Old Chub Hub

[Insert Funny Internet Acronym] of the Day

2009-03-16T11:03:00.000-07:00

Thank you, fine folks at The Onion, for this gem I stumpled upon today:

Attractive Girls Union Refuses To Enter Into Talks With Mike Greenman

Which Brain Are You?

2009-03-03T11:25:00.000-08:00

Apparently I'm right brain dominant, according to this highly scientific determinative method. Which one are you?:

Right Brain/ Left Brain Quiz
The higher of these two numbers below indicates which side of your brain has dominance in your life. Realising your right brain/left brain tendancy will help you interact with and to understand others.
Left Brain Dominance:	(7)
Right Brain Dominance:	(11)
Right Brain/ Left Brain Quiz

Chalk One Up for the Chicks, I mean, um, 'Women'

2009-02-15T11:06:00.000-08:00

So, Amy (the wifey) and I went and saw "The Reader" last night, a film starring Kate Winslet and Ralph Fiennes (and the young Ralph Fiennes character that does an outstanding job but I don't know the actor's name and am too lazy to look it up). The film is set in Germany, the majority of which occurs through flashback scenes to a post-WWII West Germany.

In short, this is an absolutely fantastic movie, deserving of all the accolades it has received thus far during the Hollywood awards season. I don't want to get into an untrained analysis of how this film and its performances triggered a seeping catharsis throughout its duration in my sticky movie theater seat, though. I am more interested in commenting on the crapload of tits and ass and cock and balls (hereinafter "T&A" and "C&B") displayed on the big screen in this "piece".

I must point out that none of the T&A and C&B was gratuitous or sexy, however. It was all tastefully a part of the story (This is clearly evidenced by the fact that each nude frame looked like Buckwheat was in a scissors leg lock). Now, I'm used to seeing T&A all over the big screen in this heretofore male-dominated entertainment society; but if there was ever a feather in the cap of the women's lib. movement, it is prominently displayed between the legs of young David Kross (OK, so I just went and looked up his name. It didn't take that long, after all [see previous OCH entry entitled 'Where is the Time?' for an applicable reference to this behavior]).

So, may I say "kudos" to Betty Friedan, Gloria Steinem, et al, without whom there may not be equal pay for equal work, Roe v. Wade, rape shield laws, Sarah Palin and gigantically displayed dongs and apple bags for the mainstream viewing pleasure of women and gay men.

You have won this particular T&A:C&B ratio disparity battle, ladies. But the war is far from over. **KABANG!!!!** (that was a gauntlet being thrown down)

Where is the time?

2009-02-11T11:32:00.000-08:00

Often it seems as though there isn't enough time to do the things that I plan on doing. Like writing something here, for instance. But when I think about it more, I realize that half of the time, at least, is wasted away thinking about how I have no time. And then I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about how I've created a conundrum for myself, to the point where I'm literally paralyzed in thought. You know that part in "Braveheart" where King Edward "Longshanks" is on his deathbed, and all he wants to know is that this Scottish a-hole William Wallace finally pays for his treason, but princess Frenchie whispers in his ear that she is carrying a-hole Wallace's child and then Wallace screams "FREEEEDDOOOOOM!!!!!!!", and Longshanks wants to tell her off so badly but he can't talk because his vocal chords are paralyzed? It's kind of like that.

So, in a concerted effort to alleviate this psychological pretzel, I recently purchased two books on "procrastination." Since I'm too embarrassed to be seen in the "self-help" section of Barnes & Noble, I decided to make my purchase online at Amazon.com. I love buying things on Amazon because I get such a comfortable sense of affirmation by the buyer comments before purchasing my widget. If I can't say to myself, "Hey man, that's a solid, well-thought through purchase" after clicking my submission, I always end up saddled with needless remorse (Like this Alabama t-shirt I ordered several months ago that I haven't worn but sits in the box, daring me to return it; but I cower in fear and regret every time). So when I read the impeccable reader reviews for these two books (the titles escape me at the moment, but they both had covers that donned huge, all-caps titles, like it was shouting at me to get my shit together) I pulled the trigger and bought them.

The more scholarly-looking of the two was my choice of reading on several out of town work trips, as I planned on reading it in-flight and during airport layovers. I took it on at least three trips. Damn thing never got out of that front pocket of my carry-on. Typical, right? I was procrastinating reading a book on procrastination. How original. Recently, however, my dogs ate this book. Seriously. The answers to my fears and the keys to unlocking my inner-success went right out of my dog's ass. Perfect.

I have the second book, though, thankfully. I've been meaning to read it for the past two months now. I've been thinking about it and thinking about it and thinking about it. I just don't seem to have the time......

What's in a Name?

2009-01-26T15:38:00.000-08:00

I suppose I'll take the time and effort for OCH's inaugural post to explain the origin of this blog's title.

I was in Tampa, Fl recently for work and made it a point to have a drink with a friend who lives in the area. We settled on a place that's just down the street from his downtown office, and despite the both literal and figurative squeeze of the place we sat down to drink and catch up. The beer selection was like a menu at The Cheesecake Factory. It would've taken an hour just to make an informed and well-equipped selection under the circumstances (the circumstances being that I wanted to try something new). So I decided to just pick one based on name alone.

At the time, my wife had just 3 months prior given birth to our first child. I had taken to calling my little one "Chub" due to the fact that this word makes me giggle (especially when spoken in baby-talk, in which both my wife and I are exceptionally fluent) and Madeleine was, in fact, a tad chubby in certain places. What does this have to do with beer selection? Well, in my perusal of the beer menu I did not need to look any further than Old Chub beer. That was it. I tried it and loved it, and ever since I have called my baby "Old Chub." I hope to kick this nickname eventually, for hers and her grandparents sake, but it has stuck for now. Even the wifey has taken to it.

There you have it. One hell of a beer. One hell of a Chub.