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If you are Mayim Bialik, or you know her, or you know someone that knows her, then you need to pass on this very important message: We were separated at birth. We are nearly identical twins. I have proof:

Here is Mayim Bialik at a press event last week:

And here is me, at a completely different event across the country, at the exact same time:

Wait, do I have that backwards? Is the first one me and the second her? I honestly don’t know. And look at us, wearing the same outfit as if we coordinated; that’s the twin connection thing working its magic. (though clearly I wear it better! ::3-snaps in a Z formation::)

Please, get in touch with Mayim — call her, email her, light the Blossom Bat Signal into the night sky (it would probably involve a big hat) — whatever you can do to track her down so she knows I’m out there, waiting to be reunited with my twin!

I miss you, Blossom Mayim!

(thank you to Mukti for not only bringing the resemblance to my attention, but also “taking” that photo of me)

Man, am I easily influenced by food commercials. I could be passed out on the couch after cramming myself full of Thanksgiving dinner; a McDonald’s commercial could come on advertising a special just-for-Thanksgiving Stuffed Turkey Cranberry Shake and you bet I’d be craving one instantly! (by the way, I’m a genius because that shake would be awesome.) Domino’s has been bombarding our TV with ads about their re-engineered pizza. Even back when I was a poor college student, I’d rather spend a few extra bucks than waste money on their tasteless pizza. Yet the more I watch these Domino’s ads, the more I have to try their new pizza.

So you’d think when McDonald’s created one of the most addictive food jingles in the history of television for their Filet-o-Fish sandwich I’d be rushing off to Mickey D’s every day to scarf down a fried fish-like substance in a sandwich.

But I’m not. I have no desire to eat a Filet-o-Fish even as I sing that damn song all day.

Sadly, I think this says more about the awfulness of the Filet-o-Fish than it does about me. Because if next week McDonald’s starts advertising how they have completely changed their Filet-o-Fish to make it better, and especially if they tell me that in a catchy jingle, I’ll be queued up at McDonald’s almost immediately. I’d feel slightly ashamed, but  I know I’d still be there nonetheless.

I think the world would be a happier place if, instead of  Rickrolling, we had started Billy Oceanwaving.

I’ve been told a lot of last names come from the occupation held by a family member way back when (e.g. Carpenter, Miller, Taylor, Cook, Bloodletter, etc.). Well, I ran across the last name of “Goodpaster” today. Even for the 17th century, wouldn’t that be aiming the bar kinda low?

Father: You’re going to spend your whole life pasting things? But I had such high hopes for you, son!
Son: You’ll see, Papa. I’ll be the best paster this world has ever seen!
Father: But can’t people just tie things together? Is pasting really necessary?
Son: Papa!
Father: You sound just like me when I was your age. I had dreams too. We were going to be the Colorinthelineser. But eventually I realized I need to think bigger.

Wow, even back then parents just didn’t understand.

Anyway, regardless of its origin, this would have been the coolest to have in elementary school. But also a lot of pressure to live up to during art class.

Every so often you hear about those people with serious hoarding problems. They live in a house that ends up being crammed with newspapers and clothing and furniture and whatever else they’ve picked up along the way, with no room to even move, all because they just can’t bring themselves to get rid of anything.

Well, a hoarder lives amongst us. Our little Cavalier has a problem:

This is about a week's worth of collecting, all done by her.

A very common conversation in our house goes something like this:

Me: Have you seen my [article of clothing]?
Melanie: Did you check Layla’s crate?

Are there dog hoarding specialists? Should we seek help?

Or perhaps Layla is smarter than we think and she’s secretly running a business selling all these items on eBay. Hey, that’s my shoe! It’s not for sale!

Not sure who left this note in the office bathroom. Perhaps it was me. Regardless, I agree.

My office bathroom is okay. The building management keeps it pretty clean. The sinks used to have those ridiculous auto shut-off faucets but they have since been replaced with regular swivel handles. My floormates’ bathroom etiquette leaves something to be desired, but I can’t really blame that on the bathroom itself. So all-in-all, bathroom-wise, I’d say I have a good deal. Work bathroom life was pretty uneventful. And then The Switch happened.

In what I can only assume was an attempt to save money, the building management decided to skimp on paper towels. One day, without notice, what were once thick and soft swaths of cottony cloth became thin, flimsy pieces of paper. Previously, hand washers had been able to grab one to two paper towels quickly, with a firm tug, and dry their hands completely. Now, this mockery of a paper towel would shred as you struggled to pull just one full towel from the dispenser. You could hear it scraping against your hands as you painfully attempted to dry them. In the end, you would waste five to ten towels, leave remnants of your dispensing attempts on the floor, and you would walk away with painful, red, and maybe even still damp, hands.

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Dear Netflix,

For the last few months my girlfriend and I have been reliving the late seventies by watching Dallas via Netflix. It’s been fantastic, shaking our fists at the conniving JR Ewing while laughing at the fashion (and hair) of the times.

Before watching the DVDs, my girlfriend was well aware of Dallas, and yet somehow had made it through life without hearing about the “Who shot JR?” cliffhanger. When I realized this, I did everything I could to keep the cliffhanger a secret from her. I warned my family before dinners together. I warned my friends as they made fun of us for watching Dallas. “She doesn’t know any of the cliffhangers ::hint hint::” And it worked!

That is until we received the season three DVDs from Netflix, because right there on the envelope description you mention the “‘Who Shot J.R.’ season-ending cliffhanger.” Egads! All my hard work, months of JR-like deception and betrayal to protect my girlfriend from Dallas‘ surprise ending, all rendered worthless by a few words on the Netflix envelope!

We will still enjoy season 3, but every episode will be watched by my girlfriend in a different light, her Dallas innocence now gone.

At the very least, I guess we have learned a lesson. We will no longer read your envelope descriptions, especially when it comes to Dallas. Because, while we both now know about the “Who Shot JR?” cliffhanger, neither of us knows the answer to that question, and we hope this one will remain a surprise until the season four DVDs arrive.

Sincerely,

Adam “Seriously, Don’t Tell Me Who Shot JR” Gerard

Anjali told me it couldn’t be done. But I did it.

Watch me eat an entire pint of ice cream in one sitting! And for my next trick, I’ll text you while I’m in the bathroom for the next 6 hours! (click above to see the enthralling flickr photo set).

PS – future pint eating endeavors would be made way easier with a handy ice cream “pint sleeve”. The paper towel I wrapped around the pint container just wasn’t cutting it by the end.

As has been made abundantly clear, I like (Syracuse) Orange. Many months ago I saw this beautiful backpack on sale at LL Bean’s website and I could not resist. It is, quite frankly, the love of my life.

We have had some good times together. And the bag has received many, what I will call, “compliments.” Yes, everyone loves it. Why wouldn’t they?

Several months ago I packed the backpack for an excursion into New York City. In the bag went clothes, iPod, camera, and my toiletries, including a bottle of cologne. But maybe I’ve said too much already.

As usual, things were going great with me and my bag. He held stuff securely as we had fun, looking so fresh & so clean the entire time. On my last day in New York City I had some time on my own before catching my bus ride home, so I decided to walk across town. Just me and my bag and an insatiable curiosity!

But as I made my way down the streets of NYC, I noticed that everyone passing by me was wearing a lot of cologne. No, not just a lot. It seemed all the men in NYC bathed in cologne. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 guys walked by me, all seemingly drenched in some strongly scented perfume. “Why,” I thought, “do so many men in New York wear so much damn cologne?”

And then finally it hit me. On a street corner (probably next to one of 150 H&Ms in NYC), I unpacked my bag to confirm my fears. I found an open bottle and a pool of cologne at the bottom of the bag.

Right there I cleaned the bag the best I could. I repacked it and made my way home, stowing it in the undercarriage of the bus. The smell held strong the whole bus ride. I hoped airing it out over time would do the trick. On my body the cologne usually loses its scent by the end of the day. Over a few weeks the odor on the bag did not relent. Since then I have soaked it in Woolight. I have thrown the bag in the washing machine. The scent has only faded slightly, but it will not leave. In fact, on a long car ride today I noticed the scent return with a new vengeance as it sat in the window, baking in the sun.

I like my cologne. It took me awhile to find a scent I was comfortable with and this one is perfect when used in moderation. But this stench that has grabbed hold of my bag is something completely different.

So I turn to you, Voters. What do I do? How do I send this uninvited guest home? What can I do to return my bag to its untainted and scent free existence?

I sent this letter to Nissan Pavilion after an unhappy concert experience there this last Sunday. If I receive a response from them or the Virginia Department of Emergency Management (who also received a copy of the letter) I will post it here.

=====
Adam Gerard
[my address]
Washington, DC 20009

May 13, 2008

Nissan Pavilion at Stone Ridge
7800 Cellar Door Dr.
Bristow, VA 20136

To Whom It May Concern:

I attended the Sunday, May 10 Radiohead concert at Nissan Pavilion and I am appalled at the lack of preparation on the venue’s part for emergency weather conditions. With over a decade’s experience in organizing outdoor shows, your poor preparation for the storm that hit the DC area on Sunday is simply reprehensible. The result of this lack of foresight created an environment for concert goers so unsafe that I will not attend another concert at Nissan Pavilion until you have addressed these dangerous conditions.

The rain was not a surprise. Weather reports accurately warned us of what was to come including flood warnings throughout the region. You know that due to the design of the pavilion, flooding is a possibility. The venue should have been ready with trained staff prepared for potential flooding along with a contingency plan to help concert goers enter and exit as safely as possible. But it was clear that there were no special preparations for the weather. Attendees were left to completely fend for themselves. Just one example: the concrete walkway behind the 300 sections of your venue was flooded with water rising up to my ankles. Many people tried to exit out the front of the venue under the cover of the pavilion which had a clear path to a non-flooded and paved walkway. But your staff refused to let us through, telling us all to turn around and guiding us directly into the flooded walkway.

And the unsafe conditions continued. There was a complete lack of crowd control, no signage I could see guiding concert goers back to the parking lots in the dark and rain, and due to a lack of walkways, people shared the road with frustrated drivers who were just starting the multiple-hour trek out of the Nissan Pavilion grounds.

This is unacceptable and is an embarrassment for one of the premier concert venues in the DC area. I don’t expect a refund; I saw the concert that I paid to see. But I demand that you take actions to address the problems that have come to light as a result of this concert. Until this has been done, I cannot feel safe attending a concert at the Nissan Pavilion.

Sincerely,

Adam Gerard

cc: Virginia Department of Emergency Management