They Work Out

I have to admit that I have bought both singles by LMFAO that have been released thus far.  I watched the video for the first, "Party Rock Anthem" and then spent quite a bit of time researching YouTube for instructional videos on "how to shuffle".  My brain now completely understands what needs to be done in order to shuffle (and to dougie, thanks to my last dance-related research) but where the spirit is willing, the flesh remains awkward.

I had seen a few people on Facebook mention the video for the next single, "Sexy And I Know It" but it took a while to get around to watching it.  I'd like to discuss the video a bit, so please check it out if you have a moment.  Don't look at it if you're at work or church, though.

OK, so now you've seen that.

My first reaction was along the lines of "Yikes!" and "I wonder how much therapy costs." upon reflection, though, I realized that they aren't doing anything in this video that women have been doing in music videos since the dawn of MTV.  In addition, lots of people make a point to spend their Super Bowl half-time watching women (sort of) play football in their underwear.  How different is that from rival underwear gangs posturing at each other at the beach?  Aside from gender, it's pretty much the same thing.

So, I'd like to know what you think:  Do you think LMFAO is just trying to be silly and a little disturbing or are they spandex-clad geniuses making a prescient statement on how numb we've become when it comes to female almost-nudity in pop culture?

Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Peck-um, Peppers

One of the great things about teaching is that learning takes place on both sides of the (metaphorical) podium.

So.  Last week I was teaching my statistics class some probability, specifically binomial probability experiments.  Don't worry, I'm not going to explain that now.  What's important, though, is that talking about binomial probability experiments requires one to say the word "success" approximately a million times.  Make that two million because I have two sections of stats.

Here's what I learned:  It is impossible to say the word success a million times (or even twenty) without at some point butchering one's pronunciation.  Unfortunately, for me that means changing "suck-sess" into "suck-sex".  Yeah, so that happened.  A bunch of times.

Sadly, this is not my first foray into being accidentally lewd in the classroom.  When I taught math at a high school in Virginia there was a time when we were covering trigonometric problems.  The abbreviation for the secant function is "sec".  I was using the variable x to represent the angle which meant writing "sec x" on the board several times.  You can see where this is heading.  Yup, in front of a whole room of 17-year olds, I wrote the word sex on the blackboard.  I sent them further into hysterics by saying "Well, ya know, it is Friday."  What I meant was that it had been a long week and I was tired.  What they thought I meant was that Friday = Sexday.  Frickin' fricklebats.

Could Happen to Anyone

I'd like to present this conversation with as little explanation as possible and leave you to determine how it came about.

Me:  Erk!  (accompanied by a wide-eyed look of pain and surprise)

Huppy:  Did you just pinch the skin on your stomach in the hinge of your glasses.

Me:  I did.  It left a mark.

Come conclusions you may draw:  I am very, very flexible.  I have a specific unique facial expression for absolutely every situation.  One of these things is true and one is probably not true.

Situational Awareness Is For Suckers

So we're just coming off a nice three day weekend.  The weather was quite temperate and so a ton of house projects got done.  That's the good part.  The bad part is that in those three days I found three different ways to hit my head on something.  I'm pretty sure the first and the third time were on exactly the same spot.  How did I manage this?  Well, I started out with the locking mechanism from an open trunk lid on Saturday.  The next day I climbed the ladder into the attic and stood up right into a roof beam.  I wrapped up the holiday weekend by hitting my head on a shelf after plugging in some speakers below the shelf.  The lesson I'm taking from this is that it would be best if I just walked around all hunched over because floating just above me is a whole host of crap of stuff waiting to bash me in the noggin.  So, if I start acting weirder than usual I may be concussed.

A-Maia-can Horror Story

I know, it's been a while.  I have a few things saved up to share with you, though, so buckle up!

A few weeks ago we had about a week of dreary, rainy weather.  On one of these days we'd had a respite from the rain and I drove downtown to stop in at my taekwondo school to find out why Master Oh had called me on my cell phone.  I parked in the municipal parking garage behind the school.  When I pulled in I noticed that someone seemed to have parked their wheelchair next to the low wall that separates the garage area from the alley.  The wheel chair was completely draped in a thin red blanket.  If this was to hide it, I'm not sure that red was an ideal color choice, by the way.  As I was straddling the low wall (what, like I'm going to walk all the way around?) near the shrouded chair I glanced over it and saw that there was something in it.  In all the times I have parked there and gone across this wall to get to the school I have never, ever made it over that quickly.  Seriously, if it was a pommel horse I would be sporting a medal right now.  Whatever or whoever (whomever?) was under there was not visible aside from tenting up the blanket in a few odd spot.  It seem to me that there was a smallish person under there taking a nap with their arm up over their head.  On my way back to the car I gave it a wider birth and kept me eyes locked on it the whole time.  No movement.  I sped home.  A hour or so later when Huppy called to say she was on her way home I a) told her about the freaky deaky wheelchair red (blood red!!!) blanket ghoul in the parking garage behind the school and b) made her promise to drive by and see if it was still there.  It was and she was equally creeped out.

I spent the next day thinking about what was obviously either a troll who lost his bridge and hides under this red (blood red!!!) blanket now waiting for unsuspecting people who get to close so he can snatch them and suck the marrow from their long bones OR a pile of dismembered body parts stacked on a wheelchair with a note for the police from a brilliant serial killer who wants to engage in a battle of wits.  That evening, I told Huppy that we were going to drive back there and see if it's still there.  AND IT WAS.  This time I took pictures:

At the time that I took these it had been raining again all day.  As a result, a few things became clear:

1.  It's not a troll in a wheelchair.
2.  It's not a pile of body parts in a wheelchair.
3.  It's not, in fact, a wheel chair.
4.  It is probably someone's bicycle and cart.

Or is it?

Yay! These Pictures Are Gre-...Oh.

At the beginning of May I participated in my first half marathon.  I think I blogged about it already so I won't rehash.

For some reason the company that was contracted to do race photography is based in Germany.  Normally this would be no big deal because I never, ever feel the need to order race pictures.  I have yet to take one where I don't look like I'm having some kind of episode.  In none of my pictures do I look like I'm having fun or even running, for that matter.  I swear I'm doing both.  One time I started running in an exaggerated fashion when I saw the photographer in the hopes that overemphasizing the movements they would show up on camera.  That experiment yielded a series pictures that make me look less like I'm running and more like I'm doing an impromptu roadside audition for Westside story.

So, no spending my money on race pictures for me.  Until now.  I decided that for my first half marathon I really needed to get a picture because it felt like kind of an accomplishment.  Luckily for me, there was a photographer at the finish line getting pictures of people holding their medals.  Perfect!  A race picture where I don't have to be running!  I ordered it and one other one that was only bad but nor outright horrible.

The race photographer's website was very, very slow.  After a million years of trying to look at pictures that would or would not expand from thumbnail I picked the two that I mentioned earlier.  Since the company is in Europe I got hit with an additional fee by my bank.  Thanks bank!  Then the waiting began.  It took about a month but they finally arrived this week.

Here's the one that I was so pleased to order:

I was pretty happy with this one until I looked at it closely.  See it?  Allow me to zoom for you:

I can't decide whether this makes this picture more awesome or less awesome.  On the one hand, look how tough I am!  On the other hand, that is a Buzz Lightyear band-aid.

Leaving My Mark

This morning Huppy and I ran a 10K that started and ended at Gillette Stadium.  For my non-local friends, this is the place where the professional football team the New England Patriots plays.  Actually, I guess I should say this is the place where the major league soccer team the New England Revolution plays because that's who uses the place in July.  Anyway, it was very warm.  VERY warm.  I did not finish in a time faster than my first 10K in February which was disappointing.  But that's OK because it was really, really warm.  Did I mention the heat yet?  It was hot out.

Anyway, after finishing up we decided we needed food and drink.  Gillette has a big shopping complex attached to it and we decided to stay there since we were disgustingly sweaty but there we were among thousands of disgustingly sweaty people milling around.  

So, we squelched into the Olive Garden.  (Side note:  I actually ate some salad).  While we were eating, I joked about how I hoped we didn't leave sweaty butt prints on the booth when we left because that would be a super gross thing to do.  The booth seats were vinyl, though, so when we left after our meal no visible butt sweat was seen.  

Unfortunately, the seat backs at this Olive Garden are cloth.  Yup, when we got up there were big wet marks from our backs.  For the record, the mark I left was bigger which I think makes me the grosser of the two of us.  

So, I'd like to apologize to the Olive Garden at Patriot Place and whoever was seated at that booth after us.  I am usually much, much better at keeping my bodily fluid expulsion restricted to the appropriate times and places.