Someone famous who is now dead, possibly former President Howard H. Taft, once said that "the unexamined life is not worth living." I'm here to call malarky. Hold on, wait.... Well, malarky's not answering. Anyway, examining your life in great detail, such as one might do if they were filling out a very detailed background check form, is enough to make you depressed. Apparently, I have lived in so many different places in the last 7 years that the normal form that is provided is not long enough. Nor is the extension form. Two extension forms, plus the normal form, will just about cover it, however. And there's simply no room to write about that summer I slept in the area under the stairs (think Harry Potter, but with less magic and intrigue. Actually, no, nevermind, don't think Harry Potter, as it really isn't applicable).

If you're a person who works as a confirmer of background check forms, I think I have a new respect for you. If you're the person who actually ends up being the confirmer of my background form (it'll be the one written in crayons and smelling vaguely of Skittles), give me a call. I'll buy you a beer and regale you with stories of the time I lived in the kitchen pantry of former New York Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia

I've always longed to say, "Guards, seize him!" but the opportunity hasn't presented itself.

Ode to an Iphone:

Oh, IPhone! I want you
Not to have sex with, per se
But to have and hold

Also, apropos nothing, I start my new job today. So, to the two people who read this blog, specifically my wife and mom, wish me luck!

Finally, I have to confess that when people give me directions anywhere, I will pretend that I'm paying attention and then just Mapquest it later. It's nothing personal against your direction-giving skillz -- but try as you might, you cannot conjure satellite images overlaid with my route out of your ass. Or maybe you can, in which case a trip to the doctor is in order. Or not. That could be the beginnings of an awesome superpower.

Oh, Yellowtail wine! Your Australian sassiness has done me in.

So, granted, I am not normally the wine type. I'm more the vodka-in-the-oatmeal kind of guy. But I picked up a bottle the other day. My wife took me to a fancy place the other night for dinner where there was free wine. Free as in, "you paid way too much for this dinner so we'll throw in some wine so you stop caring." I had previously picked up a bottle of Yellowtail Merlot because of its cheapness. My wife and I just finished it off. I should rephrase. I drank 90% of the bottle and she had the fumes.

Happy Father's Day.

Lawmakers need to realize that we elected them (or simply failed to vote for their competitor) to get things done. Important things. The economy? Please. Terrorism? Come on now.

There is something going on so insidious, so widespread and yet under the radar, that you will not find a single CNN or Fox News story on it. Yet it affects tens of people. Simply put, there are people all over this great country getting made fun of for liking crappy songs.

My name is Doug, and I kinda like that "Girlfriend" song by Avril Lavigne. There, I said it. I'm loud, not exactly proud, but there you have it. And yet, were I to start a job interview with that, I would most likely NOT get the job! That's discrimination, clear and simple.

HR Resolution 567:

"Be it hereby resolved that it's okay if one should want to sing along in the car to Avril Lavigne or even that "Everytime we touch" song by Cascada. One shall not be called a 'nerd', 'teenage girl' (unless one is actually a teenage girl, both chronologically and biologically), or given a purple nurple. I'm looking at you, perceptions of presumed male behavior enforced by societal dictates. Need I remind you of your attendance at the September 23, 1991, New Kids on the Block: Hangin' Tough Tour? I know you still have that t-shirt in your closet. How do we know? It's called the CIA, suckah.

Also, it is hereby resolved that Democrats rule and Republicans drool. Eat it, Boehner."


Do something about this, Reps, or else we'll be singing, "Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your Representative. No way, No way, I think you need a new one."¹

1: More than likely, we will not be singing that. It's copyrighted or something, and besides, we'll look like total geeks.

While in the lab¹, pondering the chemical structure of Mexican food², it occurred to me that there are 20 proteinogenic amino acids while there are 26 letters in the alphabet. If you needed to send a message, you could assign a letter to each amino acid, minus vowels³. Build the appropriate DNA string to code for these amino acids in the appropriate order, put it in a capsule and embed it just under the skin of a spy. Once the spy reaches the recipient, the genetic material is removed and sequenced. The message is read.

Granted, it would much easier to encode an email message in some kind of asymmetric key encryption which requires thousands of computers and hundreds of hours to break. I'm sure Al Qaeda's not that sophisticated anyway - I hear that they suck at Halo⁴.


1: The bathroom

2: Expelling said Mexican food

3: Seriously, what have vowels ever done for you?

4: Oooh, burn!

So I finally did get a new job. It was a long struggle that I hardly participated in. I had various job boards send me daily emails of new jobs. I applied to some occasionally. It made me feel better - I was being proactive. You are legally allowed to complain so long as you are doing something about it. I think that's from Psalms (pronounced "puh-soms"). But then a place actually called! They wanted an interview! This was terrible. I was going to have to actually do something. Obviously, they fell for my suave, sophisticated act. I'm sure it also didn't hurt that I was willing to work for less than an immigrant robot. I start on the 18th.

Where I work now, it's as though an entirely different person goes to work in my place. The person that sits in that office is a mute and anxious badger. But not a badger in the way that badgers are actually very dangerous and not at all to be messed with. More of a badger in the way of a small furry mammal. A small, furry mammal who longs to spend less time telling 80-year-old women how to push an appropriately labeled power button and more time swooping in at the last minute to save an entire IT infrastructure from the forces of that red guy from Tron.

I feel like it's the end of summer and a new school year will start soon. I've got a brand new Trapper Keeper. This is a chance for me to go to work, rather than sending in my furry lackey. Granted, my furry lackey makes a hell of a margarita. My wife warned me not to expect too much. So, much like prom night, I will lower my expectations. But I will try, at least a little bit.