Stud finder...

Despite the countless cries for fifteen minutes of fame, from my entourage at Sunday dinner, I need to discuss a matter of importance.  This post, as no surprise, came to me while in the shower.  (I figure if I point that out at least once a week, it will encourage all the stay-at-home moms and all the single ladies, to put down their romance novels, that no doubt have pictures of my body on the cover with the face of some goon superimposed over mine, long enough to read my blog.  Minor note- I've been through several legal battles with fitness magazines, but how these ninja-like romance photographers get shots of me in nothing but animal hide is beyond my imagination.  I'm not sure if these ladies are actually reading the content of my blog, or just imagining the creative process.  Either way it sells.  As a nice bi-product, this fills my wife with the only jealousy that I could profit from.  She becomes eager to lash out at any women glancing in my direction, even when I'm driving the freaking mini-van in the dark and there's some girls three cars over at a stop light.)
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Anyways, that was a pretty good tangent, even for me.  About a week ago I noticed that my sister-in-law was trying this whole "gauges" phenomenon in her ears.  You know, they try to make a hoola hoop out of their ear lobes.  This type of fashion statement fascinates me on so many accounts, that I could have an entire blog dedicated to the subject.  First of all, "gauge" wearers and founders of the name, that is the crappiest most unoriginal name.  If that's not a healthy serving of irony on a platter for you, I don't know what is.  I get the whole-I want to be original so people can notice me.  I just want to point out time and time again, that your originality is false.  One idiot was probably stoned out of his mind on a couch, watching National Geographic, and saw an indigenous tribe, that had a giant portion of their ear lobes hanging and swinging in the wind.  Stoner was inspired, stoner went to the local piercing joint, stoner asked for thick earnings measured by a unit known as a gauge, stoner goes to party, stoner becomes famous, hundreds of idiots follow.  Just know this- "gauge" is a unit of measurement.  Its abbreviation looks like this- AWG and it means this- American Wire Gauge.  It is used to measure the diameter of wires, rather than saying point twenty-three inches.  The largest measurement is 00 awg,  equalling .46 in.  Now I know there are some people with holes in their heads larger than a half inch.  My point is come up with a more creative name.

I get that the whole point of these "gauges" is to tell the world how much Mommy and Daddy didn't love you.  If you wrote a memoir, you probably would bring us all to tears.  You'd tell us about how you were the first kid to learn of Santa's falsehood, when he gave you a white iPod the same year that black came out, and you asked for black!  After days of mourning over the matter and refusing to allow certain songs to be downgraded and inhabit, said white iPod, you start an investigation.  You learn that your parents have been stuffing your stockings and you refuse to believe that they're "Santa's helpers".  No one at school believes you about your discovery.  They call you crazy, when they're the ones who believe in fairytales.  You decide that your parents are trying to ruin your life, by making you look crazy and allowing you to be seen in public with a white iPod.  Years of counseling and antidepressants would eventually lead to a full recovery, but your childhood is filled with similar situations.  So naturally you join the tight jean and "gauges" club.  Meanwhile your memoir is #4 on Amazon's list.  It's about time things go your way.

The best thing for me is when I ask one of these emo-gaugers, "doesn't that hurt your ear?"  He responds- "life is pain, bra."  (Had I read his memoir, I would understand the profound grief.  People just don't understand him.)  So, with the perplexed look on my face, he's sure that he's sent me into the greatest epiphany of my life.  When really I'm wondering if this guy is handicapped or something.  So I start talking slower and using more body language.  He feels belittled, starts crying and runs home.

All in all, I love the idea of gauges, but I'm a man of logic.  So, the real trial that I've been facing, is what could be put in these "gauges" that would provide functionality and purpose.  After about 15 minutes I realized that no purpose can be found, so instead I decided to come up with something more creative for my sister in law to put in her ear.  I finally settled on a sawed-off broom stick between two tennis balls (see my illustration below).  I'm certain that this would restore creativity for at least a week.  So Gabs, make sure to mark the day that you chose to start this trend, so no one else can claim it as their own.  I can guarantee that the next big thing is pink tennis balls.