Saturday, October 4CDP Top 30 Of All-Time ('06-'08) - #27.
#27 - "1989 CDP Evaluation."
(Originally Published February 27, 2008.)
I found this First Grade teacher evaluation amongst a pile of papers my mother sent me late last year. You're going to want to click on the images to make them larger. It's worth it.
The handwriting on the bottom reads: "The boys think he's really smart, but they're getting tired of his cockiness." She also takes the time to underline 'impulsive' and mention that I have an authority problem, along with the X's painting a picture of me that's nothing short of unstoppable evil.
There's so much more. Keep reading.
Again, she takes the time to mention that I'm 'passively' uncooperative, and circles some of the most life-scarring and potentially damaging adjectives a person can say about a child. 'Tics?' 'Bizarre?' Goddamn. I'm quite certain that they no longer use this evaluation form at Winneconne Elementary School.
Notice that she never had anything bad to say about my academic achievements. This was all due in part to my being extremely bored with the coursework presented. She didn't stimulate me whatsoever, and I had nothing better to do than to entertain myself.
The grand finale is the final comment, which reads: "Ryan is way above First Grade level work. I must always keep him busy, because if I don't, he's distracting others. He has no sympathy for anyone and laughs at other children's mistakes. He also makes up stories and lies."
The 'has no sympathy for anyone and laughs at other children's mistakes' line is, without question, one of the funniest things anyone has ever written about me. I laugh my ass off every time I read it.
Almost 20 years later, and I haven't changed a bit, and that's a damn shame. After all, who would want to be a overachieving, defiant, anti-authority storyteller with no time or tolerance for stupidity? What a terrible fate that would have been.
Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day.
Friday, October 3CDP Top 30 Of All-Time ('06-'08) - #28.
#28 - "Twenty Photographs Of Door County."
(Originally Published October 17, 2007.)
(Here, the CDP secretly wonders if anyone would notice Ben's sudden and mysterious disappearance.)
The weather was beautiful when we visited Lake Michigan. The Missus dipped her toes in for good luck, and I tried really hard not to fall in and be swept away in a riptide.
(As the CDP ages, the most inane and depressing things make him happy.)
One thing I made a point to do was pick up some apples for my Grandma. She asked for 'Snow Crisp' apples, which only attracted laughing and confused looks from the folks at the orchard. I think she meant 'Honey Crisp,' as the entire acreage was littered with them. Done and done.
(Swedes need to stay big, curvy and beautiful. Chocolate moves God's plan along nicely.)
A trip to 'Al Johnson's Swedish Restaurant' in Sister Bay was eye-opening, in that all of the authentic Swedish waitresses were seven feet tall, blonde and wearing those traditional outfits. All of the arrogant assholes visiting from Illinois were enjoying seasonal jams and jellies that I had never heard of before, as I dug into my grilled cheese sandwich and begged for mercy.
(Sadly, those pants had to be Photoshopped on.)
As much as I feel that scenery and 'being there in person' is overrated, I was quite taken by the beauty of water as far as the eye can see. It's like a more personal version of staring into space and realizing your fleeting insignificance in a random world. Also, there's pie.
(Here, I sit in a comically small chair, and look humorously larger than I normally would.)
Julie's restaurant had amazing pasta and desserts, but halfway through our meal, a huge spider crawled onto the table and damn near gave the Missus an embolism. Minutes later, our waiter crashed into the table next to us, spilling water and food everywhere. Later, when we paid the check, the man working the counter couldn't wait to stop talking to us. It was an awesome place.
(The view from the resort was exotic, in that there were a lot of foreign cars in the parking lot.)
The four of us stayed in a two-bedroom, two-bathroom suite, boasting a full kitchen loaded with accessories. Those accessories came in handy when we were ordering pizza and drinking cider with whiskey. There was a wall-hanging that really bothered Ben, so I pulled it off the wall and set it on top of the freezer.
(My shirt does a fantastic job of obscuring the pee stain.)
I saw this baby at a local car show; the only time I've ever seen a Delorean in person. The owner of the car didn't want me taking a photo of myself next to it, so we simply waited until he turned away. Dude, there's like, 50 of these left on the planet! Don't be selfish!
(I sometimes have dreams of running my own small shop in a tourist city. My dreams kind of suck.)
Without question, you mainly visit Door County for their endless array of knick-knack, specialty and candy shops. I took home a pound of fudge, 10 pounds of apples, two milk chocolate bars, some candy cigarettes I swore were off the market and a candle that smelled like pumpkin pie. If I wouldn't have been wearing my wedding ring, I would have been completely indistinguishable from every other gay guy there.
(No less than 3 seconds later, I drowned. They then asked me to leave.)
At the hotel, I walked around the entire perimeter looking for an ice machine. For a half-hour, I shuffled around, holding an empty ice bucket, while drunks and newlyweds stared at me and skittered back into their rooms. Once I did get my ice, pretty much everyone in my room was fast asleep. I don't know when I started hanging around with infants incapable of staying awake past 10pm, but it's starting to annoy me.
(The only way I was going to get out of this was if I attempted to blend in, and act like a smug prick.)
After the parade was over, about 5000 tourists scurried into downtown, as we walked against the grain to get back to our hotel. I pretended that they were zombies, which actually started to freak me out after a while. In the photo, you can see me lurching in a feeble attempt to blend in, so they didn't eat my brain with a side of boysenberry jam.
(I didn't alter this picture. Sadly, Sherry suffers from a condition known as 'Blurry Face.')
Man, candy stores smell so great. I asked one of the employees, "Isn't this the best job in the world?" The teenage boy looked at me with the face of someone who was about one more scoop of taffy away from an all-out shooting spree, so I paid for my fudge and got the hell out of there.
(We will race. I will win. Always. Probably. Maybe. Not really. Probably not. No. I will lose.)
Taking the MINI Cooper was a no-brainer. The Autumn weather, mixed with the winding roads and limited traffic was simply breathtaking. Also, we could park anywhere and looked like a novelty amongst all of the embarrassingly-large Expeditions and Tahoe's. A co-worker once asked me if I feel insecure about my masculinity when I drive the MINI. This person is an idiot.
(By this point in the trip, I was begging people not to ask me any more questions about where I wanted to go.)
Ben and Sherry wanted to visit a place that sold nothing but Olive Oil. Thinking that it was some niche-place that only attracted a small group of people, I was slack-jawed to see the line for this place extending right out the door. It's just oil, people.
(If you have a MySpace profile picture that looks like this, kill yourself.)
Skipping stones by Washington Island (the tippy-top of Wisconsin's 'thumb') was amazing. I began to fantasize about perhaps owning a Summer home there once I became a wealthy and self-employed author. I then thought about owning a Unicorn that cried quarters and blasted Bad Religion songs out of its ass.
(We spent Saturday night in Door County doing the same thing we do on Saturday nights in Sun Prairie.)
The master bedroom in the resort had a whirlpool hot tub, which me and the Missus were lucky enough to stay in. While we didn't 'use' the hot tub like I had assumed we would, the Missus slipped in it during a shower and almost knocked herself unconscious. Close enough, I suppose.
(Taking a picture of a hotel pool is a lot more legal when kids aren't around.)
Me and Ben played a set of tennis on Sunday morning, and my shoulder still hurts as of Wednesday morning. I won, however, which is the only thing that matters. On the sidelines, the Missus and Sherry tried not to notice how fat, old and out completely of shape we've both become. I appreciated their support and ignorance.
(For those that haven't met me in person, this is a normal-sized pumpkin. Two 'CDP is small' jokes in one post!)
Me and Sherry drove to a local bar to pick up a pizza, where I was instantly reminded that no matter where you are in Wisconsin, you'll always run into people that could probably be friends with your dad. Having more or less been raised in bars ourselves, the two of us didn't stick around very long, instead opting to drink alone, like well-adjusted people do.
(It's funny because I don't understand it. Rich Swedes eat things that I'm unaware of.)
At one of the coffee shops, I bought a little pin that says, "I like sammitches." There wasn't a scrap of irony in that purchase; I freaking love sammitches, and want everyone to know. Later, I bought a hot chocolate that a bee landed in. I'm considering paying someone to follow me around with a muted trombone to make the 'whaa-whaa' sound every time something like that happens.
(I think it's pretty obvious how Ben snared someone like Sherry into a relationship. He got her drunk and pregnant.)
Let it be said that there's nothing more rewarding and special than traveling the world with your best friends. Even if I was a dick at times, and didn't really want to do anything. I still enjoyed myself; I'm picking the vacation next time, though.
(Eating an apple, perched high atop Lake Michigan. This is 100% more Door County content than most normal Door County photos.)
So long, Door County. We'll be back, but not soon enough.
Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day.
Thursday, October 2CDP Top 30 Of All-Time ('06-'08) - #29.
#29 - "I'm Not Here To Serve You."
(Originally Published November 13, 2006.)
"Why I will never, ever, freaking ever be a waiter as long as I'm on this Earth."
As a man with a sparkling personality, devastating sex appeal and an inviting scent, most people who meet me think I would make a terrific waiter. To support this argument, they remark at how good I am with small details and my ability to make large groups of people feel uncomfortable without even trying. They claim it's a gift from God; my therapist and I think otherwise.
I've had a lot of Public Relation jobs in my life. Bartender, Customer Service Representative, gas station attendant, strip club DJ, rock slanga’, cameraman for Guys Gone Wild and a brief stand-in for Peter Jennings shortly before he died. I've never been a waiter, however. My reasons for this are pretty simple, if you ask me.
I can't tolerate anyone, and I don't like to walk and carry things at the same time.
Me and the Missus go out to eat about 10 times a month. We do this because we're too lazy to go grocery shopping every 2 weeks, as initially agreed upon by contract when we started living together. Nope, we instead spend $60 a night, grinding our teeth in a nice restaurant, thinking of ways to telepathically poison the food of the party next to us and wishing we were at home.
For years, I cursed my luck, thinking that I was consistently sat next to the most annoying table at whichever eatery I happened to be dining at. Nowadays, I know better; every table is annoying, because everyone in the world is annoying.
Even you. Probably even the Missus, but not me. I'm sure of it.
No matter where I am, no matter the restaurant, no matter the city or state, I'm always seated next to one of the following groups. Allow me to elaborate:
Table #1 - Attention-seeking children; non-responsive parents. 96% of families in general.
Look, just because you've found a way to tune out the sound of your childrens' voices, that doesn't mean that everyone else at The Olive Garden* has. If your kid says "Mom!" one more time without you responding to them, I will pick them up by the ankles and beat you to death with your own kid. If you are physically unable to raise a child to keep their mouth shut when at a public place, you have failed as a parent and should never be allowed to enjoy a meal outside of your loud, and no doubt filthy, home.
*Still my favorite chain restaurant.
When I was a kid, it was naturally assumed that children had absolutely nothing of importance to say to adults, and the mere thought of addressing one was met with a look of disapproval and certain death. Not only does that teach respect, terror and good behavior, it also reminds you not to say anything unless it's important. For example, if his or her pants were on fire, or he or she was in the clutches of a registered sex offender. Any other circumstance- denied!
Furthermore, I always see parents and their horrid spawn at expensive and 'upscale' places. Why? Not only are you going to spend $200 on a meal that your kids aren't going to even touch, you've also ruined a decent night out for those of us who aren't inconsiderate mongoloids. If all you were looking for was an easy way to waste a bunch of money, you should have just donated it to Coats For Kids. Kids don't need coats, dumbass.
Another thing that I see all the time are children leaving their tables and walking around unsupervised. No less than 20 times have I been eating, only to look to my immediate right and see some kid staring at me, typically covered in a sauce of some sort. In most cases, I wave the knife around a little and they back away. However, there are those times where I run into a child that's more dense than a black hole, opting to stand next to my table and stare until their parents finally realize that they have strayed.
New rule, parents. If your kid stands by my table for one second longer than a minute, they become my property. I will then kill them, hollow them out and use their husks to smuggle meth across the border. You may have thought that story was just an urban legend, but I'm going to make it a reality with precious Tyler and Cheyenne.
Restaurants should also start stocking chairs that have seatbelts on them. Just a thought.
Now that smoking is pretty much banned in every restaurant in America, I propose that we have a section for families and groups of five or more people, and a second section for adult parties of four or less. Not only does that keep the noise and annoyance where it should be, but I can also fulfill my fantasy of eating an expensive dinner in the nude; this time, without Dateline NBC busting in with their fancy hidden cameras and litigations.
In short, children shouldn't be allowed into any restaurant that doesn't have a kid's menu. And even then, they probably shouldn't.
(If you're one of the very few families that has children who are well-behaved enough to eat in public, pat yourself on the back. Then fly to the Space Station on the wings of a unicorn, because you don't really exist.)
Table #2 - Groups of teenagers. Specifically girls.
If there's one thing worse than a group of butthole parents and their equally-butthole children, it's a group of unmonitored teenage girls, demonstrating why they should still be chaperoned by Daddy and huddled in the back of a diesel-powered mini-van.
Now, before you start calling me a sexist, I'll have you know that I ran this theory by the Missus and she approved it. If at least one woman agrees with me, it can no longer be called sexist. Much like me making fun of fat people as long as one fat person thinks it's funny. Thanks Cliff, you've unlocked months of comedy gold for me.
Most teenage girls that congregate in groups like to talk quickly and loudly about tough issues that matter, like politics, religion and how fat Dakota's ass looks in that skirt. They laugh way too loud at things that are in no way humorous, are almost always rude to the waitstaff (if it's a woman, especially), and are usually so stone-dumb that it's embarrassing to even eavesdrop. Furthermore, they always want to talk to whoever's on their phone far more than whoever's at the table. Next time, they should really invite the person that's on the phone, and they can skip a step.
Oh, and it goes without saying that you may want to silence your phone before you go into a restaurant. If you happen to be sitting next to me, I have a little system I like to follow:
If your phone is silenced during the meal: You will live. Dinner will continue as planned.
If your phone rings, and you immediately silence it: I will be annoyed, but forgiving. Even I forget to silence my phone at times, but my ringtone is so rad that people actually ask me to play it for them again.
If your phone rings, and you let it ring until your voicemail picks up: Your tires will be slashed upon exiting the eatery. Anything left on the dash will be stolen.
If your phone rings and you answer it: It's over. I hope you're having a good meal, because you'll be seeing it again when I tear your stomach open with a broken bottle of Pabst.
If it turns out to be an emergency and you have to immediately leave the restaurant, that's fine by me. Just as long as you don't get to enjoy your meal, and someone that you know is potentially injured or killed. What's important is that I'm happier than you.
Table #3 - The Snobs.
On most Sunday mornings, you can find me and the Missus at a place called Sir Hobo's. Hobo's is a diner a few blocks from our house that serves breakfast anytime and is run by a pushy Greek family. I like this place for a number of reasons. The food is cheap, the place is usually empty, everything's covered in grease, and it's owned by a pushy Greek family. If anything, I'm just happy that places like this still exist in big cities.
Me and the Missus can go there wearing hoodies and caps to cover our unwashed hair, still confident that there will be people at the bar looking worse than us. Nobody knows who we are, we're never approached by acquaintances or co-workers, and the waitresses don't want to chat. In fact, they all but throw your plates down on the counter, and everything's scalding, even the milk*. I enjoy this more than I can accurately convey.
*You'll laugh later; that's really, truly funny.
Last Sunday, we were seated next to a well-scrubbed family of four, who had clearly never been to Sir Hobo's before. They were dressed as if they just left church (which they probably had). I wouldn't be surprised if they had a Range Rover parked outside with golf clubs sticking out of the back, all set for a relaxing drive to the country club to discuss fine wines and munch on unborn baby Yak cheese, or whatever it is that rich people eat when they're around company.
Such a funny sentence.
So, the deep-voiced and not-at-all-to-be-messed-with Greek waitress comes over to take their order. For the next five minutes, she has to stand and listen to a lecture on the differences between wheat bread and whole wheat bread, even though I'm quite certain that Sir Hobo's has neither nor. When they finally settled on an order that suited them, I heard them continuing to berate this poor woman after she left, for being so clearly uneducated in the fine workings of wheatiness.
Unless it's deep-fried and over 1000 calories, you won't find it there. I promise.
I was vibrating with anger. It was completely unnecessary and unspeakably rude. The id in me wanted to jump the booth and piledrive both Soccer Mom and Country Club Dad with ruthless aggression, but I guess I'm not that kind of guy. Next time, however, they won't be so lucky.
I could go on for a few hours longer, but in short, I wouldn't be a very good waiter.
Enjoy your day; sound off in the comments section and let me know if you would want me as your waiter.
Wednesday, October 1CDP Top 30 Of All-Time ('06-'08) - #30.
#30 - "I Can See Your Butthole."
(Originally Published July 13, 2007.)
Ladies and gentlemen, today I present to you a gift. A gift from me to you, free of charge and with no expectation of reciprocation.
Today, I will give you a new saying that you will grow to love and incorporate into your lexicon and circle of friends for years to come. A saying that, once it has become common fare on TV shows and film, you can always be reminded of where it all started.
It's a big day; I'm glad you're here.
We're no strangers to people who clearly don't listen to themselves talking. Day in and day out, we have to listen to these people ramble incessantly about things that they really have no expert opinion on. For our entire lives, we've had to politely nod and smile along with this drivel, pretending that what they were yapping about was being processed and agreed with by us. If only there was a way to get them to stop and think about how much of a douche they were...
The next time a friend starts talking directly out of their ass, let them know that you know. Let them know that you're tired of their idiocy, and you're tired of pretending that you care.
Tell 'em you can see their butthole.
Steve - "Why are you a vegetarian? Everyone knows that animals can't feel pain."
Bill - "Dude, I can see your butthole."
See? It's easy and fun! Here's another quick example:
Steve - "Tiger Woods is an okay golfer, but his career will burn out fast."
Bill - "What?"
Steve - "I just mean that he's got maybe 1-2 more good years left, tops."
Bill - "Steve, I can see your butthole."
Are you starting to see proper usage? But hey, just like any good saying, you can get creative with it and make it your own!
Steve - "So like I was saying, I think that President Bush should be on Mount Rushmore, because..."
Bill - "Hey, what's that down there?"
Steve - "What's what down where?"
Bill - "Oh, it's your butthole. I can see it."
Steve - "Burned again! Blast your impeccable timing and wit!"
Once you get good with it, you can start to really craft it into something special, but it's best to start at the beginning and throw it around your friends for good practice. I've been doing it for a few months now, and people are starting to say it when I'm not even around. It's going viral, and I think it can go nationwide by this time next year.
So, the next time that someone starts saying something stupid, don't try to see their side of things; see their butthole!
It has begun. Sound off in the comments section and have a great day.
Monday, September 29CDP Worldwide Mix-Tape Exchange IV Drawing.
It's go time, kids!
After extensive laboring, uploading e-mail addresses and building one of those spinny-wheels with the Bingo balls in them, I have come up with the 18 pairings for the CDP Worldwide Mix-Tape Exchange IV. Everyone who signed up has someone that they will create a mix-tape for, and in tune, they have someone who will make one for them. The phrase-centric themes everyone submitted have also been randomly drawn and assigned to each participant.
The pairings are as follows. The drawing was random; a co-worker picked a number, and I eliminated the names and themes, 'MASH'-style. I don't think kids still play 'MASH,' but that's neither here nor there:
1. CARGIRL will be creating a Mix for SMEDLEY.
THEME: "Let's not say things we can't take back."
2. JONELLE will be creating a Mix for MIKE HOSS.
THEME: "I'm not a monster...I'm just ahead of the curve."
3. HEATHER will be creating a Mix for COMET STAR MOON.
THEME: "Music to commit felonies to."
4. REESE will be creating a Mix for JT.
THEME: "Life is too important to be taken seriously."
5. HATHERY will be creating a Mix for MICHAEL D.
THEME: "I'd like that on my tombstone."
6. HILBELINK will be creating a Mix for DOMSAR.
THEME: "...And that's why I don't drink gin."
7. FIONA will be creating a Mix for BENJAMIN.
THEME: "Round up the usual suspects."
8. MAUS will be creating a Mix for THE CDP.
THEME: "I used to love you, baby, but you got real ugly."
9. SHERRY will be creating a Mix for EMILY.
THEME: "When idle concerns don't fill your thoughts, that's your best season."
10. MIKE HOSS will be creating a Mix for REESE.
THEME: "Superman isn't brave."
11. MICHAEL D will be creating a Mix for HILBELINK.
THEME: "Misery loves company."
12. EMILY will be creating a Mix for HATHERY.
THEME: "The drinking will continue until morale improves."
13. JT will be creating a Mix for MAUS.
THEME: "Mistakes are human; hooves are not."
14. SMEDLEY will be creating a Mix for JONELLE.
THEME: "Stupid is as stupid does."
15. COMET STAR MOON will be creating a Mix for FIONA.
THEME: "Watching the universe implode from space and wishing I had remembered my toothbrush; but at least I have your hand...if I could only find the rest of you."
16. THE CDP will be creating a Mix for SHERRY.
THEME: "Resistance is useless."
17. DOMSAR will be creating a Mix for CARGIRL.
THEME: "I do it for love, but she does it for science."
18. BENJAMIN will be creating a Mix for HEATHER.
THEME: "Is that a real poncho, or a Sears poncho?"
Wonderful. Here's what we all do next:
1. I will be sending e-mails out to everyone over the next several hours (give me at least until around the end of the work day to finish), reminding them who they need to create a mix-tape for, what the theme is and what that person's e-mail address is. For example, your e-mail from me will look a lot like this:
"Benjamin, you will be making a mix-tape for Hathery. The theme will be 'Please Don't Leave Me Here With This Pedophile.' Her e-mail address is firstname.lastname@example.org. Please contact her and get her mailing address."
2. It will then be up to the creator of the Mix-Tape to contact the recipient and get their physical mailing address. For example:
"Hey Hathery, it's Benjamin. I'm making you a mix-tape, so give me your mailing address so I can send you some sweet-ass tunage!"
3. One you get the mailing address of the person you're sending a mix-tape to, MAKE IT AND SEND IT! Be creative; I've seen amazing artwork, brilliant track selections and overall awesome efforts by everyone every time, so I'm expecting nothing less this time around, as well.
Everyone has a buddy; it would really suck if someone gets left out because you suddenly decided to go deadbeat on them. My goal is to have ALL MIX-TAPES MAILED OUT BY FRIDAY, OCTOBER 10. Now that you know who you're making a mix for and what your theme is, you should have plenty of time to whip it up and get it mailed out within 14 days. If someone gets left out, I'll feel personally responsible, so please don't make an ass out of me, or I'll publicly ostracize you here on the CDP.
4. If you're having a problem contacting anyone, an e-mail address is dead or anything else goes wrong, feel free to contact me and I'll sort it out. I'm pretty neat like that. People are busy, so give them a day or two to answer you back, but let me know if it's taking a ludicrous amount of time.
Of course, once you receive your Mix-Tape, sound off in the comments section so we all know the status of everyone's packages. Half the fun is sharing the experience with everyone involved.
5. I always mention this (and I'll mention it again in your e-mail), but if you're looking for an easy way to thank me for inventing something as uniting and awesome as the Worldwide Mix-Tape Exchange, I would love a copy of your mix. My mailing address is as follows:
PO Box 865
Sun Prairie, WI
I want to make it clear, however, that due to my schedule this October, I will not be reviewing any mixes sent to me on the CDP. If this hinders your decision to throw a copy my way, I totally understand and we can still be friends. Thank you in advance.
You should be receiving your instructional e-mails by the end of the day today (Monday). So get out there, create a rad Mix-Tape and send it off to your partner before the 10th!
(NOTE: While the CDP counts down the Top 30 Essays during the month of October, I'll still be more than available in the comments section and via e-mail to handle any questions or issues that should arise. So sound off and stay tuned all next month.)
THE CDP'S TOP 30 ESSAYS OF ALL-TIME -