I should have brought some playing cards. Though great for filling time, books would have drawn stares and awkward questions about ‘antisocial behavior.’ The copious amount of spilt beer, BBQ sauce, and oyster juice nixed my iPad. Hell, even my cell phone was about to die, reminding me every two minutes to search for a nonexistent outlet. Boredom played on my brain like a death march. Thus, we arrive at the missing playing cards.
Patrick’s father-in-law had invited Kevin and me to a stag bull and oyster roast at an American Legion lodge across town. Forty-one tables (I counted) of over-weight blue-collar men filling Styrofoam plates with stacks of pit beef, pork, and German sausage, draining pitchers of cheap beer, and slurping brine-soaked mollusks. After an hour, I was ready to sneak out to my favorite bookstore or Gamestop.
Recently, I had invested in amiibos, little interactive statuettes of my favorite Nintendo characters, which I can then train on my Wii U to fight other amiibos in Super Smash Bros. What I had first conceived of as a marketing gimick has grown into an obsession. Matches in our house decide what we watch come movie night (always go with the animated flick) or what we drink (as long as it fits in my mason Renaissance goblet, I’m game). I recently trained my Toon Link to level 50, what is essentially a badass, and plan to use him to cremate Dasad’s Sonic the Hedgehog . . .
Turkey. Now there was a meat I could get behind. Ugly chickens, really. Practically as stupid as chickens, which — if we’re being honest — were the most disgusting animals on this planet, unless fried or grilled and bedded between two slices of toast. Having raised the creatures for significant portion of my childhood and having been on the receiving end of an angry airborne rooster when I was ten, I retain little love for the uncooked, unspiced species. Still, despite our differences, chickens proved more amiable to my stomach than cow, which — again with the honestly — were stupid, smelly creatures too. In addition, these lightning rods for all manner of buzzing stinging insects possessed all the personality of a Dodge truck and just about as environmentally friendly. I recall playing baseball with cow-patties one year when Ryan slid into home plate head first and . . .
Well, I digress. Livestock and I do not mix well without condiments.
I’ve been sitting on this particular post for a while now. The last few months has bore witness to snow storms, weddings, my sister’s new house (to-be-constructed), my brother’s new house (to-be-bought), and a burgeoning addiction to Blizzard’s Hearthstone, which like all obsessions in my life (i.e. women, writing, chess, MMORPGs) I kinda suck at. As such, the blog has received the short-end of the time-sink, a fact I’d remedy here soon. We may have received tickets to Comicon in San Diego this summer. More on that later! In the meantime, join us as the Murphey clan goes laser-tagging, much to our own amusement.
“Blimey, ‘ere we ‘ave the female white girl in ‘er natural attire,” Sean whispered to Shannon in his best – that is most stereotypical – impersonation of the crocodile hunter. “Brown boots and leggings, tools of cunning to attract potential mates . . .”
“Shutup, Sean,” Bree snarled strapping on her suit, now glowing blue in the darkness. “I am not dressed like this to ‘attract mates.’”
She feigned a glancing shot with her laser gun at grinning brothers before continuing.
I found this while stumbling online this afternoon in my underwear (think of Brian Cranston, ladies). Try reading this aloud. I’m pretty certain that I pronounced 90% of the words correctly as sit alone in my room with no discernible audience.
If you can pronounce correctly every word in this poem, you will be speaking English better than 90% of the native English speakers in the world.
After trying the verses, a Frenchman said he’d prefer six months of hard labour to reading six lines aloud.
Another snowstorm hit the northeast over the weekend, thus successfully closing schools and granting teachers and students a five-day weekend. Wahoo! Teachers are not known for laziness during their days off. No siree! I’ve built a kickass Paladin deck in the Hearthstone Beta, leveled my ranger to level 30 in Guild Wars, cleaned my room of excess clothes, filled my room with books, watched the excellent Lego Movie, and beat ‘Ganon’ in Link between Two Worlds. Many of my students’ papers still need . . . correcting, but considering that I’ve accomplished so much I can afford to give myself the day off. Oh, and I also managed to engage in some amateur photography as well. At night no less. ‘Cause let’s face it, I’m a badass. Continue reading
I laid head to pillow last night, expecting a late morning and a possible three-day weekend. Sadly, high temperatures and asinine school district ruined my snow day. Work and a classroom of equally upset teenagers awaited me instead.
Outside the classroom, I waded through projects, yet-to-be-graded homework, and — my saving grace — AMVs. This is one of my favorites over the last few months. Truly a work of art.
“I still don’t see the problem.”
“The problem, brother-dear,” Bree sighs, mildly exasperated. “Is that squirrels have rabies. They are rabid. Raa-bi-DA. You know, foaming at the mouth?”
She placed her fingers in her mouth to imitate fangs, which I was certain had little to do with rabies, squirrels or foam, but did paint a horrifying peek at her mind’s eye. I noted never to watch Watership Down with Bree . . . ever.
“Understanding the meaning of the disease, I still don’t see how that factors into the argument.”
“You don’t . . ? If an elf rides a squirrel like a horse, skittering and jumping willy-nilly from treetop to treetop. . . ” my sister explains, arching her hands as if trying to explain the flight-plan of the squirrel in the branches, “. . . then there is a good to fair chance that the rodent will infect them with the disease. Thus, your theory that fairies use the rodents as mounts is impossible.”