Facial discrimination

Many men have discovered a talent.

It’s a talent that all the guys pictured below share.

They all have the ability to grow facial hair.

It’s not that these men think they look particularly good with their new beards, mustaches, and sideburns. Rather, they think that since they have the ability to grow beards, they should prove themselves to the world.

It’s as if one day they stopped shaving and then realized, “Wow! I can go on the road with this!”

We’ve all had our find-your-hidden-talent moments. Jerry Seinfeld learned he could tell jokes, so he became a comedian. Albert Einstein found his intelligence surpassing that of others, so he used his talents to better society. Shirley Temple discovered her talent (just being cute), so she was one of the most famous kid actresses of all time. The guys in the pictures have found themselves to be especially talented at growing facial hair. And it is in this post that I commend them for that.

Is it laziness? The unwillingness to shave? Do they like the look? Do they do it to look like others?

Maybe.

But I think it’s just that everybody wants to be good at something. And at growing facial hair, these guys are the best.

The grand prize goes to anyone who can name all the guys in the picture. Partial credit may be awarded.

Pay no attention to the Photoshopping behind the curtain

This picture was taken by a wire service photographer in Beirut. Investigators are still researching to determine whether or not the photo was doctored.

Lia’s Headache Log

The headaches still haven’t gone away.

My doctor recommended I keep a “headache journal,” recording what I did all day on days I get headaches. Maybe, she said, we’ll be able to notice some patterns and determine the cause of my pain.

I thought I’d post my log from a few days ago. Maybe some of you can shed some light on the whole situation.

Lia’s Headache Log
Wednesday, Aug. 16, 2006

7:01 a.m.: I woke up to hammering noises from the construction workers at the house next door. I heard metal banging and crashing, and men shouting in another language. It was a nice wake up to the night, when I barely slept at all due to the heat and stuffiness in my room. I probably got three hours of sleep.

8:00 a.m.: My actual alarm went off. I forgot to lower the volume, though, so “MMMbop” on the radio blasted into my room.

8:07 a.m.: I began to put in my contacts. I got the left one in, but I dropped my right contact on the floor. As I bent down to look for it, the phone rang. I slammed my head on the sink as I rose to answer the phone, with one eye seeing and one eye squinting. It was a telemarketer.

8:30 a.m.: No time for breakfast, and no time to make a lunch—I had to rush out the door. Hey, I ate yesterday, what’s the big deal?

8:35 a.m.: I drove to the local middle school where I help the 6th graders with their band practice. Traffic was heavy, and cars honked all around me. The sun was also painfully bright, and I forgot my sunglasses at home.

9:00 a.m.: I arrived at the school, where I held a sectional with the oboes and cymbals. They were rehearsing for their production of “Stomp.”

10:30 a.m.: I left the middle school to go to my other job, working at a computer all day in a dusty office. I stared at my computer screen, doing repetitive busywork, and thus was too busy to drink water or eat anything.

11:28 a.m.: The person at the cubicle next to me likes to listen to music while he works. Maybe one day he’ll let me borrow his heavy metal head-banging CDs.

1:57 p.m.: The added company on this “Bring Your Dog to Work Day” made the office a lively place to be.

2:10 p.m.: My boss told me I had to finish my project by the end of the day, which stressed me out. I eventually finished it, but I was frustrated and tense the whole time.

6:00 p.m.: On the way home, I stopped to visit my 4- and 6-year-old cousins. They seemed to think my head looked like a drum. They were pretty talented, I have to admit.

7:25 p.m.: I got out of the car and walked up to the front door. Wow, these construction workers really should have secured the bricks on top of the roof better—someone could get hurt.

7:26 p.m.: Ouchhhhh.

7:29 p.m.: I walked into the house and just relaxed and watched TV. But of course, the first thing I see is that clever Head On commercial, you know, the one where they repeat “Apply Directly to Forehead”? It’s so nice of them to not only advertise their product, but to explain to the consumers how to use it.

10:15 p.m.: I realized that I hadn’t eaten all day, so it was snack time. I reached for the peanut butter from the top shelf, but I accidentally knocked down the baking powder and tomato sauce. They came crashing down onto my head.

11:30 p.m.: I stayed up late chatting online. I was having important conversations with eight different friends, so I didn’t move from my seat for a few hours. Finally, I went to bed.

So, that was my day! I have NO idea why I’m getting headaches. I guess this will just have to remain a mystery.

EDIT: I guess I didn’t make this outrageous enough. This isn’t true. I was trying to illustrate all the possible headache-causing agents one can run into in a day. But this did not actually happen. It’s fictional…but hopefully you found it humorous anyway.

This post is all for you, noogie.

In a packet of staff behavior guidelines for counselors at a camp for high school kids, I recently read the following:

    “Prohibited Conduct Includes:

    …Unnecessary physical conduct such as horseplay, ‘noogies,’ or like conduct.”

First of all, it’s a good thing this rule was specifically outlined in the packet—most counselors I know come to camp only for the sole purpose of giving their kids “noogies.”

But reading that, I began to wonder: Why mention the noogie? What about the wedgie? Or the Indian burn?

There are a few words in the English language that are inherently funny, including “pants,” “duck,” and “chicken.” But nothing beats the noogie in humor.

Dictionary.com defines “noogie” as “an aggressive poke or rub with the knuckles on another’s head (etc.) as a gesture of affection or annoyance; also written nugie, nuggie.” It may have been derived from the Yiddish word nudyen, meaning to pester. It also may come from the English word nudge, meaning to push or poke gently.

The English language has hundreds of thousands of words, each with a unique definition to describe a specific aspect of life. But who invented the noogie, and who decided that a small act of rubbing a knuckle on a forehead deserves a name?

I say people don’t take advantage of the word enough. Regardless of whether you choose to deliver noogies or not, the word is definitely underused.

Therefore, I am opening up this blog post as a forum for your thoughts on noogies. Have you ever given one? Have you gotten one? Have you felt the need to noogie the little old man down the block? Do you like the word? Have you gotten in trouble for giving a noogie to one of your campers?

Ready, set, noogie!

The Idiot’s Guide for Looking Stupid…for Dummies

Not all of us know everything.

Many of us would like to learn new things, though, and there are lots of great books out there that can teach us about anything from fishing to FrontPage to making quiches.

But some of these brands of books bother me.

Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. It’s the Idiot’s Guide and the For Dummies books.

There are so many things wrong with those books.

First of all, who buys them? I understand that these books present material in an easy-to-follow manner, but buying these books labels yourself as an “idiot” or a “dummy” for you and for the rest of the world.

Take this one, for example.

If you’re having self-esteem problems, acknowledging that you are an idiot won’t exactly help you.

So you, an Idiot, decide to buy the book. You bring it to the cashier at the bookstore and he looks at you, thinking, “Oh, man. I have to deal with another Idiot today.” You pay with your credit card, and soon the credit card company will know that one of their customers is an official Idiot.

You bring the book home. Maybe you read it, maybe you don’t. You put it on your shelf. Friends come over to visit, and they tour your bookshelf. Instead of seeing impressive leather-bound dictionaries, Chaucer, and the complete works of Shakespeare, they find a guide for Idiots. Maybe you have more than one. Maybe you’re an Idiot and a Dummy.

What do your friends think? “Oh no. I’m in the home of a Dummy. I better get out of here before my IQ drops.”

Okay, fine. You’re not an Idiot. And you’re certainly not a Dummy. You’re just less knowledgeable in a few areas. You’re a Photography Idiot. You’re a Yoga Dummy.

But why broadcast it to the world?

Next time you buy one of those books, maybe purchase this one that I made up, too.

It might look impressive on your coffee table.