So Nerdy It's Painful

I'm something of a nerd myself: former D&D player (complete with subscription to Dragon magazine!); video game connoisseur; blogger. But this bumper sticker/t-shirt/dice-bag-embroidery, is so cringe-inducing I want to track down whoever foisted it on the world and smack them upside the head with my +2 baseball bat.

I saw it today on an otherwise normal-looking Honda Civic and had to wonder for the 100th time who would a) pay money for this nerdy, unfunny aphorism; and, b) adhere it to their car to proclaim their complete misunderstanding of the concept of humor.

Let's analyze this phrase. "Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons" -- sound enough advice, I suppose. Dragons are massive, fire-breathing monsters. Their lairs are boneyards, strewn with the picked-clean remains of those who have meddled. Most people in a world with dragons would not need to be advised not to meddle, any more than you or I need to be told not to meddle in the affairs of grizzly bears, or chainsaw-wielding serial killers.

"For you are crunchy" -- are humans crunchy? I mean, we have bones and all... but crunchy? Would you describe a pig as crunchy? A hippo? I guess one could argue that dragons are big enough to eat humans whole, in which case we'd be crunchy in the same way that a game hen is.

"And taste good with ketchup" -- this is what seals the awful deal. A dragon with a bottle of Heinz 57 on top of its treasure pile? For God's sake, dragons are cool! Ancient, wise, fierce, gold-hoarding, nearly-unstoppable killing machines that breathe fire and fly! But a dragon crunching on a knight or hobbit after drenching it in tomato ketchup is stupid and uncool and the inclusion of that image makes this the worst bumper sticker in human history.

Every time I think about it, I want to switch sides and become a bully.

Soapbox

No, I'm not going to get up on a soapbox and rap at ya. I'm gonna talk about the 2008 Portland Adult Soapbox Derby, which happened today. This is the third I've attended, and for some reason the magic was missing. The first year I was knocked out of my socks and into a bubbling whirlpool of awesomeness -- how could I have lived in Portland so long and not been hip to this most cool event? People making incredible non-motorized cars and careening down Mt. Tabor, an inactive volcano, at top speed? Not only were the cars absolutely mindblowing (in both categories: Art and Science), the atmosphere was the epitome of southeast Portland greatness: cool families, scurvy hippies, blondes with dreadlocks, shirtless skaters, eight million bicylists of all stripes, the occasional square from the west side, and everyone clutching a sweating can of PBR and having a blast.

Last year I also had a good time but I was in the midst of a non-drinking period and that took a bit of the fun out of it -- but not much. Instead of pounding brewskis, I made a movie.

This year was the first that Barb could attend (as in past years she was working retail which means Saturdays) and, of course, Elizabeth Rose. It was fun, still, but not as magical as in the past. Maybe it was the weather: HOT. It's almost 6pm right now and it's 99 degrees out (90 inside). Plus, the baby was fussy and couldn't be calmed. We left after maybe an hour or so because she became inconsolable.

There's always next year.

Dearth of a Salesman

Ugh. I just got done writing my KSAs for a job application. If you don't speak bureaucratese, KSAs (which stands for Knowledge, Skills, and Abilities) are the essay part of a government job application. E.g., "Describe your experience applying Federal, state, and local laws, regulations, policies, guides, procedures and judicial determinations to the veterans benefits programs."

Sounds like fun, huh?

I hate applying for jobs. However, here I am doing it. I'm afraid to get complacent, so I'm applying for a job I'm not sure I want that might lead to a higher-paying job I'm really not sure I want. Rolling stone, moss, etc.

The thing about job applications is that I'm not a salesman. I hate selling. Just take a look at the sales figures on my movie, Zombie Christ. It's a fun little movie with a killer marketing hook and the people who've bought it have done so almost in spite of me. I don't advertise even in the many free ways the web offers. Or see my various novel manuscripts gathering dust in my basement. It's not necessarily that they can't be sold, it's that I won't sell them. I hate selling -- but I said that already, didn't I?

Hell, I don't even tell people about this blog. My two readers are my Mom and Danielle from New Mommy Rant, and I have no idea how Danielle stumbled upon Awlthat.

Point being, applying for a job is the process of selling yourself. Even though I know I'm a great product, I have no interest in or aptitude for selling the product that is Andrew Larrison.

It's amazing I've made it this far.