Sweet and delicious. I am probably going to weigh 900 pounds.

I have been thinking a lot about desserts lately. That's not to say I don't think about desserts a lot in ordinary circumstances, because I do. Like cake. But this was precipitated by a few other happenings, notably a coupon finding its way into my possession for an entire dollar off of two packages of Pillsbury's version of break and bake cookies. They are so handy, but a little dangerous because there's only so much willpower a person can have. I think I may have eaten an entire package over the past two days. I used to eat like six oreos a day, though, so I think I'm ok. Also, these all go with the drink of the gods, milk, rather well.

I was also thinking about key lime pies again. It's such a great dessert, and I want one. I just don't have any key limes. I even exhausted my supply of conventional limes today. I feel food naked. Key lime pie is undoubtedly the greatest of all pies, and I have been under fire for saying so. Challenges coming from such nonsense as strawberry rhubarb and cherry (you know who you are) make me really wonder if these people could identify a key lime in a lineup. Poppycock, I say! But I guess it's not all their fault, though, because if you do a google image search for key limes, most of the results are not actually key limes. These are key limes.


Aside from its complete and total deliciosity, though, there is more to love about key lime pie. For one thing, it's the state pie of Florida, a state which is probably better than yours. How many other states have state pies? According to wikipedia (if you believe them), two: Vermont and Oklahoma -- apple and pecan, respectively. I only have one word to say about that: lame. Actually, I have nothing against either pie, but apple is pretty ordinary. Also, apparently a state congressman wanted to fine people $100 if they mistakenly labeled a key lime pie as such if it did not, in fact, contain key lime juice. How awesome is that guy? I'll tell you: very. This paragraph has an awful lot of colons, and fortunately, not the gross ones. Here's what you can do: tell me something hilarious or awesome that your state has made official. Like, hopefully, the state pro wrestler of South Carolina is "Nature Boy" Ric Flair. It doesn't have to be factual! Just ask wikipedia!

Stunning realizations

This weekend, I opted to escape my apartment briefly to the mighty Atlanta. I saw mighty because it is bigger than Augusta, they have Fellini's pizza, and word on the street is that they want to steal our water. Those big cityfolk shan't have it! I don't really feel that loyal to Augusta just yet.

But it snowed this weekend. All of you northernfolk are probably saying, "So? It's January." January isn't supposed to work like that down here. It snows like once every two or three years. Guess how many times it snowed this week? If you said twice, give yourself a cookie, because that's how many times it did in the State of Georgia. I'm not particularly ok with that, and if I have to look for an engineering job in the Bahamas to get away from this weather, I guess that may just have to be the price I will pay. Then while watching all those football games where the temperature is smaller than the number of right thinking people in the Spears household, it makes me wonder how people live like that. I feel the same way about winter the same way I do when I look at pictures of mud huts in National Geographic. It's a shame, really.

The bloke in whose apartment I stayed, though, had a rather interesting feature in his bathroom that made me a little uncomfortable: a full length mirror. It's a little unsettling because as I was standing over the toilet, if I looked up BAM there I was. Right in my face. I don't think I'm necessarily a nervous goer (but then again, it's never really come up), but I don't like the idea of a person standing over me as I do. Even if it's me, especially considering the unnatural angle of me having to watch what that other me is doing. What exactly is the purpose of such a tall mirror? Is it for little people? I hope they appreciate it, because it is creeping me out.

It's not boring, really!

I love this time every four years. Primary season for me is like the World Cup for pretty much everyone who is not an American. I'm a bit of a news junkie and a politics nerd, but I don't care. I still think that's less lame than reading Harry Potter, and everybody does that. There's a big one coming up on Saturday, the next state up from me and my old grad school stomping grounds, the Palmetto State. If that doesn't excite the cockles of your heart, then you should go watch soccer, commie.

But really, this is a pretty exciting time. This is a really unique alignment of confusion, and really, the American political process and media is an engine that runs on chaos, similar to the propulsion system in that book by Doug Adams that runs on improbability, so I'm not the only one going nuts. It's also kind of fun to see the look of terror that appears in people's eyes when I start talking about how exciting and unexpected that John Edwards came in second in Iowa, beating Hillary. I'd kind of imagine it's the look that people get when they start to suspect that you might be a werewolf.

This is also pretty important. We are looking at possibilities that we've never had before -- a real shot at having a First Dude instead of a First Lady, someone who's not a WASP or a Kennedy, the guy who should've gotten the nomination in 2000, or possibly a Baptist preacher. Aside from the historical firsts, they each represent pretty serious differences in policy direction, and we have a lot of leeway as to which direction we can choose, particularly in open primary states. The races are still pretty open and probably will be going into Super Tuesday (which I think is the same week as the Super Bowl and Super Thursday, which is super because I'm pretty sure I don't have to go to work on the following Friday). So pay attention, and then leave comments about how smarmy Mitt Romney is. Besides, the guy's name is Mitt.

It also exposes the media pundits who think they know so much screw up with their predictions. It's fun! Remember New Hampshire, guys? Everyone though Obama was going to run away with it, and he didn't! Classic! Also, I am jealous of those pundits.

Name three things

I have gone back on three things that I toyed with before this week, and finally made the plunge. I am not opposed to trying new things, in fact, I rather like doing that. You know the first time I ate cake? I don't remember it, since I was probably like two, but I bet that was pretty freaking awesome. Just think on how much cake I would have missed out on if I didn't have that kind of courage back then. I'm a pretty big fan of cake.

I am also a pretty big fan of milk, as well. Especially with cake. I have been pretty loyal to whole milk for as long as I can remember. It is creamy and delicious. However, I no longer have the metabolism of a jungle cat or a meth addict because I sit in an office for the better part of 9 hours a day. I scaled it back to 2%, and it's still pretty delicious. But it isn't creamy and delicious. It's a little bit watery by comparison, but it still has some of that wonderful, life-giving fat in it. Twice as much as 1%. I won't even begin to discuss skim; it is an abomination.

One of my Christmas gifts was a watch. It's Swiss and fancy, so I imagine it's good. If there are four Swiss things that I trust, they are these: Swiss banks, Swiss chocolate, Swiss Misses, and Swiss watches. I also like Swiss cake rolls, but I'm skeptical that they actually come from Switzerland. I haven't worn a watch in ages (probably since the days of Shark watches -- man, they were so cool), so this has taken some getting used to. We also had a big discussion about which wrist the watch goes one between me and my also left-handed mom. We decided even though she wears it on the right hand, she's doing it wrong.

I also decided it's time to go back to the fusion. My old razor that was three razors was leaving me wanting, and the cartridges were getting hard to find. And I figure life's too short not to use an unnecessarily excessive number of razor blades to perform a morning task that I hate. I also am making pretty good money, so I can afford to spend an extra three dollars on my razor blades and have a face as smooth as a well shaven baby.

So are these steps forward or steps backward? Will I miss that Whole minus 2%? Will I be a changed man now that I always know what time it is? Will I be satisfied with 6 blades? Stay tuned for the next installment of... How Observant.

The guy is everywhere

Sometimes I have to wonder what sorts of people watch infomercials. I don't really have any idea, but it 's really kind of compelling that there is a definable profile, my guess is very lonely people who quietly sit at home in bed at night eating bugles in bed before they turn off all of their appliances with the Clapper. It seems like it must be a definable sort of person because the same guy sells everything, so he must appeal to somebody.

I know you know who he is, you just may not know his name. I think he is most famous for selling OxiClean, but don't fall into the trap of thinking that's all he's good for. Oh no. His wikipedia page is full of all sorts of useless products that this energetic bearded man is trying to convince you that you need. He is, of course, Billy Mays.


Why Billy Mays? What makes his screaming so much more special and marketable than other people screaming? Why would anyone want a picture of him to be autographed? How did he even get that job? Does it pay well? Can he get into posh clubs with his late night cable celebrity? I certainly hope so; I wouldn't want to party at any place that would turn this man down.

I am not a [strong] man

There are some things that I feel like I should be able to do. Some of them are pretty grandiose, like I feel like I should be given an orb and scepter as visible symbols of my awesome. I also wouldn't mind getting paid for this. I have no shame for wanting to sell out. Writing nonsense for a living? I'm pretty sure that's the life that Jesus wants for me. Also, I want some sort of animal or robot to do my laundry for me. Are those things too much to ask for?

Well, not all of them are so dramatic. I think I should also be able to blow a bubble out of gum, but I can't. It's really the secret reason that I don't chew gum anymore. I'd like to be able to tolerate the less interesting, but I'm just not that big of a person, sadly. It's a lot like the attitude that Rudy Giuliani has for Iowa. I just don't see the point.

The thing that I am thinking about, though, is that I would like to be able to release the emergency break of my new car with one hand. I can't; I have to grip the handle with both hands, much like I would imagine Arthur did when he grabbed Excalibur out of the stone,
so I can drive my car after I park it on a hill. I don't really know what sort of exercises I can do with my thumbs in order to make this dream a reality. There really hasn't been anything that makes me feel quite as weak as this. Not the time I was barely able to bench the bar, not the time that couldn't pick up my backpack in high school, and not the time I got beat mercilessly by a class of kindergarten girls in tug of war. My last vehicle was a pickup truck, so I only had to use my feet to engage this break. I miss those days, because I kick like a mule.