The Pet Rock

Uh-merican Product Line
(Does NOT have to originate in America, just bring joy to Americans)


The pet rock started in the 1970's by an advertising executive named Gary Dahl in California. The stones were from Baja California, Mexico and marketed as actual pets, complete with a training manual on how to care for the non-moving, non-living "pet." The cost, a mere $3.95. In just over six months Dahl became a millionaire.

Only in America could a guy like Dahl take advantage of so many people. I know I have probably paid for dumb things in my lifetime, like Keds shoes or canned beets, but seriously, a rock?

In art class in 3rd grade we made our own pet rocks. The exercise was fantastic because we were responsible for bringing in our own rock. For the guys, this set-up two things 1) we competed to find the coolest, most unique rock and 2) we talked trash to each other when we did. Friendly competition. After a couple days of searching we brought our rocks into art class and added characteristics with paint, markers, chalk, etc. My rock was red with those eyes that bounce and forth, forcing my rock to be cross-eyed half the time. Similar to parenting, there is no correct manual for raising a pet rock, I had to learn on the fly.

Much like my rock from the 3rd grade, only better

"Hey, youuuuu guuuuuuysssssss"

Boston Terrier pet rock; this is creepy

Kenny Powers

...is a pretty American dude.

New US Citizenship Test

This was sent to me by my friend Erik. It is 30 questions, and they tell you immediately if your answer is correct or not. Some are tricky, so watch out. I missed 5. After this post I will immediately re-watch Rocky IV to see Rocky fend off the USSR and Wrestlemania III to witness Hulk Hogan defeat the biggest man in the world, Andre the Giant. This should raise my American stock to a livable level once again.

http://noticias.aol.com/inmigracion/quiz/citizenship

NJ & NY

After our DC escapades and fighting traffic outside of Baltimore thanks to a pretty fierce accident, we rolled on to south New Jersey. There, in Toms River, home to the 1998 Little League World Series Champions, lives my Aunt T and Uncle Mark. They housed us for a night and took us to a solid meal at Benihana. The always interesting Aunt T now has a Facebook. Check her out. Please add her.

From there,we went up to Manhattan to celebrate our friend Nolan’s 23rd birthday. We met up with another Arizona girl back in New York for work, Ashley, and took off for some food and drinks.

After some really excellent margaritas we met up with some more of Nolan’s friends and headed out for the rest of the night. No more than a block from Nolan’s apartment we encountered an interesting situation. Nolan of all people, on his own birthday, attempted to walk around a corner while another patron of the city continually shoved and rod him into a wall. Nolan got a little mouthy, but none of us were prepared for what this crazy fuck did next.

And I quote, “You think you’re a tough guy? How about I cut your fuckin’ throat?”

Then he reached in his jacket and pulled out a swithblade with a blue handle. Nolan’s friend Greg pulled Nolan away while the crazy fuck’s friend did a karate move to my left. Yes, karate. This was the most humorous part once we reflected on the situation later. He squatted, crossed his arms like a disabled, aged Bruce Lee, said “You wanna fuckin’ go?”, but then forgot he still had on his shitty track jacket. So, he uncrossed his arms to take his jacket off while his silver over-sized chain hit him in the face. Classic.

Although that part was purely hilarious, the situation could have gotten a whole lot worse. Thankfully, our clear heads prevailed and we enjoyed the rest of our night. Excitement never seems to leave us alone.