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Saturday, July 31, 2010

Sarah Silverman: Freak of Nature

Usually I'm against the concept of female comedians. I think they're freaks of nature, like the mutant KFC chickens that are born with six legs. Women can't be funny! Women are meant to laugh at men's jokes and then go back to cooking and cleaning.

How many female comedians can you name who are either heterosexual or thin? I'm not being sexist--I'm just saying it like it is.

Get this: I've recently become interested in a female comedian who is both funny AND attractive. Is that not bizarre, like straight, male fashion designers? She's thin. She's attractive. She is, as far as I know, not lesbian. Is anyone else as amazed as I am?

Sarah Silverman!!! Very funny woman, which--before now--I thought was like an oxymoron. Almost as paradoxical as the billboards that say "CLEAN PUBLIC RESTROOMS."

That was her in 1992. This is a clip of her being interviewed by David Letterman:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d4evrd5r--w

She has this very weird, almost demented sense of humor, but it's somehow funny. That's always my favorite type of humor: "almost funny."

Her humour is also insanely racist, sexist, blunt, disgusting, etc. She definitely has her bad moments, but her good moments are pure genius.

I think this is a lesson for me about not judging a book by its gender. Just because a person can make babies does NOT mean they can't be funny.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Yet Even More SNL Skits I Have Prepared for You

Ah, I love SNL. It has its terrible moments, but half of the time it really is funny. Here are some clips I think you might just even maybe enjoy!

School Dance

Great Day

Brownie Husband

Boombox

Megan's Roommate

On the Ground

That last one had a bad ending, but still...This is my immature side showing, guys. Hope you liked the clips.


On an unrelated note, The Nerd Archives has changed its URL. A few unwelcome real-life friends were poking their rabbit-like noses in here, (including both my brother and sister...yeah.) I don't know why I'm telling you this, since you've obviously managed to find my new spot. But anyway, write it down and all that.


Good day, then.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Blond Hair, Blue Eyes

Yes, I have blonde hair and blue eyes. Yes, I have pale skin. Yes, I'm tall and yes, I have read and re-read Mein Kampf six times.

(Wait--what was that last one?)

BUT I AM NOT A NAZI!

You see, I look like the ideal soldier from Nazi Germany. It's true. I'll admit it. Whitish blond hair, almost icy blue eyes, white skin. I'm tall. I'm big. And I have a largely expressionless face. BUT--you see--I couldn't be a Nazi, because I am an intellectual. Of course, when I try to explain that to the kids at my school...I don't sound so convincing.

I go to a very diverse school which is about 1/3 Jewish out of the faculty, staff, and student body. Because it's so diverse--(and, of course, because it's a private school)--kids there are very comfortable with each other's racial background. Too comfortable, almost. Some of the Jewish kids at my school enjoy pretending to cower in fear in my presence. How many times have I been called a Nazi? Well, how many sequels are there to Nightmare on Elms Street? How many pages are there in the Bible? How many times has a Disney actress gotten pregnant? There's my answer to your question.

One day while walking to PE, a group of seniors shouted from across the soccer field to me "Hey, Nazi!" "Yeah, we're talking to you!" "Don't hurt my Jewish friend here!" "Go back to Aushwitz!" Is that not derogatory? Reverse-racism, some might call it.

You see, I am a very loving person. I am welcoming of all people. I would never hurt a fly. Not even a Jewish one.

Thanks for reading and I'm not a Nazi.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Maybe Even My First Ever Blog Rant--Run While You Can

I know we all hate bloggers who just sign on and then proceed to write lengthy posts about people they hate, and things that they hate, and how unfair life is. Most small bloggers do it every once and a while, and quite a few do it every day. I've managed to talk on this blog about everything that gets on nerves very mildly, I think--if I do say so myself. Do I not owe it to myself to rant just once? To let my agitation and fury trickle into the friendly and sheepish blog I have made that is The Nerd Archives? I owe it to myself, don't you think?! WELL?

Before I start, one last thing:

If there's anything worse than an angry blog rant, it's a VAGUE angry blog rant.

You know what I hate?

I hate people who are two-faced. People who try to please everybody even if it's immoral. People who clap their hand on your shoulder and say, "You mean the world to me," then swivel around and whisper to their neighbors, "Man, am I glad he's gone."

I hate conservatives. I shouldn't--I know I shouldn't, but I do. I tell people all the time to not hate others simply because of their religion or political affiliation, but I really hate conservatives. I hate that they don't accept people of who they are. I hate that they don't see their own discrimination. They don't see that this is the 1960's and the blacks all over again except with gays and Muslims and criminals and dying countries in Africa.

You know what else I hate?

I hate people who curse all the time because they have nothing else to say. I hate people who refuse to expand their vocabulary beyond "fuck" and "shit" and "damn" and "slut" and "retard" and the occasional "the" and "like." I hate people who use those words to hurt others. I hate people who use those words to sound cool. I hate people, really, who choose to use those words at all. "Holy fucking shit." What a stupid, stupid phrase. Nothing is less holy than fucking shit. Churches are holy. Synagogues are holy. Cows are holy. Fucking shit is not holy!

I hate actors and actresses who are the heroes on TV but jerks in real life. I hate the television networks that create those monster actors and actresses without caring a single thing about how they turn out.

I hate people who are mean to others. At all. There's never any excuse to be mean except maybe to your siblings or to end an ugly relationship. I hate the idiotic kids who bully. And I hate the idiotic adults who never grew out of bullying. I hate the vermin that desert their best friend for cooler friends. I hate the kids who are friends with you just as long as they still need you. I hate the rednecks who drive on highways and shout racist words at passing foreigners.

I hate war. I hate the people who make war sound so perfectly reasonable. I hate the people who love war. I hate the people who drive pick-up trucks with bumper stickers that say that anyone who wants peace is a coward. I hate what war does to people. I hate the children who clap their hands together in delight when they hear about an enemy country that was just bombed. I hate the kids who play violent video games with a hungry look on their face.

I hate how unfair and confusing life is. I hate how most people have to struggle through it, while others fly through it without a thought. I hate how I feel so different from everyone, and somehow how I feel like such an epic, profound failure. I hate thinking. I hate that I think and think and think all day long and how depressed I feel after I finish thinking.

I hate bloggers who start blogs about being a nerd but end up just writing about random things.

I hate clich├ęs and proverbs that aren't true. I ALWAYS judge books by their covers! Deal with it!

I hate stupid ideas that sound so reasonable.

I hate men who wear their pants around their knees.

I hate people who never call you back.

I hate magnets that refuse to stick to your refrigerator.

I hate shoelaces that are hard to tie.

I hate rodeos.

I hate animal cruelty.

I hate human cruelty.

I hate writer's block.

I hate blog rants,

But I love how you feel after you finish one.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

New Game: 20 Things You Don't Know About Me

I wanted to title it, "20 Things You Don't Know About Me...Unless You Internet Stalk Me and Know More About Me Than I Do," but I don't really want to mess with the rules of the game.

Here are the rules of the new blogging game that Ellen, of Beautiful Insanity, has demanded that I participate in:

1. Fill out your own 20 things about you that most people didn't know on your blog.
2. On the same post, make sure to include the rules, and a link back to the blog that tagged you.
3. Tag the bloggers you'd like to know 20 new things about.


And what choice do I have except to oblige? Without further ado, here are twenty things you don't know about me unless you internet stalk me and know more about me than I do.

1) I have no inkling of what job I'm going to have when I leave college.
2) I entertain myself with coin tricks.
3) I have two cats, both of which are unnaturally affectionate.
4) Unfortunately, I am often more moved emotionally by beautiful music or beautiful sights than I am of beautiful personalities around me.
5) My favorite type of art is surrealist art. I'm unhealthily obsessed with it.
6) I'm a teenager and my favorite series is still the Harry Potter Series.
7) I spend most of my days in deep thought.
8) I enjoy standing in the rain--with or without an umbrella.
9) My greatest fear is of apathy.
10) I spend five minutes every night before I go to bed trying to knock over my Brookstone alarm clock, which is willing to wobble but never to fall over.
11) I order the same thing almost every time at most restaurants. When I want different food, I just go to a different restaurant.
12) Some of the happiest times of my life have been spent running barefoot on beaches.
13) My biggest celebrity crush is also my favorite musical artist:
Regina Spektor.
14) I write piano music better than I can read it.
15) My favorite restaurant is Panda Express, but when I wrote the article on it for Wikipedia, it was deleted in ten minutes, just because I reviewed all the food instead of talking about the restaurant.
3) Sometimes I like to do tiny, little weird things just to see if anyone notices.
17) I'm mortified of bugs if they might touch me, but if they won't--they fascinate me.
18) Psycology fascinates me almost as much as it depresses me.
19) I'm not as much of a nerd as I pretend I am.
20) I have sunglasses straight from The Matrix.



Red pill or blue pill?

Sunday, July 18, 2010

12.2 Unimportant Updates on My Unremarkable Life

1. Just got back from the mountains. At one point, I visited Asheville. Lovely place, Asheville. The galleries are spectacular. We visited three, plus the crafts festival. I also ran across more smokers than you would find in Paris and a particularly nasty street ventriloquist.


2. NERD ALERT: I'm giving myself a small literary break and am re-reading the Harry Potter Series for what must be the fourth or fifth time. Harry means the world to me. That misunderstood, black-haired, dreamy midget.

3. My iPod has had a nervous breakdown. Won't work for me anymore. Damn, I had learned to love that rectangular silver gadget.

4. Just got school schedules. I haven't got classes with any friends I've asked, but do have homeroom with my brother and sister, along with two other classes with my brother. Life is cruel.

5. I've decided not to do cross country next year. They make you get to school at 7 for morning trainings now, in addition to the afternoon practices. It's just not worth it, is it? This also means I need to join some clubs to make up for it. I'm thinking about testing my inner nerd and joining Academic Team. That's the point of no return, isn't it?

6. My female-but-not-girlfriend-friend has arrived safely in San Fransisco, to the delight of her considerably large fan club, which is multiplying in numbers every week. We have t -shirts, coffee mugs, and bobbleheads. E-mail me if you're interested.

7. My Ex-girlfriend, (it feels so bizarre to say that), is once again on speaking terms with me. Hurrah. Hurray.

8. I've started up coin tricks again, after deserting magic tricks in sixth grade. They don't amuse anyone else--the rest of my family has had enough of magic. I just like doing them. Keeps me distracted from my severe family problems. It's an escape from life, like writing fiction. Or drinking.

9. My back has gotten a bit better--thanks for sending me all of those Get-Well cards. The doctor said no running for two days after the pain is gone, and no heavy-lifting for a week after the pain has gone. To my Mom, "heavy-lifting" includes weight training, but miraculously does NOT include carrying suitcases and boxes around for her.

10. I've started up chess again. Nerds rule.

11. The fifth season of Psych has just began. I'm watching the first episode after I finish this post. I've decided to make even further cut-backs on television, which unfortunately includes shows like The Secret Life of the American Teenager rather than Psych.

12. Getting used to the idea of wearing sunglasses. I look like such a dork with them--exactly like an obsessed Matrix fan. I'll post a picture if I can.

12.2 I never really--

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Something You Probably Don't Know About Me

"You" in this context, although second person singular, refers to all of my readers. And I seriously doubt that any of my readers know this fact about me.

I love being told that I have a British accent.

I'm not British. I'm from Atlanta and--although I hate to admit it-- originally from Texas and Oklahoma. The Deep South. What then, any level-headed reader might ask, am I doing with a British accent?! Good question, level-headed reader.

Sorry to disappoint, but I don't really know. It could be that I have a subtle speech impediment. Not so much that I sound like a deep-throated Elmer Fudd, but rather that I sound...British, I suppose.

After three years of intense after-school speech therapy in third to fifth grade, I can proudly declare that I can pronounce all my r's correctly, from "rat" to "railroad." Now I sound...almost completely normal...arguably. It's just that I speak slower than most, and I sound slightly British. Or Australian. Or South African. You pick.

And let me tell you something else. My favorite accent in the world is the British accent. Every one. From pasty, high-class nobility to alcoholic cockney living on the streets and wearing fingerless gloves. I love them all.

Something about the British accent is as irresistible to me as mustaches are to overweight construction workers. When I hear the British accent anywhere at all, even a weak one, I get this longing inside me. It's almost like lust. That's it. I have an England fetish.

I like the British slang almost as much as I like the accent. From "barmy" to "bloody." From "blimey" to "brill." From "bum" to "bloomy." And those are just the b's. And shall we talk about the wealth of vocabulary the British have for describing someone who's crazy? What do Americans have? Let's see, "crazy," "mad," and "high."

It's like that Steve Martin quote, "Boy, those French. They have a different word for everything." Except this time I'm serious! Both Americans and the English speak the same language, but they speak it with such style!

If a British person was insulting me and everything about me, I wouldn't care. I'd tune in and hear him saying "Bloody Yankee! Arsehole! Idiot! I'll bite your arm off! I'll..." I'd just have this dreamy smile plastered to my face, like I was heavily sedated.

There's nothing particularly appealing to me about England besides the way its people speak. Dreary skies. Grumpy and snobbish people. Depressingly dark humor. But still, I've always wanted to visit London, just to hear the people all around me speak in a funny accent. I'd stop a guy on the street and ask, "Excuse me, sir, but do you have the time?" He'd reply, "It's 2:30." "What?" "I said it's 2:30." "One more time?" "It's 2:30!" "Okay, okay, thanks." I can't get enough of it.

So for future reference, I really like being told I have a British accent. It's like being told that somebody loves me.

"Has anyone ever told you that you sound British?"

And I always have to restrain myself from saying, "I love you too."

So for future reference, if you ever need to borrow money or something, just tell me I have a British accent first. You'll soften me up enough so that I'll give you my credit card.

By the way, guys, I'll be in the mountains for the next week. Not only do they not have internet or electricity there, but people hunt for their own food and are stuck in the 1700's. It's kind of like The Village. So I'll miss you all! Until next week: July 19, I believe?

Meanwhile, vote on my new poll. Keep up with your blogs. All that good stuff.

Thanks for reading.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Bieber Fever

Everyone has a celebrity who makes them clench their fists and growl at random times. Most would choose Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, Tom Cruise, Simon Cowell, Mel Gibson, or Voldemort. I don't have a problem with any of these people, largely because they are all considerably attractive.

Justin Bieber is my personal example. Although he does possess an adorable and boyish charm that might make...some...find him attractive, overall his general characterists override his...beauty.

Why am I furious at Justin Bieber? Is it because I'm insanely jealous of him? No! Not completely! It's because I sent him eleven letters asking him for a signed autograph. I even drew borders of tiny little hearts on all of them. You know how many he answered? None!

Most importantly, it makes me angry that such a hit celebrity could be so clueless!

I ask only two things of all celebrities: a tragic autobiography and a decent sense of humor. He has produced neither.

Watch these two interviews with Justin Bieber and you'll see what I mean...

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

JUSTIN BIEBER'S PROUDEST MOMENT: Um, that would have to be when he used the word "basically" in the second interview. I think that really blew the minds of his fans, who are typically nine to sixteen-year-old girls who have a smaller English vocabulary than the average foreign-exchange student.

And you know what's crazy? He applied to go to my school! I don't know whether he made it or not, but he's not going. I can tell he would have gotten a lot of attention from girls and a lot of clenched fists from guys.

One last thing I have to share with you:

SNL: Teacher

Conditioner. That's the point of no return for a teenage male celebrity. Using conditioner.

What is it about him that makes insecure women and teenage girls all over the world fall in love with him? Is it the fact that he flips his hair every four seconds as though to make sure it's still awake? Is it that he's still young enough to watch Phineas and Ferb? Is it that his music is like a surreal blend of Justin Timberlake and Dora the Explorer? Is it that...that...

Look what I've done. I've made myself fall back in love with him.

Thanks for reading.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Twenty Six Signs That You Might Just be a Nerd

IF THREE OR MORE OF THESE APPLY TO YOU, YOU MIGHT JUST BE A NERD.

  1. You look in the mirror every day before school/work and give yourself a little pep talk while brushing your teeth.

  2. You wear pajamas with a favorite cartoon character on them.

  3. You've seen The Matrix more than six times, and three of the times were after midnight at a friend's house while downing Diet Fresca.

  4. You have a cardboard cut-out of an attractive celebrity in your bedroom.

  5. Your relationship with your mother is unhealthily healthy.

  6. You're a guy and you have a "favorite snack.

  7. You've seen two or more reruns of Star Trek voluntarily.

  8. You have a speech impediment and you use the term "speech impediment" to describe it.

  9. You're not very athletic, and the best "dribbling" you can do is down your chin.

  10. Your cat or dog's name begins with Mr., Mrs., Captain, or Sir.

  11. You have more siblings than you have friends.

  12. You do math in your free time.

  13. You've ever missed a dance or party because you need to "do something on your computer."

  14. You wear latex gloves to school for fear of cooties.

  15. You have a sweat suit.

  16. Your grandmother has a cute nickname for you that you've tried to convince your friends to use as well.

  17. You wear long socks under jeans.

  18. You use the word "sneakers," not "tennis shoes."

  19. You've said the words "sweet," "keen," or "rad" in exclamation at any point in your life.

  20. You have a special kind of sun screen.

  21. You are in a techno garage band in which you have a designated costume to wear.

  22. You have sunglasses that flip up.

  23. You've ever participated in role-playing games of any sort.

  24. You have a pet tarantula.

  25. You have an avid passion for the study of vampires.

  26. You pumped your fist in the air and shouted "yes!" once you realized that less than three of these signs applied to you.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Time to Say a Moderately Lengthy Hello

Hello, Nerdlings! It is I, Christopher, returned from a month in the hottest, whitest, and second largest state in the United States! And I'll tell you, it was wonderful. Splendid. It had its dull moments. And its excruciating moments. But all in all, it was peachy.

Because I only have a few moments to remain within your attention span, I won't bore you with names, stories, or even Texas jokes. Instead, I'll give you a brief summary of my sabbatical to the Southwest.

  • I learned how to drive a stick-shift (more or less).
  • I met a suicidal dog.
  • Encountered a bat named Diego.
  • Danced with a dog named Beethoven whose best friend is a hog named Miranda the Wonder Pig.
  • Found Jesus...on a refrigerater magnet.
  • Met a blind bell ringer.
  • Got a pair of cheapo sunglasses straight from The Matrix.

One more thing I can't help but go into detail about: yesterday I had a case of back spasms that kept me on the floor for most of the day. On an ordinary day this is remarkably frustrating, but when you're trying to drive back to Atlanta before dark, this is a huge issue.

I woke up in the morning feeling fine, just like in the Herman's Hermits song. I took a shower, read for about ten minutes on the hotel bed, and decided to go check on my parents and sister in the hotel room next door. So I did. I grabbed my key, opened the door, took four steps to the left, and knocked on their door. That was when my back started to feel a little sore.

When the door opened I stumbled into their room like a teenager coming home drunk for the first time. I couldn't even haul myself on one of the queen sized beds near me. I lowered myself to the floor with the agility of an obese Ex-Sumo Wrestler.

I stayed there for about two minutes, with my back on the floor and my knees up, before I tried to get up again. And this is how much pain I was in: my back was jolted with pain before I even tried to get up. I just had the thought of standing up, took a deep breath, and there was the pain. As though my body was trying to say, No. Uh uh. Bad idea.

After ten minutes and two more tries, I was both in a fluster and terrible pain. I didn't even have to move for my back to hurt. Bolts of pain shot through my lower back when I even shifted a centimeter to the right.

My family went down to breakfast leaving me with several apologies and the TV turned to CNN. I was in such pain, (both from my back and from the robotic voices of the newscasters), that I spoke outloud to myself for comfort. I said a prayer. Shouted one, more like, possibly in the hope that God was staying in the room next to mine and could hear me if I yelled loud enough.

My mom returned first with a breakfast plate. Of course I couldn't eat on my back. I did manage to roll onto my side. Believe it or not, even that caused me huge pain. She put the plate right above my head and I had to reach up and bring the food down to my mouth. I looked so pathetic. I was eating like a crippled rat. No joke.

When the rest of my family arrived, they switched on Royal Pains and watched two episodes of that--don't ask me why. They made me a homemade heating pad that consisted of a microwaved towel in a garbage bag from the lobby, and we sat there for another thirty minutes before we decided that we really needed to go. How we were supposed to get down to the car was the issue, considering I couldn't even stand up to go to the bathroom.

Three things motivated me to walk downstairs. 1) My sister's idea that they roll me down in a luggage cart. 2) My family's enthusiasm for the idea. 3) About ten different dosages of painkillers and muscle relaxers.

So, with an arm around my mom and dad, we managed to walk out of the hotel and roll me into the car, which was like rolling a stranded whale back into the ocean. After that, it wasn't so bad. And today, my back is better. I'm at the stage where the pain isn't unbearable, and I still have an excuse not to do any work. It's ideal.

Thanks for reading, everyone! I hope you'll keep up with this blog and I hope you've been keeping up with yours!

Bye!