Goodness, gracious, ping pong balls of fire!

At a party last night, I learned a trick for removing dents from ping pong balls: holding a flame near the dented ball causes the air inside the ball to expand and push the dent out.

It turns out that holding a flame near a dented ping pong ball doubles as an effective method for conflagrant projectile generation.

I thought we were going to be on the news last night after a blazing (formerly dented) ping pong ball was flung from a back porch into a cluster of beautifully landscaped bushes (rather than, incidentally, into a large cup of water immediately in front of the hurler). Fortunately, the brightly burning missile was entirely incinerated before any of the shrubbery could catch fire. Were it not for the rapid and complete combustion, Connecticut would have soon been added to the list of states with raging wildfires. It was close.




For the visual learners among you, here is a clip demonstrating both outcomes of flaming a ping pong ball. For those seeking less igneous techniques for ping pong ball dent removal, click here.

Yahtzee Redux

For months, I have grieved the loss of a special friend that provided endless hours of comfort, entertainment, and thrills. Though this friend has left me, the legacy of shared memories of companionship and mischief has survived. I had thought that this friend was irreplaceable, that the void left in my soul by my friend’s absence could never be filled by another.

Nearly 10 months ago, cell phone Yahtzee deluxe (my dear friend) and the cell phone that housed it perished in what can only be described as a tragic loss of cataclysmic proportion (I believe the insurance companies call this sort of thing an act of God), and I was forced to bring out of retirement an older cell phone incompatible with modern Yahtzee Deluxe software. The addiction Yahtzee Deluxe had fed was suddenly starved; the withdrawal was excruciating.

Many were those who attempted to ease the pain: my sister-in-law found a website with Yahtzee Deluxe downloads for cell phones of all makes and models—attempts to load it to my aged phone proved nearly fatal to its creaky circuitry. The wife and I tried to play Yahtzee the old-fashioned way: with analog non-virtual dice. The little black-dotted white cubes were so loud, and sometimes the dice would take a hard bounce and fall onto the floor—the game just felt too out-of-control and in-color.

No, I would have to muster whatever resolve I could to face life alone (almost alone, anyway—the wife and dog do provide a significant amount of companionship, but unlike the ultra versatile Yahtzee Deluxe, they are not willing or able to spend their every waking moments in my pocket waiting to amuse me at the drop of a hat).

This sob story does have a happy ending, my friends: I have just acquired the latest in touch screen technology, and, perhaps to your surprise, it was not manufactured by Apple. I recently splurged and purchased a replacement friend: handheld touch screen Yahtzee. This pocket-sized electronic appliance with a bright blue backlight is the ultimate portable gaming device.

The advantages of hand-held touch screen Yahtzee are almost too numerous to list (but that won’t stop me from trying). Unlike its major competition, the gimmicky iPhone, which is bogged down with internet connectivity, voice and e-mail communicative capabilities, and expansive music and movie storage capacity packaged in a single sleek shiny black exterior, handheld touch screen Yahtzee is the no-fat, no-frills trimmed-down device that meets all of my (non blog-related) technological needs, unencumbered by needless fluff (who needs maps with GPS technology?).

No one ever calls my handheld touch screen Yahtzee, so my games are never interrupted. I’m afraid that the iPhone gamer can’t boast the same. Additionally, the handheld touch-screen Yahtzee is quite bulky (measuring a hefty 5¾" x 3½"), so it’s much more difficult to accidentally lose than today’s newfangled miniature cell phones (pictured, left, with really, really ridiculously good-looking model Derek Zoolander). Plus, handheld touch-screen Yahtzee comes with its very own hard-plastic screen protector to avoid all those nasty scratches that have plagued every miniature electronic device I’ve ever owned.

I can already hear the protests from the Nintendo crowd: “Sure, yajeev, you have your handheld touch screen Yahtzee but we have the Wii, with its incredible graphics and motion-sensing controllers.” And to you wee Wii players, I reply thus: “Yes, but can you play your Wii while stuck in traffic? While riding the bus? While using a public restroom? Furthermore, no handheld touch screen Yahtzee has ever (to my knowledge) been responsible for damaged plasma televisions, windows, pets, lamps, or limbs (click here for details) during the course of normal gameplay."

(with respect for Todd Beamer,) Let's roll!


Disclaimer: that Yahtzee, like any addictive recreational activity, has the potential to wreak havoc in personal relationships professional success.



The forecasted surge in posts to this blog may be compromised by the handheld touch-screen Yahtzee insurgency.


For previous Yahtzee-related blog posts, please visit:
* Warning: Not for the faint of heart
* Addiction
* Yahtzee Deluxe Update
* RIP: Yahtzee Cell Phone Deluxe

Save Russ's Blog

I have caught wind of an unsettling rumor circulating throughout the interwebs. I just hope that it is not too late for us to take action. One of my favorite bloggists and political personalities, Russ Parker, after several months of silence has reportedly decided to officially pull the plug on his blogsite August 18, 2008.

Russ has blogged with great eloquence on such diverse topics as the war in Iraq, the passing of Kurt Vonnegut, yard signs, facebook groups, voting, voter registration, absentee voting, trails in Alabama, and the weather.

You can do your part to keep this behemoth of the blogosphere online!

Please visit Russ Parker's blogsite, read his posts, like what you read (you won't be able to help yourself), and leave your emphatic comments encouraging, begging, cajoling him to keep on blogging on (no threatening entreaties, please). We can only hope that the massive influx of comments will convince him to persist in the art and craft of blogging. Let your voice be heard, so that his may be read for weeks, months, and years to come.

Land of Yajeev readers unite!

From Keystone to Constitution

Two weeks ago, my wife, my dog, and I transported all of our worldly possessions from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to Hartford, Connecticut in a high-speed (50ish mph) two-Honda Civic, one-Penske truck caravan across Pennsylvania, New York, and Connecticut.


With the help of an unexplainably high-spirited crew (including the wife's sister and brother-in-law-to-be, occasional blog commenter and devoted friend Andy, and two of the wife’s classmates (one current classmate, one former classmate accompanied by her husband—who graciously donated his time and strength to a couple of Pittsburghers he barely knew), we spent several hours dodging raindrops while lugging, maneuvering, forcing, wedging, wiggling, and finagling boxes, shelves, beds, dressers, couches, and televisions up two narrow, steep flights of stairs and through an unusually and frustratingly narrow front door to a then-un-air-conditioned third floor apartment. By the time all of our stuff had been forced through the entrance, the entire crew was thoroughly exhausted.

This was the easy part. We all went out to eat to celebrate the mass movement of stuff and got a good night’s sleep, and the next morning, Andy and I got into my car and returned to Pittsburgh, where I would attend the closing of the sale of our house, complete the microbiology course I taught at the community college, and officially submit the final version of my dissertation.

Stereotypical man that I am, I left the hard part (i.e. getting our new home in order) to the little lady, who was assisted for one more day by her sister and sister’s fiancé. (“No, dear, I insist: you stay in Connecticut with Watson and enjoy our new home, and I’ll work hard in Pittsburgh for one more week.”) The wife worked tirelessly for eight straight days of arranging, rearranging, cleaning, shopping, logisticating, assembling, while I spent my days working and nights and weekend, well, relaxing in a true yajeev-style vacation, chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool and all shooting some b-ball outside of the school (minus the b-ball part).

The first four nights were spent with Andy, who treated me to dinner at a different fancy (or fancyish) restaurant each evening. At night, we watched movies on DVD, played video games, watched funny video clips on YouTube, and listened to some sweet tunes. As I write this, I’m imagining a split-screen movie with my wife working to exhaustion on one side of the screen and me lounging on Andy’s couch popping cheddar chex mix into my mouth, guzzling diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper, and laughing at Stephen Colbert on the other. The wife is Cinderella, and I the gluttonous evil stepsister.

These four glorious nights were just the prelude to the indulgence of the weekend that followed: Saturday and Sunday were spent with my folks, and the entirety of my waking hours was spent in a rapid-fire alternation of large meals and movies. When I awoke on Saturday, I ate breakfast, which was soon followed by lunch (we had a movie to catch, so these first two meals had to be compressed—though, not combined to brunch). Pops and I drove to the theater for the first movie of the day (I had nachos with cheese), after which we met my mother at Outback Steakhouse (where there are very few rules) for a filling dinner. Immediately after finishing our steaks (mine was crowned with blue cheese), we zoomed to the cineplex to catch movie number 2. I abstained from snacking during the second movie, as I had caught wind of a rumor (which later proved to be true) of an after-movie stop at Pizza Hut, where my father and I each ate our own P’zone (contrary to what some might tell you, they are delectable) as my mother watched in horror. Exhausted by the exertions of the day, Dad and I retired to the house for a cinematic nightcap: we watched a third movie, this one on DVD from the comfort of my parents’ den.

Sunday, traditionally a day of rest, was accordingly lower-key—only two large meals and two movies—and a visit with Grandma. While I rested in the Midwest on Sunday afternoon, the wife struggled in New England for several hours to assemble a bathroom storage unit (which I broke yesterday in one of the myriad careless flashes of coordinational ineptitude that serve to connect the otherwise mundane moments of my life).

This past Monday morning, after an exhausting week of leisure, I tied up the few remaining loose ends of my life in Pittsburgh, completed my final round of goodbyes, and hit the road. I arrived in Connecticut late Monday night to what no man deserves: an apartment lovingly and meticulously assembled and cleaned and (best of all) a wife and dog excited to see me.

We’ve spent much of this week acquainting ourselves with our new surroundings: exploring the city parks, checking out a few of the tourist attractions, and, most importantly, systematically surveying the local dining landscape. In the past four days, we’ve eaten at The Pantry (a heavenly breakfast, lunch, and dinner greasy spoon situated within easy walking distance from our apartment), a charming BAEYOB (bring and exchange your own books) library/coffee shop called La Paloma Sabanera (which I think is Spanish for Starbucks), an incredibly cute Laotian/Thai diner (where I ate my third delicious serving of Pad Thai in less than five days and an out-of-this-world fried flour-shell-banana-mango dessert), an upscale downtown after-work martini (and APPETIZERS) bar for which my wife and I were shamelessly underdressed (but we enjoyed it just the same), pizza delivered from an upstart joint called Domino’s, the Red Rock Hartford Tavern (an independent bar and grille), a van parked by the capital building serving Chinese food, and a little place I like to call (pseudo) Mexican Heaven (Taco Bell--we've been there twice).

The most wonderful aspect of our new home is the plethora of Dunkin Donuts, apparently the primary source of nutrition of New England. En route to our closest Wal-Mart (less than two miles from our apartment), there are at least 4 Dunkin Donuts to choose from.


Lest you think my new Connecticutian life consists of one giant vat of donutty laze, I will have you know that I have contributed to the upkeep (if not the setup) of our new Hartford home: yesterday, I completed two loads of laundry and I washed the dishes—by hand—and I’ve checked the mail almost every day!

The Unofficial My Friend's Friend's Brother-in-Law Ben Fan Club

It only took about five minutes into last week's premiere episode of "I Survived a Japanese Gameshow", ABC's latest foray into reality television, for me to know that this was no Banzai (history's finest in Japanese- American entertainment). This show was too much reality and not enough Japanese gameshow.

I had all but written it off when I learned that one of the nine remaining contestants, Ben, is the brother-in-law of a close friend of a close friend. I also discovered that Ben is the official handler of Punxsutawny Phil--that's right the most famous groundhog in all of Pennsylvania who, based on the sighting of his own shadow, prognosticated six extra weeks of winter this year.



Re-energized by the prospect of a brother-in-law of a friend of a friend appearing on (inter?) national reality television donning nothing more than a giant diaper and bib, I re-committed to the show--in fact, I nearly transformed the Land of Yajeev to a My Friend's Friend's Brother-in-Law Ben Fansite, posting weekly BenWatch updates and opening a forum for readers to discuss the latest Ben gossip and submit their cell-phone-camera-snapped candid photos of Ben on the street.




The wife and I tuned in to tonight's second episode, eager for the extravaBENza. We were disappointed to see, in the first few moments of this week's installment, a tearful Ben tell the camera that he felt "sick". A minute later, the show's host was explaining to the other contestants that after Ben had fallen ill, he been taken to a hospital and would be leaving the show.

That was it: in a mere five minutes, my love affair with a reality television show and its woodchuck-handling contestant was over. Unless I hear word that Ben is making his dramatic return to the show, I'm afraid I've seen my last of this summer's guilty pleasure.

Ben, if you're reading this, I want you to know that while your stint/stunt on this show may have been cut short by unforeseen Asian maladies, my admiration and support for you will not cease. Thanks for the (really, really brief) memories.












Readers may demonstrate solidarity in their pro-Benness by indicating in the comments section that they'd like to join the unofficial Ben fan club.

Retraction

While at least one reader has demanded a retraction for my last post , another has brought to my attention the fact that the content of another recent post has been exposed as a hoax.

Reader Kathy emailed me the following:

I'm sorry to tell you that the 'lost' tribe are not new readers for Yajeev. They've been found since 1910 and if they haven't found the Land of Yajeev by now, well, it's time for a new advertising strategy!

I've been bambooozled and have, in my zeal, propagated the bamboozledness to the Land of Yajeev readership, and for that, I am very sorry. To read about the hoax that shook cyberspace, click here.

I also extend my sincerest regrets to the heretofore presumed-to-be-uncontacted tribesmen and tribeswomen. If you reply to this post with a valid Amazonian jungle address, I'll send down a coupla Land of Yajeev t-shirts. You're going to like the way you look in them. I guarantee it.


... on a separate note, the course I am teaching is drawing to a close, my wife and dog have officially moved to Connecticut, and I am soon to follow... as are several posts which are already written in my head (as my dad would say) ... I'm forecasting a surge in postages. No promises. Just predictions.

Stock Boy

Tonight, I overheard the nice teenage boy who rented me skates at the ice rink tell his co-worker of about the same age, "No, seriously, I want to be a famous stock broker when I grow up."

Poor kid's setting himself up for a life of disappointment. He should set his sights on something a little more realistic. Like becoming President of the United States. Or hitting the Powerball. Or curing cancer. Or brokering world peace. Or simultaneously determining a particle's position and velocity.

But a famous stock broker? I mean, has there ever been such a thing?

I considered giving the young man a healthy dose of reality but thought better of it. A boy should to be free to dream.

Big Russ

Your very Russertness will continue to inspire.

You've gone to meet that giant press in the sky. May you rest in peace.



Tim Russert, 1950 - 2008









(feel free to leave your favorite or most meaningful Russert memories in the comment section)


UPDATE: I recommend this tribute by Velvet Sacks.

Morsels

My apologies for the blog-drought of late. I don't expect this to satisfy my readers starving for yajeev wit and wisdom, but I leave you with an inspirational quote and a link.

The mental benefits of exercise are all in your head.

-Father of Yajeev (a la Yogi)


Click here to read a post about the one of the blogosphere's most opinionated and dictatorial contributors who seems to have gone dark of late. I've been meaning to share this link for some time. I'm told an update may be in the offing.

Teacher's (so late it was) Early Retirement

Last night, I did something that I never had to do in high school, college, or graduate school. I've only ever done it while wreaking havoc at childhood birthday parties, playing video games with my wife, or waiting in line for free chicken. I've done it in the past because I wanted to--never because there was work that actually had to be done.

I pulled an all-nighter.

Even though I don't teach until tomorrow, I stayed up to finish preparing my lectures for the week, grading and recording scores of exams and lab reports, and writing quizzes (I had been working on these since Friday morning). By the time I went to bed, the birds had begun chirping and the sky had already turned from pitch black to a terrifying shade of royal blue. It was 5:00 am, exactly 24 hours from the moment I would wake up to get ready for school on Tuesday morning-- a depressing realization. I considered staying awake for as long as I could, extending Sunday until I was no longer able to keep my eyes open-- and then going to sleep until Tuesday-- just forgetting about Monday altogether.

I did slept for a few hours, got up, initiated the caffeine drip that has lasted until about thirty minutes ago, walked the dog, did some laundry and dishes, and worked again until now (9:22 pm).

Actually teaching this class is a lot of fun. Preparing for the class is like running a marathon every weekend.

When I began writing this post, I am sure there was some sort of punchline I had in mind... but, between then and now, I have become bleary eyed and forgetful. Goodnight.