When you woke up this morning I bet you had no idea that this would be a pivotal day in your life, but it will be. You will look back at this day and ask, “How did I live before I knew THE QUESTION?” So simple and elegant is THE QUESTION that you will live in awe of its power. If you are a salesperson you will be tempted to send me commissions. There is no need to do so; I live to help others. My only fear is that THE QUESTION will get into the wrong hands. If you are a confidence man or a gold-digger please stop reading now. There would be no stopping you.

Researchers have put together countless surveys to ascertain the information you will gather by asking THE QUESTION. In just a few short seconds you will know if the person with whom you are talking is rich and upper class.

All by asking:

“Do you eat olives?”

That’s right! It’s that simple. Through my keen observation I have distilled thousands of grocery-store surveys and put the results into laymen’s terms.

Why else would every grocery store hoping to class up the joint install an olive bar? Many people don’t know this about the rich, but they live strictly on olives. Oh sure… they eat caviar and steak, but the nutrition comes from the amino acids found exclusively in olives. I read somewhere that the green in olives also increases their money-making abilities.

A little known fact: the great depression was actually caused by an infestation of olive-locusts.

Sadly, if you’re not rich you probably can’t take more than a couple olives without an uncontrollable gagging. Furthermore, alcohol dilutes olive’s efficacy. Alas, that martini won’t help your cause. With all that said, if you are curious if someone is rich and you want to subtly determine his or her wealth, feel free to ask, “Do you eat olives?”

As the husband of a Microsoft employee I sometimes wonder if Melinda Gates shares some of the same joys that I do.

For instance:
Do you think that Melinda gets to hear the near-nightly curse of "God-damn mail limit! I'll be at the table in a minute. I just need to clear out some space before my mail starts bouncing."

I’d ask why they don’t just increase the limit, but you know how nature feels about a vacuum.

On my desk sits a large bottle of Tums. Technically, they are extra-strength Tums. This leads me to today’s question: why do they even bother making regular-strength over-the-counter medicines? Do people say, “I’ve got a massive headache. I’ll start with the regular strength and, if that doesn’t solve it in an hour, I'll switch to the extra-strength.” If they’re anything like me, they reach straight for the extra-strength. Let’s face it – when you have a choice between strength and extra-strength, the choice is pretty much made for you.

Alright – having just read what I wrote I fully admit how Andy Rooney-ish this post is. Will that stop me from posting it? No. Will it make me think a little less of myself? Sadly, yes. I’m off to drink my newly-found self-loathing away. Now if I can only find the extra-strength beer…..

For a brief second I was considered a raging bigot. Well…that could be overstating it. However, in an IM conversation with a neighbor I mentioned something about another neighbor on the block, the Turkmen. The neighbor with whom I was IMing asked if they were Turkish. “Uh…yeah,” I responded.

“Well I guess you can call us the Pollok and the Jew,” she shot back [paraphrased]. While I’m sure that she was joking, it took me a bit off guard. A second passed and I realized that she might not know that their last names were, in fact, Turkmen. She didn’t and the whole thing was cleared up.

It’s interesting how you can accidentally step into a huge faux pas without the slightest idea that you’re doing it. It reminds me of a childhood incident…

I was a somewhat sheltered kid. I was always raised to view people individually and not by their race, creed, color, etc. There wasn’t an ounce of prejudice in our household. It’s hard to believe that with such a wonderful upbringing I was nearly suspended for inciting a fight with my racist mouth. However, it’s true.

I was in sixth grade at a rather large (1500 students) well-mixed middle school. It was gym time and I was enjoying a kick-ass game of four-square. The game was progressing in the standard fashion when, all of a sudden, Willie Davis refused to vacate the square which he had just lost. He was clearly out. The line knew it. The players knew it. Willie probably knew it too. However, he just wouldn’t leave. The usual calls of displeasure could be heard from the line of people waiting to play. These had no effect on Willie. It was time for me to do something about the situation. I suppose that this is the right time in the story to mention one little fact: Willie REALLY looked like Buckwheat on the ‘Little Rascals.’ Ahhhh if I knew then what I know now…

I made the mistake of explaining this fact to him with a loud, “Get out of the square, Buckwheat!” Well….He got out of the square. And he got right into my face. I remembered thinking, “He sure is taking this personally.” It wasn’t until later that day that I realized how personally he took it. Yes, I was jumped.

I tried to fight back but I, like all of my fellow “gifted students,” was using the bulk of my 100 pound frame to support the 50 pound backpack. Anchored and thus robbed of my usual catlike mobility, I was a sitting duck. He took a couple prime shots and he was off. Having taken a slight beating I continued on to Pre-Algebra where I was quickly diverted to the Dean’s office.

As I sat in the Dean’s office I tried not to be distracted by the rhythmic beat of blood circulating and pooling in my left eye. Vision was quickly becoming limited. “The Dean is treating me quite nastily for someone who was clearly the victim of a lunatic,” I thought. Five minutes into the conversation light bulbs went off in both of our heads. He realized that I had NO idea what I had done and I finally came to understand that, while not quite the N word, my statement wasn’t exactly Kosher for Passover.

My mother was called and she brokered a deal in which none of the parties involved would be suspended. It was quite a learning lesson. In an odd way I wouldn’t change a thing. Willie and I grew to be pleasant acquaintances and I learned that when you intend hurt you don’t always control how much hurt is received.

I love it when I come across a good find. Here's today's find for my fellow language geeks:

Everyone knows that it's a gaggle of geese, but did you know that it was a peep of chickens? You probably knew that it was a murder of crows, but did you know that it was a parliament of owls? Here's a handy guide for the next time you're at a loss when you see a big group of storks. Memorize the list and you too can say, "Hey -- look at that mustering of storks!"

I am going to break the mold slightly here, but I REALLY need to get this off my chest.

I, like much of the country, have been watching Jeopardy lately. While I find the utter dominance quite enjoyable, I have a growing level of hatred for Ken's unwillingness to break the damn single-day record. Enough already! If you have $42,000 and a $35k+ lead going into Final Jeopardy and you choose to bet $10,000 in order to tie the record for a THIRD time, it doesn't make you look humble; it makes you look even more arrogant.

The only thing that saves him is that Alex is even more ridiculous with his condescending reading (yes, reading) of the answers. You don’t know the answer to every question that could ever be asked. Stop pretending that you do! Remember, you’re the same guy that dealt with the novelty dice on “High Rollers.” Oh no – now I’m going… Alex, yes; he likes to bet to round numbers. You’ve been able to piece together that mystery. We get it. I would really like Ken to say, “Stop doing that Alex! Are you trying to sway the outcome of the game?” The lawyers would probably shut him up then.

OK. I’m done venting. We now return you to your regularly scheduled broadcast.

I’m far from being a Marvel Comics character, but I do have a secret power. I can, with an eerie degree of success, pick the correct line at stores. It’s one part logic and four parts sixth sense.

A tingle zips up my spine when a middle-aged woman is about to reach into her Kate Spade holster and draw the checkbook. Pay to the order of: long-ass delay.

I know when that little bald man will utter the phrase “I don’t think that’s the right price.”

By all reasonable estimates my super powers have saved me 3232.5 hours. These are hours that would have been spent behind coupon-wielding-food-stamp-carrying consumers.

I have spent my life taking my powers for granted. So why do I, the line-dwelling Jimmy Olsen of my time, reveal myself to be Superlinepickingman? Because I have found my Kryptonite, and its name is Target.

I am powerless there. As I stand there adrift in a sea of the unwashed masses my powers melt away. The pervasive aroma of Ben-gay and partially-soiled Huggies invades my olfactory center and makes a beeline to the superpower section of my brain.

Every other customer is a walking delay. Mothers approach the cashier with 6 kids and a stack of coupons. Old men with Coke-bottle glasses can be seen with jars of pennies. There is no right choice to make and I end up hopping from the back of one line to another only to find more delays. I would still be there right now if not for the tap on the shoulder followed by “Sir, I can help you over here.”

I recently discovered that thespark.com is no longer with us. This made me sad as it was the home of the Stinkyfeet diaries. Unwilling to let this, uh, gem go the way of the dinosaurs, I began to look for someone who had archived it in all its glory.

It then struck me; I should go to http://web.archive.org. At archive.org they take snap shots of the Internet. Well, to make a long story short, I found it:

I present (once again) the Stinkyfeet diaries: one man's quest to infect himself with athlete’s foot.

Stinkyfeet

Bring in the Feds! Let’s invoke the Sherman anti-trust act. Something needs to be done about the stranglehold that the pizza companies have on the delivered-food market. Let’s crush this monopoly (well…technically it’s more like an oligopoly but I didn’t have a picture of that).

The other night I experienced the downside of a monopoly. Tired and without food in the house we decided that it would be a “delivery night.” Generally we are healthy eaters. However, knowing full well that pizza was our only option we began the process of preparing our taste buds. It’s not often that we stray from the path and we like to make the most of our “bad” nights. Our mouths began to act like children with A.D.D. Lips were licked and saliva was generated by the bucketful. Throw in the malty goodness of a couple of beers (and a Mike’s Hard Lemonade for the lady) and things were good.

The moment was upon us. My wife lifted the phone from its cradle and began to dial. 8…8...5…3…0…3…0. Ring. “Oh boy. PIZZA!”...Ring…”In just 30 minutes or less my mouth will be a swimming pool for the cheese, dough, ham, and pineapple.”…Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring…”They’re not picking up.” Ring… Ring.

They’re closed? Dominos? Closed? YUP!

Now standing in a puddle of drool we began to weigh our options. Oh sure…we could order from another company, but other pizzas don’t provide the nostalgic pleasure of eating the pizza on which we were weaned. We could order something else. Scratch that; nothing else delivers. It was a depressing moment.

30 minutes later I stood there hovering over the kitchen island quietly eating a bowl of cereal. I had a spoon in the right hand and the, uh, malty goodness of a beer in the left. Oh bother.

I've received a few inquires about the change in the RSS feed. It's back to a standard 2.0 feed. Fear not though. If you would like full entry feeds, they can be found in the newly added Atom feed:

http://www.theevilempire.com/musings/atom.xml

As usual, please let me know if you experience issues. ;)

I’m curious; do other people automatically age the friends and acquaintances of their youth?

I’m pretty sure that none of my classmates at Boca Middle were over six feet tall and capable of buying beer. With that said, when I think back to the friends of my past, they all seem to be about my age. It doesn’t seem to matter if it’s been 3 years or 23 years since I last laid eyes on them; I picture them as if they had aged.

Perhaps this is why I look at “kids these days” and think, “They look soooo young. We weren’t that young…”

If only I could harness that technology, I could work as a missing person specialist.

Many times in life it’s the squeaky wheel that gets the grease. I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked when the same is true in the wonderful world of words. Everywhere you look these days words are engaged in old-fashioned sibling rivalry, and, much like life, the problem child is getting all the attention.

Don’t believe me? When was the last time that you were at a party and said, “My, my, you look quite kempt.” Chances are you haven’t. That’s because his brother, Unkempt, locked Kempt in the closet. Kempt sits there forgotten, lost in a sea of Unkempt’s haphazardly strewn clothes.

I can’t remember the last time I actually got to talk with Figured. Her bitter sister, Disfigured, is always yapping away, “This scar across my face happened from the accident. This gash was …..blah blah blah” Hap sits in the corner alone as his brother spills red wine on the carpet. The rest of the party tries not to stare as Misshapen waddles around the room. Avow couldn’t even come to the party because his brother sold him down the river.

Am I being ingenuous in my argument? Who knows? Heck, I don’t know if Ingenuous is still alive. Perhaps he was killed by his slimy brother.

I feel the pain of the overshadowed words. So, as of today, I will now be giving equal time to the good children. Reward the good words for behaving themselves. They deserve it!

It's time to give the computer, time, and god a little break. I've put together another new look. I'm happier with this one (I never really liked the last one). As such, tact will have to accompany honesty. At the very least, the new site *feels* more like me.

The question is "What do you think?" Feedback is, as always, welcome and appreciated. If you don't want to post, drop me an e-mail (comments at theevilempire.com). Thank you and have a pleasant tomorrow.

p.s. If you encounter any issues, please let me know.