Author Archives: Brian Eichenberger
I would like to use this space this week to make mention of a certain friend – well, he’s really only kind of a friend. But regardless of how I think of him, some accomplishments just have to be mentioned, and I think 16 years plugging away at the same occupation is worth a little glory no matter what I think of you.
There’s nothing quite like blowing one’s own cover. I was an expert at doing it as a child. Enraptured in a game of hide and seek, I’d find the Holy Grail of hiding spots and be in the middle of watching the want-to-be seeker walking away, his head hung in desperate defeat, when suddenly a fit of laughter, a stupefying spell of nerves, or a bout of breathy hesitation would reveal me.
I think I have finally found the ultimate answer to the often-posed conversation starter, “What items would you want with you if you were stranded on a desert island?”
While at many points in my life I might have said, “My boombox and a copy of Poison’s Greatest Hits,” my opinion has changed due to recent news combined with my lifelong love for McGyver.
The world of big league advertising has finally gone too far. It has reached the point of invasive, uncomfortable, and disruptive – I’ve had enough!! Call me uptight, old-fashioned or whiny, but wait until it happens to you. Then you’ll understand.
I come in late from a day full of work and school on a night earlier this week to find my roommate sitting at the kitchen table, thoughtfully caressing an envelope.
The saying goes, “Choose your battles.” So while those leaning left kick and scream about freedom infringement from anti-abortion activists and the rambunctious that rock the right rally against gun control, I’ve recently been choosing to get my proverbial feathers ruffled from a source a little less likely to normally upset the functioning of freedom.
Call it what you want: pop, Coke, soda, soft drink – no matter the name, my addiction is the same. Some choose coffee to soften the severity of a 4:30 a.m. wake-up call, but I’ll take a couple of 12-ounce cans of Mountain Dew over that tar-tasting garbage all five working days of the week.
Yeah … so that whole Election Day thing lived up to its hype, didn’t it? I almost hit 14 Democrats on the way to the polls. It is not that I was trying … It’s just that my car is Republican. No, in all seriousness, it had a lot more to do with the fact that I am just a bad driver .
It’s now just a matter of days …
Before the weekend is over, the quiet Fayetteville neighborhood I inhabit is sure to be overrun by short goblins, sassy witches and those with severe sweet teeth. It’s time to shake the piggy bank, race to Wal-Mart and fill the closest cart with the cheapest assortment of chocolate, sugar and candy corn that money can buy.
I somehow just spent the last twenty minutes reading an article titled, “Is Ben Affleck beyond help?” It happened innocently enough. I was surfing a news-oriented Web site, seeking to enrich my general knowledge of world events. I want to be informed. I seek knowledge! But somehow I always end up here, reading a lengthy commentary that, by seeking to nullify, somehow manages to glorify the overgrown frat-boy known as Affleck and the entire culture he represents.
I think the official subtitle of this column should be “Finding Ways to Feel Good About Myself.” Week after week I keep managing to prove that I am not the stupidest person on the planet.
I was raised on the idea, “No matter how good you think you are, there is always someone better.
We live in the society of the disclaimer. If there is one thing that we absolutely LOVE as Americans, it is the right to deny responsibility. Do what you want, say what you want, feel how you want – just make sure that first you cover yourself with a nice puppy dog face and a little legalese.
If I didn’t see some of this stuff myself, even I would think I was making it up. But the phrase, “Truth is stranger than fiction,” is often not that far off, and this story is a perfect illustration.
Picture this: You go home this afternoon. Your house or dorm room is a wreck (of course!).
It is not a new realization. I’ve had it quite a few times before. But when my high-level supervisor comes to me and asks me to burn something on CD for him as a personal favor, then proceeds to watch me do it and asks questions as to how I am doing it – it strikes in me that realization that my generation is truly among the first to be totally immersed in computer technology.
Ahhh … It’s that time of year again … time for Razorback football. The local purveyors of pigskin are snapping back into action and hailing in with them all of the usual sights and sounds. You know what I am talking about – out-of-towners, tailgating, cheering and jeering, overspending in the gift shop.
There were probably a lot of normal things that Kristielle saw on her first day in the seventh grade at her public school in Dallas last week – old friends, kids with braces, revoltingly cold cafeteria pizza. I’m sure she worried about algebra, gossiped about summer slumber parties, and violated scores of secrets she swore she’d never tell way before the first bell had even rang.