Yep, it's time for a little more consumer outrage...

I recently had to pick up light bulbs during my weekly trip to the grocery store, seeing as how light seems to be a pretty popular thing these days. We usually keep a stock of different wattages to fulfill our lighting needs around the house should bulbs go out here and there.

I'll take this time to admit that I am a brand-name bitch. I will buy the fancy, more expensive product from the major conglomerate company before I even consider a generic brand or some second-rate store version. Yes, I know that they are pretty much the same product in almost all cases. And I also can say that the reason that the brand name product costs more is that the company that produces it is the one who actually fronted the development costs for said product, although in reality I don't actually care. So there must be some deeply-ingrained, subliminal stimulus that makes me "have" to buy the brand name product, in this case, light bulbs from General Electric.

This little aside has nothing to do with my latest dilemma, however, because it seems to be a change rampant throughout the light bulb manufacturing community. In need of 75 watt bulbs, I head down the aisle to find...

...71 watt light bulbs? 57 watts instead of 60 watts? Oh, apparently GE invented some new radical technology to reduce power consumption by 5%. That's amazing! Someone get this company an award! Oh wait... "Provides 1010 lumens, nearly the same light as 75 watt GE Soft White Double Life bulb providing 1085 lumens." Ugh...

There are so many things wrong here, I don't even know where to begin.

First off, the original 75 watt light bulb that was no longer stocked at my retailer (which will from here on be referred to as 75W Classic) provided 14.47 lumens per watt, while these imposter 71 watt bulbs provide 14.23 lumens per watt. That's right, their "energy efficient" reduced wattage bulbs have a less efficient lumens per watt ratio!

I can hear my detractors now, "But Jason, you're using less wattage, which means you are reducing the amount of power you spend!" If you needed less light, nothing stopped you from using a 60 watt bulb in place of a 75 watt bulb. You don't have to max out on power if you don't need it, thus making these replacements a clever yet worthless ploy to pander to the latest "green" craze. If you really want to cut down the power and "lower your eco-footprint," turn off the damn lights!

But now I must call attention to the most heinous crime of them all: 71 is a horrendous number!

Now, all of this comes from a guy who has to pump gas to multiples of a nickel. Hey, that's really progress considering I used to have to make it increments of a quarter. Standard wattages such as 40 watts, 60 watts, and 75 watts appealed to my "need" to have nice round numbers. I can barely sleep at night knowing that I have a box full of large prime numbers hiding in my closet.

So let's cut the crap GE; your new energy saving bulbs save nothing, unless you count my unwillingness to buy and use them as a carbon credit.

I'd like to guide you through a thought experiment to test your imagination. Read through the following passage, then close your eyes to picture the scene. Then click on the link to answer some questions. Simple, right? We'll let's proceed...

Bob is leaving work, the lucky devil, and walks outside of the office to find an overcast and generally miserable day. As he strolls out to his car, a light drizzle begins to fall and Bob picks up his pace. The rain starts to fall even harder, which again prompts Bob to begin a trot for his vehicle. As the falling water transitions to a downright pour, Bob starts running for his car, popping the trunk as he gets close to pull out an umbrella. Upon reaching his car, Bob pulls out the umbrella and opens it in preparation for walking to the driver's side door. But just as the umbrella snaps open, the rain stops and the sun peeks from behind the clouds.

Now that you've considered the scenario, there is a very important question...

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Back in college, my roommate McVay and I used to sing along to artists on the radio. Well, maybe not so much "along" but perhaps more "over the top of." We'd add in our own versions of the lyrics, hopefully either with intent in describing the current situation or in search of hilarious results.

We didn't adopt this habit out of any kind of discussed arrangement, but really just started and continued to do so out of sheer instinct. We found ourselves doing it around pretty much anybody, and strangely enough, instead of calling the authorities to lock us up, everyone just kind of started doing it, too.

Over the years we've created some auditory masterpieces, although we've had our fair share of failures as well. Maybe someday we'll start to document them other than a few we remember off hand.

Here's a rendition of the Wallflowers' "The Difference" detailing McVay's dietary regimen during college...

The only difference
That I see
Is you are exactly the same
As you used to be

...becomes...

The only breakfast
McVay eats
Is a Snickers
And a Pepsi

We also collaborated on this little ditty to the tune of the Foo Fighters' "I'll Stick Around"...

I thought I knew
All it took to bother you
Every word I said was true
That you'll see

...is masterfully transformed into...

I bet you blew
Half the guys I ever knew
And I bet you drank their spew
Naturally

We still engage in this on a regular basis, in fact it happens en masse at our weekly poker games. This interpretation of the Tokens' "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" is a treatise on playing the seven card game, Anaconda...

In the jungle
The mighty jungle
The lion sleeps tonight

...is better stated...

In your bunghole
Your tiny bunghole
The python creeps tonight

See?! Anaconda is a very treacherous and confrontational game. What else could that mean?

What needs to happen now is that we need to expand this venture into new realms and media. My wife and I already employ this with our five month old son, albeit with more "tasteful" lyrics, as he loves to hear our voices singing constantly. Our only other option would be an impersonation of Will Ferrell's character Buddy from "Elf" ("I'm sing-ing!").

But we've also discussed how this would easily work as a new game show. Get a host, a couple of celebrity judges, plop the contestant in front of a microphone, and start a selection from the ol' jukebox. C'mon, you know that Andy Dick is already willing to sign on.

It could also be taken to video games. In fact, with Rock Band, you don't even have to sing the correct lyrics, just the correct key! This game is practically begging for its adoption.

So now having read this, I dare you try this once, just once, and see if you can ever stop doing it.

I'm now on Twitter!

OK, if that first sentence got you excited, you'd better not let me know because I'd probably want to punch you. Maybe I don't quite get it and maybe I have a streak of being antisocial in my personality, but this site and others like Myspace and Facebook seem to be the new champions of the trivial, and apparently the irrelevant is today's latest fashion.

The technology that allows people to quickly contact others around the world is not some website, but the Internet itself. The technology was there, and being used I might add, well before any of the social networking sites came about. These sites seem to cater to the lowest common denominator, though, making it easy for anyone who doesn't have any clue what is going on in the background to post their thoughts for the world to see. It's kind of like a "Talk Out Loud for Dummies" book. Perhaps I can have this view since I learned to create my own website and have full control (and restraint) over what I put forward for others to observe.

I have plenty of friends, good friends I might add, and while I am not forming some exclusive club of them, neither am I desperate to gather throngs of meaningless acquaintances the world over. In the same vein, I believe that those friends don't have much interest in the dinner that I am making or the status of the elastic on my underwear. My wife might have to feign interest in those things, but she'll have to do that when we're together over the course of a day.

I would like anyone who feels differently to explain why by leaving a comment; I would like to be enlightened, if possible. But I still urge of you out there compelled to post your daily thoughts to anyone willing to listen, do so in a manner that embiggens you and not one that makes you come off as a stammering nincompoop.

I was "making" breakfast this morning by pouring cereal - Golden Grahams to be exact - into a bowl when I noticed a suspicious tagline on the box. The current box of Golden Grahams state that they are a "good source of calcium and vitamin D."

I thought this to be a little odd, so I checked the nutritional label to confirm my suspicions. Not only does a serving of the 'Grahams have a mere 25% of the RDA of each nutrient, but pretty much most of that is provided by the milk. So how exactly are Golden Grahams a "good source" of anything? Do they retain fluids better than other breakfast cereals? Is there some type of chemical reaction between graham ridges and lactic acid that I'm missing? If they were Rice Krispies, maybe I'd believe it.

So simply stated, Golden Grahams appear to be a good source of whatever is poured on them. I wonder if in countries where coffee is a more common cereal additive than milk they claim to be a great source of caffeine. Perhaps they could claim to be a good source of all vitamins and minerals if the preparation instructions just included crushing a few multi-vitamins over the top of them. That's a great idea... I need to go get on the horn with the marketing gurus at General Mills.

Our family has three feline members: Hebe, Jack, and Oliver. Being on a regimented diet with strict feeding times, they often let us know that they are hungry. They also often let us know that they are assholes.

The warm-up routine to their evening feeding, though still annoying, is bearable. It pretty much consists of constant meowing and running in front of your ankles as you walk around. Apparently, part of domesticated cat evolution taught them to bring down their master to their eye level so they can more vocally represent their hunger. They generally start this behavior about an hour before feeding time, maybe earlier if they hear the garage door, an event they associate with dinner time.

No, it is the morning in which they harness all of their powers of annoyance. Every morning, while we are still sleeping, they put on an impromptu performance in the art of dicketry. They each even have their own roles. Hebe alternates between running across the bed near the headboard and knocking items off of dressers with her paws. Jack scratches at the bed and chases Hebe around the room. But Oliver is the true sadist. He has two top-notch moves in his repertoire: meowing louder than a bullhorn and laying down on a body part (I'll let you guess which one) only to spring up with all of his weight directed at his paws.

Well, lucky us, because today he expanded his range. This morning, Oliver hopped up on the bed and I swear to God he barked. A complex wave of emotions swept over me... At first I was angry, but that quickly gave way to feelings of awe. After giving in to the terrorists' demands and feeding them, I mulled it over in the shower and I can say now that I am in a state of fear. I'm not sure I can survive in a world when those kinds of weapons are in the paws of those who are not afraid to use them.

I'm a pretty easygoing guy and not much gets under my skin. Cleaning up yesterday after a get-together the previous evening, I happened upon a few occurrences of one of my pet peeves: unfinished cans of soda. From a last innocent swig to most of the can, these wasted sips annoy me to no end.

Part of it is probably the way I drink; not only will I drain a soda can in record time, I'll absentmindedly check and recheck empty cans to ensure that I've swallowed every last drop. I've on several occasions been asked if I'd like another and had to explain that I was only checking to make sure that this one was exhausted. Yes, I'm sure that there's some form of OCD in there.

So when you take a can from my refrigerator, you are making twelve ounce commitment to finish the job. Maybe I should print up a tablet of concise legal documents and hang them with a refrigerator magnet, ready to be enacted at the first opening of a pop-top. That should go over well, right?

With a newborn in the house, necessity has required us to do things a little differently. While my wife and I both agreed that it was in our best interest to not enforce quiet when the baby is sleeping, there are times when it seems to be our only recourse. When our son is especially persistent, we remain vigilant until he nods off, slowly lower him into his bed, and back away slowly like we just disarmed a nuclear weapon.

So with family visiting this week, it has been extremely hard to keep him asleep for more than ten minutes. It was during one of those breaks, while nearing the containment area, that we requested of our nephew to be extremely quiet. The young gentleman, in his "honest twos", walked a few steps, slipped into a state of deep contemplation, and then whispered, "I don't think I can do that."

"I bet you can," I quickly and quietly responded.

"No, I can't."

While I then fully expected a vocal interpretation of a Sousa march, he admittedly did his best to hold his volume until he made it away from the bedroom. I've also discovered why parents eventually decide to bribe their children.

I know... you wouldn't think I'm a pioneer when you look at me, but you can rest assured that I will be crowned the inventor of the greatest sport ever to be played by mankind. And unfortunately for those equal rights junkies out there, the game, NadBall, can only be played by those with the correct equipment.

It started out as a harmless (OK, not entirely harmless) idea borne from boredom in a hotel room as a kid, when I decided to ball a tube sock and hurl it at my brother's testicles whilst he was unawares. Sure, anyone can throttle the unsuspecting's man-junk and bolt in the seconds to hours of convulsions that are sure to follow. But not I; in a moment of true genius and sportsmanship, allowed him a return free shot. The sports world has never been the same since.

From those first simple games with a sock to my college matchups with varying degrees of Nerf paraphernalia, NadBall has been a sport to inspire fans everywhere to cheer out a resounding "Huh?," or, "You did what?," upon hearing of these fabled contests. The rules were simple, and the damage was immediate and usually hilarious.

Somehow, I lived through college, testicles intact. I was still even able to bear children. Children who will undoubtedly conjure up games to bruise and maim their own genitals. Ah, the circle of life...

But for now, all I can hope to do is to inspire a few other NadBall enthusiasts out there. A few decades down the line maybe it will finally become America's pastime ...or at least a footnote on the theories of Darwinism.

Things are gonna change, I can feel it...

What does the new year hold for sickleave.net?

First off, the family is expecting the imminent arrival of a newborn member. That should easily handle all of December.

After that, though, expect a new dedication to posting. And some forums. And perhaps more pictures. And possibly one million dollars. But, I guess there is something to be said for lowered expectations.