"Dingo Ate Ya Baby?"

Maybe this belongs in an Oliver Sacks book, so I'll leave the grandstanding and philosophical diatribes to him. But a woman with a New York accent suffered a stroke and began speaking with a British accent, even though she'd never been to England or used such an accent before. Click here to read more about Foreign Accent Syndrome. Of course, it's extremely rare; but it seems the rarer the neurological disorder, the more interesting it is.

As an aside, I have spent years trying to cultivate my foreign accents, and I am just godawfulbad at it. My friend Zander and I developed these two characters, the McGraw brothers (as in Bitch Face and Muscles McGraw--the famous Irish movers). Whenever I tried to speak in an Irish accent, it sounded like a shitty Godfather imitiation ("Bitchuh Faceuh, why you gotta carry that pillow while I gotta the piano on my backuh?"). My English and Australian accents turn into horrible Japanese accents.

Maybe I should take a hammer to my head to get a Foreign Accent Syndrome. About the only dialect, besides my own, I've mastered is a 16 year-old girl taking high school Intro to Spanish, asking "Where is the library?" It's a terrible hybrid of Spanish and whiny 16 year-old Texan ("Dondeeeee estaaa la biblioteeeeeca?"). Listen to that for three years in high school and you, too, will move to Minnesota. But after reading the story, Foreign Accent Syndrome actually sounds way more awful than fun. Oh boody hell, it looks like I am turning into Oliver Sacks with all my musings.

Ass Kicked By Asperger's

I have said in the past that I will shy away from the "Kids say the darndest things" stories, so consider this a "kids with Asperger's Syndrome say the darndest things" story.

This will likely be long post, but it's one of the few stroies that Emily still laughs at, so bear with me.

One aspect of Asperger's is difficulty with abstract and figurative language. For example, I have spent over a year working one double-meanings with a kid (let's call him Jack--short for Jackalope) and not only does he understand them, but he can explain their humor. One problem: he doesn't think they're funny. Like I said, these kids and adults are very concrete and literal.

I'll show Jack a cartoon of a dog with a watch for a face and a boy asking his friend, "Do you like our new watchdog?" And Jack will say analytically, "That is a double-meaning. Watch can mean something that tells time and to look at something." He won't even give out the hint of a smile. But he loooooves slapstick. If I drop my pen and a paper at the same time, he thinks I'm Christopher Guest or Fred Willard.

Anyway, we are now working on figurative langauge (animal similies to be exact). I'll act out quiet as a mouse, cross as a bear, stubborn as a mule and so on and so forth. Of course, first I have to teach him what the hell stubborn and cross means (which Jack is quick to point was a double-meaning--now a triple-meaning since he just learned it means angry), so each similie takes awhile.

So we've been doing this a few weeks ago and Jack is really into it because of how visual it is and how much I ham it up, being quick as cat, loud as a lion, and his favorite, CLUMSY AS AN OX (you know, slapstick). But best of all he gets it. He understands how similies work and that I am not a) an ox or b) actually as clumsy as a giganctic animal with no opposable thumb. If you have seen Asperger's kids, you know this is no small accomplishment.

So then I get greedy. Why not show him you can use two similies on one animal. Can he compartmentalize this? So we talk about what "strong as an ox" could mean. And then I do my comedy routine: walking around the room, bumping into furniture, tripping over my two feet, letting pens and paper fall out of my hands. And Jack is cracking up as if i'm some sort of comicgenius.

So then I ask, "Am I strong as an ox, clumsy as an ox, or scared as a cat?" He says right away "Clumsy as an ox!" and goes back to uncontrollable laughter.

Perfect.

Now to see if he put it all together. I start grunting like a Neadathral and I lift a chair up, pick up a table and move it across the room, and then, for full effect, I pick him up while he's sitting in the chair and walk him to the other side of a room. He's laughing. I feel really good about myself because my lesson plan is going better than expected, he's having a great time, and hell, he likes my jokes! And then I ask, "How about now. Now what am I?"

And he's says, "You're nothing!"

"Nothing!" This is a very depressing answer. "What do you mean?!?! I picked you up and carried you across the room. Doesn't that make me strong as an ox?"

"NO!" he says, "You can't be strong as an ox. You don't have any muscles!"

Ouch. Very ouch. Talk about letting the air out of the balloon. Did I mention that kids with Asperger's tend to be very literal?

My Name Is Mike and I Could Eat Two Pounds of M&Ms In One Sitting

Okay, one step down, eleven to go!!

Yet another study shows a link between a sweet tooth and alcoholism. Yikes!

A little scary since there have been nights where I've debated over having Shiner Bock #2, or a bowl of ice cream. I guess if I ever go for broke and have the second beer AND the ice cream, and then a third beer and second bowl of ice cream, it will be time to get thee to a nunnery, I mean get me to a Betty Ford clinic.

Click here for a more complete and interesting (and slightly older) study.

Something I Need To Get Off My Chest

I can't get Jay Leno and Doritos out of my head ever since George Bush said his infamous "Bring 'em on" quote. Every time a Black Hawk or Chinook crash, car bomb, ambush, grenade, or accident kills an American, a lot goes through my head.

First I think of a friend of a friend who is over there and hope all is well.

And then I think of George Bush's pyschotic "Bring 'em on" quote. And I mean the dictionary defintion of psychotic: "characterized by defective or lost contact with reality." As in "I don't appreciate the meaning of life and death." As in I'll send 152 people to death row, and while I'm at it, I'll mock the pleas for clemency of a woman on death row.

And while all this is going on, two images go through my head. The first is George Bush landing a plane on an aircraft carrier, and the second is Jay Leno's Dorito's commercials from the late 80s. Do you the ad campaign I'm talking about? The one where Jay, at the end of each spot, would say, "Crunch all you want. We'll make more." And to me, that's the essence of the "Bring 'em on" quote. Bush shows his true colors when his comments aren't scripted. It gives me the creeps just thinking about, that soldiers are just another commodity to him like corn chips or, I don't know, OIL.

If this Bush's attitude towards his own soldiers, what does that say about how he views everyone else in the world (outside of his inner circle)? Does he give a shit at all about Iraqi civilians, those who voted against him, those in congress who oppose him, those in Europe who protest passionately against him, or how about the entire continent of Africa, AIDS and all?

I know the "Bring 'em on" quote is old news, but I just wanted to get this out there in the public domain, as my brain has been marinating in this bitterness a bit too much lately.

They Might Be Authors

Emily posted about super tasters on her blog (we saw a show about super taster on TV). That was four nights ago and I still can't get the They Might Be Giants "Super Taster" song out of my head (which it turns out, is an apt description of what it's like to be a super taster).

Coincidentally, I was at a conference over the weekend and was browsing through a bookstore and stumbled across They Might Be Giants' new book, Bed, Bed, Bed. Don't know much about it, beyond that it exists, and what it says on their website. But it looks cool to me. And of course, seeing this book did nothing to help get the damn John Lee Supertaster song out of my head.

Image from They Might Be Giants' website for kids


I think I'll listen to "Super Taster" and then go bed. Maybe that will get it out of my system.

Shithouse Mouse!

Yesterday, all crazed sports fans across America know, was the Regional Championships for NCAA Cross Country. And as per usual, the lads from Grinnell will be sending an individual to the National Meet, but could not qualify as a team. The guy, by the way, is a hoss among hosses and took 2nd in the race. He is, hands-down, the most talented distance runner the school has had. I'd say overall runner, but there was that F. Morgan Taylor hurdler from the 20s who was actually in the Olympics. And, technically, Taylor was in Chariots of Fire. The careful movie veiwer will note that the Limey hurdler-protagonist is near two Americans in the big race. One of these Americans, historically speaking, would be Grinnell's own F. Morgan Taylor.

Anyway, as a team, it sounds like it was a disappointing showing for Grinnell (a feeling I was all too familiar with), despite the fact that the Central Region was stacked this year (something else I was too familiar with). Anyway, it will be interesting to see how it goes at Nationals next weekend. It really sucks to go and run a cross country race without your team, but I'm sure this guy could get All-American running backwards. The real question is: will he get top ten or even top five? I sure hope so, and I think he has a great chance. So what if I'm the only one reading or writing this who cares? It's my blog damnit, and this is what interests me.

The Bachelor

Isn't there a sexy reality TV show about a bachelor? Emily is out of town for a conference, and I had to stay in Minneapolois for a conference/seminar of my own (more on that to follow). And let me tell you, if there were a video camera in our house, I would be putting the "reality" back into reality TV.

Are there any any scantily clad 20somethings making out with me in a hot tub? NO! Do we even have a hot tub? And am I going on dates in Europe with these women? NO! Are they talking about how charming, yet down-to-earth I am? NO!

Here's the highlights of what The Bachelor would be like if were really a reality show (based on my last 48 hours):

SATURDAY:
5:03 p.m. After returning from work-related conference, The Bachelor returns to his pad to find a sink full unwashed dishes and nothing to eat. The Bachelor grabs a beer, tries not to think about mess. He is successful in not thinking about mess by watching college football game he doesn't care about.

5:17 p.m. Games ends and The Bachelor ponders does a) calling friends to make plans for evening or b) cleaning up mess in kitchen. Ends up watching local TV news instead.

5:21 p.m. Realizes patheticness of situation and decides "maybe I will call my homies or find a hot tub filled to the rim with girls in bikinis, just like on TV."

5:23 p.m. On the way to phone, the Bachelor realizes he forgot to set-up the evening's line-up for his fantasy basketball league he's in. Goes on-on line to do that. Ends up surfing web for 86 minutes.

7 p.m. Decides not call friends but to call pizza man. Watches Pleasantville DVD he bought earlier in the day and then Bucakroo Banzai DVD he bought a long time ago. Afterwards, goes checks on friends' blogs and sleeps in bed.

You get the idea? Today's highlights include:
1. Wathing football
2. Cleaning the house
3. Talking on the phone
4. Running
5. Blogging
6. Reading

Not too sexy, unless you consider my running sexy. These days I'm slower than Christma. So maybe it looks like I'm going in slow-motion, which, we all know is really sexy when you're on the beach (does the north shore of Lake Harriett count as a beach?). Am I just a piss-poor excuse bachelor or is this what it was always like? It's been so long I can't remember.

God Has Left the Locker Room

With Avery Johnson praising the Lord and playing basketball in Golden State and David Robinson in retirement, the Spurs hvae lost their fire and brimstone. But now David Robinson is part of the ministry staff of Oak Hills Church.

Last night the Spurs retired David Robinson's #50. Click here for the story.

Now I may not agree with David Robinson when he says things like AIDS is Gods punishment for immorality or that people who don't support the war in Iraq should pipe down because this is America (huh?). However, at least he has the courage speak his mind as his beliefs appear to be well thought out.

And more importantly, how many elite pro athletes carried themselves with the responisibilty that #50 did? For a pretty funny retrospective of 50 moments from his career, click here to see Buck Harvey's column.

I especially like #18, 19, and 36. But #37 is by far the best: 37. After a tense timeout late in a game, going back to the bench to tell Larry Brown that cursing in the huddle isn't necessary.

The only moment Buck left out was "Robinson crumpling to the ground after Shaq gave him a cheap shot two seasons ago, planting his mammoth elbow as hard as he could in Robinson's abdomen before the Lakers had even set-up their offense." I shouldn't end on such a negative note, but *^%^&$%#@$ the Lakers!!!!

Do My Pots Look Like Potty?

There is a small debate surfacing in the kitchen. About two years ago I bought a set of All Clad pots and pans. Matt the Hatt or James, or whatever the hell else he's calling himself these days, who is a Teflon Hata', will be happy to know only one of them is teflon. But I digress.

The debate that is simmering its way into a boil is how do these pots and pans look best? Emily doesn't like the stains that come from two years of use. Quite a few pots of chili, soup, risotto, and bean dishes have cooked in these pots. Simple soap, water, elbow grease, and shouts of "Out, out damn spot!" won't get scrub some of these stains clean.

But I say, it looks good that way. You can tell we use our pots and pans a lot, and the spots are therefore just marks of love and familiarity. Much like the smile wrinkles on an old man's forehead. But Emily thinks we should get some heavy duty cleaner and make them look brand spanking new. They look a little too "rode hard and put away wet" for her tastes.


Image from www.happycookers.com


However, I feel so chef-like when I have the blue natrual gas flame going on three burners, each topped with a well-worn pot full of Mike's brew cooking and boiling away. I am reminded of the cooking scenes from Big Night. So any takers as to whether or not these pots need some heavy-duty cleaning?

GasticReflux Capacitor

In the industry we'd call it GERD Capacitor.

Either way (to paraphrase the GERD entry), stange things happen when you check your site meter.

Click here and scroll half-way down. You'll see my degree of separation (and your degree of separation) from the GERD blogger has now decreased by one.

Anyway, it's a blog worth checking out. Concise and to the point. Maybe I can learn something from that.