.:: The StrongBrain Collective ::.

-- I love it when people come up to me and say, "WOW! You're pretty tall [I'm 6'8]. Do you play basketball?" I've heard those exact words, hyperbole notwithstanding, 18 billion times. I guess it's a good conversation opener, so that's good. But people never think of it from my perspective, selfishness abound. As self-conscious as short people are, so are tall people. Ask anybody over 6'6 or so. They will say the same thing. I could, in spite, go up to everyone under 5'5 and say, "WOW! You're pretty short. Are you a horse jockey? Are you that midget from Jackass?" In conclusion, STOP calling out peoples' physical attributes that aren't attached to the following phrase: "Wanna Fuck?" (women) or "Let me buy you that surround system you've always wanted." (men).

-- I find it disconcertingly stereotypical of me that I take a strong whiff of air every time I hear reggae music emanating from an open window.

-- I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I've become one of those assholes who can't drive and talk on a cell phone simultaneously. Yesterday, say noontime, I was driving about 80-85 on the highway heading towards work, chatting amiably on my cell phone. Taking a random glance to my right, I noticed I was flying past three cop cruisers driving in the slow lane. It was blind luck that I even saw them to begin with! I should have been pulled over, but I said a small prayer to my agnostic deity and took the next exit. Lo and behold, I still have money in my bank account. Whew. But, as an aside, why did God choose to honor that prayer? Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful that it was answered, but just the other day at work, I said, "God, please let me say something clever to that girl." And did I? Fuck no! I said, "I love San Diegan weather, it's so pleasantly wonderful." "Pleasantly wonderful?" What the fuck was that, God? I hope you got a good chuckle out of it. I'm sure all the angels love your sense of humor, almighty prankster that you are. But shit, I'd have traded that ticket straight up to say something to get that girl to go out with me. But then again, if I had gotten that ticket I wouldn't have had the money to take her out and would have suffered a date suggestion like, "Wanna come over and watch a movie? There's a McDonalds right down the road..." So, in retrospect, touche, God, touche, indeed.

-- I can't believe I sleep on red sheets, suggestion courtesy of my stylish sibling. I feel like a porn star, albeit one that has been extremely bereft of assignments lately.

-- It's 2:15 a.m. and I have to be at work at 8 a.m. The fucking sleep fairy is gonna get an earful from me real soon.

-- Why is it that prostate cancer causes as many deaths in men as breast cancer does in women, but prostate cancer does not engender nearly the amount of public awareness or sympathy? Well, I can imagine it's because breasts are pleasant to think of, rather than considering how prostate tests are actually performed...

-- It's a direct function of my childhood that every time I see a cement truck or dump truck I immediately long for my "constructicons."

-- I recently purchased a hot chocolate from Starbucks. Two hours later, it was sitting untouched on my counter as I had forgotten about it. Glancing at the cup itself, it said "Careful, the beverage you're about to enjoy is extremely hot." Obviously, it wasn't and I was furious. But not nearly as furious as the lawyer I called trying to sue Starbucks for false advertising. I could have sworn I had a valid case.

-- How is it that Johnny Cash is revered and Eminem reviled? Johnny Cash sang about killing his woman and taking drugs, too. And why is it that once songs reach "classic" status, it is okay for radio stations to play them with their swear words intact? (See "shit" in "Money" by Pink Floyd.) I can't wait until Eminem reaches that status.

-- Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Merc...uh, an Audi S4 with V8 6-speed 340 horses with 18" inch chrome wheels and a 10 speaker sound system. Blue. Oh Lord, won't you buy me a ...

-- How juvenile am I that my brother-in-law bought this exquisite necklace for my sister's/his wife's birthday that brought a tear to her eye and I giggled mercilessly when I saw that it was pearl? Well, at least I wasn't the only one.

-- Already fond of email, I've recently become enamored with the beauty of text messaging on my cell phone. Within the past week, I've thrice found myself text messaging someone whose phone number is already programmed as a one-touch dial. Instead of hitting one button and talking, however, I painstakingly hit like 40 and kept my larynx moist. Oh, I can't wait for the next breakthrough in technology that will further my dreams of never again communicating vocally.