I once read that there is nothing on this Earth more boring than listening to someone else describe the dream they had the previous night. I never really thought about it that way, but it sounds right. Whenever I describe a dream to a friend, I’m as detailed as possible in order to communicate the wild events, as well as the emotional effects that it had on me. Stunningly, this “friend” always seems to be only feigning interest until the misery is over. Sometimes, possibly as revenge, they start describing the dream they had the previous night. This is usually a convenient time for me to discover that I’m late for an appointment. Or that I need a nap.
So loyal readers, this is your last warning: I’m about to describe the dream I had last night. Seriously…turn away now!
You simple fools. I knew you couldn’t walk away. You’ve already committed to reading the first paragraph of this tripe, so now you are going to read about my dream. I’ll spare you the details, and get right to the “meat” of it. Anyway, I was using my Snowspeeder as cover as I aimed my blaster at the gunner of the evil Imperial AT-AT Walker and—
Um, wait. I guess I should tell you, in my dream I was Luke Skywalker in Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. Sorry if I left out that small detail.
You know, I have no idea how dreams work or why we dream certain things, but I gotta tell you, this dream was fun. I had a laser blaster and was firing at a rear gunner on an Imperial AT-AT Walker while hiding behind a snow drift (in the real Star Wars movies, there was no rear gunner on an AT-AT…apparently my dreams are even more imaginative than creator George Lucas). He had just blown my Snowspeeder to smithereens with his laser cannon. I was seriously ticked. And a little scared.
Which is kind of confusing, because a part of me knew it was a movie. The reason I know this is because I vividly remember my last line in the dream. I swear I am not making this up. I had just run around the corner of something and saw a bad guy. I immediately fired my laser blaster at him, and he fell to the ground. Then I yelled:
“HEY! I only had it set to ‘stun’ so you can be in the sequel!!!”
So he got up and ran off.
I think I need to place a phone call to Lucas now.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
The Blog is Alive!
I’m back.
Yes, it has been a while since the last update of Humor, Comedy, Life and Other Random Neural Firings by Joseph Simmons. I apologize for the lack of new content, but I know my loyal readers are understanding of my needed time off. You see, great writers like Stephen King, George Will, Dave Barry and myself all need an occasional sabbatical to get the “creative juices” flowing again. Now that I’ve had my rest, I am ready to crack my knuckles and get bloggin’ again.
One thing I should mention: I would like to thank my readers for the hundreds of e-mails complimenting my writing and encouraging me to continue. Okay, maybe “hundreds” is an overstatement. It was more like “twelve”. But still, it is certainly nice to know that there were those out there in readerland who were missing me. In fact, I’ll be happy to share a few of those kind e-mails with you right now. Let’s go to my inbox:
Whoops! Um, looks like I clicked on the wrong e-mail there. I wonder who that message was intended for. Uh, ha-ha, must be a zillion “Joes” on the Internet. Ha-ha. Okay, let’s try another message:
WHOOPS! Okay, maybe we don’t need to be looking in my e-mail box, like ever again. Because you just never know what kind of, you know, um, spam, yes, SPAM, you may find in there. Anyway, my point (yes, I did have one) was, I am flattered that people are enjoying my blog, and I wish I could update it every day. Alas, as a mortgage broker I have a pretty full schedule, making daily updates impossible. Just as an example, here is a typical morning for me:
6:00 AM: Alarm clock goes off. I turn it off and immediately get up and start my day.
6:30 AM: If you believe the line for 6:00 AM, you are, no offense, a complete moron. No mortgage broker-slash-humor writer has ever willingly gotten up at six o’clock in the morning without the threat of a house fire. And even if I did smell smoke, I’d probably assume that I could still get another 45 minutes of sleep “before the fire gets real bad”.
7:00 AM: I’m still completely and thoroughly unconscious, most likely dreaming about Keira Knightley. Have not moved at all except possibly to scratch my butt.
7:30 AM: Alarm actually goes off. I don’t even touch it. I just glare at it. It knows. It turns itself off and apologizes. I go back to sleep.
7:39 AM: Alarm goes off again. I slam on the “snooze” button. I say to the alarm clock, “I probably should go ahead and get up”. We both have a hearty laugh as I go back to sleep.
7:48 AM: Alarm goes off yet again. I reach for the “snooze” button again, but this time it dodges my hand. I reach to slam it again. It jukes me again. I curse at it. It replies, “No more snoozes, lazy ass!” “Please, one more!” I reply. It asks, “Do you promise to replace my emergency battery? I’ve had the same dead 9-volt since the Clinton administration!” I agree to.
7:57 AM: Alarm goes off for the final time. Instead of hitting snooze, I actually turn it off. I sit up…then I crawl back into bed. The alarm clock is powerless. I chuckle.
8:34 AM: I wake to a constant whining. As I slowly obtain clear vision, I notice I am looking directly at my dog’s eyes, and she is telling me, in no uncertain terms, that she will not be held responsible for any mess that is created if I don’t let her outside right now.
Of course at that point I am up, so I get ready for work and then actually go. Of course, I can’t blog while I’m at the office…it would interfere with all the sitting around I have to do. And I work late hours a lot, so that doesn’t leave a whole lot of time in the evening to write either. Even on the days I do get home at a decent hour I usually spend that extra timedrinking two-for-one beers at happy hour volunteering or spending quality time with my family.
Ahh…but not to worry. I now know that I have a responsibility to my readers. So I will make every effort possible to find the time to keep this blog updated with a new essay at least once a week, with maybe a humorous blurb in-between. Because I know, deep in my heart, that every one of you will thank me by clicking on my Google ad above.
Yes, it has been a while since the last update of Humor, Comedy, Life and Other Random Neural Firings by Joseph Simmons. I apologize for the lack of new content, but I know my loyal readers are understanding of my needed time off. You see, great writers like Stephen King, George Will, Dave Barry and myself all need an occasional sabbatical to get the “creative juices” flowing again. Now that I’ve had my rest, I am ready to crack my knuckles and get bloggin’ again.
One thing I should mention: I would like to thank my readers for the hundreds of e-mails complimenting my writing and encouraging me to continue. Okay, maybe “hundreds” is an overstatement. It was more like “twelve”. But still, it is certainly nice to know that there were those out there in readerland who were missing me. In fact, I’ll be happy to share a few of those kind e-mails with you right now. Let’s go to my inbox:
Dear Joe,
Where do you get the nerve to call yourself a writer? This is complete garbage! You are a certified idiot. If your blog was the only website left on the web, I’d cancel my Internet service and throw a rock through my computer monitor. Why, I—
Whoops! Um, looks like I clicked on the wrong e-mail there. I wonder who that message was intended for. Uh, ha-ha, must be a zillion “Joes” on the Internet. Ha-ha. Okay, let’s try another message:
Mr. Simmons,
Congratulations and thank you for your subscription to HotNakedSororityGirls.com! Your $19.99 a month subscription entitles you to unlimited—
WHOOPS! Okay, maybe we don’t need to be looking in my e-mail box, like ever again. Because you just never know what kind of, you know, um, spam, yes, SPAM, you may find in there. Anyway, my point (yes, I did have one) was, I am flattered that people are enjoying my blog, and I wish I could update it every day. Alas, as a mortgage broker I have a pretty full schedule, making daily updates impossible. Just as an example, here is a typical morning for me:
6:00 AM: Alarm clock goes off. I turn it off and immediately get up and start my day.
6:30 AM: If you believe the line for 6:00 AM, you are, no offense, a complete moron. No mortgage broker-slash-humor writer has ever willingly gotten up at six o’clock in the morning without the threat of a house fire. And even if I did smell smoke, I’d probably assume that I could still get another 45 minutes of sleep “before the fire gets real bad”.
7:00 AM: I’m still completely and thoroughly unconscious, most likely dreaming about Keira Knightley. Have not moved at all except possibly to scratch my butt.
7:30 AM: Alarm actually goes off. I don’t even touch it. I just glare at it. It knows. It turns itself off and apologizes. I go back to sleep.
7:39 AM: Alarm goes off again. I slam on the “snooze” button. I say to the alarm clock, “I probably should go ahead and get up”. We both have a hearty laugh as I go back to sleep.
7:48 AM: Alarm goes off yet again. I reach for the “snooze” button again, but this time it dodges my hand. I reach to slam it again. It jukes me again. I curse at it. It replies, “No more snoozes, lazy ass!” “Please, one more!” I reply. It asks, “Do you promise to replace my emergency battery? I’ve had the same dead 9-volt since the Clinton administration!” I agree to.
7:57 AM: Alarm goes off for the final time. Instead of hitting snooze, I actually turn it off. I sit up…then I crawl back into bed. The alarm clock is powerless. I chuckle.
8:34 AM: I wake to a constant whining. As I slowly obtain clear vision, I notice I am looking directly at my dog’s eyes, and she is telling me, in no uncertain terms, that she will not be held responsible for any mess that is created if I don’t let her outside right now.
Of course at that point I am up, so I get ready for work and then actually go. Of course, I can’t blog while I’m at the office…it would interfere with all the sitting around I have to do. And I work late hours a lot, so that doesn’t leave a whole lot of time in the evening to write either. Even on the days I do get home at a decent hour I usually spend that extra time
Ahh…but not to worry. I now know that I have a responsibility to my readers. So I will make every effort possible to find the time to keep this blog updated with a new essay at least once a week, with maybe a humorous blurb in-between. Because I know, deep in my heart, that every one of you will thank me by clicking on my Google ad above.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
What Was I Writing About Again?
I was taking a shower recently when a question struck me. It was the question that every man approaching his mid-thirties eventually asks himself, and it is an indication of his maturation, experiences, mortality, and where he is in his life:
“Um, did I already wash my hair?”
Yes. I was actually standing in my shower, water splashing on me, while I wracked my brain for several seconds trying to remember whether I had already shampooed. This is very frustrating, since I have to imagine that most people would recall something that happened only a few seconds prior. Apparently, I do not have this “gift”, so I had to play the part of Shower Detective, testing the crime scene and looking for clues:
First Test, Running My Fingers Through My Hair: Um, it felt like wet hair. Inconclusive.
Second Test, Looking on the Shower Floor for Drips of Spilt Shampoo: I found two pounds of body hair, three ancient shards of Dial, a mildew colony so developed it has its own navy, about a half pound of wet dog fur, but no shampoo. Inconclusive.
Third Test, Inspecting the Shampoo Bottle Cap: This tells me nothing. I knew it wouldn’t tell me anything. I have no idea what I was expecting to find there. Maybe a little sign that said, “Yes, you’ve already shampooed you moron”. Inconclusive.
So, I was forced to do what I pretty much knew I would have to do all along: shampoo my hair, perhaps again. I had no idea whether it was the first or second time. But at least it was going to be clean.
So what the heck is going on with my memory? Does this have to do with me reaching the age of 35? I had always thought memory loss was something that happened when you got old. (And I when I say “old”, I mean “way older than I am right now, even though I am not as young as some of you loyal readers, but I really don’t want to hear about that right now, so why don’t you just shut up?”) My memory should not be wreaking havoc with my life the way it has. I mean, here is another recent shining example of how it has affected my morning routine:
Day One Shower: I notice that I am almost out of “body wash” (whatever it is called—the liquid stuff that replaced soap), so I make a mental note to make sure to stop at the grocery store that night and pick some up.
Day Two Shower: I curse myself as I realize that I had forgotten to buy body wash the night before. I squeeze as much as possible out of the old bottle and tell myself to definitely stop that night to pick some up, because there is nothing left in this bottle.
Day Three Shower: I berate myself as I realize that my idiot brain had forgotten again to pick up body wash. I squeeze and squeeze the old bottle, mostly just making fart noises. I end up somehow showering with about two molecules of the liquid soap. I make a mental note to absolutely, positively, definitely go to the store tonight to pick some up. No one can forget something three days in a row.
Day Four Shower: Shower with Hartz flea and tick shampoo.
Even after my shower, my memory affects my routine. For example, sometimes I’ll be staring at myself in the mirror* after my shower when I will suddenly think to myself, “have I brushed my teeth already?” And I will have NO IDEA what the answer to that question is. This means I have to go through yet another search for clues (“Is the toothpaste out? Is my toothbrush wet? Does my mouth taste like a goat’s ass?”) before I can leave the house for work.
So, is there a solution to this problem? And, is it really a problem, or just a product of nature? Is this something I can deal with? And furthermore, what was I talking about again?
Oh yeah, my memory. I had another point to make here, but I forgot what it was.
*Never for more than 15 minutes. I’m not a complete narcissist. Okay, maybe 30 minutes. Alright, an hour tops!
“Um, did I already wash my hair?”
Yes. I was actually standing in my shower, water splashing on me, while I wracked my brain for several seconds trying to remember whether I had already shampooed. This is very frustrating, since I have to imagine that most people would recall something that happened only a few seconds prior. Apparently, I do not have this “gift”, so I had to play the part of Shower Detective, testing the crime scene and looking for clues:
First Test, Running My Fingers Through My Hair: Um, it felt like wet hair. Inconclusive.
Second Test, Looking on the Shower Floor for Drips of Spilt Shampoo: I found two pounds of body hair, three ancient shards of Dial, a mildew colony so developed it has its own navy, about a half pound of wet dog fur, but no shampoo. Inconclusive.
Third Test, Inspecting the Shampoo Bottle Cap: This tells me nothing. I knew it wouldn’t tell me anything. I have no idea what I was expecting to find there. Maybe a little sign that said, “Yes, you’ve already shampooed you moron”. Inconclusive.
So, I was forced to do what I pretty much knew I would have to do all along: shampoo my hair, perhaps again. I had no idea whether it was the first or second time. But at least it was going to be clean.
So what the heck is going on with my memory? Does this have to do with me reaching the age of 35? I had always thought memory loss was something that happened when you got old. (And I when I say “old”, I mean “way older than I am right now, even though I am not as young as some of you loyal readers, but I really don’t want to hear about that right now, so why don’t you just shut up?”) My memory should not be wreaking havoc with my life the way it has. I mean, here is another recent shining example of how it has affected my morning routine:
Day One Shower: I notice that I am almost out of “body wash” (whatever it is called—the liquid stuff that replaced soap), so I make a mental note to make sure to stop at the grocery store that night and pick some up.
Day Two Shower: I curse myself as I realize that I had forgotten to buy body wash the night before. I squeeze as much as possible out of the old bottle and tell myself to definitely stop that night to pick some up, because there is nothing left in this bottle.
Day Three Shower: I berate myself as I realize that my idiot brain had forgotten again to pick up body wash. I squeeze and squeeze the old bottle, mostly just making fart noises. I end up somehow showering with about two molecules of the liquid soap. I make a mental note to absolutely, positively, definitely go to the store tonight to pick some up. No one can forget something three days in a row.
Day Four Shower: Shower with Hartz flea and tick shampoo.
Even after my shower, my memory affects my routine. For example, sometimes I’ll be staring at myself in the mirror* after my shower when I will suddenly think to myself, “have I brushed my teeth already?” And I will have NO IDEA what the answer to that question is. This means I have to go through yet another search for clues (“Is the toothpaste out? Is my toothbrush wet? Does my mouth taste like a goat’s ass?”) before I can leave the house for work.
So, is there a solution to this problem? And, is it really a problem, or just a product of nature? Is this something I can deal with? And furthermore, what was I talking about again?
Oh yeah, my memory. I had another point to make here, but I forgot what it was.
*Never for more than 15 minutes. I’m not a complete narcissist. Okay, maybe 30 minutes. Alright, an hour tops!
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
My Apologies for Lack of Blogging, Episode 2: Procrastination Strikes Back
I am very sorry for my lack of blogging lately. I’ve just arrived back in Florida, having been out of the country for a while now. I wanted to post my latest column before I left, but due to my rigid, strict schedule of procrastinating doing any sort of packing or preparing for my first-ever international trip until the night before I left (“Where do I apply for a passport at 3 am?”), I really had no time.
By the way, what a wonderful vacation! I can hear the pangs of jealousy whenever I tell people where I went. Everybody reacts with the same excited response:
“Um…where?”
Don't worry...they weren't fooling me by hiding their envy with confused looks.
Anyway, I went to Riga, Latvia. It is the capital city of the northernmost of the three Baltic States in Eastern Europe. I have a friend from there who invited me, and she was nice enough to be my tour guide for my entire stay. I have begun to write about my experiences there, so you’ll be able to read about my trip in an upcoming blog (estimated posting date: February 2008).
Okay, unlike a lot of bloggers, I have this thing called a “job” and I need to get there pronto. Look for an update within the next day or two.
Special note for my sister Lori: At last count, I still have two kidneys and one liver, and the only torture device I encountered during my trip was my hotel-room shower. So I guess I made it okay.
By the way, what a wonderful vacation! I can hear the pangs of jealousy whenever I tell people where I went. Everybody reacts with the same excited response:
“Um…where?”
Don't worry...they weren't fooling me by hiding their envy with confused looks.
Anyway, I went to Riga, Latvia. It is the capital city of the northernmost of the three Baltic States in Eastern Europe. I have a friend from there who invited me, and she was nice enough to be my tour guide for my entire stay. I have begun to write about my experiences there, so you’ll be able to read about my trip in an upcoming blog (estimated posting date: February 2008).
Okay, unlike a lot of bloggers, I have this thing called a “job” and I need to get there pronto. Look for an update within the next day or two.
Special note for my sister Lori: At last count, I still have two kidneys and one liver, and the only torture device I encountered during my trip was my hotel-room shower. So I guess I made it okay.
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