Mid-Month Puzzle: Be the Iguana

I just realized how unbelievably overdue we are for a mid-month puzzle!

Things have been stressful here at wedding planning central, and so for this month's puzzle, I chose a sort of "serenity now" image. Imagine you are this iguana, basking in the sun near the beach on Isla Mujeres, Mexico. You hear the surf pounding onto the shore, then receding in rhythmic tides. There are no clouds, but the sun is not oppressively warm. There is a light ocean breeze. You are full from your lunch and feel the light effects of the margarita you stole from some poor tourist that was only trying to take a picture of you. You smile your tiny little iguana smile, remembering how they jumped. Sighing, you sink into more of an iguana stillness and drift into a trance-like state where you are half asleep, half awake. Life is good, and today is a beautiful day.

Shades of Badness

My fiancee and I just watched "Shades of Darkness."

Before you view the trailer, please, read the reviews here or here. Do rent it on Netflix or, more likely, from your local run down video store in upstate NY, where the movie was filmed. It's definitely worth it. Without further delay, the trailer:


This horror movie, that Jess was actually in (sort of, but not really--she's on the cutting room floor, dressed as not a "zombie," but a "person filled with hate"...but her friends are in it, and so is her dance teacher[as the main character]), was so bad that it was good. By that I mean that I laughed so hard at the special effects and such that it became more like Mystery Science Theatre 3000 (here's an example) than an actual movie of its own merits. I loved it. It brought me back to the reason I started making fun of low-budge horror movies in the first place.

But then, in the haze of a post-laughter sigh, I started thinking: If this movie was actually made, the director/writer/producer/whatever had to have thought it was good. It had to have passed the screen of his family and close friends, who all told him it was wonderful. He had to have still thought it was good (or, at the very least, passable) through the making of the movie and through the special showing at "some random theater in Endicott, NY" (according to my fiancee). Through it all, there were people by his side saying, "yeah man, I'd wanna buy this DVD" and the like.

Such comments make a person actually believe their work is great. Then I wondered -- if for just the briefest of the boxer briefy moments -- if my writing, my book, was actually any good. If I would someday self-publish the novel equivalent of "Shades of Darkness." I shuddered.

Then I looked at the trailer again.

My non-marketable skills

I was just hanging out with some friends, eating a delicious Moosewood recipe pound cake, when I realized I make a lot of sound effects. This was brought to my attention by one of my friends with the 'just observing' statement, "you're always ready with the sound effects." I have always secretly wished that I could market my sound effects skills. I could attend your family gathering, and, as someone asks you to pass the gravy, I could either give the play by play ("the gravy is crossing the middle of the table, and OOP! Aunt Cathy spilled a little!") or I could just add some nice, ambient, interpretive sounds (insert airplane noises or futuristic space zooming noise). Somewhere out there, there is someone who will pay for this. And I'm a top notch sound effects-ian, so I will accept no less than $20/hr. I'm worth it!

Another skill this made me think of that I wish was worth some money: My ability to communicate via nonverbals, such as the nod, the slight head cock, the puzzled look, the look of complete astonishment - I've got them all mastered. In college, my roommate and I would be eating dinner (often I would be eating one of my three rotating dishes- pasta, grilled chicken, or steak- and she would be dining on the disgusting mac and cheese with ketchup. I swear, you can tell a lot about a person by their culinary plans for ketchup... I digress). We'd be eating dinner and she would be telling me about her day or her most recent crew practice or what have you, and I would be interacting with her completely...in nonverbals. The best part? She would understand me! Never did she ask me for clarification on my look of complete outrage or my famous look that signaled, "tell me more about that." There are people that communicate in words that can't guarantee that kind of understanding! Someone out there would purchase this skill. Maybe I could teach a class on it or something. "How to communicate without saying anything in words but by using your face." I like it. $20/hr please. I'm giving you a look right now that says, "fork it over!" in a nice, non-threatening but meaningful kind of way. You'd know this if you took my class.

Box Head

Pretty sure I overheard Jess say to her sister over the phone last night: "Remember when we painted the basement purple?" I've been searching all day for such a memory. It troubles me that I wasn't naughtier. I was an only child, though, so if I had been more disobedient, I wouldn't have been able to blame anyone else. Plus, even if I did remember some mischievous deed of yesteryear, to whom would I turn and say, "remember when?"; my stuffed animals?

So instead, I remembered all the strange little things I used to do to amuse myself (and the occasional others). My favorite one that I conjured up from the past? Box Head. One of my more famous deeds, I would put an empty happy meal box on my head and prance around with a baton announcing that I was Box Head. Supplement your visual with the fact that I would usually only wear my blue Mickey Mouse crew neck sweatshirt, white socks, and underpants. Nope, no pants. You're welcome.

August "Allele Poll" results are in

Ok, let's start with the results that were not in the least bit surprising:

All of you who voted can roll your tongue into a "U" shape. This is the dominant trait, and it's apparently rampant in the population of people who enjoy this blog.

All but one of you who voted have detached ear lobes. This is also the dominant trait. Person with attached ear lobes: I have nothing to say to you.

Half of you have facial dimples and half of you do not. Having facial dimples is the dominant trait, therefore dimply people like myself are better than you non-dimplies.

Now onto the more surprising results:

2 of you are ambidextrous. Really? Can you also write with your feet? Only one of you, in comparison, is left-handed. The rest of you are right-handed, which is the "dominant trait" (though it's since been pointed out that there's a right-handed shift in the population -- which is why you 2 ambidextrous people are probably not actually ambidextrous and only chose that because you were enchanted with my description: ).

Only 3 of you report NOT having a hitchhiker's thumb. The majority of you do have a thumb that curves when you give the thumbs up, but that's the recessive trait. Huh. Maybe that's something that's distinctive about people who enjoy this blog. Maybe I should re-title it the "Hitchhiker's Thumb Blog." Maybe I should try hitchhiking. Why is it called the hitchhiker's thumb, anyway? It's not like if you stick your thumb out like that for prolonged periods of time, like a hitchhiker would, that you will develop such a thumb. Although, if you had a weird thumb like that, maybe it would get the attention of more drivers. They would be more likely to stop for you just to ask you about your bizarre thumb. But that would only really be an evolutionary benefit if like, the entire population had to hitchhike to survive at some point, therefore passing on the weird thumb genes. BUT THEN if the weird hitchhiker thumb was passed on so much that it began to thrive and become the norm, then it wouldn't be weird and drivers would start stopping for people with straight thumbs... should I be concerned that I'm starting to smell burnt toast right now?

And finally, all but three of you CAN SMELL ASPARAGUS PEE!! Why, then, am I faced with so many questioning looks when I say "I hate the smell of asparagus pee!" in mixed company?! If most of you can smell it, then please, next time I mention it, don't look at me like I've said something like, "I went to the hairdresser's and requested a Detroit!" All I ask is that you stand tall.

Oh and in case you're wondering, here's more on asparagus pee (the ability to smell it, the ability to produce it, and why it's probably your genes and a digestive enzyme that are the culprits):

The good news is that asparagus does not affect everyone. Studies conducted on the "asparagus urine" phenomenon (aren't you glad you didn't volunteer!) indicate that roughly 40 to 50 percent of those tested developed the distinctive odor. Surprisingly enough, there is also a segment of the population who cannot smell the sulphurous fumes of asparagus-laced urine. It is believed that both the generation of the odoriferous urine and the ability to smell it are based on genetics. Only those with a certain gene can break down the chemicals inside the asparagus into their smelly components, and only those with the proper gene can smell the results of that chemical breakdown.

Scientists are still not entirely sure which set of chemical compounds contained in asparagus actually cause the smelly pee. The stalks themselves do not acquire a similar odor as they are prepared, so whatever happens most likely happens after ingestion. Experts believe that those with a certain gene produce a digestive enzyme which breaks down the asparagus into various chemical compounds. One of those compounds is called methyl mercaptan, which is the same chemical which gives a skunk its defensive smell. One theory suggests that asparagus breaks down quickly in the body and an enzyme releases methyl mercaptan, which eventually goes through the kidneys and is excreted as a waste product in the urine.

Others suggest that the asparagus smell is created by other chemical compounds called thioesters. There is also a compound called asparagusic acid, which is not surprisingly found primarily in asparagus. If these compounds are broken down and mixed with the genetically-created enzyme, the results could be a strong smelling urine. This smell is actually considered to be good news, since it proves that the asparagus eater's kidneys are functioning as they should.

(Thank you, wisegeek.com)

Put your hands up for Detroit

My most recent Google image search: Detroit hair cut

Back story: Over the weekend of our bridal shower in NY, after things had petered out and it was just me, Jess, and our respective parents, my Dad was addressing the group. We were on the topic of hairstyles, and he was telling us how he went to get his hair cut just the other day. He said he jokingly asked for a "butch," which, after our shower of confused looks, my Dad clarified that this meant a military-esque, flat top sort of do. Crowd: "Ohhhh." Now that we were on board, he decided to continue onto joke #2, which was, "I asked her if she could give me a Detroit, and she didn't even know what it was!" Us: Giggling, but not entirely sure what he was talking about. He wasn't getting the reception that he expected, and asked us if we knew what a Detroit was. We shook our collective head sheepishly. He threw his hands up in astonishment, then proceeded to explain what a Detroit hair cut is.

The inspiration for my search: Apparently, it's a men's haircut wherein the top is cut short and spiked and the sides are left long. Not mullet long, just long enough to slick back. Classy, right? Of course, I had to find a picture of this monstrosity in all its glory.

The result: I was, however, unsuccessful. All searches for this hairstyle (which included Detroit hair, mens Detroit, mens Detroit hair, spiked mullet, slicked spiked hair, etc.) came up surprisingly empty. But that wasn't even the real surprise. The real surprise was the number of times my searches landed me on the Detroit Hair Wars.

Obvious revised search: Detroit Hair Wars

Result:


(from www.hairsite.com)

Annual Detroit Hair Wars July 19, 2009 email hairsite@aol.com for details

This all started in Detroit over 20 years ago. Back in 1985, Hair Wars was started in Detroit nightclubs as a stage show for local hairstylists to showcase their craftsmanship. This idea was conceptualized by DJ David Humphries, aka "Hump The Grinder". Since then, Hair Wars turned into an annual phenomenon in the hair styling industry.

I'm sorry, "aka 'Hump the Grinder'"?

Final search: Duh, "Hump the Grinder"

Result: There are no words...

The Boy and the Rubber Chicken

Three nights ago, Jess and I went out with our friend Erica to the comedy show at the Hong Kong in Cambridge. No, amazingly, we did not have a scorpion bowl and thus did not end the evening passed out in a pool of each other's vomit. On the way there, however, I was mentally preparing myself for that very scenario. Why? Because every time I hear someone talking about their night at the Hong Kong, their story always begins with, "Oh my God I went to the Hong Kong last night," continues with, "and I had a scorpion bowl," and inevitably ends with, "and then I got soooooo sick!" It's as if these scorpion bowls are stronger than one might realize as one is drinking it. Either that or it's the vegetable tempura, that likely side dish accompanying the scorpion bowl. Or they're poisoned. Anyway, I was ready for the Hong Kong and its scorpion bowl challenge, but seeing as we were only three people, it would have been seriously unreasonable for us to order a scorpion bowl. Mind preparation and mix of excitement and dread: All for nothing.

For the most part, the comedy show was pretty funny. There was, however, this one comedian who was really into metal and had based his entire routine on metal references. This was really poorly thought out, as our 1/2 local and 1/2 tourist audience had no idea what he was talking about. Other acts, however, were quite funny. Though no one asked me what I did for a living, like when we went to the Improv Asylum, someone did come on stage and immediately say he was unemployed. I filed away my temporary aspirations to develop my own stand up routine after that.

Anyway, my whole point in bringing up this story was for none of the above information. It was, in fact, to tell you about the little boy and his rubber chicken. While we were walking to the T after the show, Jess and Erica were chatting. I was walking alongside them, not really paying attention to what they were talking about because something had caught my attention. On the side of the road there was a woman yelling, "Get over here and don't you EVER do that again!" By her side was an "I told you so" sister and an embarrassed father. (I'm of course assuming the relationships here, but it seemed all too obvious at the time). A few seconds later, a boy holding something, I couldn't yet make out what, zoomed down the sidewalk and into my view. He seemed excited, nay, exhilarated, and wore a smile so face-consuming that I found myself smiling too, as if we had been in cahoots on his unknown mischievous deed.

As he got closer, I saw what he was holding: A rubber chicken. A true Fozzie style rubber chicken. Wokka wokka! I giggled, and Jess and Erica took a moment to look at me funny.

I saw him approach his mother and his exuberant smile sadly faded as she began to scold him. We passed the scene and continued on to the T, and the boy with the rubber chicken's tongue lashing was soon out of earshot.

I mentally reviewed the scene and had so many questions: What had he done that his mother deemed so terrible that he must never do it again? How had she even seen him do whatever he did when he was so far down the street? Had the sister told on him? Why was he so excited? Did any of this have to do with the rubber chicken?

I hope it had everything to do with the rubber chicken.

I don't know why I told you this story.