Anatomy 101

Hot Legs

Brief background--I work at the Athletic Department here at the Univeristy of Oklahoma. My title is Writing Consultant; my job is to help the athletes with their papers, because 90% of them write as though English were not their first language (or one they'd even bothered to learn as a second or third langauge). In fact, it's rather amusing that the atheltes for whom English is a second language generally speak it better than those for whom it is their first and only langauge (unless you count athlete, which is a sub-dialect of English and very difficult to understand unless you've had a lobotomy).

Right, where was I? Oh, yes.

See, I was leaving work this afternoon. As I was walking out, I noticed that the Girls' Volleyball Team was in uniform for team pictures. Let me paint you the picture--over a dozen athletic, tanned and toned young ladies (most of them blonde), all wearing very skimpy shorts and shirts that seemed to be a size too small. I think the walk through that room was the happiest minute of my week. Granted, none of them had the proverbial "legs right up to [their] neck," but the legs were certainly long enough for my cares. I've always kinda wondered about that, anyway. I mean, who'd want legs that go all the way to the neck? I'm thinking that Rod Stewart (or his lyricist or whoever) had two things: (1) an odd fixation on legs, and (2) a very poor understanding of basic human anatomy.

All of which is really irrelevant, because those girls were hot.

"These Aren't the Droids You're Looking For"

Like the Monkey, I recently had the (all too brief) opportunity to play a little Knights of the Old Republic, and that game alone was almost enough to make me buy an X-Box (if I had the disposable income for that sort of purchase, I would have. But I don't, so I didn't). While my lust for RPGs is perhaps not as strong as Adam's, my affinity--dare I say my unbridled wild passionate monkey love for all things Star Wars--probably far exceeds his. Hell, I'm currently sitting in a Star Wars-themed room. So the game grabbed me by the throat, kicked me in places best not mentioned, and left me a gibbering idiot...which is only different from my normal state of being in that I was now laughing like Yoda...okay, even that's not really all that different. But the point is, that game was fun, and now I really wish I had a real lightsaber and the Force. Though it's probably good that I don't, because I would so use the Dark Side:
Me: Want to go out?
Hot Volleyball Chick: No, I don't.
Me: You do want to go out with me.
Hot Volleyball Chick: No, I don't, and stop waving your hand in the air like that, you freak.

Desolate Country

I believe I have come up with a term that will describe so-called country "music" accurately and without abusing our sensibilites by referring to it as "music." Ladies and Gentlemen and Monkeys, I give you "country noise." It's like real music, only crappy and twangy and with too much fiddle and pedal steel guitar. And stuff. Best of all, it can be used as a gauge to judge how crappy other forms of music are. For instance, on a scale of country noise to classic rock, rap would rate lower than even country noise. Hip-hop, if it's decent, might rate a point or two higher than country noise (though the Gorillaz, with their bizzare fusion of hip-hop and rock, would rate honorary classic rock). Sure, there might be some bugs in the system to work out, but I think the idea is sound.