Getting Your Good Side? Funny.

Have you ever noticed how when people look at photo albums or yearbooks, they are always looking for pictures of themselves?

We are obsessed with our own faces.

With good reason, too.  We are delightful creatures.

Hot.

The "photobomb" is not a new thing- pictures have been interrupted by uninvited guests since cavemen were scratching petroglyphs into the rock and suddenly realized Oog had managed to insert himself into the image.

 

This ground squirrel is probably not named Oog, but he photobombed the CRAP outta this shot
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The kids at school get school pictures every year.  It's pretty much mandatory- I don't think I've ever had a student who managed to avoid the process completely.  Their pictures are put on their report cards, their ID cards, into the yearbook, up on the wall when they graduate...we plaster their little faces all over the place.

An aside.  Why do we put their pictures on their report cards?  Are we worried that they'll get home, and their parents will look at the name on the report and think "Who the hell is that???" and then be reassured when they spot the little mug shot at the top corner, "Oh YEAH, that's my kid!!!"????

When they get their proofs back, they all inevitably have the same reaction.

"Oh my GAWD no one can look I look TERRIBLE let me see yours oh you look so good."

 ...And that's just the boys!

But in reality, they're all psyched.  Here is another collection celebrating their appearance.  Even kids who aren't terribly attractive are interested in seeing themselves in the yearbook.  I made the yearbook last year, and am again this year, and I had a number of ugmos approach me and ask if I could make sure that they were more highly featured this year.

I of course told them no.

Ugmos have just as much right to yearbook space as the hotties of Junior High.  Amirite????

Anyway.  I had a point.  Actually, I had an original point, which was that pictures where people make funny faces are funny.  But that sort of goes without saying.  Basically, I was going to write about how I take pictures of myself making ridiculous faces and then post them online for people's amusement.  Most recently I recycled a series I call "Teacher Face" onto my teaching webpage to remind students of the inevitable wrath they would incur if they didn't hand in their work.  A sample:

Blaaaaaarrrrrgh!

Luckily, I was struck with inspiration today at work...that veritable cornucopia of hilarity.  I can always rely on pubescent children to fuel my comedy.

I'm not super tech-savvy but I know that people are also not very password-savvy.  One of my students was trying to log into his account at school to show us his presentation, but some of the keys on the laptop he was using are missing (note to self: slap anyone who thinks education cutbacks are ok) and he asked, while typing in his password, "Where is the H???"
So I said to the class "Make note- his password has an H."
And all the kids laughed, cuz of course it means that now, armed with that information, we can all access his top secret documents on his facebook account.

And I laughed, and said that I would go into his account and change all his photos to photos of me.

...then I thought to myself, as I ignored the subsequent comments and blather from the class...

"What if I did go on someone's account and change all their pictures to pictures of myself???"

It would be like two birds with one stone.  First: I would fulfill that urge to have more photos of myself floating around where I can admire them.  Second: some poor sap would go to admire HIMSELF and instead, be peering at MY mug.  HA HA HA!!!

Now, this is only not mean if I keep backups of all the pictures I replace.  And it's pretty obvious pretty quick if I do it, so I am not sure how sustainable this funny is.

So I have an advanced version of this prank- which is like THREE birds with one stone.  It combines that look-at-me urge, the funny of tricking some jerk, and the glory of the photobomb.

Instead of replacing all the photos, I'll simply insert myself into all his pictures!  He he he.  It will take time, and mastery of adobe photoshop, and some guy I just called a jerk to give me his password, but other than that, it's completely fool proof.

Moral of this story: Prepare yourselves, facebookers.  Pretty soon, you'll be seeing me everywhere.

It's not a funny one. Sorry.

It's not a funny one today.  Sorry about that.  If you tuned in for the regular program, you might want to sit this one out, because I didn't feel inspired to be funny but I felt more serious.

I was having one of those "what does it all mean?" moments after reading an article about a 75 year old man who was beaten to death while walking down the beach on vacation with his wife.  The alleged perpetrator murdered him for his wallet.

I have had a few of those moments lately.  Well, if I'm honest, I have those moments fairly frequently.  Things happen- little things, big things, things that aren't even real- like moments on television- and they make me think about what we're all doing here, what we all should be doing, what drives us to do things that are good...and things that aren't so good.

I don't know what it all means.

No one does.  Some people have more faith than others, and really truly believe that they know what it all means- but I'm fairly certain that no one really, really knows.  We might have guessed right.  Some people might have more of a handle on the meaning than others.  But no one really knows for sure.

But just because we don't know what the master plan is- if there even is a master plan- doesn't mean there isn't a way that we should be while we're alive.

As far as anyone knows, we get one shot at this life.  One life.  You don't know when your clock is up.  Good people, bad people, average people, all kinds of people die for ridiculous reasons all the time.  Some people get to a fitting end, grow old in the arms of someone they love.  Others are walking on the beach on vacation with someone they love and they are killed by someone they've never met, for a matter of probably fifty bucks.  Fifty bucks.

Is that what that man's life was worth?

Absolutely not.

What should we do about this?

This is what I think.  Take it for what it's worth.  It's more of an exercise for me than it is a sermon for the rest of you.  I want to live a positive life, every day.  I need to try harder.

We get one life.

So does everyone else.

Spend that one life making other people's one lives better.

Why waste any of your time- your precious time- making another person unhappy?

Even petty little things...laughing at something that makes someone else happy.  Like someone who enjoys music you don't care for.  Justin Beiber fans.  I don't get it.  But it doesn't matter even a little what the hell I think about their taste in music.  Laugh at them?  Make them feel bad about something that makes them happy?  How disgusting is that?  Make someone feel foolish about what they like, guilty about what they like?  How horrible.

I am not always a good person.  I'm not always making other people's lives better.  But I really think that my ultimate happiness lies in being the best person I can be, and seeing other people benefit as a result.  And I really think that is true for other people as well.  It sounds so corny...so simple... but what if we were all trying to take care of each other, respecting each other...what if we were all kind to each other?

Would the bad people take advantage and overrun the good?

Or would there be less bad people, because they wouldn't have any reason to be bad any more?

I don't know.  It just breaks my heart that some old man was walking down the beach with his old wife and he died.

He died because someone else beat him to death.

I want the news to be about reunions and sneezing pandas and charity dinners and hope and good and happiness.

I want to live the best life possible.  I am going to try harder.

Upgraded running? Funny.

 

I'm not into running.

When I was younger, I was on the cross-country and track teams and would sprint and run long distance.  I didn't really choose those activities- I was on the track team more by default, because most girls at my school thought exercise was for butch chicks and it would interfere with their rigorous makeup application routine.  I was on the cross-country team because my father thought it would be good for me.

It probably was good for me, in some way, but I really wasn't a big fan of running then and I really loathe it now.  I enjoy running with a purpose- like in soccer, where I have to run if I don't want to look like an asshole walking around trying to get the ball.  I would be totally on board with running if I was being chased or had to escape some kind of imminent danger.  These are situations that warrant running.

It is a good idea to run when dinosaurs are chasing you.

But just running for the sake of running?  I dunno.  I have heard of this so-called "runner's high" that people in spandex get after booking it around the block a few times.  I have yet to experience such a thing.  It might have something to do with my severe deficit in actual running.  It might also have to do with there being a type of person who IS a runner, and then everyone else, who looks at those jerks running around and wonders- if they're in such a rush, why not take a bike?  Or, better, a CAR???

Bob and I live near a Running Room, the official church of those people who get high off running.  This is their mecca.  They gather there, spend a fortune on running gear and hustle around in large, holier-than-thou groups who look down their noses at us mere mortals who walk or drive to get where we need to go.  Actually, these runners aren't even going anywhere.  They're coming right back to the start.

There are a lot of bogus runners who join that club, I think.  The one we live near has a McDonald's, a bakery, a chocolate shop, an ice cream shop and two coffee places in the same complex, and on running days all these businesses are overrun with doofuses (doofii?) in silly tight-fitting hats, reflective jackets and utility belts designed only to hold multiple tiny water bottles.  It's hard to tell if they are finished their run or having a pre-run latte, but they are all OVER the place, sometimes choking out even the hordes of old people who wander over from the plethora of care homes across the street.  Running days are a drag in the complex.

Bob and I once tried to commit to an exercise program that was based around running.  We both wanted to get in shape and we wrote out all these goals and this plan where we would be running pretty much every day.  We went out on the first day and, fueled by what I can only assume was either our pure love for each other or complete insanity, ran about 5 km and pretended to like it.  We both said prerequisite things like "Wow I'm so pumped, what a great workout" and agreed that we were on the path to greatness.

...deep down inside, we both were thinking "Eff this!  I hate running!  We look like turds!  Running around for no reason.  Nothing's chasing us!!!  And now my stupid legs hurt and my skin feels like someone slapped it!  Bah!!!"

...but the next day, we went out, ran our circuit again, and breathlessly smiled at each other at the end.  Until I broke the silence...

"Bob.  I'm really sorry.  I hate running.  I'll still do it if you want, but I really, really hate it and I wish I was dead."

To which Bob replied:

"OH THANK GOD IT WAS TERRIBLE I ALSO WISH I WAS DEAD!!!"

...thus ended our ridiculous foray into the world of running.  Now, we both get exercise and spend some time together on our coed soccer team, where lots of people are relying on us to run around and not be stupid jerks who just stand there.  Social pressure, plus the addition of an actual goal, makes running less of a horrible waste of our time and more of a slightly aggravating aspect of something we enjoy.

We got to talking the other day, though, about running clubs.  Bob had made a joke at work about how all those people from the Running Room look like a team, that they're supposed to be running because they're all decked out in hundreds of dollars worth of running crap, but if you saw a group of people in plainclothes running around you would think you'd have to call the cops.  Why would a bunch of people in regular clothes be running?  Almost definitely because they are escaping from the scene of a crime.

One thing led to another, and I now propose to you:

Heather's Hobo Running Squad

Now don't worry.  Membership is not exclusive to hobos.  Hobos are certainly welcome, along with anyone else who wishes to join, except maybe those sorts of people who join the Running Room.

For a nominal fee, we will provide you with all the running gear you need and will schedule places and times for us to get together and run.  Each person's membership kit will include:

1. A uniform consisting of clothing that looks like this:

2. Free weights to be carried in your hands while running, to maximize your burn (or whatever), that look like this:

3. A map of starting places and rest stops around town, mostly situated downtown near banks.

4. A laminated lifetime membership card.

5. A pack lunch, to be carried in a bandana (translation in Kimspeak: hobo napkin) on the end of a long stick.

6. A phrasebook to use in situations that almost certainly will arise.  Here are some sample excerpts from the book:   

"I'm running with my Hobo Running Squad.  Here is my laminated lifetime membership card."

"Yes, we are all together."

"Yes, this is our standard running uniform.  It lets people know we are organized."

"These are my free weights.  They help me maximize my burn."

"We carry our lunches like this so they don't get in the way of our form."

"I get high on running, not on drugs."

"Officer, you are welcome to search my free weights, but I must insist you return them as I need them to maximize my burn."

I'm pretty sure you want to join.  I'm pretty sure this is something that we should actually do. It's fitness...AND fun!!!

Moral of this story: I'm getting a junior chicken, and I don't care if I have to push all you runners out of the way to get it.