Monday, February 7, 2011

breakfast at Chic-fil-A

Today I almost blew up the lower portion of my parent's house.  Luckily they are 1,719 miles away and will NEVER find out.  Unfortunately this story has nothing to do with experiments from US Army's magnum opus: the TM 31-210 Improvised Munition Handbook.  The scare was caused by something a little less exciting and normally reserved for the AARP crowd.

I was trying to make a pot of tea. 

Friday, February 4, 2011

Thank you.

In the 9th grade my former self lived in a town of 35,000 dummies and attended an institution known as Galesburg High School.  Allah bestowed upon me the greatest of fortunes by assigning me an English teacher by the name of Andrew Chernin.  He had a very nonchalant, clumsy style, to a level that I almost interpreted as indifference.  Anyway, in one writing exercise that we would do in his class, which probably goes on in the majority of English classes, we were asked to concoct a story using all of our vocabulary words.

When I was an even littler tyke in Hurst, possibly what some waitstaff at Lupe's Tex-Mex in Bedford would call a "Litle Adrian", our omnipotent Budda blessed me with Miss Cochran.  She was my fifth grade teacher and first MILF crush, who would make up little stories which explained the definition of the word we were learning.  I remember ubiquitous and pariah being a couple of the words she added to our fifth grade lexicons.