Ok, so it has been a few days since I have posted anything up here. I have a couple of reasons for that, though. First reason: Very busy. Second reason: I cut off the tip of my right forefinger in the meatslicer at work. This made typing difficult for a little while. I would tell you the story about how it happened, but it won’t make sense, I will still be an idiot for having done it, and it can’t be told both pleasantly and with the necessary dose of exaggeration. So I will just skip that story, and when you notice what should be an “M” is an “N”, and so on, you will know why.

Oh, another reason I am not going to tell you about that is that I have something better (what could be worse?) to tell you about: My very first mugging!

Let me rephrase that. It makes it sound like I was the mugger. I was the muggee. (“Muggee” sounds like the name of a Shel Silverstein Character.)

Ok, forget about me rephrasing this. You get the picture. Actually, not really though, (My Grammatical punctuation has begunned to slide over the course of this summer.) because it wasn’t an outright mugging. It was more of a con job/daylight theft/trap/mugging. Here are the facts you must understand before I continue with this story:

1. I was at the Mall
2. I could NOT miss an appointment I had to be at in about an half hour.
3. George is a wimp. (I would like to be able to say this more like “George Doesn’t hit strange females” but, while that is the case, it raises the question about women I more acquainted with, and moreover, even if this policy of mine was not established, it wouldn’t make me not a wimp.

So, as I was walking through the mall, minding my own little business, (Not much to mind, mind you.) I suddenly found myself being accosted by some foreign woman, who had grabbed me by both wrists, and was dragging me to her kiosk. To describe this woman in an inoffensive way might be difficult. It would also be difficult to do without using a little slang that I hope ya’ll aren’t familiar with. My best try: A cross between a “Newsbabe” and a woman from a Pantene Commercial. In about a third of a very confused second, I got the subconscious impression of a spray-on-tan, bleached hair, more eyeliner than the common housefly could manage to wear, and some sort of perfume probably called “Luscious Seduction” or something. It was very scary. Oh, and did I mention she was about 22, four foot six-ish, and babbling in a language that didn’t sound much like English?

My first word was “No” I didn’t know what she thought I might be saying “No” to, but I sure knew. I didn’t know where this was headed, but I was interested. She had her hands around my wrists like… Well, have any of you tried sitting in those old “stocks”? That is what it reminded me of. (In retrospect, you understand. I didn’t have time to compare it to anything at the time.) Having reached her kiosk, she shoved my hands into a basin, and managed to coat them, in about as much time as it would take Tim Geithner to do his taxes, with some gritty substance. She also had my sleeves rolled up to my shoulders. Turns out she was trying to sell some sort of slimes that you rub all over yourself to make yourself look better than you did before you had this magic goo. Maybe you women know more about the concept than I do. It has NEVER made sense to me. Apparently, though, this woman thought I was so ugly that I really, really needed some of this stuff. She tried to describe my physical defects to me, (as if I don’t already know what they are?! The GALL of some people! What, does she think I’m STUPID, too?) and then sell me a product that would fix it within just ____ days. She smeared six or seven different goos, slimes, creams, and salts on my arms, palms, and wrists. Her English was (supposedly) really weak, so our conversation went something like this:

Her: (SMEAR) This is, uh, lotion, for, uh, hands, contains, uh, salts and minerals from dead sea…
Me: NO, thank you. Please get this off my hands and let me go.
Her: You like it? It contains, uh, ummmm… hmmmm. Minerals, and, uh, salts from the dead sea. You like? Because it, uh, conatins… salts, and minerals, from, uh… dead sea…

She would repeat her little spiel over and over again, each time as though it was a completely new concept. And for each product she tried on me, the purpose was different, but the benefits were the same: “Sea salts, minerals, exfoliation, a prettier me…” and so on. (What’s wrong with you, lady? Did it ever occur to you that I might LIKE being ugly?)

With each new application, my protests got louder, more succinct, less polite, and her grip got tighter and tighter. I caught a quick glance at my watch, and through the sea salts and minerals smeared on the crystal, I could make out that if I did not get out of her grip soon, I was going to miss a very important appointment. My requests for freedom and declinations for her help became tinged with the unquestionable flavour of extreme frustration. This solicited the attention of the two men at the kiosk, apparently, her superiors. One looked like “Mack the Knife”, and the other looked like the big boss- easily breaking about 350. I had tried every strategy in my arsenal. I had asked nicely, been stern, begged, deceived, everything. I almost got a chance to run away, but after fifteen minutes of this, I wasn’t thinking very quickly anymore. Anyway, these two mafia rejects convinced me, if you catch my drift. Making my appointment ended up costing me forty bucks, plus tax. I was lucky to talk them down from the original sixty. What did I get for that? I made it to my appointment. In fact, I more than made my appointement, because apparently, I had miss-read my watch through the encrusted lens, and I had a good ten minutes before I had to even leave the mall. Oh, I also had a one-ounce jar of Beautybabe’s and Mafia Men’s signature exclusive highly effective ocean-scented teal-coloured slime, which contained playground sand and road salt, that I was not about to take home, under any circumstances. I was, needless to say, furious.

I had tried everything short of physical violence. Now, I was standing in the mall, with just a couple of minutes before I had to leave. As I headed for the door, I noticed a very kindly-looking, middle-aged lady sitting on a bench. On a whim, I risked I don’t know what all, and rushed up to her, told her this story (with a lot less detail) and I asked her if she was interested in taking the little tub of garbage that was in the bag off my hands. (Basically, was she interested in having it absolutely free.) I showed her the receipt, and waited for her to either sock me with her purse or run screaming for the police. She did neither. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and would stop, and look for the hidden camera, and then start laughing again. She was very kind, and sympathetic, but she told me she didn’t have any use for it.

Well, I took the stuff it to my appointment, and was able to leave it with women attending the same function. (This woman also cracked up over hearing the story about “This kid who got beat up by some chick running the Natural Beauty Kiosk at the Mall”). Then I headed back to the mall, and filed a complaint with Pyramid Holding, which is the company that runs that mall. Turns out that the security guards have been compiling a file on these people, who were kicked out a few months back, only to return under a different name, and are from the Dominican Republic. (Maybe that tan wasn’t spray-on, after all?) Today, I received this letter to “Mr. George A. Bosworth.”:

Dear Mr. Bosworth:

Thank you for notifying us of your concern… Blah blah blah… stive to provide the best possible service… Blah blah blah…We’re sorry you were disappointed during your most recent VISIT to the Kiosk… Blah blah blah… Sincerely apologize… Patronage important…

Not the “And the offenders shall be plucked, stuffed, and roasted in their own salty miracle whip” that I was hoping for, but better than nothing. It also cracks me up that they refer to the incident as my “Visit” to the kiosk. Like it was voluntary or something. All in all, it is now only a bad memory. And my hands smell like fish and perilite or something.

*Drum Roll*

George is rather content. I am really quite very busy a lot. (Emphasis on the really, quite, very, and a lot.) So I am not on pleo much right now, which is fine.

I was thinking, as I was working on something or other the other day, about how content I am right now. I have a job I don't dislike. I constantly have a project going, and my real work keeps me away from my projects a length of time suitable to keep me interested in them.

Spring is here. Everything is so green.

The Goffs are almost ready to begin building their new house.

Life is just a good mixture right now, between duties and electives. True, I still have some very seriously frustrting frustrations, but they seem like overcomeable issues, and therefore, I don't let myself ruin a time that seems practically perfect in every way by worrying about a few small things. (I shall have to call this the "Mary Poppins" spring.)

Three regrets I am willing to share:

I regret not having had an opputunity to catch up with Heather Niehuss in a long while. I am always busy when she is not, and it has been a little while.

I regret not having a moment to call Mir and wish many happy returns, ect., ect., until now, when it is too late to call, and tomorrow, it will be way too late.

I also regret never having met Marlene Smelser. If you have not, I suggest you read the book "Its Just Been Glorious". She was a remarkable woman, and I thing I missed out on a really good thing. Those of you who knew her were very lucky, and I hope you know so without me saying it.

Off to bed!

p.s. Fourth regret- never enough sleep!

We all know what I’m talking about. Professional sports. (BTW, if you are a huge Pro Sports fan, just quit reading now.) Pro Sports, no matter what the sport is, are wrong. If you want proof that we live in an excessive and gluttonous world, consider this: I started doing some online research to add up roughly how much money is earned by Pro Sports teams (as corporations, not individually) and I gave up when the figures blew by the TRILLION dollar mark.

I’m getting ahead of myself here. Allow me to explain my thought process. I’m not against sports. I’m against pro sports. Sports are a type of GAME. Games are played as an alternative to WORK; that is, productive, beneficial, till-the-soil-and-draw-the-old-wet-stuff type of work. (A father comes home from a day at the office and plays a game with his children, to take a break from his work. Children get together after school and participate in some sports.) Therefore, if Sports are games, and games are not work, you cannot justifiably argue that a person, no matter how talented, should be paid ANYTHING to play around. Yet pro players are paid millions of dollars a year to run around on a field just like small children. Why is it that huge stadiums aren’t built so people can spend $300 to watch three adults go head-to-head in a “Rock, Paper, Scissors” contest? (“Three Fingers” Smith, the all-time champ, just signed a 46 million dollar contract.) Stadiums costing multiple millions, if not billions, of dollars, are built and torn down every dozen years, often at the partial, if not complete expense, of taxpayers, so fans can go watch the game. The game. Think about that for a minute. Games were created for the players’ enjoyment. This goes beyond sports. If a group of adults want to get together and arrange a weekend tournament, (perhaps even with a cash prize) that is perfectly ok. Such games would be spectator-friendly, as well. (Free and personally interesting.) Instead, though, sports have been commercialized and capitalized upon, and now we are paying grossly outrageous, I would even call immoral amounts of money to people that if you think about it, are among the most unintelligent our society has to offer. (After all, many of them have never truly worked in their lives. They went straight from two years of college, to the minors, to the pros.) These are people that don’t know how to do anything but play games. Like little kids.

Speaking of kids, how is it that our culture is so messed up that the public school system spends a sizeable percentage of its budget on sports for the kids? I thought schools and colleges existed to teach us. Not to provide programs like junior basketball. (Six nights a week.) Not only is the money spent on this disgusting, but think about the ruined opportunity for creativity and ingenuity! My romantic side envisages a time when kids would get together in the back lot AFTER school, with three bats, one ball, half-a-dozen baseball gloves, a sack of potatoes, a hubcap, a broken shovel, an old briefcase, (all of which are bases) and plenty of energy, and play a little ball, ignorant of their delicate self-esteem, and grateful for a break from school and work. I have only seen such a game… about half-a-dozen times in my life. (Way to go, nanna.) Instead, school programs outfit children with uniforms, coaches, trainers, facilities, and manicured fields, turning children into mindless, cold-blooded lizards who can’t function without a six-foot pole packed with “One Way” signs staring them in their sensitive, helmet-covered faces. Their parents, diseased with a jealous fanaticism for their favourite pro team, alternately scream threats, petrifying encouragement, and advice.

I can hear your arguments from here. These kids are INSPIRED by the images of professionals running around (just like them) in packed stadiums, word-famous and filthy rich. Ok, can you say “Condemned by your own lips”? I’ll bet anyone anything that out of all the sport-loving children with dreams of making it to the big-leagues, only a fraction of them, so small it isn’t even worth mentioning, actually DO make it to the major leagues. But you can’t tell them this. They have been raised to believe that you can’t enjoy sports without the hope of lucrative contracts and fast living. Or have they? What do they see when they idolize their favourite sports superstar? Tobacco-chewing, drug-taking, hip-swiveling, poor-losering, long-haired, arrogant, immature people who only seem to be able to achieve anything in the game, and never in real life. Ok, this finally begins to approach my solution.

Recently, there was a story on ABC news that caught my interest. Those big stadiums are starting to install TV screens everywhere in their facilities, because people are slowing beginning to stay home. Apparently, high-def. TV, the comfort of one’s living room, cheap snacks and surround sound, all advertised as “so real, it’s like being there” are beginning to draw people away from the stadiums. The NY Yankees are so concerned about this trend that their new stadium is being wired with the ability (they have not been installed yet) for EVERY stadium seat to have its own TV screen. This way, fans can experience the game in person, (For $75) and also enjoy the televised experience. Another recent news story talked about the fact that computerized animation has come so far, that within a few years, animated movies will be almost undetectably life-like. Bingo!

HOW TO SOLVE ONE OF THIS COUNTNRY’S BIGGEST PROBLEMS:

My solution is this: Encourage that stay-at-home trend. Then dismantle and disband every stadium and pro sports team in the country. Next, create software that randomly creates the plays, scores, stats, and over-all outcome of a game. Animate it and televise it. You can still have the licensing. You can still have the star athletes. There can be trades, injuries, stadium renovations, and world champions. Only it would all be “virtual”, not real.

This solution also gets rid of the downsides of pro sports as well. Games could be formulated to be always exciting. Injuries may occur, but never to real people. A close play would never end in a bad ruling. Replays and camera angles could be practically infinite. Spectator expense would be gone. Arrogant and misleading athletes would no longer exist. Every “player” would have a carefully crafted image, free of drugs and bad behavior. (Limits would be placed on ability, so that children would not be inclined to injure themselves by trying to copy their heroes.) No bad language, no poor sportsmanship, no cheating, no scandal. No tearful and dishonest apologies. The excitement and unknown of the game could still exist. The die would have already been cast, but nobody would yet know the outcome. No rain delays. No security threats. No strikes. No outrageous salaries. (Other than figures created for public interest.) No expensive food, seating, or parking. No beer-down-the-back-of-the-neck. People who might otherwise be athletes could instead have a positive influence in a real workplace, while adamant fans could still relax watching the game.

On a personal level, children would be able to enjoy sports without the background pressure of trying to reach athletic stardom, for they would know that no such position actually exists. Realizing they would have nowhere to go, colleges and schools would have to drop their expensive sports programs, because the quest for athletic perfection would dry up. This would free of funds for much, much more profitable things, such as education. (What a novel idea.)

Speaking of novel ideas, that’s about all of mine. I have plenty of minor details worked out. I have anticipated the arguments against my plan, so if you see any big loopholes, let me know.

Being a person that is stricken with the disease (for bad or… worse) of run-on sentences, I tend to use parenthesis a lot. Even though I try to avoid it, I can’t help adding additional comments (such as this one, which (after all) is a bit unnecessary) to my main thought process, making it difficult for the reader (you) to follow my subject.

Because I use them so often, I began (or is it “have begun”?) to wonder what the rules are for the proper application of parentheses. I eventually gave up wondering, though, because I knew I wouldn’t follow the rules, even if I did know them. (Rules are made to be broken, right? (Wrong, actually. (I never understood that statement; that rules are meant to be broken, I mean.)))

So like Paul, (Or was it Peter?) I find myself writing impossibly long sentences, only instead of using a lot of commas, (which I still do, actually, but that isn’t the point) I use a lot or parentheses. (This is probably the closest way in which I could ever compare myself to Paul. (Or was it Peter?)) In fact, sometimes my parenthetical after-thoughts are so lengthy, that by the time I get around to finishing them, I forget to add the closing parenthesis at all, because the parenthetic portion of my statement is longer than the statement itself.

I suppose I have trouble with this because not only am I long-winded, but also I jump from one thought to another rather quickly, without much context. (This makes it difficult for me to sleep, because I talk to myself a lot when I try to fall asleep, (perhaps I should have mentioned this in my last post) and as I jump from one subject to another, I confuse myself when I try to back up into what began a thought process to begin with. (If you can call it that.) Scott Adams (creator of the popular strip “Dilbert”) wrote a strip in which Dilbert (the main character, a bored and depressed engineer for a corrupt and dysfunctional company) is trying to give a presentation, and was told to arrange the presentation into three main points. This was impossible, because his presentation simply had more points, so he invented three new words he could categorize all his points under. The words were “Pizquat, Splurby, and Noobah.” (His final point to his audience: “Believe me, you don’t want to be any of these things.) Anyway, Jonathan and I found these words to be hysterical, so we decided to find applications for them. Noobah now describes that intricate experience that many of us have (well, so I have it) as you fall asleep, in which, as I mentioned, your mind wanders from one thing to another until when you try to remember the path of your mind took, you realize how crazy you must be. (Well, so it happens to me.) Anyway… …I can’t remember where I was going with this little anecdotal gem… For that matter, what got me onto this topic? Major Noobah. All I know now is that I am behind on a closing parenthesis. So here it is: ) (Its mate is at the beginning of the sentence that starts “This makes it difficult for me to sleep…” –near the beginning of this rather long paragraph.)

One more thing about parentheses: (Before I go.) The singular version is spelled “parenthesis”, and the plural is “parentheses”. Isn’t that interesting? (Ok, so it isn’t interesting.) But I was wondering, what is the plural possessive spelling?) Parentheses’? Parenthesesis? (That last one can’t be right. It looks like “Parent Thesis”. I’m not sure what that means, either, but it sounds serious.) How is this for plural possessive: ( )’s. (?) Does that look okay? I don’t suppose it matters, because I can’t think of anything that belongs to a pair of parenthesis, anyway. Still, whether something matters or not, rarely keeps me from thinking about it, (I feel a Noobah coming on) so here I am. George and The Parentheses. (That would make a very good name for a rock band.)

(BTW, spellcheck (handy gadget, that) is telling me that the plural possessive would be… “Parenthesis’s”. Whatever.)

Well, I keep on meaning to get around to doing this. It wasn't part of the plan, so I will only have this up here for a few days at the most. States I have been to...

create your own personalized map of the USA
Maybe I should have selected the ones I haven't been to. I have been to all except North Dakota, Alaska, and Hawaii. I have lived In Washington state six years, (combined) Missouri Three and a half, Ohio one and a half, New York, about three, Alabama, one month, D.C., about a year (Combined), and Massachusets. (Almost three years.) Almost lived in Alaska, but we stopped in WA on the way there, and never made it the rest of the way.

European Countries:

create your personalized map of europe
Most of the civilized ones, (I still want to see Swiss, Austria, and Italy) and one of the uncivilized ones. (France)

I have done a lot of Canada (I have lived within a two-hour drive or less of Canada most of my life) but I can't remember which of all the provinces I have done, so I didn't bother trying. I also have been to Mexico, but I don't like to talk about it.

There you are then. Kudos of you cared in the least. :-)