For Some Reason, The Subject Is Chickens...

Okay, so I decided to take a day off from actually writing a blog post to compile a few videos I found on the Internet. Today's topic: CHICKENS. Why? Well, why not?


1)  Mike The Headless Chicken:

Okay, this is kinda horrible, but you can't  say it's not interesting...

From Wikipedia.org:

 "In Fruita, Colorado, on September 10, 1945, farmer Lloyd Olsen was sent out to kill a chicken for dinner. His mother-in-law loved to eat the neck, so Mr. Olsen tried to chop off as little of the neck as possible. With a swing of his axe, off came the head. The chicken – now known as "Mike The Headless Chicken" – started to run around as chickens do, but never stopped.

Mike The Headless Chicken became famous and began doing tours. Mr. Olsen charged 25¢.

Mike was fed a mixture of water and milk with an eyedropper, and occasionally he was fed corn.

Mike finally died in 1947, after living for 18 months. He started choking in the middle of the night, and since the Olsens left the syringes they used to clear his esophagus at the sideshow, they could not save him."

(Source: thelongestlistofthelongeststuffatthelongestdomainnameatlonglast.com)

2)  The Great Gonzo And His Chickens Perform "The Blue Danube Waltz":

Now, if this doesn't get into your head for the next few hours, you may have short-term memory loss! And if you don't at least smile once or twice, you might want to get your sense of humor checked the next time you're at the doctor's.

(Source: youtube.com) 


3)  "Flickin' Chicken" Rubber Chicken-Tossing Game:

I actually had to write a product description for this game a while back, since it's something our company sells online. Believe it or not, it's a real game. And believe it or not, I would never ever play it. (Unless it was given to me as a gift, in which case it would be an insult to refuse.)

(Source: youtube.com)



4) Gene Burnett -- "The Free Range Chicken Song"

So...this may be even weirder and more disturbing than "Mike The Headless Chicken". I would say "Enjoy!", but I don't really think you will. So I'll just say: Here it is...

(Source: youtube.com)

A Post A Day For A Whole Year???

Well, that's the goal. One goal among many others. Many insignificant, a few more substantial.

Call it some kind of wonky public diary.

Swim in my stream of consciousness if you dare.

I can't promise every day will be golden, but I'll try to make each one interesting. (Key words: I'll try.)

So, if you don't think I can do it, check back each day to see if I do.

If you get anything out of it, great.

If not, and no one ever reads it, at the very least it's a good writing exercise for me.

Either way, I'm gonna give it my best shot. Here goes nothing...

Holly Jolly Melancholy

It's the most wonderful time of the year. Or so the song says. But I'm not feeling it.

Matter of fact, I'm feeling quite the opposite. Call it the Christmas blues, or holly jolly melancholy, or whatever you choose. I'm just not into the holiday spirit this year – at least not yet.

I don't know why, but I can't even seem to crack a smile. It just seems that nothing's all that funny. Or mirthful. Or amusing even. I've lost whatever degree of quirky charm I once possessed (if ever there was any).

Instead, I just feel grumpy. I spend my time thinking not about what I'm going to get so-and-so for Christmas, but when it's all going to be over and done with.

I've never been like this before.

I usually love Christmas – it's by far one of my favorite holidays. Besides the fact that the reason for the season is only equaled by the reason for the Easter season, I can't find a whole lot to be joyful about. And that makes me sad. Which makes me sink even deeper into the funk I'm already in.

We're planning on decorating the house this weekend, getting a tree, trimming it, setting out lights and other odds and ends, and altogether making merry. I hope that helps.

Because playing my favorite Christmas songs, new and old, hasn't worked so far. Sure, I sing along to "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" and "Silent Night" and all the old standards, but I do it grudgingly, with furrowed brow and pouty lips.

This is so out of character for me.

I want to enjoy the season, and all that comes with it, but I'm having a hard time even putting forth the effort to try.

Maybe this is just some wonky phase I'm passing through. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow with the words to "We Three Kings" on my lips and sing it like I mean it. Maybe not.

But until I break out of this mirthless malaise, this languorous lethargy, this yuletide yuckiness, it may be best to steer clear of me. I might be contagious...



(The preceding paragraph was brought to you by Thesaurus.com, your one-stop shop for free synonyms.) 

Back (But Not Necessarily) By Popular Demand

So, it's been awhile since I've written anything here, and guess what? The world didn't end. It didn't even pause.

There really hasn't been a whole lot to write about in the month-plus interim. Let me see if I can summarize it quickly.

A couple of weeks ago, decked out in full Wild West attire, I robbed a bank and tied up the slow-witted sheriff and his dopey deputy in the middle of Main Street. Later, I came to my senses and returned the stolen money and turned myself in. It was definitely a learning experience.

OK, what else? I finally narrowed down the list of potential skit scripts for our fall drama to five and submitted those to the pastors, but they've been swamped with other stuff and haven't gotten a chance to look through and/or decide on those yet.

Let's see, there was something else, right? Oh yeah, I floated in a lake in Virginia and didn't drown, but also didn't swim, because I'm not too good at that. On that same trip, our boat almost sank in the middle of the lake before it came to its senses and decided that it would rather float too than sink, for which I was much appreciative.

What else? I finished reading a few books I'd been working on for awhile. A couple of play script books, a few teen fiction titles, and a gruesome true crime book which was rather enjoyable.

Um, let's see...I finished writing apparel copy for both the Fall Master Catalog and the Apparel Specialty Catalog at work. Neither of those was much fun, as I had considerably more work to do in less time than was realistically possible. But with a lot of help from my co-workers and several liters of Mt. Dew, Dr. Pepper, and mediocre coffee, all the deadlines were met and I'm officially breathing a bit easier.

What else? Oh yeah, I was struck by lightning and now I'm able to see the future. But I can only see fifteen minutes into the future, which doesn't really come in handy at all. Wait...maybe that wasn't me. No, that was definitely some TV show or movie or something. I wasn't struck by lightning at all.

Anything else? Hmm, I can't think of anything. Well, this was a pretty boring post. What a complete waste of your time! I'm sorry about that. Next time, I'll try to have something interesting to say.

Carry on.

To You, Who Stole My Lunch

I'm sure you'll never read this. You don't even know who I am, and I don't know you. I caught a quick glimpse of you as I was entering the break room, when you were exiting with your Pretzel Bread Lean Pocket. I thought, how curious, someone else at work today brought the exact same thing I did for lunch. Then, upon looking in the freezer to grab my Lean Pocket and heat it up, I find that it's nowhere to be found. Not where I put it, not anywhere. I do a double-take, then a triple-take in the direction of the lady who just left. That wasn't her Pretzel Bread Lean Pocket; it was mine!

A plethora of emotions rush through me: anger, confusion, frustration, disappointment, and the like. I'm angry because that lady just stole my lunch. Confused as to why, of all the frozen dinners in the freezer, she would decide to take mine – did it really look that appealing? Frustrated that now I have to go back upstairs to my office (across the building, I might add), get some money out of my wallet, and traipse back to the break room to buy something else for lunch. Disappointed because, as paranoid as I can sometimes be, I do think of myself as a trusting person. I like to think that most people, given the chance, will do the right thing more often than they will do the wrong thing. But I am wrong. I often am in this respect.

Couple this Friday fiasco with the fact that this week alone we have had a power window on our van to cease functioning, leaving our driver's side window – at least temporarily – ever-ready for drive-thru ordering; we have both had more than our share of pressures at work of late (me because of pending deadlines which seem insurmountable, and Mary because it's almost the end of the school year, and that's always a crazy time); neither of us is sleeping well or enough for various reasons, not the least of which is stress; and oh, did I mention, our other car's brakes and air-conditioning are also on the way out. (We really need to invest some money into decent transportation.) So, needless to say, this heisted Lean Pocket incident was not the impetus for the aforementioned emotion rush so much as it was the proverbial camel's-back-breaking straw. But I digress.

Back to you, lady, the one who took my Lean Pocket. I don't what your reasons might have been. Maybe you were hungry and you didn't have any money for food (although it is payday Friday). Maybe you forgot to bring your lunch this morning and it was an opportunistic thievery. Or maybe you're just a mean person who likes to do mean things to people you don't even know. I don't know.

If you really wanted my lunch, or if you really needed it, I would have gladly given it to you, even though I have no clue who you are. But please ask me next time, don't just take it. That's just incredibly rude!



ADDENDUM:  To you, who pulled half in and half out of the turn lane on Evans and 10th around 1:30 this afternoon, holding up traffic in my lane for what seemed like an eternity, but was, in reality, probably no more than a minute at most:  I'm sorry I called you an idiot. You may or may not have deserved it, but I didn't need to say it. That was incredibly rude, too. I apologize.

Things I Find Fascinating #3: Zebras And The People Who Love Them

1) Zebras make great dentists.  This thoughtful zebra took time out of his busy schedule to do a teeth cleaning for his friend, the hippopotamus. The hippo was quite appreciative, especially when it found out that the zebra was offering this service completely free of charge. Unfortunately, the zebra was unable to continue his "practice", as he was soon thereafter caged by the zoo keeper for unlawfully impersonating a doctor.

2)  Zebras make house calls.  In the early 1900s, Rosendo Ribeiro, the first doctor in Nairobi, Kenya, was known to ride his zebra to call on his patients. It is not known for certain what the zebra's wages were (paid in grass), but the zebra was believed to be quite fuel-efficient as compared to other popular forms of transportation at the time.  (This is not Dr. Ribeiro below. They did not have cameras in Nairobi in the early 1900s. For Pete's sake, they only had one doctor!)

3)  No two zebras are alike.  The black-and-white stripe patterns that so elegantly adorn zebras' bodies are unique to each individual zebra. So you can clearly recognize that that's Stan in the forefront. The three zebras in the immediate background are (from left to right): Lester, Camille, and Jonesy.

4) When they "talk", zebras sound more like a pack of wild dogs than a herd of striped horses. But don't take my word for it. Take a listen for yourself:

5)  A lazy Englishman once used zebras instead of horses to pull his carriage. Zoological collector Lord Rothschild was frequently known to ride through the streets of London in his zebra-drawn carriage. Most of the lord's neighbors (no pun intended) thought he was weird, but one woman in particular thought he looked quite dandy in stripes. She soon became Lady Rothschild. (Not really, I'm making that part up. Who would even marry a guy who collects zebras? – I mean, really!) Here's Lord Rothschild in action:

6)  Zebras travel in (gasp!) harems.  If you couldn't tell from the video above, zebras are very social creatures, and often travel and live in groups. These groups are called harems, quite appropriately, because they typically consist of one stallion and up to six mares and their foals. Bachelor males either live alone or with groups of other bachelors until they are old enough to challenge a breeding stallion. When attacked by packs of hyenas (or hyena or hyenae or hyenæ) or wild dogs (no interesting plural there), a zebra group will huddle together with the foals in the middle while the stallion tries to ward them off. This particular harem pictured below consists of (from left to right): Doris, Dave, Lucy, Imogene, and Suzette who's way back there in the back.

7)  The preferred mane-style for young zebras (foals) is the Mohawk.  While older, more mature zebras know that it is absolutely unseemly to be seen in public with such a subversive, punk-rock "do", these foals are determined to have their way and do their own thing even if it breaks their parents' hearts. Is this sounding familiar to anyone? This is a recent snapshot of Cato, who's smack-dab in the middle of his awkward middle-school years.

8) This guys loves zebras so much he dedicated an entire song to them.  So the lyrics aren't that great. In fact, the lyrics consist of only one word: "zebra". But I have to admit I've rarely heard a song so strange that I enjoyed so much for absolutely no reason at all. Look closely and you'll see that it's the same guy in all four frames, and he actually harmonizes quite well with himself. Check it out:

Thanks again for indulging my strange fascinations. Hopefully you've learned something, or just been entertained. If you were dissatisfied with this post in any way, I will be happy to offer you a full refund on the money you paid to read it. Until next time....

I've Never Been Accused Of Being A Photographer

I've always been fond of artful photography. I have often wished that I had the vision and skill it takes to capture images in a way that's pleasing to the eye. My skill level as a photographer is minimal at best, nonexistent at worst. I generally tend to take on two types of subjects: nature pictures and closeups of random things. Don't ask me why, these things just catch my attention the most. As I am giving my brain a rest from weightier issues and concerns today, please enjoy – or berate – or be entertained by – or scoff at a few of my pictures:

NATURE...

CLOSEUPS OF RANDOM THINGS...

There you have it. Random acts of randomness. You're welcome!

Things I Find Fascinating #1: "10 Things Everyone Should Know About Djibouti"

Djibouti is a tiny country on the Gulf of Aden in Northeast Africa. I have been fascinated with this country since I was a teenager. I can't explain why that's the case, except to say that I'm a bit of a weirdo.

But since you've stopped by my blog – and thank you for that, by the way – you may as well learn a few key facts about Djibouti, if for no other reason than to impress your friends with useless information, or to have something to talk about with strangers other than the weather.

1)  How to pronounce "Djibouti":  It's pronounced like this:  jih-BOOT-ee.  I dare you to say this several times in a row, and see if you don't laugh. Or at least crack a smile. If not, you may want to check your pulse, because that is an undeniably funny-sounding word. Hear it pronounced by clicking here –> Djibouti

2)   Djibouti has 195 square miles of beautiful coastline, and sometimes we drop bombs on it, just to practice.  Here's a picture of two U.S. Navy F/A-18 fighter jets conducting bombing exercises at the Gordia bombing range just off the coast of Djibouti.

3)   One third of the population consists of nomadic herders.  The other two-thirds of the inhabitants live in the unimaginatively named capital city of Djibouti. Here's one of those nomads:

4)   Doctors here are extremely overworked.  There are roughly 18 doctors for every 100,000 people who live in Djibouti. Even so, life expectancy is about 60 years for both males and females.

5)  The population is predominantly Muslim.  Approximately 94% of Djiboutians are Muslim, while the remaining 6% claim Christianity as their religion. Every town and village in Djibouti has a mosque where people go to worship. Here's one of them in the capital city of Djibouti.

6)   When he's not sporting traditional Arabian garb such as the jellabiya, a typical Djiboutian man might be seen wearing Western-influenced apparel. Take this fellow, for instance:

6)   They write some catchy music that you can dance to, if you are so inclined.  Check out this guy!

 

7)  Arguably Djibouti's most famous writer, Abdourahman A. Waberi has written numerous novels, essays, poetry, and short stories which have been translated into more than ten different languages.  In 2005, Waberi was chosen amongst the "50 Writers of the Future" by French literary magazine, Lire. Among his more popular works are The Land Without Shadows (a short-story collection) and the novel In The United States Of Africa. Here's a recent photo of Abdourahman:

8)  Here there be pirates.  Being situated at the entrance of the Red Sea, ships sailing off the coast of Djibouti are often targeted by pirates. The Republic of Djibouti recently provided its port as a base for the Russian Navy to fight piracy. According to various media reports, a total of 217 vessels were attacked in 2009 alone, resulting in 47 hijackings. Here's a Russian warship in hot pursuit of some Blackbeard wannabe's.

9)  If a Djiboutian starts talking to you about IOG, that's actually not some locally famous rapper, it's their President.  Having ruled Djibouti since 1999, Ismael Omar Guelleh is so well-known amongst his people that they don't even have to say the man's name. That's pretty sweet! President Guelleh (as I am, unfortunately, not Djiboutian, I will not dispense with formalities here) supports traditionally strong ties with France and has labored to reconcile the different factions in neighboring Somalia. Here's a piacture of ol' IOG himself:

10)  If you're ever in Djibouti City and get a hankering for Japanese-Greek-French fusion cuisine, try the Melting Pot.  Located on Heron Rue Bernard, the Melting Pot's multicultural cuisine knows no boundaries that can limit its creativity. Conventional techniques are combined with the freshest ingredients. Their dishes are as varied as the people who discover them. Check out their Japanese menu below (hope you can read French):

Thank you for indulging my oddball fascinations. There will be more of these to come. I don't know when exactly, as they do take some time to compile. But hopefully, they will be worth the trouble.



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SOURCES: Wikipedia, BBC, and other random places on the Internet.

An Inkling Of An Idea

Something's cooking in my brain - and no, it's not the kind of things recently or presently cooking in Charlie Sheen's brain - that dude's completely wack!

I don't know if or when it will come to fruition. But if it does, it could be pretty exciting, and a little scary.

The thing is, I don't want to do anything for self-gratification or self-promotion, so I have to be careful to check my motives.

I know all this is vague, and that's by design, but I don't want to elaborate just yet, in case nothing comes of it.

So all I can say is, I guess, stay tuned.

(OK, I promise my next entry will be of more substance, or at least more entertaining. That's all for now.)