Not funny

I think it's safe to say that I enjoy a good laugh. With the exception of meticulously planning theme party outfits and costumes, I'd say that laughing and all it's comical relatives are my livelihood. You've got a dirty joke? I want to hear it. Enjoy quoting one-liners from Seinfeld favorites? Let's rock. As a matter of fact, we could go head to head like those dueling banjos from Deliverance. My point is, there are few things in life better than a nice, healthy sense of humor. With that said, comedic slipups break my heart...and probably also make me cringe. Two examples come to mind, and at the risk of sounding cynical, I'd like to discuss why they're so not funny.

Exhibit A: The Geico commercial.
I'm sure that some of you are surprised to see that as my opening argument. Historically (i.e. within the past 3 years), Geico has provided the masses with nothing less than advertising excellence. Translating the subject of insurance into memorable and truly funny dialogue is an accomplishment held only by the company represented by a gecko. The caveman commercials are pure genius. And they will surely become a part of pop culture trivia, if they haven't already. But lately, Geico has dropped the ball. In one foul swoop, they have drastically damaged their credibility as the company with a sense of humor. And you know who's to blame? Verne Troyer.
That's right. Mini Me.
Casting Mr. Troyer as the "celebrity" to tell the insurance claim story was a shaky decision in the first place. And then, whether through scripts or ad-libbing, the final cut resulted in him stuttering out the "birthday" rap while taking awkward attempts at dance moves from the mid 90s. I feel like I'm at a midget bat-mitzvah reception every time I see it. And it makes me sad. Shouldn't he be sitting on his big pile of Austin Powers money somewhere in Beverly Hills? Or better yet, having sex with average-sized 20 somethings who moved to LA to make it big? But certainly not this. It's pathetic. And it makes me wonder what his life is like now that his days as Dr. Evil's clone are long gone. I'm sure it's not pretty. And it's definitely not funny.

Exhibit B: Fake rubber limbs
You're cruising down to 7-11 to pick up a pack of Bubblicious and the latest National Enquirer ( or Us Weekly for all you intellectuals...) when WHOA what's this? It seems someone has inadvertently shut their door on the arm of the poor coworker who just wanted to carpool! Oh wait, no...It's just a soccer mom's feeble attempt to be clever. In general, these fake limbs are not even worth talking about. They're about as corny as the wire leash that provides the illusion of walking an invisible dog. But I recently had a run-in with this Spencer's best seller on my way home from work. I was crossing the bridge when I looked up at the tow truck that was cutting me off. And lo and behold, I saw an arm under some rags and a tarp on the flatbed. The unorthodox positioning of the gag gift took me off guard, so I didn't immediately recognize the Caucasian hand and white dress shirt as a fake. Long story short, I let out a gasp and nearly crashed my car over the Woodrow's guardrail and into the Potomac. So, anything that almost makes me kill myself is also not funny.

But hey, let's not dwell on the negative. Nobody's perfect. We forgive you, Verne. And I'm almost ready to forgive you, aggressive tow truck driver. Just never do it again.

The Graduation Gift

As some of you may know, my mother is best known for her outspoken personality trapped in a peanut of a body, which often leads to her resembling a human sparkplug. She was even bold enough to guarantee that she would beat The Ging in a wrestling match...and believe me, as soon as we find a venue, tickets will be on sale and the gambling circuit will be notified.
But a lesser known fact is that she is very crafty. And I don't mean crafty in the sneaky sense (although that is also probably true...), but rather that she is very good at making anything out of nothing. It's a bit matronly, but she's dabbled in needlework, quilting, glasswork...she even made our outdoor light decorations that we hang during the holidays (the infamous "christmas balls"). My point is that on the day of my graduation, Kathi told me that there was a homemade gift in progress. Of course, this could mean anything. She left me with no clues...so I pondered it for a while, but after two weeks had gone by and there was still no word of the alleged present, I pretty much forgot about it. July rolled around and I had moved into the new apartment, so the graduation gift turned to that of a housewarming. She finally cracked and told me it was was a fabric mosaic wall hanging. (How Pier 1!) Apparently the tiny pieces of fabric were taking her longer than expected to piece together, hence the prolonged delay.
So here it is mid-October, and the big day has finally arrived. Momma Snyder rolled into town this weekend for some quality mother-daughter time...and she brought the masterpiece with her.
Now the unveiling was, for lack of a better word, surprising. Here's why:

1. The final product was roughly 4 feet wide and 5 feet high...which makes for a pretty large wall hanging. Think about it.
2. When she laid it on the floor, it was immediately apparent that the "mosaic" was not in a random pattern. Instead, it was like one of those posters where tiny pictures make up one large picture (you know what I'm talking about, Flyers fans. I think there may be an Abe Lincoln version, as well.) And then I realized what it was a picture of.

(drumroll, please.)

It was a giant picture of my face. That's right. My mother thought the best way to express her congratulations on my earning a bachelor's degree was to take 5 months to stitch together an enormous mosaic of my face. For me to hang on the wall of the apartment in which I live alone. I'll just let that digest for a moment.

Carly Simon must be turning over in her grave. Her song has immediately been renamed to "Courtney's So Vain"...unless she's not dead, in which case she's just really pissed. Can you imagine if the first thing you saw when innocently visiting me is a huge, overzealous picture of myself? It's insane. Don't get me wrong, the stitchwork was amazing. The execution was flawless. But seriously, this is one for the books. Or blogs, as the case may be.

Needless to say, we had a good laugh about it. I told her to hold onto it for when/if I ever get hitched. I'm hanging that bad boy right above the mantle for the hubby to find one day after work.

Hey look...I'm web savvy!

Well, not really. But I suppose this is a step in the right direction. I've created The Dirty South in an effort to let my friends, loved ones, and the occasional misguided internet surfer know what I'm up to down here in VA. And let the record show that I would love nothing more than a comment here or there and (dare I say it) fellow contributors. Whoever said "Too many cooks spoils the broth" must enjoy some bland soup. So...let's light this candle.

I think there is no better way to kick off my blogging career than to provide everyone with a play-by-play of last weekend's extravaganza i.e. UD Homecoming 2006.

Miss Pamela Darmofalski, Miss Dana Schwartz and myself set out on the road Friday evening with wide eyes and heads full of hope. It truely felt like Christmas Eve, except for Dana. Pam was kind enough to offer up the camry for the road trip...so needless to say our soundtrack consisted of Bruce, jersey techno, and rap and/or hip hop favorites circa 2003. Ah and let's not forget her sporadic bursts of road rage, which were more endearing than anything else. As we rolled into Newark, I of course had to make a detour beer run for a certain underage sibling who shall remain nameless. I did, however, manage to pocket the change.

Ah, Shaggy's. I still fail to see the appeal of this townie magnet, but my cohorts have found themselves trapped in the "I got Shagged" tomfoolery. So that's where we visited on Friday. Bad music, but cheap beer with timely service. And hey, we got to see some familiar faces...and isn't that what homecoming is all about? Nothing too exciting went down...obviously everyone was saving their energy for the following day. Good call, kids.

Waking up in the Courtyards makes me feel nostalgic. Except this time, I was sleeping on the floor along with approximately 30 other recent grads. That is so college. We were at the stadium parking lot and raring to go by 7:30am. I played my first game of washers and made a horrible showing...but I brushed it off and funneled a beer. Not only that, but I used my homemade, cleverly-named funnel which was quite frankly the bell of the ball. She is called The "Pour" Decision. Now if that isn't wordplay at it's finest, then I don't know what is. Obviously, from here on out gets a little blurry, so I'll only provide the memorable highlights:

• Pam wore her star-shaped glasses the entire morning, and then disappeared for about 8 hours.
• In response to our "We're like the plague...you can't get rid of us" t-shirts, my brother suggested that it should have said "We're like the plague...we kill a lot of people." To his credit, that was a lot more original that the trite remark of how we should have used Herpes instead of the Plague.
• I stumbled into/tackled the old 7304 and d*fault clan. It was a festivus miracle, but unfortunately left as quickly as it came. We're still looking into the events that occured between 10:45am and noon.
• The hockey old heads visited the mixer where the female to male ratio was easily 1:4. Now that's what I call a party.
• We traveled to a few house parties while jumping in bushes along the way. I ripped two shirts, but didn't realize it until 10:30 the next morning.
• Picaro's house has a talking deer head with a microphone for your freestyling pleasure ( think Big Mouth Billy Bass). Hambone was brilliant on the mic using terms such as "BRrrggh BRRgghh AH!". It's poor little computer chip brain didn't know what to do...and then I tried to make out with it.
• I hung out with some hippies and got to eat a burger from Jake's.
• We ended up at Kate's for the night where my drunk brain decided to dance on Tom Traver's mini stage for at least an hour by myself. 38 beers will do that to you.

All in all a spectacular weekend. We enjoyed a lovely brunch at Deer Park the next morning where we relived the events and pieced together the day like some sort of blackout puzzle. The goodbyes were slightly depressing, but in the back of my mind I knew another reunion was not far off. cough*Legwarmers*cough.

So that was my maiden voyage on the S.S. Dirty. I hope you all had as much fun as I did...and keep your eyes peeled for the next post...