"Doc, will I ever play the piano again?"

DSCN1850
Originally uploaded by ezzelle12.

I now have a personal vendetta against Newton.

So, it's christmas. Halle-fuckin'-lujah. Don't get me wrong. I'm no Ebenezer Scrooge. I'm just currently very bitter at this nation's obsession with grown men tossing a sphere through an elevated hoop, but I'll get to that later.

As for the celebration, this holiday season is a rarity because usually every year, my family and I are out in some other part of the world as a member of the Purdue Reunion, which we have been attending for the past 25 years. This year, however, we agreed upon skipping, and found ourselves at home, for the first time, with nothing to do. We ended up going out to eat at this uber-american "Chinese" restaurant (what other restaurants are open on Christmas Eve?), whose only patrons appeared to have just wrapped an Abercrombie and Fitch photo shoot. The food was bland, just like most my blog posts, and then we left.

When we got home, we decided to exchange gifts. I got a cool sweater from my parents, with some cash strapped to it, always a welcome addition, and some cash from my uncle. But it was my brothers gift (whose name is David Lai, or DLai for short, by the way.) that I will surely never forget. The gift itself...eh, not a huge deal. It was a Nintendo DS, which I guess is nice, but I wasn't all too familiar with it (seeing as how I don't play fucking video games and obsessivley read gaming periodicals like an aforementioned somebody, which is a fact he is expicitly aware of), and I had actually contemplated getting it for him. So already, I am a bit suspect as to his motives for bestowing upon me a present he cleary desired more then I. But then I thought, "This is actually kinda cool. I can use it as a personal organizer." Then I turned it on, and I was shocked to find that, apparently, the default greeting for the system is "Hello, DLai," and that, even more astoundingly, the stock birthday is set to May 28th, which just happens to be DAVID Lai's birthday. What an astronomical coincidance! I mean, what are the odds??!! That's gotta be like one in a million. Needless to say, I had to give the system back to him, because clearly, Jesus was sending us a message as to whom should be the true keeper of the Nintendo DS. God acts in strage ways, I'll tell ya.

As to why I'm bitter about the NBA, besides them not using Teshie's compostion anymore, is that this holiday season, I found myself caught amidst the hysteria too. Nearly everyday for the past couple of weeks, I've been ballin' it up, and admittedly, enjoying and improving. But today, that all ends. I fucking sprained my ankle this evening, which now places into jeopardy my employment for the next week. If I do indeed lose my job because of my ankle, I hereby declare, that I will never engage in another rousing game of basketball so long as I need employment, which by the looks of it, could be a verrryyy looongg time.

The Lovin' Spoonful...

Recently, I got back in touch with an old acquaintance. It had been quite a while and, I must admit, I was a bit apprehensive at first. But once we got over that initial hump, things went rather smoothly. In fact, we were soon right back to our previous rapport, as though no time had transpired at all. It was nice, rediscovering a relationship you long thought lost. Those of you who actually read this thing know a bit about me, but my guess is you probably didn't know about my long lost, good buddy, Tang.

Man, it had been so long since I had gorged on the sweet, succulent, powdered orange flavoring I had grown to love so much as a youth, and let me tell you, it's every bit as good now, as it was then, Nectar unto gods, really. And yes, I am likening Tang to nectar, as I liken myself to an occupant of the Greek pantheon. Simply stated, Tang is great.

So, to all my Tang out there, you know who you are, with your granulated flavor crystals, great to see you again, and stay juicy and seedless.

PS. Quoted from page 137 of The Simpsons Complete Guide
"Homer calls up President Clinton, and says, 'I figured if anyone knew where to get some Tang, it'd be you.' This may or may not be meant as a double entendre."

I'm not gay, but I play one on TV...

So, Cpleezy's housewarming bash was an utter success, as it successfully made me look as homosexual as possible at every turn. Twas a blast and I don't want to bore you all with a poorly worded introduction, so I'll let the pics do the talking. Enjoy!

Big D, Le Le, and e-12

Big D, Le Le, and e-12
Originally uploaded by ezzelle12.

And the night started out so innocently too.

e-12 and Nato

e-12 and Nato
Originally uploaded by ezzelle12.

Not a whole to say about this one. Pretty self-explanatory.

e-12 and a visiting martian

e-12 and a visiting martian
Originally uploaded by ezzelle12.

My only saving grace from leaping head long out of the closet. But man, what grace.

The Longing

The Longing
Originally uploaded by ezzelle12.

It appears that even in my heavily intoxicated slumber, I still have deep seeded desires.

...and what I'm longing for

What I'm longing for
Originally uploaded by ezzelle12.

What a fitting snapshot to cap off a night of progressively more and more misconstrued moments.

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

The Newer Meaning of G2G

Growing up, most kids didn't look too favorably upon going to the doctor's office, right? Nobody liked the frigid sting of the stethoscope against their bare chest, the dry, splinters of the popsicleless popsicle sticks (That's just cruel.) suppressing their right to free speech, or the dreaded prick of inoculation meant to stave off infection, or even that curious wink your doctor gave you after you dropped trou. (Hmm...maybe that was just me.) But, if you ask most people, I'm not too much like most people. And I don't mean that in any sort of condescending, "Man, I'm so much better because I'm not like most people," way. I mean that purely in a yearning, "Man, I really wish most people thought I was like them," way. But whatever. Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

Anyhow, as I was saying, unlike most folks, I loved going to the doctor's office. Why, you might ask? Simple. Two words: Highlights Magazine. For some reason, there's just something about looking at a picture in search of cleverly hidden items that really appeals to me, sort of like searching for the humor in my blog posts, except there's actually hidden items in Highlights. And don't even get me started on staring at one picture, while comparing it to another ALMOST identical one, in search of discrepancy, that was awesome. But you know the section that always stuck with me the most? Goofus and Galant. These were supposedly educational comics intended to steer children to behave and respect stuff. Goofus was always made to look, well, goofus-like, and Galant, was always made to look, well, do I really have to explain this one?

And so the other day, I woke up to thoughts of these two cats, and I had no idea why. Then I thought about it some more, and I realized what was bothering me. What these magazines failed to show children was that these two icons direly needed eachother. One could not exist without the other. They were indeed the ying to eachother's yang. Galant would never have seemed so galant, without Goofus fucking up all the time, and Goofus wouldn't have seemed so darn cool if Galant hadn't been such a total square. They neglected to instill young america with the notion that, hey, everybody's got a little bit of Goofus, and a little bit of Galant, in them. It's just the proportions that are different. I know I would have had a lot more fun as a kid if I had stopped staying after school to help clean the chalkboard, and instead stole some neato shit.

So here's what I'm proposing: A poll. You determine your own G to G (Goofus to Galant) rating and post it as a comment on my page, and we'll see who ultimately had the greatest impact on our lives, the Goof or the Gal. I realize that there are only about three people who actually read my blog, so this is going to be a pretty skewed survey, but please, feel free to tell your friends to join the fun. And by fun I, of course, mean stupidity. I'll get the ball rolling. I believe my G2G rating to be in the ballpark of 28:72. Do you agree? Please, feel free to join me, so I don't appear crazy.

Genocide in the Next Kingdom

Poison gas. Mass graves. Eradication. Nothing like Thanksgiving at the ol' Lai household.

The day began routinely enough. I awoke at the butt crack of well...late afternoon, to find, to my dismay, that I was, indeed, still located in the same residence and boudoir that I had dwelled in through the course of the previous day. (I really gotta move out.) Almost immediately, I found myself caught within the throes of apathy, so I decided to call up my good buddy Friar for a solid jostling of the joystick. (Mario Kart Double Dash is the proverbial shizznit, by the way.) And, within due time, he arrived at my homestead. However, prior to his entrance, Friar made a startling discovery.

"Yo Ray, you got some crickets up in your business," he remarked as he gestured to the geologically miraculous, sedimentary rocks that lined our front door. And with equal propriety, he added, "Hey, we should spray them shits with some Raid."

"I like the way your mind works," said I, as I set out to locate the nearest bottle of that sweet, sweet, nightcap of the gods, Raid. And clearly, by gods, I mean palmetto bugs. Upon locating two cans of the stuff, both of which were only identifiable by the familiar sight of an overturned cockroach, I began to ponder as to why it was the matriarch of our household deemed it unfit to purchase a freakin DOMESTIC can of Raid for once! I am sick and tired of Raidu (Capable of banishing roaches to the land of wind and ghosts!) and Ching Chong Raid...ching (Named by the sound of falling silverware on staircases). It's high time we finally bought American damn it!! But I digress.

Having adequetly armed ourselves, Friar and I stepped forth into combat, spraying at, what we thought, was perhaps five or six crickets. Unfortunately, to our dismay, we soon discovered that crickets be rollin' deep yo. Soon, without warning, droves of kamikaze cricket militia began leaping forth, sacrificing themselves for the greater good of domestic infestation. And soon others began joining the fray,

Impressionable teenage crickets jumping off of bridges just because everybody else was. Stockbroker crickets taking the plunge after the market crashed. I tell you it was madness. I swear I even saw a few cheaters with parachutes attached to their wings. What the hell is that??!!

The next thing I knew, I was slipping in puddles of collective cricket entrails and bug juice, while batting dramatic, under appreciated, housewife crickets off of my carefully coiffed coat.

Uhh, what a holiday. Now to be forever remembered by Maiz and Malathion.
Freakin' Pilgrims.