Land of Yajeev: The Early Years

Have you ever wished you could have a hardcopy of the Land of Yajeev for posterity or in preparation for the unlikely eventuality that the internet goes out of style? Ever hanker for the wit and wisdom of Yajeev but couldn’t find a portal of entry to cyberspace? Do you long to read this blog while sitting on the john? Are you tired of draining precious ink cartridges printing Land of Yajeev posts?

My friends, if you answered “yes” to zero or more of these questions, then your wildest dreams have indeed come true. The Land of Yajeev is now available in book form! For my birthday, the wife spent hours upon hours compiling and editing the first two years of posts and comments of the Land of Yajeev and has packaged them into a slim 400-page hardcover or (more modestly priced) paperback volume now available for purchase at the brand new Land of Yajeev Mega-Bookstore. Perfect for display on coffee tables to impress your guests or to keep handy at your bedside, you will be able to enjoy and relive Land of Yajeev posts over and over again sans pesky computer. You can underline your favorite quotes, write in the margins, dog-ear notable posts, or leave your own personal comments at the end of each entry.

It has become a Land of Yajeev tradition (one year running) to make holiday gift recommendations, and I can think of no more meaningful present than the gift of bloggable humor. You will want to purchase copies of Land of Yajeev: The Early Years for all of your friends, parents, offspring, co-workers, acquaintances, mail-delivery personnel, sponsor children, neighbors, teachers, and significant others so that all of your kith and kin can experience the unbridled pleasure that is the Land of Yajeev. Information on book-signings will be posted as soon as the deluge of invitations from bookstores around the country hit my email inbox (any day now). In the meantime, if you want a signed copy, send an email to landofyajeev @ yahoo . com, and we will make special arrangements.

Visit the Land of Yajeev Mega-Bookstore to buy your copies today (and be among the first to rate and review the book)!



And, don’t forget—a panoply of Land of Yajeev merchandise is available at the companion Land of Yajeev Megastore. Stocking stuffers and Chanukah gelt abound!


Warning: You should not consume alcohol while experiencing Land of Yajeev: The Early Years. Do not drive or operate heavy machinery until you know how Land of Yajeev: The Early Years affects you. Insomnia caused by inability to rid your mind of Yajeev is a rare but treatable side effect. Consult your physician if symptoms persist for more than one week.

Daily Value

Per my doctor's recommendation, I had a consultation with a nutritionist this morning. Unfortunately, I was so hungry during our meeting that I had great difficulty focusing on our conversation. There was mention of food as I recall, but the precise details of our exchange elude me. I also seem to remember there being rubber chicken breast replicas and a bowl of fake oatmeal, but these may have been malnutrition-induced hallucinations.

Before returning to work, I stopped at Dunkin' Donuts for a glazed stick (far lower in sodium than V8--it's practically health food) Wish I'd done that before my appointment--I might remember what we talked about.

Where's the beef?

Today, I did a very grown-up thing.

Succumbing to peer pressure (the rest of my lab was eating there), I ate lunch at a vegetarian Indian restaurant.

All veggies. No meat. Not even bacon.

"It's not like you eat meat at every meal," one of my co-workers (the one who picked the lunch spot) had said to me. Pause. Then she asked, "Do you?"

After some thought, I replied, "Not every meal. Usually not for breakfast. But for lunch..."

"If you can't find something you like, I'll buy you a burger afterwards."

"Deal."

I managed to order the meatiest non-meat item on the menu: fingerling potatoes in tomato curry with giant hollow fried balls of bread. It was the meat and potatoes (sans meat) of Vegetarian Indian cuisine. It shocks me to see these words appear on my screen, but I must admit that it was delicious.

I might even go back. Though next time, I'll probably smuggle in some meat (like my dad smuggles his Atkins' diet-approved bread into sandwich shops).

Oh Cap'n! My Cap'n!

Dear Wife,

First, I would like to sincerely thank you for all of your hard work—your clothes laundering, dish washing, (really spicy) chili cooking, chocolate chip oatmeal cookie baking, dog-hair vacuuming, and grocery shopping. Your dedication to the smooth functioning of our household is very much appreciated and has not gone unnoticed.

There is something, however, I need to tell you. I am sorry to have to confront you in this venue, but I thought the blow might be softened if we were in the company of many anonymous and non-anonymous blog-reading friends.

There is one crucial fact of life that it is time for you to learn. I had hoped when we got married that your parents would have taught you, but I am prepared to take the helm of your educational development for this teaching moment. Sweet, dear, loving, warm, beautiful wife, there is something you need to know:

Peanut Butter Crunch is NOT the same as Cap’n Crunch.

Sure, they both have the Cap’n on the cereal box, but these two cereals are as fundamentally different as Rice Chex and Wheat Chex—two completely different animals. Cap’n Crunch consists of textured rectangular yellow bits of crisp sweetened corn goodness, while Peanut Butter Crunch bits are smooth, puffed spheres of peanut butter. I poured the cereal in the dark kitchen, and thus didn’t carefully inspect the packaging. Surely, you can imagine my surprise upon inserting that first spoonful into my mouth.

Listen, I don’t blame you for purchasing the wrong Crunch. If anything, I blame myself for assuming you knew the difference. I can certainly understand how such an error in judgment could befall a newbie Crunchaholic when confronted with the panoply of Crunches in the cereal aisle: Cap’n Crunch, Crunch Berries, Peanut Butter Crunch, Choco Crunch, Chocolatey Peanut Butter Crunch, and Christmas Crunch (not to mention the generic imitations). Your childhood was obviously a disadvantaged one, and I love you all the more for it. For my part, I commit to you that I will no longer take it for granted that you are as well-versed in the ins and outs of sugar cerealdom as I am when we write a shopping list.

Love forever,
Your husband


P.S. Please don’t return the Peanut Butter Crunch to the store. I’ll suffer through it.




* For an expansion upon this post's title, please click here.

Raindrops keep falling on my head

Wherever there is moisture, I will be there…

Whenever thunderstorms threaten to wreak havoc on picnics, yard sales, or outdoor church bazaars, you can count on me…

When dark clouds lurk behind silver linings, you will know whom to call…

Before you feel the first droplet of dihydrogen monoxide, I will have darted behind a lamppost or sapling or other such sufficiently massive object broad enough to hide my girth and will have mysteriously undergone the superheroic transformation from Yajeev the Blogger to Umbrella Man!

Shielded by a magical webless umbrella and cloaked with a spokeless umbrella sheath, I will project a forcefield of dryness around the eye of the storm.

Delusionally powerful, I will vaporize the liquid invaders by force of hot air that resides deep within me.

The only fluid in sight will be tears of joy shed by those whose days have been saved by Umbrella Man!

Concession

My fellow Americans...

It is with great pride in a well-fought but poorly executed campaign and tremendous sadness that I concede this Presidential election to Barack Obama. It has become abundantly clear that I will be unable to pick up the additional 270 electoral votes necessary to secure the election in my favor. Unfortunately, I have been unable to get through to Senator Obama via cell phone (he must have turned his ringer off) to concede voice-to-voice. I am sure that he is checking the blog every few minutes.

Perhaps it was my failure to go negative or the fact that I neglected to name a Vice Presidential candidate or enumerate a platform of scope greater than Department of Motor Vehicle reform. I will not put the American people through the national debacle that would be a recount (although I like my chances) nor will I follow-up on the innumerable (non-)instances of voter fraud which have resulted in tonight's result. I trust my fate to the judgment of the citizens of this great nation (and offer my services to President-Elect Obama as a potential Secretary of Yeast Biochemistry and Molecular Genetics).

Thank you to all who have tirelessly supported my candidacy and those who, with great principle, wrote Yajeev on their ballots today.




This concession speech is supported by Yajeev for President 2012. I am Yajeev and I support this message.

Rehab

Note to self (and any others who happen to read this and find themselves able to relate to self in that they have recently undergone root canal procedures): new S'mores ice cream treats from Burger King, while delicious, are not pleasant while you are undergoing dental rehab.

Dumpster Diving

In an age when the economy is in the tank, banks and megacorporations are dropping like flies, and government-packaged stimuli and bailouts have become commonplace, there remains only one secure investment plan.

I have been paying into this plan for years and look forward to the glorious day when I can cash out and retire on my earnings. Like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, my treasure awaits me at the end of two glorious Golden Arches. That's right: Monopoly at McDonald's is back!

Yesterday, on the way to my car, I noticed that someone had thrown away a large soft drink cup-- get this!-- without peeling the affixed Monopoly game pieces! Of course, I overcame germ and grime and reached into the trash and removed the stickers for my own collection of this year's properties (you need to be willing to get your hands a little dirty-- or punctured by random sharp waste products-- if you want to be successful in this or any other worthwhile venture). Then, after work, I hit the McD's drive thru, specifically ordering so as to maximize game piece acquisition. I ate dinner while driving home (the wife is out of town). I pulled into the driveway around 8:00, and in my haste to let Watson out after a long day, I accidentally threw away my wrappers, game pieces still attached, in the trash can that we share with our neighbors.

I didn't realize this until I was driving to work this morning, mentally reviewing all of the properties I own (many in duplicate) and couldn't remember which ones I had earned yesterday. I replayed the post-large fry/"southern" chicken sandwich/ large diet coke consumption events in my head and could see myself, almost in slow motion, recklessly tossing the game pieces into the garbage. Needless to say, the first order of business when I arrive home this evening will be to retrieve those (probably winning) game pieces from the trash.

I haven't hit the jackpot (**yet**), but I have garnered two free breafkast sandwiches and 25% off my next purchase at Foot Locker. I'll keep you posted.



For a review of last year's Monopolooza, click here or here or here or here.

Molarity

Yesterday, our apartment building was on the course of the Hartford Marathon. Runners who had trained for months and months jogged, ran, and speedwalked past our home. I have on multiple occasions remarked that I would rather have a root canal than run 26.2 miles. And in fact...

Things went from bad to worse yesterday morning as I reclined in the dentist's chair. While Aiesha, the dental assistant, hummed along to Billy Joel's Only the Good Dye Young, which played soothingly in the background, my dentist's descriptions of her exploration of my buccal cavity became ever dourer.

As my dentist, whose white lab coat simply read "Dr. B", poked and prodded my cracked molar, the prescribed course of treatment progressed from simple filling to crown to (I shudder to recall it) two of the most dreaded words in the dental lexicon: root canal. In total, I spent three hours under the bright lights, shiny instruments, and careful hands of my dentist and her assistant.

Apparently, my dental infrastructure is remarkably resistant to the numbing effects of novocaine. My lips, tongue, and cheek went completely numb and tingly after the first injection, but it took 4 shots to prevent surging jolts of pain as the dentist drilled and scraped the exposed pulp of my tooth. Meanwhile, the two dental experts openly marveled at the volume of saliva I produced.

"It's like a river of saliva," Aiesha, the dental assistant remarked.

"No, no," my dentist, Dr. B, corrected her. "It's more like a spring."

"Yeah, a spring of saliva," Aiesha agreed. Then she looked down at me and added, reassuringly, "That's not necessarily a bad thing."

My previous dentist was awed by the size of my tongue, this one by the volume gushing forth from my salivary glands. My oral anatomical wonders never cease.




Just found this article about diversionary video goggles that allow the patient to watch distracting tv shows or movies during dental procedures... I'm looking forward to the day when I can liveblog a root canal.

Happy Wacky Wednesday!

Some posts just write themselves...

While I stayed up last night to watch the Twins lose in a one-game playoff against the White Sox, the wife went to bed early. When it finally came time for me to join her, she asked me, sounding alarmed, "Wait! What day is it?"

I responded matter-of-factly, "Tuesday."

"Do you know what that means?" she asked dramatically.

"No, what does it mean?" I asked.

"It means that tomorrow is Wacky Wednesday!" At this point, I realized that my wife was communicating from beyond the pale of sleep. My wife's impressive nocturnal communication skills have been previously noted (click here, for example); I was eager to continue in this conversation. "What happens on Wacky Wednesday, dear?"

"Everyone wears hats with googly eyes!" She giggled.

"What else?"

"And they might wear their overalls backwards!"

"Does anything else happen on Wacky Wednesday?"

"Yes--you wear shirts with little polka dots... and..."

She was fading. I didn't want to lose her. "What about the polka dots, honey?"

"The polka dots... they... talk..."

"What do they say?"

"They say, 'We're hungry. We want to eat donuts.' And then I give them little tiny donuts, and the polka dots are all happy." Her tone changed abruptly. "But the next day is Troubling Thursday." In her sleep, it seems, she believed Troubling Thursday to be as alliterative as Wacky Wednesday.

"What's so troubling about Thursday?" I prodded.

"I don't know what the trouble is... that's what's so troubling..."

She began to mumble, almost imperceptibly. I knew that I was losing her. I tried to revive her without actually waking her, but she was gone--lost to the deep, silent slumber that that follows RMM (rapid mouth movement) sleep.

I never learned what was so troubling about Thursday. I hope it doesn't involve nauseated polka dots. Godspeed to us all.