A description of my blog. http://www.my-site.com 4471580464700141802 14 Shopping Days Till Inappropriate Card Day! 2008/02/#4471580464700141802 2008-02-11 Every year somebody asks me what I'm getting Mrs. Diesel for Valentine's Day.

My answer is that Mrs. Diesel and I don't celebrate Valentine's Day.

This statement is greeted with predictable disbelief. "But you have to get her something."

"No, I don't. She told me not to get her anything."

Then comes the inevitable tsk-tsking (and let's say it altogether now): "She says she doesn't want you to get her anything, but you know she really wants something." This is followed by a dissertation on what a Foolish, Naive Husband I am for not reading between the lines of "Seriously. Don't get me anything. It's a stupid holiday. Don't get me anything. Really."

So here's the deal: While I appreciate your presumption that you have a better understanding of my 15 year relationship with my wife than I do, the fact is that Mrs. Diesel is neither a materialistic whore who trades affection for candy and flowers, nor a sub-lingual beast who is incapable of communicating her feelings in anything other than barely comprehensible grunts.

I have joked about the differing modes of communication employed by men and women, but the fact is that Mrs. Diesel and I are in perfect agreement on this issue. Valentine's day is a stupid, fabricated holiday. One year I actually had her write me a note that I could show to all the women in the office: "I told Diesel not to get me anything for Valentine's Day because I think it's a stupid holiday."

I mean, let me get this straight: This is a special day to celebrate our love for each other -- a love so unique and enduring that it can only be expressed by the delivery of shiny trinkets and dead flowers at the prodding of greedy retailers. Got it.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I was planning on giving Mrs. Diesel a gift of sorts this year, but it didn't work out. I've been working on my impression of Eddie Vedder singing "Do You Believe in Love?", and I was planning on recording it and leaving it on Mrs. Diesel's voicemail, but despite singing myself hoarse on the way to work I still haven't nailed the chorus.)

And yes, I feel pretty much the same way about Christmas. Unfortunately, the Christmas machine is too all-encompassing for Mrs. Diesel and me to do much about it. But Valentine's Day? That's just for us, baby. It's all about expressing our love for each other in the face of an uncaring, materialistic world. And we've decided to express our love for each other by giving a hearty f--- you to the Valentine's Day machine.

Mrs. Diesel and I have even created our own holiday. It's called Inappropriate Card Day, and it's on February 26. We've been celebrating it every year since 1992, and last year we went public with it. The full story is here. This is an abbreviated version:

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Our first date was the week before Valentine's Day. This put me in an awkward position. I had been trying to ingratiate myself with this girl for a couple weeks now, and I wasn't entirely sure that she wasn't just humoring me. I wanted to do something for Valentine's Day that indicated I liked her without scaring her off.

I honestly don't remember what I ended up doing. I may have just called her, or gotten her some lame-ass card. But I remember feeling cheated by circumstances. I was in love with her, and I felt constrained not to demonstrate it on the one day that I should have been able to go crazy. Not that I'm a big fan of Valentine's Day; as a rule I don't like having my behavior dictated by the Hallmark corporation. But I would have made an exception for her, if I didn't think that I'd have scared the bejesus out of her.

My solution was to say, essentially, "Screw Valentine's Day. Screw Hallmark. And screw American Greetings too, while we're at it." I made up my own holiday.

On February 26, I slipped a card under my future wife's door. It was a "Happy Birthday Grandson" card. I wrote "Happy Inappropriate Card Day!" on the inside. And a new tradition was born.

Every year, my wife and I exchange inappropriate cards. One year she got me a sympathy card. One year it was a little kid's birthday card, with Bambi on the front. The caption was, "Kinda wobbly, aren't you?" I think last year I got her a card that said "Happy Father's Day from both of us." My best effort was the time I stopped at a gas station on the way home from work and got her a postcard with the windmills from Altamont Pass on it. "Wish you were here," I wrote.

You can give an inappropriate card to anyone. There are no rules. Well, except for the fact that the card has to be completely inappropriate -- and not risque inappropriate; that's too easy. It has to be a card that would be perfectly appropriate for someone other than the recipient, preferably on a completely different day.

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So that's the story. Inappropriate Card Day is just as arbitrary as Valentine's Day, but the great thing about it is that it's the one holiday that the greeting card companies can't make a card for. You can just use a card from your reject pile, or grab one from the bargain bin. Hell, you can use the Ace of Spades for all I care.

Inappropriate Card Day is February 26. Celebrate it with someone you love.


At humor-blogs.com, it's Inappropriate Card Day every day.

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]]> 8986376953116001268 Can We Talk? 2007/11/#8986376953116001268 2007-11-11 One of the great things about language is the fact that you can use it to communicate with other people. For example, I might say to you, "Hey, could you hand me that pencil?" And then you might, if you were so inclined, hand me that pencil. And that would work out great for me, because in this particular example what I was attempting to communicate was that I wanted you to hand me that pencil.

This may seem rudimentary to roughly 12% of my readers, because thus far my focus has been on normal -- which is to say male -- communication. My female readers, on the other hand, are thinking, "Good grief, can you imagine the CHAOS that would ensue if people were to just hand each other pencils whenever they asked for them?" Let's look at an example of female communication:

Woman: Hey, can you hand me that pencil?
Man: (Hands pencil to woman) Sure.
Woman: (Bursts into tears).
Man: Pretty disappointing pencil, huh?

You see, in this example, Woman actually had no interest in the pencil. She was simply trying to make an emotional connection with Man. Here is the same conversation, translated from Womanese into normal human speech:

Woman: It's strange that it's the times when we are so close to each other physically that I feel so distant from you, because it reminds me of when we were dating and we used to just sit together and we'd look into each others' eyes and feel a deep, unspoken connection that seemed to transcend time and space, and now, as we sit here, reading the newspaper, bound by our shared lives, I see that connection becoming ever more tenuous, and I wonder if our material ties are ironically pushing us apart on a deeper level -- so that a mundane request, once laden with meaning, has become only a base expression of human need. Please, oh please tell me you understand what I mean.
Man: (Hands pencil to woman) Sure.
Woman: (Burst into tears).
Man: Pretty disappointing pencil, huh?

Man's big mistake in this example was ignoring all of the words that Woman didn't speak before her spoken request for the pencil. If he had paid more attention to the message that Woman didn't communicate, he could have avoided a lot of crying and a trip to Target to buy ball point pens.

Now let's look at another example.

Woman:
Man:
Woman: (Bursts into tears)

In this case, Woman wanted a pencil, and can't figure out why, after 14 years of marriage, Man won't just give her a pencil without her having to ask him every single time.

Of course, none of this is news to you if you've read my best-selling book Men are from Mars and I Shouldn't Have To Tell You Where Women Are From Because After 14 Years of Marriage You Should Just KNOW Without Me Telling You. Or if you, like me, have been married for 14 years.

Now Mrs. Diesel is pretty cool, for a chick. I've pretty much trained her over the course of our marriage to understand that sometimes a pencil is just a pencil. She has pretty much stopped getting upset at me for failing to notice that she has been deliberately trying not to communicate some problem to me over the past three hours. Still, she occasionally forgets that I don't speak Womanese.

For example, this past Saturday she asked me if maybe I had spent enough time on the computer that day and wouldn't I rather help her with dinner? Keep in mind that I had already mowed the lawn, weeded the flower bed and swept the floor that day, among other chores.

I got a little testy, and told her that if she wanted me to help her with something, she should just ask me to help her, rather than insinuating that I'm wasting time on the computer. She responded, of course, that she shouldn't have to ask me.

And this is where we get into the truly baffling part of female communication.

Sometimes Mrs. Diesel and I will be just sitting in the living room, reading or whatever, and she'll say, "Talk to me." And I, because I'm a guy, say, "Talk to you about what?"

And then -- because, as I mentioned, she's pretty cool for a chick, she rolls her eyes and goes back to her book, rather than bursting into tears.

So, to recap, this same woman who can't bear to waste words asking me to help her with dinner now wants me to just spew words in her direction, for no reason whatsoever.

The conclusion that I've come to is that for a woman, communication is cheapened when you fill the words with practical meaning. Women feel about words the same way they feel about plants: They want the pretty parts chopped off and put on display, even if it means that they wither and die without having accomplished anything. Giving a woman words that are connected to actual content is like giving her a potted plant. Sure, it's nice, but it doesn't say "I love you" the way that killing the plant and disposing of the ugly bits does.

Still, Mrs. Diesel and I have each made some concessions to each other's mode of communication. For example, I have no doubt that she'll have no problem telling me exactly how she feels about this post.

And I'm off to buy flowers.


Update 2:55pm - So I'm sitting here trying to figure out why some women seem to be reacting so negatively to the last paragraph, and then I realized that my pronouns are ambiguous. The sentence...
Women feel about words the same way they feel about plants: They want the pretty parts chopped off and put on display, even if it means that they wither and die without having accomplished anything.
...should read...
Women feel about words the same way they feel about plants: They want the pretty parts chopped off and put on display, even if it means that the plants wither and die without having accomplished anything.
All I meant is that women tend to like pretty but impractical things like flowers and jewelry, not that women tend to wither and die without accomplishing anything. I mean, obviously women do tend to wither and die without accomplishing anything, but that's a topic for a whole 'nother post.

Well, I'm glad I cleared that up. Women can be so touchy.


Humor-blogs.com: (bursts into tears)

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]]> 1156696978535460659 Lend Me Your Ear 2007/11/#1156696978535460659 2007-11-07 Mrs. Diesel and I were lying in bed on Saturday morning, having been awoken by the sound of our children squealing and pounding on things in the next room. The kids routinely get up two hours before we do on weekends so they can get a head start on making our house into a disaster area.

"I think you're cute," I announced to Mrs. Diesel, as I studied her features. "Even your weird little nose is kind of cute."

"My weird little nose should be growing on you by now," she replied.

We both snickered as we pictured her nose growing on me.

"Like how they grew a human ear on a rat," I said.

"Who is 'they'?"

"The evil scientists."

"What makes them evil scientists?"

"Well, they -- "

"Grew a human ear on a rat," she said.

"Exactly." I said.

"Why would they do something like that?"

"I think it makes the rats easier to handle in the lab. They probably got tired of trying to grab the rats by the tail."

"The human ear has long been considered an excellent handle," she noted.

"Think of what a time-saver that would be," I said. "One scientist would be like, 'hey, Bill, can you hand me that rat?' And then Bill would just grab the rat by his ear-handle and toss it to the other scientist."

"Uh huh."

"And the other scientist catches the rat and says, 'Thanks, Bill. Conducting inhumane experiments on rats is so much easier now that the rats have handles on them.' And then Bill is like, 'Shhhh! The rat can hear you!'"

"You know," Mrs. Diesel said, "Just because the rat has a human ear, that doesn't mean it can understand human speech."

"Mmmm," I said thoughtfully. "That's true of so many things with human ears."

"I wonder how the rat feels about having a giant ear sticking out of its back."

"The rat is probably like, 'Hey guys, can you keep it down? It's so loud in here. Not so much on this side, but over here it's like, wow. Really loud."

While we were having this conversation, the noise level continued to escalate in the next room.

"Speaking of which," Mrs. Diesel said, "We should probably get up and tend to the children,"

"Yeah," I said. "In a few more hours they'll be fashioning crude spears to hunt ear-rats."


I have humor-blogs.com growing out of my back.

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]]> 634891215667909940 Straight Man 2007/10/#634891215667909940 2007-10-17 Whew, I feel better. Don't you? I thought I'd post something a little more light-hearted today.

As you might guess, Mrs. Diesel and I have some odd conversations. Usually they start with me asking some bizarre question, apropos of nothing, and then her humoring me until I get bored and move on to something else. Or she tells me to stop annoying her.

On the way to church last Sunday...

Diesel: You know that frog on the commercials, the one that tells kids not to swim in the canals?
Mrs. Diesel: Splasher?
Diesel: Yeah, Splasher. Isn't that kind of unfair? I mean, he's a frog, so he gets to swim in the canals, but he's like, "Hey you, kids, get out of my canal!"
Mrs. Diesel: What would you suggest then, if not a frog?
Diesel: How about a cat? The cat would be like, "Man, you do NOT want to go in that canal."
Mrs. Diesel: But people would just think the cat was biased, because cats hate water.
Diesel: Yeah, but he'd be like, "Trust me, do NOT go in the canal."
Mrs. Diesel: I think you need a more objective animal.
Diesel: How about a dog? The dog would be like, "Sure, I like water, but I don't swim in canals, and neither should you." They could use MacGruff the Crime Dog. He'd be like, "Take a bite out of crime. And stay out of canals."

...

At Del Taco, where Mrs. Diesel has just pointed out the "Toddler's Only" (sic) sign at the play area to our children...

Diesel: What is a 'toddler'?
Mrs. Diesel: One who toddles.
Diesel: What does it mean to 'toddle'?
Mrs. Diesel: To walk, sort of unsteadily.
Diesel: But nobody ever says that. Why do we call them toddlers if we don't ever talk about anyone toddling?
Mrs. Diesel: British people do.
Diesel: Ok, but we don't. We use the word 'toddler', but not the word 'toddle.'
Mrs. Diesel: True, we don't.
Diesel: Do you have to toddle to be a toddler?
Mrs. Diesel: Yes.
Diesel: So what about a three year old who is paralyzed from the waist down? Is he a toddler?
Mrs. Diesel: No.
Diesel: So he goes from being a baby to being a child without ever being a toddler?
Mrs. Diesel: Right.
Diesel: What if his legs start to work when he's 40, so he can walk, but not very well, because he hasn't had any practice. Then is he a toddler?
Mrs. Diesel: No.
Diesel: That seems unfair.

...

Two weeks ago I seeded our lawn. For several days thereafter I was giving Mrs. Diesel daily reports on the germination status of the seeds. One day the seed really started to be taking off, so I walked into the living room where Mrs. Diesel was paying bills to give her an update.

Diesel: It looks like about half of the seed has made a decision to germinate.
Mrs. Diesel: (Distracted) That's great.
Diesel: You know, they've put in a lot of hard work.
Mrs. Diesel: Uh huh.
Diesel: I think they would appreciate it if you would come out and say a few words.
Mrs. Diesel: (Impatiently) Paying bills.
Diesel: They've been working really hard, and it would really mean a lot to them.
Mrs. Diesel: (Glaring)
Diesel: And I, uh, kind of already told them you would be coming out.
Mrs. Diesel: Get out.
Diesel: It doesn't have to be a big long speech or anything, but I think they would really appreciate it...
Mrs. Diesel: Get on the other side of that door NOW.

About an hour later I noticed Mrs. Diesel walking out to our driveway to survey the sprouting lawn. I hurried over to stand next to her.

Mrs. Diesel: (Clears her throat and raises her right hand to greet the seedlings.) You've all, uh, done a great job here, and I just wanted to say how much we, uh, appreciate all of your, um, hard work. I know it, uh, hasn't always been easy, and I want you to know that you've, uh, exceeded all of our expectations and, well, you've just done a great job. So, uh, carry on.
Diesel: (Looks quizzically at Mrs. Diesel) You know they're asleep, right?

At this point I had to run for my life.



Did you enjoy this post? There's plenty more like it in my book, Antisocial Commentary. Order your copy and help me to not have to get a real job, so I can keep writing this crap. Thanks!

Humor-blogs.com has never toddled.

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]]> 1350782452671007563 Practese test – Don't freck out! 2007/09/#1350782452671007563 2007-09-03 Well, school has started, and Mrs. Diesel is now the proud owner of a class of 31 4th graders. (The school didn't renew the contract of the other 4th grade teacher, thinking that they weren't going to have enough students. Smart, huh?)

She gave her students a spelling test the other day to determine their competency level. It was just a diagnostic test; they didn't get to study for it and it wasn't graded. Hence the title of this post, which one student scrawled across the top of her paper: Practese test - Don't freck out!



Most of the students did fine, but there are definitely a few problem cases. In the left column are the spelling words, and in the right column are some sample attempts by the students to spell those words -- arranged in random order. Your job is to match the correctly spelled word with the attempted spelling of that word. Miss Teen South Carolina has helped you out with one of them.

Spelling WordsAttempts at Spelling
nursekufshanr
battlepenerd
penniesrebet
confusionchraped
discoveryfeful
residentcraep
visiblenresce
trappedbatfall
distancevizetfall
feverphoesph
phonebufen
chargefreken
drawingbistis
fractionbraing
scrapejrash

Good luck, and have fun! I'll post the answers tomorrow.

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]]> 4024248450122787479 Most Exciting Week Ever 2007/08/#4024248450122787479 2007-08-22 Summary of our 14th anniversary: I put a chicken casserole from Costco in the oven. Mrs. Diesel gets home from work and lies down because she's exhausted from her first day teaching. She gets up and walks back into the kitchen, where I am busy at my laptop. She notices there are roses in a pitcher on the counter. "Where did these come from?" she asks.

"Oh," I said, having completely forgotten that I bought her roses. "Those are for you." I add, with a flourish, "SURPRISE!"

She kisses me on my absentminded head and we eat dinner. Then she leaves for "back to school night," and is gone until 8:30. She's exhausted. We watch TV for an hour, then go to bed.

And as if that weren't enough excitement for one week, today is my daughter Speed Pony's sixth birthday! That's right, we got married one day (and 8 years) before she was born.

Speed Pony is completely insane, and too smart for her own good. A sampling of her wit:

She asked my wife why our cat, Phoebe, is so furry. "She's a mammal," Mrs. Diesel says. "Mammals have fur or hair on their bodies."

Speed Pony stroked the cat's thick fur and said, "Phoebe is WAY a mammal."

Another time, she came out of her room at about 10pm, to find me eating a bowl of cereal. "What are you eating?" she asked. "Cereal," I said.

She turned to my wife and said, "Man, is he nocturnal or what?"

I don't know where she gets this stuff. Anyway, more excitement tonight as we get to go to Speed Pony's fine dining establishment of choice for dinner: McDonald's.

I leave you with the photo stylings of my eight year old, Climber. Enjoy.


"How do you work this thing?"



"Hey, look up here!"



"Going to my happy place..."



"Having fun?"



Mr. Finger



Mr. Pillow



"I want my money!"



"I'm going in after the cat. PLEASE don't take a picture of me."



"I won't."


Listed on humor-blogs.com.

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]]> 6707879436988465944 14 Years! 2007/08/#6707879436988465944 2007-08-21 Guess what? It's the 14th anniversary of Mrs. Diesel putting up with me today!

This is a picture of us when we were young and in love, not to mention slightly out of focus.



What does this mean to you? Well, it means tomorrow's post will probably suck. Oh well. I'll try to pull myself together for the caption contest on Friday.

Oh, and on Thursday I'm going to be doing some housecleaning of the Adjutant Inspector ranks, so be on your best behavior. Word to the wise: telling Mrs. Diesel how pretty she looks never hurts.

Lookit how cute she is.

Update: If you came here looking for something funny, check out Joel's guest post at the Snark.

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]]> 401916565138394508 Mrs. Diesel Speaks! 2007/05/#401916565138394508 2007-05-14

You did it! You convinced Mrs. Diesel to do a post! And to not kill me! Although she did say that the picture was "horrible." Anyway, without further ado here's my -- ahem -- sweetheart blogging about my favorite topic: me!

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Well, first let me say thanks for faking all that enthusiasm about having me post something. I know most of you probably died a little inside each time you forced yourself to leave yet another comment in the hopes of reaching 100. Your sacrifice doesn’t go unnoticed.

The most popular topic requests seem to be “What is Diesel really like?” and “How the heck do you put up with him all the time?” As for the first question, c’mon people! If you’re a faithful reader of this blog, you already know exactly what Diesel is like: really smart, a little self-centered, funnier than should be legal. He sees the humor in everything, which is a lot of fun. More than once he’s sent me into fits of giggles in church because of some comment or other. He takes perverse pleasure in doing that. The downside to this, of course, is that he can’t take anything seriously. When we went through a Lamaze class before Climber was born, he spent the whole time trying to make me laugh. When the instructor told everyone to choose a tranquil place to think about, Diesel leans over to me and whispers, “Racetrack.” All the other couples are obligingly going to their happy places while I’m giggling helplessly on the floor. I have lots of examples of that kind of stuff, but that’s enough for now. Suffice it to say that we can’t join any group where we’re supposed to discuss stuff seriously.

Another thing about this guy you know as Diesel is that he can’t remember anything. I’m not talking about important stuff like who directed Bladerunner or what was the name of the guy who coined the term “rock and roll.” Those things he remembers no problem. It’s the mundane things in life that he can’t keep track of. He posted once about my superhuman ability to remember where everything is, and he wasn’t exaggerating. That’s probably why we’re still married after 14 years—he wouldn’t be able to find shoes if I wasn’t around. But to be fair, I knew what I was getting into. On our first date we spent half an hour wandering around downtown Grand Rapids looking for his car. He said to me, “If you want to hang out with me, you’d better get used to this.” At least he was honest. Well that’s all I can think of right now in the “What’s Diesel really like?” department. If you have a specific question you want answered, just ask. More than likely I’ll answer it for you.

As for the second question, I was forced to develop a thick skin very early in our relationship. When we were dating, he never did the cutesy nickname thing. He’s never called me “babe” or “sweetheart” or anything remotely positive. He’s always called me the first thing that comes into his head, like “lumpy” or “squiggles”. I’ve chosen to find it endearing. His guiding principal in life is that if something is at least twice as funny as it is mean, then it’s okay to say. You suspected as much, right? Also, he has a hard time feigning interest in things he doesn’t care about. One time I was telling him a story about my day, and he told me I needed to "punch up the middle a bit." Make no mistake, living with Diesel isn’t always easy, but it’s never boring. So yeah, he can be kind of a jerk, but I’ve been cracking myself up writing this, so I guess I can’t complain. What are you going to do, I love the guy. Once in a while, though, I’d like him to take an interest in me rather than in this blog. I guess that’s what this whole thing was about. His attempt to show me he cares. Sweet, huh? Or maybe he could just buy me a nice piece of jewelry like normal husbands.



At least humor-blogs.com cares.

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