To Become a Writer...

Bad Health Advice

2011-04-12T10:10:00.003-04:00

I hate getting bad health advice. Now, when I say "bad" I don't mean that this is health advice that will hurt you. It simply doesn't do any good. Like someone saying, "In order to be healthy you should live a healthier life."

That's bad advice. Perhaps LAME advice is a better term. But I'll stick with bad.

So Yahoo had an article titled: 5 Foods To Never Eat. I was expecting it to say something like, The new 18,000 calorie Deep Fried Bacon Burger, or The Supreme Chocolate Pizza Smoothie. You know, stuff like that. But these were the 5 things you should avoid eating:

1. Sugar
2. Other Unhealthy Foods
3. Fats
4. Carbs
5. Processed Foods

Seriously? "Other Unhealthy Foods?" Are we so stupid that we need people to tell us that in order to stay healthy we need to not eat unhealthy foods? And frankly, shouldn't "Other Unhealthy Foods" be the bottom of a list of bad foods to eat? I mean, stylistically speaking, can you really say, "Other Foods" and then go on to list still other foods? Doesn't "other" capture everything that hasn't been mentioned thus far?

This teaser article was meant to get you to watch a video to get more detail. I didn't watch it. If you want me to have better health then you need to have better writing skills.

Here, I'll give you 5 Things Never To Do When Writing:

1. Never excessively repeat yourself too much
2. Never write not good
3. Do/Don't contradict yourself/others.
4. Never excessively repeat yourself too much
5. Always end by repeating one of the things you said previously to drive the point home never excessively repeat yourself too much

Master these 6 key things to never master and you'll be on your way to writing an article I'll never read with more respect.

The Masters - A Review

2011-04-11T10:59:00.004-04:00

I went to the Masters (golf) this past weekend at Augusta National. My father asked if I wanted to go about a month ago and I jumped at the opportunity. I've never seen a professional tournament and I thought it might be a once in a lifetime opportunity. Even if you don't like golf going and sitting out in the beautiful sun among the immaculately landscaped fairways is not a bad way to spend your Saturday.

I don't know how they do it, but the grass at Augusta is just slightly lower than ground level. And that is in the "rough" area. On every single course I have ever played the "rough" is basically an inch tall and it will swallow your ball. Or, on the really bad courses, it's just crab grass. At Augusta there was scarcely a difference between the rough and the fairway.

One thing I was not prepared for at Augusta National was the outrageous percentage of men smoking cigars. Nasty.

Almost no one smoked a cigarette, but there was no less than one in ten men smoking cigars. Which, as you can imagine, sort of spoiled the wonderful, green experience I was having. Just as I was about to watch a beautiful drive on a par 3 a cloud of smoke came creeping along on the tail of a dirty joke being told by one 40+ year old who must have been thinking that his joke was too funny for everyone around him to notice that he was tugging a bit to frequently at his genitals.
PREDICTION: I see a clinic visit in his future.

He and his buddies were chatting up a storm and looking much like industrial revolution London, except that they were wearing modern cotton blended fibers that "wick" the sweat away from your body. And they clearly all had waxed their eyebrows.

Our 40 year old was telling his joke to this 20-ish year old woman who looked to me like she didn't want to be disgusted by the smoke, the man or the joke, but despite her efforts she was, all three.

Seconds later, after I finished gagging on smoke, and after I missed the awesome drive, a pretty lady with a very large hat came and sat down right in front of my dad. His entire view was obstructed. We chuckled at first, but then she proceeded to tell the guy she sat down beside about all of the things she had purchased at the golf shop. I swear, she paid $100.00 for what amounted to a white T-shirt with the Masters logo on it. "A great deal" so she said. I won't blame people for being rich, because I usually wish I was. But I will blame them and make fun of them for being stupid.

Anyway, she talked about her purchases for no less than 5 minutes and then segued into the things she wished she could buy, and by chance did he know what what's-her-face would like, because her birthday was near and she wanted to get her something from here. The guy said that she would like a shirt and if she was going back to the store could he get an extra one and he would pay her back. She said yes. I thought he was doing us a favor by getting rid of the little chatterbox, but ere she was standing to go he grabbed her arm and began a completely different conversation that lasted 15 minutes! Two groups of golfers passed as they chatted. Finally, she asked if he was enjoying the match and he said that he wasn't and he was about to go to his cabin and watch it on TV. She asked if she could join him and I assume they both went and spent a buzillion dollars on Masters coozy cup holders and had adulterous sex while smoking cigars - the Masters on ESPN in the background. But what do I know. It could have been innocent.

So anyway, some reviews.

REVIEW: THE MASTERS
~too much for one review. must be broken down

THE GROUNDS OF AUGUSTA NATIONAL
A+
The are the nicest grounds I have ever walked on, and I have played at some nice clubs. I will never play Augusta National because I will never be able to afford and membership. And even if I could afford it, I wouldn't feel right about belonging to a club that still, in 2011, dose not allow women.

AUGUSTA'S GENDER POLICY
F

CIGAR SMOKING
F-
Why do rich guys smoke cigars? Aren't rich people supposed to be educated. Haven't they heard of cancer? I know that rich people belong to a secret society of semi-immortals, but still, why take the chance. And besides, I cannot be the only one who has noticed the clear phallic resemblance. What is the draw to putting a giant paper penis in your mouth and sucking on it for an hour?

THE ACTUAL GOLFING
B
I saw some really sweet shots, but mostly I saw plain golf. Tiger Woods shot par, which is terrible for a pro. Apparently he had to take 6 months off to learn a new swing because his biceps have gotten too big. I can't imagine what my boss would do if I told him I had to take 6 months off because my biceps had gotten to big and I could no longer type right.

I'm gonna try it and see what happens. Maybe if I do it while smoking a cigar and grabbing my balls a lot he'll think I'm a semi-immortal and he'll promote me.

Things Change

2011-03-23T12:22:00.002-04:00

You know the kids in your house have finally conquered all when you and your wife find yourselves honestly discussing which of the Power Rangers actors has real talent and which are just overacting plasticy, pretty faces.

It didn't even occur to me when it happened last night. The whole evening continued as though everything were in its place. Life was balanced and aligned. Then today a friend of mine mentioned his favorite TV show currently and how last night it was terrible. I almost said, "Yeah, like whenever the Red Power Ranger has an overdub montage and he has to look like he's thinking about something, but instead he looks like he's forgotten how to blink."

Luckily I caught myself. "Yeah," I said, "The same thing happened on Wizards of Waverly Place."

I need to watch some grown up TV.

Sad News

2011-03-08T12:42:00.006-05:00

Dangerous Ninja Speed Crash decided to give up the ghost on Monday.

This was the first of the warning signs.

Actually, the first warning sign was when the Water Pump broke three months after I bought it. My brother-in-law and I replaced it and for a day I felt like I was good with cars.

We will be donating Ninja Speed to charity.

Please don't send flowers as Ninja Speed did not like them. The pollen made him look orange.

Misplacement

2011-01-24T11:06:00.004-05:00

I've transferred to the Department of Poorly Placed Things. Currently I'm working in the division Furniture Accessories and Painting Tarps. I don't really know how Painting Tarps got lumped in with Furniture Accessories. Basically my duty is to confuse the hell out of people; especially auditors. If people leave my office not knowing wth I do, then I've succeeded.

Our new commissioner has promised to run things better. None of my supervisors is really sure if that means we should be more confusing or less.

If I don't get laid off in the next year I'm hoping to transfer to Sundries, Test Results and Fingernail Clippers.

Expired Bailey's Review

2011-01-06T12:44:00.006-05:00

pre REVIEW:
Bailey's Irish Cream.
Yummy. You guys probably all know that. But have you ever had expired Bailey's Irish Cream?

Yes, indeed, this wonderful beverage can go bad even though it has alcohol in it. Bailey actually saw fit, apparently, to add an expiration date, should those out there wiser than me look for such a thing.

the real REVIEW:
Expired Bailey's Irish Cream.
First of all let me say that HOW expired your Bailey's is probably plays a huge roll in the quality of the taste. For reasons all my own I'm going to review Bailey's Irish Cream that is, oh I don't know, 18 months past it's expiration date.

Rating:
Not Good.
This I can guarantee.
It will, however, still get u drunk.
Kind of like mixing whiskey, chocolate and blue cheese.
Not for the lactose intolerant.
Or for anyone who wants to not throw up.

Advice:
Rather than trying to read the back of the Bailey's bottle through a blurry and fevered and cramping haze, check the expiration before you drink.

Caffeine

2011-01-06T11:50:00.004-05:00

I was so tired when I got home the night before last that I made a promise to myself that I would go to bed early. At ten o’clock I realized early wasn’t going to happen with everything I still had left to do, so I said, “I can still get to bed on time.”

At eleven o’clock I was still sitting on the couch watching shows I’ve seen a thousand times with a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Thirty minutes later I turned the TV off and dragged myself into the kitchen. I stared at the dishes for a good ten minutes before I decided I was too tired to mess with it. So, before going to bed I got a pot of coffee set to brew at 6:30.

When I got to my bedroom I couldn’t help but notice that my wife had cleaned the entertainment center and that my Super Nintendo was all shiny and new looking. “I’ll just play for fifteen minutes,” I told myself.

At two thirty I turned Legend of Zelda off and crawled into bed. Half a second later the alarm went off. I crawled out of bed and slunk down the stairs to the coffee pot. I poured a nice tall cup of coffee into my travel mug. Then I tossed a Coke into the freezer to chill for the trip to work.

After feeding the kids I spent five minutes trying to decide if I should shave. Then I stood in the closet for another five minutes wondering if my eyes were ever going to focus. Then I realized I was ten minutes late.

I flew downstairs, grabbed my travel mug and my bag and hit the door.

It never fails that when you are running late traffic goes to crap. Today was no different. A three car crash on a two lane road meant that I was barely going to make the bus. I pulled into the bus stop at 7:59. The last bus leaves promptly at 8.

I grabbed my coffee and my brief case and ran for the bus. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my coffee splashing a bit, but I didn’t have time to think about it. As I got to the side of the bus it started to pull away. Luckily for me someone on board must have seen me and told the driver to stop.

I stepped on the bus at 8:01. I fished in my pocket for my ticket. I couldn’t find it. I checked all of my pockets. It wasn’t there and I was fairly certain I didn’t have any cash. I opened my wallet and found a $5.00 bill. Bus fare is $4.00, but they won’t give you change. Still, I put the $5 in and as soon as the machine started to take it I saw my ticket crammed down in the folds of my wallet. “Oh yeah,” I thought, “I put it there so I wouldn’t forget where it was.”

I was a little mad at myself for using my $5.00. That was the money I had planned to use at work for an emergency cola, if my coffee and Coke failed to wake me up. But I had my coffee in my lap and my Coke in my bag.

Wait a minute! I rummaged through my bag, well knowing what the results would be. I had left the house in such a rush I left the Coke in the freezer. Frustrated, I went to take a calming sip of coffee, but when the cup hit my lips nothing came out. I tipped the bottom all the way up, but no hot, yummy coffee. I opened the lid and it was empty. I guess while I ran to catch the bus the entire contents had splashed out. I looked down and saw that my khaki pants were now spotted with brown from the knees down.

As you can imagine, a day with four hours of sleep and no caffeine passes by like a year. Meetings compound this sensation. The only positive thing I could think of for my predicament is that I was not struck by the mad desire to pee in the middle of the meeting. After an hour I realized that this was probably a bad thing after all, so I pretended I needed to pee and got up to use the bathroom.

The day never ended and part of my soul remains trapped there. Somehow the rest of me managed to escape.

When I got home last night the kids were hounding me to make pancakes for dinner, which was fine with me because pancakes are easy and I was sleep walking. I opened the freezer to get the pancake mix (I keep it there so the bugs won’t get in it), and I discovered my Coke that I had forgotten. My freezer looked like liquid fireworks had frozen mid explosion. The Coke can was shredded and most of what had exploded out had found some way to jump into the pancake mix.

My wife led me crying to the car where she took us all out for fast food. I had a large coffee. By the time I got home I had so much energy that I figured I could play some more Super Nintendo then do the dishes then clean the freezer. But the Nintendo should come first, of course.

This morning I woke up in front of the Nintendo blinking that my game was over. And someone had peed right in my lap.

Jokes on me, I guess

2010-12-08T14:40:00.003-05:00

So I was on the elevator with a guy I don't know. I pressed the button for floor 6 and he pressed for floor 5.

Then we started chatting about the only thing you should ever chat about with people you do not know: the weather. Unless there is a pending tornado and/or you have some breaking news that might save a person's life or property it is one of the most boring topics you can discuss. Every time I talk about the weather with someone my mouth just goes on autopilot while my brain says, "What the crap am I saying? This is the stupidest conversation in the world." But then when I try and think of an alternative topic of conversation I realize that I don't know the first thing about the person with whom I am speaking. Which leads me to think about how I have very few friends with whom I can speak freely about anything at any time. Like 2. Ok, 1 really. And that makes me sad. And so I subsequently think, perhaps if I didn't put my mouth on autopilot when I chatted casually at work or in public I might actually meet people with common interests as I.

Ok, so I was in the elevator with this guy and I was saying something terrible like, "This past summer the weathermen got so bad at predicting that I actually started doing the opposite of what they suggested." Then I thought to myself, "This is awful, maybe now is a good time to branch out into casual conversation. But what should I talk about?

Before I could decide on a topic of conversation the guy with me said, "Is Field Services on floor 5?"

"No," I said, "It's floor 2." We had passed it.

Just then the door opened at floor five. Across the hall I saw an elevator going down, but the door was closing.

"Hey," I said, with some urgency, "There's one going down."

I leaped out of the elevator car I was in and ran across the hall with my arm outstretched to stop the doors from closing. What I didn't know was that once those elevator doors got within about 6 inches of being closed they shut pretty hard. The door slammed on my arm and I heard the bone snap. The pain was like a knife being jabbed into my arm. Finally the doors decided they couldn't close and they reopened. I turned around expecting to see a grateful man waiting to get on the down elevator. Instead I realized that he was still in the other elevator car and he was pointing at me.

"Ha ha!" he literally laughed as the doors closed, "You got off on the wrong floor!"

"Oh yeah," I thought to myself as my arm hung limp and floppy from my elbow, "That's why I don't talk to people."

I looked out the window and saw that against predictions it was pouring rain. Luckily I packed my umbrella just in case. Unfortunately I no longer had an arm to hold it.

ps. Ok, I didn't actually break my arm. But I did leap from the elevator to get a down car for this guy and he did laugh at me.

Bloody Wall

2010-11-24T14:46:00.002-05:00

So our facilities people were going to paint the office this week, but when they went to strip the wall paper off the building started screaming like mad and bleeding. They immediately stopped pulling off the paper, but the building still cried for hours. Sadly one of our more clumsy employees was walking by the above pictured spot with a class of freshly squeezed lemonade when... well.

The Community for the Humane Treatment and Eventual Liberation of All Walls and Ceilings, the CHTELAWC, has filed suit against our department on behalf of the wall. Technically I'm not supposed to talk to the public about it, but I say to heck with the man. The people have the right to know.

Yellow

2010-11-19T14:14:00.002-05:00

I think I've decided to hate yellow on me. That or fat. Because one of the two of them is making me look fat, and it's making me angry.

I kept a steady 155 lbs for 6 years and suddenly I balloon up to 165 for no apparent reason. Out of now where, after I quit exercising, starting eating chocolate like it was required, and stopped drinking water, and started drinking Mountain Dews, out of now where I gained 10 pounds. For no reason!

So I'm blaming my yellow fat sweater.

Glorious Reality

2010-11-17T14:50:00.002-05:00

Oh, but even the very best writers can not conjure up the magic that the mundane world throws at us daily.

Here are the highlights of an article I read in the paper today:
*****
LAWRENCEBURG, Ky. — Two central Kentucky men were sentenced to probation in connection with a bizarre case in which a third man said he was forced to eat his beard after an argument. 47-year-old Troy Holt and 51-year-old James Hill were sentenced Tuesday in Anderson Circuit Court.

Harvey Westmoreland of Lawrenceburg had said Holt cut off his beard and forced him to eat it while Hill allegedly held a sickle blade to Westmoreland and his brother during the May incident.

Holt could not say why he made Westmoreland eat his beard other than that things "got out of control" after some heavy drinking.

He added, "I ain't got no excuses about what I done."
*****

My word! What in the name of the Lord did you INTEND to happen, entering a bar with a sickle? At what point did your plan deviate from it's original goal?

Man, I love this world we live in. Just when you think the water is safe Giant Squid are real. And just when you think beards are making a comeback...

Confidence

2010-11-04T13:50:00.002-04:00

You know you have no style when you ask your wife, "How does this look?" And she says, "Well, it's not terrible."

It makes you wonder... is it normally terrible?

Sigh

2010-11-04T13:49:00.001-04:00

Why did the 80s have to end?

Always an alternative.

2010-11-01T10:19:00.002-04:00

So unfortunately Rebecca has to go to the urologist. Last night she read on line some of the basic things that are done at a urologist, such as "tapping" the bladder, getting sterile samples, and generally poking and prodding. So I suggested that she go to the Bladder Whisperer. He just puts his face down in your "lap" and talks to it. But it isn't just talking, he listens too. He's a good listener... to crotches. Then after some discourse he diagnoses whatever ails you. His rate of accuracy is almost 50%.

It's a different kind of discomfort, but in certain situations, perhaps a suitable one.

Rebecca did not think this suggestion was helpful.

Savings

2010-10-15T12:07:00.002-04:00

My last Friday self just put a dollar in my back pocket. I'm so nice! Now I can buy a coke for lunch. Thanks me!

I suppose I could save it for Future-me, but I'm not nearly as responsible as Past-me. Past-me is always saving money in my clothes. As soon as I find it I spend it.

I bet Future-me really regrets that coke I had in a few minutes.

Hospice TV

2010-09-20T10:45:00.002-04:00

When I am on my death bed, in hospice care, I want a wide screen TV set in front of me with tired old movies playing - commercials included. Because if there is one thing I can not avert my gaze and attention from it is a movie I have seen 1000 times before. I don't know if it will prolong my life, but I cannot imagine dying while there is a 1980s blockbuster marathon on the tube.

Last night I was tired and wanted to go to bed, but Die Hard 2 was on and so I had to watch it.

Why did I have to watch it? I don't know. But suddenly I was not tired anymore. Nor was I asleep. I was in a half sleep. And though I wanted to turn the TV off, I was not able. Not even the commercials offered any hope. I was transfixed.

So I thought, I'll create a new TV station and call it Hospice TV. On it I'll play all the movies that were box office hits for anyone between the ages of 60 to 100.

Dramatization:

Nurse: Doctor, the patient is crashing!
Doctor: Have you done chest compressions?
Nurse: Yes, of course. We've shocked him too!
Doctor: Damn! Give him 50 cc of Lydicane and for Christ sake turn on Hospice TV. If that doesn't buy us some time then nothing on this earth will!
Patient: Hang on, Jesus, Goonies is on! Again.

Tongue Rings

2010-09-02T13:41:00.003-04:00

So there's a new rule that waitresses must have a tongue ring, right? Is it a rule or is it just me?

And can you really trust the recommendations of a waitress with a tongue ring?

"What would you recommend."

"Well, my favorite is the burger bites, but they tastes kind of metally. And the potato soup is also good, but also kind of metally. The personal pizza is good... but metally. And I can't eat any of the spicy foods. It burns the hole in my tongue too badly. And it makes me taste metal."

"The Talk"

2010-09-01T10:01:00.002-04:00

So last night Rebecca had "the talk" with Isabella about things she can expect from her body in the coming years.

It was just the first talk of many talks we plan on having with her. Isabella is in fifth grade, which is when our school system begins Sex Education. I am 100% in favor of the school teaching Sex Ed, but I am also 100% in favor of parents teaching it too. My parents did ZERO sex talks with me. I remember once in middle school asking my mother what foreplay was. She went red and started stuttering. I figured it out on my own. Everything I learned about men, women and sex I learned on the bus or from secret whispers from friends. I didn't believe any of it. It was all just way too unbelievable. It all turned out to be true.

But I digress...

So Rebecca had the first talk with Isabella about periods. Rebecca said something to the effect of, "Pretty soon you and your girl friends will start having periods," and Isabella burst out, "No, I don't want to get a period. Hannah's mom got a period at Christmas and it ruined the holiday for everyone."

Wow. Why did my parents want to miss all this?

Senior Center Gig

2010-08-30T12:54:00.002-04:00

I was watching some show with my kids (Disney or Nickelodeon, I don't recall which) where the main character and crew went to a senior center to sing. While there they were asked again and again to sing the same song, Way Down Upon the Suwanee River.

It got me to thinking about what we gen Xers might be like when we're in our 90s rolling around the old folks home. Do you reckon we'll be demanding the high school choir sing Beat It for us? Or Thriller? Or some other 1980s hit? Or is there some magic point in life where a soul gives up the music of its past and seeks only to hear Stephen Foster melodies?

I like to think I'd choose Beat It. Suwanee River has had it's turn.

Now the question is will the kids know it?

Smells

2010-08-12T13:44:00.001-04:00

I don't know if this is even possible, but...

The entire floor of my office smells like someone sprinkled butter and body odor on their popcorn before they tossed in the microwave and left it to burn.

Cheap cheapness

2010-08-09T09:21:00.002-04:00

It's time for me to get crotchety and old.
Ok, I'm not going to make any patriotic comments on what our country does and what other countries do, or draw any conclusions on what is better now. You can probably interpret my feelings from what I will say. And here is where I will sound like an old man.

They don't make crap like they used to.

Even pencils. Actually, it's the pencils that bother me the most! I'm an artist and so I use a lot of pencils and I spend a lot of time sharpening said pencils. And it bothers the crap out of me that the above can happen.

I bought my son 2 24 packs of pencils for school. The teacher asked that they come to their first day with all pencils sharpened. So I broke out our newish pencil sharpener and opened the box of 24 pencils.

Of the 24 pencils 6 were defective. By that I mean that they will never sharpen fully. Up and down the pencil graphite is a series of small breaks, so after you sharpen it for a few seconds the graphite tip breaks off and you have to start all over. You never get to use it. Of the 18 that were not defective in that way, the wood was so chewed up that actually taxed the electric sharpener to sharpen them.

After sharpening 30 pencils the motor burned out on this sharpener.

Ordinarily I am for technology replacing mundane manual tasks like using a crank pencil sharpener. But only if the technology can actually do as good a job or better. Here is my vote for going back to crank pencil sharpeners. Oh, and quality pencils that you can actually use would be nice too.

Grammar

2010-07-22T11:27:00.002-04:00

I'm currently in my office listening to my old boss give grammar lessons to one of his new employees. I'm not certain of the error that was made, but it has something to do with mixing present perfect and past tenses.

So you know: This former supervisor says "Supposingly" instead of supposedly. This is but one of his lexicographic foibles.

The Glass is Half Negative

2010-07-07T13:49:00.005-04:00

It is widely accepted that the positive way to indicate that a glass is at 50% capacity is to state, "My glass is half full." The negative being to say, "My glass is half empty." But what do you say when your glass is at 50% capacity of something negative?

Would it be positive to say, "My glass is half full of poison?" Or would it be negative. I suppose that depends on whether you have already ingested the other half! But supposing you had not drunk half a glass of poison and you were now sitting before the glass that was at 50% capacity with hemlock would it be more positive to say, "My glass is half full!" or, "My glass is half empty!"

Ok, let us say that it was not poison, or anything that could kill you, but rather something that you truly did not wish to drink. Let us imagine that your daughter has spent the last hour conjuring up a pot of hot cocoa, but by some mishap she has laden it with four times the salt required. It will not kill you to drink it, but it will pain you. At such a time it would be more positive to say, turning to your wife who has not managed to drink as much as you, "My glass is half empty!"

Anyway, my car ran a little hot yesterday so this morning I opened the radiator cap and found that the radiator was half empty of mud! I'm trying to be positive about this, but something tells me this is very bad.

Heart Healthy drinks

2010-07-07T13:35:00.004-04:00

So I was thinking about healthy foods and healthy eating and it occurred to me that most health foods are only passively healthy. I think science should create foods that are aggressively healthy. Mostly because I'm lazy, but I want to live forever anyway.

My Idea: I think we should develop a drink that has enough caffeine in it to amp up our heart rate to 70/75% of our maximum heart rate and keep it there for 20 minutes.

I told my friend, Keith, about my idea. He's a nurse practitioner who specializes in cardiovascular health.

I asked:
If I drink enough caffeine to get my heart rate up to 75% of my max for 20 minutes would it count as a cardio work out?

He answered:
Yes, until you go into V-fib and die. Then it would stop being cardio.

So there are some kinks I need to work out in my idea. But rest assured, aggressively healthy foods are the future.

Prediction:
By the year 2020 they'll have drinks that can make you fly!

Part-time Quit II

2010-07-06T09:58:00.003-04:00

I spoke with Rebecca about my Part-Time Quit© idea. She hated it and loved it.

On the one hand she is an employer. She manages a veterinary hospital. People are constantly trying to finagle schedule changes so they can have more time off or less time off. People want to work morning when they are supposed to work evenings and vice versa.

On the other hand, every time someone tries to part-time quit© she wants to part-time quit© herself.

Employee: Rebecca, I've decided to part-time quit©. I don't want to work Mondays, Tuesdays or Wednesdays anymore.

Rebecca: Oh, I'm sorry, but I can't process that request.

Employee: But why?

Rebecca: Well, I part-time quit© just a moment before you did. I'm currently off the clock.

Employee: What hours did you part-time quit©?

Rebecca: I part-time quit© all hours where I have to deal with bull-shit.

Part-time Quit

2010-07-05T11:19:00.003-04:00

Having a hard time giving a crap today. It's days like today when I wish I could part-time quit. I would keep my job, but only part-time. This job wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to be here in the mornings. If I could come in after lunch and work until I finished, that'd be dandy.

I want to part-time quit.

touchy

2010-07-01T11:13:00.003-04:00

Managers get so up-tight when you say, "I don't feel like it."

No one respects honesty anymore. I'll still do the work, probably. I was just saying that I didn't want to do the work.

What?

2010-06-30T15:39:00.002-04:00

I was walking back from the restroom to my office when a co-worker stopped me in the hall. He said, "Hello" and I said "Hello" back. Then he said, "I see you're wearing a shirt."

... blink-blink

I think some people have a conversation quota. They cannot let certain moments pass without a minimum number of words being spoken. It doesn't seem, however, that those words need to matter or mean anything to anyone.

If quizzle pop so lotta water salad puffle. Biz dip.

Review - Cocoa Beach

2010-06-30T15:14:00.002-04:00

Ok, so I never reviewed the actual place where we stayed.

REVIEW:
COCOA BEACH -eh

It was ok, I guess. Having no money in a place that is 99.99% commercial will really dump on your impression of it. But it was an alright beach town. What was really terrible was Cape Canaveral. Man.

Cape Canaveral is like that boy that went to middle school with you. You remember the one; he never washed his hair and he pierced his own nipple with a safety pin. Yeah, classy. But he sank to all time trashy lows when he was caught in the boys' bathroom smoking and making out with his sister. Gross. That's Cape Canaveral.

Cocoa Beach is the sister. It's still gross that she'd kiss her brother, but in 7th grade she had the hottest body in school, so remarkably everyone forgave her; even the girls. That's Cocoa Beach. It's not the classiest place in the world, but you don't have to marry it.

Histe Up the John B. Sail -and an ORBITZ review

2010-06-29T09:53:00.008-04:00

Ok, so when does a trip begin?
1. When you arrive at your destination?
2. When you start the trip to your destination?
3. The moment you clock out at work the day before?
4. Or does it start when you begin to plan the trip and get the kids involved and fired up about all of the things you will all be doing?

In March we started planning our trip to Gulf Shores, Alabama. We went last year and we liked it a lot. So we were planning a repeat.

Sadly, BP broke the Gulf of Mexico. Rebecca and clung to our reservations for about a month too long, hoping BP would do ANYTHING. But they just looked at the catastrophe they created like it was spilled water colors and that any moment Mommy would come along and fix it.

About a month before our vacation we started a serious last minute redo. Everything was out the window. But we found new stuff and tried our best to get the kids psyched about the new destination.

We had booked out vacation with Orbitz, so I cancelled them through Orbitz.

Review:
Orbitz Customer Service - F!
Utter and abysmal failure does not capture the craptatistitude with which Orbitz handled this account and subsequently ruined our vacation.

Review:
Orbitz Ability to Totally and Completely RUIN Your Vacation - A
Yes, I blame Orbitz. Completely and totally.

Here is a short background and then I'll get to the pics.

I canceled my vacation via the Orbitz website, as directed by Orbitz. I got a message that clearly stated my reservation was canceled, but that it was not technically complete until I received a call from the Hotel I was staying at.

A week went by and I had not heard from the Gulf Shores Hotel. It was a week until our vacation at Cocoa Beach (the new location). I called the Gulf Shores Hotel and spoke to the very nice Danielle. She told me that they had heard nothing from Orbitz and that I needed to call Orbitz, not cancel on-line. Further, I needed to wait on the phone while Orbitz called the hotel and canceled the reservation.

I did that. I spoke to a woman named Lukewlla (or something). She told me that she had called the hotel, had spoken to Danielle and that I would be receiving a refund on my deposit. Since she knew Danielle's name I thought that everything was peachy.

Our first night at the hotel we checked our bank account to find that the Gulf Shores Hotel had charged us for our full stay. We had no cash to spend on our vacation. When I called the hotel Danielle said that Orbitz had never called. When I called Orbitz they said, "We can see that you called on June 18, but there is no documentation of what was said in that conversation."

So, I had this new lady cancel the reservations again and contact the Gulf Shores Hotel. The next morning I called the Gulf Shores Hotel and Danielle told me that she had not received any documentation from Orbitz. However, she did tell me that she was going to reverse the charges. I would have my money back, but not until my vacation was over.

I called Orbitz back and yelled at the first person to pick up the phone. Was it her fault? No. Did I care? Not really. Do I care now? I'm trying to, but no, not really.

So on to the Vacation.

We chose Cocoa Beach because it seemed pleasant enough and it came recommended by just about everyone who had been there. We also liked the fact that it was so close to the Kennedy Space Center and a nice sized zoo. Our kids like to go to the zoo on vacation.

I told Rebecca that I was going to take a bazillion pictures this year, since last year I had only taken a few and we had regretted it. I said, "Everyone will be annoyed with how many pictures I take. This is a warning."

The vacation started off with this pic just over the border of Florida. I love Palm Trees.

On the first day I took the camera up to the coast where my kids were splashing in the water. I did this last year and got some really great shots. Then a big wave comes along. The tiniest little bit of water splashed on the camera and it quit working instantly. There is no way the water caused it. First of all, it didn't get that wet. Secondly, when I opened the battery and memory card slots, they were totally dry. Nevertheless, the camera was completely broken. All we had left was my 1.3 megapixel phone camera.

That night as we spent way too much money on a fish dinner that tasted like tires we debated spending a little cash on a new camera. Little did we know that night we would find that all of our money was gone!

In spite of Orbitz outrageous assault on our vacation, we tried to have a good time.

Here's the beach. Those surfers in the corner were desperately trying to impress that girl with them. They kept wrestling each other to the ground and holding the other's head under water. Sadly, the girl seemed slightly impressed by all of this.

On the second day I made a sand castle:

One of my better efforts. It looked way more impressive in person. This was about 12 stories tall.

Here is our resort. It sat on top of my daughter's head. That's her blond scalp at the bottom of the picture.

Some waves. As best I can tell they are retreating from this vacation.

Here is a pic from the zoo. This pretty little island was surrounded by gigantic alligators lazily swimming around and looking up at us like we were a buffet. What a metaphor.

By far the favorite attraction for my children was this:

It is a pirate ship kiddie pool. I have to admit, it was pretty cool. Every night after dinner we'd take the kids for night swimming at the pool. They'd run around and splash and play until they were just dead tired. It was awesome. Except for the last night when this boy started getting a bit too physical with these other two girls. They were wrestling and kissing. The pool rules stated that only ages 12 and under could play in the pool. I asked the boy how old they were. He said 17 and the girl said 13. Ok, gross. I asked them to leave and he said that he was watching his kid brother. We looked around and saw a six year old boy hanging upside down from the bow of the pirate ship. After a few seconds 17 realized that this was probably dangerous and told his brother to climb down. I called security, but they did not eject 17 from the pool. I was tempted to call Child Welfare, but I let it go.

Oh yeah, and we all got sunburned.

And here is the final casualty:

It seems our house sitter walked by these plants every day and didn't think, "Wow, those plants might need some water." They were such lovely Petunias when we left.

Not Cat Food!

2010-06-16T09:45:00.003-04:00

I have really neglected the "This is Not Cat Food" section of my blog. It isn't as though my cat, Sammy, has not been stealing food. He does it constantly. I guess I just haven't been posting it.

Well, this weekend he really made me mad.

background: We bought a fruit bowl and we put it on a very small island in our kitchen (I should have taken a picture of it). Anyway, there is very little room on this island when the bowl is on top of it. And to date the none of the cats had attempted to jump up there.

Well, this weekend my in-laws came over. My father-in-law is a farmer and he brought us a bag of his own tomatoes! Nothing better than fresh, home grown tomatoes.

So we dumped them all in the fruit bowl and began dreaming of tomato sandwiches and such.

Not ten minutes after the tomatoes were placed in the fruit bowl did Rebecca walk in on Sammy teetering on the ledge of the island, face down in the fruit bowl. His face was all red and juicy from his kill. I was so mad. He took at least one bite out of 7 tomatoes. I guess he was looking for the juiciest one. This is his kill:

I tried to take some close ups, but my camera phone doesn't do close ups very well:

That cat loves vegetables.

Update on things

2010-06-11T08:49:00.002-04:00

Challenge:
I'm likely not going to complete my project by the time July 7 rolls around. I have completed one page of about 50. See the page here. The picture is very dark because it did not fit on my scanner.

Anyway, there are only 3.5 weeks until July 7 and one of those weeks I'll be on vacation. So I'm expecting to lose my challenge to Blizzard. But if I do I have a back up challenge to myself prepared.

Exercise:
I have been trying to reduce my gut and hopefully slim down for my vacation. Well, I failed at that one too. I have gone from 165 to about 162. Whoo hoo! I have, however, reduced my resting heart rate. It has gone from 70 to 64. That's a considerable improvement. The only problem is that all this cardio exercise is making me pretty darn hungry.

Humor in this post:
I ordered the humor in this post on line AND I paid to have it shipped next day. It's been two days and there's still no funny. I guess that's technically my fault, but I'm going to blame it on the Internet.

Review - the Water Jet

2010-05-27T13:58:00.005-04:00

Ok, I haven't done a review in a while, but this product is in desperate need of one.

You may have seen this product advertised in a commercial:

Especially if you watch a lot of late night cable TV, which I, sadly, do.

Well, the commercial makes it look like this wonderful product is set to replace the pressure washer as the means by which you clean your house, spray off your patio, hose down your car, et cetera. The commercial makes this product look awesome. It is remarkable powerful this product is... in the commercial. IN THE COMMERCIAL it can do anything a pressure washer can do.

And it is only $20.00

REVIEW:
COMMERCIALS - Lies, damn lies.
Who didn't already know that, right?

fine
REVIEW:
the WATER JET - D minus. Don't buy it.
Yes, the Water Jet makes the water come out of your garden hose faster than it otherwise would have without the Water Jet. But, no, this product doesn't not suck.

Yes, this product will remove the moss and dirt build up on your patio; sort of. But no, it will not do it quickly and it will not not waste a lot of water. (the double not was intentional) It took me about five minutes to spray the leaves off my 10' by 10' patio. I could have swept it in 2. And though it did remove the moss and dirt it did it begrudgingly and I had to focus on a single spot for several seconds. That's a lot of water wasted.

Yes, this product does come with an alternative head for a different kind of spray. But no, it also doesn't not suck.

No, this product will NOT remove the mildew from your vinyl siding. The commercial says it will, but not at my house.

Basically, this product does make the water come out faster, but only marginally. It will not come out of your hose at pressure washer speeds. For $20.00 it is totally not worth it. I wouldn't pay $5.00 for it.

There is a product out there that can do the job the Water Jet does for much less. Free even:

It's called your thumb.

If you need more power, rent/buy/borrow a pressure washer.

Update!

2010-05-26T09:49:00.005-04:00

HOLY CRAP!

Someone at the Blizzard company must have read my blog!
(Because this blog is such an bellwether for all things pop-culture and gamey)

Star Craft II comes out 7-27-2010.

In case you haven't been reading lately, about two months ago I jokingly challenged myself to finish as many projects as I could before Star Craft II finally came out. SCII has been "talked about" for almost ten years now. I didn't think Blizzard would ever get it's act together. Oops.

That means I have six weeks to finish as many projects as possible. And let's be real, finishing one project in that time will be a miracle.

So the project I have chose to focus on is "The Birds and the Bees" story. I probably won't finish it by then, but I'm going to try. I wish I could have done the animation project, as I was so much closer to finishing, but my 9 year old computer is just in too bad a shape to do anything appreciable with it.

So, Blizzard called me on my challenge! The heat is on.

I'll keep you posted.

Pant cuffs

2010-05-26T09:22:00.002-04:00

I don't like buying new clothes.

I resent that fact that I'm still at a 9 to 5 and I have never liked wearing a collar and leash (shirt and tie).

One of the things I hate most about clothes is how well they fall apart.

As an aside, I know that Wal-Mart is "inexpensive," and that some people take that to mean it is the better deal, but cheap is cheap. Almost every article of clothing I've ever purchased there has fallen apart at break neck speeds. Last year I bought this amazing looking Hawaiian shirt there for $10.00 (I love Hawaiian shirts). I washed it once! The second time I wore it I found a hole right in the front chest. Cheap is cheap.

I digress.

So, one of the things I hate the most about pants is how the cuffs tend to become all raggedy and frayed. I tend to not care myself, but in the past year I have had no less than four people comment on my clothes.

My former boss called me out in front of others for having a hole in the bottom of my shoe.

A new guy in our unit looked at me and then said to his boss, "So we can dress casual here every day?"

My current boss told me that I needed to have some sports coats on hand, should I need to look good. (ouch)

And a co-worker, recently, told me that I should tend to the frayed edges of my pants.

"I cut them off when they get too long," I said.
"My husband would be freaking out," she said. I wasn't really offended by this because I know her and I know she wasn't being mean. She was just giving me a hard time.
"What would he do?"
"Well, he's an ex-Marine." She likes to remind us of that frequently. "He always burns the frayed edges off of his pants."

Really? I thought. That might work! I was thinking that perhaps the frayed edges would some how cauterize or melt together and prevent further fraying! That would be worth looking into.

Now, I'm not going to say whether the burning of the frayed edges of your pants is a good or bad idea. Perhaps it works well if it is done right. Perhaps it works better if you have a synthetic blend of fibers in your pants. But cotton does not cauterize. It just burns. And when it is done burning instead of having little pieces of frayed pants you have slightly shorter and slightly darker pieces of frayed pants.

What I will do is give you some advice.

IF YOU ARE GOING TO BURN THE FRAYED EDGES OF YOUR PANTS:

1. Make certain your pants are not 100% cotton. Maybe you can do it correctly with 100% cotton, but I did not.

2. Don't, under any circumstances, assume that burning off the edges of your pants can be done while you are wearing said pants.

3. Remember, that when the 100% cotton pants you are wearing start to burn, they burn on the outside and inside of the pant leg.

4. Consider buying new pants.

I suck at checkers.

2010-05-24T12:38:00.002-04:00

Most people think of checkers as a kids version of chess. But it isn't. At least, that's what I tell myself every time I lose. Which is just about every time I play.

No matter how hard I try I cannot keep from falling into some stupid trap. One minute I'll have the perfect defense and I'll be poised to clean up the board. But the next time my opponent moves I find myself lured into a trap where he bounces all over the board and takes two, three, or sometimes four of my chips.

I think this game is rigged by some secret society. Probably the Masons. Or the Jasons. The Jasons are like the Masons, only you have to be named Jason to join. A few people have honorarily been named Jason so that they could join the Jasons, but mostly those were Masons or Graysons.

If you have any information on this checkers conspiracy let me know. I'm planning on going undercover as a Jason to try and gather evidence of a world wide checkers scam.

Different Day, Same Shirt

2010-05-19T09:37:00.004-04:00

I think I might be wearing the same shirt I wore on Monday.

I've been kind of frazzled this week and I wasn't really paying attention to my attire on that first day. I know I wore my light brown pants then and today I'm wearing my dark brown pants. So no one should say anything about that.

The shirt is kind of nondescript:

It's just a dark red shirt with a line pattern on it.

I rolled the sleeves up hoping that would throw people off from discovering my faux pas. "That can't be the same shirt that he wore on Monday. It is short sleeved."

Who am I kidding? I feel like that dirty kid from high school who wore a jacket to school in the summer to hide the fact that he was wearing the same shirt every day. When the teacher finally asked it was discovered that he had run away from home and had been living in the school courtyard for a week.

You gotta give that kid credit though. He decided that his family wasn't worth a crap, but his education was still important to him!

I have not run away from home.

By the way, you can see from the picture that I have gained quite a belly. That is the extra 20 pounds I am carrying around. Actually, that's the extra 18. I'm carrying 2 pounds in my double chin. sheesh

PS. the photo on my badge is an exact likeness.

Sorry. I died.

2010-05-14T09:59:00.004-04:00

Sorry I haven't posted in a few. I had a medical emergency. I didn't exactly die, though. That title is a bit misleading.

I woke up Monday feeling normal. I used the bathroom like normal (which is important later). Went downstairs to make breakfast and my stomach started bloating up. Suddenly I didn't feel like breakfast.

I went back upstairs to lie down for a bit, but by the time I got upstairs my stomach was so tight it was fairly uncomfortable. And unfortunately my body’s way of dealing with this increasingly bloated stomach was for all of my ab muscles to lock down.

I tried to lie down, but then it felt like my stomach was going to explode. Standing... no good. I could only sit hunched over – but still every muscle in my stomach was cramped. My belly was tight and sore. I looked pregnant. And truth be told, I thought I might be giving birth to some alien baby.

Over the period of about half an hour this began to wear me down. It was hurting and it was relentless. Like a sit-up that never ends and never lets go. I finally had to ask Rebecca to take me to the ER.

The drive over was miserable. I was sweating and tired, but I couldn't rest because my stomach wouldn't relent.

Luckily the ER was empty so I didn't have to wait long. The nurse got me set up on the bed and told me to lie down, which I couldn't do because it hurt too friggin much.

Then the EMT put in my IV catheter. Right as he stuck the needle in my arm I got a wave of pain, so naturally everything in my torso flexed and a fountain of blood when squirting out of my arm. Sadly my acid blood dissolved the EMT into a puddle on the ground, but another one came in immediately to take his place.

Finally the Nurse Practitioner entered the room and asked me what was wrong. I told her my problem and that I couldn’t stretch out because of the pain. Naturally she told me to stretch out. When I couldn’t they called in an army of nurses to grab my legs and arms. Ten bulking male nurses grabbed my feet and tried to stretch them out. It was either ten bulking nurses, or ten marines. Or it might have been a single lady. I can’t remember. I’m pretty sure it was ten bulking marine nurses. The pain was so intense I accidentally kicked a couple of them through the glass wall and into the nurses’ station. They collapsed in a heap on the floor and almost woke the doctor in sitting in the chair.

The rest of the throng finally got me subdued and the Nurse Practitioner was able to work her magic. First she pulled out the extremely expensive device called “her hand.” And with that she performed a complicated maneuver called “poking my stomach.” After she prodded me she said that she was going to test my blood, my urine, do a CT scan and an ultrasound. Then she left.

As soon as she walked out the door I realized I was already feeling better. THEN the nurse walked in with the narcotics. She was about to juice me up, but I told her I didn’t need them. Suddenly all my pain was gone. “Did you fart?” she asked, but I hadn’t. Nor had I burped. I just sat there embarrassed.

So after about thirty minutes my doctor awoke, came in and introduced himself… to my wife. Then he looked at me and said, “You’re having pain?” Without waiting for an answer he gets on the far side of the bed to palpate my stomach. I almost didn’t feel him touching me, compared to the Nurse Practitioner. “It’s probably nothing serious,” he said to Rebecca. I think he might have winked at her. “These things are usually gas or maybe a stone.” He stood at the foot of my bed in a sort of casual-cool - feet apart stance, and absently breathed on his stethoscope. He smiled and polished it on his coat. “It hurts right here,” I said and touched at the base of my rib cage, which was now the only place that actually did hurt. “Yeah,” he said dismissively, still looking at my wife. “So anyway,” he chirped as he walked out the door, “blood tests… cat scan… hem…” His voice was cut off by the closing of the door.

I guess I should feel lucky. For the most part ERs don’t use doctors anymore. They are too expensive. Apparently having the doctor come in and almost touch a person, and say things like, “blood test” costs too much for the hospital to make a profit.

I asked Rebecca if she thought the doctor was hitting on her. She said there was no doubt. It was the same doctor, it seems, that saw her a few months back when she was in the ER for a migraine. Apparently on that day he listed to her heart by putting his stethoscope squarely on her left nipple and cupping her boob. Nice. We revere these people, why exactly? Rebecca took it in stride. In college she had to go to the emergency room three separate times for three separate issues. Every single time the doctor (always a different one) seemed to think he could only be certain what she had if he did a pelvic exam. Why? Do doctor’s speak vagina?

Shortly after the doctor left my Nurse Practitioner came back in the room. Embarrassed I told her that I was not hurting anymore. “Are you ready to go?” she asked. Before I could answer my wife said, “I’m worried that it might be a gall stone.” “Well, we have him scheduled for a cat scan. Let’s see what that shows us.”

The CT scan was negative. My blood test was negative. My urine test was negative. Sigh.

After three hours at the ER the Nurse Practitioner came in again and said that they were dismissing me. My diagnosis was “abdominal pain.” I kid you not. My diagnosis was my symptom. I knew that before I set foot in the damn ER. “So you ruled out a gall stone?” Rebecca asked. “Well,” the NP said, “It didn’t show on the CT scan, but cat scans are the best way to look for gall stones.”

She literally left it at that and walked out.

Is it any wonder insurance premiums are shooting through the roof? I get no diagnosis AND my insurance was probably billed a couple grand. I got ignored by a doctor and the NP gave me a test that isn’t the best at determining if I have the one thing my symptoms might point to. Stupid.

So I’m just telling everyone who asked that I had my pride removed laparoscopically.

2010-05-03T09:32:00.002-04:00

You should all be very proud of me. I busted my hump and got some things done this weekend. None of them really qualify as projects, but they were jobs.

Here you can see our Petunias and our new solar powered lights. Digging this ground up was a horrible chore. Just rocks upon rocks. But once it was done putting the lights in was easy. However, this morning a deluge of rain hit our house and I’m afraid it may actually wash the lights away.

We’ll see. Anyway, it was a big job and it is done. This guy helped:

Some people think garden gnomes are cheesy. They are. But I like them. I like them when they are not prominent or big. I like them relatively hidden, where finding them is a little surprise. I haven’t thought of a place for this guy yet, but it will be in the back yard somewhere. I’m worried that if I put him in the front yard he’ll get gnome-napped. Theft of magical creatures has escalated in this region of the world. We must protect our unreal cohabitants.

I got a lot of non-yard work stuff done too. I worked out. Whoo hoo! Shortly afterwards I died. And I went through about half of my basket of projects to find the ones I would consider as suitable for my challenge.

So far it is looking like the best two projects for the challenge are the 3D Snow Scene, as I am so deep into it already, and it was recent enough that I still recall everything that I was doing, the Birds and the Bees book, as I have the whole story laid out, and Bunny Wars – the comic book – as it is fairly nearly done also. While I was looking, however, I found several clips of stories that I had long forgotten about. Some new ideas began to brew in my head for how I might combine these into a cohesive book. We’ll have to see.

And, of course, as I am gearing up to really start plugging away at this mystery project my boss announces that he has been promoted. This in and of itself is not an issue, however, two people already have suggested I apply for his position. That means more time at work, less time to goof off, and about two months of interview preparation. But the money would be so nice.

The Button Rebellion

2010-04-29T12:37:00.004-04:00

I hate "business attire."

The very concept of making yourself less comfortable so you can go do something you really don't want to be doing is absurd. If anything, we should be dressing down for work.

I suppose it might be easier to wear clothes you hate if you love your job and care about keeping it. Or maybe I'm just a child. I hate wearing ties, and matching clothes. And I've never polished my shoes. I just can't get into that part of adulthood.

My normal attire to work is a pair of nice slacks and a shirt that probably isn't ironed and is definitely several seasons out of style. But lately my clothes have been rebelling against me. Like a plague my shirts have been dropping the second button from the collar:

These are just a few examples. It is rampant in my closet.

And no, it has nothing to do with weight gain. I don't have fat clavicles. Is that even possible?

Losing a button is always a pain in the ass, but losing this particular button is the worst. See, not even I will go to work with two buttons undone. That's super 70s and it's tacky. I just can't do it. So that means if I'm going to wear these shirts I have to wear a tie. In case I didn't mention it before, I hate wearing ties. But the people in my office think that I'm starting to "come around" to business attire.

NO! My clothes are rebelling against me.

I guess I should take these shirts to the cleaners and have them sew buttons back on. But then the cleaners is just going to clean them and press them and starch them and they'll look super nice and everyone in my office is going to think I'm finally fitting in.

You just can't win.

Frustration

2010-04-27T09:27:00.004-04:00

So today I thought I would throw some pics at you.

This is my project corner. It would be wrong to think that this represents all of the unfinished projects that I have floating around the house. It would also be wrong to think that because I have this neat little basket and night stand for my stuff that my wife doesn't mind the projects being housed here. Quite the contrary.

I watched the show "Hoarders: Buried Alive" this weekend. I think I may be a project hoarder.

What is under the night stand is just books; what you expect to find in a night stand. However, on top represents projects I'm kind of presently working on. I say "kind of" because I haven't done any work on them in about a month.

The basket in the back represents the bulk of my unfinished work with the black shoulder bag being those things that are important enough for me to carry them around in case I get a moment to work on them. (I rarely do).

Within the basket are probably fifty projects ranging from notes next to a doodle to folders with projects that are deep into production/development. sigh.

I had intended to go through my projects this weekend to make a comprehensive list for you folks and to pick out two or three that I thought I might be able to use in my challenge. But I also wanted to get my son a new box spring.

I did a sloppy job of measuring his mattress, assuming that these things were standard and that I could be equally as sloppy at the store. His mattress is 38" wide by 74" long. I also measured my car to ensure that it would fit. It was perfect! The back of my car was just right to fit the box spring.

I went to the store and found the prefect box spring. I measured it sloppily and found that it was near enough. I was just about to take it when I noticed a giant orange mark on the side. So I looked around a found a box spring nearby for the same price and I assumed it was the same.

For some reason I did not question that the box spring did not fit into my car, though the measurements said that it should. I assumed it was just a situation of bad luck on my part. Since it did not fit I had to ride with it hanging out my back window which meant I could not take the interstate, which meant a 20 minute drive home became an hour drive home.

Well, as you can tell from the picture above I was wrong by about 3 inches. The gap you see there is where the edge of his bed is separated from the frame. I was so mad! I cussed at the box spring a good bit, which made it cry, but I didn't care because I felt it had misrepresented itself in the store.

I was just about to throw my hands up in despair when I decided to check Isabella's bed. Her box spring was the perfect size and her bed frame was not as confining as Cole's. So I swapped the box springs. Bella got a brand new box spring and Cole got a 4 year old hand me down - which is still much better than what he had. I told them they both got new box springs. I'm a terrible daddy.

Anyway, that rot took about 4 hours of my day and I had intended it to take 1. My holiday was blown. I had about 1.5 hours left before I had to get the kids and my back yard grass was literally 2 feet tall. I had to mow it. It took about an hour. But while I mowed I found four of these:

Lucky me.

alotsameetings and a challenge

2010-04-22T10:31:00.004-04:00

I had alotsa meetings yesterday, so I didn't have a chance to write.

Today I have thought of a way to challenge myself.

There is a computer game out there by the name of Star Craft.
You may have heard of it.

Star Craft came out in 1998. It took them about 7 years just to announce that they were going to release a sequel, Star Craft II (clever name).

Some time around 2005 Blizzard announced the development of Star Craft II.
They said it would take about 2 years to develop.
Two years later they said "about two more years."

In 2008 they said it would release mid 2009.
In 2009 they said late 2009... then mid 2010.

Well, it sounds like these people are about as good at finishing things as I.

So here is my challenge to myself:

I want to see how many of my projects I can finish before Blizzard has Star Craft II on the shelves ready to buy. I'm not counting those "jobs" that I have on my list. Those are too easy. I'll still do them, but they don't count.

I think that I can have at least 2 small projects done or one medium project before Star Craft II comes out.

I'll be a closer/finisher yet.

Ugh.

2010-04-20T15:39:00.003-04:00

Undervalued. Under appreciated.

My coworker, Kim, comes to me and says, "Michael, where does the WIA print screen pull it's information from?"

"I don't know," I say. "I assume the WIA Registration database."

"Yeah, that's what I assumed too," says she. "But I wanted to be certain in case the changes I'm making on another screen affect it."

"Ok," I say. "I'll run some numbers."

So I do. I run a program to pull all of the customers from the WIA Registration database. But I can't stop at that. What if I happen to get a person with the same WIA information as they have on the Employment Services database? How would I know which was which?

What I have to do is find a customer who had different information in one database than in the other. So I pull all of the customers from the Employment Services database. This is also problematic because though they have the same kind of information it is formatted in different ways.

So I have to run a program to sync the formats.

Then I run a program to find all of the customers whose information on one database does not match the information on another. This, by the way, is not uncommon, but not an error when it does occur.

So I find 484 customers. Then I compare their information to the WIA print screen and find that it does indeed use the WIA Registration database.

So I go to Kim, after about an hour of work and say, "It was the WIA Registration database."

"Ok," she says.

Ok?
sigh

Closer-Finisher

2010-04-20T12:48:00.005-04:00

Ok, as I mentioned last Friday I am a plant. A creative ideas person. Unfortunately I suffer from not being able to finish anything. I have no closer-finisher bones in my body.

I've been thinking about this and I figure that like anything else, finishing something takes practice. So to get better at finishing something I am going to have to practice finishing things. As luck would have it I have a treasure trove full of unfinished things. Here is the beginning of a list of things I have yet to finish:

1. Planting the strawberries - small yard work job.
2. Posting pictures of my recent yard work, perhaps including strawberries - small job.
3. Pirates - Huge animation project in the early stages of development. This is how far I've gotten.
4. Elves - Medium animation project that is far closer to being done. View.
5. Bunny Wars - comic book project. I am half done with the first book.
6. Fort - Small project of a video game idea.
7. The Birds and the Bees - a medium picture book project that is mostly done.
8. Snake Bear - a medium picture book project that is barely begun.
9. Book of Bad Poetry - a large project. You'd be surprised how hard it is to write a bad poem that is so bad people will actually enjoy it.
10. Pseudo Auto Biography - Huge project. This is probably 1/3 done. The problem is that try as I might I cannot make my life interesting; either on paper or in reality. This book is mostly funny, but no substance; think Jerry Seinfeld's last book only imagine it was good. (Not that I'm somehow better than Seinfeld. No way. But I was outrageously disappointed when I read his book. So boring and not funny. -this has been a parenthetical REVIEW: an unfunny D!)
11. This list - a small job for which it will take a few days to gather all of the information.

So there you have the beginning of the list of things I never finish. God willing I'll finish the list at least.

On the scale of grand things a project is much bigger than a job. I think that I will start with a job. Perhaps a small victory will be good for my self esteem. And since my strawberry plants are in danger of dying if I do not get them into the ground, they make the best place to start.

PS. I weighed 161 pounds last night. I'm down 4 pounds. That's not bad for the first two day. But in truth, I always drop the first 10 pounds pretty quickly. I'll be down to 155 by May. The real trick will be getting into the 140s.

I don't really know if this is working. I've been working out for a little less than a week now and I've already doubled my posts. Do you think it's working?

Curse

2010-04-20T11:26:00.004-04:00

I think there is a curse on me. It isn't a very big curse. In fact, I can hardly think of why someone would waste the effort. But it is real and frustrating.

I am unable to complete the Silmarillion by J.R.R.Tolkien. I have attempted to read it a hundred times and I can never get past the part about good verses evil. Just kidding. It's all about good verses evil. But there is a part in the middle of the beginning, towards the beginning of the end of the beginning, but not so far as the beginning of the middle, that always boggs down on my brain and I shut down.

This past week I actually endeavored to defeat this book. I skipped straight to the middle, forsaking everything that the beginning held that I might not have read in all of my earlier attempts, and made a reading bee line for the end (or at least the middle of the middle). But I did not make it two pages before I realized that I had forgotten something integral in the beginning. I couldn't remember what the difference between Arda and Earth was and how they related to Ea (Arda is Earth, turns out, and Ea is the universe).

So, I had to skip back to the beginning. I opened up to somewhere in the middle of the beginning. But that part didn't give the answers I needed, so I skipped back further. I wound up reading the entire beginning of the beginning and pressing on into the middle of the beginning. I had found the answer to the aforementioned question that I sought, but for some reason I pressed on. And somewhere near the end of the middle of the beginning... or perhaps it was the beginning of the end of the beginning... I became disenchanted and sleepy and I closed the book.

I say disenchanted, but, as I have previously pointed out, I believe I was actually enchanted. This is clearly the work of a spell that someone has cast on me to prevent me from finishing this famous and seminal work.

But the joke is on you, foul enchantress, for the law of three fold return dictates that you will not be able to finish three books. HA! I hope it was worth it!

If I have any say in what books you will never finish it is these:

1. The Monster at the End of this Book.

Neither the Elmo, nor the Grover versions will you be able to complete! You will never know what horror lurks on the last page! Ha!

2. The novelization of the movie 6th Sense.

What is wrong with the kid in this book? Why can't Bruce Willis help him? What's going on with all of these ghosts? YOU'LL NEVER KNOW!

3. Influential and Braless Women of the Earth and Their Influence on American Society and the Emancipation of the Mind and the Vagina through the Art of Poetry, Bead Making and Tofu.

Here I sorta stepped out on a stereotypical limb. Since you have clearly put a spell on me I assume that you are a witch. That means you are likely a woman. It also means you probably don't wear a bra or shave your arm pits. These are lifestyle choices, and I don't look down on you for these gross and/or hot practices. I am also hoping that you are about college age and that in whatever women's studies course you are obviously in, this book is required reading. All of your friends and coven partners will be so disappointed when you fail this course. Were you planning on selling those beaded necklaces at the renaissance festival? Well, you'll never learn how to apply the clasp.

How's that for a bitter slice of karma pie!

Or you could just release me from this spell so I can finish this damn book!

Pain

2010-04-19T10:25:00.005-04:00

I didn't work out this weekend in the traditional sense. Instead I did yard work, and I think I got a lot more exercise than if I had just lifted weights.

I started out by plugging in my brand new clippers and trimming my front hedges which were way out of control. I say "were" which is a huge lie. They still are. I have 3 large hedges. Currently 2 are half done and one is fully untouched. As I was trimming the front of the second hedge I heard a small "pop," saw a flash of a spark and the the clippers died. Instantly I realized the value in the cordless clippers and I felt bad for teasing my father for all of the extension cords he has clipped through the years.

Now I have to decide if I want to go ahead and get the cordless clippers before I destroy another ten extension cords, of if I can find some way to hold the cord so it doesn't hang right in the way of the monster blades.

On Sunday I dug a 6 inch by 20 foot flower bed to line my side walk. (I'll show pictures when it is complete). I wanted to have it overflowing with petunias and lined with a nice brick wall to keep the good soil in and to keep the damn Bermuda grass (weeds) out. But I bled my garden budget dry already and I still have to get weed Round Up for the kudzu and ant hill killer. So the bricks are a luxury that will have to wait until next year.

In addition it was hard as |cussword| to dig that trench. First I had to get rid of some monster ivy. But even once that was done I had to dig up a ton of rocks. I couldn't believe how many rocks I found. I hauled away about 5 to 6 gallons of rocks. And not little pebble rocks either. These were serious rocks. Most of them were just under the size of a baseball. My only consolation is that this fall when I replace the petunias with pansies the rocks will not be an issue.

Anyway, all that is to say I busted my hump this weekend. Right now my back is sore, my inner thigh is tight, and the inside of my elbow, knee and colon feel suspiciously rebellious. I have a bad feeling that some time tonight, probably around 3am, every muscle in my body is going to revolt.

Hurray for home improvement.

PS. After my gardening work out I weigh 163 pounds. I lost two pounds. Yay.

Plant

2010-04-16T13:44:00.002-04:00

So it turns out I'm a plant.

My boss handed out this Belbin Team Inventory test last week to assess what kind of personalities he had in his team.

I'm a plant.

At first this sounded like a terrible thing to be, but it basically means a problem solver, creative "out-of-the-box" thinker. The kind of person you want to PLANT in every group.

That sounds a lot better! It sounds smart and mentally kick-ass. It sounds like I'm the guy with all the great ideas!

And it's kind of true. I get a lot of ideas. Some of them are really good. Some of them are terrible. Some of them are silly and some are serious. Some are for realistic businesses and some could only possibly exit in a fictitious world where physics doesn't have such a strangle-hold on reality. They come at me from out of nowhere and at any time.

"Michael, why are you complaining?" you might ask. "What's the problem with being a Plant?" Well, nothing exactly. They tend to be "absent minded," but that's no big deal. I just have to keep a spare set of keys nearby for when I lock myself out of the house or the car or just about anything that locks.

It isn't being a plant that is the problem. Not for me, anyway. The problem is that I'm not a CLOSER-FINISHER. I scored 0 as a Closer-Finisher.

I have no ability to finish anything.

These ideas are great. But they all are the same in that they will never see the light of day. They will never be finished ideas.

Have you ever seen that TLC show Hoarders? It's about people who cannot throw anything away and their houses become terrible tunnels of trash and treasures that cover the floor and stack up the walls. And all this garbage threatens to collapse in on the people within until the houses become condemned. Well, my brain is like those houses and the ideas are my trash.

I have started four books that remain unfinished. One is actually close to being half way done.
I have about three ideas for other books that I haven't even started.
I have started two comic books. One is actually pretty funny, I think. Will they see the light of day?
I started a daily comic strip that lasted a week.
I thought of a line of clothing for women that no respectable woman would wear.
I thought of a business for selling certain holiday items.
I thought of another business that would cater to role playing buffs.
I have started three animated cartoons. All of them have scripts. Some of them even have characters. None of them have momentum.
And last night I started writing the rules for a video game I would like to create.

Here are the things I have actually finished:

College - but only because my wife pushed me through it kicking and screaming.
A musical album - but I cannot take credit for it as my band-mate Franklin did all the real work.
A ton of short stories, but that hardly counts because they are really super short.
Two TV show scripts for a TV show that never made it past the pilot stage. Though I did technically finish them.

Being a Plant is great. But please, if you are a plant, make a partnership with a Closer-Finisher today!

PS. Any Closer-Finishers out there who want to manage a Plant?

PPS. This is an update of how my exercise is going. This morning when I wrote I was 165 pounds. I don't have a scale nearby, but I'm probably still pretty close to that. I had a light lunch, so maybe 163. So, there's a possibility that I may have lost 2 pounds. Go me.

The Last Loop

2010-04-16T10:35:00.002-04:00

I've reached the last loop on my belt. I'm 25 pounds over weight. Not bad by normal U.S. standards, but far worse than I ever wanted to be.

I'm only 5'7" so my projected weight is 130 to 140 pounds. I weigh 165.

I'm not about to turn this blog into a Weight Watchers convention. However, I have always been of the mindset that life is holistic. You cannot separate your body from you mind. As goes one so goes the other.

And if I am honest with myself I will note that as my ass has become increasing sewn to the sofa my writing has become increasingly decreased. I have not felt the surge of inspiration that I once did.

In other words my fat blood has slowed down my brain.

In all things exercise and practice are necessary. That includes writing and creativity. I have gotten lazy with my body and lazy with my writing. I think the two are linked. I need to exercise my mind with writing practice. And I need to exercise my body. And by exercising my body my mind will be refreshed with more oxygen and healthier blood/hormones/nutrients/etc.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah... and blah.

How this affects my blog:

In addition to exercising more to get my pants to fit the way they were designed, I am going to start writing to the blog more. I'm going to write even when I don't have anything to say. Hopefully we'll find that eventually I'll be funny again. I've pretty much failed with this post.

Fun time experiments

2010-04-09T09:23:00.005-04:00

For those of you who don't know I can be commissioned for work. An artist I met through the blog-o-sphere, Brian Gubicza
invited me to write a short fictional article based on a fictional event and character. See the finished project HERE.

This kind of work I am always happy to be a part of. (Or should I say, I am always happy of to be a part.)

I was especially glad to be a part of this project because Brian and his wife were so good about planning and paying attention to detail; a fact that I did not know for certain until I saw the results, but I was pretty sure would be the case based on his previous work (review his whole blog - it is awesome). The whole work turned out fabulously.

I am always open for little jobs here and there, whether collaborations, directed projects, or whatever. My fees can range from remarkably reasonable to ridiculous depending on whether you are a republican. just kidding

2010-03-16T13:13:00.002-04:00

If I had done better with the first half of my life I'd feel a lot more confident about the last half. Now it behooves me to contemplate what I will do differently in the middle half.

Yesterday Rebecca informed me that middle age does not technically set in until around age 45. Which means that I still have ten years to go. That seems kind of odd to me, doesn't it to you? I mean, the notion that I am still in the first "part" of my life; not yet in the middle. My pride wants to believe it. Heck yeah! I'll live till I'm 90. -Forget about the fact that most people don't.

If I'm still in the first part of my life that means I'm in the same part as my children. That doesn't seem right. Those smiling goblin-fairies that ruin all of my nice stuff and generally make my life perfect and wonderful look to me for life wisdom. And my greatest concern is how to get them to the point that I am at. How do they deal with mean friends and nice bullies. How do I make them well rounded and still give them choices? (Because kids don't choose to go to the theater). Am I really in the same stage of life as they?

Then, as I'm walking up the stairs, I come across a picture of me, Rebecca and Isabella the day Isabella was born. I am a child in that picture. Rebecca even more so. And that was only 9 years ago.

So maybe I am still in the first stage of my life. And if life keeps creeping along in these day by day increments... maybe I always will be.

Series of weird dreams

2010-03-04T09:52:00.002-05:00

Dream 1

A few nights ago I had a dream where Tom Hanks was trying to seduce my cat. Do not consider the grossness of this idea. Just remember it was a dream and dreams are not reality. The rules are different, as well as the moral requirements.

So Tom Hanks had this ability to change his size... and of course he could speak cat, and in a very Pepe Le Pew like manner he would attempt to woo my cat. (The cat, incidentally, was not a cat I own in reality, though I do own 4.) And very much like Pepe Le Pew, this cat wanted nothing to do with Tom Hanks. I assume that she either did not know his status as a huge movie star, or she was not impressed. Or maybe she did not want to deal with the hassles of paparazzi in spite of her unyielding attraction.

So there was Tom, scarcely a foot and a half tall, running about after my bothered cat. At last she seemed to have shaken poor Tom and she remembered her special hiding place that even had a lock on the door. The lock could only be opened by a cat claw and thus she believed this to be the best place to hide until Mr. Hanks affections flittered away to some other feline or similarly domesticated mammal.

She sneaked into the closet, where this hiding place itself was hidden. She stuck her claw into the door of this cabinet, and ere she opened the first door did she see one triumphant Tom Hanks tossing a lasso around her neck and "encouraging" her into the dark privacy of her secret suite.

I awoke. This was Tom's first visit into my dreams. I'd write him and tell him that he starred in my dream, but I'm not sure he would appreciate his role. And he might want to charge me royalties.

Dream 2/3/40
I have attempted to write out what happened in the dreams I had last night, but I cannot seem to put it into words. I just can't relate the weirdness of them. The best part was that there were two bad "agents" after this good agent. I believe the good agent was my wife... though I'm not 100% sure. I was trying to get to the good agent first to assist her. There was much machine gun fire, and I'm pretty sure I died about ten times, but it all turned out ok. I saw from a distance the good agent climb up an amusment park tower and take shelter in the look out room. I followed her up there and shortly behind me the two bad agents. It was only once in the look out room that I discovered why the good agent/my wife went there. She had a parachute and as soon as I arrived she did a platform dive to safety. The bad guys did not see this escape and thus they assumed that I was their target. I, however, could not jump out, and climbing back down would mean that I had to pass the baddies. So I waited and subsequently got shot a lot.

Some people assume that if you die in your dreams you die in reality. The theory is that your brain will not know how to deal with it's own demise and so it was shut down. I think this is a bunch of whoey. I mean seriously? We probably all die in our dreams over and over and over again. We just start new dreams and the old one is forgotten. I know I do. My brain treats it like a video game. If I did the dream skips back to a place earlier in the dream. Or sometimes I wake up.

Anyway, I kept skipping back to the place where Rebecca jumps out of the tower and I'm left to defend myself against the bad guys. So naturally I kept dying. It was rather frustrating. Finally I woke up, but I instantly fell back asleep. Only this time the game was reset and instead of climbing up the tower I learned it was my parents who had hired the hit men in an effort to stop my wife from interfering with the sale of the land we were chasing each other around on. But now the sale was final and we could all go out to dinner. So we did.

Tom Hanks did not show.

I shook the wrong can.

2010-02-01T10:06:00.001-05:00

I shook the wrong can. I'm one of the few people I know that actually likes the original V8 juice. It comes in an aluminum can and you have to shake it pretty vigorously if you want to loosen the veggie sludge at the bottom of the can. That's where the good nutrients are hiding.

I don't normally get much more than a V8 and a granola bar from the snack bar on Mondays because the fruit guy is here and I'll get a banana and maybe something else from him. But today I also got a Cherry Coke Zero. Not delicious, but calorie free.

I might as well have gotten a regular Cherry Coke because I'd have ingested the same amount of calories.

See, you don't just shake a V8 can - you have to shake it vigorously. And for a while. And I typically open it as soon as I'm done shaking.

So now I'm cleaning an eruption of coke zero from just about everything in my office.

Garlic

2010-01-27T15:01:00.002-05:00

This floor of my office building has the subtle smell of garlic; as if someone cooked a microwave Italian meal and then decided there wasn't enough garlic so they added a clove or two of their own.

It's actually strong enough that my eyes are watering.

I think there are some people who work here who have no sense of smell, or maybe a very weak one. It seems that in order to appreciate the flavors of foods they have to be super charged and over powering. About once a month this olfactory-disabled person has fish for lunch. One year it was so bad that the Commissioner actually sent out a letter banning fish. But that has passed into oblivion and now the fish are returning. Let us hope that our nose-lite person does not get it in his/her head that s/he wants garlic fish.

Zombies

2010-01-21T11:03:00.003-05:00

How does a zombie know at what point to stop eating it's victim?

Here are the facts:

Indisputable Fact 1. You never see two zombies attacking each other. They can attack the living alone or in groups. But whenever they are in groups they are unified in their march toward the living. They never stop and say, "Hey, I'll attack this dead thing next to me."

Conclusion: Zombies do not like to eat zombies. Why? Is dead flesh somehow harmful to the undead? No one knows.

Indisputable Fact 2. A person who has been bitten or scratched by a zombie will eventually become a zombie, assuming there is enough of said person left to be a zombie.

Conclusion 2: If a zombie does not eat quickly his meal will become his companion.

So how does a zombie know when to stop eating his victim?

Seriously. If you know, I'm interested.

Person cum Zombie: Help! Help! Zombies! Everyone run!

Zombie: Uuuugh. Brains. Flesh. moan

Person cum Zombie: Oh my! Though they are slow and stupid I cannot seem to outrun them. Oh, for some reason I am running back towards the zombies. Oh, now I've fallen down.

Zombie: Uuuuhg. Flesh. Brains. groan

Person cum Zombie: Oh, I'm being eaten! It hurts. Ouch. He has eaten my arm and torn my new blouse. Oh my. Huge chunks of my hair are being pulled out. Now his teeth are crushing my skull. That really smarts.

Zombie: Uuuugh. Yum. gobble

Person cum Zombie: Uuuuugh. Hey, you're eating me. And I, like you, am a zombie.

Zombie: Uuuugh. Oh, how very rude of me. I beg your pardon. Zombie flesh is gross. moan

Time and Year

2010-01-04T14:18:00.003-05:00

I've decided that I no longer wish to refer to the date and time by the overly simplistic human metrics. Hence will I refer to the time by the Age of the Universe. And my unit of measurement will be completed Universal Cycles.

The current time is 0.

Oh Ten, and the NAGG thought police

2010-01-04T13:44:00.002-05:00

Ok, officially I don’t care. At least I didn’t.

I’d never have cared if you chose to say “Two thousand ten” or “Twenty-ten.” As far as reasonable and intelligible ways of pronouncing the year 2010 I think two thousand ten and twenty-ten are both acceptable.

And I would have continued to feel that way had someone not had the gumption to tell me that “you have to pronounce it twenty-ten.”

First of all, I don’t like anyone telling me what I have to do. I have a hard enough time stomaching when someone tells me I’ve spelled a word wrong, or made a grammatical error – even when they are right. Those things are at least provable one way or the other. But telling me that I have to pronounce a number this way instead of that is just down-right asinine; especially when your reasoning is that “it doesn’t sound good.”

So who really cares how you say it anyway?

Well, apparently the NAGG cares; the National Association of Good Grammar. If that sounds like a made up association that’s because it is. It’s just some douche and his friends who like to point out when they think people have made a grammatical error. And they have arbitrarily decided that “two thousand ten” sounds bad.

The NAGG’s founder, Tom Torriglia, has argued that the reason you don’t say “two thousand ten” is because you didn’t say “one thousand nine hundred ninety nine” before two thousand.

Well, so the f* what? I did say “two thousand nine” all last year. And “two thousand eight” the year before that. And I have heard people say, “nineteen hundred ninety nine.” Though it did sound somewhat arcane, it was intelligible. And I’d never have dared to tell them that they were pronouncing the year wrong.

And since when does how you pronounce words have anything to do with grammar. Since never. Which, incidentally, is pronounced “neh-vrr.” Or you could go with “not-hundred and ever.”

I was going to make the argument that in a country with free speech no one should ever tell me what I can and cannot say. But then I realized that I would be telling someone what they could not say. Which would be ironic.

So, Mr. Torriglia, and your NAGG ilk, bitch all you want about me pronouncing 2010 as “two thousand ten”

It sounds good to me.

Tea Party

2009-12-28T10:03:00.003-05:00

Over the holidays I was working on my computer and in the other room I heard my 9 year old daughter say to my 6 year old son:

"You need to man up and do the right thing if you want to join this tea party."

T-shirt forthcoming.

e-mail

2009-12-28T09:54:00.004-05:00

I was on Holiday leave last week. I totally wasted it by coming back to work today. Somehow I don't really get the full effect of taking time off because I always have to come back to work and the knowledge of that depressing fact is like a tiny little rain cloud over my head.

Anyway, when I returned from my few days of pretend freedom I had 353 e-mails waiting in my work In Box. A full 5 of them are work related. About 30 of them are related to different accounts I have -E-bay, Amazon, etc.

Over 310 of them were offers for me to try Viagra. And not one of them was a legitimate e-mail. A legit e-mail will have an option for you to "click here to be taken off this list." This e-mail just has a single link, with no instructions. I am 99% certain that the link will either A. take me to a site I could get fired for visiting, or B. put a virus on my computer.

310!

I'm only 35.

401

2009-12-09T11:51:00.003-05:00

In case anyone is keeping track, that last post was 400 for this blog. Making this one the larger, but far less commemorable 401!

My blogging usually picks up around the holidays. Maybe if I get depressed enough it will provide me with the inspiration to entertain you all will my misery.

Last week, by the way, I was told by a homeless person that I had 5 years to surrender to God. I don't remember his name, it was either Ronald or Roland. But his title was The One Eye'd Blues Man. He said that he was the son of a man who played blues with people whose names sounded almost familiar enough to be people who might have played along side of people who might have known famous blues players.

He said that he walked by me and was told by God to turn around and introduce himself. He asked my name. I hate telling people I don't know my name. It was a good year before I printed it on this blog. Anyway, he played Amazing Grace on the harmonica for me. It was actually pretty good. Then he talked to me for a good 5 minutes. I don't really know what he was talking about because there was a lot of mumbling and the cars and trucks going by make a lot of noise, but a lot had to do with the Bible. He asked if I knew that my name, Michael, was the name of the Archangel. I told him I did. And then, if I'm not mistaken, he said I was either AN angel or THE ARCHANGEL. I told him that I was not an angel and -tongue in cheek - said that he could talk to my wife about that. This apparently offended him and he told me that he didn't need to talk to my wife, that he knew. And he told me that I would hae to surrender to the Lord in 5 years time.

I said, "Excuse me?"

But there were buses and trucks and I really didn't understand what he was saying. Either I'm going to have kind of life altering experience that will cause me to want to change my purpose, OR, he might have been saying - and really, I'm not saying this guy was crazy - but he might have been saying that I would become the Archangel Michael.

I wonder if I get to choose.

Again with the Urinals

2009-12-03T16:45:00.002-05:00

I know you hate to pee in a urinal that already has pee in it. I understand. You get that waft of urine smell and you think, “Whoa, is that my pee I’m smelling, or the other guys?” Cause if it’s mine, well that’s ok. My pee is made from sunflowers. Beer and sunflowers mostly. But if it’s the other guy's? Oh – shudder. I’m getting diphtheria just thinking about it.

So you flush before you pee. And then you start to relieve yourself with the beautiful absence of unpleasant odor and you suddenly realize… I’m not going to be able to finish before the toilet stops flushing.

OH! The vicious cycle!

As a good citizen of the earth you cannot bring yourself to flush the urinal a second time. What a waste of water that would be. But now you have left for your neighbor the same Catch 22. Should he suffer the smell of your residual pee, or flush prematurely?

No, don’t blame him. He’s only making the same choice as you. But people, stop this insanity. Just wait until you are done peeing before you flush.

And whoever is peeing on the wall and floor in our bathroom… do I really have to ask you to stop? Let it be stated for the record that not only should you not FLUSH before you are done, but neither should you step away from the commode before you are done.

Finish up.
Tap and Zip.
Then flush.
Then you step away to the sink to wash your hands.

Yes, Bill, you must wash your hands after you pee.

Small fleeting blessing

2009-11-19T09:39:00.002-05:00

So it was chilly yesterday. At lunch I had to walk up to the bank and I decided to go outside and get some fresh air. Luckily I had on a sweater. The wind wasn't bad and it wasn't seriously cold, but it was brisk. Even in direct sunlight it wasn't warm.

Anyway, I'm walking along and suddenly I walked into a warm spot. It wasn't like a warm gust of wind, because there was no wind. I was in the shade, so it wasn't the sun's rays hitting me. I looked around for an open door or a vet from a building, but there was nothing. I was just standing next to some old brick building. But there I was in the warmth. It felt nice.

I decided that the weather must have very suddenly decided to get warm and so I continued walking. No sooner had I taken two steps did the warmth quickly disappear and the cold return. Being the curious person that I am I took a few steps back to see if it was just the area by that brick building that was warm. But, all I found was more cold. The warm air had vanished, so I continued my journey to the bank.

I can't explain. It was as though I was walking in the cold and the Lord said, "Good afternoon, Michael. Have some warmth to better your day." And lo there was warmth and all was good. Then a few moments later He said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."

Sad, Sad, Sad

2009-11-16T10:46:00.003-05:00

I just took a sports survey on-line.

For those of you who don't know, I'm not exactly "in" to sports. I like to watch X-games. I play golf about 2 to 3 times a year. I'll watch a college football game if there is nothing else on. And I'll play outside with my kids. But yeah, that's about it.

When I finished the survey the last question was this, I kid you not:

Please update you gender:
[]Male
[]Female

How...
I mean, surely I'm not the only guy.
Update my gender?

sweaters and wrinkles

2009-11-16T10:22:00.005-05:00

I wear sweaters to work in the winter so that I don't have to iron my shirts.

I am aware that this is very lazy. In fact, this laziness has come back to haunt me on several occasions.

Last week I looked in my closet to find a good shirt to wear to work and I saw nothing. Nothing that was clean anyway. My hamper looked like the Mt. Vesuvius of low quality dress shirts, and hanging in my closet were two sort of clean dress shirts.

The only problem was these sort-of-clean shirts were wrinkled. Terribly wrinkled. They looked some designer's bad idea that had been put on paper and then crumpled up and tossed in the floor. Then, when the designer realized that he wasn't about to think of anything better, he uncrumpled the paper and hanged it my closet.

I took the white one because it looked the cleanest of the two. I threw a blue sweater on over it to hide the wrinkles. The problem with this is that when you see a white shirt hanging in your closet all that white glaring at you will over power your eyes and you won't consider things like ring around the collar. But when you are wearing a sweater and the only part of the shirt that is showing IS the collar it basically screams to the world "I'M A GREASY MAN WHO DOESN'T WASH HIS SHIRTS AND PROBABLY DOESN'T IRON THEM EITHER!"

Today the problem is just about as bad. I'm wearing a blue shirt. The ring around the collar is absent because after that day last week I addressed the problem on all of my shirts (one of my best shirts now has a hole in the collar because I scrubbed a little too vigorously). The problem with today's shirt is 3 fold.

1. It is wrinkled as you might expect from this post.

2. This shirt is slightly too small for me. The sleeves are about an inch from my wrists. You can't really tell because I've got a sweater on, but it looks like I might be wearing the shirt of a 13 or 14 year old boy. Or perhaps a shirt that I owned when I weighed about 20 pounds less. Sadly, neither of these are the case. I can only assume I've washed this shirt too many times on HOT and now it has shrunk.

3. While it was 45 degrees when I woke up this morning, it is expected to be 71 by lunch. I have to walk a mile uphill to make a bank run at lunch. I can either take my shirt off and reveal that I am a lazy slob who probably steals clothes from un-expectant dwarfs, or I can keep my sweater on and roast my body. On the positive side if I keep the sweater on I'll put a dent in those extra 20 pounds. On the negative side I'll smell like 20 pounds of gross.

Moral: I ought to say "Iron your clothes," but I'm more tempted to say, "Check the weather before you don a sweater to hide the wrinkles in your less that fitted - less than clean shirt."

Review of Halloween

2009-11-02T14:37:00.010-05:00

REVIEW:
Halloween this year

Eh. Not bad.

It rained in Georgia and apparently some people took that to mean that Halloween was canceled. Lazy.

Several houses in our neighborhood that were decorated last year were not this year. I confess that we did not decorate as elaborately as we normally do. But we were decorated some (see pumpkins above) and in my defense our front yard hasn't been mowed in about a month, so the yard was already sufficiently scary, with several live fire ant hills and a couple of spots where the neighbor’s dogs left a pre-Halloween trick behind.

Also we didn’t seem to have as many trick or treaters.

I know what you are thinking; we had fewer trick or treaters because of the rain. Well, no. It wasn't raining that hard. And since when have you ever known a kid that would not be willing to get a little damp if it meant they got to dress up in a costume AND get pounds of free candy? Since never, that's when.

Ok, it goes without saying that this review forgives those people who never celebrate. You have made a conscious decision throughout the ages to not have fun. That is your right, and I respect your decision to be lame. But to those of you who usually do celebrate and who opted not to this year, shame. Your poor kids must be devastated. Devastated and embarrassed. Devastated and embarrassed and without a Halloween mask to hide behind, or a sufficient amount of candy to drown the sorrows in.

In other news the crazy lady across the street from me went Super-Nuts and decorated the hell out-of/into her yard. She must have had 20 tomb stones, three or four skeletons, a lightning machine, a fog machine, spooky music, innumerable spiders and cob webs all over everything. My kids were actually afraid to go up to her front door. My daughter would only do it if I was right beside her, and my son stayed about six feet behind me. The lady had to come out of her house in the rain to give him his candy. Then she said, "I didn't think you kids were still in the neighborhood. Your momma used to come down and talk with me all of the time. She doesn't come by any more." That scared me more than all of her decorations.

When I asked Rebecca if she ever went down to the crazy lady's house to talk she said, "Yeah, once. And I realized she was crazy."

Toys

2009-10-23T14:27:00.003-04:00

I try to be hip when it comes to the toys my kids like to play with. I like to think that I know all or most of the names of their favorite characters and that I can tell them apart. But no matter how hard you try you can never win.

My son has two Boba Fett action figures from Star Wars. They are all but identical, except perhaps that one has red gauntlets and the other has gray. The other night my son asked to take 3 toys to bed with him; Boba Fett and two Obi Wan Kenobi figures (that really are identical). So I scrounged around and I found the Obi Wans and a Boba Fett. I tossed them in his bed while he was taking a bath and then I went to his sister's room to read her a bed time story.

Later that night I was told by my wife that I had gotten the wrong figures. "Really?" I said. "I thought I had gotten what he wanted."

"No," said my wife. "You gave him the wrong Boba Fett. I had to dig around for ten minutes in his toy box to find the correct one."

"Well how on earth was I supposed to know it was the wrong one?"

"That's what I said," she said. "I finally found the other Boba Fett and when I held them up side by side they looked the same to me. So I asked him, 'Cole, how are these guys any different?' And Cole held up the one I had just found and said, 'This one is undefeated.'"

So there you go. You might know the names of your kids toys, but only your kids know what they are capable of.

Fortune Cookie

2009-10-16T13:10:00.002-04:00

So I had some sushi, which I love, and I got a fortune, with which I have a love hate relationship. I don't have a love hate relationship with these fortunes because sometimes they are bad. I have a love hate relationship with them because sometimes they are good. Very good even. But they never come true.

This past week, however, I opened my cookie and found a fortune that should never be given to someone who is slightly paranoid. My fortune read:

The truth will be revealed to you in time.

Well, dammit. That fortune says so much, without actually saying anything. Quite literally it says that the truth will be revealed to me in time. But what does that really mean? To a paranoid person it means that someone is lying to me. Some truth is being hidden from me!

And what does it mean by "in time?" Is it even possible to reveal something out of time? Can something be out of time? Not in the sense that there was a time deadline and it passed. Can something be separated from time? I don't think it can.

So basically all the fortune told me that there is a lingering lie (perhaps more than one) out there of which I am not aware.

There is a vague notion of hope that this truth will be revealed to me eventually, but there is no guarantee that it will be in my lifetime. I can see, in the future, my casket being lowered into the ground with my wife and kids standing next to the hole. "I was always disappointed in you," my wife would say. "I didn't think you were funny," my daughter would chime in. And my son would finish with, "It wasn't the cat that pooped on your pillow."

Or maybe I'll just get to heaven and find out. I'll be walking along some peaceful river and I'll meet God fishing on its bank. "Hey God," I would call out. "Hello, Michael," he would say pleasantly, waiting for a bite on his line. "You know, God," I would say, "I want to apologize for never reaching my full potential in life." "Oh it isn't your fault," he would say, "I didn't want you to succeed. I never really liked you."

I don't suppose it would do any good to contact the fortune cookie company and ask them for some specifics.

Paranoia

2009-10-15T15:02:00.000-04:00

I know that it’s probably just paranoia, but I always get suspicious when a car starts up right as I’m walking out of my building. Though I leave my office at an unconventional time I am certain that there must be ten or twenty other people who leave on or about the same time as I. Surely one of these could have made it to their car to ignite the engine just as I was stepping outside.

The fact that I frequently have to jump out of the path of cars careening in my direction is more a testament to the growing number of drivers sending text messages than it is a sign that someone is trying to hurt me. Right?

And when I’m running to my car – which I do most days as my mind has escaped the bonds of reason and can rarely be dissuaded from the ludicrous notions that I am in grave danger – it is pure coincidence that I hear bullets whizzing by my ears and ricocheting on the ground in front of me. No doubt they are not even bullets I hear, but swiftly moving birds or perhaps gravel kicked up by a passing bus. Those innocent bystanders who fall in a bloody heap are probably succumbing to the same psychological powers of suggestion that have caused my mind to loosen its grip on reality.

So, there’s nothing to worry about, right? This is normal and happens to all of you, dear readers, as well, yes?

Same old, same old/and a Review

2009-10-02T09:17:00.004-04:00

I checked again...

I'm still not magic.

I'm convinced that there should be magic in the world, but that some time in the past some jackass ruined everything somehow. Did s/he absorb all of the magic and then fade into oblivion? Did s/he banish all magic to another dimension?

I don't know.

All I know is that I'm pretty certain I should be able to throw fire, but I can't. I've held my hands in just about every way you can think of. I've said every word for fire I can imagine. I've done summoning poses like Moses parting the sea. I've don't fancy wind-ups like professional baseball pitchers. I've even tried flicking fire like a Frisbee. Nothing. Not even smoke.

My kids are disappointed too. They haven't said so, but I can tell. I don't even think they are aware that I am a magical failure. But to date I have performed no feet more spectacular than juggling, winning Mario Galaxy and being immune to all their attempts to tickle me. Granted, these three accomplishments fascinate them beyond belief, but I suspect they are anxious for me to take my magic to the next level and I cannot.

I should be able to throw fireballs. Or at least make the cat box clean itself. But to date the most magical thing I can do is yell, "STOP BOUNCING ON THE COUCH" from another room. "How did you know we were on the couch? We can't get away with anything!"

This is only magic to a 6 year old.

REVIEW
THIS MAGICLESS WORLD:
sigh - less than enchanting

As soon as I find out where the magic cork is I'm removing it. Then I'll be able to throw some serious fireballs.

I bet I could get a job in the circus juggling fireballs. Can you juggle a fireball that you've created? If it comes out of one hand, will it burn the other? I'll let you know.

Words

2009-09-29T10:47:00.002-04:00

Ugh.

Question: Can you unravel something that has been ravelled?

Answer: No. Apparently unravel and ravel mean the same thing! If you try to unravel something that you have ravelled you will find yourself in worse straights. If you then try and unravel it again you will be worse off still. Linguistically you are shit out of luck.

This is why we should rise up against the sewing masses of the world. Darn them!

My Cat

2009-09-22T23:55:00.005-04:00

My cat will eat just about anything. His name is Sammy and to date I have made the mistake of leaving out a loaf of bread, a banana, a tomato, a pot of peas, a pot of creamed corn, muffins, corn bread and chicken. All to his tummies delight!

Ok, I should have known better on the chicken. But a tomato?

So I've decided I'm going to start documenting his affronts. Hence will I photograph all trespasses of Sammy the cat into the vittles de mio.

So, THIS IS NOT CAT FOOD:

This was to be MY pumpkin pie. True, I made it with my daughter, but I knew she would not like it, and she didn't. And I was certain that I would be able to eat all of it. I will still eat most of it, but not the part beneath the cat chomp. Nor will I eat the area immediate around it. My last piece of pie will be a holey one.

Rain Water and Advice

2009-09-22T23:25:00.004-04:00

Some parts of this poor state, which last year was suffering one of its worst droughts on record, got 20 inches of rain in 3 days. That's flippin' nuts.

Though schools were closed in the county where we live, we did not suffer any flood damage. Our yard was pretty good and messed up, but our house is ok.

You know, you don't really think about the nature of shelter very much until your sitting in your warm, cozy and dry home. You don't really think about the fact that other little critters might also think your warm, cozy and very dry home looks pretty neat-o from the wet, wet, wetness of the wet, rainy outside.

My home is being invaded by ants. Every time I turn around there is another trail of ants. I guess they are coming in to find food because it's too wet outside. I do a decent job of protecting the house from bugs and such - I haven't had an ant problem for a couple of years - but the outside deluge has made risk of poison seem reasonable to the six legged monarchs of the surrounding yard and they've sent their armies to march. I've probably killed a thousands ants in the last two days. About 200 to 300 in my house. At one point I got so angry I went outside, found an anthill near my house and rained fire and brimstone down on it. In the form of Raid.

Another thing you might not realize is that ants are very fast. For their size they can move. One of our dogs got in the trash at 6pm. We caught him, stopped him before he was able to track the food all over the house, and cleaned it up. But we missed a small spot of food. When I noticed it at 7pm it was covered in ants; probably 20. And my son's book bag was set down at 6pm also. He got his homework out of it shortly after that. Then when he returned his homework at 8pm the handful of crumbs left over from his snack had attracted between 50 and 100 ants. That's when I blew up and destroyed an ant town.

It's just amazing to me how quickly they can be in your house and marching all over everything.

So, take my advice:

If you spill some honey on your pajamas before you go to bed, change shirts. Otherwise the ants will drag you away while your wife is sleeping and no one will ever know what happened to you.

Oh, and do the dishes before you go to bed.

And check your kids' book-bags for left over snack.

And vacuum one more time, even if it might wake the kids.

And clean the toothpaste of the counter. Ants love that stuff.

And spray a little bit of poison on the outside of the threshold, even though that's probably not how the ants are getting in.

And a light dusting around the garbage for good measure.

And wipe the kitchen table down.

And mop the floor.

But DON'T obsess over this.

Health Note

2009-09-10T09:32:00.002-04:00

In case you didn't know it, pouring Skim Milk into your Cap'n Crunch Crunch Berry Cereal makes it healthy.

That pain you feel in your chest is your heart clapping.

(Man, my diet has gone to hell.)

Just Wondering

2009-08-31T14:36:00.003-04:00

I visit a lot of art blogs because I fancy myself and someday-soon-artist. Anyway, I've noticed a lot of people posting sketches from their classes and private studies and it got me to wondering, artist friends...

Do you really think that nude model expected you to post your very life-like sketch of her - love handles, nipples, nethers and all - on your art blog?

Don't get me wrong, it is an excellent sketch. But I never expected to see grandma looking like that. And something tells grandma didn't expect it either.

ps. Very nice job with the oxygen tank.

Q

2009-08-25T14:11:00.002-04:00

I had a V8 for lunch. They are nutritious and low on calories. They are not particularly “yummy,” but you can learn to like them.

Now I am chewing some Trident Watermelon Twist. It is fruity and good for your teeth.

Anyway, I just burped and for a short moment my mouth was filled with the taste of V8 and watermelon. Not as bad as you might imagine.

Today’s post has been brought to you by V8 and Trident. And by the letter Q.

Q

Just a few things

2009-08-05T09:04:00.003-04:00

So you know I am a Reversi addict. If I play even one game... it's a bad scene. I just have to never play again. Each day is a new day.

Why is it that men are not concerned with showing their panty line? Men... if you are going to wear slacks that are too tight for your cartoon caboose then you might want to consider boxers. Or going commando. Though I hope you choose the former. Or better yet you might want to buy pants that fit. Perhaps someday some cutting edge textile manufacturer will make seamless, lace underwear for men. Until then, cut back on the helpings and in a couple of weeks those pants won’t be quite so snug.

By the way Mrs. Secretary in the office next-door, Lysol is not an air freshener. I understand that someone down the hall just microwaved a fish sandwich and now the whole floor smells like chum, but you are doing nobody any favors by emptying your entire can of Lysol into the air. I almost died. I may still. I think I've been poisoned.

I miss you guys.

2009-08-04T08:57:00.003-04:00

Remember back in the day when we used to hang out a lot? Those were great times. I'd tell funny stories and you would laugh. Then I would laugh. And then you'd laugh harder. And you'd get to laughing so hard that you'd fart a little. And it would smell kinda bad and we'd laugh even more. Then you'd blame the smell on me and I'd get mad and say if I had farted it would have smelled different. And so I'd try and prove it by farting, but I'd have no desire to really fart. So I push and push and until my face got red. And finally I would poop a little in my pants and it would surprise me so much that let go of all of that air and I'd release a big snot bubble that would pop all over my face. And you'd spend the rest of the day pointing and laughing at the brown circle on the seat of my white shorts and calling me bubble boy. And I'd call my therapist and through stuttering sobs and tears I'd schedule a month of sessions, with you wonderful people in the background laughing. And my therapist would say you guys were "bad for my self esteem" and she'd suggest I stop hanging out with you. And so I'd stop answering your calls and over the months I'd start to forget about the pain. And eventually all I'd have left are the good times.

I miss you guys.

A new new word or two

2009-07-02T09:07:00.002-04:00

Definitivity - the state of being definite, usually in relation to something that doesn't matter.

Example:

Man 1: I was told definitively that the meeting was in the conference room.
Man 2: Well, it isn't. You should be wary of such definitivity.

Or:

Man: You know, sky blue? Like the sky.
Woman: Ironically the sky is not really sky blue. It's an azure.
Man: I wish I lived in such a state of definitivity.

See? It's easy.

However, do not confuse DEFINITIVITY with DEFINATIVITY.

Definativity - (adj) the state of definitely looking like the Nativity from the gospels.

Example:

I thought the burn on my toast had a high degree of definativity, but my minister disagreed.

More often it is seen as an adverb:

The trash cans were arranged definativityly, with the recycling as the manger and the mailbox as a shepherd.

clothes make the man

2009-06-01T13:19:00.003-04:00

I was sitting at my desk doing work this morning when a co-worker came into my office with a guy I did not recognize. "I'm just introducing Mr. Gomez around to everyone in the section," she said. So I stood up and shook hands with Mr. Gomez and introduced myself. We chatted for less than a minute about what I did, and I welcomed him. Then, before they had even fully exited my office, Mr. Gomez said,

"So there's no dress-code here?"

I thought I was dressed nicely today.

expansion

2009-05-26T09:49:00.003-04:00

I woke up this morning and there was a Public Notice nailed to my refrigerator.

Never mind the fact that now my fridge is leaking cold air from a nail hole when a piece of cello-tape would have sufficed...

The notice read that "at long last" the dispute over which grocery store would claim rights to my pantry had been settled. Kroger had shown, to a fair and unbiased committee of five, that it had entered its request for expansion into said territory a full twenty minutes prior to Publix. This "territory" being my kitchen pantry.

Publix has, per the notice posted through my refrigerator door, up to twenty days from the posting of the notice to appeal this decision and show good cause as to why the determination made by the committee should be reconsidered. Should Publix fail to make appeal in a timely fashion then on the 21st day after the notice posting Kroger can assume said territory by moving in and charging my household per trip to the pantry.

This notice made no mention of my rights or what action I could take to stop this "territory" from being "assumed."

I took the notice in hand and made my way to the nearest Kroger. The nearest Kroger was on the opposite side of the oak tree in my front yard. There had been two white oaks in my yard when we moved in, but after a heated battle between Kroger's lawyers and the squirrel community of my neighborhood, it was determined, by a fair and unbiased committee, that the second white oak tree was redundant. The tree was removed and "replanted at a nice farm in the northern part of the state." Incidentally, I visited that farm last summer and my white oak had magically become a scraggly pine tree.

At the Kroger I presented the notice to the manager, named Joe, who informed me that I had removed an official legal notice and that he was duty bound to call the sheriff's department. However, he said, if I made a copy - using his copy machine for just $2.00 a copy - and replaced the notice, he would look the other way just this once.

When I returned with the photocopied notice Manager Joe claimed ignorance of the notice and indeed claimed not to even know what a public notice was, though he had earlier told me that I had broken laws in removing it. I asked if he had any knowledge of Kroger's intentions to move into my pantry and he said that he was "not at liberty to discuss the expansion prerogatives of Corporate." Finally I asked Joe if he knew what Kroger planned on doing with my pantry when I already had a Kroger in my front yard and two other stores in my back yard.

Joe assured me that Kroger's move into "the" pantry would be a benefit to everyone. Kroger would restock the shelves of "the" pantry - for he would not allow me to call it "mine" - every morning. I would pay Kroger for the replaced goods, at only slightly elevated costs, and in return I would get fresh goods. "Kroger would," Joe mumbled quickly, "Reserve the right to charge fees for: the removal of unused or spoiled product, for maintenance on the pantry door, for the merchandising and display of product, for advertising, for the removal of non-Kroger products and for the inclusion of non-promotional goods in the pantry. Appearance of slightly elevated prices would likely, but not certainly, be due to fluctuating labor costs. Kroger could but probably would not enter other territories of the house unless it deemed such expansion necessary to fair competition and survival of the store."

I stared for a moment at Manager Joe. "How can I stop this from happening?" I finally asked.

"You can't stop this from happening," he replied. "You missed your chance to vote at the house meeting on 4-15-09."

"Where was the meeting?"

"In your living room, where all house meetings are conducted."

"Wait, 4-15-09? We were on vacation then."

"That's not our fault. The meeting was held. A vote was taken. Due process was given. The committee determined that by rights of imminent domain, your kitchen pantry was open for commercial expansion and development."

So I left the Kroger frustrated and decided that I might have better luck with the opposition. Publix is in my back yard.

"I see you have Public Notice 1804.b" the manager said as I entered the Publix. "My name is Bob."

"Michael," I said. "I live in the house."

"Yes, we know," he said. "I was really disappointed that we missed out on that expansion. I would have submitted my paperwork on time, but my fax machine jammed that day and well, that twenty minutes was all it took for Kroger to win the rights. It's a real shame too. I had to lay off two staff members for loss of that territory."

I was bemused and befuddled. "Then you aren't planning on appealing the determination?"

"No," Bob said, "We don't have the budget for it. Besides, we have our eye on your coffee table. I've already submitted the paperwork to the planning and zoning committee. If I get that space then I can supply your living room with dry foods and perhaps some appetizers."

"I can't have food lying around," I said. "It will rot."

"Oh, don't worry about that. We can remove any rotten or unused food. For a fee, of course."

"But I have cats."

"Oh, that's great. I can supply you with cat foods and products. Not to mention deodorants. That's good, I need to write that down."

"But my cats only eat prescription diet food."

"We don't carry that. But I might be able to order it for you for an additional cost."

"I don't want you in my living room!" I yelled.

"Oh," Bob said, sounding hurt. "I see. Well, then. I guess you'll have to take that up with the planning and zoning committee. I haven't scheduled the meeting yet. When is your next vacation?"

voices

2009-05-21T01:09:00.010-04:00

I'm not a terribly superstitious guy. I don't really believe in ghosts - though I want to - or in aliens - though I want to there too. I might be tempted to believe if I had a little proof. But then I guess "proof" takes the "belief" out of belief. You don't really believe in something that is obvious.

"Hey, Michael, do you believe in this rock?" guy holds up a rock.

"What am I supposed to believe it will do?"

"Nothing. Just be a rock. Do you believe in it?"

"Do I believe that the rock is a rock?"

"I don't know. Just do you believe in it?"

"Do you mean, 'do I believe it can accomplish whatever it sets it's mind to?'"

"Do you believe in it?"

"I don't know. I guess so. I mean, I believe it's a rock. I don't believe it can save my soul or cure cancer. I don't know what I'm supposed to believe about the rock."

I might be tempted to believe in aliens or ghosts if I ever met anyone who believed. Actually, I know several very intelligent people who claim to have seen a ghost. I believe that they saw what they saw and so I believe in ghosts slightly more than aliens. But I've never known anyone who believed in aliens.

I mean yes, I believe there are aliens out there. But I don't believe they have visited the earth. And if they have they must be technologically advanced enough to avoid detection.

But I digress. I was talking about superstition and the fact that I'm not. Not much.

Now, my wife has this noise maker that she does not go to bed without. It makes different sounds that act as gray noise or white noise or whatever color noise it is, so that you can get to sleep. Mostly Rebecca likes the Babbling Brook noise.

If you ask me the Babbling Brook is not just a recording of water. I think it also has different sounds in the background thrown together in rhythmic intervals to simulate water noise. The power of suggestion does the rest.

If you sit and listen to the sounds of the Babbling Brook for an hour or so - which is not so hard to do when you can't sleep or you're reading a book in bed - all of the sounds that are mushed together with the water sounds by the noise maker start to separate and you can hear them for what they are. Usually what I hear is a light tapping of different pitch wood blocks, or the faint sound of a piano playing three or four notes in a row, along with the sound of plastic wrap being rustled. Sometimes I hear a guitar and wind sounds, or maybe wind chimes tinkling. There is nothing spectacular about the sounds or the melodies. They are just sounds in repeated rhythm that contribute to the feel of endless gallons of water flowing past stones or logs at some place in a brook.

Tonight, as I read my book, I became aware of a voice. At first I thought my neighbors must be outside talking. But it was almost 1 o'clock. Why on earth would they be out talking at 1 am? Then I realized that the same words were repeating over and over. I knew it must be the noise maker. And I am 90% convinced that it was only my imagination that created the words I was hearing. In truth what was probably happening was that different sounds had been crammed together by the noise maker and that when you caught the rhythm just right you could almost make out words. Perhaps a paper crumpling sound was crammed in with a siren in the distance and a goat bleeting at night. I knew it MUST be a aural illusion.

Still, after hearing

Get out of bed...
Get out of bed...
Get out of bed...
Get out of bed...
Get out of bed...
Get out of bed...
Get out of bed...
Get out of bed...
Get out of bed...

for thirty minutes I thought that it really couldn't hurt to get out of bed then come downstairs and get a drink of water. Perhaps get a little separation from the demons in the noise maker. And while I'm down here I might as well write about my neuroses.

Oh Yeah. I totally believe in demons.

oops

2009-05-20T10:28:00.003-04:00

I was reticent to post this to the blog because frankly I was embarrassed by it. But after mentioning it to several of my friends I found that I am not the only one to have made such a mistake.

It happened last Thursday. I woke up downed a glass of water with my daily vitamin. i don't usually drink the whole glass, but I was feeling exceptionally thirsty that morning. Then I filled my travel mug with coffee and set out for the bus stop.

When I got to the bus stop I had finished my coffee. I don't like having extra things to worry about on the bus.

About halfway to my destination I started feeling the pangs of needing to pee. Sadly, I still had 20 minutes left before the bus stopped in Atlanta. I started tapping my foot.

About a minute into tapping my foot I realized that I was tapping on the back of the seat in front of me and that this was probably annoying the passenger in that seat. So I started tapping the floor instead.

I started to text my friend, looking for any kind of distraction from my very real need to pee.

I was very concerned that I was going lose control and pee all over myself.

What do you do when that happens? Do I call my boss and say, "Sorry, I can't come in to work today because I pissed all over myself?"

I certainly can't go into work stinking of urine. Who wouldn't notice that?

The real issue, though, would be getting back home. The bus doesn't run the opposite way. And besides, I was on the last one. The buses wouldn't start up again until 3:30pm. But before I could even worry about that I'd have to actually make it to my stop.

When I finally made it to the bus stop I was in pain. On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the point at which you can no longer hold it and the pee breaks through, I was at a 9.5. And my back was killing me. When I stood up to get off the bus I couldn't stand up straight. It hurt way too badly.

So slightly hunched over I waddled down to the crosswalk and waiting in pain for the "WALK" signal. Then I waddled into the mall and to the bathroom.

Now, I've never used this bathroom. I've never even looked over at it. This was my first time. So when I entered the men's room it did seem odd that there were no urinals. Urinals are easier to clean. You can put more of them in the bathroom than regular toilets. And they use less water. But who knows, I thought, perhaps there was a good reason for the lack of urinals. I didn't care. I was in such pain these details did not matter to me.

So I waddled into the second stall. The first stall was occupied by some guy going 2. Finally, with great relief, I let go of all of that liquid baggage. In my defense I made none of the much deserved groans of relief. I didn't sigh or say, "Oh mama that's more like it." That's not really my thing. But there is no way to fully disguise the very unique sounds of a man peeing into a toilet.

Then I heard a woman's voice. "That," I thought to myself, "Is not something that I should hear in a men's room."

I distinctly heard, "Oh my god."

I thought for a second that the guy in the stall next to me might have been talking on the phone, and that perhaps the person on the other end of the phone had been aghast at something he had said and so had uttered, "Oh my god." But if that was the case, why had I not heard the man talking?

Then I looked up to see if there were any loud speakers. Perhaps the mall was piping in some morning radio show and I had just become aware of it. There was nothing.

Slowly... far too slowly, I started putting two and two together. No urinals. A lady's voice. It said, "oh my god" shortly after the sound of me peeing filled the bathroom.

I stopped what I was doing, being not fully relieved, but now significantly concerned about what could be a very big mistake. I zipped and was out of the bathroom in seconds. As I quickly walked away I noted that in the mall the ladies room is on the right and the men's is on the left. That's good information to have.

I was exceptionally fortunate in that the ladies room was empty, save for the one woman who never saw me, and that no one saw me enter or exit. Let's just hope that the security guard at the other end of the video camera was too busy eating his Cheerios to take note of the dude exiting the women's room.

Cat Hoodie

2009-05-19T12:05:00.005-04:00

This (above) is the hoodie I wore to work today. It was chilly this morning and I needed something to wear, but I didn't want to wear my big, heavy coat. So I threw this on.

It looks like a run of the mill hoodie, doesn't it? Maybe a stray cat hair here or there. But other than that, it's pretty typical.

WELL LOOK AT THIS:

Holy Crap! That is cat hair. It was concealed under the hood. All of that cat hair was on this hoodie while I wore it on my way to work. I'm glad it wasn't so cold that I had to put my hood up!

This means, of course, that someone saw a cat sleeping on my hoodie. And that someone probably said, "Oh no, Michael's hoodie is gonna get all cat-hairy." BUT THEN THEY DID NOTHING!

Worse yet, when that cat moved someone (maybe the same person!) picked up this hoodie and hung it up and didn't do anything.

Now I know that you are probably thinking, "Michael, isn't it your responsibility to hang your hoodie up when you arrive at home?"

Well, that is beside the point, people.

The point is that there are people in my house out to destroy me. And now they are working with the cats!

Nightmare

2009-05-19T09:25:00.004-04:00

Ok, I had this really weird dream last night. I was in a town that was mostly vast expanses of green - very subtle - hills. Every so often on the hills you'd see a home or structure of some kind. This dream mostly focused around a community center. It began in the evening with a carnival that had all of these wicked clowns and carnies. My kids huddled close by the entire night because they were afraid to be alone. Ironically, that was not the part that made it a nightmare. In truth, I'd probably have forgotten the dream if that had been all of it.

The day after the carnival was the town clean up. A group of citizens met at the community center to divide into smaller groups to go out and clean the area. This group was made up almost entirely of people I know or have known. Current friends, relatives and old school mates from as far back as fourth grade all gathered around to clean this town. So the groups got paired off and one lady, who if memory serves was in my fourth grade class, said, "I don't want to go with the troll."

"Well, he has to be in a group," the leader said.

"Then put him in a different one," she said, which caused a general murmuring from the other groups.

I started looking around to see who this troll was. I couldn't see anything that fit the bill, but it did seem that everyone in the group knew what she was talking about.

"Fine," she said to the general rumbled of disagreement, "Then put me in a different group. I just don't want to be with the troll." And with that last statement she pointed directly to me. I turned around to look behind me, but I was relatively alone.

"Me?" I asked.

She looked back at me for half a second then turned away. "Ugh," she groaned. "I can't even look at you."

"Why am I a troll?"

She looked to the empty space that was just to the left of me. "You're short," she said as if it was the worst of the qualities. "You're ugly." She paused as if she was searching for another reason. "You're stupid."

"I'm not stupid," I said.

"Shut - up" she spat. "You greasy, hairy troll."

"Good grief," I said. Then the reality started to sink in. No one was coming to my defense. "Wait. Does everyone feel this way?"

I looked around the crowd, which included my friends and family mind you, and there was a general shuffling of noncommittal feet.

"Who hear thinks I'm a troll?"

A few people turned away. "Seriously," I said. "Let's get this out in the open. Who here thinks I'm a short... ugly... stupid..." I was adding slight pauses mostly because I was somewhat shocked by the whole situation, "Greasy..." I continued and someone who's voice sounded heart-breakingly familiar interjected, "Annoying..." Then someone said, "Pasty..." then "Whiney..." So I paused for another moment to let anyone else speak up. Finally I continued, "...hairy troll? Raise your hand and be honest."

To my horrible dismay everyone raised their hands. A few friends were slow to raise their hands, but everyone did.

Luckily, my best friend, who DID raise his hand that he thought I was a troll, didn't think I was so horrible that he couldn't pick up trash with me. So I spent the rest of the day walking around picking up trash with the knowledge that everyone in the town thought I was a troll.

At one point we came across the leader of the clean up. He was giving instructions to the team. While he was talking I became aware that he was shorter than I and quite obviously greasier. He had a high pitched voice, but I didn't know if it would be considered whiny. And try as I might I could not describe him as ugly.

Other people throughout the day fit one or many of the horrible descriptions that were given me, but no one fit all and so I was forced to acquiesce that they were not as trollish as I.

So the town in my dream determined that I was a troll. And that town was made up of friends and family. The only person that wasn't there was my wife. So she's off the hook. But everyone else did.

So all you bastards owe me an apology.

2009-05-13T12:00:00.002-04:00

This is a picture of laziness.

I came to work on the fourth floor about 2.5 months ago. When I first arrived on this floor I noticed that the bathroom Air Freshener was nearing empty. It was beeping at slow intervals to signify that it needed replacing.

I gave it a week. The beeping had sped up. Finally I went to the facilities people and I let them know that the 4th floor Air Freshener was out and that it needed a replacement. Trust me when I tell you this is very important on the 4th floor. Bob in Facilities said he would get on it.

A week later it was still beeping so I spoke to Bob again and he said that he had told Ricky to fix it. He further said that he would get with Ricky again. That afternoon I noticed that the beeping sound had quit. But I also noticed that the bathroom still smelled of an awfulness alien to this planet. When I looked at the Air Freshener I saw the picture above. Facilities had not replaced the Air Freshener. They had simply opened the device so that the beeping would stop.

A week later I spoke to Bob again and he said that we must be out of the Air Freshener.

So here we are about a month and a half later and the Air Freshener is still hanging open as seen above.

Question and a REVIEW and ADVICE

2009-05-11T10:31:00.004-04:00

Ok, so I eat granola bars. And yes, I know they are not really all that healthy for you. Basically you have SOME oats with a whole bunch of chocolate chips and/or peanut butter chips and/or raisins all mush into a bar and glued together with honey. But it will kill you slower than a Snickers.

So my favorite flavor is the Chocolate Chip from Quaker Chewy Granola bars. Now recently I noticed that the box of these bars said they were 25% less sugar. YEAH! Slightly less bad for me. But then I looked at the nutritional information and I saw that they still had 90 calories. Well Quaker's Chocolate Chip Chewy Granola bar has been 90 calories for about 3 years now (perhaps more, but I didn't care before then).

The calories are still the same. That doesn't mean that the 25% sugar was not removed. It just means that they have substituted something else for it that is the exact same amount of calories. That could actually work to my advantage. More oats means more healthiness. Perhaps more vitamins and minerals. So I looked at that too. No, the nutritional information is exactly the same as before. Same fiber, same pathetically low vitamin count.

What's new? IF the 25% sugar was taken out of a 90 calorie snack food and the calories stayed the same, something must have been added to account for those calories. But whatever it was they added has no nutritive value at all.

REVIEW:
TASTE TEST for Quaker's (new 25% less sugar) Chocolate Chip Chewy Granola Bar:
B minus 25%

as you might have guessed it is about 25% less good than before. before the granola bars were somewhat hard, though not teeth breaking hard. they were chewy and yummy. now they almost fall apart when you are opening the wrapper. clearly the sugar they removed was some form of glue. and if my taste buds are correct what they have decided to use as a granola glue - instead of sugar - is GLUE.

Boo, Quaker. Boo.

Here is some ADVICE for your marketing people:

If you are going to remove 25% of what makes your product good in an effort to make your product more healthy 2 things need to happen:

1. Your product should ACTUALLY BECOME MORE HEALTHY.
2. Your product shouldn't become more shitty.

2009-05-07T09:30:00.002-04:00

This my look like an ordinary picture of a small portion of my desk, but it is much more depressing than all of that. This is where my coffee is supposed to be. Last night I set up the coffee machine to begin brewing at 6 am. I set my cup out, along with fake sugar and fake creamer. I was up pretty late doing work and I knew that I would need the pick me up this morning.

So I got up and the kitchen smelled of yummy wonderful chocolate coffee. I put in the creamer. I put in the fake sugar. And I poured in the coffee. Mmmmmm. It smelled so good. Then I let it sit there for a moment because I hate boiling hot coffee on my tongue.

I went back upstairs to get ready for work. Then I came back down, got my computer and my notebook and left. On the counter top in my kitchen sits an undrunk cup of yummy coffee in a travel mug. And on the top of my desk is a cold area that should be warming under the heat of morning refreshment.

This depresses me and I am even less able to continue with my day.

Yet Again

2009-04-28T00:29:00.004-04:00

Ok. I don't want to say this because it's only been about 6 weeks, but I'm pretty sure I hate my job. My new job that sucks.

I'm constantly freakin' busy. Every ten seconds my boss runs into my office and says, "You need to be in this meeting. I'm on the project now, but I want out of it and eventually you will do it. Oh, and when you aren't doing this, that and those, do that one also."

"But what about the ones from yesterday?" I might ask.

"What about them? Are they done yet?"

"When could I possibly have done them? No."

"Oh, that reminds me. You need to attend the training on time management, project management, management management and bullshit management."

"When can I possibly do all of this other stuff?"

"You'll learn that at the training."

"Fine. When is it?"

"Tomorrow. All day."

"But I have four meetings tomorrow that you scheduled. Three of them at the same time."

"And?"

-blink- -blink-
********

You have no idea how close to accurate that is.

Being in a job I didn't love was acceptable before. Then I had time to goof around, draw, write and post to the blog during the day. Now there's no time. And on the scattered few days when there might be some time to scrape together a blog post I feel all guilty because they've got me totally convinced that my new job is important.

"Michael, we're counting on you."

"What? For what?"

"For that thing this weekend that we talked about in the meeting. Very important."

"What thing?"

"The thing we've discussed every day for the last week? The crucial thing."

"Oh right."

WHAT F*ING IDIOT GAVE ME AN IMPORTANT JOB?

Didn't they know better?

And last Friday my boss comes into my office and says, "Did we mention that there will be a lot of travel in this job?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, there will be."

*&#%*#&#%*@$&%@#$&$w@#$&#%$%*#$@&%@##%*ING HELL

Umbrella Failure

2009-04-13T12:09:00.004-04:00

This morning I had an umbrella failure. I knew this one was coming. I saw the signs. But I didn't expect it to happen today. I didn't even expect it to rain today. I was hoping to mow more of my back yard this evening. But when I awoke it was pouring. So along with my briefcase - which incidentally contains NOTHING associated with my job - I grabbed my umbrella.

About two months ago one of the bent metal arms of the umbrella finally gave out and broke. This was the first sign that things were on the outs between us. Still, I did not give up on dear blue umbrella. I kept some hope.

This morning, as I got out of my car at the bus stop, I popped open the thing. It has this awesome button that you push and the whole thing just pops open like it lives to protect you from the rain. But the wind was kind of hard and though I held the umbrella at an angle it still failed to protect my legs from getting wet. This in itself was enough to make me seriously think about considering upgrading to an umbrella that actually keeps me dry. But it was not the only failure that happened today. The instant I got off the buss the wind blew so hard that the umbrella immediately popped inside out, a la cartoon style. So there I stood in the driving rain for two or three minutes trying to unpop the umbrella so that it could continue to do a horrible job of keeping me dry.

When I finally got the umbrella unpopped I decided to just close it. The wind was blowing so hard that the poor little metal arms on the thing were bending. I was somewhat worried that they were all going to break and that these terrible metal pieces would come whipping at my face in the driving wind. The last thing I need is to be all scarred up. My beauty is all I have.

Also I forgot my Olive Garden leftovers in the refrigerator.
And I woke up with a headache.
And I really wanted to sleep in.

Those things are not the fault of the umbrella, but since I'm getting rid of it anyway I'm going to blame those things on it too.

Hallelujah

2009-04-13T11:37:00.003-04:00

You know, it's a good thing that Jesus died and rose way back when he did. Back then people were a bit more careful with their choice of words. In modern times we've gotten kind of loose with the words we use. Back then when the disciples realized that Jesus was resurrected they would have shouted "Hallelujah!" If it were to happen now I'm not so certain those are the words they'd choose.

What exclamation a person uses to express his utter joy and bewilderment at the resurrection of the Lord isn't exactly an issue. I mean, I believe in the freedom of speech, and I think that the expressive uttering of such joy should not be controlled, but should flow forth with unabridged honesty. Still I wonder if Handle's Messiah would be as beautiful or renowned if it ended with the "Holy Shit Chorus."

fail

2009-04-10T10:10:00.004-04:00

I'm ashamed. I gave in to spousal pressure.

This morning I got up all excited and prepared to stack the lucky deck in my favor by piling on the lucky clothes in layers (see the post from yesterday for explanation). I shuffled my sleepy feet to the closet and opened my underwear draw. However, I was somewhat dismayed to find that all of my lucky boxers had been worn. This was a double shame because not only did I not have any clean lucky underwear to wear, but in wearing it earlier this week I had found no luck.

So I opened my T-shirt drawer. One T-shirt was left and it wasn't so much lucky as a favorite. Not all favorite T-shirts are lucky. This T-shirt was my pirate T that I got on vacation. I have never really associated this article of clothing with luck, but it hadn't been particularly unlucky either. Still, I couldn't exactly say I stacked the lucky deck in my favor if I was only wearing one layer of not-exactly-lucky clothes.

I looked to the dirty clothes hamper. Don't judge, those clothes weren't nasty dirty. Just worn. And from several feet away they didn't smell.

So then I was ready for work. I had three pair of underwear on; Scooby Doo, Ants and my samurai underwear. And I had two lucky shirts on; Aqua Teen and the Pirate shirt. All of this was under a mild mannered pair of khaki slacks and a sweater.

I was feeling whimsical and excited about the day. Then I went to the bathroom to tell my wife good-bye and to pee. Probably not in that order. It was oppressive hot in there because she had just taken a shower and I was wearing a bazillion layers of clothes.

Anyway, I made the mistake, in my giddy excitement, of asking her if she thought my layering of clothes would increase the luck factor of my day. "Take those off," she said.

"But I want to see if it makes me extra lucky!"

"It's gonna make you unlucky when you're trying to use the bathroom and you can't get through all of the underwear and you wind up peeing on yourself."

I didn't really think that her argument was that persuasive, but standing there in the bathroom, with three pair of underwear on, I suddenly felt a little silly. But mostly I was becoming aware that I really did smell like a dirty clothes hamper.

So, reluctantly I went to my closet and shed some extra layers. I looked down on the floor at my discarded semi-lucky clothes. "Maybe I'll just wear a shirt and tie," I said. Then the crotch of my Yoda boxers, lying in the hamper*, said, "That... is why you fail."

Now I'm wearing one lucky pair of underwear and a not-so-lucky, but well liked pirate T-shirt.

As I left the house this morning I stuck my head in the bathroom and said, "You don't understand performance art," to Rebecca.

She sympathetically said, "No."

* dear reader, I had to update this post to make it clear that the Yoda boxers were not on my person when they opened up and began to speak truisms of the Force to me. I've already received several questions about Yoda giving out tongue lashings and whether he keeps a stiff upper lip. Seriously people, that's just inappropriate.

My Heart

2009-04-09T22:28:00.004-04:00

The kids have been away this week and my eating habits have hit the toilet. Last night I had a double cheese burger with bacon on it; the Baconater! With every bite I could feel the fat juices running down my throat in a bee line to my ass. I almost thought about exercising, but I had a glass of water instead, which is just as good.

So this morning I woke up and didn't feel so good. My chest was feeling kind of tight. So I did the responsible thing and I had skim milk in my Fruity Pebbles. Except that didn't really fix the problem. I walk about a mile from the bus stop to my office every morning and this morning was a bear. The Fruity Pebbles and the donuts made an encore sidewalk performance. A homeless guy was just about to ask me for some money, but the splashy splatter of my breakfast revisited about-faced him. That or it was the smell.

After that display of gross I resolved to eat better tonight. I had pizza. It has every food group. I ate it as I watched 30 Rock. I laughed so hard my heart started to hurt. My mouth was full and my eyes were sweating. Rebecca looked over at me and said, "Are you ok?" I swallowed my not-really-chewed bite of pizza, which did hurt some, and said, "I think I'm having a heart attack."

"Are you sure?" she said.

"No," I said. Then I took a big nother bite of the pizza, which was almost good. I chewed it up this time and swallowed.

"Should you be eating something this fatty if you're feeling so bad?" she asked.

"I think I feel better," I said. Then another funny part came on that made my chest hurt again.

"You sure you're ok?" she asked again because she loves me.

I took another bite of pizza and chewed it up and swallowed it. I paused for a moment and waited. "Yeah," I said, "Every time my heart starts to attack I just eat a bit piece of pizza and it slows down."

That worked until I ran out of pizza. Next Thursday I'll need to make sure I have more pizza.

If I remember tomorrow I'll ask my friend, who's in medicine, if he's ever considered recommending pizza to stop a heart attack.

Lucky Clothes

2009-04-09T22:07:00.003-04:00

I don't think these lucky clothes are working. The last thirty seven days that I've worn my samurai underwear have not produced the singlest little bit of luck. And my Aqua Teen Hunger Force T-shirt seems to have faded in glory as well. My flamingo tie, my ant underwear, my Scooby Doo underwear, my Dexter's Lab T-shirt and all of my Hawaiian shirts... devoid of magical lucky goodness.

I don't know what to say. I'm disappointed.

Maybe over time a lucky piece of clothing loses luck like it loses thread. Maybe it becomes luck-bare. I bet I can stack the luck by stacking the clothes. Tomorrow I'm going to wear my ant underwear as well as my samurai underwear and at least two of my lucky T-shirts.

Yeah. Tomorrow is going to be super lucky.

Lookout bitches.

ps. By bitches I don't mean women. That'd be sexist. I mean everyone when I say bitches. Not women. I mean, yes, women are included in the bitches. Because I want everyone to look out. All the bitches. Women bitches and man bitches.

pps. bitches = everyone.

ppps. Except you. You're awesome.

Advice to Mother Nature

2009-04-07T12:26:00.002-04:00

Ok, Mother Nature, I think, with all due respect, you need to shut up.

I mean, I love you. I think you're pretty and all... but really, you aren't doing yourself any favors.

Since I was in seventh grade, roughly 22 years ago, I have heard the claims that global warming is a growing and deadly problem. I read about it in science text books. I heard about it on After School Specials and on totally cool and cutting edge shows like 3-2-1 Contact! And the hip teachers like Mr. Jones said it was "serious indeed."

Then in college -roughly 15 years ago- everyone talked about it. They said that it was an immanent danger, and it could destroy all life as we know it.

Finally, about 4 or 5 years ago the press latched on to the idea. The irony! Here 20 years after I heard about it IN 7TH GRADE! the world is pretending like this is some new danger; like the scientists have been hiding it from everyone and only now have let it spill: "Oh yeah, did we forget to mention that you're all going to die?"

The press didn't even care about it until they could tie it in with the skyrocketing gas prices. But don't blame them! They knew none of their readers would care about it until it hurt their pocket books.

Reader: Why do I care if it's getting hotter? I have AC.

Press: Well, if the world get's hotter then the climates could all change and we could all die.

Reader: When?

Press: That's really hard to say.

Reader: Then it's really hard for me to care.

Press: You know, it's the burning of fossil fuels that causes most of the problem.

Reader: And...?

Press: Your gas prices are going through the roof.

Reader: Is there a connection? And if so, will my bitching about it lower my gas prices?

Press: Sort of.

Reader: OH SHIT WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!

...But I digress...

The point is, Mother Nature, that the public was slowly...

...ever so slowly...

...becoming aware of the problem. People were even listening to Al Gore. AL GORE! People were worrying. People were willing to spend extra on cars that got two or three miles more per gallon. People were telling their kids. People were thinking.

And then you go and f*ing snow on April 7 in Georgia. Now all the retards, penny-pinchers and Libertarians are gonna scream that there's no such thing as global warming. -sigh-

Ok. I'm sorry I got mad. I'll see what I can do to fix this. Maybe we can have a science guy -a good mix between intelligent looking and super cool- next to a stupid looking guy -possibly wearing suspenders - standing next to each other in the snow. The science guy says, "Don't forget about global warming," and the stupid looking guy looks up into the snow. Then the science guy says, "Wait for it..."

I'll work on it.

Dream

2009-03-23T16:31:00.005-04:00

Ok, every now and then I have these really weird dreams that are quasi predictive. For example, when I was a freshman in college I dreamed that my girlfriend at the time was going to break up with me. Weird huh? Is it less weird that the dream happened about two weeks after she dumped me?

So as I have said a couple of time recently, I have been promoted to a new position. And in this new job they have been busting my ass with nothing-work. In my last job, which I didn't particularly care for, I had a lot of down time. I did a good deal of work, but I had a lot of down time. Time which I could spend writing for you glorious people of the web world. But now, in my new job, I'm in meetings so much I don't have time to actually do any work. It is getting kind of frustrating.

ANYWAY... I had this dream the other night. In the dream I had decided to finally make the jump from State government to Federal. In this Fed job I got paid a lot more and the hours were slightly better. I was somewhat thrilled at first. Then, my first day on the job, I was told that someone above me had quit and that his position was now open, and did I want it? I said sure, so I got promoted on my first day. So I spent my first day moving my stuff to a new office. On the second day I got to the office and I was told that my department was being moved to another building and would be under another manager, but to compensate me for it I was getting a raise. Another raise, yes. The third day I came in determined to do some work. So I began asking around to find out who my supervisor was and what I needed to be doing. Someone saw me and was so struck by my work ethic that I got promoted again. Only the Fed had so many of this particular position that they didn't actually have an executive office for me. I was told that my desk would be available the following day.

The following day I went to work and spent the better part of the morning wandering around trying to find my office. Well, I didn't get an office. Neither did I get a cubical. What I got was a desk next to the water cooler. And it wasn't a nice desk. It was an elementary school desk with the open front. And my first duty in this new, executive position, was to clean out a toilet in the bathroom on that floor. Reluctantly I acquiesced and went to the bathroom to clean. Apparently some people were upset with how I had skyrocketed through promotions so about 10 people had gone #2 in the toilet. And when they had run out of room there they did an upper-decker. In case you don't know what an upper-decker is it's when you take a dump in the back part of the toilet. The only reason anyone would ever do this is because they are sick as hell. I mean, yeah it's funny... it's hilarious... but not if I have to clean it.

So now I'm worried that this is the future state of my job. Running around constantly, but never doing much besides cleaning up other people's shit.

Sounds about right actually.

Resumes Sent: 4
Stories Sent: 4
Stories Rejected: 3.5

"What's in a name?" 2

2009-03-18T00:31:00.004-04:00

After my last, What's in a name post, one of my loyal readers said:

That is awesome! I've always named my vehicles. I had a chev blazer similar to your jimmy, named Wade. Not the greatest vehicle name now that I sit here and read it. I'm ashamed.
-S

Well, I think Wade is a cool name.

I've always found it funny when people name things or pets regular people names - and not cool ones either.

I think I'll start naming all of my pets after my kids.

"Daddy, why does the dog have the same name as me?"
"It's a competition to see who can be better behaved."
"Oh," my son would say pitifully. Then he would brighten up. "The dog crapped on the floor twice today! So I'm doing better, right?"
"Well, didn't you go to the Principal's office today?"
"Yeah," he'd say gloomily. "But I didn't crap on his floor."
"All right then. So far today you're the better child. But you'd better run and clean your room just to be sure."

Resumes Sent: 4
Stories Sent: 4
Stories Rejected: 3.5

Bathrooms

2009-03-11T07:36:00.004-04:00

I've been in my new job for a week and a half now. I really like it.

My boss is cooler.
The work is more interesting.
The hours are flexible (better).
The dress code is more casual.
The staff is friendlier.
The staff development is way better.
The pay is better.
The view is better.

It's a really cool job. I'm just not sure if I can keep it.

See, the second floor, the one where my last job was, has auto-flush toilets. The fourth floor, where I am now, has manual flush toilets. I've been working here for two weeks now and I keep forgetting to flush the toilet. So I'll go and wash my hands and then, after I'm clean, I'll realize that I haven't flushed. So then I have to go flush and wash my hands again. That wouldn't be so bad, but the towel dispenser is always broken. It's bad enough having to struggle to get the towels out the first time you wash, but having to do it all over again? I might have to beg my old job back.

Or stop washing my hands.

Resumes Sent: 4
Stories Sent: 4
Stories Rejected: 3.5 - Still working on the second draft for Ideomancer. I have been so busy with the new job that I haven't had time to work on it, or on the blog. Lame excuse, I know.

Question

2009-03-07T01:29:00.002-05:00

Is it fair for a person to go bald AND gray?

I started losing at around 23. It was undeniable at 25. Now, nearing 35 I am noticing gray hairs. Where is the justice?

I mean, it absolutely doesn't distract from my devastating handsomeness. But still, is this fair?

On the positive side, the hairs might go gray, but not for long.

Resumes Sent: 4
Stories Sent: 4
This week I sent Rumplestiltskin to Ideomancer.
Stories Rejected: 3.5 - Ideomancer did not accept my story, but they did not reject it... exactly. One of the editors wrote me and said that she liked everything about the story except the basic premise, the plot, the characters, my writing style, the mood, the direction, the morals, the begin, the end and the middle. She went so far as to say that there were some parts that were so bad it made her hate herself and also my mother. BUT... she said it has potential. I'm considering a rewrite.

Please don't overstand

2009-02-26T15:07:00.006-05:00

I have been thinking about the word understand. What does it mean, exactly? I mean, it clearly means to comprehend. But why do we say "I understand?" What exactly do we stand under? I suppose if we are "catching" someone's meaning it might be more easily caught if we stood directly under it. Much like a fly ball. Or if they were dangling precariously from a window or tree we might stand under them to catch them as they fall. This example seems a little more fitting since most of the time when someone is trying to explain themselves they seem to be going out on a limb.

The problem with this "understanding" of the term understand is it kind of presumes that you are about to catch them. But the word "understand" means that you have already caught them.

I looked up the word at www.dictionary.com. They didn't help much. It seems that no one really knows why we say I understand. Their best guess was that it really means to stand "with" them. Kind of like saying, "I'm with you." So somehow to understand really means to "stand along with." I will grant you that "I understand" is a much easier turn of phrase than, "I stand along side you" or "I'm standing with you."

Whatever. In my musing about the word understand I have created a new word:

OVERSTAND - to not understand.

Here I will use it in a sentence:

After much study I have decided that I overstand the etymology of the word understand.

Resumes Sent: 4
Stories Sent: 3
This week I sent Rumplestiltskin to Fantasy Magazine.
However, I had to deduct a story from Stories Sent because one of my previously sent stories was returned to me unopened. Frustrating.
Stories Rejected: 3

Food Advice

2009-02-23T11:16:00.003-05:00

Ok, just a little food advice.

For those of you who aren't "up" on social discourse etiquette let me clue you in.

Do not refer to your lunch as a future fecal sample. This will cause some people to get upset and you may find yourself in Human Resources getting a lecture on what is inappropriate for conversation and what is "gross." Truth, apparently, holds little weight.

Resumes Sent: 4
Stories Sent: 3
Stories Rejected: 2