly just like everyone else. I'm willing to bet that the vast majority of people around me have, in fact, been themselves for most of their lives.

When you're at a party, and you've been told before that you just need to "be yourself," you're probably thinking it means you have to act like you would around close friends and relatives, right? But what about when you're around people you don't know or just met? Are you being "fake" by staying a little more reserved? Absolutely not. You're still being yourself. It's just the "I only met you forty seconds ago" self, and not the "I know you've seen me cry and/or run laps around your house naked" self. Individuals aren't simple or static, so what makes us think that multiple individuals in a dynamic social situation should be? Don't be stupid. You're always yourself. Anyone who says differently is trying to sell his own self-help books. Or drugs. Turn them in immediately.

Another phrase I heard recently came from a friend over IM. She asked, "Are you around?" I had no idea how to answer that. I said something like, "Of course. I'm always around. Wherever, I go, I'm around." I don't think she liked that very much. I was stumped, though. How can a person even ask that question? Around what? Yes, when I'm someplace, and I'm aware that I'm at that someplace, I am around that place. What information have we gained here? It's like asking people, "Do I know him?" What? How am I supposed to respond to that?

Both Ways, Ladies

I saw an interesting bulletin title on my MySpace profile today. It said "EVERY GIRL!!!" which intrigued me. I thought maybe it was a list of the phone numbers of every girl in America. Or maybe it was how much every girl in the world weighs. Or even every girl who ever used to be a guy. Stuff like that. No, sir. It was one of those oversentimental pithy sayings that make any girl who reads them sigh loudly, then look over at their significant other and scowl in disapproval. It said, and I quote, "Every girl wants a guy who they can run up to in their pajamas, no make-up, and messy hair and he'll say, 'Baby, you're beautiful!'" I nearly choked on my Ovaltine when I read that. I was laughing so hard I think I may have passed out for two or forty minutes. You've got to be kidding me. Ladies, I hate to be a spoilsport (or, as we're more commonly know, "a realist"), but there are like nine women in the world who could get that answer out of a guy, and have him actually mean it. (On a side note, there are only about three guys in the world who would ever actually use the word "baby" when describing a woman, and they are most definitely NOT the kind of guys who would give a compliment like that. Think Biff Tannen in Back to the Future: Part II.) But anyway, I'd like to remind all the persons of the female persuasion out there that it works both ways. Ladies, I promise you, if women randomly walked up to their husbands/boyfriends and said, "You're so strong and brave. I can't conceive of another man being stronger, braver, or more masculine or virile than you. Please, please sit down and relax while I make you dinner and massage your feet with oil and hundred dollar bills," then we men would DEFINITELY give you that compliment and MEAN IT 100%. I'm not kidding when I say that those two situtations are comparable in their relative probability for actually happening. Seriously. That's how far away you are from actually getting that guy that "every girl wants." It's a pipedream. Now make me a steak.

Million Dollar Baby

After all the hype and awards and promises of carnal delights, I finally caved. I just finished watching Million Dollar Baby. You know, that flop that didn't even show at a theater near you and made about $4 million worldwide? That's the one. Let me tell you, it deserved all those Oscars. While it's no Kill Bill: Vol. 2, it doesn't try to be. It's an intimate portrait of three people, and their passion for the sport they have dedicated their lives to. I don't want to give too much away, because the joy is in the journey, not the destination. I was EXTREMELY skeptical at first, because I tend to avoid boxing movies like the plague. After winning best picture and best director at the Academy Awards, it seemed as though it may not be that bad after all. I'm sure glad I decided to watch it. I know there are plenty of people out there who won't like it, and that's fine. But for those of you who like a good drama done right, you can't get much better with modern films.

Why, then, did about forty people in the entire country see this movie? I doubt that most of the members of AMPAS even saw it. Chris Rock was right in that joke he made at the Oscars; Americans don't watch cinema at all. They watch "White Chicks" and "War of the Worlds" and "Rebound." Then, they see some travesty like "Fahrenheit 9/11" and think they're watching an art film. You people make me sick! Go watch "Memento" or "Requiem for a Dream" or "Citizen Kane" or "Some Like it Hot" or "Halloween" or "Psycho" or "North By Northwest." Watch some real freaking movies, dammit! I'm sick of this crap!

A Day At Waterworld

Wow. It's been five days since I last posted. What could have possibly taken my attention away from this little project for five whole days? Had I been kidnapped? Had I finally gotten a job? Had I been trapped under a car in my garage? Had I actually gotten a life outside this blog? No such luck. I just ran out of stuff to write about. It's ok, though. Life never stops. It was just a matter of time before I kicked another guy in the crotch or saw a waitress cuss out a restaurant patron or burned down another immigrant family's home.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to go to what the Travel Channel called the 7th best water park in the country, Waterworld. A bunch of friends and I went there to celebrate my friend Phil's 21st birthday. Man, we had a lot of fun. Well, mostly. I kinda sorta accidentally gave a guy a concussion. Hey, it wasn't my fault. We were riding together on a big slide thing that dumps you off into a long pool. You go skipping across the water really fast. Well, at least you're SUPPOSED to skip across the water. We caught the front of our sled on the surface of the water, and stopped instantly. Apparently (I don't remember the details because I was busy trying not to die), we smashed our heads together. I was in front, and James had been in back. He discovered he was bleeding. Anyway, long story short, he had a mild concussion and needed six or seven stitches for a cut above his eyebrow. I felt terrible. I know it wasn't because I'd thrown anything at him or punched him in the face, but the concussion came as a direct result of the fact that I have a head. Put another way, if I hadn't been there, it might not have happened that way.

We saw a guy who works at Waterworld, who would obviously rather jump naked into a huge pile of porcupines than continue working there. Even better, he made every effort to make sure all the people around him were aware of that fact. The guy was walking back and forth in the vast uncharted expanse of about thirty square feet with a broom and a dust bin, sweeping nothing into the bin, and barely trying to hide it. Mostly, he was busy watching people wipe out on The Wave, one of those faux-boogie-boarding rides. For a while, he actually stood by a tree in the middle of a lawn-like area and pretended to be SWEEPING THE GRASS! All while looking like he'd just downed an entire bottle of valium. Seriously, that guy made Ben Stein look like a cross between Robin Williams and a really hyper dog. After a few minutes, I think he figured out that we were onto his little game, and he moved along, probably looking for more lawns to sweep.

All in all, it was a fun day. We had a few laughs, tripped a few old people, stole a few bottles of sunscreen. Good times. Water parks are always fun. Especially when you get to watch a big ol' fat guy wipe out on the same ride forty times.

A Dead Giveaway

You can always tell when someone is about to say something horribly bigotted or racist when they preface their comment with, "Now, I don't want to offend anybody, but..." People do that all the time. Apparently, simply stating that you don't want to offend anyone is a free pass to be as offensive as possible. I don't play that way. If I'm going to offend you, I'll probably keep that bit of information a secret until after I've done it. Then, you won't need me to tell you anyway. Some guys, on the other hand, think it somehow justifies their offensiveness. They'll say things like, "I don't mean to offend anyone, but black people smell weird." or "Now, I don't want to ruffle any feathers, but women belong in the kitchen. Naked." or "I don't want to rub anyone the wrong way, but I think we should nuke Mexico City, and take out all them damn spiks at once. That'll solve our immigration problem." Sorry guys, but you're offending a whole lot of people, and since I'm not one of them, I can only imagine how pissed off I'd be if I were. So, next time you start to say something with "I don't want to offend anybody" in the preamble, please make sure there aren't any (and I don't want to offend anybody when I say this) liberal gay black promiscuous blue-state Jews around. Watch out. They may just get all legislative on your ass, punk!

A Trip To The Dentist

I've always had an aversion to the dentist. Mainly, it's because I've got pretty strong teeth, and never had to worry about flossing religiously. It was just a nuisance to have to go through the whole ordeal of getting a cleaning every six months and getting told I needed to floss more. Screw that. Well, I was recently given a real reason to start flossing again. I came out of the dentist's office with the new knowlege that I had four cavities. Today, I just got home after having two of them filled. It was the first time I'd ever had to have a novacaine shot. Not too bad. I just hated hearing the sound of my own teeth being drilled away, bit by bit.

I finally decided I'm not a very good patient. It was mostly because I was moving around so much. The dentist even stopped and said, "You sure are jumping around a lot. Is it the vibration?" Well, since I had a drill in my mouth at the time, I couldn't answer him with, "No, I think it has more to do with the fact that you're taking a power dril to my face. And also, you're spraying my own saliva all over my glasses." I just kept quiet the whole time, because I figured that most dentists don't react too well when their patients say things like, "I have absolutely no respect for what you do" or "Is that puzzle you've got hanging on the ceiling over my head properly secured, because I don't want any of the pieces falling into my mouth." I'm sure the man has a good sense of humor. It's just that I don't want to risk pissing off a guy who's about to make holes in my head.

During the actual drilling, I kept wondering if the novacaine made it all the way through my teeth in time. I just kept on imagining what I would do if I was suddenly overcome with blinding pain. I came to the conclusion that, if such a thing were to ever happen, I'd most likely kill the man where he stands. Well, either that, or cry like a girl.

I did learn something new, though. If you slap a dental hygienist more than twice, she WILL hit you back.

Late Night AM Radio

If there's one thing I love, it's steak. If, however, I were allowed to love two things, they would be steak and late-night AM radio. Man, that's good stuff. Last night, I heard these two guys talking about how the Y chromosome is slowly breaking down, and a thousand years from now, men will be completely extinct. Funny thing was, after a half hour talking about the male human going extinct, neither man mentioned the fact that ALL humans would therefore become extinct. I guess things like "thinking before you speak" and "not being an idiot" aren't among the criteria for late-night AM radio talk show hosts. Apparently, all you need is a voice and the ability to go to commercial breaks. Not that I mind, however. It's all quite entertaining to hear about all the crazy conspiracy theories these guys have when you're completely sober and also a high school graduate. One of my favorites is this theory that aliens taught the Egyptians how to harness a mysterious energy source, which the Egyptians obviously used to build Las Vegas. Or the Great Pyramids. Whatever. Yeah, apparently, the world's top scientific minds have been completely in the dark concerning this energy source for the last four thousand years, but some disgruntled engineer at 3M stumbled on it during an all-night Star Trek marathon using nothing but a ball of string, six dead cats, and a box of Depends. Amazing.

People Watching In Denver

I went up to the Colorado Mills Mall in Denver/Golden today, and I had an opportunity to wander around people-watching for about an hour and a half. It was awesome. Mallrats are so funny when they think no one is watching them. I saw an obese forty-year-old nerd walk out of a comic book store with an unusually guilty look on his face. Either he'd just stolen something or he'd gotten a little too "friendly" with some of the more... ehem... mature comics. Either way, the guy didn't appear to be too proud of himself. Later, I saw a jackass emo punk with a huge nine-foot-high mowhawk and clown shoes. He wasn't doing anything funny, but being an emo jackass, did he really have to? One thing I didn't expect to see that much was mall security. In the course of ninety minutes, I saw just about 20 mall security guards, 17 of whom were younger than me. Apparently the great after-high-school tradition of north Denver is to graduate from your local retard factory and immediately skip college, going directly to a completely unnecessary blue collar job telling fourteen-year-olds not to run, living in a Mini-Winni, and coming home to a wife with six teeth and 37 adopted Cambodian children. Ah, the American Dream. With faithful security guards living a cushy life like that, it's no wonder the terrorists hate us. They must be jealous of SPAM. I mean, who wouldn't be? It's breakfast, it's dinner, it's a sandwich, it's a side dish, it makes an efficient enema, it'll babysit your kids. You can't go wrong with SPAM, my friend.

Lefty? Shut Up

Why haven't all left-handed people died yet? I can't believe that evolution has allowed these people to survive as long as they have, which is an easy argument against evolution. Ha! They make me sick with all their left-handed writing and their left-handed talking and their left-handed sleeping and all their other stupid non-right-handed ways. It's a hassle to have them in your family, because they have to be strategically placed around the dinner table so they don't bump their stupid left-handed left hands into anybody else's real hand. Sometimes, I just walk from building to building, kicking left-handed people in the face. How do I know who's left-handed, you ask? Easy. I kick everyone in the face, and the ones who try to block it with their left hands are left-handed. Duh. When I was a little kid, I had to sit down next to a left-handed person. My parents tried explaining to me that they're "just like us," but I wasn't buying it. I kept staring at him, wondering why he was so weird. Eventually, he turned to me (to his left, big surprise) and asked me what my problem was. Instead of answering, I just slapped him. Then, I ran away. Why haven't they been given their own schools yet? I mean, do they honestly expect us to just sit there in classrooms, ignoring the fact that we're right next to a gaggle of south paws? I don't think so. Next time I see a lefty, I'm going to kill him/her with my bare hands. Actually, no. Just one hand.

Pure Gold

I just finished up ten days of my grandparents and one of my aunts staying at our house. It was quite an... interesting time. All I can say is that I'm quite thankful that aunt Debbie was there to help us... cope with grampa. I love the guy to pieces, but sometimes, it's kind of difficult to be around him for extended periods of time. One thing that I really liked about their visit was the fact that nearly everything that came out of my grampa's mouth was pure comedic gold. Oh, not because he's a funny guy. Actually, it's because he has no sense of propriety. If he wants to say something to someone, by gum, he's going to say it, NO MATTER WHAT. Here's a short list of just a few examples of funny things that he did and said this week:

(To my dad, his son, who WORKS FOR A PUBLISHING COMPANY) "You know you have to SELL books to make money from them." I'm sure dad needed that little tidbit of insider info, grampa.

(After seeing the interracial marriage at the end of "Napoleon Dynamite") "Why's a white marrying a black?" Later, he said that it was unbiblical for "the kinds" to intermarry.

"I do my best thinking when I'm asleep. At least, I think I'm asleep."

"Psychology and Sociology? Oh, I majored in those." (He didn't.)

Out of the blue, in the middle of the sermon at church, he turned to me and YELLED, "How long does it take you to drive to school?"

After explaining to me, in excruciating detail, the kinds of infections you can get, he proceeded to clean a layer of grime out from under his toenails. ONTO THE FAMILY ROOM CARPET. "That's just something that happens when you get old." No, that's just something that happens when you neglect your personal hiegene regimen for a few weeks.

"Whose Norelco Reflex Plus?" Rubs his hands all over my face. "Oh, it's yours."

(At the drive-thru at Taco Bell. He actually got out of the car, walked around, and stood between my mom and the window to pay.) "Do you give a senior discount? Well, they do in California."

He tried to convince me that you can buy what he called "store brand Clamato" in a grocery store. No, sir. No more than you can buy "store brand Pepsi" or "store brand Toyotas." It's a registered freakin' trademark.

It was a lot of fun writing things down after grampa said them. Every day, I heard something else that I thought was hilarious, but a lot of the time, I didn't have any way to record what had happened. I think I need to carry around my digital voice recorder EVERYWHERE from now on, just in case.

Happy Fourthajuly!

Well, Independence Day is just around the corner, and once again, I'm quite ill prepared for it. Once again, the state of Colorado has deemed it "unsafe" to set off fireworks that explode or even leave the ground. Once again, my request to road trip up to Wyoming in order to buy huge quantities of fireworks has been shot down prematurely. In other words, once again, it's going to be a crappy Fourth of July. However, I can't pass up an opportunity to talk about this land that I love so very, very much. So, I thought I'd put together a list of reasons why I love America.

1. It's big, but not too big. Russia's waaay too big. Canada's got one person for every thirty billion square miles (give or take). England, on the other hand, is puny. I've picked bigger things than England out of my teeth.

2. It's incredibly diverse. We've got deserts, ski resorts, beautiful beaches, expansive corn fields, active volcanoes, glaciers, stunning mountain ranges, huge cities, and more than a few people groups. Wow.

3. We've got a ton of weapons. Seriously. We could kill the entire population of China fifty times over with our arsenal of chemical weapons alone! Yeah. Sweet.

4. It's free. I have the legal right to say that I hate Bill Clinton like poison. How cool is that? In some countries, that would be a no-no.

5. We've got awesome colors. Germany's colors suck ass. That's right, you sick krauts. I said it.

6. We've got not one Statue of Liberty, but two. Vegas, baby! 'Nuff said.

7. We invented the artificial heart, the telephone, the telegraph, the sewing machine, the incandescent light bulb, the computer, standing up, and sex. That's pretty freakin' impressive.

8. One word: Elvis.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I love cookies... er, America.

This Is A Totally Real Story

This is the single funniest real news story I've ever heard. It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, "Oh, your baby is so cute I could just eat him up." Who knows if the guy actually did it, and what's more, who cares? All I know is that this is the first real-life news story I've ever read that has made me laugh out loud. People are retarded. For me, the real kicker is the fact that this guy uses his vegetarianism as his strongest defense. He doesn't say, "I don't eat babies because it's morally wrong, and also it's just plain gross. Plus, they're a pain to peel." No, instead, he dismisses the charges as ludicrous because everyone knows he doesn't eat meat! Oh, man. I'm laughing so hard it's getting difficult to type.