You are currently browsing the monthly archive for March 2013.

I’ve started coming up with the images for the site’s banner by asking someone for a single word. I do a quick Google image search for that word, and then pick an image for the banner from the results.

Over the weekend, I asked our good friend Claire for a word. She chose “xenophobe,” which is why Joe Arpaio, the sheriff of Arizona’s Maricopa County, is in the banner this week.

Joe Arpaio: Xenophobe

Insanely appropriate,



Wish I had thought of it,


…in this post.

Shortly after, I sent in my own Dear Photograph entry. Here it is:

Shady's Dear Photograph

Dear Photograph decided not to use the image (or at least they haven’t used it yet), so I decided to go ahead and post it here.

I’ll give you a brief explanation of what you’re looking at: In May 1989, I was in the seventh grade and attending Jackie Robinson Middle School in Milwaukee. (Sadly, it’s now an apartment complex for senior citizens.) Each year, Robinson planned a big student trip. That year, the trip was to Los Angeles.

I was lucky enough to go that year. It was my first time in L.A. and away from home, which made it both cool and terrifying all at the same time. The trip included stops at Disneyland, Griffith Park Observatory, and Universal Studios.

Yeah… Universal Studios.

There’s much more to the story than this, but the short of it is that I (stupidly) decided to run up the down escalator at Universal Studios. As fate would have it, I tripped, and my kneecap dug into the toothy edge of one of the metal steps.

Eventually, I was rushed to an emergency room (by tour bus, oddly enough) and given four stitches, but as I waited in Universal Studios for a wheelchair to take me out of the park, I shot the photo above.

What you’re seeing there is a photo of my 12-year-old leg over an image of my 34-year-old body.

So my Dear Photograph note would say this:

Dear Photograph,

Walking up a down escalator may not be the brightest idea in the world, but it makes for one hell of a great story that you will never forget.

I’d do it all over again,


PS: A big hello to all my old Robinson friends who might remember this!

…have visited the doctor or vet.

On Monday, Mr. Fabulous visited the vet for an eye irritation. It cost us $140.

On Tuesday, I got three wisdom teeth ripped out of my skull. That cost us $73. (Apparently, we have very good insurance.)

And earlier today, Heisenberg got her lady bits snipped. That cost $400.


What we learned: a dog’s eye checkup and a cat’s spaying costs about the same as getting seven human wisdom teeth pulled. In other words, pets are expensive.

Our apartment is turning into a poor house,



But you have to wait until April 15th to witness it.

Justin Long as Steve Jobs looks like my dad,


Heisenberg: Pre-Snip

The opposite of this,



Tesus is the baby of Tebow and Jesus,


“Stories To Tell Before I Forget” is an ongoing series of short stories about real events from my past. Click here to learn more about the series, here if you’re interested in reading more, and here to sign up for updates from “The Blarg.”

Stories To Tell Before I Forget: “Losing My Wisdom”

Yesterday, I finally did something I should have done a long time ago: I got my wisdom teeth pulled. Or at least three of the four that were attached to my skull just 48 hours ago.

Yes, most people get their wisdom teeth pulled at a young age, but for whatever reason I decided to wait until I was 36 years old to have mine done.

My sister waited until she was 32 to lose her wisdom. And, oddly enough, we both got our teeth pulled yesterday; on the same day, at the nearly the same time, by two separate oral surgeons in two different parts of town. We didn’t plan it that way. In fact, neither one of us knew the other person was getting their teeth yanked until last week, when Beth called me to ask for a ride to her appointment.

Pretty bizarre.

Anyway, I opted out of anesthesia. Mostly because I’m not big on the idea of being knocked out (years ago, I also opted to stay awake during a colonoscopy… more on that story another time), but also because I had heard the recovery time for people who get put under can be longer than for those who don’t. Oh, and I also didn’t want to pay for it. So, there’s that.

After a quick 3D scan of my skull (which I was super excited to see), we realized my bottom right tooth is impacted extremely low on my jaw (top left below).

Leave my teeth be!

Normally, this is a bad thing. But the scan also showed it lying alongside a nerve, which could cause some long-lasting side effects should I decide to have it pulled.

Shady: “What kind of side effects?”

Oral Surgeon: “Numbness of the lip and jaw.”

Shady: “And how long-lasting are we talking?”

Oral Surgeon: “Couple of weeks. Possibly up to a few months. For a very small percentage of people, it might never go away.”

Needless to say, I opted to have three pulled. Mostly because I don’t want liquids to pour out of the side of my mouth every time I take a drink of something.

The three teeth I did have pulled had all surfaced; the top two were completely out, and the bottom one was mostly out. KB considered doing some running around while I underwent the actual surgery, but an assistant told her: “I wouldn’t go anywhere. This isn’t going to take more than a half hour, tops.”

And with that, he jinxed it.

The first two teeth to come out (the tops) were about as easy as opening cans of soda. Pop! Pop! Within the first five minutes, they were gone.

“Shit,” I thought as I sat there, “forget a half hour. We’ll be done in ten minutes.”

Or not. The surgeon started off great, but apparently that last tooth was made out of some insanely hard material that no oral surgeon had ever come face-to-face with before.

He yanked at it. He cracked it. He drilled it. He chiseled it.

And still, my molar—which apparently is made out of either adamantium or some indestructible space rock—wouldn’t budge.

At one point, the surgeon asked his assistant to “go find a smaller tool.” (Heh, heh.) He did.

I sat (and the surgeon stood) in silence for a beat. He leaned over, peered into my open mouth, and quietly said…

Oral Surgeon: “Jesus.”

…at which point I started laughing; bloody spittle flew out of my mouth and landed on my bib.

The surgeon apologized. I mumbled back, “Don’t worry about it,” which probably sounded more like, “Dur burbly abak kak.”

The assistant returned with the smaller tool (still… heh, heh), and the surgeon headed back into the war zone that was my mouth.

And once again, he yanked at it. He cracked it. He drilled it. He chiseled it.

Finally, he pulled the last piece of root from my torn-to-shreds gum line. His face showed a great sense of accomplishment; his forehead showed a great amount of sweat.

The first two teeth had taken only five minutes, but that last one took over a half hour to get out of my head.

Oral Surgeon: “On a scale of one to ten, that tooth was an eleven. It was one of the hardest teeth I’ve ever had to pull in my entire career, and I’ve pulled thousands.”

Shady: “Well, at least I’ll be remembered.”

An hour later, I emailed my family this photo with one word: “Puffy!”


Recovery has been alright. I ate a shitload of ice cream last night, which is always good. But the best part was they let me keep my teeth. Or at least the two they didn’t have to blast into pieces to get out of my skull.

Cool! And gross!

I sincerely apologize to anyone I’ve ever kissed, because those are pretty gnarly.

So glad it’s over,


…and spent the night on the boat!

We got all fancy for dinner…

Queen Mary: March 16th, 2013

…and then had a drink with Churchill.

Queen Mary: March 16th, 2013

We searched for ghosts in the belly of the beast…

Queen Mary: March 16th, 2013

…where I quickly took control of the ship…

Queen Mary: March 16th, 2013

…at least until I lost my arm in a giant gear.

Queen Mary: March 16th, 2013

Still, severed arm or not, it was a pretty great weekend.

Queen Mary: March 16th, 2013

Thanks again for the gift, Mom,


Mickey Mouse in "Croissant de Triomphe."

Disney just released a new Mickey Mouse short called Croissant de Triomphe.

Not only is the new cartoon super fun, but it looks amazing. And it’s all in French!

Check it out here.

Consider me impressed,


Old Poop!