Monday, June 1, 2009

Unemployment


When you enter my house through the basement, there is a freezer. On it is one of those mini dry-erase boards that we got years ago from a failing pizzeria. It was free, but the catch was that their logo was prominently displayed smack-dab in the middle of the thing, making it difficult to read any message one might choose to scribble on it.

This board has been clinging to that freezer for a decade now, and while it permanently haunts us with the memory of the now-extinct pizzeria, a seasonally changing message can always be seen on it. My mother adopted it as her way of updating the status of our immediate family or world around us.


Welcome home Chrissy!” it would read during my sister’s college’s winter break.

Merry Christmas 2000!” it said, two thousand years after Jesus was born.

Congratulations Youngman! The world awaits you!

This, after I graduated.

A year ago.

Today, it still says the same damn thing.

Apparently the world has not been holding its breath.

Anyone who has read

Monday, May 11, 2009

Bad Dentistry

Like most Americans, I have always been afraid of the dentist. It is not a vague fear of the entire “experience” of the dentist. I take great care of my teeth, and have never had a cavity. I have had baby teeth pulled. I have had my wisdom teeth taken out (by Dr. Wank, who gave me a shirt that says, “I Got Yanked by Wank.”) I went through all of the orthodontics and have had braces, spacers, retainers, and even that ridiculous night brace. While these experiences were not necessarily pleasant, I still went through them relatively unfazed. My dentist, orthodontist and even Dr. Wank were extremely friendly fellows.

You might be confused as to why I have a fear, or even if it is real. I assure you, it is very real. And it has a name.


Hilga.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Easter Rising


Last year, I didn’t give anything up for Lent. My college didn’t serve meat on Fridays, so I suppose that could be seen as a sacrifice, albeit one that had nothing to do with personal surrender. This year, however, I decided that I really needed to offer up some form of self-sacrifice. That is why I gave up late night fast food.

This might sound like a diminutive forfeiture, but I assure you it was not. I have come to find that online poker is a nine-to-five job, in that the worst players are playing from 9PM until 5AM. Think: Europeans. Think also: Drunk Americans. Because of this, it makes sense that my sleep schedule is somewhat askew. If I go especially deep in a tournament, or if I find myself sitting to the right of a complete donkey in a cash game, I am forced to continue playing, despite my tired eyes. Often, my head will hit the pillow at the same time that my parents’ alarms force them to grumble their way around the house to start their long days at work.

I usually wake up somewhere between one and three in the afternoon, at which point I eat a breakfast of either a bowl of cereal, a pop tart, or a sandwich. My parents, walking in the door after a full day at work, say “Good morning, Sleepy,” apparently in reference to one of the Seven Dwarfs. Around six o’clock, I join my parents for dinner. According to my stomach, however, that meal was called “lunch.” My stomach (whose name, incidentally, is Grumpy) begins getting quite restless around midnight, and the snack food we have around the house is generally not to his liking. Can you blame him? I mean, it is dinnertime for him. So I take the little bugger out for a late night fast food run and that is that.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Pop-Ups


While circumnavigating the world wide web yesterday, I received one of those dreaded pop-up advertisements. This one offered me a glimpse of “young hotties” from my town. This isn’t the first time I have seen advertisements that are zip-code-specific, but nevertheless it is still somewhat disconcerting that they know the general area I live in (from my IP address, I assume). Either way, I didn’t give much thought to the pop-up. I simply took swift notice of the aesthetics of the bikini-clad “young hotties” that definitely did not live in my town, and clicked the X.

And then something happened.

I have found that clicking the X occasionally brings up another pop-up, which in turn leads to another pop-up. But this time was different. An
extremely perplexing alert popped up. I have documented it below.




This alert had really presented a tough dilemma for me. I was quite sure that I wanted to navigate away from the page – that was not the issue. The issue was that queer middle line.

It was so subtly worded. It did not say “IF YOU CLICK “OK” YOU WILL BE TAKEN TO XXX GAY PORN.” Instead, it simply let me know that if I wanted to avoid gay porn, I just had to click “Cancel.” I’ve never really had to avoid gay porn. I mean, it hasn’t jumped out of the woods into the middle of the road

Friday, January 9, 2009

Domain Disaster


I sometimes daydream about going back in time. With the exception of riding a dinosaur, the purpose of my journey almost always has something to do with making money.

Of course, my initial idea is typical: going back andwinning the lottery on a particular day. That, however, usually involves me being on the news, everyone knowing that I am rich, and me losing friends. I would need something that kept me out of the public eye.

Perhaps the simplest idea I have had is spending a day back in the early ’90s and registering websites for all the big name corporations with the plot to sell them at a later date for millions of dollars once the internet boomed like a supernova. Microsoft.com, mcdonalds.com, abc.com, etc. I can picture the faces on the guys at one of the first domain name registrars:

“Looks like Coke decided to join the world wide web,” one bored intern would say as a beep from his computer wakes him from his daydream and notifies him that cocacola.com was just purchased. Subsequently, the same user, this LilYoungmanBrown from Pennsylvania, United States, proceeds to single handedly buy 200 more domains in the period of a few hours.