What is the best party story ever?

I think everyone loves Jeopardy, whether they freely admit it or not. There is something lovable about Alex Trebek and his feigned sympathy when somebody confuses Hirohito and Akihito. Everybody feels the same way about the inane stories people tell in the middle of the Jeopardy round, mostly how much more interesting we are than the people on the show and their stories about their cats and proposing to their wives at football games. Last week, I drove to Savannah to try out for the chance to tell my inane cat stories to millions of people all over the country, right before or after Wheel of Fortune.

It all started about eight months ago when America’s favorite quiz show put out its annual online online qualifying test. I had been waiting on this moment for a long time; probably since the very first time I heard the category title “Potent Potables.” This would be my time to shine.

Before the 8:00 pm start time, the 50 question exam could he about anything, from Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” to the reign of Tiberius Caesar or this year’s Best Picture winner. I do not remember a lot of the details, and since they kept most of the details hush-hush, they kept my score a secret. It reminded me a lot of “the permanent record” that teachers kept in elementary school. They also tell you that there is an element of randomness involved, I assume to keep your ego in check enough not to go around to your friends and discuss how you knocked the test out of the park. You cannot get on the show with out a little luck. In fact, you cannot even make it past the first cut.

Last month, though, I got word back. After eight months of waiting on pins and needles, I got an e-mail telling me to arrive at a hotel in Savannah. The only warning, the only preparation really, they offered me was to arrive prepared for a written exam, a personality interview, and a mock Jeopardy round. I expected the written exam to be a lot like the online test, and it was, and I had seen enough of the show to kind of know what to expect from a simulated game, but personality interview? What does that even mean? Do they have a personality type in mind? Are they worried I am going to arrive in an oversized hat? It is television, after all, and you never really know what it is they are thinking. They could be thinking something like, “His head will look huge on camera.” Oh they did have one more suggestion that I forgot: have fun!

When I got there, they gave us a little history of the show and explained how the trick is as much about timing as it is about knowing the answers to Alex’s Questions. Or questions to his answers. Or whatever.

The written exam was another 50 questions with eight seconds for each. It was just as tense as it sounds, since the questions about opera are just as hard in Savannah as they are from your couch. After it was over, the discussion was just like the ones that happen after tests in school or a after a poker game: obnoxious. I do not care if you knew who created Daisy Buchanan, this is competition. This is deathmatch. This is Thunderdome.

The next step was the mock game and the personality interview (they happened together). They ask you about your inane cat stories and your job and what you would do with the money. The trick, though, was that they did it at a rapid, television pace to catch the unwitting civilians off guard. Everyone did ok, unfortunately. The herd was not thinned that much at this stage.

They insisted that the mock round would not be “graded,” but I am a little skeptical. I think it was an effort to try to diffuse the nervousness, and every wrong answer was really black mark on our secret Jeopardy permanent record. It is a bit intimidating, there’s a lot to think about: wait for the question to be read completely, think of the right answer, buzz in, answer loud, smile, and please oh please do not forget to answer in the form of a question. This is all while you are standing in front of the other Jeopardy gladiators. One question sticks out in my mind – to which dynasty did Mary, Queen of Scots belong? I knew the answer, and kept saying in my head, “It’s Stuart, do not say Tudor.” Yet, invariably, I buzzed in and said, “What is Tudor?” Wrong. That is a black mark on my Jeopardy record forever, I just know it. I did get other questions right, but Mary, Queen of Scots will haunt my dreams.

They told us that they keep us on file for eighteen months. So, anytime between next week and a year and a half from now, I might get a phone call (hopefully from Alex himself) saying, “Mr. Hathway, we need you in Los Angeles right away.” Then I can start bragging to my friends about how I knocked the Jeopardy tests out of the park, and hopefully, will not fall on my face on television after doing so. Luckily for you guys, though, I do not have any cats.

Best. Campaign. Ever.

Here's another thing that I hate: people in blogs who don't write for a long time and then come back and say, "Oh, I'm sorry I have been away so long! Here's what I did..." That's not what this blog is about, and if you were expecting that, then I'm not sure you'd enjoy this blog anyway. Go read some camwhore's Amazon wishlist. Just assume I was doing pretty much what you were doing, except four or five times more awesome. Yeah. It was that good.

I try to avoid politics here, because I write about that other places and I know that not all four of you like politics. But the next few months are going to be amazing. We just finished the Olympics, where we were beaten in the golds by the evil Chinese, Democratic Convention was this week, Republican is next week, college football opens this weekend (I will be in Atlanta watching Clemson crush the Crimson Tide, by the way, look for me -- you'll know me when you see me), and McCain announced his running mate today. And it's a girl! (I think my little brother has a crush on her.) This makes this race exciting again, and maybe even more accessible to people who care more about Dancing With the Stars. (I'm guessing, I don't watch that show. Although I do think it would fun if Missouri settles their electoral votes by a dance-off. Maine should do a lobster-off. There need to be more competitions ending in -off in my life.)

Joe Biden is a fun pick too, because he's like your crazy old uncle who has opinions on everything and doesn't give a damn about who is listening. I love that in a politician. And an uncle. But most of the excitement on Democrats came when Obama joined this shindig, and that's yesterday's news now. Like bologna. That's right, I don't eat bologna anymore.

I'm pretty sure I've said this here before, but election season is like my World Cup. It comes around every four years, most of the country is really bored when it happens, and I like to wear a cape made from the flag of my favorite team while watching. I can't really intelligently make a soccer analogy, because I don't understand how the game works, but imagine if an extremely exciting game became boring (tough, I know) and then suddenly became the most exciting game ever played. That's what I'm looking at right now. No matter what happens, history will be made, like if a baby led the Lions to a Super Bowl. Can you imagine? The Lions in the Super Bowl?

Sing it loud and sing it proud

People have their favorite songs and places to sing. Most folks say theirs is in the car or shower or even both. I don't get what the deal with the shower is, really. I'm not any more or less likely to sing in the shower than I am anywhere else. Is it a privacy thing? Or are there a lot of waterproof drum kits out there that I don't know about? (I want one.) Don't misunderstand me, I sometimes sing in the shower. I just sing in other places too, like when I'm making dinner or standing in line at the grocery store.

The car makes complete sense, what with the radio and all. There are etiquette questions that arise if you are not alone, though. How loud to sing the chorus of Angel is a Centerfold? How high do you go on I Get Around? That's really an indicator of comfort, isn't it? If you're in the car with someone and he or she is doing his or her very best Axl Rose on Sweet Child o' Mine, then you know there is a definite comfort there. Or this person just doesn't care what you think. Can you blame them? I don't either. (That's not true, I need your approval. Why else would I be writing this on the internet? Please don't go.)

One of the problems I run into, though, is the gender of the singer. What's your favorite Rolling Stones song? Mine is Beast of Burden. (If you chose Can't Always Get What You Want, you're close. If you said Satisfaction, you need to listen to more Rolling Stones.) Like most Stones songs, this one is about Mick Jagger trying to convince a girl to have sex with him. I saw Cobie Caillat at a concert (no, it's not what you're thinking -- I was there to see Hootie and the Blowfish) and she did a cover and changed the words to be gender appropriate. Bette Midler has a cover (surprisingly good, too) and I think she did, too. When you hear a song you like by a woman singer, do you change the words, or do you just go with it?

I found myself in this predicament when I heard The Tide is High by Blondie, when Debbie Harry says she's not the kind of girl who gives up just like that. I realized that I do it about half the time, because I am both self-conscious and lazy. It's probably a bigger problem for the ladies, since there are a lot of guy singers out there. What do you do about this?

Inline outline leave me alone

You know what I miss? Aside from Crystal Pepsi, I mean. Then again, my tastes have probably changed since then. I remember liking Wild Cherry Pepsi a lot, but I bought a 12 pack for a poker game and I don't think I like it quite as much. It might be because I have been drinking a lot more cherry flavored sodas lately, like Cheerwine (one of the glorious discoveries I made in Clemson) and IBC Black Cherry (2/$5 at Kroger!), both of which are like Naomi and Wynonna compared to Ashely, except in reverse. I hope that wouldn't be true of Crystal Pepsi.

That's not what I meant to get started on, though. I miss Roman numerals. I think they are a classier way of counting, and identifying things, numerically speaking. I know that Arabic numerals revolutionized math, what their zero and all, but why do we write Thurston Howell III and not Thurston Howell 3? Class, that's why. Also, crossword puzzles.

Think of all the things that Roman numerals are used for: fancy watches - classy. Kings and queens - classy. Super Bowl - classy. Sort of. Outlines - actually, this one isn't as easy to see. To be honest, it took me a long time to really understand how outlines were supposed to work when I was first exposed to them. I know you are probably thinking, "Wow. And you went to grad school?" My explanation is this: shut up. Taking notes was a little foreign to me, and organizing things in a number-letter-number-etc hierarchy just didn't click, like the 2nd and 3rd Matrix movies. I grew out of it, though, I think. Let's see if that's true.

I. Good Actors
A. Actors
1. Anthony Hopkins
2. Paul Newman
a. The Verdict
b. Sells food with proceeds to charity!
i. Like salad dressing and spaghetti sauces
ii. Don't forget limeade!
3. Keanu Reeves
a. Just kidding.
b. Or am I?
B. Actresses
1. Amy Adams
a. I love her
b. I could be a driver
2. Zhang Ziyi
a. I'm not sure if it's Zhang Ziyi or Ziyi Zhang. It's the opposite here than in China
b. That hair stick scene in Rush Hour 2 is amazing
3. Meryl Streep
a. I hear she's pretty good
b. I saw a preview for Mamma Mia last night in Batman and that song is infectious
c. Death Becomes her
i. Totally underrated.
ii. She shoots Goldie Hawn with a shotgun!
II. Evil Actors
A. Actors
1. Mel Gibson
a. Racists are evil
b. Or was that Australians?
2. Russell Crowe
3. Keanu Reeves
a. Just kidding.
b. Or am I?
B. Actresses
1. Angelina Jolie
a. I think Brad made the wrong choice
b. She's crazy
i. Remember that thing with her brother at the Oscars?
ii. And her kids' names?
iii. And Billy Bob Thornton!?!
a) Vial of blood
b) Tattoos
c) Billy Bob Thornton!?!
2. Rosie O'Donnell
a. Does she even count anymore
b. I liked A League of Their Own
3. Winona Ryder
a. Shoplifting is illegal
b. Day-O

That's right, isn't it? And you what the best part of it is? Of course you do; you're smart. It's the Roman numerals! So everyone, go watch a sequel featuring Amy Adams.

As some of you loyal readers know, I watch Law & Order from time to time. Over the weekend, I spent some time in the Homeland, and my parents watch L&O way more than I do. So I caught an episode or 8. It's hard to deny the entertainment value of Jerry Orbach's quips, but the thing that does it for me is the lawyer part. There is the pre-packaged, disposable hour serving size of television aspect that does make the whole experience interesting, but I think the real appeal is the awesome jargon that lawyers get to use. And, according to L&O, lawyers use it all the time. I hope I never have to sit for jury duty or get arrested for murder (and inevitably plea reject a deal where they offer Man 2) and have this vision dispelled. Dun dun.

I guess I should clarify that judges get some of the best ones, but they're lawyers, too, sort of, right? They go to law school and everything! I will point out a few of the highlights, a few of which I try to use in everyday parlance, although I have to wonder how often people understand what it is that I'm getting at with all this.

1. I'll allow it. This is what judges say when Sam Waterston, the reason you watch the show, tries to do something that in real life would be a gross government overreach, but is great because he's trying to get the bad guy. This is unquestionably my favorite of all legalisms.
2. Withdrawn. This one comes from the trial attorneys, not the judge. It's when one of them asks a question that is clearly illegal, but used to manipulate the jury. The judge always instructs the members of the jury to disregard, but really, how easy it to disregard something like, "So, it was the first and third child that you smuggled into tend your rose bushes that you didn't beat with a hose, but not the second?" It's a way to just surrender, and move on. How convenient would that be?
3. Objection! Probably the most versatile, anytime you disagree, you can just throw this one out. "I did not steal your waffles." "Objection! Those are clearly my waffles."
4. Overruled. You're wrong. Simply put. One word, can't beat that sort of efficiency.
5. Chambers! Sam likes to yell this one too, and it always seems so forced. I don't really know what sort of practical application it would have, unless you are demanding a romantic rendezvous. That's also pretty direct and would be efficient, if it worked.

And this didn't even begin to discuss the Latin. Habeas Corpus? Latin for "That you have the body." I think you can imagine a few contexts where that would be handy while chatting. I'd consider going to law school just for the lingo. What do we get? A mathematical definition of "work"? Objection.

Graphs Aplenty: DOES NOT COMPUTE

This one is easily my favorite Graphs Aplenty so far. Venn Diagrams are almost inherently funny, but when paired with a dystopian future joke, that is a recipe for success every time. Come for the math, stay for the dystopian futures, guys! I miss the days I used to write about going to the bathroom.



This one is pretty self-explanatory, my favorite part is that our future oppressors will not only speak to us in a hybrid of the two most widely spoken languages in the United States now, but also a 30 year old programming language. So when the robots take over, programming technology will not have changed since you computer science 101 as a freshman in college. Although, to be fair, my roommate studied biology, which I'm not even sure uses computers.

Interesting side note: as a mechanical engineer, I would only be able to satisfy A and B of the diagram above. I never learned to program in C++. I know you are probably thinking, "How embarrassing!" Well, I speak Spanish and a little Irish and you're reading my blog, so I don't need your sass.

Interesting side note 2: my roommate is all grown up. He started his own blog! Go read it, the three of you who are still out there. And post comments! Comments are how we measure our self-esteem, like the way women do with their weight. Except more is better for us.

What is left?

Every left-handed writer, especially those who [try to] write humor, has written this column. The world is conspiring against us with awkward tools that we can use to kill ourselves, like right handed scissors or chainsaws. They are right, you know. It is probably the reason there are so few of us around. They do tell us (other left-handed people, that is) that there are more left-handed geniuses, per capita, than right-handed ones. I believe it, because we have to be smarter, on account of all the deadly instruments. Natural selection, really.

There are a lot of other things out there, too, that are designed for the less sinister of us. (Sinister is the Latin word for left [dexter is right]. Isn't that wild? The Romans thought we were evil! I assure you that we are not. Or is that just the sort of thing that an evil person would say to deceive the masses?) A lot of them are things you don't really think about. My friend has been complaining (a lot) that the whammy bar on his Xbox 360 Guitar Hero Les Paul is not suited for left-handed rocking out (I only have the Rock Band Stratocaster). Who would have thought that Guitar Hero would discriminate?

The thing that set me off on this (most recently) is my coffee mug. It is a Rose-Hulman mug that I got for free that proclaims our greatness via US News and World Report (we're #1!) vintage 2003. If I want to show that proclamation to the world, I have to hold it with my left-hand, meaning that I cannot write while I drink my crappy hot tea. Why else would I have a mug with a message that bragadocious, if not to show it off to the world? Actually, now that I think about it, if I have to use my left hand, does that make it left-handed? I'm so confused now.

Just like I was when trying to figure out on which hand to wear my watch around Christmas time. Pants are also right-handed. Left-hand drive cars are right-handed. Most desks are right-handed, so much so that the first time I found a left-handed desk in a classroom I got really excited and was determined to sit in it, regardless of where it was in the classroom. So I did, even though it was stacked on top of three other desks.

I am the only person I know who puts my mouse on the left side of the computer. You can always tell where I sat in the computer lab, and people will freak out if I don't put it back. I'm sorry to disrupt your apple cart, Mr. Right-hander, but welcome to our world, but it's all part of our sinister plan. I mean, there is no plan.

I'll say "Go Tigers" instead of "Go Eagles," but I think he'd understand

One of my very good friends plays the saxophone. He was a pretty big deal in high school with it, and because of it, he influenced me a little to try to get into jazz. It worked a little; I saw Wynton Marsalis once, and he was good, but the "date" was less than ideal. But he loves Michael Brecker. Apparently, Brecker is one of the best saxophonists ever. I don't really know a lot about jazz, so I have to take his word for it. When you really get into a hobby like that, you really kind of get to know who the people worthy of admiration of in the field.

My hobby is writing and politics and journalism. Even though it isn't really as exciting or sexy as jazz music, there are still those people, those giants in my field, too, and you might look at those giants the way I look at those in the jazz pantheon: you can recognize that they are good, but really, the distinctions of their styles might be lost if you have never written a political commentary or tried to get information out of a person in a way that other people would want to read it.

Tim Russert died today. He was the biggest of the giants. He was Michael Jordan. He was Wayne Gretzky. He was Michael Brecker. I didn't decide to write because of him or start to like politics because of him. But I liked politics better because of him. I liked journalism better because of him. Not only that, but he made those things better, too. He made America better. Remember that time when John Stewart appeared on Crossfire to criticize the show about their failing the media and the country? Tim Russert was doing it right.

He had one of the five best jobs in the world, and he loved it. He loved holding powerful men and women accountable, and we got to see it at least once a week. When you see an actor, or an athlete, or a musician, having fun with their role, we can tell. Tim Russert was doing that. He was having fun, he was excited to be in the media, and whatever you feel about politics, you can't sit through an episode of Meet The Press and not see that. You just can't.

Interestingly, too, during Meet the Press, we did actually get to meet him. We saw how important his family, his faith, his hometown and his country were to him. He wrote a book about his dad, rather than one about his career, as impressive as it was. There was no doubt about his Catholicism, his loyalty to Buffalo, and his love of the American process. We got to see all that, we got to hear about Big Russ, his son Luke, his love of sports, and it was never imposing. He was the kind of guy who would be just as happy to talk about the NFL or baseball as he was the upcoming election (well, maybe not just as happy), and would probably know more about both than you. But you'd still leave the conversation smiling.

I TiVo Meet The Press. I get excited about watching his show on Saturdays (I know, I'm a nerd). There is a gaping wound in American journalism today. Even though I am only an amateur in this field, he was the best we had. He was 58, died at work of a heart attack. He was just one of those people who seemed to understand life so well, had his priorities in order, and had managed to keep all that in tact after achieving the summit of his profession. This is one of those times that the country has lost as much as his family has. While I won't forget them in my prayers tonight, the rest of us need it too. While I can't bring myself to say "Go Eagles," I can say "Go Sabres!" I think he'd get it, though.

Stealing Bad Commercials

Have you guys seen the Pizza Hut commercial where they all go in and eat some fancy looking pasta, and, oh my gosh, the chef comes in and says that it's really Pizza Hut? You know, this advertising masterpiece? Everybody there gets a good chuckle, and one even says something like, "I like it better now" at the end.

You know, if it were me, I would be pretty darned pissed (that is, assuming that this isn't completely staged, which it clearly is) if I took my date out for Italian (although, it would probably have to be at least like a fifth date, because I don't like girls to see me eat noodles too early in a relationship. I'm messier than I am happy with being) and it turned out that it was really Pizza Hut, I would demand a refund. If I were at a seafood restaurant and Captain D came out and said, "Hey guys, it's fast food!" Engineer Sighted would have to have a mutiny on the Captain's ship. Although I could probably figure out that something was up. Unless it was a Northern, cold-water or freshwater fish, of which I am woefully ignorant.

This is not a good commercial. What makes this even weirder is that Hardee's ripped it off almost exactly. Don't believe me? Check this out, fools. The only difference is they are only trying to hoodwink one person, rather than the entire restaurant. That's laziness. If I'm tricking people in a restaurant, I am going for complete deception. Sometimes I tell the hostess that my name is Roger McDormand. (My name is not Roger McDormand.) And you know what? They never figured it out. If there is a person in there who is on to my game, then I have failed. And that's what I have to say about Hardee's. Failure. McDormand, party of 2, your table is ready.

All hail my feet

Isn't it weird how different some surfaces that you walk on every day feel on bare feet? Like how completely different your car accelerator feels? I heard somewhere that it was illegal to drive with bare feet, but I kind of like it. I like to live on the edge. Someday, you may see a "Wanted" poster featuring Engineer Sighted, for driving barefoot. I will be the second celebrity to have the nickname "Shoeless."

I was in a rather long car ride today, and I found myself taking off my shoes, because as I am pretty sure I have mentioned this before repeatedly, but I hate wearing shoes. I prefer flip flops, and even then, it's iffy. The floor mats of the automobile in which I was riding was one of those new/old surfaces. They felt kind of fun. I, fortunately, got to avoid wearing shoes for most of the weekend because I managed to return to my homeland, Florida. We shy away from shoes down there in the same way that Britney does underwear. Beaches and sand are not conducive to shoes, you see. Sand gets pretty much in everything, and the fewer crevices, the better. That might be good advice all the time.

I decided to make take this trip because a week and a half ago my car got smashed by hail. It was like that scene in the iconic Apple commercial. They were like tennis balls falling from the sky. There is nothing good that comes from things that are colder than 65 degrees Fahrenheit, unless it comes in a glass. I had no car or way to get to work, so why not go to the beach? I thought so too. It was awesome. If I were here, I would have to wear all kinds of shoes.

But I'm back now. It's going to be a pretty hellacious transition, though, and I can't say that is going to be an enjoyable time. It's rather early and I am already ready to crash. I apologize for the "already ready" construction; I hate that almost as much as I do shoes. But right now, my bare feet are on the surface of my couch, and it's a nice feeling, so it is alleviating my concerns as I write this. I suggest you try it.