Ahoy, me hearties! It be Talk Like A Pirate Day, and I hope yer doin' me proud. In celebration o' the day, I answer some letters from people with questions o' how best to celebrate TLAPD. Arrr, I hope ye enjoy it!
Captain Gizmo
Use the player below or download it here.
Run time: 5:40
---------------------------------------------
Dear Captain Gizmo,
I’m really excited about Talk Like A Pirate Day, and want to make sure I’m outfitted right. I got some of that glitter makeup so I can sparkle in the sun, but I’m not sure how much to use. How much do pirates sparkle in the sun?
Signed,
Beulah
Sporks, Maine
---------------------------------------------
Hiya Cap’n Gizmo!
I think I’m all ready for Talk Like A Pirate Day this year! I’ve got my wand, and some of that makeup for the scar on my forehead. I’m also planning on wearing my bathrobe. Is there anything I forgot?
Hermie
Pigmoles, England
---------------------------------------------
Mr. Gizmo,
This year will be the best Pirate’s Day ever! I’ve got my black outfit, katana sword, and shurikens ready. How do you learn to throw those things on a moving ship? I tried practicing in my living room and almost hit my cat! Any help would be appreciated.
Nina Jay
Rio Linda, CA
---------------------------------------------
Mammalian Greetings!
I am really excited for this year’s Walk Like a Primate Day. This year I want to walk like a chimpanzee, but I just end up looking like a bad extra from Planet of the Apes. Do you have any pointers?
Cornelius
Somewhere in New York
September 19, 2010
June 26, 2010
With Great Power, Comes Great Gardening
King Arthur had the mighty sword Excalibur, Thor had his powerful hammer Mjöllnir, and Elmer Fudd had his spear and magic helmet. All of these ordinary men were made great by the use of a powerful implement (Yes, I know Thor was supposedly a god in his own right. I’m trying to make a point here). A kingdom got its king, bad people were thwonked on the head, and finally… finally… that wascally wabbit got what was coming to him. All feats worthy of retelling over a mug of ale in Valhalla.
It is in this light that I would like to introduce myself. My name is Keith, and I am the wielder of the Evil Shovel of Cable Annihilation! Look upon me and despair! MUHAHAHA!
Ahem.
Once upon a time I was just this guy, you know? I worked, I played, I ate, I slept. I bought the t-shirt, several of them in fact. Except for my shiny head and devastating good looks, I was no different from any other man. But then everything changed.
It began on Memorial Day weekend while I was working in the yard. I was digging a three-inch trench to separate a flowerbed from the lawn. Sadly I overlooked the fact that the path of my trench intersected with that holy provider of Internet and television, the cable line. Without a thought I cut the wire cleanly with my shovel as I moved along. Little did I know, but the consequences were much greater than a few days disconnected from e-mail, Facebook, and Twitter.
What had once been an ordinary shovel was now something much, much greater. Unbeknownst to me what I thought was a simple gardening tool was now an instrument of evil. Something, perhaps a shock when it sliced through the cable, perhaps a radioactive earthworm, imbued it with a dark power.
I was blissfully unaware of this until last weekend. I had some planting to do in the back yard, so I had taken my trusty shovel off of the garage wall to get the job done. Did it quiver with excitement? I didn’t notice. Did it hum with anticipation? No clue, I had my earbuds in.
Since most of the plants were small I had used my trusty trowel to dig their holes, but for the one large plant I used my shovel. As it turned out that was all that was needed. I was almost done with my task when the wife came out to tell me that we had no internet or cable TV. For a second I just stared. It was horrible case of déjà vu from Memorial Day, and it felt so unfair. But this time I was nowhere near the cable I had cut before, I protested. I was waaaay in the back of our property. There were no cables there.
I walked over to the side of the house to make sure I hadn’t blacked out and walked over there like some sort of gardening zombie (Hydraaaaangeas!) to dig up the cable. As expected the ground there was undisturbed, but that did nothing to refute the fact that we had no electronic access to the outside world.
While the wife called the cable company, I picked up my tools. As I was putting them away, I felt a vibration from the shovel’s wooden handle. I pulled out my earbuds to hear a metallic chuckle and a faint “Again. Use me again…” Spooked, I hung it up on the wall as quickly as I could and left it there.
It turned out that as time passed the shovel’s power had grown, and instead of just taking out our cable it had affected an area miles-wide. Without even having to touch a wire it had sent its evil energies though the earth to sever internet access for hundreds of families. Children cried when they couldn't watch Blues Clues. Teen angst soared as they couldn't sing along to re-runs of Glee. I realized that I was the owner of an implement of unspeakable power (I can write about it, but speak? No.)
Am I now going to be one of the conflicted super-men, who doesn’t want to use his power but is unable to stop himself? Do I have enough fortitude to resist the temptation of the evil spade in my garage? I have no one to help me in this struggle. There are no support groups for owners of wicked gardening tools (Hi, my name is Keith and I’m an evil gardener).
If my success with resisting Chips Ahoy is any indication, I am going to dig again. It’s only a question of when. Will my shovel’s power have grown even greater? How many people will be affected? All of Michigan? North America? The world? Could I create a fail whale of global proportions just by digging a hole in my yard? I don’t know, and the questions haunt me, begging for answers.
So now you know my story, my super-gardener origin as it were. If you desire the services of me and my mighty shovel, you can find me at the local Home Depot. I’m thinking about buying a shrubbery.
It is in this light that I would like to introduce myself. My name is Keith, and I am the wielder of the Evil Shovel of Cable Annihilation! Look upon me and despair! MUHAHAHA!
Ahem.
Once upon a time I was just this guy, you know? I worked, I played, I ate, I slept. I bought the t-shirt, several of them in fact. Except for my shiny head and devastating good looks, I was no different from any other man. But then everything changed.
It began on Memorial Day weekend while I was working in the yard. I was digging a three-inch trench to separate a flowerbed from the lawn. Sadly I overlooked the fact that the path of my trench intersected with that holy provider of Internet and television, the cable line. Without a thought I cut the wire cleanly with my shovel as I moved along. Little did I know, but the consequences were much greater than a few days disconnected from e-mail, Facebook, and Twitter.
What had once been an ordinary shovel was now something much, much greater. Unbeknownst to me what I thought was a simple gardening tool was now an instrument of evil. Something, perhaps a shock when it sliced through the cable, perhaps a radioactive earthworm, imbued it with a dark power.
I was blissfully unaware of this until last weekend. I had some planting to do in the back yard, so I had taken my trusty shovel off of the garage wall to get the job done. Did it quiver with excitement? I didn’t notice. Did it hum with anticipation? No clue, I had my earbuds in.
Since most of the plants were small I had used my trusty trowel to dig their holes, but for the one large plant I used my shovel. As it turned out that was all that was needed. I was almost done with my task when the wife came out to tell me that we had no internet or cable TV. For a second I just stared. It was horrible case of déjà vu from Memorial Day, and it felt so unfair. But this time I was nowhere near the cable I had cut before, I protested. I was waaaay in the back of our property. There were no cables there.
I walked over to the side of the house to make sure I hadn’t blacked out and walked over there like some sort of gardening zombie (Hydraaaaangeas!) to dig up the cable. As expected the ground there was undisturbed, but that did nothing to refute the fact that we had no electronic access to the outside world.
While the wife called the cable company, I picked up my tools. As I was putting them away, I felt a vibration from the shovel’s wooden handle. I pulled out my earbuds to hear a metallic chuckle and a faint “Again. Use me again…” Spooked, I hung it up on the wall as quickly as I could and left it there.
It turned out that as time passed the shovel’s power had grown, and instead of just taking out our cable it had affected an area miles-wide. Without even having to touch a wire it had sent its evil energies though the earth to sever internet access for hundreds of families. Children cried when they couldn't watch Blues Clues. Teen angst soared as they couldn't sing along to re-runs of Glee. I realized that I was the owner of an implement of unspeakable power (I can write about it, but speak? No.)
Am I now going to be one of the conflicted super-men, who doesn’t want to use his power but is unable to stop himself? Do I have enough fortitude to resist the temptation of the evil spade in my garage? I have no one to help me in this struggle. There are no support groups for owners of wicked gardening tools (Hi, my name is Keith and I’m an evil gardener).
If my success with resisting Chips Ahoy is any indication, I am going to dig again. It’s only a question of when. Will my shovel’s power have grown even greater? How many people will be affected? All of Michigan? North America? The world? Could I create a fail whale of global proportions just by digging a hole in my yard? I don’t know, and the questions haunt me, begging for answers.
So now you know my story, my super-gardener origin as it were. If you desire the services of me and my mighty shovel, you can find me at the local Home Depot. I’m thinking about buying a shrubbery.
June 14, 2010
Ice Cream Exposé
Ah, the local ice cream emporium. A fount of refreshing summer treats. Wholesome vanilla ice cream, banana splits, slushies, and the like, all made with quality ingredients like milk, hot fudge, and.... Old Fashioned LIQUID Peanut Butter? So back in the day my grand-pappy DRANK his peanut butter? Notice how it is sitting quietly next to the malted milk, hoping you'll just keep walking by. That's right, nothing disgusting to see here, unless you want to DRINK SOME PEANUT BUTTER!!
And the there was the whole array of tasty shakes and malts. Classic flavors like Vanilla, Chocolate, Strawberry, Pinapple, Cher... wait a minute. Pinapple? Is that right? Why am I suddenly reminded of the nasty Halloween prank of putting a razor blade in a apple? Either that or a bunch of really small apples were used.
Of course there is always the possibility that someone just forgot a letter in their haste to add the (LIQUID!) Peanut Butter flavor to the list. I'd like to buy a vowel, Pat, and solve the puzzle:
P-I-N-E-A-P-P-L-E.
Did I win anything?
June 03, 2010
The Great Bathroom Hunt
I was attending the graduation ceremony of my niece at the Eastern Michigan University Convocation Center when I had to use the restroom, where I found a slight disparity in the signage between the Men's room and the Women's room.
First let's consider the Woman's room. As you can see in Exhibit 1 this room rates a large sign that is hung from the ceiling. In fact I could see these signs in either direction in the main corridor. I wondered if this is a bit of overkill, since locating the woman's room at events such as this is usually accomplished by looking for the line. Perhaps this is an indication to dim-witted, college-age males that women would be congregating here, and if they need a date for later this is the place to look?Then we have Exhibit 2, the Men's room sign. Clearly the innate hunting and tracking skills of the male part of the species are being given due respect by this small sign taped to a concrete column somewhat near the entrance to the Men's room. Either that or someone is being awful brave, as we might just do our stuff in a nearby corner or out in the landscaping if we can't find the proper facilities.
Or perhaps they thought we'd use the Women's room for a quick pee while picking up our date for later. And if all the stalls are full, then we could demonstrate our adaptability by using the sinks as ad-hoc urinals. Aww yeah, ladies, you know you can't resist those mad skills!
Perhaps I'm reading a bit too much into this, and maybe I should take that as a sign that this post should be over. I'm just glad I found the right restroom, because I like to save the whole sink-turned-into-urinal thing for special occasions.
May 30, 2010
Paying the Price
Once again it is that special weekend of the calendar here in America where we honor those who have served, or are currently serving, in the service of their country. Our country. It is a time that I always hold dear and try to commemorate with all the respect and dignity it deserves. I did not choose to serve in our country's military, so I feel the least I can do is honor those who have made that commitment with their lives and often their blood.
If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, then you are no doubt aware that my father passed away in February of this year. He was a member of the Navy for eleven years, and is one of the major reasons that I grew up with an interest in the military. Dad served aboard several submarines, and would be gone for weeks at a time on patrol. Once when his sub was docked he was able to take me along so I could get a taste of a submariner's life. I ate in the wardroom, used the head, and slept in a bunk. I was five years old.
In honesty, that visit is one of my most vivid memories of my dad's time in the Navy. I don't remember him being on patrol, although my mother used to tell us about how difficult my sister and I were to handle when he was gone. I do remember my taste of being a Navy brat. Once I reached my school years we were moving from coast to coast every year. From kindergarten through second grade I attended schools in four different cities.
Dad left the Navy during my second grade year and we moved once again, this time to Michigan. This is where we would stay for the rest of my childhood. But even though he had left the sea and submarines far behind, they were never far from his mind. As I grew older he would tell me some stories of his time on subs. We would read the same sub books and play the same submarine games.
Even though he had a love for his old profession, he also bore a bitter streak in regard to the Navy and the government. There were always things he wouldn't talk about his time at sea. At times I could see the shadows in his eyes. He never actively served in a war zone that I'm aware of, although one might say the constant readiness required by the submarine corps equaled that environment. Some of his experiences had obviously not been as pleasant as his stories of war game successes.
So with that in the back of my mind, the thought occurred to me that my father had paid a price for his time in the military. Even though he did not have to carry a rifle and shoot at an enemy, he had been at war. Even though he had never been physically injured in the performance of his duties, his time in the military had left a mark on his psyche. Sometimes that mark was a good thing, and sometimes it was a bad thing.
I know veterans who have no outward marks of their time serving our country. Some may think they had an easy posting, or that they were lucky. But I would suspect that they bear a mark also, one they would not bear had they not taken part of protecting our nation.
As I said at the beginning, at this time of year we remember those who have served, and are actively serving in the US military. Many times the service members who lost their lives or are injured become the focus of our attention, and rightly so. But we should also remember and honor those who bear no outward signs from their time of service, for they have also paid the price.
If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, then you are no doubt aware that my father passed away in February of this year. He was a member of the Navy for eleven years, and is one of the major reasons that I grew up with an interest in the military. Dad served aboard several submarines, and would be gone for weeks at a time on patrol. Once when his sub was docked he was able to take me along so I could get a taste of a submariner's life. I ate in the wardroom, used the head, and slept in a bunk. I was five years old.
In honesty, that visit is one of my most vivid memories of my dad's time in the Navy. I don't remember him being on patrol, although my mother used to tell us about how difficult my sister and I were to handle when he was gone. I do remember my taste of being a Navy brat. Once I reached my school years we were moving from coast to coast every year. From kindergarten through second grade I attended schools in four different cities.
Dad left the Navy during my second grade year and we moved once again, this time to Michigan. This is where we would stay for the rest of my childhood. But even though he had left the sea and submarines far behind, they were never far from his mind. As I grew older he would tell me some stories of his time on subs. We would read the same sub books and play the same submarine games.
Even though he had a love for his old profession, he also bore a bitter streak in regard to the Navy and the government. There were always things he wouldn't talk about his time at sea. At times I could see the shadows in his eyes. He never actively served in a war zone that I'm aware of, although one might say the constant readiness required by the submarine corps equaled that environment. Some of his experiences had obviously not been as pleasant as his stories of war game successes.
So with that in the back of my mind, the thought occurred to me that my father had paid a price for his time in the military. Even though he did not have to carry a rifle and shoot at an enemy, he had been at war. Even though he had never been physically injured in the performance of his duties, his time in the military had left a mark on his psyche. Sometimes that mark was a good thing, and sometimes it was a bad thing.
I know veterans who have no outward marks of their time serving our country. Some may think they had an easy posting, or that they were lucky. But I would suspect that they bear a mark also, one they would not bear had they not taken part of protecting our nation.
As I said at the beginning, at this time of year we remember those who have served, and are actively serving in the US military. Many times the service members who lost their lives or are injured become the focus of our attention, and rightly so. But we should also remember and honor those who bear no outward signs from their time of service, for they have also paid the price.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)