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)

Mood Swings

I have never bought into the idea that one gender is moodier than the other. The general "theory" is that women tend to be more temperamental than men, and more prone to wild mood swings. I think that's garbage. I think it depends on each individual's circumstances, history, nature, etc.

Why do I even bring this up? Because I am a relentlessly moody somebody. Especially here lately. I can go from deliriously happy to positively gloomy (somewhat of an oxymoron, I know) at the drop of a hat.

For most of yesterday, I was fine. I was actually having a good day. At my desk, in my office, with the door closed, I was playing some new music I'd bought with Christmas money. I had my earbuds in – which were also new, and worked really well (maybe too well).

Most of the songs on the CD's were new to me, but there were a few songs I've heard on the radio and knew reasonably well, so I started singing along. Unbeknownst to me, I was singing kinda loud. Loud enough that the lady in the office next to mine – separated by a couple of layers of drywall – sent me a "friendly" e-mail asking me to please stop singing. In fact, the terse missive read exactly as follows, and I quote: "Singing – Please Stop."

Now, this is not an unreasonable request. I was in a place of business, presumably (and in actuality) doing work that I was paid to do. I was not being paid to sing, nor did she, or anyone else, ask me to sing for them at that particular time.

But, for some reason, I took it personally. And my generally cheerful mood quickly took a nosedive. To the point where I actually typed up a draft of an e-mail to my coworker, giving her permission to "thrust a pair of scissors through my throat" and/or "staple my feet to the floor" the next time I did anything to bother her, like singing or tapping my feet (for which I have also been previously "reprimanded" by said coworker).

Fortunately, before I hit "Send", I was able to talk myself out of it, realizing that such a self-deprecating response would do nothing to enhance my interpersonal office acquaintance with my coworker. Not to mention the fact that it was actually a rather stupid note to begin with (and yet I'm telling the Internet about it – go figure!).

The rest of the day, I sulked to myself, mired in melancholy. This has continued through to today. I'm once again listening to my music, not singing aloud, but I can't find much joy in it.

I know what you're probably thinking: "Get a grip, man! You're being too sensitive!" Or, "If you can't take the heat, then get out of the office!" Or at the very least, "I know this doctor who might be able to help you..."

You're probably right in all three cases. I don't know how to not respond to circumstances other than the way I respond. It's not healthy, I'm sure. But it's who I am.

I read an article this morning about something called "Irritable Men Syndrome"* or "Irritable Male Syndrome" (IMS, either way), a term which is used to describe mood swings in men. Behaviors characteristic of men with IMS include (with my personal reflections in parentheses):

* Angry  (In Short Bursts, Yes – Especially In Traffic)
* Sarcastic  (Ya Think?)
* Tense  (Occasionally)
* Argumentative  (At Times)
* Frustrated  (Frequently)
* Demanding  (Rarely)
* Sad  (Intermittently)
* Impatient  (Constantly – Especially In Traffic)
* Anxious  (Sometimes)
* Hostile  (In Traffic, Definitely)
* Unloving  (Don't Think So...I Hope Not!)
* Withdrawn  (Very Frequently)
* Defensive  (Nearly Always)
* Dissatisfied  (Not Too Often)


Yep, here I go Self-Diagnosing again. But it sounds like I may have hit the nail on the head. Apparently, IMS is some kind of a hormonal imbalance, and can be treated. Maybe I should look into that...

Until then, I'll try to salvage this day as best I can. And not sing aloud.


(Insert plastered-on grin here.)






*(Source: www.bodylogicmd.com)

I Don't Know Your Kid's Name

Maybe it's because I'm not yet a father. Maybe I'm subconsciously lamenting the fact that I'm not yet a father, and a part of me simply doesn't care (as harsh as that sounds). But I am terrible at remembering the names of other people's kids.

Granted, I don't have much reason to know most of these kids' names (unless they have been or currently desire to be in one of the dramas at church), but it is rather embarrassing when I repeatedly have to ask one of my closest friends in the world – who has two young boys – "Now which one is he again?"

Don't get me wrong. I like kids a lot. I'd love to have some of my own, but – for reasons I won't go into in detail right now – it hasn't been possible as yet.

However, I still feel as though I should be more aware, or perhaps care more about the progeny of my acquaintances, friends, and family.

Yes, I said family. I have several first cousins to whom I was quite close growing up, and now they are married with a gaggle of kids each, and I couldn't for the life of me tell you any two of their kids' names in total.

Speaking of the folks with multiple kids... God bless you, I don't know how you do it, but you seem to manage parenthood very well indeed. I have a hard time trying to feed and clean up after three cats – and other than food, water, and litter boxes, they are pretty much self-sufficient.

But while we're on the subject, y'all with the bigger families are the hardest of all for moniker-challenged dopes like me. I can't remember one of your kids' names, much less all of them.

Especially – and this is not meant to offend anyone out there who does this – when most, if not all of their names, start with the same letter. My brain doesn't do well with that. It sees "Tall One," "Not As Tall One", "Short One", and "The One In The Stroller".

Could you maybe color-code your young'uns and give me a cheat sheet?

I can't count how many times, when recruiting for the Easter or fall dramas at church, I have had to call up our Music Minister or Youth Pastor and ask, "Do you know this kid who signed up? Who's their mama? What do they look like? Should I know them from somewhere?"

I'm not kidding. I'm horrible at this.

Now my wife on the other hand, she's a teacher. She teaches Science to the entire 7th grade at her school. That's six different sets of kids each day, about 130 or so students in all. And she remembers all of them by face AND by name. And let me tell you – and any teachers out there reading this can testify that it's true – some people give their kids the craziest, most unpronounceable names imaginable. And yet she remembers them all.

Maybe teachers are a different animal altogether – they have to be, to be able to deal with all they have to on a daily basis. But this guy – who gets paid to write words in some semblance of order – can't seem to grasp names quite so well.

So, if I see you at a family get-together, and refer to your kids as "Little Guy" or "Pretty Girl", don't be offended. If I see you at church and speak to you without speaking to your kids, it's not because I don't like them. I just don't know who they are. Not by name, at least. Forgive me...

Self-Diagnosing

Do you ever self-diagnose your problems? I do, often.

For one thing, there's a wealth of information out there with which to educate myself about any particular ailment, or whatever else may be bothering me.

For another thing, doctors' visits are expensive, especially when you (like I do) have to meet a fairly high deductible out of pocket before your insurance will start to pitch in and help any at all.

So I self-diagnose.

Right now, I'm suffering from costochondritis...I think. It could be simply a pulled or strained muscle. Either way, I have a good deal of pain at my right ribcage that intensifies with every deep breath I take. It wakes me up at night. Last night only once, but the night before it was three times.

Interestingly enough, costochondritis often presents itself in many of the same ways as a heart attack, and should therefore be taken quite seriously. So I hit the internet and "solved" my problem.

This condition, its cause unknown and its treatment merely pain management, often affects women more often than men, and generally causes discomfort in the left side more often than the right. Leave it to me to be the exception. But it's the diagnosis that fits the best, if you take WebMD.com and the MayoCliniic.com sites with more than a grain of salt (and I do).

So, I take my NSAIDS and rest while waiting for this inflammation of the tissue connecting the ribcage to the sternum to subside.

Call it foolish if you will. Call it being a cheapskate. It doesn't matter to me either way. I'm not dying, just hurting. And I'm a heckuva lot better off financially for not going in to get who-knows-how-many tests done, only to find out what I think I already know (ruling out everything else first is how costochondritis is most often ultimately diagnosed).

There may be a touch of the hypochondriac in my nature, as I am often suspicious that I may have such-and-such an ailment at times. Like obsessive compulsive disorder, antisocial personality tendencies, and a "funny neck" (this is not the proper medical term, but there really isn't a word to describe a neck that can't ever quite fully relax in any position).

But it is what it is, and so am I. Lord help me!