An Unusually Serious Post

I try to keep the tone light and jovial around here, albeit with a dash of passive-aggressive obnoxiousness, but for a moment I'd like to address something that I'm pretty passionate about. Although I hesitate to associate my real name with this blog, I feel that for a week I can take the risk because of the potential benefits. You'll know what I mean in a moment.


My mother, easily the strongest person I have ever known, has multiple sclerosis. She was diagnosed my freshman year of college in the fall. After having gotten me through all sorts of obstacles growing up, whether medical, personal, or academic, it always seemed particularly cruel to me that she'd have to face such a major issue on her own when I was barely out the door. I spent a good deal of time being really, really angry about how unjust and crappy that news was for someone who had been so selfless and had spent a good deal of her life helping other people.

Obviously, it hasn't been easy for her, but the past five years have seen her do fairly well in spite of her diagnosis. Her relapses are less frequent now than they were even two years ago at this time. Still, walking more than a few feet is difficult, she can't always drive a car, and she has a very definite limit to how much energy she can expend in one day.

On Saturday, I will be walking in the National MS Society's Lifelines Walk in Easton, MA. My mom will be staffing a refreshment booth and I will be doing the five mile walk in her stead. I'm really proud to be participating for her. It's nice to have such a visible, tangible way to show my support for her and everyone with MS.


That said, I'm making a rather general request for your consideration. If any of you feel inclined to contribute to this cause and would like to support my mom and folks like her by sponsoring me, I would be touched and greatly appreciative. I'm walking with the summer camp and enrichment center where I've worked this year and the past eight summers. Any gift is appreciated, and if you can do five dollars, that's a fantastic gift. You don't need to give a ton; participation is, in itself, generosity.

You can find my personal page here, where you can donate using their secure online system.

I'm really grateful for your consideration and your support, and promise I will go right back to making fun of you, or me, with my next entry.

EDIT (4/6/2009): As the walk has already passed, I have changed the link from my page to the national page for donations. Should you feel inspired to send a gift, you can do so there. Thank you.

Bullshit Entry #2

Sex is a lot like the game of bridge. If you don't have a good partner, you'd better have a good hand.
This post ensures that I have posted more times in March than in February. Quality AND Quantity, bitches.

Bullshit Entry #1

A lady walks into a bar and asks the bartender for a double entendre. So he gave it to her.
With this post, I have officially made as many posts in March as I did in February. Quality control, people.

Adventures in Education, Chapter 2

As many of you know, my career ambition has been to teach English to kids that don't care, preferably at the secondary level, where even less of them think it's cool to read. Fortunately, most people do not question my sanity, and a few have even gone so far as to say I might be good at that, maybe. At any rate, everything was going according to plan until a few days ago when, unprovoked, one of the kindergarten students that I work with handed me this succinct and unsolicited performance review:

That says it all, really. I think my favorite part (which could easily be my least favorite part as well) is that she anticipates my potential objection and preemptively shoots down my rebuttal with a forceful "NO". You can't argue with that, folks. A few short days ago, I really thought I had my life's ambitions in order and my goals clearly laid out before me. Now, with my dreams shattered, I stand before you a broken man, uncertain of finding a fulfilling career path now that Starbucks is downsizing.

My only option now is to remove myself completely from society and go to the woods to live deliberately, as Thoreau did. But I'd blog too. I'm all for occasional isolationism in the name of retaining sanity, but seriously, go without the internets? That's crazy talk.

TV Review: Power Rangers, Season 1!

Sometime between the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles heyday and the advent of Pokemon (a phenomenon I am still glad I missed), kids in the early 90s were taken with the coolest bunch of misfit heroes the world had ever seen! Called to uncover nefarious crimes and fight back against evil masterminds and dangerous villians much, much larger than themeselves, this selfless fivesome overcame the odds against them and delivered a knockout blow to the bad guys every week at 5 (4 central). But enough about Chip and Dale, Rescue Rangers.

There was another kind of Ranger a few channels over on FOX Kids. The Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers (note the hip trendiness of the apostrophe; spelling out 'Morphing' would be so square) were another interesting band of characters dedicated to fighting crime and, if there was time, fitting in a poorly-acted storyline where somebody would learn the value of friendship or teamwork or something. I wasn't listening. I was too busy waiting for the series' meat and potatoes: the sweet costumes and the even sweeter dinosaur robots in the spliced in Japanese TV footage. The rest, as they say, was gravy, but very watered down gravy.

Okay so I'll bring you n00bs up to speed, since I'm assuming you were not a cool seven-year-old in 1993. According to the title sequence, some dopey astronauts were tooling around on the moon and accidentally set free an unimaginably sadistic supervillian bent on taking over Earth. This villian was cold, calculating, callous, cackly, and uh, a chick.

Anyway, her name was Rita and as mentioned before, she decided to conquer Earth, although Earth in this case pretty much pertained only to the very fictional, very colorful Angel Grove High School. There, five teenagers of mixed martial arts experience (emphasis on the 'mixed' part) were very randomly attacked by strange grey dudes and unwittingly summoned by Zordon, a giant head inside of a tube. Once in his command center, Zordon didn't do much to dispel the creepy old guy vibe; instead, he handed out vibrant costumes and golden coins, promising the kids much fame and cool dinosaur toys. Basically, it was the proverbial stranger in a van offering candy, but he had a kooky robot named Alpha 5 who told jokes, so he must be a good guy!

These specially recruited "teenagers with attitude" (which I guess must have a positive connotation in Japan) teamed up to become the Power Rangers. Each had a color, a special weapon, and a dinosaur robot, called a Zord. "Zord" is not a real word, but if it was it would be Japanese for "cheap plastic toy that Santa didn't bring me". In each episode, Rita would concoct a new and somewhat flimsy plan to take over the world. Rather than send in the big guns, Rita and her henchmen ("All bad guy assistants are henchmen" - Action Hero 101) would deploy a serious of escalating attacks, starting with the weak Putty Patrolers. These guys were made of clay and didn't do much except wobble menacingly. Needless to say, the fact that the outnumbered Power Rangers kicked their sorry asses every single time did little to deter Rita from sending more.

At this point, one of the other villians would step up to the plate and fight the Power Rangers themselves. They'd hold off the five Rangers in a dramatic and incredibly staged action sequence, before Rita would make her monster grow. This was accomplished by tossing her magic wand down towards Earth and landing it smack dab in the middle of the battlefield. Integral plot points such as "how did she get it back?" or "damn, she's got a cannon for an arm!" were never discussed. Once her monster was at full size, he would terrorize the small model city until the Power Rangers summoned their Zords. The Zords, which I believe must have been ineffective and docile on their own, combine to make one large Megazord dude that was a ripoff of Transformers. Megazord and MegaVillianGuy smack each other around some until Megazord wins and the world is saved. In the end, we learn that we cannot save the world through diplomacy or understanding, but rather by who brings the biggest nuts to the fight.

The coolest moment of the series came with the introduction of the Green Ranger. He was first an evil Ranger but converted to good because of love or TV ratings or something. The Green Ranger had the best outfit, the best plot lines, the best Zord (a Dragonzord, bitchin'!), and presumably got to do whatever it is boys and girls do together with the Pink Ranger. The TV show jumped the shark early on, however, creating a weak story line to sap the Green Ranger of his powers and forcing him to be reintroduced as the White Ranger. Lame. Even as a kid, I was pretty pissed by this switcharoo and I quickly dropped the show like the two-timing second grade girlfriend that Sally Friedman was.

The series raised a lot of important questions. Why was the Pink Ranger always a girl? Why was the Black Ranger black? Why was the Yellow Ranger an Asian? What level of irony is it when an Asian action series plays into anti-Asian racism? Why don't the Rangers just cut to the Zords part when the Putty Patrolers show up? Why is Zordon in that tube? Does the Blue Ranger bat for the other team (if you know what I mean)? Ditto Alpha 5. Notably, how bangin' was Kimberly the Pink Ranger? Hot damn. I'd go for some morphin' time with her.

All in all, Power Rangers was a fantastic show in that it had plenty of action sequences, spun off lots of toys of which I could afford none, featured a Pink Ranger cute enough that I considered (briefly) the idea that girls maybe, maybe might not have cooties, and taught us absolutely nothing of any value whatsoever.

A High School Sophomore Tries Too Hard On His Secret Crush's Facebook Survey

Letter from the Editor

Hello y'all,

This is Washington Square in New York City.


I will be there all day tomorrow, and as I ponder the massively intimidating immediate future, you can expect the next blog post to be in a few days or so. Grad school decisions in our glorious economy (been a have-not since 1986, yo!) take on an added twist, making the merely unnerving process of selecting a school into a horrifyingly major decision. I want to go back to preschool.

Be well and enjoy the weekend,
DF

An 1847 Potato Farmer Observes the Modern American St. Patrick's Day

A feast day to celebrate the Irish heritage? My heart thrills to hear it! I can think of no higher testament to Saint Padraig than to employ his day as a tribute to the pious and hard working Catholics of Ireland!

But what's this? Grown men and women clad in emerald green... falling over each other, raving drunk! Inebriation and gluttony everywhere! Why? Do you consider the Irish to be heavy drinkers who freely piss on the pavement in public? Have you ever even been to Ireland? We would love to have pavement.

No, the home country is full of hard-working, poor, and hungry farmers like myself and my mothers and fathers before. 'Tis true that God took the potatoes away, but in His mercy we found America, sought work, and started rather large families on the East Coast. We are proud to hail from Ireland and should be, but I do not recognize your interpretation at all!

That young lad over there just dropped a small glass of creme into a pint of Guinness and imbibed it in two seconds flat! What inconsiderate selfishness, and such a waste too! Arthur Guinness did not spend years refining his brewing techniques for you thickheaded Americans to throw additional ingredients into a pint of black and then dispose of it rapidly. Irish Car Bomb, you say? A drink named after the process of exploding one's carriage so as to kill other Irishmen--that's not offensive.

And what of that improper lady, gorging herself on mashed potatoes with corned beef and cabbage? Beef? It's bloody Lent, people. And I find myself at a complete loss for words regarding your curious concept of "leprechauns". I have no idea where that came from, but if that is a slight against our perceived shortness, I refuse to rise to your level. If there was indeed a pot of gold at the end of some Irish rainbow, we'd have shared it by now so we could eat more than one meal a day.

Your great-great-great-uncle was from Kilkenny, you think, so you're understandably proud to be Irish. I think it strange that none of you want to be Irish the rest of the year. In just two days, you'll be wearing red and doing Italian things for Saint Joe's day. Again, as with Saint Padraig's feast, this includes all ethnic celebrations imaginable short of actually going to church.

We should start celebrating the Fourth of July in Ireland, I think. We could all wear red, white, and blue and drink stale beer from cans while donning cowboy hats, eating hot dogs, and heartily calling out things like "Purple Mountains' Majesties!". Makes about as much sense as you plastic paddys writing "Eirinn go Brach" everywhere.

Facebook According to DF, Part 3

Choosing a Boss Profile Picture

Greetings again, social rejects, for another installment of my award-winning* series, dedicated to helping you appear much cooler online than you really are. Hopefully by this point at least a few other Facebook users who must see and interact with you every day have relented to your multiple requests and accepted you as a "friend". If this is your first time joining us, remember that a "friend" is in fact not a friend, but a "friend". If you don't know the difference, why don't you go have a seat at the little kids table? This is a grown-up conversation.

So you've updated your profile with every conceivable interest you could muster, including your favorite movies (Boondock Saints is overrated, sorry dude), books (strikingly similar to everyone's high school curriculum... you have read books since then, right?), TV shows (just copy+paste the following: 24, LOST, The Office), and music (in ABC order, you clearly just copied the list from your iPod). Great work. Also your work experience section lists everything you've ever done, including babysitting and that summer you spent as a CIT. Even greater work. Finally, after listing every possible way to contact you short of smoke signals, you have one remaining task to complete your basic profile page. A bitchin' profile picture.

Okay, before you hastily throw up any old photo of yourself, let's lay down a few ground rules:

1) The photo should be a somewhat recent photo of you. Not your team photo, not Jim Halpert, not President Obama, not Derek Jeter, you.
2) If the photo is of you and several others, no one else should be significantly more attractive than you. This is misleading. I had that problem when i put up a picture of myself and my buddy Sickwater, and suddenly every girl I was knew was asking me about his abs. If this means taking some photos with some ugly people sometimes, well... you should be doing that anyway.
3) Your photo should be big enough to actually be seen. 100x100 pixels is tiny, no matter what the motion of the ocean is.
4) If every one of your profile pictures is a coupley pic of you and your boyfriend/girlfriend, you'd better hope that they marry you. No one else you currently know will.
5) If you look absolutely stunning in your profile picture, people will assume that you untag all the unflattering ones. There is no way around this. You vain thing you.

Okay, so where does that leave us? Use the following completely arbitrary guidelines as signposts along the way to choosing your perfect profile picture.

Humorous, self-deprecating photo? Yes.
Solo cup + peace sign + hair gel? No.
You in a cold weather tourist destination? Yes.
You in a warm weather spring break slopfest? No.
You and unlikely celebrity? Yes.
You and the dorkiest professor you know? Double yes.
Halloween costume? Yes.
High school football photo while in high school? Fine.
High school football photo after high school? No.
A picture of Rudy if you do, in fact, look like Sean Astin? Yes.
Picnik nightmare? No.
Screenshot of you being interviewed by ABC6 News after a machete-wielding man ran through CVS and caused a disturbance of the peace? Gold.
Banana suit? It's been done.
Boobs? Inconclusive, further research needed.

Any unanswered questions can be resolved by reaching me at the following contacts:
Ladies, post any potential pics in the comment section.
Fellas, pick up any phone and dial 0. Ask to be disconnected.

* Recipient of the DeeEff Award for Raddest Fucking Dude Alive (February 2007)
** Hilarity not guaranteed. May be offensive in Texas.

A Well-Thought-Out and Articulate Rebuttal To Those Who Erroneously Claim That My Blog Entries Are Entirely Too Long-winded And Needlessly Verbose

Your mom.