Danny Boy put it best...

We as a nation/human race have gotten a little confused as to what "happiness" means or what needs to happen in order for it to happen.

My friend, Dan, is stationed in South Korea serving our country, and as such is not able to be here for Christmas (or his wifey, Adrienne either). Not long ago on "The Book of Face," he posted the following, and it goes without say that he hit the nail on the head!

If you quantify your personal happiness as follows then you are wrong: happiness = location where (([distance between family] < x miles) AND [time of year] = "Holidays"); happiness != [codependent behavior] + [personal needs]; happiness != [artificially inflated ego]; Happiness starts with you, not with your location or surroundings.

an open letter to my dog...

Dear Kipper-

When I say to move, it means go someplace else, not switch which side of me you are standing next to.

The dish with the paw print is yours and contains your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming
your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by Nascar and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help, because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a queen size bed. I am very sorry about this. I have no room to spare for one, nor the fundage to get one. Do not think I will continue to sleep on the very edge of my bed to ensure your comfort. Look at videos of dogs sleeping, they can actually curl up in a ball. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to my body and the bed frame, stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking your tail straight out and having your snout stretched out the other end to maximize space used is nothing but doggy sarcasm.

When I am using the Wii for exercise or entertainment, jumping up and trying to grab the Wii remote from my hand is not helpful. Barking at me because I'm not helping you achieve your goal does not win you any extra brownie points.

My compact discs and DVDs are not miniature Frisbees.

For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, try to turn the knob, or get your paw under the
edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. In addition, I have been using bathrooms for years, canine attendance is not mandatory despite what you may think.

The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dogs butt at the park/doggy day care/on a walk, etc. I cannot stress this enough. It would be such a simple change for you.

real men of genius...

The Portland MAX Presents: Real Men of Genius
(Real Men of Genius)

Today we salute you, Mr. Arm Shoved Through MAX Door Commuter.
(Mr. Arm Shoved Through MAX Door Commuter)

Without your unwavering commitment to board a train that comes every ten minutes, fellow commuters would have to arrive at their jobs on time.
(No one hopes you make it)

Armed with nothing more than a Starbucks cup, you squirm furiously, undeterred by the total loss of circulation in your right arm.
(Your fingers are turning red)

Please stand clear of the doors? I think not. While others may heed these warnings, you dare to push the envelope, and all others within five feet of the doorway.
(No one else matters)

So crack open an ice cold beer, oh gatekeeper of the Blue Line, because MAX may Open Doors but you keep 'em that way.
(Mr. Arm Shoved Through MAX Door Commuter)

snakes... why did it have to be snakes?

Earlier this year while hanging out with Tori at Gaffer's, our friend Jesse and I got into a mini debate which then evolved into a full on debate about "Who's the bigger badass: Indiana Jones, or James Bond?" I claimed that Indy is hands down the bigger badass, while Jess (surprise surprise) put stock in Bond. The question is not "who's hotter" or "who's got more stuff" (even though we all know that the Brits give Bond gadgets hand over fist like it's Monopoly money)... The question is between these two extremely popular fictional heroes, who takes the cake? Someone tried to tell me "Indiana Bond would be the be all end all of badassedness." Nice try. And no, you can't say Chuck Norris wins this fight. Norris isn't invited.

Even Lego Indy is more badass than James Bond. It's science.

So, here we go with the facts. This entry is dedicated to my icon, Henry "Indiana" Walton Jones, Junior (yes, that is in fact his full name...don't ask me how I know his middle name. Admitting how I know would just prove how big my nerdiness actually is)
Nicknames
Indiana
Indy

Personal
Date of Birth July 1, 1899 - Princeton, New Jersey
Family PARENTS: Henry Jones, Senior (1872-1951) & Anna Jones (?-1912)
SPOUSE: Marion Ravenwood (March 23, 1909-?)
CHILDREN: Henry "Mutt" Walton Jones, III (1938-?)

OCCUPATION: Professor of Archaeolgy (Marshall College, Connetticut)
Archaeologist
Associate Dean
Soldier

Alright, now that all the personal information is out of the way...here we go. Frank Marshall, who produced the Indy movies, said of the character, "Indy is a fallible character. He gets hurt. He makes mistakes. He's a real character, and not a superhero."

When not in the classroom at Marshall being that teacher that is ever so crushworthy (ex. female student who wrote "Love You" on her eyelids so he could see them when she blinked. Hell, even if I *wasn't* a history nerd, I'd take his class just to drool over him), Indy is either globetrotting, searching for lost and ancient artifacts, or kicking the bad dudes' butts. While some view Jones as simply a mercenary, he honestly believes that these relics "belong in a museum" (Last Crusade). His motives are not for self fufillment, but honestly for the preservation of history. Sure, he may not be the *best* archaeologist, with his tactic being more rough around the edges instead of carefully uncovering history's hidden treasures, the dude's got gusto! 

Pictured: Gusto

In 2008, Archaeology magazine (yes, it exists)one of the editors said that Indy was "a horrible archaelogist, but a great diplomat for archaeology," then awarded 8 past and current archaeologists who they felt embodied Jones' chutzpah with the "Indy Spirit Award" (yes, that really exists too).
Both of Indiana's personas (Dr Jones and Indiana) reject one another in philosophy, creating a duality. Harrison Ford said that the fun of playing Indy was because he got to be both a romantic and a cynic. A lone wolf. Man on a quest. Human superhero. Patriot.

On to more...rugged...territory ;)
Armed with nothing more than his iconic bullwhip, fedora and leather jacket, his World War I Webley-Green revolver, along with a wry sense of humor, deep knowledge of many ancient civilizations and languages, Indiana more than proves his awesomeness. Seriously. Sure, he's scared crapless of snakes...so what? I'm scared of clowns. My mother is arachnophobic. Whoop de doo. Everyone's got a fear of something...his is slithery, hissing reptiles.  Quick on his feet, he's narrowly escaped death numerous times while still looking hot. Did I say hot? Um, I meant "dashing"...yeah...that's what I meant. Remember how he faced down Hitler...okay, so he didn't face him down, but did you know what I mean. Had the perfect opportunity to kill him if he wanted to, then Hitler gave him his autograph. Hilarious. Taking on Panzers, Egyptian swordsmen, Nazis, Indian cults, etc....*sigh*. He doesn't need fancy fast cars, a high salaried job, tons of gadgets or super intelligent technology to save the day...and he gets the girl everytime (well, except Elsa because she died....but that was her own fault for being a greedy Nazi bitch, and we all knew from the beginning that it was always Marion. BBQ bless Karen Allen).

Raw. Intelligent.  Not afraid to get down and dirty for the better good. And oh...that smile.... Henry Jones, Junior...it's all you!

This is also acceptable as swoon worthy.

Trader Joe's, I am breaking up with you...

I know doing this via blog is a little gauche, but I really don't care.

Sorry Joe, it's not you, it's me.

No, no... that's a lie. It's you, and the other people you've been seeing.

When we first started seeing each other things were great. I loved you for your tasty and unique variety of frozen snacks, sauces and dry goods. I was never so happy as when I was sipping a glass of your shockingly inexpensive chardonnay or tasting a wonderfully decadent miniature dessert. It never bothered me that your pleasantly hippy exterior was just a transparent cover for your low-grade snob appeal and nagging need to be trendy. I admit, it really attracted me in a forbidden way - I'm also an elitist ass and couldn't come to terms with my nascent desire to be cool.

But those feelings are gone now. When I see you now all I can remember are the awful battles to get through your cramped little parking lot, the eternally long lines and the other obnoxious shoppers you insist on seeing.

Specifically, I can't handle you seeing these people:

The parking lot meanderers - I understand that you're not in a hurry. And, truthfully, I don't HAVE to be anywhere urgently either; but I would much rather spend my time doing something I enjoy than waiting for you to cross the parking lot crosswalk with all the speed and alacrity of an old person with a walker in a tar pit. Also, walking down the middle of the lane while the cars behind you move at your strolling pace isn't helping anyone. Please, just get in your damn Volvo station wagon parked diagonally into 2 lanes and go home, someone there may just appreciate you getting in their way. I don't.

The faux-wine snob - You would almost entertain me, if I didn't despise you. I'm glad that you like to flash your platinum card while buying a few bottles of overpriced wine that you scrutinized for 15 minutes while I ignoring my polite requests to be 'excused' and allowed to pass you in the wine aisle. Perhaps I should give you a cheat sheet which could make your wine shopping a little easier. Here are the tips you need to know:
-Joe's is great for inexpensive wines. Charles Shaw is really a wonder of the free market. Remember, you don't get to drink the price tag.
-No one is impressed by pretention. Also, for future reference, Neitzche doesn't rhyme with "peachy."
-That bottle of Sutter Home you considered for it's "earthy tones?" You can buy that at Safeway. Also, "earthy tones" means that it tastes like dirt.
-The expensive wines are just there to make you think that the selection is "great." Those are decent, but incredibly overpriced bottles for people with money who can't tell the difference. Wait... sorry, that's for you. Would it be easier for you if they just labeled them with your name?

Anyone buying organic pet food - Have you watched your dog lick his own balls or chew the life out of a piece of colored rubber lately? They don't care if their food is organic, they just want to eat a lot of it and then crap it out on the sidewalk so you have to scoop it up. Seriously, watch how happy they are the next time you scoop up their deuce for them.

The guy buying frozen vacuum packed Atlantic salmon - You're truly the antithesis of the Wine Snob, you are the guy who doesn't appreciate what he has or could have. You live in the greatest seafood area in the world. The Pacific Ocean is only an hour and a half away. If you're snobby enough to shop at Trader Joe's you can suck it up and spring for something good from a real fish market.

The people lingering at the free samples counter - Sadly, my formerly-beloved Beaverton Trader Joe's was designed by a sadistic freak who placed the sample counter at the narrowest and most highly trafficked point of the store, creating a painfully constipated shopping sphincter. There's no avoiding the poor design, but must you linger for minutes at a time savoring every crumb of your craptastic little want-to-be-DiGiorno pizza. If you do find it necessary to stand there and not step out of the way I promise that I will also find it necessary to jab you in the kidney as I squeeze through.

Whoever decided to discontinue the Trader Joe's peanut butter Oreo knock-offs - How can there be any value to life in a world without those wonderfully tasty treats?

The "Everything here is so cheap!" people - Obviously there was no math requirement at your liberal arts college. Either that, or you can't be honest with yourself through your haze of liberal guilt over your trust fund. Get over it and admit that you're a snob who doesn't really care if they pay a little more for something they like, or shut up and shop at Safeway.


I'm sorry Joe, I just can't go on living a lie. If you can't change, or stop seeing other people then I have to end it.

the other ten commandments...

1. We are the retail associates thine greeters, cashiers, and fitting room attendants. Thou shalt have no other expectations before us. Thou shalt not raise thy voice in anger if thy humble customer service servants cannot validate thy parking ticket, tend to thy ADD-afflicted progeny, or tell thee where thou canst find the nearest Radio Shack in the mall.

2. Thou shalt have but a few select items before thee when thou enters the hallowed fitting rooms. Thou shalt choose thy items with care whilst thou peruses the racks of plenty, considering carefully what thou wouldst appear flattering in as well as what thou can fit thy self into. For we thy retail associates are but go-back-despising, lowly-paid peons, cursing for all generations them that pluck freely from the racks, try on multiple items, and purchase none, leaving the bounties of the retail gods strewn across the fitting room floors.

3. Thou shalt not take the name of the retail associates thy fellow human beings in vain for acts of God or corporate policy, e.g., refund policies, product selection and availability, or long lines, none of which thy humble front-line servants have any power to change.

4. Thou shalt remember thy retail establishment's closing hours, to keep it holy. Thou shalt not enter any establishment less than fifteen minutes before closing and thou shalt seek to purchase the cotton-blend fruits of thy labor within fifteen minutes of closing, particularly on the most holy days of holiday eves. If thou must enter or stay past closing time for emergency purposes, thou shalt pluck from the shelves of plenty only that which thou needs, being aware that every minute thou loiters or every article thou mess'd up damns thy retail associates to further toil and sorrow in the purgatory of night time cleanup.

5. Thou shalt honor thy retail establishment's general appearance and level of cleanliness. Thou shalt always fix or pick up that which thou hast so obviously disarrayed or caused to drop the floor, and thou shalt never leave on any random rack or shelf that which thou no longer desires to purchase. Thou shalt consider how thou wouldst feel if a multitude of thy patrons came to thy office and randomly scattered thy filing system, office supplies, and the beanie babies which sit atop thy computer monitor.

6. Thou shalt not seek to kill thy retail associates' belief in humanity. Thou shalt realize, particularly on busy days, that thy humble front-line servants are often under-paid, under-staffed, under-trained, and over-worked with more tasks than thou may be aware of. If thou art approached by an associate, thou shalt acknowledge thy associate as a friendly fellow human seeking to assist thee, not as a scourge upon the sales floor to rob thee of thy cash and credit cards.

7. (I can't believe I have to list some of these, but) Thou shalt not commit gross iniquities against thy retail establishment. Thou shalt not masticate, urinate, defecate, excoriate, regurgitate, masturbate, or procreate in the holy halls of retail apparel.

8. Thou shalt not steal, especially not by using thy baby stroller, foreign grandmother, or wrinkled Macy's department bag lined with tinfoil. That wouldst make thou hella ghetto.

9. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy true clothing size. Thou shalt be realistic about thy physical proportions; if thou hast never before fit into a size three, thou shalt not attempt to wedge thy portly self into ten articles of size three clothing in the hopes of divine intervention, generous sizing, or loose seams.

10. Thou shalt not covet thy retail associates' phone numbers. Thou shalt not misconstrue friendly desperation to meet sales quotas and/or earn sales commission as sexual advances or invitations to such advances.

The retail gods have spoken; go forth and spread the word, my fellow shoppers. 'Tis the season.