For our next invention, the Cupcake Bowl.

All this finger-pointing about who “stole” the cookie from the cookie jar—this song makes me so mad. Guys, it’s a cookie jar. Putting cookies in a cookie jar is a way of telling people, “Hey, guys, I just made a batch of cookies and put the extras in the cookie jar. You’re more than welcome to have some.” That’s why it’s a jar—so that people can reach in from the top and select a cookie at their convenience. But now all of a sudden this is “stealing.” That’s like saying, “Alright, who took some of my goddamned mints from my mint bowl! I placed this bowl of mints in an easily-accessible spot right on the table next to the couch, hoping to snack on them from time to time, yet you jackasses keep eating them!” I’ll stop stealing your precious cookies the minute you stop putting them in a fucking jar and giving them away.

This could be fun, just bear with me for a moment.

I have developed a new technique for when you’re trying to attract a person’s attention at the bar. Most people order their prospective mate a drink, which is fine—if you want to play that tired little game of cat and mouse. If however you actually want to leave an impression, consider having your waitress send them over something to snack on. From across the bar you will be treated to the following scene: there will be a confused conversation between the waitress and the girl you fancy, followed by the waitress gesturing toward your table. Signal with your index finger or a thumbs up that the food is indeed for her to enjoy.

For the rest of the night the girl will be eyeing you—with a look of trepidation, maybe, but at least now she knows you’re not just kidding around. Not every food item works equally well, so if it’s available on the menu, play it safe and order her chili cheese fries. Regular cheese fries will do in a pinch, but you’re really not going to get anywhere without the chili. There is something special about the way people eat chili cheese fries when they are bewildered out of their mind. The best food to order them is a large bowl of soup, especially when there’s an entire group of girls. Instruct your waitress to place the soup in the center of their table with a single spoon. This doubles as a fun gambling game to play with your friends: Who will take the spoon and begin eating the soup? Will they ask the waitress for more spoons? Whatever they decide to do, I’m pretty sure that this is considered checkmate. You may now approach the girl of your choice and receive your make out session.

Screw you, Anti-Aging Fascists, I'm going out with style.

When I become elderly, I’m going to be one of the top elderly people around. That’s because I’ve carefully plotted out which hobbies and behaviors I’m going to adopt, what clothes I’m going to wear, and even what crazy unintelligible things I’m going to mutter. When most people become elderly, they don’t have any kind of game plan. They’ve spent decades preparing for retirement financially, but they’re incapable of assuming a proper elderly disposition. I’m going to avoid this trap by adhering to a very specific chronology:

Age 66: It’s time to start bird watching. If I so much as think I hear a tweet, I’m going to drop what I’m doing and find the corresponding bird, and then I’m going to stand around watching him until dark. I’ll even have a little notebook to keep track of the birds I’ve seen, a list which is going to become gradually more improbable as I descend into senility. I will claim to have spotted extremely rare birds, then birds which are extinct, then fictional species from my favorite movies, then some dinosaurs, and then finally varieties of birds which exist only in my imagination.

Age 70: On my 70th birthday, I’m going to take up bridge in a big way. It’s a complex game, but what the other elderly people around me won’t realize is that I’ll have been secretly reading up on bridge since I was like 40. I’m going to waltz over to the card table and me and my partner are going to absolutely demolish everyone while employing an insane amount of trash talk.

Age 78: You won’t believe how ornate my cane is going to be. It’ll be bejeweled, obviously, and shaped like a dragon’s head at the handle. But where my cane will really stand out will be its rosewood body, which is going to be carved with amazing battle scenes and secret messages and other cryptic flourishes. There’s also going to be a switchblade that flips out from the bottom which I’ll use to stab my detractors.

Age 82: Now it’s time to begin openly cheating at bridge. Actually, I’m going to begin cheating at everything, including board games, bocce ball, dominos, and even jigsaw puzzles. The best elderly people have elements of connivery in their personalties, because to the elderly, everything is a matter of life and death. Young people don’t understand that society’s unspoken rules don’t apply to elderly people, and neither do traffic ordinances or public intoxication laws.

Age 87: I will officially make the switch from giving out candy on Halloween to giving out handfuls of pennies. Some elderly people make the mistake of giving out pennies when they’re 84 or 85, but I think that’s a bit early. At 87, it’s impossible for others to question this sort of bizarre, erratic behavior.

Age 93: As my mobility becomes limited, I’m going to begin collecting postage stamps—massive shitloads of stamps, probably the biggest collection of all time. What’s ironic is that although the stamp is a symbol of communication, I’m going to have begun secluding myself in the attic of my house (which will be filled to the ceiling with useless and broken appliances). The binoculars from my bird watching days are now going to be used to spy on my neighbors, who will have begun circulating mythical legends about my personal history—legends I’ve been secretly disseminating over the years. Gradually I will become a pariah, spoken of only in hushed tones, feared by children and adults alike—gradually I will become one of the greatest elderly people of all time.

Speaking of Computers...

There’re a lot of useless keys on a standard PC keyboard, but only the insert key has the power to fuck with your work. I would rather the insert key be replaced with a button that gives you a mild electrical shock. Prior to pointing devices, the insert key might have had some utility, but now it’s just a trick button. What it does is it transforms your keyboard into a living nightmare in which everything you type replaces the text in front of it, as if all that other text in your document was just hanging around for decoration.

The only scenario this would be useful is if you wanted to get rid of the proceeding text of your document, but only in a quantity of characters that was exactly equal to your newly-inserted text. What kind of asshole would make such an edit? “Man, I really need to delete the thirteen characters to the immediate right of my text cursor, and I also need to insert a word that’s exactly eleven characters long, leaving two extra characters for spaces. Time for my trusty insert key!” How about you insert a bullet into your head?

Meanwhile, the insert key is located right next to backspace, which is for people who edit text in an educated fashion. So I’m constantly hitting the insert key on accident, and there’s no way to tell that you’ve toggled on overtype mode until you notice that your new text is eating the shit out of your old text. Maybe there’s a way to disable this—maybe there is. Maybe there’s also a way to pry the button off with a carving knife. But I would like to know if any sort of person needs their insert key, because perhaps I speak out of ignorance. Do coders use overtype mode? Has anybody in the last twenty years hit this key on purpose? Or should I organize a protest?

Spanish Etiquette

Philip the Third was gravely seated by the fireside: the fire-maker of the court had kindled so great a quantity of wood, that the monarch was nearly suffocated with heat, and his grandeur would not suffer him to rise from the chair; the domestics could not presume to enter the apartment, because it was against the etiquette. At length the Marquis de Potat appeared, and king ordered him to damp the fires; but he excused himself; alleging that he was forbidden by the etiquette to perform such a function, for which the Duke D’Usseda ought to be called upon, as it was his business. The duke was gone out; the fire burnt fiercer; and the king endured it, rather than derogate from his dignity. But his blood was heated to such a degree, that erysipelas of the head appeared the next day, which, succeeded by a violent fever, carried him off in 1625, in the twenty-fourth year of his age.

– Isaac Disraeli, Curiosities of Literature, 1824

I'll take a Double Rainbow with a side of Oreo Mint Blizzard, please.

I absolutely adore this Dairy Queen. One of my oldest friends from elementary school works as a manager here, he always takes time to chat with me before "forgetting" to charge for my ice cream. That means I can afford an entire gallon of gas instead of wasting it on another .. mint... mint oreo blizzard *drool*...

Free ice cream aside, we've been trying to plan next month's sign. Last year, across the country, pictures immortalized "SCREAM UNTIL DADDY STOPS THE CAR." This year we have a fresh batch of internet memes to choose from.

Here are my top ten ideas. I think you will understand why I'm not in the Marketing field.:

1) Buy a Blizzard or the consequences will never be the same.

2) 2 Girls, One Blizzard.

3) You didn't stop in? Son, I am disappoint.

4) The number of combinations are OVER 9000!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

5) Bear Grylls says "Ice cream beats drinking my own piss."

6) Ice Cream acquired. +10 EXP.

7) YOU REQUIRE MOAR ICE CREAMZ.

8) Our blizzards are made by 100% real robot unicorns.

9) You're still alive, which is pretty cool. Dying is for amateurs. Celebrate with an Ice Cream cake.

10) Blizzard of the Month: Tigerblood.

Feel free to contribute your own. I'm sure given more than 10 minutes to brainstorm you'll think of something more clever than these.

Rachel Ray's Low Point

I was flipping through the Rachel Ray magazine at the doctor's office on Thursday. I rarely pay any attention to Rachel Ray, her accent, personality and made-up words are particularly irritating. This little blurb caught my eye in this month's issue. I mean, is this for real?! Microwave buttered popcorn for breakfast?! Surely this is a new low in epicureanism.

Balance

[Note from Sham: Posted in response to a request for some non-awkward stories during the week. You can use the new "Categories" feature to skip straight to Awkwardland :) Enjoy!!]

The red spaceship raced forward through time and space, and the silver spaceship followed. Past the Nebulonic Cloud, past Ursa Minor, and across the universe they flew, the red always leading the silver. For many years they propelled themselves forward, for many years the silver craft pursued the red, sometimes right on its tail, sometimes as far as a galaxy away.

Today was no exception.

Captain Arod Collins of the S.S. Fearless did not live up to the name bestowed upon the argent spaceship. He was beginning to lose hope of ever capturing the crimson ship, the Déjà Vu, captained by the one man who destroyed Arod’s life and happiness.

Arod had begun his journey to capture the red vessel some 14 years before, a mission of revenge. The captain of the Déjà Vu, Wilson Hades, was responsible for a treasonous plot which resulted in the murder of the last king of the planet London V, an English settlement eight billion light years beyond the former planet known as Pluto. Arod lusted for revenge, a horrible revenge against the assassin of his father.

And so, Arod continued his hunt for the Déjà Vu and its nefarious captain. He hurled his ship through the blackness of space, far from any luminescent planetary bodies. He knew that the crimson ship was intentionally guiding its hunter to the final edge the universe. Arod understood the danger, and yet was not deterred from his path. He had risked much, and lost much. His friend Martin, his beloved Christine, his child Eric; all had been sacrificed by a purpose-driven vengeance. Each had wept before their deaths, but each had understood that Arod was driven by destiny. He mourned for them, and would continue to morn until he joined them in death.

At last, the crimson ship pulled out of light speed, and the Fearless followed. Arod sat forward at the control panel, his leather chair protesting with a rusty squawk. We must be close, he thought, or else Wilson is getting sloppy. Wilson could never be sloppy. A man with so much cunning and guile would never show weakness.

The Déjà Vu flew ever onward, towards a tiny prick of blue light in the far distance. The Fearless followed, but with more caution. Arod knew that he was only a fish that Wilson pulled on a string, but even a large fish could overturn a rowboat.

The blue grew larger, and larger, and larger. It grew to the size of a volleyball, a house, and finally a moon. A moon of steel, covered in sand, a machine. The Déjà Vu landed, and Wilson ran inside the only structured building on the face of the moon. And Arod followed.

As he entered, Arod looked around and saw a laboratory. A child’s chemistry set rested upon one of the lab tables. A box of LEGO bricks had been overturned in a corner; blue, red and yellow blocks spilled across the floor. Everything within the room was covered with a thin layer of dust. A door appeared on the opposite wall, marked with an arrow pointing up. Arod walked quickly across the room, and he heard Wilson’s voice from a loudspeaker attached to the ceiling.
“So, my friend, you have come at last. I assume you intend to stop me. That would be a grave mistake.”

Arod was startled, but could find no voice for a reply. He had not spoken since the last time he had stopped for supplies and fuel, six months ago. The man at that way station had warned him of this moon, and the dangers it could unleash, and what would happen if he went past the edge of the universe, but Arod had paid no attention. What did that gas station attendant know of honor, purpose, courage, and revenge? He shook his head and took another step towards the doors.

“Ah, I see you desire confrontation before you kill me. Very well. Join me at the top of this building, and we shall chat. Oh yes, we shall chat.” Wilson’s voice faded with the sound of evil cackling.

Arod turned the knob of the door and shoved with his shoulder to move the rusty hinges. A set of grey, stone stairs curled counter-clockwise for about twelve stories.

As he ascended, Arod noticed mirrors laid into the foundations of the walls. He looked into one, expecting to see his rough and unshaven visage, but immediately averted his gaze. The light was too bright for his eyes, accustomed to the darkness of empty space, to handle. “Impossible,” he thought. Yet he could not resist a second glance. Yes, it was true, his eyes had not deceived him. The mirror had somehow seen the birth of the universe and reflected it at passersby. The following mirrors, each six stairs apart, reflected images of the first star, the first supernova and black hole, the first moon, the first life form, the evolution of humans, the atom bomb, the creation of interstellar space travel, the colonization of London V, the birth of Arod, the murder of his father, and his journey to this moon.

Finally, Arod stepped through another door at the top of the stairs and onto a veranda. He ignored the last mirror beside the door; he sensed his hunt was near the end. Arod faced Wilson, the traitor and murderer, but Wilson’s back remained motionless toward him. He looked out at the edge of the universe, but he could not see through the dark abyss of nothingness.

“You have done well, Arod. I did not expect you to actually follow me this far.” Wilson spoke with a calm voice, unafraid of Arod’s boiling anger. “Now that you are here, what is it you wish?”

“I wish to avenge my father and end your reign of terror over the universe.” The words tumbled from Arod’s mouth huskily, but he did not understand why Wilson was not more anxious.

“There is nothing first you wish to ask me? Why I killed your father?”

Arod shook his head violently, he was not interested in postponing his destiny.

“Your impatience is your weakness. I shall tell you why I killed your father whether you want to hear it or not. Quite simply, I killed him to bring you here.” As Wilson spoke, Arod’s eyes flew open wide. “I needed you, Arod, though you had no wish to aid me. You do not fully understand who I am, and so I must tell you.

“My brothers and sisters created the universe. You saw their work in the mirrors along the stairwell. They did a good job, did they not? Everything was controlled by their power, but they forgot one thing. They had created light, but with the light came darkness. I was that darkness, Arod. For each good event they caused, I was obligated by the rules of the universe to cause evil. You could not understand how much this grieved me. I brought you here to learn the truth. You see, it is their fault that I killed your father. I see your skeptic eyes. No, my remaining siblings murdered your father, for I had set him upon the throne of London V and they seduced him to the light side. Your father began as an evil man, Arod. He caused death and devastation to most of your home planet.”

“I don’t believe you!” Arod shouted as he stepped backwards and leaned against a wall. “I can’t believe you. No. NO!”

“Yes, Arod, you know this to be true. You cannot avenge your father simply by killing me. I am the reason that you exist!” Wilson’s eyes grew hungry. “However, you are correct in thinking that you must still kill me. It is your destiny.”

Arod slid down the wall until he was crouched over his boots. His mind ran in circles, attempting to understand. “No, no, no, no, no. I don’t believe you. YOU LIE! You want me to believe that I owe my life to you. I will not serve you. You and you alone are responsible for my father’s death, but you have caused so much more devastating evil as well, and for that I will kill you now like the scoundrel you are.”

Arod withdrew a knife from beneath his jacket. His father had presented that knife to him the day he became a Captain in the British Starfleet. He slid the blade from its leather sheath, kissed the hilt, and prepared to plunge it through Wilson’s cold, black heart.

“Kill me. Kill me now. It is your destiny!” Wilson repeated his mantra until Arod lifted himself from the ground.

Arod looked at him with questions in his eyes. He almost dropped the hilt of the dagger and walked away, thinking of the utter waste of time his journey had been, but the face of his beloved Catherine, slain by a creature created by this evil monster, urged him on. He raised his hand high, and brought it down swiftly.

Wilson screamed once as light shot from his flesh around the knife puncture. He groped for Arod and gripped the front of his jacket. Wilson whispered into Arod’s ear.

“Now, Arod, you belong to me. My motives were even darker than you could ever imagine. You will understand.”

Wilson plucked the dagger from his breast and placed it within Arod’s trembling hand. He raised his arms high but was weakened by the gesture.

“Now, Arod, obey me.” Arod fell under the influence of Wilson’s magnificence. “All that I have is becoming yours. When I die, my powers will surge through you and you alone must balance good and evil in the Universe. Do you understand?”

Arod nodded. He had no willpower, for it had been sucked out of him by the black orb. His final act of villainy complete, Wilson collapsed and breathed his last. In a moment, Arod’s vision exploded with light and his body shook from immense pain. All of the secrets of the universe opened up to his disbelieving mind. He finally understood everything. But more than that, he understood why this was happening. A universe filled with good and devoid of evil would begin to take everything for granted. There was no happiness without sadness, no love without hate, no peace without war, and no light without dark. There must be balance. But the knowledge was too much. Arod was not the right person for the job. He needed to find the one who would bring the balance to the universe.

Shortly thereafter, Arod traveled to the planet known as the New Terra Empire in Wilson’s spaceship; Wilson had no need of it anymore. In truth, the Déjà Vu was a far superior craft than his own Fearless. Arod gained entry to the palace, bided his time as he grew close to the old Emperor, watching him turn from evil tyrant to benevolent ruler. If allowed to live, the Emperor's sons would only undo all of his good works. Arod plunged his knife through the heart of the old ruler, and fled. The Emperor’s sons were furious. They pursued Arod and the Déjà Vu. Two of the three sons would not survive the journey. Arod knew this. It was inconsequential. All that mattered was balance.

The red spaceship raced forward through time and space, and the silver spaceship followed.

Written by Samantha Shoemaker, age 17. Was awarded a Scholastic Gold Medal in 2007.

Cookies by Douglas Adams (author: "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy")

[Note from Sham: I came across this story many years ago while reading the Salmon of Doubt. This is a prime example of the foundation that Awkwardland was built on, where you cringe halfway through a sentence because of the building tension. In a few years, hopefully all our stories will flow like this one.]

This actually did happen to a real person, and the real person was me. I had gone to catch a train. This was April 1976, in Cambridge, U.K. I was a bit early for the train. I'd gotten the time of the train wrong.

I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword, and a cup of coffee and a packet of cookies. I went and sat at a table.

I want you to picture the scene. It's very important that you get this very clear in your mind.

Here's the table, newspaper, cup of coffee, packet of cookies. There's a guy sitting opposite me, perfectly ordinary-looking guy wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase.

It didn't look like he was going to do anything weird. What he did was this: he suddenly leaned across, picked up the packet of cookies, tore it open, took one out, and ate it.

Now this, I have to say, is the sort of thing the British are very bad at dealing with. There's nothing in our background, upbringing, or education that teaches you how to deal with someone who in broad daylight has just stolen your cookies.

You know what would happen if this had been South Central Los Angeles. There would have very quickly been gunfire, helicopters coming in, CNN, you know. . . But in the end, I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do: I ignored it. And I stared at the newspaper, took a sip of coffee, tried to do a clue in the newspaper, couldn't do anything, and thought, what am I going to do?

In the end I thought, nothing for it, I'll just have to go for it, and I tried very hard not to notice the fact that the packet was already mysteriously opened. I took out a cookie for myself. I thought, that settled him. But it hadn't because a moment or two later he did it again. He took another cookie.

Having not mentioned it the first time, it was somehow even harder to raise the subject the second time around. "Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice . . ." I mean, it doesn't really work.

We went through the whole packet like this. When I say the whole packet, I mean there were only about eight cookies, but it felt like a lifetime. He took one, I took one, he took one, I took one. Finally, when we got to the end, he stood up and walked away.

Well, we exchanged meaningful looks, then he walked away, and I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back. A moment or two later the train was coming in, so I tossed back the rest of my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper were my cookies.

The thing I like particularly about this story is the sensation that somewhere in England there has been wandering around for the last quarter-century a perfectly ordinary guy who's had the same exact story, only he doesn't have the punch line.

[Excerpted from "The Salmon of Doubt: Hitchhiking the Galaxy One Last Time" by Douglas Adams]

Point of View

HER DIARY:
Tonight, I thought he was acting weird. We’d made plans to meet at a bar and have a drink. I was shopping with my friends all day long, and I thought he was upset at the fact that I was running a bit late, but he made no comment.
Our conversation wasn’t flowing, so I suggested that we go somewhere quiet so we could talk. He agreed but he remained quiet and absent. I asked him what was wrong; he said nothing was wrong. I asked him if it was my fault that he was upset. He said it had nothing to do with me and not to worry. It only made me worry more. I apologized, but didn't know why.

On the way home I told him that I loved him, he simply smiled and kept driving. I can’t explain his behavior. I don’t know why he didn’t say “I love you too.” I stressed about it for the rest of the drive. When we got home I felt as if I had lost him, as if he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. He just sat there and watched TV. He seemed distant and absent. Finally, I decided to go to bed. About ten minutes later he came to bed and to my surprise he responded to my caress and we made love, but I still felt that he was distracted and his thoughts were somewhere else. He fell asleep—I cried. I don’t know what to do. I’m almost sure that his thoughts are with someone else.
My life is a disaster.

HIS DIARY:
I shot the worst round of golf in my life today, but at least I got laid.

In Defense of All the Geeks

In the wide world of dating, there are many options. Do you go for the flashy guy with the smooth smile, or the dude in the corner typing away on his laptop? The following are reasons why I think my fellow females should pay more attention to the quiet geeks and nerds, and less attention to the flashy boys.

1.) While geeks and nerds may be awkward, they're well-meaning. That smooth dude with the sly grin and the spider hands? Wonder what HIS intentions are... plus, I've never had a geek guy not call me when he said he would. Score major points THERE.

2.) They're useful. In this tech-savvy world, it's great to have a b/f who can make your laptop, desktop, and just about anything else that plugs into a wall behave itself.

3.) They're more romantic than they're given credit for. Ok true, their idea of romance might be to make up a spiffy web-page with all the reasons why they love you, with links to pics of you and sonnets and such... but hey. It lasts longer than flowers, plus you can show your friends.

4.) Due to their neglected status, there are plenty to choose from. You like 'em tall and slender? There are plenty of geeks/nerds who are. You like 'em smaller with more meat on their bones? Got that too.

5.) They've got brains. Come on now, how can intelligence be a bad thing?

6.) Most are quite good at remembering dates. Like birthdates and such, especially if they know it'll make you happy. Due again to their neglected status, they're more attentive than guys who "have more options." Plus, with all that down time without a steady girlfriend, they'll likely have mental lists of all the things they'd love to do once they GOT a girlfriend.

7.) Sex. Yep. Sex. They say a virgin wrote the Kama Sutra... all that time thinking about sex, imagining sex, dreaming about sex, (they are male after all) coupled with a desire to make you happy? Use your imagination.

8.) They're relatively low-maintenance. Most can be fueled on pizza, chocolate chip cookies, and Mt Dew. No complicated dinners needed here, so if you're not the best cook, eh. Can you order a pizza?

9.) Most frequent bars as often as slugs frequent salt mines. You won't have to worry much about your geek guy getting his "groove" on with club hotties because, frankly, he'll be too busy rooting around under his computer wondering where that spare cable went. You won't have to worry about him flirting with other women because, 9 out of 10 times, he'll zip right by them in a perfect b-line towards the nearest electronics or game store. I've seen this happen.
Me: "Ahhhgh. Victoria Secret Models... They're so skinny. How is that feminine? You can see her ribs!"
Geek Guy: "ooooooo..."
Me: "Hey!" *notices he is staring lustfully towards the computer store*
Geek Guy: "What?"
Me: "Never mind..."

10.) Compromises work better than anything. Although he may not want to go to every outing with you, you can arrange swaps, as in, you'll go to his Gamer Con dressed as an elf princess if he'll take you to the ballet. Plus, if he doesn't want to go someplace with you, you won't have to worry much about what he's up to. You'll probably come home to find him asleep on his keyboard in a sea of Mt. Dew cans with code blinking from the screen. It's ok. He's used to this. Just toss a blanket over him and turn out the light.

11.) His friends aren't jerks. I can't stress this enough. You'll more likely get "Omg! A GIRL!! Can I see?!" than "Hey hot stuff back that ass up here and let me get some grub on..." They're awkward geeks too and will treat you with the utmost respect and, more than likely, a note of awe. A cute girl picked one of their clan to date? It could happen to them! Hope! Drag some of your single girlfriends over, open up a pack of Mt. Dew, crack open the DnD set and get working. Nothing impresses geek guys more than a girl who can hack-n-slash (well ok maybe if she can code... a geek can dream).

12.) They're rarely if ever possessive. They trust you, so you can be yourself around them. You like to walk around the house in a ratty t-shirt for comfort? He won't care. He does too! They won't get pissy if you don't wear make-up or don't want to bother primping your hair. If you gain a few pounds, they won't try their best to make you feel like crap. You picked him, he's going to respect you for that.

13.) They're usually very well educated. Physics majors and the like. See #5. You won't have to listen to him blathering on about his car (ok maybe a little), he'll have loads of other interesting things to talk about. Politics, world events, how much the chicken burgers down at the local place rock, so long as you douse them in hot sauce...

14.) You'll almost never have to hear "Yaw dawg whazzap!!" plop out of their mouths. Unless it's in jest. They spell properly, use correct punctuation, and are able to tell the difference between the toilet and the floor. They almost never get wasted, so you won't have to worry about coming home to find him and his friends passed out on the floor amidst a pile of beer bottles and weed. Mt. Dew cans, perhaps...

15.) And the final reason why geeks and nerds make great boyfriends: They actually give a damn about you. Not how you look (though that's a plus), not how skinny you are, not how much make-up you primp yourself up with, but they like you for you. That kind of thing lasts longer than "DAMN baby you got a fine ass!!!" Believe me.

Do not stand at the graves and weep.

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again.

Source of the Poem: derived from a sermon written by Henry Scott Holland and delivered in St. Paul's (London) on 15 May 1910, at which time the body of King Edward VII was lying in state at Westminster. Although not originally derived from Irish writings, versions of this sermon have been used at many Irish and Catholic funerals over the years.

Source of the Picture: Founded in the fifth century by St Buite, the monastery at Monasterboice (Irish: Mainistir Bhuithe) is more famous for its tall crosses than the round tower, which stands at about 28 metres tall and dates to the tenth century.]

The Legacy of Alfred the Great

When Alfred the Great ascended the throne of Wessex in 871, the old kingdoms of Anglo-Saxon England were on the brink of collapse. The Viking invaders had conquered one by one the crowns of Northumbria, East Anglia, and Mercia. Only Wessex survived, and pressure was mounting. His father and brothers, the rulers before him, did their best to hold back the invading forces and to hold the kingdom together. Despite growing up as the youngest son of King Æthelwulf of Wessex in this troubled time, Alfred became a seasoned warrior, a scholar, a poet, a law maker, and a loyal Christian. During his own rule, he strove to imitate the kings of the past who, as he described, “succeeded both in warfare and in wisdom.”

The Danish crisis of the late 9th century was a serious one, and led to the extinction of every Anglo-Saxon kingdom except Wessex. No longer satisfied with raiding, Danish hosts were remaining on English soil and other Anglo-Saxon kingdoms were losing their independence. The Danes were able to go where they wished, raiding royal and ecclesiastical centers, and demanding hefty payments as ransom. They relied on speed, swift movement by water or by horse, raiding and retreating to their established strongholds, or taking over new bases. Every year from 867 to 879 the Anglo Saxon Chronicle records that the Danes moved from one royal estate to another and by 880 were beginning to settle down and cultivate land.

Alfred was an unlikely choice for king. He was the youngest of the four sons of King Æthelwulf, and not even mentioned during the reigns of his two eldest brothers. Only when Æthelred, his closest brother, succeeded the throne was he thrown into the dim political spotlight of the 9th century. Æthelred named Alfred the “heir-apparent,” and the two brothers commanded their military forces together against the Danish invaders in 871, winning a crucial battle at Ashmore. As the story goes, the English Christians fought the Viking invaders for more than two weeks in this area. Alfred and his men reached the battlefield before his brother, King Æthelred, and was organized better for it. Æthelred, meanwhile, was still in his tent. He would not leave until the priest finished his Mass. Alfred could not hold off the Viking army long enough to wait for Æthelred, and deployed all his Christian forces against the hostile invaders without the help of his brother. The English forces were at a disadvantage, defending themselves as the Vikings pushed from the higher position, but withstood the attacks until they were able to ultimately win the battle.

Around the year 885, Alfred recruited a Welsh monk named Asser for his court of learning and educational reforms. After an illness, Asser joined Alfred’s court and wrote a biography of his patron which became the main source of information known about King Alfred. The only known manuscript survived until 1731 when it was burned in an accidental fire at the Cotton Library.

While serving the King, Asser grew to know Alfred, to respect him and to guide him along the path of learning. "The just man builds on a modest foundation and gradually proceeds to greater things." Asser cites this quote while describing King Alfred's method of learning. The source of this quotation is unknown but likely originated with Alfred himself. Asser also describes an occasion in which Alfred had been listening as Asser read aloud a few passages from a book, since Alfred himself had not yet learned to read. Alfred asked Asser to copy the passage into a little book of quotations, which appeared so full that Asser recommended the king begin a second source for his excerpts. It is worth noting that the king himself did not copy the quotation, but requested Asser to do so, hinting that the king had not yet learned to write either. This “little book” compiled the king’s favorite Biblical passages such as prayers and psalms as well as other extracts in a handbook known as the Dicta of King Alfred. Unfortunately, the handbook itself did not survive to the present. Asser notes that after he had copied the selected passages into the King’s book, Alfred was “eager to read it at once, and to translate it into English, and thereupon to instruct many others […].”

In the year 887, Asser reports in his biography that Alfred was divinely inspired to read in Latin. For such a pious king, being able to read Latin would have enhanced his understanding of religious works and his ability to instruct others. A very small percentage of scribes and monks were educated, thanks to the Danish raids. The raiders destroyed monasteries, the centers of learning, burning manuscripts and the precious vellum on which they were written. Alfred introduces his works with a statement regarding the importance of literature, a hobby that lost most of its followers before he was born. “Therefore it seems better to me, if it seems so to you, that we too should turn it into the language that we can all understand certain books which are the most necessary for all men to know.” Pastoral Care itself gives an account of the decay of learning in Britain, and presents the king’s determination to reform the schools of Wessex. It also expresses Alfred’s effort to convince the bishops that they must lead the people to learning by following the footsteps of their forefathers. The best way to lead the people would be in their own language. Pastoral Care is widely recognized as Alfred's most important contribution to English Literature.

Another translation often accredited to King Alfred is the Ecclesiastical History of the English People written by the Venerable Bede. Bede’s history, in Alfred’s day, was treated as a standard history of the early English church; it was a recognized classic. One of its central ideas was that from the Church comes worldly prosperity. Alfred may have been particularly drawn to this piece of work because it provided the English, as a whole, with a sense of their common past. This would have provided a sense of comfort during the troubled times. In his Homily on St. Gregory, Aelfric, the abbot and scholar, refers to the Historia Anglorum, “which Alfred translated out of Latin into English.” There is further evidence of this in the manuscript itself. On the first page is written, “Historicus quondam fecit me Beda latinum, Alfred rex Saxo transtulit ille pius” which roughly translates to “the history which was written by Bede in Latin, translated by Alfred, the pious King of the Saxons.” Within the text, however, I have found certain Mercian characteristics, which call into question whether the translator was Alfred, dictating to a Mercian scribe, or whether it was translated by a Mercian on Alfred’s request. In fact, some of these stylistic and vocabulary differences have caused scholars to reject some manuscripts, like this one, as Alfred's own translations.

Aside from revitalizing education in West Saxon England, Alfred lived a well rounded life. He attended mass regularly, donated alms charitably, and showed kindness to all men, from his native population and to foreign visitors. With his extensive knowledge of literature, Alfred ruled wisely and with a sense of justice. He established the truth always during judicial hearings, especially with cases concerning those less fortunate, for whom he took special care to provide with a fair decision. His writings constantly reveal his aspirations after truth, and there is a definitively religious tone. Unfortunately, the Old English literary tradition faded until the Renaissance revitalized interest in the past. Alfred writes in the translation of Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy, “I have wished to live worthily while I lived, and to leave to those who should come after me my memory in good deeds.”

During his reign, Alfred found learning dead and he restored it, education neglected and he revived it, the laws powerless and he gave them force, the church debased and he raised it, the land ravaged by a fearful enemy from which he delivered it. Alfred’s name shall live as long as mankind shall respect the past. As a king, Alfred defeated his enemy, defended the wisdom of his people, and laid the foundations of the English nation. When he died, Wessex was secure, and his descendants would spread his style of government until they could call themselves Kings of England. If reputation is a measure of success, then Alfred truly deserves to be known as “Alfred the Great.”

Simon Keynes and Michael Lapidge, Alfred the Great: Asser's Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources [London: Penguin USA, 1995], 79.
Joel T. Rosenthal, "Bede's Ecclesiastical History and the Material Conditions of Anglo-Saxon Life," The Journal of British Studies 19.1 (1979): 3-7.
Judith Bennett and C. Warren Hollister, Medieval Europe: A Short History [New York City: McGraw-Hill Humanities/Social Sciences/Languages, 2005], 103.
Benjamin R. Merkle, The White Horse King: The Life of Alfred the Great [Waco, TX: Thomas Nelson, 2009], 61.
A. W. Ward and A. R. Waller, “Alfred and the Old English Prose of his Reign,” The Cambridge History of English and American Literature [New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 2000]. www.bartleby.com/cambridge/ [Accessed December 1, 2009]