Ten Things I Learned While Playing With My Wii

When I first heard about the Nintendo Wii, I assumed it was just another video game like any other. I had no interest or desire to learn much about it, because I lumped it into the category of “unnecessary timewasters I didn’t subscribe to.” Not to say I didn’t have my own set of timewasters (as my extensive collection of videos certainly proves), but spending time in front of my TV trying to fight and kill enemies and capture tokens was just not my idea of a good time. Then one day, instead of resisting, I actually played a few of the Wii games…and pretty much, after that, I was hooked.

It wasn’t long before I bought the Wii Fit, which includes a balance board/step that you stand on while doing most of the exercises. This might be intimidating for some people, as the daily suggested “Body Test” gives you an ongoing evaluation of your weight gains and losses. But not for me. Especially because the first time I took the daily Body Test, I was rated in the perfect weight range for my age. Naturally, I figured this meant I was in superior physical condition and could easily handle anything the Wii had to throw at me. How wrong I was. To follow are a list of things I learned about myself during my recent encounters with my Wii.

1. I have the worst balance in the world. (Well, maybe not the worst—I think Paula Abdul is pretty unbalanced as well.) But whether I’m trying to hit soccer balls that are being thrown at my head, or skiing down a slope weaving in and out of flags, I just don’t have control of my balance the way I thought I did. This was especially evident one day when I got a little carried away during a ski jump, and actually put a dent in my basement ceiling with my head. I think I probably also put a dent in my head from the basement ceiling, but that isn’t as noticeable.


2. My weight can fluctuate by as much as ten pounds a day. Well, this isn’t really true, but for a while it appeared as if the Wii was having difficulty giving me an accurate weight count. As I mentioned, on the first day I took the Body Test, I landed in the “good weight range” category. But when I took the same Body Test the following day, I had gained eight pounds, and the Wii told me I was now overweight. In fact, a little disapproving voice even tells you “You’re overweight!” (Just like your Mother used to…or was that just me?!!!) Then two days later when I took the test again, I’d lost three pounds, then I gained ten, then lost four. Apparently, if you use the Wii Fit board on carpeting, you need to add the extensions to get an accurate count. Once I did that, my weight returned to normal…but for a while there, I was getting a little concerned about my metabolism.


3. The Wii image you create for yourself (called a Mii) actually goes up and down in weight when you do. So during my aforementioned bout with the daily Body Tests, my Mii image fluctuated between an Ed Norton and a Ralph Kramden.


4. I’m very competitive. And because you get a score at the end of each exercise, it motivates you to constantly do better.


5. Did I mention I’m very competitive? This became increasingly evident when I had some friends over to play, and some of them beat my existing scores on a few of the games. And though I tried to suppress it at the time, I have not stopped trying to beat some of those higher scores during my daily routine.


6. I don’t like machines asking me questions. Especially when they can’t really respond to my answer. But one of the “highlights” of your daily training session is to be bombarded with questions about your eating and exercising habits. For instance, if you skip a day of exercise, one of the first things the Wii says to you is: “Too busy to work out yesterday, eh?” (Bee-yatch!!!!) Or if you happened to gain a few pounds, the Wii makes you select a reason for the weight gain. And if you choose “Don’t know,” it harasses you for the next few days until you finally admit you like to eat late night snacks. (Double Bee-yatch!)


7. Just when you think you know a routine, the Wii throws in a curveball. For example, one of the exercises is called an Island run, which is basically a “running in place” type of workout whereby you follow another Mii on the television screen as they run around a beautifully animated island. You don’t use the balance board for this exercise, but you do have to keep the Wii remote either in your pocket or your hand so the computer can accurately measure your performance. But what’s really cool is that you don’t always go to the same place each time. Sometimes the Mii takes you one way and another day it might take you another. You also aren’t always following the same person each time, so it’s like you have a whole new group of friends to hang out with. (They don’t really talk to you, but they certainly smile and wave a lot.)


8. The Wii games are populated with many, many people. In fact, many of the games have you actually performing in front of people, or working out alongside groups of other athletes. And when you win, everyone cheers you on. If only that would happen more often in real life.


9. I don’t confuse the Wii with Oui (the hardcore magazine) any more.


10. Exercising is fun. Again.

But that’s just me. What kinds of things have you learned from your Wii?

Because of the Village People, YouTube Rejected Me as a Partner

Please forgive me if I rant a little today, but I am a tad perturbed. As you may know, I am quite an avid YouTube uploader…using the website to “virtually” house all my video epics so I don’t have to pay for a real server to store them. And over the course of the past year, I have slowly built up a nice following of viewers and fans, many of whom encouraged me to become a YouTube Partner (an honor that apparently comes with a few perks, including actual payments for advertising on your videos.) As I’d always assumed a YouTube Partner needed thousands of subscribers in order to be considered, I hadn’t thought it was time yet for me to pursue such a relationship. (At this point in time, I have 356 subsribers and 97 friends.)

But then several viewers of mine (who were already Partners) told me that was not the case, and because I was consistently getting high ratings, comments and views for my videos, I would probably be considered as a good prospect. So without thinking much about it, I filled out the short form online and submitted it to YouTube. I figured I probably wouldn’t hear anything for a few weeks or so, as I’m sure there were literally thousands of people at any given time trying to become a Partner as well.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up the next morning to find a response. Only it wasn’t really the kind of response I expected. To follow is the very cold form letter I received:

Dear ScoobyHubby, (This is my UserName on YouTube)

Thank you for your interest in the YouTube Partner Program. Our goal is to extend invitations to as many partners as we can. Unfortunately we are unable to accept your application at this time. The partner program is designed for users whose videos consistently comply with the YouTube Community Guidelines and Terms of Use. At this time, your account history indicates that it has not always fully complied with the rules that govern our site.

Applications are reviewed for a variety of criteria, including but not limited to the size of your audience, country of residence, quality of content, and consistency with our Community Guidelines and Terms of Use. Please review the program qualifications (http://www.youtube.com/partners) for a complete list of our criteria.As we continue to expand we hope to be able to accept a broader group of partners. We have registered your interest in the program and will continue to monitor your account for potential future acceptance into the program.

Thank you for your understanding.

Now you may wonder what they are referring to when they say I have “not always fully complied with the rules that govern our site”. The only time I ever had an issue with YouTube was when I uploaded a video that was a parody of the Village People song “YMCA,” in which I hummed a sixty second version of the tune while little animated rubber ducks performed a rousing dance number. (See photo above) In the video, I didn’t sing any of the lyrics or even play the real music…I just hummed it. Several days after I uploaded it, I received a very nasty e-mail from YouTube saying that “SCORPIO MUSIC S.A. / CAN’T STOP PRODUCTIONS INC.” (the company that owns the rights to YMCA) had the video taken down because of copyright infringement. (This entire incident is fully detailed in my blog posting, “I Survived a YouTube Banning”)

So because of one little infraction back in August, I've now been flagged “unacceptable” as a YouTube Partner. And I know that nobody bothered to even review my current content or the popularity of my videos because I got a response in under twenty-four hours. And you will notice, the e-mail wasn’t even signed by anyone, as if YouTube is some sort of higher power that doesn’t need accountability.

After receiving the rejection e-mail, I admit that I got a little depressed. Not because I wasn’t accepted right away, but because of WHY I wasn’t accepted. And now all I can do is blame the Village People and their stupid song for getting me into this mess in the first place. Had I not wanted to pay tribute to that famous dance anthem, I might actually have a shot at earning a few extra dollars a month.

But that’s just me. What do you blame the Village People for?

Wallowing in Winter Whining

Did you ever have one of those days where you had absolutely nothing to say, and not one interesting idea to blog about? And it’s not like you don’t have millions of things you could talk about, or share, or poke fun at….and yet, for some reason you don’t have any desire or energy to put the effort into it? Well, if not, congratulations! You are simply an amazing individual, and should therefore feel free to go along your merry way without reading another word of this. (I mean it. Not another word.) But for those of you who may occasionally suffer from what some might refer to as “writer’s block,” kindly proceed this way. (Good, that’s one paragraph down.)

Personally, I usually have several topics on hand to blog about at any given time. As I think of things to write about, I jot them down on one of the many pads of post-it notes that pepper my desk. That way, if there should ever come a time when I can’t think of anything to write about, I would simply peel off a post it and jot down my thoughts on that particular topic. That was, of course, before the post-its started separating from their pads, thus becoming small individual pieces of paper that would get mixed in with the stacks of mail or work projects or junk mail or anything else that happened to come across my desk, and for some reason, remained there in a collective heap. The eventual result would be post-its that inadvertently attached themselves to the bottom of something I was throwing out, or they accidentally got between two pieces of paper that went into some file that I’ll probably never look at again for at least three years. (But boy, when I do look at it, I’m sure that missing post-it will give me a really great idea for a blog posting. Unless it’s something topical, like my thoughts on Paris Hilton, or the cancellation of “Dirty Sexy Money”---both of which I hope are no longer relevant or remembered.)

So I could certainly blame my lack of inspiration on the missing post it notes, or any of a dozen other excuses I could come up with to explain my predicament. (None of which would be the direct result of anything I did wrong, of course.) But I think there’s something even more sinister at work here. Something that seeps into your body around this time of year, causing you to feel even more tired and listless than usual. And if you work at home like I do, and don’t need to venture out into the world on a daily basis, than the monotony of your environment on a cold, particularly bleak winter week can make you feel like Jack Nicholson in “The Shining.” It’s not exactly a full-blown case of Winter Blues, but it’s not general Slovenliness either. It’s some grey area in between, where everything literally feels gray.

And I’m not saying I don’t have distractions. The presence of two new kittens in the house has certainly kept me quite entertained, so it’s not like I’m ever bored. I just hate the winter. I hate not being able to go outside and sit in my backyard. I hate having to put on layers of clothes just to go to the supermarket to pick up that favorite ice cream I’ve been craving. Only once I’ve been out in the freezing cold for a good half hour, ice cream is probably the last thing I’m likely to eat.

So what’s my point in all this? Don’t worry, I’m getting to that. (Patience, please!). I’m just bitching about my least favorite time of year, and how it can make me particularly lazy when it comes to writing my blog. I have so many other things to do, including filming and editing my little videos, and playing with the cats, and going out with friends, and…the list goes on and on. In other words, I have plenty to occupy my time so I’ve sort of let the writing portion of my blog slip a little in the last few weeks. And instead of updating every three days, I’ve started updating every four, or sometimes five (shocking, I know). So anyway, for anyone who might have noticed this inconsistency in my posting habits (and for the two of you, I thank you), I apologize. And that, my friends, was the entire point of this posting. (Which just proves that I can pontificate on practically anything---once I find the right post it note, that is.)

But that’s just me. Are you having any trouble when it comes to your writing efforts in the winter time?

An Animated Essay on a Titillating Tag

For those of you who’ve read my blog in the past, you might remember that I am a huge fan of animated films. (With a special concentration on the Disney brand.) So when Matthew Urdan of Meltwater Torrents Meanderings Delta sent me a tag asking me to list my favorite animated films of all time, I was rather intrigued. Not intrigued enough to actually respond to the tag, mind you, but intrigued enough to write a blog entry about why I feel this tag is a particularly hard one for me. (Sorry, Matt, I know this wasn’t what you were expecting, but perhaps you’ll understand after I start pontificating.)

The truth is I love all animated films, even the earliest Betty Boop and Popeye cartoons. I appreciate all the time and energy that goes into pulling off such an amazingly labor-intensive achievement. And I marvel at all the creativity and imagination used to bring the story and characters to life. So to answer a question about my top ten favorite cartoons of all time is not only unfair, but also downright sadistic. What if I pick the wrong ten? What if, while assembling my list, I completely forget about one of my all time favorites? Say, Snow White, for instance. Then later, Snow finds out about my oversight and decides not to be friends with me anymore. And even worse, she forbids me from ever playing leapfrog with the Dwarves again, which as you all know is a favorite pastime of mine. Or what if Monsters, Inc. goes bankrupt because I did not include them on my list, and therefore they don’t have the full emotional support they need to survive? I even hesitate to think what Bambi’s mother might say if I don’t include her son as one of my favorites. It would just kill her!

But wait. That is not even the extent of Matt’s tumultuous tag…no, my dear readers, it gets much worse. For not only did he command me to list my top ten favorite animated films, but he also forced me to choose a character in each film that most resembles me. Horrors! Can you imagine the inner turmoil I’d be suffering while trying to work all that out? Not to mention the angst I’d endure wondering if anyone was making value judgments about me based on what characters I happen to identify with.

Or what if I couldn’t find a character, so I chose one at random, and then was stuck with that moniker for the rest of my life? (“Oh, he chose Ratatouille, so he must be a real rat.” Or “Do you think he chose Pinocchio because he’s a liar, or because he has appendages that grow to unusual sizes?”) And what if I identified with various aspects of a certain character, but not the whole person? Like, I had the independence of Belle, the vanity of Gaston, and the misunderstood personality of the Beast? Would people consider me schizophrenic?

No, I’m afraid this tag is much too difficult for someone as devoted an animated connoisseur as myself. I simply cannot compare one film to another. How can you compare the brilliance of the Evil Queen’s transfiguration into the Old Hag in the original full-length animated feature “Snow White,” with the technical wizardry of something like “The Incredibles” or “Toy Story.” You can’t. They are completely different animals. And yet I love and appreciate them both. As well as everything that came in between.

Well, with maybe one exception. “The Black Cauldron” was a definite low point in Disney animation, and temporarily turned me off to the genre for a period of time. Plus, I was in high school and animation was just not cool any more. Except maybe Saturday morning cartoons, which somehow passed as quality entertainment amongst the cool crowd. But once “The Little Mermaid” came along in the 90s, I was not only hooked again, but an even bigger fan than I was as a child.

To this day, I make my annual sojourn to the “homeland” every year (Disney World) and have my office completely covered in animated statues, posters, and figurines. It allows me to work in an environment that is happy and colorful and just a little bit “off.” Would it work for everyone? No. But for me, someone who grew up constantly escaping into the world of his imagination, my office is a colorful little retreat from the often-grey colors of the real world.

Plus, I wouldn’t want to cause any animosity among the figurines if I should choose a movie that represents some but not others. (The Queen of Hearts and Captain Hook statues can be particularly nasty when they want to be.) All I’d need is for a few of them to get a little jealous, start a feud, and the next thing you know I’m cleaning up huge piles of porcelain and resin off the floor. So to avoid that, I’m going to remain neutral like Switzerland on the topic.

But that’s just me. What are your top ten favorite animated films of all time, and what character would you identify with in each? (Go ahead, you try it….!!!!)

Creative Quips on Qualifying Quirky Qualities

I have once again been tagged by Roxy of Roxiticus Desperate Housewives to carry out one of her humiliating tasks of self-evaluation and public exposure. I don’t know why she feels it necessary to unload her particular requests upon me, but for some reason I feel the need to comply. After all, the latest “homework assignment” involved publicly revealing my special quirks or idiosyncrasies, as if I had any of those to begin with. To me, this was a big assumption on Roxy’s part, because I personally view all of my personality traits as normal extensions of my being. And should some of my habits happen to be a little different than the average person, I certainly wouldn’t call it a quirk. I think of these individual attributes as “qualities” rather than quirks, but perhaps that’s because I’m just more advanced than some people. (i.e., a certain Desperate Housewife.)

Nevertheless, I will try to assemble what I consider to be some of my most interesting “qualities,” several of which may have been referred to at one time or another as a “quirk.” Certainly not by me, of course, but by other people. After all, aren’t your quirks really pointed out by someone other than yourself? Because without their input, you might think everything you’re doing is perfectly normal. Unless one of your quirks happens to involve strange rituals with pig blood and dead chickens, in which case you might actually be displaying cult behavior rather than a quirk. But I digress.

Another interesting assumption of Roxy’s request was the requirement of listing six different quirks. As if everyone had six basic quirks they could easily assemble at any given moment. Like having six senses, your six quirks were as obvious as your eye or hair color. (The proverbial sixth sense being your ability to see dead people, like Bruce Willis’s career.) But what if you had seven quirks, or a hundred and eight? Or what if, God forbid, you only had two? And you had to make up the rest just so you wouldn’t be embarrassed. Or even worse, what if one of your “quirks” was the fear of actually having to talk about your various quirks? What then, Miss Roxy, what then?

So now that I’ve successfully drawn out my sarcastic introduction to a fourth paragraph, I think it’s time to tackle the issue at hand: the public pronouncement of my most interesting “qualities.” And here they are:

One of the major “qualities” that distinguishes me from the masses is my obsession with anything animated. Disney animated movies are my favorite, but I also like classic Saturday morning cartoons like Scooby Doo and Bugs Bunny, as well as the more artsy Japanese animation from Hayao Miyazaki. I believe that in a former life (if there is such a thing), I probably started out as an animated character. Perhaps a pencil drawing or a sketch on a napkin. (You may even have seen me as a forest animal in “Snow White” or as one of the puppets in “Pinocchio.”) Animation is magical to me. I am literally drawn to the colors, the characters, the stories and the overall feeling that “everything will be all right in the end.” If this is a quirk, I gladly accept it with all the candy-coated optimism such an attribute implies. After all, without optimism we have nothing.

A second quality of mine is that animals love me. I’ve been told by many pet owners that their dog or cat is usually hesitant or fearful around most people, but feel immediately at ease around me. I’m not sure if it’s because I smell like a butcher shop or I remind them of a fire hydrant they once peed on, but I definitely have a kinship with our four legged friends. And I don’t mean in a Horse Whisperer sort of way; more like an understanding of what it’s like to be the underdog. (Literally) My black cat, Trey, who appears in the Cat Clips videos, sleeps by my head every night as if there to protect me.

I’m addicted to chocolate chip cookies and peanut butter. (Not at the same time. Although I have tried mixing them in the past, and rather liked the results. Though my waste and teeth do not.)

I don’t drink coffee unless it has some kind of flavored creamer in it. And I don’t mean the powdered kind, which never really provides the fatty creaminess one requires in their cup of coffee. (For more on my coffee requirements, please refer to My Quest for the Perfect Cup of Coffee)

I sleep in the nude. This isn’t really a quirk. More of an advertisement.

I love the glamour and mystique of Old time Hollywood. From the silent comedies of Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd, to the Film Noir classics of the thirties and forties, to the big MGM musicals of the fifties and sixties, I’m a classic film buff. (I also like movies produced after the sixties, but there is something very special about the older films that I truly appreciate. ) Hitchcock is one of my personal favorites.

And finally, and probably most significantly, my constant need to “create” is one of the driving forces in my life. It doesn’t really matter what form it takes (playwriting, drawing, singing, blog writing, making movies, etc.), as long as it gives me the opportunity to express myself. That is what gives me the most pleasure, and is probably my biggest quirk. Though I think of it as more of a gift. And if others happen to like what I create, that’s just icing on the cake.

But that’s just me. What are your six “qualities” that people might consider quirky?

Henson's Hell Wins An Award!

Henson’s Hell has won an award. And I didn’t even know such things were possible. But Jon from The Ups, Downs and Sometimes Insane World of Freelance Writing has given me the esteemed “Arte y Pico Award.” It is part of a tag initiative from the “Arte y Pico Blog,” where you pass along the compliment to other bloggers.

I am truly honored by this award, and have so many little people to thank for helping me achieve such recognition. Yes, it has been a long struggle to win this achievement, and yes, I had to compromise every moral and value I held sacred just to scratch and claw my way to the winner's circle. But now I am here, and I have no one to thank but myself. And all the millions of pixels that help form my blog every day. (Forgive me for this little sarcastic interlude, but I just couldn't help myself.)

Now on to the important stuff. To follow are the rules and then my own personal selection of five deserving winners:

1) You have to pick 5 blogs that you consider deserve this award for their creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what language

2) Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.

3) Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.

4) Award-winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of "Arte y Pico" blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award. http://arteypico.blogspot.com/.

And though I wish I could tag everyone with this special honor, I can only choose five. And here they are:

Meltwater. Torrents. Meanderings. Delta.

Roxiticus Desperate Housewives

Magic and Moments at Dragonfly Cottage

Daisy the Curly Cat

The Roller Blog

Please visit all the great blogs above, and see why they are at the top of their game.

Cat Clips--Litter Etiquette

Please click on the photo above to watch a short one-minute video from the "Cat Clips" series entitled "Litter Etiquette." In this episode, our two cats discuss the finer points of proper cat box policies.

Bird Bits--House Hunting

Please click on the photo above to watch a short one-minute movie from the "Bird Bits" series entitled "House Hunting." In this episode, a Cardinal realtor is showing a Robin some new bird house options.

How to Deftly Deal with a Distracted Listener

Have you ever been in the middle of a conversation with someone when you suddenly realize they’re not even listening to you? Sure, they appear like they’re listening—they nod their head at various intervals, or interject pointless questions to keep you going. But as far as "active listening" is concerned, they obviously “checked out” long ago.

This practice is becoming a standard during phone conversations, when people are easily distracted by other factors while talking to you. Especially people who insist on calling you when they’re in traffic jam, so you can listen to them constantly scream expletives at other drivers. (So much fun!) Or the parent who calls you just as his child is having a tantrum, so you can suffer through two simultaneous conversations—the one the parent is having with you, and the one the parent is having with his child. And guess which conversation eventually wins? That’s right, the escalating argument with the child. Sometimes the parent even leaves your conversation to go yell at his children, and then never returns. They also forget to hang up the phone, allowing you an uncomfortably intimate peak into their domestic dynamics, an opportunity best left untaken. (Trust me!)

Nevertheless, I am used to people zoning out during phone conversations. We tend to be a society addicted to multi-tasking, so most phone conversations now take place while people are working, driving, on the computer, reading a book, or any number of other actions which allow them to talk at the same time. (However, if I ever hear anyone flush a toilet at any time during our conversation, I immediately end the call. After all, there are certain “distractions” I don’t need to be a part of.)

So during phone conversations, I give some leeway when it comes to a person’s attention span. But when someone is standing directly in front of you and you suddenly notice their eyes glaze over, or their attention shift to the table next to you, chances are they’re thoughts are elsewhere. At this point, I usually stop talking, allowing their processing system to catch up on their lack of participation. The more abrupt, the better, because this will immediately jolt the inactive listener into “defense mode.” They suddenly become very attentive and scramble to remember the last tangible thing they heard you say. Usually it was something you said at the beginning of the conversation, a realization that not only embarrasses your distracted listener, but hopefully keeps them attentive for the remainder of your exchange.

So whatever happened to good listening skills? Have we become so busy and over-extended in our lives that we need our conversations served to us in small bite-size portions in order to fit them into the rest of our schedule? To me, there is nothing more satisfying or stimulating than a good conversation with people I enjoy. I hope the era of text messaging doesn’t eventually encapsulate our interchanges into a series of blips and beeps, because the human voice is a terrible thing to waste.

But that’s just me. What do you do when you notice someone zone out during a conversation? Or do you even notice? (Which may have completely different implications.)

Cat Clips--Social Outing

Please click on the photo above to watch a short one-minute film from the Cat Clip series called "Social Outing." In this episode, two cats discuss their dinner plans with another cat couple.

Wearing Out the Work-At-Home Wardrobe

My commute to work is a short one. I roll out of bed, step into my slippers, and meander down the hallway into my office, which is literally ten feet away. It is not a stressful or difficult journey, and I don’t have to interact with anyone along the way. Except maybe a few cats, whose only interest in me involves the distribution of their morning meals. Once that particular ritual takes place, they remain fairly quiet for the rest of the day.

Otherwise, I arrive at my work without any of the anger or anxiety that sometimes accompanies the morning commute. It is a true blessing, not to mention a real money saver on tolls, take-out lunches, and office birthday parties. (The ladder being a double-edged sword, as you’re no longer asked to contribute to the birthday present fund, nor are you given any more birthday presents either. Que sera, sera!)

Anyway, the casual relaxed atmosphere also means that my office attire has been significantly pared down from a colorful assortment of designer clothes and expensive shoes to a few old t-shirts and a growing supply of lounge pants. Yes, lounge pants. I know they’re just glorified pajamas bottoms, but I really love them. I have a pair in every color, pattern and print imaginable. And now I finally understand why the much lampooned “house dress” was such a favorite among housewives in the sixties and seventies. You could literally walk around with everything hanging out, without actually having everything hanging out.

It also explains why one of my drama teachers in college insisted on wearing a pair of sweatpants to work every day. His standard outfit was a white polo shirt, sweat pants and tennis shoes. He directed many of the musicals at school, so I guess he never wanted to feel constricted should he suddenly need to launch into some kind of intricate choreography, or demonstrate a proper arabesque. Not that he ever did. Being a rather large overweight person with a prominent stomach, his range of dance technique never strayed far from the traditional cakewalk, a device he utilized in almost every musical he directed. (Including the annual Nativity reenactment, which was no easy task! Imagine a chorus of sheep, goats and Wise Man doing the cakewalk across the stage behind the Manger. Pure inspired lunacy.)

But as a role model for untraditional work attire, the teacher was a ground-breaker. And though at the time, I found his clothing choice to be somewhat undignified for a man of fifty-five, I totally understand now why he did it. Comfort, pure and simple. Now I’m not suggesting that every office environment change their attire to gym clothing, but if you’re a work-at-home individual like myself, comfort is key when it comes to what you wear around the house.

Not to say this overly casual wardrobe doesn’t have its drawbacks. For instance, any time the postal worker or UPS man knocks on my door with a delivery, I must quickly change from lounge pants into jeans because I wouldn’t be caught dead answering the door in lounge pants. Especially since I tend to wear the same shirt and pants for several days in a row, a practice which has been observed and commented on by more than one of my neighbors. Talk about embarrassing.

But before you accuse me of being uncleanly, I assure you that I do not wear clothing that has experienced any sort of spillage or staining due to food or drinking mishaps. Nor do I lie around in perspiration infested garments that make me smell like a litter box. If the clothing doesn’t smell good, I don’t wear it. I’m not a sloth, after all. Just a very relaxed and happy employee.

But that’s just me. What is your favorite work-at-home attire?

The Procrastination Against Picking up Pennies

Have you ever noticed a penny lying on the floor and not bothered to pick it up? Even though the old adage says “Find a penny, Pick it up, All day long you’ll have good luck.” And yet you inherently know that a penny isn’t worth that much, so you pass it by without a second thought. In fact, if someone ever said to you “A penny for your thoughts,” you would probably insist on getting at least a dollar before you responded. (Am I right?)

Even when a penny falls out of your pocket, you never bother to pick it up. You just leave it wherever it lands. Over by the bookcase, next to the bathtub, caught between the floorboards. You see them all the time, lying in their place, waiting to be picked up. You mean to pick them up. You tell yourself to pick them up. But you don’t. They’re just not worth enough to you. So you leave them lying there. Alone, abandoned, gathering dust. Is this just a case of laziness on your part, or do you perhaps have a serious issue with anti-penny-ism?

All kidding aside, what if this act of defiance against copper currency actually represented a much bigger problem? What if ignoring the penny is really our way of procrastinating against something we don’t want to deal with? As if it’s showing us that we aren’t attentive to the little things. I mean, if we can’t even bend down to pick up a penny off the floor, what does that say about the other little “issues” in our life that we’re ignoring?

So the pennies start to pile up. They become a sort of physical manifestation of our chaotic state of mind. The more pennies we see, the more we probably need to resolve some kind of conflict in our life. And until we confront the problem, there will always be pennies lying around to remind us. That’s why it’s so hard to pick them up. It means facing our demons.

Anyway, it’s just a theory. It probably doesn’t work with dimes or quarters, though. And definitely not with Susan B. Anthony dollars.

Putting Peeling Personalities Out to Pasture

When I was in elementary school, I remember reading about an Indian tribe that had a pretty distinct way of dealing with their elderly. They would take them out into the wilds of the forest and leave them there to die. Because in this particular culture, any person who became feeble or needy was considered a burden to the rest of the tribe. So instead of caring for these aging individuals through their “Golden Years,” they cut their losses and ran. I even remember the colorful illustration used to demonstrate the idea. It was of a young Indian boy pulling his Grandmother on a sleigh through the snow. In the distance, we could see a dense forest where the young man would presumably deposit his cargo. I can only imagine how uncomfortable that kind of good-bye would be.

“Nice visiting with you, Grandma. Hope you don’t get eaten by the wolves. Bye!”

The practice seemed so outlandish to me that I thought it was a joke. And yet, sometimes I wonder if a slightly altered version of this idea might not be beneficial in today’s celebrity obsessed society. For example, wouldn’t it be great to never have to see Paris Hilton again? True, she’s a little young to be put out to Pasture, but could we please put her out of the spotlight? Take her out to some forest somewhere, drop her off, and be done with it. And if the wolves get her, so be it.

I bring this up, because I recently witnessed Christopher Walken host an uncomfortably long and unfunny episode of “Saturday Night Live” in which he read off cue cards for the entire show. Not only that, but he didn’t even read them well. And he rarely, if ever, turned to the actor he was supposed to be talking to. The fact that you could literally see him reading all his lines made me wonder why they ever allowed him to host the show in the first place. Was someone else too busy? I know Mr. Walken has been very successful hosting SNL in the past, but it seems the genre should no longer be a part of his resume. (To add insult to injury, SNL showed the same horrible episode two weeks later, as if a repeat of the disaster might warrant it an instant classic.)

While it’s true I’ve never really been a fan of Christopher Walken, I understand why other people might find his odd, disjointed delivery of dialogue fascinating. However, if you’ve ever worked with the Meisner Technique in an acting class, you’ll realize Mr. Walken never progressed past Lesson One. Just because you put a pause in a weird place in the middle of the sentence does not make you an exceptional actor. Especially if you use the same tired technique in every role you’ve ever played. Which always made me wonder—is Mr. Walken really talented, or is society just desperate for a new method of speaking?

At any rate, I would put Mr. Walken on my list of actors needing a little trip to the forest. Not that I’m suggesting anyone leave him there to die, but perhaps enrolling him in a nice Summer Camp for Seniors or committing him to a Rest Home for the Syllabically Challenged might be good alternatives.

On a completely different note, does anyone really know what’s “Straight Up” with Paula Abdul? After her recent “mishap” this week on “American Idol,” you have to wonder if the paint isn’t beginning to crack a little on this well-known celebrity. For years, there’s been speculation about Paula’s mental health, as well as her “alleged” reliance on drugs and/or alcohol to keep her going. But Tuesday night’s “weirdness” reached a whole new level of bizarre. When Paula began critiquing singers on their second song before they’d even sung it, the credibility of both the star and the show were brought into question. Was she confused? Was she drunk? Or did she have some kind of out-of-body experience that magically projected her into the future? (I’m betting on the latter.)

Whatever the case, Paula was not on her game that night. She appeared particularly distracted and confused, and even more “Lost” than the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815. Perhaps like Christopher Walken, Paula is ready for her sled ride to oblivion. After all, it’s always better to go out when you’re on top, than when people get tired of your antics. Unfortunately, in both of the above cases, the celebrity in question is totally oblivious to their own oblivion. (Maybe Hallmark should make a card for such an occasion. Like a “Happy Retirement” card with a projected expiration date. That way, we can put fading celebrities out of their misery long before they make us miserable watching them fade.)

But that’s just me. What celebrity would you like put out to pasture?

Mouth Organ Karaoke--ROCK AND ROLL

Please click on the photo above to watch a short one-minute movie from the "Mouth Organ Karaoke" series. In this film, a small baby goes on an adventure and experiences a different type of "Rock and Roll."

The Blatant Overuse of LOL, ROFLOL and Other Electronic Acronyms

I recently got an e-mail from a friend with the following acronym in it: FMTYEWTK. Not being a frequent acronym user, I was a little confused as to what he was trying to tell me. Later in the letter he also used LSHMBH and WYSITWIRL, which made me wonder if I needed some kind of special Superhero Decoder Ring in order to translate his message. I realize we live in a world that is moving too fast, and people just don’t have time to write out entire sentences anymore, but come on!!! What the hell am I supposed to make of a bunch of letters strung together in a nonsensical fashion unless I’m already privy to the secret language it’s composed in?

I think some e-mail, text message and IM users have forgotten that some of us still live in the real world where communication means using actual words and phrases instead of generic fillers like LOL (laugh out loud) and ROFLOL (rolling on the floor laughing out loud). These two acronyms have been used so often, you’d think we had a nation of giddy idiots. Every time I see ROFLOL used in blog postings or in e-mails, I immediately begin to imagine what the person looks like as he’s rolling on the floor laughing so hard. And if he uses the abbreviation more than once in a paragraph, I’m tempted to call the local Psych Ward to go check him out. After all, if someone can’t control themselves from falling on the floor in a fit of laughter, they may have something akin to epilepsy, which is certainly nothing to laugh at.

And I also don’t think everything that someone says or thinks is LOL funny. I rarely laugh out loud, except in the privacy of my own home. So when someone describes their day, and uses the LOL acronym after every sentence, I begin to wonder how good their sense of humor actually is. “I went to see my mother. LOL. She was in the hospital. LOL. The nurse was very cute. LOL. I ate all her Jell-O cubes. LOL. She got mad at me. LOL. Told me never to come back unless I brought ice cream. LOL.” As with everything, less is more.

Another variation of this acronym is ROTFLMAOWPIMP, which literally means “Rolling on the floor laughing my a** off while peeing in my pants.” I don’t think I need to tell you what kind of colorful imagery that phrase invokes.

Students and twenty-somethings are probably the biggest abusers of this new form of electronic language, because they’re the ones obsessed with text-messaging their friends at every opportunity they get. A visit with my nieces now means frequent interruptions in our conversation; because they must constantly respond to the other five “text” conversations they’re having at the same time. Undivided attention appears to be a thing of the past, as multi-tasking conversations is now the “new Black.”

I guess I wouldn’t mind all the acronyms, if they were short and made sense. But right now, it takes so much time to figure out what each letter means that reading a simple one-paragraph e-mail might require a half hour of deciphering. Especially for someone like me, who falls into the “PCMCIA” category (People can’t master computer industry acronyms). And don’t get me wrong, I love a mystery. I just don’t think every e-mail should be akin to solving the Sunday Junior Jumble.

At any rate, I felt the need to expound on this topic for some reason. So for those of you who are also a little shaky when it comes to cracking an acronym, here are the meanings of the various phrases in the first paragraph. LSHMBH means “Laughing so hard my belly hurts” (Maybe you should go see a doctor about this) and WYSITWIRL means “What you see is TOTALLY WORTHLESS IN REAL LIFE!” (I can’t even imagine ever having the need to use this phrase, so I’m still not sure what my friend was trying to convey with it either.)

But perhaps the most important acronym is the very first one, FMTYEWTK, which means “Far more than you ever needed to know,” a clear reference to how I feel about the content of this post.

But that’s just me. What do you think about the overuse of acronyms?

The Incredible Lightness of Blogging

Ever since I can remember, I’ve enjoyed writing down my thoughts. Even if it was only for little notes I’d pass to friends in Algebra class, I always made the most of my writing endeavors. My teachers were not always thrilled with my literary accomplishments, however. Especially on the days when my private missives were rudely intercepted by the Teacher’s Pet. (And I mean this literally. Our Algebra Instructor had a lizard in her class, which had a nasty habit of hopping out of its cage to chase after the many notes I’d throw to my friends on the other side of the room. If the Lizard was lucky enough to retrieve one, he would immediately run to the front of the class and deposit his “treasure” at our teacher’s feet. This led to a very uncomfortable confrontation between the teacher, the lizard and me; the end result being a week of detention for me and an extra can of crickets for the lizard. Needless to say, I’ve never been very fond of either Math or Reptiles.)

At any rate, once I learned about blogging, I thought this would be a perfect avenue for my “note” writing. I could jot down my thoughts about anything and everything, and then send them out into the world to see where they landed. If someone read them, fine. If not, they would just meld into the ever-growing universe of data out in cyberspace. But even then, I still felt like I was contributing to something. (Even if what I was contributing to was just a giant junk pile of jargon.)

Today I am celebrating another year of sending my missives out into the world via the Internet. It has been a great experience, allowing me to write about topics I wouldn’t normally give much attention to. (At least not in public.) But the universe is vast, and so are the topics in which to cover. And though I tend to gravitate toward the amusing side of pop culture, there are other times when I’ve felt like ranting on topics of a much more serious nature. (Not TOO serious, though. There’s only so much grimacing one can do in a day before it starts to affect the elasticity of your skin.)

Therefore, I try to keep my “column” light and reader-friendly, looking at the world through humorous-colored glasses. I find that it’s much easier to attract readers if you keep things light. And they might even come back more than once if they find your writing funny. (Even if they only come back to drop another Entrecard in your box, it’s still an opportunity for you to grab their attention.)

In conclusion, this blog has given me a great outlet for my creativity and imagination to run wild. So if you care to join me on my journey at any of the various “stops” (i.e. postings) along the way, I welcome your company. And don't feel the need to bring any of your own baggage with you. Because with me, you’ll always be traveling “light.”

The Erratic Evolution of the Eye Exam

Before glasses became such a trendy accessory, many vain people (myself included) turned to contact lenses to create the illusion of perfect vision. By wearing contact lenses, your face was no longer separated into separate units by the presence of a plastic or wire frame. Of course, you had a lot of high maintenance with contacts, including the nightly ritual of cleaning them and soaking them for twelve hours in some kind of bubbly fluid. But since I hated wasting my time on the cleaning process, I usually skipped it in favor of almost anything else.

It’s a miracle my eyes never became infected because of the lack of care I gave my contact lenses. But once I hit 30 or so, I stopped worrying about looking like a geek, and began wearing my glasses on a regular basis. At least in business or work situations, where looking like a geek is often considered advantageous.

When I went out socially, though, I still went through the ritual of putting on my contact lenses. (Vanity, remember?) But since I never wore them that often, a pair of ordinary “daily wear lenses” could last me three or four months. I would just take them out, clean them (hopefully), and put them back in their vile until the next usage. Or until they’d disintegrated or ripped apart on their own.

For a brief time, I experimented with wearing colored contact lenses. This was when they were only available in the hard contact format, and for some reason I felt the need to turn my dark brown eyes to a lighter shade of green. But as I’d never had experience wearing a hard contact before, and I was trying to break them in while vacationing in the blinding Florida sun, I was never able to get my eyes open more than a squint when I was outside. And when I was inside, the severe green color of the contact made me look like a deranged Aquaman. So after a week, I traded them in for a regular pair of soft lenses.

That began a long history of hoarding contact lenses like they were food rations during the Great Depression. I didn’t throw any of them away until absolutely necessary. In this way, I could go years without paying for another eye exam, or having to order a new supply of contacts.

Which brings us to the present, and my need for contact replenishment. As I hadn’t been to an eye doctor in nearly half a decade, I didn’t have a current prescription. And without a prescription, most stores won’t sell you the contacts. I’m not sure why; it’s not like contacts are an illegal substance. But perhaps they’re afraid people will try to wear inappropriate prescriptions to get some sort of visual “high” off the blurriness.

Nevertheless, I needed to get an eye exam in order to purchase new lenses. So one Saturday afternoon I went over to a local Lenscrafters to take care of it. And much to my surprise, the ordinary five-minute eye chart examination had turned into a half hour marathon of machine hopping until they tested every conceivable element of my eyeballs.

A very sweet young assistant took me through the process, which was an obstacle course of machines and contraptions designed to measure and scrutinize my eyeballs from every possible angle. There was a machine to measure the size and shape, a machine to calculate depth perception, a machine to blow air into my face. (At least I hope it was air, and not the Assistant spitting on me.) By the time I was done, Lenscrafters knew more about my eyes than I did. And who’s to say they’re not sending that information to the Government for some kind of mass Eyebank?

I remember when an eye exam consisted of following the red dot on the wall with a flashlight and then looking at an eye chart with one eye covered. When did it escalate into a Las Vegas production of gears and wheels and lights and machines? By the time I’m ready for my next exam, they’ll probably just hook my eyes up to a computer, push a button, and out will pop my first six-month supply.

At any rate, I finally got my contacts and a prescription for new glasses (which is different story altogether.) The process took more than an hour, which also included a special half hour consultation and examination by the staff Ophthalmologist. Or is it an Optometrist? An Optician? I never know the difference. Whoever he was, he seemed to know what he was talking about as he described the various types of contact lenses available for purchase. I eventually decided on the disposable lenses, which was a concept rather new to me. The idea of using something only once and then throwing it away went against everything my Depression-influenced Mother ever taught me. But the idea of not having to clean them every time was also quite influential.

So now I’m a member of the Disposable Generation, and it feels great. I just wish I had a little more disposable income to make me feel completely indoctrinated.

The Key to Kyle XY

How did a show about a boy without a belly button become so intriguing? And I don’t mean because the storylines always contain a nice blend of science fiction and soap opera. I’m intrigued because some of the topics are pretty risqué, especially given that it’s an ABC Family Channel show. For example, past episodes have included pretty frank discussions of teenage sex, pornography, infidelity, pot smoking, alcohol and drug abuse, cancer and even masturbation. Not the typical subject matter you’d expect to find in a Disney produced vehicle. But there it is nonetheless, cleverly mixed in with mystery and adventure, so you don’t notice as much.

Granted, these issues might not be new to network television, but they are somewhat new to family television. Except that ABC touts itself as “a different kind of family,” so I guess that means we don’t have to pretend we’re living in the 50s anymore. But does that also mean that Disney might try to instill this new kind of honesty into their other iconic stories? Imagine an updated version of “Cinderella” where the stepsisters complain about nothing but menstruation and cheating boyfriends. Or a modern day “Pinocchio” where the little wooden puppet is put in jail for executing indecent acts with his nose. And I shudder to think what might happen between Snow White and those seven little men.

Don’t get me wrong. I like this honest approach to such mature subject matter; I’m just surprised the producers haven’t gotten a lot of flack for doing it. Maybe it’s because the show is partly Science Fiction, so the conservative family organizations don’t give it much attention. They figure since there’s no such thing as a genetically created human being, there must also be no such thing as masturbation and drug abuse? Or maybe because Kyle has amazing powers and super-human intelligence, not to mention great eyes and a killer smile, they equate him with another immaculately conceived human being? (Oh come on, you don’t think there are some pretty heavy Jesus overtones in Kyle XY?)

At any rate, I like this show. The various members of Kyle’s extended family have grown on me; particularly the brother, who has matured into a good little actor. Some of the most poignant moments from last season were scenes when he and his “girlfriend” were going through the hardships of talking about her Cancer.

And then there’s Matt Dallas, who is unabashedly charming and innocent as Kyle. He was a good choice for this role, because there is something almost inhuman about him. His line readings are sometimes mechanical, and his facial expressions somewhat limited, but that only lends to his credibility as a manufactured object. Though, for the entire first season, I thought maybe he was wearing a wig because his hair always looked the same. Even in a windstorm, it had that “fresh-out-of-the-package-and-glued-to-the-head” kind of look. But in Season Three, it looks like he’s progressed beyond that style.

Too bad he can’t also progress beyond his annoying girlfriend, whose pouting and prissy personality is as bland as Tilapia. After two years of playing the martyr, I think it’s time she moved to college for good. And took her mean old mother with her.

But until that happens, I’ll still tune in to see what taboo topics the show plans to investigate this year. Maybe Kyle’s female counterpart Jessie will decide she really wants to be a transsexual or a cross-dresser, or both. Or Kyle’s supportive adopted parents will start a weekly “key party,” where they begin swapping more than stories with the neighbors. Whatever the major themes might become, you can bet that Kyle XY will explore them with honesty and integrity. Because that is the key to Kyle XY. The show has heart. And with heart, you can conquer anything.

But that’s just me. What do you think of Kyle XY?

The Separation of Perch and Fate

Who Took the Vacate out of Vacations?

I love to travel. There is something very exciting about going to a foreign country. You get to learn about different cultures, try new kinds of foods, and spend way too much time exploring gift shops filled with overpriced junk and unnecessary trinkets. Unlike a beach vacation, which emphasizes relaxation and drinking, traveling to a foreign city or country requires a desire to move outside the confines of your hotel. In fact, a trip to Paris or London might hardly be relaxing at all if you tried to cram everything you could in the time allotted.

Even so, I much prefer the rapid pace of this type of exploratory holiday over the slow-as-molasses atmosphere at a beach. Plus, on a beach I turn into a slovenly glutton after ten days, whereas on a touring vacation I lose ten pounds.

Last year I went to Italy and immersed myself in the history, architecture and classic art of this incredible country. It was a wonderful vacation, though there was hardly enough time to see and do everything. One of the highlights was getting off the train in Venice and walking onto the promenade for my first glimpse of this incredible city. It was truly a magical moment, like stepping into a living fairy tale.

This year, I wanted to visit Spain as a part of my annual sojourn to Europe. But after looking at the prices for airfare alone, I might have to rethink my plans. How the heck am I supposed to survive in Madrid for ten days, if the cost of getting there could send me to the poorhouse? The price for airfare alone is staggering. Unless I wanted to make more than one stop, with layovers of five to six hours between flights. On top of that, there’s the cost of the hotels, the meals, the attractions. And all the many souvenirs and momentos I’d have to purchase in order to remember the trip when I started getting old and senile. I could probably pay someone’s college tuition for a year on what it would cost to go. (Granted, it might only be tuition at a community college or night school, but still…)

When did traveling become so expensive? Even Canada, which used to be the best bargain vacation of all, has caught up in strength against the U.S. dollar. No longer able to take advantage of the two for one exchange rate, going to Canada is now as expensive as going to most cities in the U.S.

At this rate, the only vacation I may be able to take this year is a vacation from vacations. Who can afford anything else?