Cacophony of Silence. This post is on doctors.

Medical personnel have no senses of humor. Is it smugness at the fact that you're the one sitting there getting pricked while they sport awe-inspiring, white lab coats? Or did those arduous years of medical training wring the funny from them? Because if they ask, “So what brought you in to donate blood today?” And you answer, “Peer pressure. I do drugs now too.” And then they blow things out of proportion—something traumatic must have happened to them, right? Right?? My opinion: those white coats have gone straight to their heads. I saw one wearing a name tag saying, “Hello, my name is Dr. Stacy Puffington, a doctor, I'm a doctor, and now that I've earned this coat, I'm on an elevated plane from you riffraff ruffians, and while I'm here, you all should probably be relocated to internment camps, where I may or may not grace you with my presence to administer flu vaccinations or any other number of antidotes you would know nothing about.” This may be too long for a name tag, but I'm sure with all the money they make, they can buy jumbo name tags.

Life is too short for fun-sized Snickers...This post is on PROCRASTINATION.

Let's reflect for a moment on procrastination. I always figured my abnormalities would come in the form of something more obvious--a second pinky toe, a strong aversion to...something generally loved, an obsession with country music--something interesting..but no, my major idiosyncrasy is that I don't procrastinate. This quirk of doing things when they need to be done, of turning papers in on time, of being to class on time, washing a dish when I'm done eating off of it, etc--these activities are generally viewed as strange behavior, nerdy habits even. I'M the crazy one for getting an assignment, doing that assignment, and then turning that assignment in for full credit. And when the masses of procrastinators all get together, "cute" little ironic quips about their "unfortunate condition" and smart little mottos like "Why do today what can be done tomorrow" evoke a "har har har" from the followers, and they all have a jolly time sharing amongst themselves in that moment of camaraderie and passing around of slogan buttons. "Procrastinators Unite!...Tomorrow..." Yes, I see the wise crack, and no, I'm not "in" on this. All the procrastinators, (probably 98-99% of any population) seem to think all others are like them.
Teachers will ask of a class in a sarcastic, all-knowing way, "Now who here never procrastinates?" She'll puff herself out and look around, eyeing each of us, basking in the nervous giggles and mild snickers; a confirmation of her suspicions. But no. I say no. No more of this passive approval. These people are telling us between the lines that "Hey, it's cool to procrastinate. Who does things when they should to avoid problems piling up shortly down the road, culminating, culminating, a sudden spark here, then an explosion there, and tasks and obligations implode on themselves leaving you under the rubble, smeared across the desk you needed to fix days ago, and with no procrastinator friends, because what? ah yes, they've all gone out for beer--who does that? Schmoes. So let's be cool and not do stuff until it ruins our lives when it finally does come due. Let's have our little "har har hars" and bathe in our unfinished papers, overdue bills, and lawsuit threats. Yeah, go for it. Don't be a schmoe like me who has even a sliver of foresight and an appreciation for consequences here in the real world.

Solution: I propose all procrastinators, lazy, shapeless people be required to wear paper bags over their heads . Don't worry, I'll draw the picture on the front that will be an accurate depiction of what I deem as their inner beauty. Also, a button, because they so adore buttons, that will say, "Procrastinators Unite!...Today at 4pm at the pillory."

On Death

I'm one stabbing, one biting, one drowning, one infection, one virus, one poisoning, one shove, one severe paper cut, one electrocution, one accidental Listerine gulp, one axe murder away from death. That's pretty close for comfort. Do I think about death all the time? No. Only some of the time. There are just too many ways for it to happen to put my focus on one in particular. Sure, if I ever came face to face with a shark, Larry would probably eat my face off, but do I dwell on this? Not at all. The fact of the matter is, there probably aren't any sharks in any place I would ever swim. Especially in the middle of Utah. Perhaps I might become possessed by a clown-cleaner fish and find myself with an uncontrollable urge to take a dip in the shark tank at the zoo. One can never overlook these possibilities, but statistically speaking, there are far more likely ways for me to come to an unfortunate demise. Tripping face first into the knife drawer for instance. Or something as simple and poetic as slipping in the shower. Yet another reason I take baths.
Other people raise the chances I'll meet an untimely death. It's kind of like an ice skating rink. I do just fine by myself in the middle of a big frozen pond, but add pre-teens and Kamikaze klutzes, and my mortality skyrockets.
Same goes for any public setting. Scenario: me walking down the hallway to grab a drink of water vs me threading through hoards of people to grab that drink; I'm much more likely to get bumped out a window or trampled to death in the latter.
Other people are also murderers. Probably not most of them, but who really knows, after all, when murder-vision camera work is coming up behind you. You wouldn't. Until you're dead. And if you're walking outside at night, by yourself and you hear a strange noise? Don't look around like a wounded doe and ask feebly, "Is anyone there?" If someone is there and he's going to kill you, he'll kill you anyway and revel in your stupidity for clearly giving away your position. If it's not a murderer, he probably would have already shown himself. So maybe run. Or accept your fate and face him/it like a man.
And if people say a house if haunted, it probably is. So being skeptical is just going to give you the first ticket for the gruesome death. And when a little girl beckons you towards the dark looming woods, it's probably a good idea just not to go. So just don't.
And you never know if you're actually schizophrenic and killed your own dog and later your ex-wife and her boyfriend, so it's probably a good idea to get yourself checked out on a regular basis.
Finally, if a guy says he'll eat you, don't just brush that off. Take most threats seriously. Things like, "You're so cute I could just squeeze you to death," are not to be taken lightly. Or "I'd kill for a donut." Just run and take your donut with you.