Forks

The other day, my father and I got into a very odd conversation.  It was late, so of course our minds were somewhat scrambled and incoherent; I was talking about Google Street View and how neat it was, but then we found ourselves on the topic of forks.

"Of course, it makes you wonder," I said, "about four-pronged forks.  I mean, clearly, they are forks.  We might as well call them fourks."

Dad looks at me, clearly waiting for the point to be made.  (He cannot see the spelling of my voice, so the "fourk" thing didn't come across well)

And I say: "A three-pronged fork is no longer a fourk; it's a threek."

He's chuckling by that point.

"In fact, to quote a certain man who knew what he was talking about, 'Three tines is not a fork.  Three tines is a trident.  Forks are for eating, tridents are for ruling the Seven Seas.'"  (A tine is a prong on a fourk or threek)

He's chuckling very much then.

"Of course, it makes you wonder," I say again, "about sporks.  Most of them have four prongs, but what about the ones with three?  Are three-pronged sporks actually throrks?"

Okay, he's in stitches by this point.  (Even as I write this, I'm not sure of the existence of three-pronged sporks.)

There's another long pause in conversation, which is filled with laughing from him and a bit of deep thinking on my part.  Then, another enlightened message of utensildom:

"Or are they tridorks?"

I don't know about you, but I think a tridork is a nerd in elementary school with three heads.  Not a three-pronged spork.  Perhaps it's one of those words that has two meanings--like biweekly.  Is it twice a week or every other week?  I mean, who would come up with this jargon?

Apparenly, I do, because I just coined the doubly-meaningful term "tridork."  Good for me.

Posters

I really hate posters.

You might remark, "Why do you say such a thing?  You have a poster in your room!"

My answer is: "It's not a photo."

I mean, how awkward is it when one is trying to read, but peers over the top of the book to find Justin Bieber or One Direction staring them down?  I mean, who wants to see that?  It's extremely stalker-ish and, by all definitions of the word, uncomfortable.

Returning to my poster--it's not problematic for me because it isn't an actual photograph.  The colors have been changed, making it lose its reality factor.  Therefore, I don't mind it.  I don't feel self-conscious around it because my brain does not interpret it as an actual person.

But really, why would anyone truly want a real-looking person like Nikki Minaj, Justin Bieber, Taylor Swift, BarlowGirl, Gavin DeGraw, Leonardo DeCaprio, or Robert Downy Jr. on their wall?  Staring at them.

Like creepers.

Tim Tebow in the bathroom--watching you--is a strange experience.

I've got a friend who has two full-body, floor-to-ceiling posters of Edward Cullen on her bedroom wall.  Those things are terrifying.  Like, scarier than Signs.  Or Children of the Corn.  Or Simon Cowell (who, I might add, is on posters as well).  Or my dog when you wake him before 8:00.

... I don't go in her room.

Parallels

Apparently, the My Mandatory Brain Thought Blog got over three views last week.  Wheeeeeeee ...

Anyway, someone asked me yesterday what my blog is about (for the sake of stopping identity theft in its tracks, their name shall not be mentioned).

That got me thinking.  So far, I have three posts--four if you count this one--two of which are music-related.  The first is a standard introductory post, meant to be skimmed and/or primarily ignored (how many of you are going to scroll down and read it now?).

Therefore, I decided to draw some parallels.

For you movie watchers, this blog is Temple of Doom--an installment of a series you feel obligated to watch (if only to see what plays out), yet you are unsure if the cruddy sequel is worth it.  You could be spending your time reading other blogs, after all.  It could get gruesome, and sometimes updating when I have nothing to say makes me want to rip my heart out and set it on fire.  (Okay, maybe not ...)

To those of you who read, this blog is a vampire romance novel.  It may have wordy phrases and sparkle occasionally, but ultimately lacks character (duh, it's a blog for crying out loud) and the plot is nonexistent.

And, to the music lovers, said blog is that feeling you get when you're in your car, listening to your favorite song on the radio.  Then, it gets fuzzed over with static.  That happens to me a lot.

There was really no person who asked me about this.  I just wanted to draw parallels.  And it was time to update.

...

... eeeeeeeeeeee ...

Dark Side

I was listening to the radio today.  That new Kelly Clarkson song, Dark Side, comes on.  I love that song.  A lot.

Anyway, after it was finished, the deejay says: "Fun fact about that song: it doesn't ever mention Star Wars."

My slow brain ponders this, gears shedding rust as it thinks this convoluted sentence over.  Last I checked, Kelly Clarkson doesn't mention Star Wars in any of her songs, ever.  

Then, I get it. 

I love the radio.

Never Say Never

Today I learned both the Fray and Justin Bieber have a song called "Never Say Never."  I find this weird.  After all, the Fray's version doesn't even use that phrase in the chorus.  I would have called the song "Don't Let Me Go" or something.  Something else.  Anything else.

In Safari on my iPod Touch, I've had a tab open for a while now.  If you've ever seen the Internet in action on a screen like that, you know the amount of space you get is pretty sad.

Anyway, the window is displaying lyrics.  The tab on that puny screen is only large enough to display the first word of the title.  It's "Never."

Now, you may ask yourself, is she looking up Fray lyrics or developing a secret fascination with Justin Bieber?

Neither.  The song in question is "Never Gonna Leave This Bed."

Psych.

This is my blog

It's mandatory.  Also, it's where I can spill my thoughts of the day recklessly into posts which will somehow be organized carefully by this cataclysmic device we call Internet.  Say that six times fast.

Anyway, this blog came into being when my mom said, out of the blue, "Next year, you're going to have a blog."  I've never been partial to blogs, so naturally the idea did not appeal to me.  However, all I said at the time was: "Fine.  I shall call it 'My Mandatory Blog.'"

Obviously, the title's a little longer than that, but only because my mother and I had a similar conversation perhaps three days after the first one, in which I said: "But what would I put in a blog?  My brain thoughts?"

And she said, "Yes.  In fact, you could call it that."

I like Mandatory Blog better, hence the title "My Mandatory Brain Thought Blog" came into being.

This blog is technically here half a year early.  My brain is weird (which is one of the reasons it got a blog of its own) and it didn't want to wait just in case someone else took the name http://mymandatorybrainthoughtblog.blogspot.com/ before I could.  I'm not sure what the chances are of someone stealing such a name from me, but I assure you they're probably larger than you think.

So, if you find yourself in the odd situation of having someone reading over your shoulder at my silly blog and they happen to ask, "Hey, what's that you're reading?" (or something to that extent) just tell them it's the local news.  If they say, "That doesn't look like the news to me," mutter something incoherent and see where it leads.  I'm kind of curious to know.

This blog should be (mandatorily, I assure you) updated at least once a week.

In reality, I'm not sure if I can do it that much.  We'll see what happens.