Thursday, November 18, 2010

So Much Fun

We recently found a letter from a child named Porry Din, or Perry Dun, or something illegible, addressed to someone named "Joe". After several minutes spent reading this letter outloud and laughing uncontrollably I decided to tackle the logic behind the letter. First, since I can't for some reason upload an image of the actual letter from this computer, here is a word-for-word reproduction.

Dear JOE,

Hi I am 9 years oldI like living in aparmes it is so fun. I like playing outside so much because it is so fun. I like playing outside with friends. It is so fun playing with friends friends are so fun to have arownd because it is so fun. I like playing outside with friends.


                           by perny duo (?!?!)

So, apparently:
1. Porry likes living in Aparmes. (Apartments? Parmesans?)
2. Aparmes are so fun to him.
3. Porry also likes playing outside, which is, again, so fun.
4. He continues by saying that playing with friends is so fun.
5. Elaborating on this idea, he assures us that friends are so fun to have around because, cryptically, it is so fun.

Thus:
  • if Aparmes are so fun,
  • playing outside is so fun, and
  • playing with FRIENDS outside is so fun, then logically
  • playing with friends in general is so fun.      
We can also imply that playing WITH Aparmes is so fun, however, what exactly is an Aparmes?! Here are some suggestions:
  • Apartments, since he lives in one.
  • A chicken or eggplant parmesan sandwich, which I would happily live inside of.
  • A permy: maybe someone addicted to getting their hair permed?
  • A derogatory term for people from Parma, Italy. 
  • A mythological Greco-Roman god, possibly of chicken parmesan sandwiches.                  
In the end we are left questioning the effectiveness of the American education system, and laughing spastically at an adorably hilarious and ridiculous 9 year old. I wonder if he spends his days sorting things into two neat little lists: what is so much fun and what is not so much fun. I would like to see his "what is not so much fun" list. Inferring his tastes and mirroring his style, I believe it would look something like this:

Dear DAVE,

Hi I am 9 years oldI hate living in Newurk it is not so much fun. I hate playing inside so much because it is not so fun. I hate playing inside with kitchen utensils. It is not so fun playing with kitchen utensils kitchen utensils are not so fun to have arownd because it is not so fun. I hate playing inside with kitchen utensils.

                             by Parry Dur

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Flying Banana, Salamander Slide Show, Office Tent, Ghostbusters!!

I'm really bored at work right now. I'm looking around the room, and everyone I work with seems pretty bored too. It's 11pm, we're all really tired, and it's generally really slow. We've run out of conversation for the night.

I keep thinking of ways to interact with these people. Most of my ideas are terrible, and I would probably become a social outcast if I actually attempted any of this. Here are my ideas:

1) There is a large bunch of over-ripe bananas on my desk for some reason. I have no idea where these came from, or if anyone is going to eat them. Kristen is sitting directly across the room from me, staring off into space. Something inside my brain is telling me to heave one of these smushy bananas at her, immediately, and with terrific force.

2) Someone I don't know is sitting at our conference table watching ESPN. I am tempted to sit across from him at the table and begin an impromptu "meeting". He's been sitting there for hours now, in silence. I think I have time to prepare a Powerpoint slide show on something ridiculous, like the ecology of salamanders living in the Pacific Northwest. I will have handouts, and afterwards, I will ask for his input. I will limit my presentation to 20 minutes. I will keep a straight face throughout, and repeatedly make clear to him the importance of this information.

3) We have a large tent stashed in the back room for some reason. This sucker is HUGE, military grade, holds like 15 people or something like that. I want to set this bitch up right here in the office, then climb in, take a nap.

4) I want to start singing the Ghostbusters theme song, loudly, in its entirety, even the creepy weirdo lyrics that no one remembers.

I won't actually do any of these things because it is time for dinner.

Someone took the bananas off my desk while I was in the bathroom, which is pretty strange because it was an unnecessarily large bunch of over-ripe bananas and now they are missing.

Nuisance Log Part 2 - I Hate Wires and String

I haven't added to the Nuisance Log since December of last year for some reason. Honestly, there was so much that bothered me that I felt a better way to deal with it all was to go totally ape-shit, throw things violently at walls, curse a lot, and, as usual, shake my fist at the heavens. The last thing I wanted to do was find some creative outlet for my emotions, like a blog or something - there was a dire need for some unbridled outward pouring of anger, mostly directed towards inanimate objects (because I don't hurt animals, and fighting people would send me to jail).

And here I am, returning finally to this Nuisance Log with the long-awaited Part 2. My subject this time around is my supreme hatred of wires, string, yarn, and all things that get knotted and tangled. It totally drives me berzerk.

The other day I was in a passenger terminal at an airport waiting for my flight. The flight was delayed for several hours, so I was all ready pissed off that I had to spend the afternoon sitting in a smelly passenger terminal. I pulled my iPod out to listen to some tunes only to find that the whole iPod/headphone assembly had congealed into a tangled mess of wires, velcro, and strings.

I had stowed everything neatly and methodically the night before to avoid this situation. I positioned all of my wires and electronics and stringed things in such a way as to avoid other wires and stringed things. I carried my bag lovingly, delicately, like a birthday cake fresh from the bakery, to avoid any jostling of its contents.

Apparently, none of these precautions were of any use whatsoever. I might as well have just tossed everything in there haphazardly and started doing spastic jumping jacks.

The inside of my backpack must have gone through a cyclone or something - everything had come undone and knotted around everything else in my bag. My headphones were wrapped and knotted around themselves and my toiletry bag; the iPod armband had unvelcroed itself and reattached somehow to a pair of socks; my laptop charger was also knotted around itself several times, and the whole mess of wires was intertwined in an intricate, shitty dance of wires, velcro, string, yarn, and shoelaces somehow. Shoelaces?!

In a fit of pure, scarlet rage I yanked everything out of there. It was all balled up, so everthing emptied out onto the terminal floor with one good pull. I spent about twenty seconds trying to untangle the mess before I got frustrated to the point of no return to sanity. My next step was to reach for my trusty Gerber multitool with the wire-clipping attachment. Yup, time to say goodby to my fancy Bose headphones, the shoelaces that magically appeared in my bag (I swear I didn't pack any spare shoelaces), and that lone-wolf sock that just didn't jive with the others in my checked bag and had to be sequestered in my carry-on.

I started snipping away, giggling, on the floor of the passenger terminal. I reduced my Bose headphones to a neat pile of tiny wire fragments, the shoelaces became nothing more than a pleasant mound of fuzz, the sock was mutilated beyond recognition. I sat on the floor admiring my destruction. I had effectively lightened my load, relieved all stress, and inched ever closer to becoming a full-time mental patient.