Still Smiling

I hate my new toothbrush. If it weren't utterly disgusting too late, I'd fish my old one out of the trash. Besides...dirty dishes, empty ice cream containers, and sulking in a bathrobe all morning, are tall tale signs that my roommate is on her period. Saying that I would be wary of retrieving the Holy Grail from the bathroom trash bin at this point would be an understatement.

One of the things I hate about it the most, the new toothbrush that is, is that it has a raised, braille-like pattern on the back of the brush head, presumably for raking debris and bacteria off your tongue. This annoying feature is not only handy for preventing halitosis, but is equally advantageous for scraping the inside of your cheeks into a soft fleshy pulp as you brush. Yaaay.

So, I purchased an electrical toothbrush and although I like it better than the medieval mutilating torture device that preceded it, I'm still not entirely enamored. Sure, it may do a better job at cleaning my teeth, and perhaps that should be reason enough to keep using it, but it's difficult to get over the feeling that I'm brushing with a vibrator. Not to mention, I haven't quite mastered the trick of not drooling all over myself during the process.

Moreover, the mechanical humming too closely resembles the drills that orthodontists use. Honestly, if I wanted to reenact the sensation of going to the loathed, depressive, suicide-inducing dentist, I would just book an appointment, or submerge my balls in a vat of boiling oil. I'm just saying, no me gusta el dentista.

Atonement

I figure the best thing to do in this scenario is just to be honest. I suppose you can’t hide from yourself forever. Eventually, your reflection stops believing your lies. The truth is…..I have an addiction. That’s right, it’s finally out. I can breathe now.  The secret no longer needs to be tucked away in tiny envelopes and buried deep in the cavernous bowels of my subconscious.

The thing that gets me the most about the manifestation of this disease is that I should have seen it coming. I should have seen it as easily as one sees the dark ominous clouds that fill the sky prior to the unleashing of a powerful twister. It also should have been obvious given my genetic proclivities. It runs in the family. Invariably, it has found its way to me. It was embedded in my DNA, lying dormant, biding time. I no longer try to deny its existence, but simply attempt to keep its ravenous appetite subdued. Much easier accomplished in theory than in practice I assure you. Idle hands are truly the Devil’s workshop, and spare time only fuels the desire that consumes me. Recently, I’ve begun perusing the dark recesses of the internet in search of my fix. I am addicted….I am addicted I say….My name is Brown a.k.a Mr. Poopie (after my bright disposition) and I am addicted to crossword puzzles.

I don’t rightly know what sparked the fire that is now an uncontrollable blaze. All I know is that I can’t get enough of them. I subscribed to a local newspaper under the pretense that I wanted to be informed. Truthfully, I only wanted it for the puzzles. I wake up each morning, like a giddy child on Christmas day looking forward to opening presents. In diner’s, I excitedly await a patron to finish with his or her newspaper before rifling through it to uncover my prize. I keep a vigilant eye on park benches, coffee shop tables, and store counter tops for evidence of an abandoned newspaper. Just the other day, I did the unimaginable. I absconded with one from a bathroom stall. I’m thinking about joining a support group. I think I may need help.

Buckets For the Cure

As summer turns the corner into the final stretch, we say good-bye to one of the most ironic and paradoxical fund raising campaigns known to man. As you all undoubtedly know, I have a healthy adoration for breasts and will go to great lengths to defend them in their plight against breast cancer (or any other adversary for that matter). However, upon discovering that Susan G. Komen was joining forces with Kentucky Fried Chicken in order to raise money and awareness for breast cancer, I had to do a double take. I mean, it’s one thing to support breasts by eating a delicious Peppridge Farm Cookie, but it’s entirely another to consume a fried lard bucket of arteriosclerosis.

Breast cancer awareness is a theme that is inherently supported by a concept of health and wellness. It isn’t enough just to tell people that there is a silent killer among women and that if you’re 40 you need to get a mammogram. Breast cancer awareness is a component of overall health, one that includes exercise, an antioxidant rich and balanced diet, and a cognizance of one’s own health and possible genetic proclivities. All of these ideas are vehemently incongruent with what Kentucky Fried Chicken represents. Besides, I always thought the Colonel was more of ass man anyway.

Now, I’m not like some of these radical opposers of this partnership because I think that fried chicken causes cancer. I mean, it is possible that there is a link between obesity and cancer, but I’m not ready to say that a bucket or two will get you there. Ultimately, people make their own choices and if artery clogging, cholesterol saturated, fatty deliciousness is something you enjoy, then by all means, just do so in moderation (I must admit they are tasty). In the future though, I’d like to see Komen be a tad more judicious with her partnerships. 

In the end, however, I suppose a tango with a heart attack is totally worth saving a breast or two. After all, it does add a completely new meaning to getting a bucket-o-breast….Eh, if breasts are your thing anyway. Personally, I side with the Colonel on this one.

Toy Story 3

Okay, so if you haven’t seen Toy Story 3 yet, you need to work that out. It’s worth the 60 15 dollars. I think, dare I say it, that it is the best one of the series. Don’t get me wrong, I do think the first one was incredible, but it is very possible that the third installment is either as good, or even better than its predecessors! Poppycock, you may be thinking, but I assure you it is quite the stellar film.

In this third Pixar adventure, Andy is going off to college and obviously no longer plays with his toys. Woody, Buzz, and the gang, are forced to deal with having to go into preservation mode and presumably wait in the attic until the day they are called upon to bring joy to Andy’s children. His mother has tasked him with packing what he wants to take to school, putting in the attic what he’d like to keep, and either donating or throwing away what he doesn’t want. Of course, there’s a mix up, and Andy’s toys end up on the curb, under the impression that Andy no longer cares for them and was throwing them away.

The toys end up at a day care center that isn’t exactly what it appears, a toy’s paradise of infinite adoration and endless playtime. The toys have to try and figure out how to get back to Andy’s before he goes off to college. They have a battle of will and wit with an unlikely villain, and face their most perilous mission yet. Tom Hanks, Tim Allen, and Joan Cusack all reprise their roles as the three main characters, and one of my personal favorites, Michael Keaton, joins the cast as Ken (Keaton’s one of my favorites, not the Ken doll).

This movie is exceptionally well thought out. The Pixar group stays with the formula that made the first one such a success. The plot is a suspenseful and entertaining rocket ride, sparked by unbelievable imagination that makes this movie soar. You will definitely laugh, maybe even cry, but you will undoubtedly enjoy Toy Story 3. "To infinity......and beyond!"

Sudden Impact

You know how in the movies when different law enforcement agencies fight over jurisdiction and the overseeing of a particular crime scene? Well, I’ve finally discovered why this happens.

I was on my way home from work the other day when I witnessed a particularly hair rising incident. I was driving by a elderly cyclist, when she suddenly started wobbling and losing control. I continued to watch her in my rear view mirror, and sure enough, she toppled over, falling on her right side as she made contact with the unrelenting cement. Her body awkwardly absorbed the impact as she collapsed. Her unprotected head, obediently complying with the laws of inertia, collided with the sidewalk with a bone-crushing thud.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I pulled over, flicked on my hazards, and double-timed it to the woman to make sure that she was okay. When I reached her, she was sitting up with her hand lightly palpating the area of her head from which blood was gushing forth. Not necessarily, a Grey’s Anatomy geyser of spewing death, but more like a UFC knee to the forehead gash that would undoubtedly require a few stitches.  I asked her a few questions like whether she needed me to call an ambulance, and if she was okay, as I contemplated running back to the car for my first aid kit. By then, another motorist had approached and handed me a towel, which I was going to put on the wound and apply pressure. Before I could use the towel and ask the other Samaritan, who was holding his cell phone to call 911, an off duty, hot shot, fire-house paramedic couple came barreling in. The guy told us to step back as he snatched the towel, applied it to the lady’s head, while the girl knelt in front of the slightly disoriented woman and began to hurl a barrage of questions at her.

Now, I’m by no means a doctor, nurse, paramedic, or even a flight attendant , but applying first aid and CPR is not outside my scope of practice. In fact, I have to certify in both in order to keep my National Certification and local licensing current, as well as to remain eligible to work for my employer. I’m not inept at applying basic first aid. Thank you fucking power ranger paramedics, because God only knows how I may have let this lady bleed out had you not swooped in and held a towel to her head as you verbally assaulted her with questions in such rapid succession that she barely had time to respond. Questions are supposed to help you assess the degree of head trauma, not induce unconsciousness.

Eventually, the woman’s husband, who was a couple hundred meters in the rear, showed up and answered the paramedic’s questions concerning his wife’s medical history and how she fell. They also asked the owner of the towel to describe what had happened. I, however, the one who was essentially right next to her when she fell, and who saw everything unfold, was completely ignored. Of course, ignore the brown man.

After realizing that I was not needed, I jogged back to my car and joined the highway’s drove of homebound commuters. 

It was not until I began reflecting on the event, going over all of my action’s and thought processes did I realize how upset I was about how the paramedics handled the situation. I understand the importance of immediate medical response, but of equal and sometimes even more significance, is the necessity to gather vital information prior to jumping into action. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad they showed up, but they should have immediately identified who they were and assessed the scene prior to playing hero. Unless you’re Derek Shepherd, or Captain James T. Kirk, you need to slow your roll.

Mona Lisa's Smile

Why is it that every time I go to buy a new toothbrush, there seems to be a mass shortage? Literally, empty rows of preventative dental care instruments. I want to stave off gingivitis as much as the next person, but I don’t feel the need to by a 5 pack in order to do so? Are people not brushing anymore, is there not a sufficient demand for dental hygiene products that warrants keeping the shelves full? Or is it the exact opposite? Is it possible that people are going on toothbrush buying rampages in order to combat cavities that seem to be more prominent due to the consumption of our exorbitantly sugar-laden food? Are people trashing their toothbrushes every couple of weeks? No comprendo.

It’s not just the same store either. I've tried Wal-mart, Target, Rite-Aid, CVS…..nada. I mean, they have some, but  the pickins are pretty slim. Is there some crisis that I’m unaware of? Even if there were, would stocking up on toothbrushes be necessary? I don’t know what the logic there would be, but if I were going to weather a nuclear holocaust, the furthest thought from my mind would be dreading the idea of having to use the same toothbrush for more than 90 days.

Look, I’m a reasonable guy, and a laid back consumer. I don’t ask for much besides new and innovative, self sustaining, or recyclable products that have practical uses and make my life easier, but it’s not like I need a toothbrush that hovers over my sink and tells me that I’m late for work, or that I’ve missed a spot. I just want a plain old freaking toothbrush in a non- feminine color, without some radical maze of protruding rubber bristles diligently waiting to massage my gums. Simple and easy.  Geesh.

The Tipping Point

If you are interested in a quick, but fascinating read, The Tipping Point, by Malcom Gladwell, is the book for you. The author has a fluid and compelling style of writing that is easy to understand as he presents groundbreaking analysis of scientific research on how trends either spark and spread like wildfire, or fizzle out and die. The book is about how small details, or subtle change can have an enormous impact on making ideas, trends, or even communicable diseases reach their "tipping point".

Ever wonder why some ideas/trends catch on and others do not? What makes ideas "sticky"? What kinds of people are involved in making things "tip"? Gladwell ingeniously illustrates the factors at play in all kinds of epidemics with gripping in-depth research that covers multiple fields of study. Combining an uncanny story telling ability with a talent for using analogies, Gladwell takes findings from a plethora of studies and serves them up in deliciously tantalizing morsels. Read it already. You'll be glad you did.

After reading the Tipping Point, I was so impressed with Gladwell's work, that I decided to read another book of his titled Blink. Blink is a book about rapid cognition, the kind of thinking that happens in the "blink" of an eye.

When are snap judgments good and when are they not? What kinds of things can we do to make our powers of rapid cognition better? Is this a skill that can be honed or mastered? Why are some people brilliant decision makers, while others are incompetent?

Gladwell draws on the most recent research in psychology and neuroscience to make you think about the way you see the world through your own eyes. Again, he masterfully retells compelling stories as he breaks down what happens in the two seconds when we make instant choices, follow our instincts, or make snap judgments. Gladwell also brilliantly describes how our intuition works and the subtleties that influence our decision making process. If you made any snap judgments about this book after having looked at his picture, then you most certainly need to read it! Another brilliant masterpiece!