Update: Results are in the extended entry.

Want to know what it's about? See the Shamming/Sharing intro post.

Is this anecdote something I'm sharing with you or something I'm shamming you with?

Before we leave Chicago I'll share with you two other specific (and much shorter *cough* *Simon* *cough*) memories I have of my time there.

The first deals with a Snickers bar. Two brothers, one Snickers bar. The equitable way to split it? One would cut it in half and the other would pick which piece he wanted. My big brother was the knife man and he cut it as close to the center as he could possibly estimate (since he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if one piece was markedly larger than the other I would snake it in a heartbeat). To the naked eye these two halves of a candy bar were indeed perfect halves. Many children would have simply taken a random piece and been perfectly happy with it. Not me. I stared at that split Snickers for what seemed like hours as big bro got steadily more irritated. The one on the left is a smidge bigger...no, maybe it's the one on the right that's bigger...hmmm...left, definitely left...but that's probably just what he wants me to think...is that cut at an angle...hmmm... Eventually he lost patience and yelled for Mom so I grabbed one of the halves randomly. I'm sure that if I had just a little more time I would have figured out which one was a tiny bit bigger.

The second memory is about a massive field that was near our apartment complex. I walked across this thing just about every day going to friends' houses (back then little kids could walk around their neighborhoods) and would pretend it was different things. Sometimes it was the tundra and I was a reindeer racing across. One time it was the ocean and I was a shark swimming. Other times it might be the plains of the west and I'd be the Lone Ranger riding my horse across them. Well there was one time when I was coming home and it had rained that day. The field was squishy wet but not soaked. I pretended that it was a lake and I was Jesus walking on the water (side note: we were practicing Catholics at this time). I was having a grand old time until I got half-way across and I stepped into a groundhog hole or other such depression and was instantly chilled up the leg by the water. I freaked. I just knew that it was God punishing me for my blasphemy and now he had made the field like water so I was going to sink into it. I scrambled up to my feet and ran across that field at top speed screaming my head off the entire way. I was incredibly relieved when I made it to concrete and slowed down to catch my breath. Then I realized that God could do the same thing to the concrete so I ran again until reaching the safety of the apartment. At least I wasn't screaming for that final sprint.

Current Shamming/Sharing standings:

One Correct
Helen
jim
Mike the Marine
Simon

Zero Correct
Everybody else more...

Posted by: Jim at 09:00 AM | Comments (14) | Add Comment
Post contains 743 words, total size 4 kb.

The 14th Bestofme Symphony is up at Irritable Blog Syndrome. It's short and sweet, a perfect Monday morning danish, served up with style by The Bull herself. Get on over there and enjoy!

Now where's my coffee?

Hosting: Would you like to host the Symphony? Send me a note.

Submit to the Symphony: Want to be a part of next week's edition? Check out this post for submission help. Entries should always be sent to bestofme@jpeacock.net regardless of who the Symphony host is.

Spread the word: Webloggers, please give Christine a hand by spreading the word. A little linky love goes a long way.

Email Reminders: If you'd like to be sent a reminder about the Symphony, join the mailing list. There's one email sent on Thursday or Friday to remind you to submit for the next Symphony and one on Monday with the location of the newly posted Symphony.

Posted by: Jim at 08:12 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Some advice to today's youth, from author Charles J.Sykes:

Rule No. 1: Life is not fair. Get used to it. The average teen-ager uses the phrase "It's not fair" 8.6 times a day. You got it from your parents, who said it so often you decided they must be the most idealistic generation ever. When they started hearing it from their own kids, they realized Rule No. 1.

Rule No. 2: The real world won't care as much about your self-esteem as much as your school does. It'll expect you to accomplish something before you feel good about yourself. This may come as a shock. Usually, when inflated self-esteem meets reality, kids complain that it's not fair. (See Rule No. 1)

Rule No. 3: Sorry, you won't make $40,000 a year right out of high school. And you won't be a vice president or have a car phone either. You may even have to wear a uniform that doesn't have a Gap label.

Rule No. 4: If you think your teacher is tough, wait 'til you get a boss. He doesn't have tenure, so he tends to be a bit edgier. When you screw up, he's not going to ask you how you feel about it.

Rule No. 5: Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your grandparents had a different word for burger flipping. They called it opportunity. They weren't embarrassed making minimum wage either. They would have been embarrassed to sit around talking about Kurt Cobain all weekend.

Rule No. 6: It's not your parents' fault. If you screw up, you are responsible. This is the flip side of "It's my life," and "You're not the boss of me," and other eloquent proclamations of your generation. When you turn 18, it's on your dime. Don't whine about it, or you'll sound like a baby boomer.

Rule No. 7: Before you were born your parents weren't as boring as they are now. They got that way paying your bills, cleaning up your room and listening to you tell them how idealistic you are. And by the way, before you save the rain forest from the blood-sucking parasites of your parents' generation, try delousing the closet in your bedroom.

Rule No. 8: Your school may have done away with winners and losers. Life hasn't. In some schools, they'll give you as many times as you want to get the right answer. Failing grades have been abolished and class valedictorians scrapped, lest anyone's feelings be hurt. Effort is as important as results. This, of course, bears not the slightest resemblance to anything in real life. (See Rule No. 1, Rule No. 2 and Rule No. 4.)

Rule No. 9: Life is not divided into semesters, and you don't get summers off. Not even Easter break. They expect you to show up every day. For eight hours. And you don't get a new life every 10 weeks. It just goes on and on. While we're at it, very few jobs are interested in fostering your self-expression or helping you find yourself. Fewer still lead to self-realization. (See Rule No. 1 and Rule No. 2.)

Rule No. 10: Television is not real life. Your life is not a sitcom. Your problems will not all be solved in 30 minutes, minus time for commercials. In real life, people actually have to leave the coffee shop to go to jobs. Your friends will not be as perky or pliable as Jennifer Aniston.

Rule No. 11: Be nice to nerds. You may end up working for them. We all could.

Rule No. 12: Smoking does not make you look cool. It makes you look moronic. Next time you're out cruising, watch an 11-year-old with a butt in his mouth. That's what you look like to anyone over 20. Ditto for "expressing yourself" with purple hair and/or pierced body parts.

Rule No. 13: You are not immortal. (See Rule No. 12.) If you are under the impression that living fast, dying young and leaving a beautiful corpse is romantic, you obviously haven't seen one of your peers at room temperature lately.

Rule No. 14: Enjoy this while you can. Sure parents are a pain, school's a bother, and life is depressing. But someday you'll realize how wonderful it was to be a kid. Maybe you should start now. You're welcome.

Posted by: Jim at 05:39 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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1 I never did like being a kid (or any age under 21, really). No money, no freedom, no car, and worst of all - no clue. Life got a LOT better when I was older, smarter, wealthier, and more mobile.

Posted by: Harvey at March 08, 2004 01:45 PM (tJfh1)

2 Youth truly is wasted on the young. I wouldn't want to be a teen again, either, but I realize now that I really didn't have as much to complain about as I'd thought I did.

Posted by: Dawn at March 09, 2004 07:28 AM (Q0xHi)

3 I'd just enlisted in the Army, for 4 (so I could spend one glorious year at Monterey, 1965, Janis Joplin at the Monterey Jazz festival- but I digress) and once I got past the unfairness of basic training and the unfairness of life going on and on and -yep, here it is again today!- ON, I began to realize what an awesome, beautiful chance life is, and devoted myself to LIVING, sans shoulder-chips, being! Here, now! BE who I want to become! But then, I'm a Baha'i...

Posted by: SharpShooter at March 11, 2004 11:28 PM (TEXo2)

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Dear Abby,

My husband is not happy with my mood swings. The other day, he bought me a mood ring so he would be able to monitor my moods.

When I'm in a good mood it turns green. When I'm in a bad mood it leaves a big fucking red mark on his forehead.

Maybe next time he'll buy me a diamond.

Sincerely,
Bitchy in Boston

Posted by: Jim at 08:25 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 70 words, total size 1 kb.

Ah, listen to the weekend approaching, bringing with it balmy breezes, relaxing rays and buckets of booze the Cheddar X.

UPDATE: Points results are at the bottom of the extended entry. more...

Posted by: Jim at 12:09 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
Post contains 1012 words, total size 6 kb.

I read The Littlest Angel Box early this morning. It's about the box of things that Helen sent ahead of her move so they'll be waiting for her when she gets there. Things too important and special to travel with furniture or clothing or common goods. The little mementos and important minutiae of life that you just can't lose. I read that and thought "Neat, I'll leave a comment with the stuff I'd put in that box". And I have been trying to "fill" my box all damned day but it's still almost entirely empty. And that really confuses me. I've got nothing so important to me that I would go to extra steps to guarantee its safety.

There is one exception, the sole item I've "got in my box" right now. That's Bruff. He's a bear. He's in his own box right now, safe and secure and ready to go anywhere at a moment's notice. He hasn't been out of his box in daylight since we had kids. He's way too cute and way too delicate to take any chance that they'll want to touch him.

I remember when I first got Bruff. I wasn't a stuffed animal sort of kid. I had a couple but never played with them (except when using them as targets). One Christmas I was about half way through the presents (we started with the little stuff and worked our way to the big presents) and I opened Bruff. He was a golden brown bear with a very handsome face, a green shirt and a nametag that said (you can guess this, can't you?) "Bruff". I was intrigued. Why would a bear be named Bruff? I didn't know any Bruffs. There weren't any Bruff Bears in any of the cartoons or shows or corporate tie-ins. Bears didn't have name tags. Did they?

Bruff did. He wasn't afraid to buck the system. He had a name and he wanted the world to know it. So what if bears didn't wear nametags? He didn't care. He was Bruff and he did what he wanted to. It was love at first sight (well, after I figured out that little bit I just explained).

Bruff has been though a lot. He lost an arm once. Surgeon Mom fixed that but the skin graft is very noticeable. He lost an eye once and Optrician Mom removed his other natural eye and gave him two brand new very cool button eyes (from the big can of Grandma's buttons). His fur is a bit less than spectacular. That's probably because he spent a lot of time wrestling and playing Karate Joe (that's what you play when you want to play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles but all you've got is that foot tall GI Joe. And a bear named Bruff). He also caught a good bit of vomit and other nastiness over the years, seeing as he always insisted on staying with me when I was sick.

And his reward for those years of selfless companionship? What does he get now in exchange for the countless hours spent as my foil, boon companion, mascot and assistant? He gets stuck in a box.

That's not quite all he gets, though. He also gets the knowledge that no matter where I go or why I go there, that box will be coming with me.

Posted by: Jim at 04:41 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Magister Mundi sum!
"I am the Master of the Universe!"

You are full of yourself, but you're so cool you probably deserve to be. Rock on.

Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?

(Found over at Jen's)

Posted by: Jim at 03:09 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 44 words, total size 1 kb.

What happens when a corporation moves past the event horizon? When it becomes so immensely huge that not even federal regulators can adequately describe its girth? Why, its employees realize they can do human type things like writing with humor and nobody will find out about in in a billion nanoseconds because the beast is just too large to watch its own backside.

The introduction and instruction for the Tweakomatic tool is one of the funniest bits I've read in quite a while. Yeah it gets a bit geeky at points but it's good stuff the whole way through. Here's an exerpt:

As you probably know, Microsoft has a sort of love-hate relationship with the registry. The registry is the configuration database for Windows and Windows applications, and many options can only be set by manually changing a value in the registry. For example, if youÂ’ve ever read a Microsoft Knowledge Base article, youÂ’ve likely seen a sentence similar to this:

To correct this problem, change the following value in the registry.

Now thatÂ’s fine, except that this sentence is invariably followed by a disclaimer similar to this one:

Warning: DonÂ’t ever change a value in the registry. Ever. We know we just told you to do that, but would you jump off a cliff if we told you to? DonÂ’t ever change a value in the registry. DonÂ’t even say the word registry. We know a guy once who said the word registry, and three days later he was hit by a bus. True story. As a matter of fact, you shouldnÂ’t even have a registry on your computer. If you suspect that you do have a registry on your computer, call us and a trained professional will be dispatched to your office to remove the registry immediately. If you accidentally touch the registry, wash your hands with soap and water and call a doctor. Do not swallow the registry or get it in your eyes!

Now, to be honest, some of those fears are a bit exaggerated, and the disclaimer is there largely for legal reasons (remember, this is the day and age when you can order hot coffee in a restaurant and then sue the restaurant when the coffee they give you turns out to be, well, hot). If you do it correctly, changing the registry is perfectly harmless. At the same time, however, it’s true that there are certain values in the registry that should never be changed. In fact, changing them can pretty much wipe your computer out, once and for all. It’s like working on the bomb squad: if you snip the right wire, the bomb is defused and everything is fine. But if you snip the wrong one—Boom! You just created Microsoft Bob!

Um, not that weÂ’re saying Microsoft Bob was a bomb or anything.

It's worth it just for the Microsoft Bob digs.

Oh, yeah - the Tweakomatic looks pretty good too.

Posted by: Jim at 02:15 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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The Symphony is coming and I'm here to shout it!

Ah, flashbacks to High School. And isn't that what the Symphony is all about? Flashbacks to the best stuff in blogdom?

Submissions are needed for the Bestofme Symphony. What are you waiting for? Dive into those archives!

Send your submissions to bestofme@jpeacock.net and they'll be in Monday's edition at Irritable Blog Syndrome.

The only requirements are that you think the post is good and that it be at least 2 months old. It doesn't even have to be from your own blog! Can it get any easier? I don't think so!

The basics of the Bestofme Symphony.
Want to host a Symphony?
Get reminder emails.

Posted by: Jim at 01:45 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 127 words, total size 1 kb.

The big hand is on the 3 and the little hand is on the 10. What time is it? Well we could say it's "ten fifteen". We could also say that it is "quarter after 10". Why can't we say "ten and a quarter" or "fifteen after 10"?

Why is "quarter after seven" okay but "three quarters to eight" is wrong? "Twenty after three" is just peachy but heaven forbid you should say "forty to four".

And why is it just fine and dandy to say that it's "half past twelve" but people look at you funny if you say "half til one".

Frankly I'm sick of it and I'm not going to take it any more. Free your mind and your ass will follow! Join me in rebellion against these outdated and nonsensical clock mores!

What time is it?

I said WHAT TIME IS IT?

It's fourty three to two!

YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAARRGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!

POINTS: 3 points for the first person to name my source for the title of this post. No searching, please! And my source is not a bunch of no talent copy cats either.

Posted by: Jim at 01:27 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 197 words, total size 1 kb.

(The scene: James Earl Jones and I are sipping tea on the veranda. The kids are running about alternately chasing and being chased by the dogs. Lovely Wife is whipping up a batch of her unbelievably delicious potato salad to go with the steaks that James is tending on the barbeque. The blush of premature spring is in the air and our conversation remains light and idle until James springs a whopper on me.)

James: You know, sometimes I am so jealous of you.

Me: Really? Why? Because I'm married to a Teutonic Princess? A woman who's loving kindness is exceeded only by the gorgeosity of her legs?

James: No, although I will admit that was a spot-on description of your Lovely Wife.

Me: Is it because I'm surrounded by fine strong boys, the issue of my loins, manifest proof of my virility and masculine prowess? more...

Posted by: Jim at 10:02 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
Post contains 808 words, total size 5 kb.

Andrew's got a question: What are the top 5 biggest problems facing the world today?

That's easy!

1. Terrorism


2. Socialism


3. Excessive Legislation


4. Africa


5. The Middle East

Posted by: Jim at 09:13 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
Post contains 33 words, total size 1 kb.

Why is it that we have to rename land-bound animals when we eat them? You don't eat a cow, you eat beef. You don't eat a pig, you have pork. Sheep become mutton when we eat 'em. Tortured baby cow? Not when it's on the plate - then it's veal.

This doesn't happen for birds. Chicken are chicken no matter if they are on the plate or in the coop. Same with turkeys, duck, geese, and the rest of them. Fish too - perch stay perch and a humuhumunukunukuapua`a stays a humuhumunukunukuapua`a. We don't suddenly call shark flesh by some new moniker just before we eat it.

Now that I think about it though, it's not every land animal. Bedouins eat camel, Argentinians enjoy llama and the tribes of the steppes never ever let horse go to waste. It's only the traditional western feedstocks that get renamed when they become food. Why is that?

Posted by: Jim at 09:01 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
Post contains 172 words, total size 1 kb.

It's been a while but the board monkeys have once again put up a winning loser on the message center as you come into the office. This gem now greets everybody who comes into the building:

Don't be afraid to go out on a limb. That's where the fruit is.

Okay, let's look at this from the position of a customer. Do I want to have a business relationship with a company with a philosophy of "take risks"? Hell no. I want a company with a saying like "Grab the low hanging fruit first". That shows efficiency and a direction towards taking in profits. It's saying "collect that easy money before you waste effort on stuff you don't have the reach for yet". It's also saying "take care of the customers you have now".

And what does this bad saying tell us employees? It's telling us to take chances, take risks, drive for the objective regardless of the consequences. "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!" If it were my company I'd prefer a message like "If you can't reach the fruit, get yourself a ladder". Or maybe "What the hell are you doing picking fruit by hand? Get your ass into that harvester!"

I don't mind pithy sayings, I just can't stand idiotic ones.

Posted by: Jim at 07:39 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 222 words, total size 1 kb.

Update: Results are in the extended entry.

Want to know what it's about? See the Shamming/Sharing intro post.

This is the fifth offering overall and the first for March. To see how February ended up see the extended entry of Shamming/Sharing (#4).

Is this anecdote a sham or a share?

Memories are odd things. Sometimes you have perfect recollection of important things in your life, and other times you can't remember these critical times worth a damn. The same thing happens with seemingly innocuous items. Why do I remember that my little brother peed on my step-sister's carpet when we went up to Chicago for her wedding? Why do I remember that years before that we all lived in Chicago but I remember so little of that time?

One of the few things I remember was a chopper pedal bike. You know what a pedal car is, right? It's got those idiotic pedals that you keep pushing forward 2 inches, instead of pedals on a rotor (like on a bike). This was a metal tricycle that used pedal car style propulsion and had a chopper style front wheel - looooong front fork and little wheel. It sucked because it was a pedal car and was useless on any kind of incline (couldn't pedal uphill and going downhill you just went with the flow - putting your feet on the pedals was a recipe for a mauling) and you couldn't race against anybody else or even keep up with anybody else. A BigWheel toasted my chopper. Any kind of normal tricycle toasted it. I was the slowest thing in the apartment complex.

But it was also freaking cool. It was a chopper! What could be cooler than having a chopper when you're a little kid (especially in the mid 70's). Nobody had anything like my bike. Not even close. When I was on that thing (disdaining racing and the keeping up with others, of course) I was the King. I loved that chopper.

One day I went to ride it and it wasn't there. I don't remember the particulars of how it was stolen. I probably left it out but for the sake of my young pride we'll say that somebody else forgot to lock the storage area. Whatever the method, my chopper was gone. I was devastated. I wouldn't be special anymore. My unique bike, my ultra-cool chopper that nobody except me in my entire known world had was gone. No, not just gone, it was being abused by somebody else!

This was the first total meltdown in my memory. In fact, except for deaths it's the only one I can think of at all at the moment. My older brother took pity on me and went everywhere looking for it. He eventually found it in a dumpster. Whoever had stolen it had smashed it up pretty good. I remember him taking me outside to see it and saying that maybe we could fix it. I remember that I stopped crying and just felt nothing at all. The frame was totally mangled. It was busted. Gone. Useless. Over.

We tossed it in our dumpster and went back in the house. Mom tried to cheer me up and even older bro was uncharacteristically attentive but I stayed in a funk for days. Eventually I got out of my depression and went back to being a little kid but even to this day I can remember that chopper and the feelings of hopelessness and despair I had when i saw it all busted up.

Posted by: Jim at 06:10 AM | Comments (15) | Add Comment
Post contains 721 words, total size 4 kb.

A Stink-O-Meter^(tm) would be nice.

The basic model would just be installed on the bathroom door and indicate the relative stench in the bathroom by flashing a color code similar to the terrorism alert color chart thingy the government uses. Nah, better keep it simpler than that. Green is safe, yellow is use at your own risk and red is extreme danger - avoid at all costs, voluntary entry voids life insurance.

The advanced model would prevent the door opening from the outside during red states to prevent accidental entry and to protect the visually impaired.

A deluxe model would tie into your wireless network so you could evaluate stank levels from your desk and arrange alternate waste disposal methods if necessary.

Yes, there is a specific event that brought this thought process to fruition today. No, I am not ready to talk about it.

Posted by: Jim at 04:19 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 151 words, total size 1 kb.

Ron, aka Acidman, aka "that guy at Gutrumbles", has gone and sprayed the proverbial waterhose on the hornet's nest that is the blogosphere. Lots of my regular reads have delisted him because of a couple of posts of a suspect nature. That suspect nature is blatant racsism and use of the bad word instead of one of the PC terms for dark skinned people. Don't ask me any more about it than that cause I don't know. I didn't read him before this event and don't see any real reason to start now so I've got no opinion on the matter.

It got me to thinking though...could there be any less appropriate time for me to put up a post that poked fun at some of our racial stereotypes? I mean, outside of a riot or OJ whacking another white chick. I sure can't think of a worse time to post such off color humor (bad pun was intentional) so of course that's exactly what I'm doing. May I proudly (but subject to instant retraction if I get delinked anywhere) present:

The Evolution of the Booty

One of the most common questions I get (besides the pervs asking about cow udders) is "Why do black chicks have such fine booty?" To which I of course reply "How can you say such a thing? That is a slander that perpetuates the stereotypes that black chicks must battle against every day of their lives and doing this is both unfair and at least marginally rascist despite the fact that they do indeed have ultrafine booty. And don't say 'black chicks' as that's neither respectful nor politically correct. Say 'black gals' instead."

But it isn't just black gals, is it? No, there are quite a few black fellas that have premium, Grade-A, USDA Choice keisters. But that's not really it either since a fair number of white gals have what we euphamistically call "bubble butts". In fact, the only race/gender slice that is universally known to never have a delectable booty is the white male*. more...

Posted by: Jim at 01:52 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 863 words, total size 5 kb.

What's your fav, I say what's your favorite Foghornism? What I mean is what's your favorite cut said by Foghorn Leghorn? Cut, that is.

My favorite:

Boy's about as sharp as a bag of wet mice.

Runner up:

Pay attention, boy! I'm cuttin' but you're not bleedin'!

Posted by: Jim at 09:49 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
Post contains 49 words, total size 1 kb.

The Grande 2004 Peacock Invitational (update)

Want to know what it is? The original post is o'er yonder. In a nutshell, March 14 is the last day any of the participants will take a puff for an entire year or they'll pay blood money to the others.

Folks can still get in on the bet until midnight (your local time) on the 14th. So far we've got 5 people in:

Me
Tiffany
Joey
Jeremy
Tiger

I've also put up a sidebar item for the bet. This will remain up for the entire year that the bet is in effect. I've also handed out the points these folks earned by signing up. I've been a busy boy!

Posted by: Jim at 09:26 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 126 words, total size 1 kb.

I got my feathers ruffled a bit yesterday. Wellbutrin can only go so far and some things that normally wouldn't bother me much now bother me out of all proportion.

The first was Dopple-G doing something that's normally just annoying. I yelled at him. At work. In the bathroom. Not exactly professional.

The second was in the van on the way home from voting. Bear was doing a repetitive mantra "Will you give me your autograph?" over and over and over and over and over. No, he wasn't looking for an answer and no he wasn't actually addressing anybody. Kids will just do this with new phrases. Normally it just gets ignored. This time I snapped and yelled at him.

It's definitely a successful (so far) and (relatively) event free withdrawal. I'll just have to do a better job regulating my snappy tongue.

POINTS: 2 points for the first person to name my source for the title of this post. No searching please.

Posted by: Jim at 09:03 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 185 words, total size 1 kb.