All Hallow This!

October 13, 2011 - Day 13 of the Five Dollar Foot Long Epidemic. The zombies (customers, for those who don't understand subtlety) just keep coming. They crave cheap food and they won't be satisfied until they get it. Their numbers grow larger every day. They have begun to multiply and mutate. I have identified some of these infected (as plagiarized from Left 4 Dead);

1) The Tank - Generally physically fit (or at least not obese) zombies who buy into Subway's "health food" facade. They opt for "healthy" sandwiches. They fool themselves into thinking that they're eating well, when any uninfected person would be a bit skeptical after seeing my chubby butt is the one serving them.

2) The Boomer - A bloated zombie who doesn't kid himself/herself with the "health food" nonsense. They want the Chicken Bacon Ranch, and they want it with extra ranch. The term "boomer" comes from the fact that they eat until they explode, and somehow inevitably end up attracting more zombies.

3) The Hunter - An agile zombie that pounces and seizes the opportunity to buy five dollar foot longs by buying them in bulk.

4) The Witch - A passive zombie that will become aggressive and start screaming when you make a simple mistake on their sandwich or leave them waiting for too long or if you're out of Italian Herbs and Cheese bread.

Honestly, it seems appropriate that Five Dollar Foot Long Month should land on an October. As the children anticipate going door-to-door asking people for free candy, so the adults among them anticipate harassing the local Subway.

I am not a big fan of Halloween, myself. I hold no grudge against candy (clearly not), but I don't like it any more on Halloween than I do any other day of the year. And I can certainly appreciate the creativity some people put into it. I know of a married couple who have come up with some very clever costumes. One year she was Michael Jackson (albeit a very pretty one) and he was a 12-year old boy (this was before Jacko died, so it wasn't untimely). The next year he went as Barack Obama (in full blackface) and she went as Sarah Palin. One of my brothers and his wife went as a Ghostbuster and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man respectively. You see, I like that. That's creative. But for most people, it's just an excuse to dress up as whores. I don't think they make non-skanky women's costumes anymore. Sexy pirates, sexy nurses, sexy angels - hell, I wouldn't be surprised to find out they have a sexy Amish girl costume available. I don't want to sound like a prude, it's just that I find inventive costumes more impressive than themed prostitute outfits. Besides, like candy, I don't like pretty girls any more on Halloween than I do any other time of year. And then there are the teenagers who go Trick-or-Treating, most of them dressed as slack-off losers (i.e. themselves). Don't you guys realize you're literally taking candy from children? Don't you have some underage drinking to do?

(I only wish I could pull something as scary as this off*)

Halloween, or "All-Hallow's-Eve," originates from the ancient Roman holiday of Parentalia, which is held in honor of deceased relatives and ancestors, and the Celtic harvest festival of Samhain. Dead people and harvesting foods, mixed with a little modern commercialism. This sounds great for marketing! Even with the condescending, often puritanical theology dictating our country, nobody embraces paganism quite like America. I'm looking at you, Christmas! But that's another story for another day...

(prepare yourselves)

*If Mike Tyson ever happens to read this (no matter how unlikely that may be), allow me to say I was only kidding. You are a boxing legend and you seem like a pretty cool guy. Please don't hurt me.

If You're Working Right, It'll Be Like You're Not Even Working at All

Throughout my years in the K-12 public schooling program, people used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and the the answer was always the same; I don't know. And as I've gotten older, wiser, and more mature, my answer has become even more blunt; "I doubt I'm going to grow up any more."

There are basically to trains of thought; do what you love and do what is practical. It is my goal today to disprove both of them.

If I were to do what I loved for a living, I would be;

1) a political cartoonist/political commentator

2) a radio show host/talk show host

3) a writer

4) a film critic

5) a dinosaur

I know what you're thinking; "But, jinkies, Scoob, that doesn't sound too bad!" Maybe not, but I'm not sure how to go about doing any of that. Not everyone can be a Thomas Nast or a Johnny Carson or a Michael Crichton or a Roger Ebert. And I would probably make a better dinosaur than any of the other things on that list. I already kind of resemble Earl Sinclair.

If I were to do what was practical, well, let's just say college would still be an option. But seeing how it's not currently an option, I have a hard time seeing practicality in anything. I could stay at Subway, but that hardly seems practical. And therein lies the issue. Not everybody is going to be rich and successful. Some of us are going to be the guys who make burgers or shine shoes for the rich. There's no shame in that; it's necessary in capitalism. But I don't believe I'm destined to be a burger flipper, partially because I don't believe in destiny, but mostly because I would never be content at a Jack in the Box or a Del Taco (unless I owned it).

The simple truth is you gotta do what you gotta do, regardless of practicality or enjoyment. Do you think the guy who scrubs up whale vomit at Seaworld for minimum wage enjoys what he does? Some of them probably do (I sure don't want to meet that guy), but most of them probably don't. But unless you inherit it from a dying relative, you're never going to become the head whale vomit-cleaner without working your way to the top from the bottom. Most successful comedians start out working small clubs for about $20 and free beer (if that). Mike Tyson was once just a troubled youth from Brooklyn before achieving success as a boxer (albeit controversial) and later as the best part of The Hangover.

Do what you will, and you will make do.

I Am Hater, Hear Me Hate

This may surprise you, but I'm not big "people person." What may surprise you even more is I'm pretty good with people (a trait I picked up in part at Subway, where sometimes the only way to keep yourself from killing the customer is putting yourself at their level). I really consider myself part of any given group of "people." I hardly even consider myself a "person." Humanity frustrates me. But it also intrigues me. As such, I've observed them. I observe and analyze people (perhaps the one thing I'm better at than feigning intelligence). That's why I call myself "The Random Examiner." I study habits and patterns within communities and individuals. Think of me as an amateur anthropologist. I think humanity is doomed to repeat itself, resulting in gradual devolution. However, I also believe that people are technically good, regardless of their own unique selfish ways.

So, to reiterate; I'm an observant misanthrope. I may not understand everything, but I hold strong opinions about life as I see it. And I usually get along pretty well with most people, in spite of being me. However, there are three groups of people that truly annoy me. Maybe I'm the bad guy here, maybe I just don't understand, but hey - haters gonna hate.

Hipsters

style: lensless glasses, ironic T-shirts (some of which I admit to owning), sweaters, stuff they bought at a thrift store

musical preference: crappy indie music, i.e. "____ before they got famous" (although they can also "ironically" like other, more "mainstream" music)

activities: sulking around, drinking coffee (Starbucks used to be a big hipster hangout, but I recently saw a hipster mug that says "Friends don't let friends drink corporate coffee." I guess Starbucks got too "mainstream"), talking about bands that used to be good until they got popular

Bros

style: fauxhawks, wings/flippies, backwards-sideways-or-off-kilter hats, pre-torn jeans

musical preference: Nickelback, Jack Johnson, radio-friendly hip hop, and the stuff hipsters used to listen to (before it went mainstream)

activities: watching Family Guy, listening to Dane Cook, sports (regardless of whether or not they have any emotional connections to the teams playing, bros will cheer wildly when a team scores another point), pretending they are black (so that they can use the "N" word without all that white guilt)

Juggalos

style: "hatchet man" logos, clown face paint

musical preference: Insane Clown Posse, Vanilla Ice (non-ironically), Tech N9ne, other Psychopathic Records artists

activities: I admit I know very little about juggalos. All I know is they're incredibly passionate about the music they listen to. I guess that's what annoys me; the fact that I don't anything about them beyond the music they listen to (and they drink Faygo soda, although I'm not sure if this is supposed to be ironic). All I know is I'm not crazy about Insane Clown Posse.

Poseurs

style: varies

musical preference: whatever they're not listening to

activities: pretending to be someone else. The point is (cue piano), don't be who other people want you to be. Be who you want to be. Otherwise, you're just a desperate douche bag. And now you know. And knowing is half the battle!

My Life as a Walking Series of Awkward Situations

I love writing. I like blogging. I like to think I do it well. But the truth is, I sound much smarter on paper than I do in real life. That's because I can pick and choose what I write. In life, I have no such filter. I have a disturbing tendency to say what I think. Plus, I'm rather large (a big, burly 6'4", and a hefty one at that). On top of that, my motor skills are limited. This makes me quite awkward.

(no, this isn't me. I make this guy look cool)

Realistically, I could list awkward moments starting from my birth to five minutes ago, but my memory doesn't serve me quite that well. So I will just tell you about a few of the most recent standouts.

Situation #1 - Waist-High in Whatsit

I served a Mormon mission in Brazil, where I spent most my time in the northernmost states of Pará and Amapá, an area where the sewage system runs above ground (I can't speak for the rest of the country, I honestly don't know). In northern Brazil, it also rains almost every day. There are two seasons in northern Brazil; summer (which is very hot and rainy) and winter (which is very rainy and hot). One day, after a particularly rainy lunch, my companion and I were walking some sisters home from lunch. We were used to jumping puddles, but today there were full ponds of poo to cross. When we came to a certain, large puddle, one of the sisters sarcastically suggested I "step on that white rock." The said "rock" was actually a piece of styrofoam, and I knew that. But I thought there was something to support it beneath it. So I stepped on it and immediately fell into filthy rainwater and human excrement. Feces.

I walked to our apartment cussing under my breath, whereupon I threw away my pants and shirt, left my shoes out to dry, and took a long shower. I was in no mood to preach. What's important to note, however, is that my companion and I were teaching a nice family, and we had an appointment set up with them for that evening. As nice as this family was, they had their grandmother living with them, and she hated us. This isn't all that rare an occurence, but she downright loathed us. We're talking Westboro Baptist-style hate. She'd already doused us in a couple of liquids (milk and this liquid vitamin that tasted like combination of urine and butterscotch) and even pulled a knife on us. So as much as she hated us, I hated her.

After much persuasion, my companion and I nervously went to go teach. And true to form, after about 2 minutes, she doused us in ear medication, getting some in my eye. I got up and walked out, screaming obscenities. I may have overreacted, but to be fair, I had just fallen into human waste. After a minute of coaxing, my companion (ever loyal and the voice of reason) got me to settle down enough to finish the lesson, under the condition that he would do the talking and hurry it along. After the lesson, I told him we were done for the day. He obliged.

Situation #2 - Suppose it's a Suppository

Another mission story. Fast forward toward the end of my mission. I was within a month of going home. I had been plagued with illness from the beginning, but I had made it this far, and I was doing pretty good, all things considered. Until I noticed blood in the toilet. Note: I am not a woman. It is important to note this, as it ties into the story later. So, considering I wasn't on my period, and considering my diet was high fiber (rice and beans every day for the past two years), I called the doctor to see why there was blood in my stool. He said it may be an ulcer, and gave me the name of a medication to buy at the pharmacy. He gave me the specific name, and I wrote it down carefully. He warned me, however, that it was a suppository. So going into the pharmacy, I was already not very enthused.

After I made my purchase, I returned home, opened the package, and... it was in a tube. What kind of suppository was this supposed to be? I exchanged confused looks with my companion who said, "I'm not going to help you apply it, dude." I imagined sticking a tube up my rectum, and said "I don't want your help!" and called the doctor back. I regaled him with what had just happened. After a thoughtful pause, he said, "It sounds as though they sold you vaginal cream."

Now I was truly angry. I called my mission president and the first thing I said was, "President, I'm gonna ask you something, and I want you to be honest. Do I look like I have a vagina?" After a brief explanation, president was laughing at my misfortune. In a final interview before I left Brazil, he told me "Elder Orgill, I know you've been through a lot, but I just want to let you know... I've really enjoyed it." And he laughed his contagious laugh.

Situation #3 - Dark Times

As I've mentioned, I work at Subway. And I like to think I'm a pretty decent Sandwich Artist. But I'm just as awkward at work as I am anywhere else.

I was closing with a certain coworker one night. We share a similar sense of humor, which makes it so much more enjoyable. We talk about things as complex as relationships or as simple as The Dark Crystal. She's fun to work with.

On this particular night, we were discussing out mutual love of Dave Chappelle, especially his too-short-lived Chappelle's Show. We were quoting the famous "Charlie Murphy Hollywood Stories: Rick James" sketch back and forth. She had suddenly stopped talking when I yelled "Darkness!" (Rick James' nickname for Charlie). I turned around and saw a small group of black women entering the store. Dammit. I don't know whether or not they heard us, as they were very nice and fun to talk to, but it felt incredibly uncomfortable all the same. I mean, what are the chances? Black people in Utah?

Situation #4 - Sometimes I Can Be Retarded

Did that last Subway story make you cringe in discomfort? Wait till you hear this one.

One day, we had just finished serving some young men with Downs Syndrome, accompanied by a caregiver. I was working on making a sandwich for another young man, and had just finished making my third or fourth mistake when I yelled "I'm so retarded!" I instantly realized what I had done, and was met by a sour look from the caregiver sitting in the corner.

I went back to the fridge, presumably to catch my cool (actually, to sob as I ate my stockpile of meatball subs). I felt bad, but when I use a word like "retarded," I don't use it to refer to the disabled or handicapped. It's the same way I use the word "gay" to describe something unfortunate or unseemly or somehow otherwise regrettable. I mean no offense to my homosexual friends by it, and they know it. But for some crazy reason, "retarded" is taboo. And that's just retarded.

Situation #5 - Thpeech Pathology

The following is a Facebook exchange, posted on a friend's wall, for the world to see;

Friend's wife: Love you.
Friend's sister-in-law: No "I"?
Friend's wife: No, no "I"
Me: What she meant to say was "Brent love you." And that's just bad grammar.
Friend's wife: My mom's a speech pathologist, I'm allowed to have bad grammar as long as my mom's not around.
Me: Yeah, and thpeak with a lithp, haha. My thithter'th a thpeech pathologitht, too.
Friend's sister-in-law: Her sister has a lisp.
Friend's wife: My sister has a lisp.
Friend's wife: Speak of the devil.
Me: ... Well, don't I just feel like a giant douche. I'm going to go into hiding for awhile.

Really? This one seems very ironic. I mean, a speech pathologist that has a daughter with a lisp is kind of like a firefighter having a kid that's a pyromaniac.

I assure you, this post could go on for days. But I'm done embarrassing myself today. I'm going to go to the basement and weep into my pillow for a while.

Intelligence for Dummies

In 1991, Dan Gookin wrote an instructional book called DOS for Dummies, and ever since, many other titles added to the For Dummies catalog, ranging from crosswords to chess to Norwegian cuisine (that last one may not exist, but it probably will someday. There's gotta be some idiot who wants to learn how to make lutefisk). I myself have one about screenwriting that I have yet to read. Of course, by "dummies," they mean the general American public. But somehow, Obscure French Films for the General American Public just doesn't have the same ring to it. Each book features a triangular-headed little dummy that looks like this:

But that doesn't seem like a very accurate picture of the typical American, now does it? I believe these guys better represent Americans:

(they do wobble, but they don't fall down)

As many of these that have been supposedly written for stupid people, I find it hard to believe no one's wrote one on intelligence, or at least feigning intelligence. If there's one thing I know, it's how feign intelligence. The following is a guide for you, my fellow Americans.

First things first. If you want to seem smart, there are a couple of things you must not do to appear less stupid. You must;

a) avoid wearing anything with the Hatchet Man or anything associated with Psychopathic Records on it. With all due respect to juggalos (and I say this from the outside looking in, so maybe I just don't get it), if you really want to look smarter, please avoid this. It just comes across as tacky. It's like wearing a pot leaf symbol to a job interview. If you have any hats or clothing with the Hatchet Man on it, gather them up and burn them immediately. If you have a tattoo, the same rule applies.

b) stop watching Dane Cook. He takes potentially funny material and makes it less funny. Consequently, if you have any potential for intelligence, watching his act will greatly decrease any likelihood of you ever developing any intellect or a winning personality. Then again, if you listen to Dane Cook to begin with, the only thing you probably read anyway is the back of cereal boxes.

Now that we've determined what to avoid doing, here are a few things you can do to fake it when your brainpower just doesn't cut it.

Wordpower
There is no denying the power of words. Anybody can speak, but if you know how to really use words, you will appear much smarter. People often confuse articulation with intelligence. First, engage in a conversation about current events (note; do not talk about the latest Twilight movie). Then, at opportune times, stroke your chin and say "indeed" as though you actually care what the other person is saying. Also, try to use big/complicated words. If you don't know any, here are some of my favorites you can borrow (also note; be sure you are using these words correctly, otherwise you'll just look dumber):
indubitably - undoubtedly; kind of like indeed, but harder to pronounce.
loquacious - talkative. I'm not gonna lie to you, the opportunity to use this one doesn't come up very often.
onomatopoeia - the naming of a thing or action by the vocal imitation of the sound associated with it (think See 'n Say, i.e. "the cow goes 'moo'"). This one comes up even less, and if you can use it without sounding like your trying to come up with an excuse to use it, you deserve a medal.

Multilingualism
As in English, so it is in other languages. If you can speak two or more languages, people seem to think you are incredible. The more languages you speak, the smarter you are (seem). I speak English and Portuguese and a limited amount of Spanish, so I seem smart and a half. But I realize not everyone can speak multiple languages, to I'll give you a few simple words and phrases you can use in your day-to-day lives:
guero (Spanish; pronounced "wear-oh," with the slightest roll off the r; guera feminine) - white or fair-skinned person
l'chaim (Hebrew; pronounced "luh-[loogie-hocking sound]aye-im") - to life!
hajima (Korean; pronounced "haw-jee-maw") - don't do that/knock it off
Kashyyyk (Star Wars Universe; pronounced "ka-sheek;" also known as Wookiee Planet C) - the planet where Wookiees live, but not Chewbacca.

Appearance
For those of you who have been indoctrinated to believe otherwise by shows like Barney & Friends (no wonder we're so stupid), appearance does, in fact, matter. That's the first thing people notice about you, and as such, you will be judged accordingly. If you want to seem smart, you must look it. There are many variants of dressing the part. Facial hair can seem smart when properly groomed (males only). But for those of you like me who cannot grow any credible facial hair, the most important part is... the glasses. People see me and assume I know a thing or two about math and/or science. I don't, but that's not the important thing. The important thing is that people think you know it. That's what this is all about, after all.

If, after all this, you still struggle to make yourself seem smarter, know this; you are not alone. There are alternatives. Find a support group. Hang out with dumber people. Or, you can just learn to accept it and go back to listening to Dane Cook.

Music That Will Make Your Ears Scream

In my last post, I talked about how music has dropped in quality. Well, at the same time, it has raised in quantity. For every Beatle, we have about twenty Hansons that pop up on the radar just long enough to make ridiculous amounts of money and fade into obscure pop culture references. That's a lot of crappy music to be made. A lot of crappy music. I can say it again, if it will help get the message across. And you know how I can tell when music is going to suck? Aside from sonic qualities, lyrical prowess, and sex appeal, there are two main ways you know a band is going to suck;

1) They are called "the next Beatles." Way to jump the shark, guys. This never works. It didn't work for Oasis, it didn't work for The Arctic Monkeys (who?), and it sure as hell didn't work for The Jonas Brothers. There will never be another Beatles, so stop trying.

2) The band describes themselves s "indie." For those of you not in the know, "indie" refers "independent label," meaning they are currently unsigned to any major record label or they're just on an unknown, unimportant, underground label. Of all the genres you can use to describe what your band plays, you're going with indie? The only people you're going to impress with that are hipsters, and nobody likes a hipster. So you play "indie music," huh? Basically, that tells me you can't think of a better way to describe your boring, whiny, three-cord, pre-teen poetry. I'm going to be listening to Metallica. Or is that too mainstream for you? It is? Good. Stay away from me.

So, we know that there's crappy music. It's just a fact of life. But what music is the worst of it is completely subjective. Most people I've met like "We Didn't Start the Fire," by Billy Joel. I hate it. I heard it every day in my dance class in the sixth grade (or maybe it was my singing class). I hated that class. I hated the sixth grade. And with heavy repetition, even good songs can quickly become bad.

But I can tell you subjectively the worst five songs ever made using objective reasoning. These songs are based on tone, overall message, and the messenger/artist. So, although there may be songs with worse sonic quality (such as Rebecca Black's "Friday" or anything by Ace of Base), these songs are rationally worse.

5) "Baby," by Justin Bieber
I know it seems easy to start the list off with Justin Bieber. And believe me, it is. But just so you don't think I'm big bully, just read a sample of the lyrics; "My first love broke my heart for the first time / and I'm like, 'baby, baby, baby, no!' I thought you'd always be mine." No, Justin Bieber. You aren't in love with this girl. You're only 17. Making you 15 or 16 when you wrote this piece of crap. Plus, you sound like a chick.

4) "God Bless the USA," by Lee Greenwood
I am a patriot. I love America. And Mr. Greenwood's awful voice aside, I even like patriotic songs. But this is like a jingoistic tribute to everything from the grounds we walk on to the sky above us (because, ya know, the sky above our country is way better than the sky over a socialist country like Denmark). And did I mention he made a Canadian version? 'Cause he did. It's like "I'm proud to be Canadian, between shifts of being American." What a tool.

3) "Christmas Shoes," be New Song
I can't say it any better than Patton Oswalt, so let me paraphrase. "There's a guy in line. He's a little cranky on Christmas. God looks down and sees this. 'Somebody in a bad mood on my son's birthday? Give that kid's mom cancer, make sure he's in front of him in line, make him seven cents short for the shoes, this guy will by them, then he'll be in a good mood.'" Can't argue that logic.

2) "Jesus, Take the Wheel," by Carrie Underwood
Basically, this song is about giving up. Yeah, I get it. You've had it hard. You know who else has? Everyone. There are kids starving in Africa. God helps those who help themselves. So get up and do things for yourself. And while you're at it, why not make a small donation to feed those starving children in Ethiopia? Brownie points.

1) "Miracles," by Insane Clown Posse
A horrorcore rap group that sings about stabbing people in the butt and sprays the audience with an off-brand soft drink. They might be hilarious, if their fans, affectionately called "juggalos" (a portmanteau of "gigolo" and "juggler," because clowns sometimes juggle, get it? Get it?...) didn't take themselves so seriously. So after all the juggling and butt-stabbing, they clearly made the logical decision and wrote "Miracles," which is either the most elaborate parody song ever or the most idiotic song about God ever (spoiler alert; it's the latter). I'm a spiritual guy, but this is four and a half minutes dedicated to not knowing how things work. Apparently, their way of inciting intelligent debate is accusing scientists of lying.

Movies are Way Better Than Real Life

Everybody loves movies. Kids love movies. Adults love movies. Geriatric old folks like Matlock (and, I suppose, movies). Nothing closes the gap between generations like movies, I would argue even moreso than music, simply because music is devolving. I'm not going to argue this, just accept it. We've gone from The Beatles to The Jonas Brothers. With a few exceptions, modern rock music has become a joke set on repeat, diminishing in quality with every new band. But movies have already hit their highs and their lows. You'll find as many great movies from each generation as stinkers (which I've already admitted I love).

So I find it incredibly annoying when I'll occasionally hear about how "impossible" movies are. Of course they're not realistic; they're movies. So, you're telling me that if I spill an energy drink on a hot tub, it won't take me back in time? That's exactly what I'm telling you. Nor do I believe a robot will be sent back in time to assassinate the mother of a revolutionary who leads the crusade against the machine uprising. But this doesn't make necessarily make them worse than real life. In fact, I would argue that it makes them much better. Here are just a few reasons why;

1) Are you stupid? Don't worry, that comes across as humorous on the big screen.

2) Are you fat? Don't worry, you're probably the best friend. Plus, you're hilarious.

3) Do you have some disfigurement or some kind of debilitating disease? Don't worry, you'll overcome those adversities and somehow manage to become the most popular guy in town...

4) ...unless this is a horror flick, in which case you're probably the killer. But don't worry, I don't blame you. Society has put you in a fragile spot, and you're just reacting like any normal, depraved murderer.

5) Are you in love with an impossibly attractive guy/girl? Don't worry, you'll probably end up with them. And if not with them, then with somebody else of equal attractiveness.

6) Are you gay? Don't worry, even if you're not accepted, you're hilarious (but be careful around the fat guy, you'll be competing with him for the laughs).

7) Do you ever get sick of the monotony of your hum-drum, boring, everyday life? Don't worry, you'll probably have to foil a terrorist plot or fight ninjas or robots or aliens or something.

8) All your conflicts are resolved in an average of 2 hours (unless there's a sequel).