For those of you unfamiliar with the odd bit of history that is the reel-to-reel mower, it’s just like a normal, gas-powered mower, except that it doesn’t use gas and it doesn’t cut grass.

Sure, it is more environmental.  And I feel good about that.  Like it offsets the fact that I drive an SUV.

The problem, again, is that it doesn’t cut grass.

First, how they work.  It has these blades, and when you walk, the blades turn pretty quickly.  I think there’s an axle that moves or something.  I haven’t studied it very closely.

The key is that the blades move without consuming gasoline.  Sounds like the perfect, modern solution.

We had some rain, and since it was a slow Saturday night (don’t judge me), I decided to mow the lawn.

The blades move quickly enough, you would think, to cut grass.  And, it does look like grass is getting cut – you see grass kind of flying around as you walk.  The problem is that after you do a swath of grass, you look back, and the grass doesn’t look any shorter.  So you run over it again.  And again.  About seven times, by my count.

So, to cut my tiny little front lawn took a good hour.  But, it was an environmentally friendly hour!  Not only did I produce less emissions than a lawnmower, I also fed a family of about 900 mosquitos.

Just being as environmental as I can.

Practicality put aside by the magical mystical “unlimited money” clause, I’d buy a fleet of 12 of those suckers, and create some sort of sport based on them.

I haven’t worked out the details yet, but it would definitely be hockey-style, with rough play encouraged.  A few key points:

• 5 on 5 play, with 1 spare Segway per team in case of a disabled vehicle.
• Only stock Segways used; no performing-enhancing modifications.
• Players must stay on their Segway; if they get knocked off, they remain out of the play for a set period of time.  Stepping off intentionally is strictly not allowed.
• There will probably be a ball or puck of some sort, with sticks and a goal.  Maybe lacrosse baskets.

I see it like Whirlyball for the 2010 decade.  Someone needs to make it happen.

I was awakened a few minutes ago by the sound of something pitter-pattering across the hardwood floor.  I had my suspicions, so I turned on the light and sure enough, there it was: a cockroach.

Now, a little background about me.  I’m terrified of roaches.  My top five fears, in order goes something like this:

1. Nuclear armageddon
2. Death by asfixiation after being buried alive
3. Roaches
4. Complete global economic meltdown resulting in return to hunting and gathering society
5. Destruction of the universe via rogue science experiment

I had to summon all my courage to go to my closet for a shoe with which to try to take care of the problem.  It would be my luck that my adversary would foresee my manuevre, and run over near my shoes.  The roach was clearly saying, “You have to get past me first.”

Luckily for me, I had forgotten to put my sandals with the rest of my shoes.  I grabbed one and methodically stalked my prey, waiting to strike until he was away from areas where he could hide and potentially escape.

I attacked with a single, potent strike, and felled my foe.

That is, of course, the easy part — cleanup is even more challenging.  I had to gather all my fortitude again, and made a makeshift broom and dustpan out of some junk mail sitting on my desk.  (But not until I did some extra prodding, to make sure there would be no surprises from a playing-possum counter-manuevre from the roach.)

A flush of the toilet was the sound of official victory.  I had handled the first roach situation in my house, and did it without screaming once and without calling for my roommate Mike for tactical backup.

That got me to thinking, how do I define success?

Life-wise, that’s a tricky question.  But career-wise?  Easy.

Flexible hours, an office with a door AND a window, and the ability to afford furniture made out of real wood instead of particleboard.

I’ll get there one day…

Of course, calling tax time an annoyance is like calling a leg amputation a minor medical procedure.  But the point stands.

The current system of taxing, deductions, and 9,000,000 pages of tax laws on the books is arcane.  Do I have a better solution?  Probably not.  OK, no, definitely not.  But I’m tired and grumpy from doing my taxes, so really the point here is to complain, not to fix things.  I’ll let people much smarter than me fix things.

But, on the bright side, I do live in Texas, so there’s no state income tax.  But I am paying 8.25% sales tax.

And on another bright side, there is the federal economic stimulus package.  I think that since over the past year I have proven that I will not be wasting my money not stimulating the economy and sticking it in savings accounts but instead driving business by purchasing critical items such as Rock Band for the PS2, I should get a bonus stimulus package. 

After all, if you get taxed more based on your income, you should be rewarded more for your frivolous purchases, right?  I think the logic there is as sound as any.

(Note: This originally was going to be a well-thought-out post discussing the economy, taxation, and solutions to an outdated system.  Or as well-thought-out as any of my blog entries. But instead you have this drivel.  And I apologize for that.  I encourage you, dear reader, to bring some intelligence to this topic in the comments section.)

But, rules are made to be broken.  And I have to share this important NCAA basketball update:

I won my office pool, picking not just the final two but the champion, Kansas.

It was quickly pointed out to me that this wasn’t such an impressive feat, since I picked the top two ranked teams to finish one and two, in that order.  And that the office pool had a total of five people in it.

While those minor details may be true, I still have finally broken my tradition of losing heartily in NCAA bracket office pools, dating back to an internship with Micrografx in 2001.

So, I’ve decided to go ahead and brag to every soul I can find.  Didn’t play in the office pool?  Don’t care.  Don’t even work with me?  Don’t care.  Don’t even know the difference between NCAA and NBA basketball?  Don’t care.  If I run into you, I’m going to brag about this for a little while.

I think I earned this one.  And if not, fine.  I’ve never claimed to not have a hypocritical side.

Feel free to consult with me for my opinion on the NBA playoffs, 2008 NFL football season, and eventual World Series Champion.  My crystal ball is nice and polished.

For example, a few days ago I decided that it probably wasn’t going to be cold anymore here in Dallas this season, so I folded up my heavy comforter and put it away in the closet.  I jumped the gun a little bit, though — because last night it was chilly and I woke up in the middle of the night cold with only my sheets and a light blanket.

Now, had I had my thinking cap on, I would have gotten up, walked five feet to my closet, pulled out my comforter, and resumed my slumber.  This would have taken all of 20 seconds, probably.  If that.

Instead, I decided the better decision would be to stay in bed, rather cold.  And laying awake thinking, “Hrm.  I’m rather cold.”

So, I’ve decided I have to come to grips with my stubbornness and better learn when it is an asset and when it is just silly.  I started by pulling that comforter out of the closet this morning.

I did eventually find a house, after roughly six months of looking (not all six months were spent in full-tilt-house-hunting mode, but a lot of it was).  I learned plenty along the way — and as a peace offering for my absence from you, readers, I’ll share what I’ve learned.

• It helps to have a good realtor.  My realtor, Stephanie, did a great job, despite the fact that I am indecisive, picky, inconsistent, and, all in all, probably the worst client ever.  To make a long story short, we looked at so many houses that if you calculated her commission into an hourly rate, she probably made about 38 cents per hour.  She did do a great job — and also does apartment locating.  Check her out at www.citilandapartments.com .
• No really, it helps to have a good realtor.  Besides Stephanie (who is, not coincidentally, married to one of my former roommates), I have other friends in the Dallas real estate business — and they also do great work.  You should also check out Rogers Healy at www.rogershealy.com (full disclosure: I designed the website) and John Angell at www.eastdallasliving.com .
• If they’re having an open house, it probably means it doesn’t need much work.  Which means I can’t afford it.
• There are a lot of investors looking for a flip out there.  Bargains are hard to come by.  If you wait a day to put in a bid on a bargain, you’re out of luck.
• I got into a lot of bidding wars with investors.  I always lost.
• Some people should not be allowed to purchase paint.  I’m talking to you, person who painted the living room orange.  And to you, person who painted the bedroom puke-green.
• Some people just don’t seem particularly interested in selling their house.  These people are hard to work with for showing and bidding.
• The more I like a house, the less likely it is I can afford it.
• Remember… you’re not just buying a house, you’re buying a location.  This isn’t always easy to remember when bidding more for a house that needs a lot of work than for a house that’s more move-in ready.
• People have trouble keeping their garages clean.

I probably have other observations, but they’ve melded into the vague memories of dozens of houses and buried under the mountain of stress that is home ownership.  But hey, at least the house hunt is done.  Until next time, of course.

I left my cell phone in my car.

And it’s driving me crazy.

I would just go down to get it, but it’s a bit of a walk to where I parked.  That, and I’m curious to see how long I’m willing to go before giving in.  My goal is to make it to lunch, when I’d be walking around anyway, but we’ll see.  I’m going to have trouble making lunch plans without the phone, so it could go either way.

Every minute or so, I notice something feels off.  I feel around in my pants (no, not like that) and think to myself, “Something’s missing!” (no, not like that!)  I then realize it’s my phone, remember that I left it in my car, and get back to adjusting my hair, messing with a whisker I missed while shaving, or whatever other fidgety thing I’m doing.  A minute will pass, and we’ll repeat the process.

I’m about a block away from my phone — which is as far from my phone as I’ve been in a while.  I wonder if it misses me as much as I miss it.

I keep wondering, am I missing text messages?  Phone calls?  No one calls me this early, but maybe today is the day someone does.  It’s lonely without my phone.

You can probably tell that this isn’t the most well-formed or coherent of posts.  This is because:

1) It’s early. 2) I’m distracted by not having my cell phone.

It’s amazing how attached you can become to technology.  If someone had told me 10 years ago I’d have a phone that was my personal secretary — taking messages, keeping my schedule, keeping my to-do lists — that I would be lost without, I’d have called them crazy.

They have little recipe cards you can follow if you want, or you can just go through the line and grab random ingredients and put it into your bowl.

Being trepidatious and wanting to eat healthy, my original plan was to follow a recipe card.  But none really grabbed my interest… so I decided to throw caution to the wind like the wild man that I am.

And let me tell you — I nailed it.  I NAILED it.  I concocted the perfect Mongolian dish.

Maybe that’s what they always want you to think, and the guys running the grill clean up your mistakes, or something.  I don’t believe it.  I think I’ve got a real talent.  Here’s what I did, as best my memory serves me:

• Meat — went mostly chicken, with just a smidge of beef.  Tried to find the leanest pieces possible.
• Veggies — Heavy on green peppers, carrots, and green beans.  A few mushrooms.  Two tomato slices.  And just a tiny bit of onion. And exactly 2 jalapeno slices (not pickled jalapenos).
• Seasoning — Just a dash of salt and pepper.
• Starch — white rice.
• Sauce — this is where the big secret comes in, that I think really helped make my dish happen.  It’s a secret, though, so I can’t tell you.  OK, fine, I lied.  I don’t really remember what sauces I used — but mixed two, like a pro.  The first one was some thing I couldn’t pronounce that had a “heart healthy” icon by it, meaning it was low fat.  The other one was red.

I gave that to the grillmaster and he cooked up my masterpiece.  And let me tell you, it was a masterpiece.  A taste sensation, if I may pat myself on the back a bit.

So, here’s props to Genghis Grill and to, of course, myself.  I’m not much of a cook, but clearly I have the instincts to be a grade A chef.  I’ll probably start small, cooking for wedding parties and birthday bashes, before moving up to running a restaurant or catering for important corporate functions.

And maybe I’ll even figure out what dragon salt is.

• Hold the steering wheel
• Brush my teeth
• Hold the glass I’m drinking from
• Hold open the book I’m reading
• Hit the snooze button on my alarm (even though it’s on the right side of my bed)
• Use the scroll wheel on my cell phone

Lucky for me, though, I spacebar with my right thumb.  I’d be up a creek otherwise.

So, readers (both of you), are there things you do exclusively with your off hand, and that you struggle to do with your dominant hand?  Or am I weird?

I plead to the manufacturers of Christmas lights to remove the option for blinking or chasing lights.

This is America, and people should have choices.  But as was pointed out in Spider-man, with great power comes great responsibility.  And Americans have abused the power of having the option to have blinking or chasing Christmas lights.

I love a well-decorated house at Christmas.  I love the neighborhoods that get together and do something pretty.  It makes the season feel just that much more special — until someone thinks to themselves, “Hey, let’s mix it up a bit this year.  Let’s make our lights BLINK!”

And that is when things go terribly awry in the tacky direction.  Christmas should be a time of attractive, pretty decorations — not a time to decorate in a way that would make a Las Vegas casino owner think twice.

There’s a house down the block that is in desperate need of Christmas styling consulting.  Now, I give them credit for trying.  But not too much credit.  They have a fence in the front yard, and the fence is covered in lights.  Done right, it can look all candy-cane-like.  Awesome.  But not this house.  This house just has these strings of lights haphazardly put up — and to make matters worse, one section is blinking, one section is steady light, and one section is chasing.  It’s upsetting.  I think we have a neighborhood watch — we should report this as a crime.

This holiday season, I encourage everyone to go out and do something in the spirit of the holidays that makes you feel good about yourself and makes others feel good too.  This does not include implementing blinking Christmas lights outside your home.

Light manufacturers, help us all out here.  It’s time to retire the option for the blinking lights.

Me, I chose boxers, for the most part.  I’ll sometimes do boxer briefs, or even briefs, for athletic activity — but even then I often don’t bother and just hope for the best while playing basketball in boxers.

I’m happy with my choice.  Which brings me to ladies.

Ladies have underwear choices too, but their choices are granny panties, thongs, and standard panties.  At least, I think those are the choices; I’m no expert.  And I’m at work right now so I’m not going to load Victoria’s Secret for reference purposes.

All of their choices are form fitting, though, which I’m cool with.  But it’s bantied about as common knowledge that women will often wear a boyfriend’s boxers and tshirt to sleep in, because it’s more comfortable.  So that brings me to my question: why don’t women wear boxers?

I realize that anatomically, men and women are different.  I realize that one reason men wear boxers is medical — it’s better for the troops to have their barracks a bit away from the warm body.  And I realize women can have chafing issues — or so commercials for personal daily lubricants have told me.

But I’m still not totally clear on why boxers aren’t a choice in women’s everyday underwear decision-making.  Yes, their clothes are more form fitting, leaving more visible panty lines, or boxer lines.  But women don’t always wear form fitting clothes.  But they do remain committed to the panty.

Is there some medical reason here that I’m just not aware of, as an ignorant male?  Is it a tradition thing?  For my money, if women want to wear boxers, society shouldn’t tell them no.

Last night while playing Halo at my buddy Jarrod’s house, things got silly as we grew tired and eyes began shutting down from lack of blinking.  Because he is a tool (though I say it with love), Jarrod, who has a nasty cold, decided to give me the grossest wet willy ever.

Just in case “wet willy” is an American-only term, it’s when someone wets their finger with spit and then sticks it into their buddy’s ear.  It is one of the creepiest feelings in the world — up there with getting felt up by a poltergeist (not that that’s ever happened to me). 

My dismay was clear, and I spent the rest of the evening with toilet paper shoved in my ear to obsorb the cooties.  But on the way home, I got to thinking: who thought of the wet willy?  Was he ever given an award?

I decided to put my English degree to use, and broke down the term, one word at a time.  The “wet” half was easy — you’re putting a wet finger into the ear.  Duh.

The “willy” half was a bit trickier.  But then it hit me — “willy” is slang for a penis.  At this point, I think we’re all thinking the same thing — maybe a finger in the ear isn’t the creepiest feeling on Earth, after all, when we consider the alternatives.

So now let’s assume that “willy” in this instance does in fact refer to a penis.  That means that sometime — and I’m thinking probably during the Renaissance — some dude got bored, realized his willy was wet, and put it in his friend’s ear.  It’s this kind of outside-the-box thinking that made the Renaissance the period of change and advancement that it was.  But, you know how it goes — for every hit, we have a few misses.

Later on, probably during the Industrial Revolution, people (women) decided that this was far too crude an activity, and it was adjusted to just be a wet finger in the ear.

Or so goes my theory.  Any thoughts on wedgies?

Regulars readers might also be aware of the fact that I am a member of the 9rules Network, a network of cool people who also have blogs and probably big egos. 

In a chilling example of a “perfect storm” of sorts, the lovely Lindsay is interviewing various members of the 9rules network — including yours truly.  It goes without saying that a long interview ensued, wherein I talked about… myself!  Surprise!

I’m proud to report that I currently own the record for the longest response to a single question.  And I had to edit myself to keep it at the length it’s at.

Read the interview now.  You’ll thank me later.  Or not.

So far, nothing out of the ordinary, right?  But here’s the kicker — she’s passing me, going at least 80mph, while her back left wheel is the spare.  And not even a fullsized spare, but one of those miniature spares that look like they could fit on my bicycle.  So here’s this minivan cruising along at 80mph all lopsided and unstable looking with the mini-tire (which looks like it might fly off at many minute) while the driver chitchats on her cell phone.

And I wonder why my insurance rates are so high.

Today, my particular annoyance is drivers that don’t know how to make a right turn.  If you ask me, it’s not a particularly difficult automotive maneuver: you turn on your blinker, brake a little bit, make the turn, accelerate out and continue about your merry way.

If you’re the car in front of me this morning, though, you take a different approach: don’t turn on your blinker, brake a little bit (with your brake lights out), brake a little more, brake a lot more, come to a near complete stop, swerve into the left lane a bit, dive into the turn without accelerating, and slowly continuing about your way, probably on your cell phone.

Hot tip #1: You do not need to come to a complete near stop to turn.

Hot tip #2: Fix your brake lights.

Hot tip #3: If you’re that worried about rollover, accelerate coming out of the turn.

Hot tip #4: Unless you’re driving a bus, 18-wheeler, or some models of Ford Excursion, your wheel base is not so giant that you need to swerve left before diving into a turn.

The latter is the one that annoys me the most — I can deal with taking a turn really slowly if that really is the fastest you’re comfortable taking it.  But if you’re driving a Toyota Corolla, you do not need to do the crazy left-lane swerve to make a right turn.  Please don’t.  It really bothers me when I’m in that left lane.  And I’m sure I’m not alone.

I’m quite secure in my masculinity, but I don’t want to be the only dude out there carrying a purse.

But really, it makes sense — just ask any woman.  In my pockets, I carry my cell phone, my wallet, my keys, and my iPod nano.  In my hand, I often carry a water bottle.  That’s a lot of stuff to be carrying around — but I’ve limited myself.  I’ve emptied my wallet of everything but the essentials, and I don’t carry around gadgets I would like to have with me all the time — my Nintendo DS and my digital camera.  I have chapped lipped often, but I travel without chapstick except on the chappiest of days, instead having some both at home and at the office.  (I used to leave a stick in the car, but that quit working when the temperatures passed 100°F; I left work one day and found a chapstick-puddle in my car.)

What’s the solution?  Carry a purse!  Now, it doesn’t have to be styled as a woman’s purse — someone needs to come up with an uber-manly design, a design far manlier than the messenger bag. 

The messenger bag comes close to being the man purse (murse), but falls a little short.  It’s acceptable to carry one around a college campus, or to carry one in and out of work; but you can’t really carry one around at the mall, or to dinner, or to a party, or whatever else.  But women can take their purses to those places.

I was hoping that Friends would help bridge the gender gap.  There was an episode where Joey explained how much sense it made for him to carry a manbag, and I was right alongside him.  But by the end of the episode, they convinced him that it was womanly and he got rid of it (but not until after he had tried wearing panties instead of men’s underwear).

So, I’d like to issue a challenge to you guys out there — start taking your messenger bags to places you normally wouldn’t.  If you’re a bag designer (I’m sure my blog has a huge readership among the bag designer crowd), try to make the perfect manly design that men can carry with confidence everywhere and not be shunned by their friends and strangers.

I’ll make it a point to try to stretch the boundaries of where I can carry my manbag.  I will try to ignore the laughter and hope I don’t become to ostricized.  You guys do the same — together, we can change the world and make it a place that welcomes men carrying bags.

Several people suggested I try Fiji water (and by “several people” I mean “several females”), because it tastes better.  I decided to take the recommendation.

I was driving by Whole Foods Market, and I figured as long as I was buying yuppie water for $0.99 cents for a small bottle, I might as well go all out and get it from a yuppie store like Whole Foods.  I bought a single bottle in the trademark Fiji light blue yet squarish bottle.  I got to my car, took a gulp, and decided that it tasted suspiciously like water.  It did have a bit less taste than most water I’ve had, probably because of fewer impurities or something.  But doggone it, I think I’m getting used to my impurities — I prefer other waters, I reckon.

But the dealbreaker for me is the squarish bottle.  As I started to drive out of the Whole Foods parking lot, I tried to put the Fiji bottle into my car’s cupholder.  But it was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole — literally.  Despite the bottle not being very big, the square shape ensured it didn’t fit into my cupholder.  Totally annoying.

I understand why the Fiji Water Company would want to have a unique design for their bottle, to make it recognizable.  And it doesn’t appear to be hurting their business.  But I feel it’s an example of form being placed above function unecessarily.  It’s a nice looking bottle.  But round bottles just make more sense sometimes, even if everyone else uses them.  Maybe I’m just overly practical sometimes, and a little old fashioned, but I like my bottles round.