A little while back I performed an experiment (that was suggested by our Beer Buddy, Jean-Luc Picard). I typed, "Ernie needs" into a Google search and looked at the results that came up. If you click here you can read Tim’s and my findings. On a whim I decided to try this again yesterday. The following result came up several times, "Ernie needs to work as hard on his mind-set as on his swing". When I read that line I knew that a higher power was trying to tell me something. So I sacrificed some virgin mega-bytes to the god Google and then I meditated on my mind set.
I gave some thought as to what exactly my "swing" was (I presume it’s some sort of metaphor since I don’t normally do a lot of actual physical swinging. So after some time (and a few Blue Beaver Beers) I determined that my "swing" must be the physical aspect of performing my job. I do that very, very well and I do spend a lot of time making sure that I continue to do it well.
On the other hand, my "mind-set" while I am at work probably does need some more work. The majority of my co-workers are lazy piss-ants. They’re always screwing around wasting time and spending more time talking than working. Needless to say they cause me a great deal of aggravation; and since I can’t drink Blue Beaver (or any alcohol) at work I have been at a total loss as for how to cope with the stress. I even blame them for my not blogging everyday.
But the god Google has helped to point me in a different direction. Clearly what I need to do while I’m at work is just visualize myself drinking a six-pack. Once I get into that "mind-set" then I will be able to deal with the stress of having to work with slackers. I suggest that everyone reading this should do what I did; ask the god Google what it is that you need in your life. The answer may be surprisingly simple.
Whew! You would not believe last week. Not only did I work 13 hrs per day, including commute, but some of the weirdest things happened. It was like the complete reverse of Ernie’s experiences last week.
I literally couldn’t believe it when my teenage son got in a fight with his mother and stormed off. I mean, what kind of teenager does that kind of thing? It was like the twilight zone.
I got up the next morning and all the breakfast stuff had completely disappeared! It was almost like someone had eaten it all and no one replaced it. Or aliens snuck in and took it while we were sleeping….. Too bizarre.
And then that whole paycheck thing. All of a sudden, on Monday, a deposit was made into our checking account. It was like magic. One minute, negative balance. Next minute, money! And the weird part was, the amount deposited matched exactly the number on my pay slip! In a universe where things like this happen, how can you not be amazed? It was almost like it was pre-arranged between my work and the bank.
And then there was the Tom Norton’s incident. I went through the drivethrough and ordered a large coffee and a bagel. When I got to the window to pay, I was informed that my items had already been paid for by the person in front of me. Thank you, whoever you are! Boy, what a week.
Dear Ernie,
What happens if you get scared half to death twice?
Worried in the Ultimate Universe
Dear Ultimate Worrier,
You are most likely thinking that you would be scared all the way to death, however I’m afraid that’s just not the case. You get scared half or 50% to death once, then you get scared 50% to death again. It’s 50% of the remaining 50% or 25% (one quarter) of the way to death. Then if you get scared half to death again would be another 50% of the remaining 25%, which would be 12.5% or one eighth. So if you extrapolate you will see that you can never be scared half to death all the way to death, no matter how many times it happens. It just becomes an infinitesimally small amount. Now, personally after I was scared half to death for about the third time I would seriously consider some major life altering changes. Eventually all that scaring would take a psychological toll on a person.
Dear Ernie?
How soon is now?
Answer Me Now in Lac La Biche
Dear Biche-y,
Now is…right now! No, it gone by. It’s…riiiight…NOW! Whoops missed it again. But really if you can’t see the answer to that one then no one can help you.
As I surf through the channels on t.v. I notice an ever growing trend. Of course every season there are more and more "reality" shows. This is probably because most viewers find other peoples "real" lives to be more interesting than their own. With the "reality" shows I’ve noticed that three types seem to be the most popular.
One is has-been celebrities; "The Two Cory’s", "The Surreal Life", etc. The other is "The Next…"; "Top Chef", "Great American Band", "Pussycat Doll", etc. Another growing trend is game shows, especially one’s that don’t require any skills or intelligence whatsoever; "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader", "Deal or No Deal", to name but two.
I think someone should combine all three. A game show where you can become the next has-been celebrity. I’m leaning toward, "The Next Olsen Twin". I haven’t heard much about Mary-Kate and Ashley lately. I suspect that this is due to the fact that neither one of them has been caught drinking and driving…yet. Previously it was big news that one of them was anorexic, but these days a mere emotional/eating disorder just isn’t exciting enough. Therefore they need to do something to put themselves back on the map.
A reality show is just the ticket. You get a bunch of young, skinny blonde girls and put them through a grueling competition. Each show they’ll have to choose a numbered designer handbag and then answer an inane question about some of The Olsen Twins movies. Hopefully these girls with have just enough personality that there will be tension and conflict in the house in the evenings after the actual competition. That always makes for exciting "reality" t.v. (or if they are even remotely skilled at acting they could fake some "reality"). In the end there would be one new Olsen Twin; although maybe they would then become the Olsen Triplets.
Early Sunday morning, in Winnipeg, Manitoba; two teenage girls carjacked a 46-year old man. The girls approached the man who was sitting in his pickup truck and convinced him to get out by claiming that they were cops. The girls then bound the man’s hands, raided his pockets and took off in the truck.
Eventually the man broke free and called the real police, who subsequently found the truck and the girls.
Thus far there has been no statement from the man as to why he would have believed that two teen-age girls were actually police.
The girls have been charged with robbery, forcible confinement, impersonating a police officer, driving without a license and drug possession.
Speculation is that the the girl’s lawyer will use "The Simple Life" defense. They were merely acting in a manner similar to what they had seen their idols, Paris and Nicole, doing on t.v. The only official statement from these two girls has been, "That’s hot."
At work the other day, while I was sitting in the lunch room; a co-worker sketched this portrait of me. I was very flattered; the sketch really captures my essence. Just looking into the eyes of the picture, you can see the true depths of my being. You know that within lurks the mind of a genius. You can also see the strong jawline, a sign of my rugged masculinity. My haircut is a no-nonsense style that easy to take care and thus I waste no time "doing" my hair. The safety-sunglasses on my head show that I am readily prepared to protect the "windows-of-my-soul". The prominent proboscis is ideal for sniffing out rats and weasels, especially amongst co-workers. And that little scribble high on the cheek bone…well, I’m not sure what that is. Artistic interpretation, I guess. That’s how I see my portrait. You may disagree, in which case you can go to blazes (where-ever that is).
Yesterday, I decided I would go out for a drive. I had no particular destination in mind I just wanted to see where the road would take me. I was certain that I would find some excitement along the way. Alas, no such luck. There was no male hitch-hiker who turned out to be a homicidal maniac that I would have to escape from after I picked him up. No female hitch-hiker who would turn out to be a nymphomaniac that I wouldn’t want to escape from after I picked her up. At no point did I come across a road sign pointing to free Blue Beaver Beer down a narrow overgrown trail that actually led to a house where a crazed inbred family would at first seem like nice (but slightly eccentric) people, but who would later try to kill and eat me. Nobody even cut my brake line when I stopped at a small backwoods general store, so that I would end up hurtling down a long winding mountain pass.
It was an utterly uneventful day. When I got home I wasn’t even so much as shaken up because I narrowly avoided hitting some sort large sasquatch type creature. I’m beginning to think that maybe you can’t believe everything that you see in horror movies (not even the ones that are "inspired by actual events). Next thing you know I’ll find out that it’s not possible for a deformed man wearing a hockey mask and wielding a machete to be a totally unstoppable murdering force of nature. That will disappoint Sandi even more than me.
If you are ever lucky enough to hear the melodious mating call of the majestic Blue Beaver, please record it! I have heard so much about this captivating natural dirge, and no one seems to have recorded it. Lazy Slackers! I mean, unlucky biologists. Those who didn’t record it, but merely heard it as they witnessed the mating rituals, claimed it was more beautiful than the song of the Green Backed Bark Stripper or the Tawny Tugbird. They are probably just nuts.
The Blue Beaver will spend entire minutes trying to impress his future mate with feats of dam building and swimming prowess, then attempt to drag her off to his den, by the tail if necessary. If the female is unwilling to go, she will whup his behind and leave the area. The male might then resume his song, while he cleans the blood from his fur. Or he might just call it a night and go for a beer.
If you would like some real facts on the common brown beaver, check out this article. It is almost as interesting as these shots of a sweaty beaver in the Forest of Ubangme.
Dear Ernie,
I know that back in the old days before clocks had been invented (back in the 1800’s if I’m not mistaken) they used something called sundials. I don’t really know how such a thing would work seeing as I’m not a physicist, however I assume from the name that it somehow depends on the sun. So how did they tell the time at night?
Time For An Answer in Bearberry
Dear Timely Bear,
You are mistaken. I have it on good authority that the very first clock was invented in 1748 by a Swiss astronomer named Johann Cloken. The first time it ever told was 5:28 a.m.
In answer to your question though; at night they would just read their moon-dials, of course. They worked on the same basic principle, except they were larger and all of the numbers were glow in the dark so that they could be read easier. Now, the next logical question would be, "What about if it was cloudy, what then?" Well, they would just call up a relative who lived in a non-cloudy area and ask them what time their moon-dials read.
That picture Tim posted of the rat/chupucabra sitting on his desk, inspired me to uncover the following funny law.
In Port Coquitlam, British Columbia it is against the law to have more than four pet rats or other combination of rodents in one household. The penalty for breaking this law is a $2000 fine, six months in jail or both.
Now, personally I am all for the owning of rats, weasels, ferrets,and other pants wearing rodents, even though I don’t own any myself. I recently saw a picture of a blue/blond haired girl posing with her ferret.
I think she only owns one but what if she wanted to get a couple more and maybe a chupucabra or two or even some R.O.U.S.’s (rodents of unusual size), why should anyone tell her she’s not allowed. It’s better to keep rodents as pets than have them running around smoking in the alleys, drinking non-Blue Beaver Beer and causing crimes rates to increase. Everyone should own five or six weasels whether it’s the two-legged or four-legged variety.
