What follows is a fond childhood memory...

So if you're not a friend or relative, it may seem fairly boring or sickeningly sappy to you:

Back in the mid-1970s, my uncle Ronnie and aunt Laura worked for Warner Brothers Pictures in Hollywood. When mom and I would visit them, they’d tell us stories of their adventures working on projects, some bigger (a 1973 remake of Miracle on 34th Street) and some smaller. It was always a treat to visit Ronnie and Laura, which made it ultra-sweet when my Mom asked if I'd like to live with them. Mom had decided, in her ADHD-inspired way, that she wanted to do some over-the-road truck driving. That’s no life for a kid, so I packed my stuff (which was a regular thing for me) and set up residence in the Hollywood Hills.

Ronnie and Laura were textbook Californians. They were vegetarians, drove a little fuel efficient Honda Civic, loved Rod McKuen and Neil Diamond, and had that accent that west-coasters are famous for. Aunt Laura was an office worker and an occasional extra for movies, and uncle Ronnie was the studly actor-type. They didn’t know anyone who could babysit, so I would often go to work with them and just hang out. There weren't many nine-year-olds who got to wander around that famous Warner lot where movies and TV shows are made, so I felt pretty important.

My presence was an experiment for them. They were fairly sure they wanted children, but it was tough because uncle Ronnie had a burgeoning career and it wouldn’t be easy to balance it all. It turned out my visit cemented their resolve, and once they committed, they were dead-set on making it happen right away. They would lock themselves in the bedroom for hours on end, which was totally gross, so I would walk to the park and play with whoever was there. Fine with me, I had fun, they had fun. I was almost ten years old, and thanks to the big mouth of my grandmother’s step-son a full three years earlier, I was hip to the "ins and outs" of life.

Like i said, gross.

School was a weird and magical thing in Hollywood. I walked nearly a mile each way, and once there, the students would start the day by lining up in the breezeway and singing "When Johnny Comes Marching Home." It was 1974, and Johnny wasn't anyone I understood. It would be years until I realized what it was about.

I was a gifted kid in California, which wasn’t even a thing in Missouri, so I really loved going to school there. While I was at Annandale Elementary, I went to a place every day called The Kingdom. That was the name of the gifted program, and it consisted of a big air-conditioned room full of computers. Most of them had card readers, and you could load several into the memory and play a simple game. They took forever to load, so we ended up having very little time to actually play, but it was a very cool experience, and as I said, air conditioned.

The other option in The Kingdom was an area outside where we could play marbles, and I became pretty good at it in the few months I attended school there.

Being a vegetarian wasn't easy to adjust to. Aunt Laura would send lunch to school with me, consisting of a combination of the following: half a peanut butter sandwich, half a head of lettuce, some carrots, an apple, and this gross-tasting green juice. I spent a big part of the first two weeks at Ronnie and Laura’s in the bathroom. At that point in my life I hadn't experienced that much roughage, and many days it felt like I had eaten about five railroad ties.

Living with my aunt and uncle in those Hollywood hills, the sunny afternoons listening to the radio on the deck overlooking LA, their doting attention, the fun of being at Warner Brothers, were truly a high point in my life.

Then one day it all literally came crashing down.

I woke up on the morning of March 14, 1974 to the sound of Laura crying in the living room. I went in to see what was wrong, and through violent sobs she told me about a news report she had just seen on television.

For about a week, uncle Ronnie had been on a shoot for an ABC television series called "Primal Man." They had flown to a location in the White Mountains to shoot the movie, and were flying home late on the night of March 13. Just after take-off, something went wrong and the plane crashed into the side of a mountain, killing all 36 aboard. To this day, the crash is one of only three the FAA has failed to explain.

Laura had learned of the crash on the morning news. The police arrived a couple of hours later to confirm my uncle was gone.

I could only imagine how she felt. The two of them were inseparable. I had never seen a couple more in love, and all I could do was sit next to her patting her shoulder. At that age, I had no idea what to do.

The following few days were a blur, but I was asked to read one of the poems Ronnie had written at his funeral. Mom never made it back to Los Angeles to say goodbye to him, and I remember resenting her for it. I had no idea how intensely she experienced his death, and that avoiding the funeral had been a self-protection response for her.

Aunt Laura drove me to the airport later that day to catch a flight to Kansas City, to live with my grandparents.

I'll never forget the time I spent with Ronnie and Laura, and how they made me feel important and wanted. Their desire for a child was strong, and it turned out I was the closest they would ever come. I have to say, they would have been amazing parents. They were instrumental in making me realize my own potential, and through them I found a self-confidence I never knew I had.

I’m really glad the whole vegetarian thing didn't stick, though.

Sumbitch...

Today my name is Petty McShallow.

I have nothing meaningful to contribute to society this day - I hope you understand. I feel like I'm letting... oh, could be 4 or 5 people... down. Great. More guilt.

I was annoyed by the alarm clock at 4 am, showered in my sleep and did the morning show on our local country station today. I don't think I pissed anyone off, I avoided most controversial subjects except Paris Hilton's blackberry. (get your mind out of the gutter, I mean her electronic organizer) Even THAT subject felt flat to me, I just didn't have the energy to be my usual sarcastic prick-of-a-self.

I came home at 9 am, Tawnya had breakfast ready, then I took a short nap. I feel much better now, although not creative at ALL. I need to find some intellectual stimulation. And this is clearly not where I'll find it. So I'm off...

Hunter S. Thompson 1939-2005

Hunter S. Thompson -- journalist, gun-collector, enemy of the state -- committed suicide on Sunday at the age of 65. Most famous for his book about a road-trip/drug orgy through the Nevada desert, "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," he single-handedly invented "gonzo" journalism.

My friend Russ just emailed to remind me of a quote from Hunter - I had forgotten it was he who said it... and it's obvious he knew what the radio business is like:

"The radio business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side."

Sunday morning humor...

No offense to blondes, my daughter's one. But I had to pass on a couple of jokes I heard today:


A blonde woman was speeding down the road in her little red sports car and was pulled over by a woman police officer who was also blonde. The blonde cop asked to see the blonde driver's license. She dug through her purse and was getting progressively more agitated."What does it look like?" she finally asked.

The policewoman replied, "It's square and it has your picture on it."

The driver finally found a square mirror in her purse, looked at it and handed it to the policewoman. "Here it is," she said.

The blonde officer looked at the mirror, then handed it back. "Okay, you can go. I didn't realize you were a cop."

---------------------------------

A blind man walks into a biker babe joint, sits at the bar and orders a beer. He says loudly, to whomever was within earshot, "Anyone want to hear a great blonde joke?"

A woman next to him, hoping to spare him the embarrassment, said "I can see you're blind, so I feel it's only right I tell you, I am blonde. The bartender is 6'1" and blonde, the woman to your right is a blonde body builder and the woman behind you is a blonde karate black-belt. So do you want to reconsider telling that joke?"

He thought for a second. "You're right, forget it. I don't feel like explaining it 4 times."

What would Jesus drive?

On the way to retrieve my daughter today, I was behind a mini van. My friends all know of my disdain for said vehicles - not sure exactly why. I just hate 'em.

So the van was moving in and out of traffic with no concern for any vehicle that might be in the way. If he wanted to change lanes, he did... regardless. Move if you don't wanna get hit. And he didn't use his turn signal.

Side note: Ever daydream that you have the ability to blow up a vehicle with special gamma ray vision? Just look at it, get that expression on your face (the one of extreme concentration, sort of like Condoleeza Rice looks all the time) and the car goes boom. I am still dealing with the guilt which comes with those daydreams. But that's another story.

So finally I have the chance to pass Mr. Asshole mini-van driver and take the opportunity to glare at him. What I see is priceless.

The people are praying. The driver has one hand in the air, the passenger has both hands in the air - and they are both looking up and... chanting. In unison. I nearly ran off the road.

I wonder, do people really believe they can conduct themselves in whatever manner they wish and God will keep them safe?

Except for the fact they had survived this long, (they looked to be in their 40s) I'd say they were NUTS. I don't think God has much to say about changing lanes.

But I'll bet he has a LOT to say about misuse of gamma ray vision.

Skepticism

Skepticism is healthy. I say this because I am a skeptic, but mostly because it is always... ALWAYS a good idea to question information. No matter the source, a piece of information is likely colored or skewed by the opinion of the author or presenter. Skepticism is a means of discovering truth or falsity.

Can a skeptic be skeptical about real evidence? Sure, but those aren't true skeptics. True skeptics are leery about non-evidence-based theory. Those who dispute real evidence are... well, they're wackos. Example: the moon landings were faked. It's a preposterous notion when you consider factual evidence.

The conspiracy theorists who perpetuate the idea that 9/11 was staged by our government for it's own gain are just such wackos. To these people, out-of-context quotes, shadowy pictures and black helicopters ARE their evidence. So Popular Mechanics decided to put some experts to work to "test" the facts and evidence of 9/11. I thought the article was fascinating - read for yourself.

Unless you're a wacko.

9/11: Debunking The Myths

Dave's Friday Photo

Morning in the harbor.

Quote of the week...

"The thing we say we'll never do is the very thing, after all, we want to do most."

-author unknown

You're welcome

For the guys. Click the link. Wash your hands before you return.

"Reading" material

Dear Dave:

Just a quick note to let you know things are right on schedule! The preparations you’ve made lately - the temper tantrum toward your wife, the rate at which you are drinking, the way you treat your friends, your near-constant breaking of laws like speeding, public nudity and sodomy… the way you wear your hair – are having their desired effect, which is to get your here more QUICKLY!

(I will have to ask though, that certain activities, like your phone calls to your Mother and the donation you made to tsunami victims STOP immediately. It is muddying up your approval process.)

You’re one lucky sinner! You’ve earning the "A level package!" A 3 story, 25-thousand square foot mansion is awaiting you, nestled on the banks of the Styx river. (you have a dock, but you still need to earn a boat – I suggest forgetting your wife’s birthday again… that should do it)

You will have a small weekend cottage by the lake of fire JUST for how you treated that bartender last night. Priceless... especially the insult about his brain size… something about shoving it in a gnat’s ass being similar to a bee-bee in a freight car? You’re quickly adding up bonus points, which can be redeemed for things like loneliness, pestilence and self loathing upon your arrival.

And that email you sent your friend, Dr. Mike. What did that say again? Oh yes.

Dear ass munch:
You lazy bastard. Will you take 10 minutes away from masturbating, eating, or berating the innocent... and WRITE IN YOUR FUCKING BLOG? I'm sick of looking at your last entry, an ill-conceived doctored up picture… probably a product of a late night absinthe-induced photo-editing software purchase you made to see if you could give that nude snapshot of yourself a bigger dick.
Signed,
Tawnya

Strictly from the pen of pure evil, my friend!

In closing, I guess I’ll see you soon. Your recent activities have not only accelerated your arrival time (you should receive an ETA from old “grimmy” soon) but I’m also happy to announce you’ll be whisked away in true VIP fashion aboard the Hell Express.

First class, mon frere.

Signed,
B. L. Z. Bubb, a.k.a. Lucy Furr
The Prince Of Darkness (P.O.D.)

PS - I'm going to have to ask you to stop occasionally helping your wife with dinner.

Some days you feel GREAT

And some days you feel like the lab rat that got the placebo.

It is no secret how the rich get rich. Shrewd thinking, strategic investments. And, sometimes on the backs of unsuspecting blokes. Or blokettes.

Real estate is a tough business. And, sometimes I just need to keep my over-opinionated mouth shut about my wife's transactions. Now is not one of those times.

About 8 months ago, she listed a house that had been on the market for well over a year. The previous TWO agents who had taken a shot couldn't find a buyer. The housing market was worse then, there were problems with the house... a myriad of reasons the home hadn't sold. But during that time my wife had listed and sold 2 other houses on the same street, and when the owner saw her success, he immediately enlisted her to do her magic.

Quick history... the owner is a retired CEO. He had purchased the house 3 years ago, not for himself, but for his daughter. She has since moved elsewhere and now he's selling it. He owes nothing on it, he paid cash. HE lives in a 700 thousand dollar home right now - and is having a 1.5 million dollar, 11-thousand square foot home built. Needless to say, he has plenty of money.

Anyway, my wife found a buyer for the house and it will close soon. Mr. Rich Seller will make a pretty good profit on it, especially considering he hasn't put a dime into improvements of any kind. I'm talking about 50 grand here.

So during the repair work negotiations for the transaction, the buyers asked that the Masonite siding settlement claim (long story, but worth probably 8 grand) be transferred to the them... it is, after all, they who will need to make the repairs. He balked! He wanted to keep settlement money for siding on a house he didn't even own.

Secondly, the buyers asked that a sump pump be installed.

And that was IT. They asked for two things - one should have been automatic (settlement claim) and the other costs 300 bucks.

Well, my wife was finally able to talk the seller into the sensible thing, letting the buyer take the settlement for the siding. But the rich, gluttonous PRICK made my WIFE pay for the sump pump out of her own commission. She had busted her ass for this guy, found a way to sell a house nobody else could sell - and he makes her pay for HIS fucking (pardon) pump.

Come on, Dave, it's a small thing. It's only 300 bucks.

Screw him! When she told me this, I nearly SHIT myself! (that's right, SHIT is italicized - which means, well... SHIT) If it were me, I would have, in no incertain terms, told him where he could shove his house - and how far in it should go - and allowed his deal to fall through. Then I would have withdrawn the listing and sent him back to square-one with another agent.

But she is more patient than me - and apparently a better big-picture person. Had she done that, it would mean she had performed all the work for nothing - losing her investment of time, and about 9 grand.

And besides, now I've calmed down and I guess I can see her point. I reluctantly... agree. With. Her............


No. You know what? SCREW HIM. I've become pissed off ALL OVER AGAIN just by telling the story. If there were any justice, that prick should right now be out shopping for a 40 gallon drum of petroleum jelly for his insertion procedure.

I'm headed to my therapist to find xanadu for a little while.

So you tell me, how would you have reacted? Don't be shy, leave a comment. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong.

Disturbing questionnaire trend

Who could possibly CARE what kind of music I like?!?

Chain emails are annoying, especially the ones that require you to fill in blanks and forward them so your friends know more about you. I've received requests for top 10 CD lists, the old "deserted island" question, links to RATE-THE-MUSIC sites... ugh.

Having said that...

We have two vehicles at the Morris compound. They appropriately reflect the diversity of the personalities of my wife and me. A BMW 745Li, and a GMC Sierra crew cab pickup. Depending on what mood we're in... that's the vehicle we'll drive that day.

So what music will you find in the CD players in the vehicles:

BMW - (6-CD changer) The Essential Heart "Greatest Hits", Firefall "Greatest Hits", Alanis Morrissette "Jagged Little Pill", Jimmy Buffett "License to Chill", Sons of the Desert "Whatever Comes First", and Counting Crows "Hard Candy."

Pickup - (6-CD changer) Joe Diffie "Greatest Hits", Gretchen Wilson "Redneck Woman", Jimmy Buffett "License to Chill", Shawn Mullins "Soul's Core", and the Forrest Gump Soundtrack.

I'm not sure what the open slot in the truck CD player says about us. Nor am I certain what it means that we own two copies of the Buffett CD. I try not to overanalyze things.

Yeah, right.

Age is just a number

I'll bet you've met them... the different kind of people who feel somehow mismatched with their bodies. 20-year-olds who appear to have very old souls. Or, the opposite... 90-somethings who act like teenagers. Oh, there's nothing wrong with "normal" people - they're... you know, just fine I guess - but those with a unique perspective provide me the most inspiration and entertainment.

As I was sitting on the couch with my wife tonight surfing the net, I stumbled across something I have to pass along to you. He is a self-proclaimed oldtimer who calls himself Hoss... not really all that old (74 he says) but with a delightfully healthy level of immaturity.

Hoss, for whatever reason, has come to take up residence in what he calls a "Golden Oldie Home of False Teeth and Hips" - an assisted living retirement home somewhere in Oregon. I don't know the story of his life, where his children might be (if he has any) or how content he is with his current status quo. I do know that he appears to be having a blast. The diary he writes about life in the slow lane (and the oddball but society-mirroring cast of characters he shares his home with) made me smile. As I was scanning his site, I realized that his humor and positive perspective was totally disarming. Reading the stories actually gave me a feeling of relief - that growing old might not be so bad after all. There's a funny line here, something about grizzled gaiety - but I digress.

Check out his blog if you have a minute. It's called Old Horsetail Snake.

I can only hope to be as fun, interesting - and graceful - as Hoss when I am 74. If life throws you high inside fastballs, it's recommended that you lean back a little and take your best swing.*


* I'm sick of the lemons/lemonade metaphor

Just look at yourself!

You, unwittingly but very willingly, are part of a revolution. What you are perpetuating by reading this - is part of a movement difficult to measure by current standards. A shifting of the paradigm of journalism.

And to think I was just looking for a hobby.

I'm talking about the BLOG. Not to be confused with the kitschy horror film from the 50s, "The Blob."

Okay, maybe a bit of a let-down, considering I made it sound more like the building of the Roman Empire. But it's interesting how journalism is undergoing a massive global redistribution of power... taken from the hands of a few large, powerful media companies (many for whom I work) and given to the fingers of individuals from Warsaw Missouri to Warsaw Poland.

Looking back, I've always wanted to be a columnist, sharing my twisted view of things with an audience of readers. Well... here I am. I didn't have to apply for a job with a newspaper... I didn't have to attend journalism school... heck, I didn't even have to leave the house. And the fact that you're reading this is a clear indication that - well, maybe that you have no life. I don't know.

The internet has long been expected to be instrumental in the shift from centralized control. It is only now beginning to see it's true potential. When you can click a mouse in Russia and turn your kitchen lights on in Chicago... or better yet, click a button on your cell phone and publish your autobiography for the world to read... you see how truly large the concept could become. People are using blogs for a myriad of purposes... showing off baby pictures, keeping a journal, group study... and it's free.

When a blogger can bring down an institution such as Dan Rather, (the memogate scandal) it's a flashing, buzzing, annoying light that says THE WORLD IS CHANGING. Will this new instant access to publishing mean the demise of the MSM (mainstream media)? Probably not - at least not in the short term. Billions of people still have no idea what a blog is. But it is certainly holding the media's feet to the fire, ready to shine a big bright spotlight on anything that appears counterfactual.

There is a danger, too. Unfortunately, we're depending on the honor system here... there are no rules or codes of ethic governing what can be written, other than the yet-to-be-defined outline of a world-wide morality. That's scary. For instance, I can hit a few buttons and publish in deadly detail the story of a friend's rather nasty case of rectal warts.



I'm just giving you a few seconds to let that sink in - and then exorcise the visual from your mind.



You can see what a dangerous, yet exciting precipice we're on. We will each have to decide how we will react to it. But one thing is clear. While spending billions of dollars trying to find life on Mars or Titan, we're discovering there is life on Earth. Individual people we didn't even know existed. And now we can know their opinions! How great is that?!?

Hmmm. On second thought...

Happy Valentine's Day

When something is on my mind, I have to say it… I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings. Besides, it’s best to just put it out there, so everyone knows where I stand. So here goes.

On this Valentine’s Day, to Tawnya, I’d like to say thank you.

The past several years have been exactly what I needed. It’s no small accomplishment that our relationship survived and thrived in such a world as this, and under these circumstances. I’ve had the opportunity to experience how life really should be since you took the bold and brave step of making me your husband. It requires character and fortitude to risk one’s personal treasure for a man who has yet to prove his marital prowess. Just the idea you’d take that chance gives me pause.

At any given moment, your door is open and all sorts of people walk in. Each wants something different from you… many times, it’s advice. Some want money. Some ask for your time. Some I’m sure wish for other things… your attention and love, perhaps. I find it fascinating that, of all people who would or could deserve it, you’ve chosen me. I try comprehending it, but frankly I’m just not capable.

For reasons too numerous to relate here, (and many I don’t even know) I’ve spent many years with a closed heart. Fear and apprehension have hidden my deepest self from those who have loved me. How on Earth you’ve removed so many barriers and lowered so many defenses is beyond me. Maybe it was your willingness to wait. Patience is a virtue of which I know little… and you seem to possess an endless surplus. Maybe it is your incredibly friendly nature, your positive aura or your smile. Who knows.

Trying to comprehend the intricate workings of your heart and mind… and attempting to discover what it is that has so completely disarmed me, would only leave me drowning in the mystery. So it shall suffice that I be thankful for you… look forward to grey hair with you… watch our children grow with you… anticipate age without fear or depression… and enjoy and be grateful for the footprints you’ve left on my heart.

Weekend bloggers have no lives

And here I am.

Weekends are prime real estate time - and my wife is a realtor. Which makes times like these all the more fun. I'm sitting in the truck with Regis while my wife walks our old neighborhood saying hello and passing out valentine candy. She runs over to the truck when she needs more supplies, then it's back to hoofing it, shaking hands and kissing babies.

Real estate is a difficult business, especially when you're trying to build a clientele. She's doing so well she almost doesn't need to work it - but she's driven to succeed, and heck... it's extra money. She's been inspired by our friend Robin Williams, who is one of the best agents in St. Louis. Nice to have a mentor to help with motivation. I'm certainly not very motivational... know-it-alls seldom are.

Am I not a geek? I actually brought my laptop to take advantage of prime blogging time while Tawnya is out of the truck.

But I'm also a normal guy. Because I also brought beer.

Dave's Friday Photo

A very good year

Who I am...

Arthur Miller died last night. If you're not familiar, he's the Pulitzer Prize winning playwright who penned Death of a Salesman.

Strange, the timing of his death. At almost the moment he died, last night while driving home, I was having a fit of self-doubt. The kind Miller's character Willy Loman experienced in the play.

Death of a Salesman embodies what most men go through at a time in their lives. That moment of self-awareness, that instant when a man looks back at his years and realizes that the book of his life he intended to write turned out differently. (I say most men because I'm sure some never go through it. I have... I am... and so I am not one of the lucky ones)

My regrets are not huge ones... I never went to college, and wish I had. I allowed people to walk on me a time or two, and wish I hadn't. I made some disastrous financial decisions early in life. I didn't get to know myself very well until recently, which could have spared me some personal expense...

The book of my life, or the one I intended, isn't exactly following the path I had hoped. My story was to be that of a big-time radio guy. A popular personality who always knew the right thing to say at the right time. He made his listeners' lives richer, and was respected in his industry. He was important and in demand. He never stumbled or faltered... and as he aged, he kept his edge. When he retired, people would still call him and ask his advice - and toward the end, he would write a book about his successes in radio and the people and places he'd seen.

You know, I'm not sure exactly where that story began to falter. I suppose somewhere toward the beginning, the part about being big-time. I reached a certain level of success in radio, but nothing near what I had dreamed. There were lots of restarts, retries and resets. When I lost my most recent job in 2000, I decided maybe my book had been miswritten.

So I reluctantly moved into a related business. It wasn't what I had envisioned for my life... it's a business rife with changing trends, and at any moment I could be yesterday's "flavor of the day." I hope that my flexibility and willingness to modify will prevent that from happening, but in those moments of self-doubt... well, you know.



The bottom line is, I am not the man I thought I would be.



But you know, those moments can be helpful if you let them. In a somewhat epiphanous way I have been reminded that what I DO... is not really who I AM. How I father... how I husband, how I handle friendships, is who I am. Conducting life day-to-day in a way that satisfies me and makes me proud... that's who I am.

And you know what? I guess I do pretty good at what I do. As voice over guys go, I get plenty of respect. I have a place in the business and a dog in the hunt. My clients like what I give them and I enjoy giving it. I'm growing faster than I ever hoped. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve what I have, but mostly I think I do.


Am I the person I dreamed I would be? Not exactly.


But I like Anita Sharpe's quote - "Accepting your destiny sometimes means abandoning your dream."

Happy Birthday Gary!

After a certain age, sea cruise activities change for some people.

Newly recognized syndrome has an old name

For millennia humans have mourned over it. It's the subject of many a songwriter's works. Vincent Van Gogh painted with inspiration from it... and we've all suffered it's symptoms. I don't know who originally coined the phrase, but the term BROKEN HEART seems a perfect choice of words.

Now the medical world has acknowledged its effect on the human body. The symptoms are not contrived, nor imagined, they are real. Not irreparable, according to doctors, as a heart attack is. But every bit as painful.


I remember my first broken heart. I was 16. (transitional harp sound and picture goes fuzzy)

We'll call her Pam, (because that was her name) and she lived just down the street from where I worked. We met at school, and as we became better acquainted, found we were very much alike. She would call me after school, and some nights we'd talk for 4 or 5 hours. Finally I got up the courage to offer her my class ring. She said she was wondering what took me so long. Yippeeee! Life was good.

Pam always did the sweetest things... she'd bring lunch to me during my weekend on-air shifts. I remember finding cute little notes on my car window... I can still see clearly in my mind the way she'd make me tea, stir it with her finger and sit right next to me to watch TV. She's the first girl that I ever really kissed.

Her parents had dreamed of vacationing in Alaska for as long as I'd known them. Her brother was stationed in Anchorage, so finally they made their plans. I was excited for them, but dreaded the absence - it was a 2 week trip! So I offered to be their airport transportation. Honestly, It was just an excuse to get to hang out with Pam a little longer before they left. As I kissed her goodbye at the gate, she gave me an extra squeeze and promised she'd call.

She never did.

The first week, I thought about how she probably just couldn't find a phone. Or they were too busy taking tours... or visiting her brother. Or a glacier must have broken loose and severed the phone lines. Finally, since I didn't have a phone number, I sent a rose to her brother's address. A note was attached, "miss you, call me."

In the middle of week two, the phone rang. It was her Father's voice on the other end, he was calling to arrange the time to pick them up at the airport. We worked it out, then I asked to talk to Pam.

"She's... uh... out right now Dave." His voice was steady but a little stressed. I knew something was up.

"She hasn't called me, you guys must really be busy. Did she get the rose I sent?"

"Yeah, she got it." Long silence. "I don't know what to tell you son."

"Uh... well... okay. So... 7 o'clock - I'll meet you at the gate." We hung up and I knew it was over. Pam had met a guy on vacation and we were finished. When I picked them up at the gate, she didn't speak to me. Not a word. The ride back was uncomfortable... I dropped them off and went home.

I cried all night that night. I probably didn't sleep for 3 days. I told Mom I would never feel the same about another person... and how life as I knew it was over. My buddy Ken and I took a weekend road trip to Mizzou to see an Alabama concert, but even the gorgeous college girls couldn't take away the pain.

But as young love often does, it faded pretty fast. Between my school and work, my mind had plenty to do, and I found myself thinking about it less and less...



And within a month, I was dating Pam's cousin.


(transitional harp again, fuzzy memory segment over)


I'm not sure if my story has a moral, but I do know this. Broken hearts are real. I know exactly where the cracks are in mine. Evidence of physical irreparable damage? The experts say there's none.

I might have to disagree.

Do not resuscitate???

If ever there is a time I'm in a coma... never, never pull the plug.

Ever.

That is my request. I don't understand the DNR. (do not resuscitate) What if there is a chance to live a normal life... why blow it by not allowing CPR or a defibulator? Duh.

Those who have DNRs have no imagination, no hunger for life. If you are truly looking that forward to being fertilizer, why wait?

Me? If I'm in a coma, at least I'm getting some good sleep. And who knows, maybe they'll cure comas in 5 years and I wake right up.

Imagine THAT breakfast!

Politics, religion and sex

I remember when discussing those three subjects was taboo while among friends or in public.

Now it seems that's ALL we talk about. In fact, recently on a television talk show I heard all three covered in one kinky coversation about Pat Robertson's bedroom etiquette.

Yesterday's Super Bowl broadcast has been called "boring." Yes, because of the lack of booty-shaking hip gyrations, crotch grabbing and near-nudity, it somehow failed to keep the attention of the American public. (ratings were down 4 percent from last year's game) And because of a lack of "equine digestive venting" (last year's fart-lighting clydesdale) and sex-edgy subject matter, even the commercials this year have been labeled monotonous.

Add to that puzzling reality, the current fare of network programming. There's an apparent need to watch fellow humans consume vile things such as boiled jackyl balls or fat-guy ass lint on that great example of American television, Fear Factor.

I just don't get it. Soon we'll grow so accustomed to these new social and entertainment lows, "reality" shows may actually become reality. Quenching our entertainment thirst will become nearly impossible. Already, keeping my kids away from the mindless swill on television and the internet is as difficult as keeping Kirstie Alley out of Baskin Robbins.

And even she is starting a new diet.

I'm as progressive as the next guy. I like T&A - I'm a red blooded male. We lead a fairly liberal lifestyle (within reason) but there are things best discussed and experienced alone. In private. Do I want someone WATCHING while I'm gyrating about wildly in a g-string or consuming a snack of jackyl balls?

No.

Anal

On a quest to answer the question "am I normal?"

Note to friends: I know what you are thinking. Screw you.

I am the pickiest male I know regarding cleanliness. It's almost obsessive. If the kitchen sink has anything in it, I break a bead of sweat. My wife has a habit of soaking things. Casserole dishes, the blender caraffe... and all I can think of is, what if a family of mosquitos set up household in there?!?

I'm also a couch-cushion nazi... they need to be in a certain order and straight. What if we have company, for chrissake??

My yard needs to be tidy. (although I haven't picked up Regis' "debris field" in a while) I don't like newspapers in the yard. I don't like leaves or other organic refuse tainting the hedgerow.

And then there are the vehicles. We're on a road trip right now to Jefferson City to my brothers for Super Bowl weekend. My wife has been driving our pickup all week - and may I say one of my pet peeves is when people just throw spare change into the cup holder and it gets mixed in with dust, soda and straw papers. Then lipstick, pens, a gillion post-it-notes with outdated messages, CDs, McDonalds cups, coffee mugs, etc. collect in the floor of the passenger seat.

AAAUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Whew. I needed that.

So I cleaned out the truck and we're on the road. I'm connected via wireless through Cingular's EDGE network. Pretty cool. I'll check in later. I need to tidy up my computer bag.

Dave's Friday Photo I

Winter dreams...

Dave's Friday Photo II

Time and light...

Never, ever... EVER...

...double dose on Nyquil while surfing amazon.com, then write in your blog. That's a little lesson I learned last night and felt I should pass on. See below.

A Badonkadonk???

The Badonkadonk

I found a toy I do not own. It's actually for sale on e-bay, click here to see the listing.

At only 19,999.95, it looks like I can afford to buy one for each of my friends... Gary, Mike, Rick, Ron, John, Billy, Roger and Dave. I plan to purchase a plot of land upon which we can operate the "Badonkadonks." For an hour we can play tag in them. The next hour will be a cross-country coyote hunt-n-shave, then a little time for demolition derby.

At the end of the night, we'll build a fire, drink Milwaukee's Best Light and scratch ourselves. The coyotes will huddle close to the fire, shivering. Then we'll polish our body armour, floss and drift off to a restless sleep.

The next morning it's IHOP for salisbury steak and whipped cream.

Gosh, I can't wait. I think I'll sharpen my hedge trimmers.

Sleep

I wonder how many nights the average person can go without sleep. I think you're supposed to start halucinating after 72 hours awake. The world's record is something like 11 days. So that makes me feel pretty good about my total of 20 hours sleep in the last 6 days.

As boxing legend Don King said, "You don't get nothing from sleep but a dream."

It's HARD getting old

Sexual performance drugs like Viagra will be covered by Medicare's new prescription benefit beginning next year...

I'm sorry if I offend the elderly, but I don't feel my tax dollars are well spent giving Elmer a woody. The way I see it, if I'm not getting sex at 40, I don't feel like paying for the coital fix of someone twice my age.

Maybe I'm being a prick. Oh well.

You're kidding me, right?

I feel that Martha Stewart is doing time for something I would have probably done, too. It is puzzling that she felt it was worth doing for a comparative pittance... 300,000 probably isn't much to her. But I would have done it. I have friends who have committed worse offenses.

But I AM offended by this. Give me a break, are there no new ideas in television? Do we really need another Apprentice-type show?

I can see it now. The BigFatRealWorldQueerEyeObnoxious-ApprenticeNannySurvivorBachelorIdolFactor911.

Word jumble

Ever notice that martial arts and marital arts are very close? If you are good at the marital arts, you probably don't need to know martial arts.

Just a stupid observation from a sick, laryngitic voice over guy stranded on a couch.

Make good use of the time you have!

Medical science is making new discoveries daily. Genetics will soon make it possible to remove certain genes that cause cancer, for instance. Slowly, we're discovering ways to make humans live longer. One professor at a respected college said the first human being to live to age 1000 may ALREADY be 60 years old today.

But if science somehow ground to a halt today and we discovered no more cures - how old would YOU live to be? Here's my score:



Take the test if you want, it only takes a few minutes. Ironically, you won't know if you can really AFFORD those few minutes until after you've taken the test. Hmmm.

By the way, this test was developed prior to the release of Hardee's Monster Thick Burger. Take one year off your results for every thick burger you've consumed.

Finally, proof...

I was scouring the 'net for some hard news to exercise my mind tonight, and found something that would convince even the harshest religious skeptic of the existence of a creator:



That, ladies and gentlemen, is a grilled cheese with the virgin Mary on it. You may be skeptical, but it's 100 percent authentic. People are traveling the world to get a glimpse of this cherished religious symbol... hoping it bestows upon them the "blessing of the cheddar."

Then I happened across something even MORE astounding.



If you guessed this is a fish stick with Jesus on it, (DING DING DING) you are absolutely right! This morsel of mollusk is rumored to be a processed, homogenized and preserved piece of one of the actual fish Jesus duplicated in infinitum in the whole "loaves and fishes" thing. Obviously, a "Van DeKamp veneration."

It only took a few more mouse clicks until I came across...



The "Mary nursing Jesus" popcorn! That's right, this celestial kernel looks as if it "popped" right out of the heavenly husk of God. Who could question the obvious message He is sending through His mythical maize. If God has a name, it's probably Redenbacher.

But then, obviously satan became jealous of the attention given to the consecrated cuisine... and sent us THIS message (clearly authentic) on the side of a hot pocket:



What are we to make of this satanic snack? Could beelzabub be trying to lure us into his cheesy web of deceit? Or is the chef boyar-devil simply reminding us that, if we're not good, he'll save a nice little waterfront cottage for us... on the river STYX?

Side note: the luciferous hot pocket sold for 137 bucks on e-bay. No joke.

Anyway, finally my search for pietous pabulum was over, and I logged off the net. Faith in a creator is something you'll find in your heart - not in a grocery store.

Next stop, the pantry, where earlier I had spied a 'tater shaped like Hitler. That should fetch a handsome reward.

I don't often discuss politics

My friend Mike Anderson's blog included an interesting link today -

BE NOT MISLED BY THE BLUE AND THE RED

I'm not sure where you "come down" on the issues, but I consider myself a moderate Republican. I say moderate because there are issues upon which I agree with the Democrats - yet, I fall just a little on the red side of center.

The writer of the above-linked article for democraticunderground.com, Karyn Strickler, actually got me to write her a letter. I NEVER write letters! (when I see something that pisses me off, I usually just click another link and move on)

She is representative of a party of bitter people who feel cheated by the results of the election - irrespective of it's obvious legitimacy. My letter to her, cut/pasted below, encourages her to get on with life, put a smile on and get a candidate for 2008 that can "get 'er done."
_____

Karyn:

While I support your right and willingness to share your opinions on today’s state of politics, (I am a moderate conservative) I must say that, the absurd attempts at rationalization of the election results (or implication of impropriety because Kerry didn’t win) serve only to insult thinking Americans on both sides of the aisle.

While I don’t agree with President Bush on all the issues, he won the election. Most of us have accepted this and begun moving on. You should do the same – and be encouraged by this challenge:

Name a president in recent history who has successfully pushed an agenda forward in a second term. Clinton basically did nothing his second term, (beyond slight modifications, then endorsements of Republican ideas) nor did Ronald Reagan. Am I wrong? I am relying on memory here. ;)

Don’t be afraid of a second term. As you have so aptly pointed out, Bush has no chance of overturning Rowe v. Wade. He has very small likelihood of doing anything to further harm the ecology. He’ll not succeed at major military action beyond Iraq, we’re pretty tapped out there… and it looks like we’ll be there for a considerable time. Federal funding for stem cell research may be delayed (I am a big supporter, by the way)… but when measured against history, any “damage” Bush can inflict is most likely done.

Democrats should regroup – and take a good run at 2008. Find a candidate that represents the values of the party better than Kerry did… you must admit he was a weak candidate. But also understand that America chose the lesser of two evils in 2004. Most of us are somewhere in the middle, NOT wingers. Put a candidate out there who can take the best ideas from both sides and make them policy.

I like John McCain and Joe Liebermann. Those guys have a good, more central mindset. Unfortunately, Americans vote not only on the issues, but also on looks and personality... and neither McCain nor Liebermann possess the look or the personality to succeed. Too bad it’s that way, but it is.

Your examples of map manipulation/distortion to make it "bluish-purple" is ill-conceived. However, the idea that most INDIVIDUAL mainstream Americans are purple, not red or blue, is spot-on. Also, most mainstream Americans don't exhibit the level of hatred or negativity those on the far left or far right do.

Thoughts? Thanks for your time, I enjoy reading your work.

Best,
Dave Morris
_____________

I don't often discuss politics. Politics really suck. And so do most politicians. Prisons are filled with well intentioned pot-smokers... while CONGRESSMEN run free.

I sound like I'm complaining AGAIN...

Since the Cubs are trading Sammy Sosa to the Orioles, the Cardinals/Cubs rivalry has lost some of its appeal. But to be honest, I'm only pretending to care. Screw the Cubs.

It has been an interesting weekend, to say the least. Friday night we went to the movies and saw "In Good Company." Really good flick, with a different ending than you'd expect. Afterward, we got in the truck - and ... nothing. The dealership told us the battery was bad... obviously not. Interesting to note, I was surprised to see how true-to-life the ON STAR commercials are. We had the truck towed and got home late. It was the starter all along. I wonder if the dealership will reimburse us for the unnecessary new battery.

Saturday we went to Danny's basketball game, then spent the evening at Fast Eddie's Bon Air in Alton, Illinois with a group of friends. Unfortunately, the place was completely packed when we got there, and it's up to you to find your own table. We spent about an hour looking for a place where we could all sit together. But the food was worth the wait, even though I was too sick to eat very much of it.

Today we hosted a birthday party for Tawnya's sister, and 23 people showed up. It was good to see everyone - although again, it's hard to find the energy to have fun when you feel like dung. Tawnya got an offer on one of her properties, so she's had a busy day. We ended the evening with a quick stop at a friend's for a glass of wine.

In the past 3 nights, I've gotten a total of about 9 hours of sleep. This cold is kicking my ass. Right now I can't imagine working tomorrow... because although I've been careful not to talk much this weekend, my voice sounds terrible.

I have to get some sleep - between Alka Seltzer Plus and Nyquil, I hope to finally hit the REM cycle.

Dave's best friend...

Regis is actually human, minus opposable thumbs.

Dave's Friday Photo

Wishing we were Eagles.

The politics of the gift certificate

This weekend we're throwing a party for Tawnya's sister - it's her 50th birthday. Happy birthday, sis!

My issue with gift-bearing holidays is always - is it okay to do the gift certificate? In this day/age, does it seem insensitive, impersonal, or any other in or im? Or is it absolutely freakin' brilliant?

I tend to think it's brilliant. The person always gets what they need. They can pick out their favorite brand, style and color. If it's a Macy's certificate they might opt for anything from lingerie to a fishing rod 'n' reel. (or better yet, meet in the middle and choose fishnet stockings)

Sure, there is always the possibility they will be insulted by the amount of the certificate... in which case I'll just go back and get them a bigger, more valuable certificate.


Just kidding, if they don't like the amount, screw them.


I happen to know my daughter is more thrilled with a mall gift card than most anything I could pick out for her. Of course we always buy her an actual gift, something personal and sweet... I never leave her hanging with only the certificate. (and I always accompany her on her spending spree - I don't ever want her to wear a hoochie outfit claiming it was a birthday gift from Dad)

I'm sure it's a personal thing... maybe to you, the negative politics of giving a gift certificate outweigh the positive aspects. If so, just let me know - and I'll consider getting sis a toaster.

Any thoughts to share on the subject?

Fatherhood... again??

I have become aware recently that, sometimes in public places I see people with babies and believe I could do that again. There's something neat about watching parents with their children - watching them feed them, play with them, cooing...

So as I lay on the couch today, sick from a cold some child probably gave me, I decided it would be wise to make a list of reasons I shouldn't be thinking about becoming a parent AGAIN.

1. I am selfish. I grew up an only child, and I act like one. I am just not good at sharing, whether it's food, a chair or a computer.
2. When left to my own devices, dinner can consist of half a peanut butter sandwich, some gummy worms, a handful of oyster crackers and a hard boiled egg. And bread-n-butter pickles right out of the jar. This IS my idea of a healthy home cooked meal...
3. These days I am not as interested in the future as I am in the "right now." Planning for tomorrow used to be an obsession with me, but these days I'm leaving that to my stock broker/investment advisor. This makes planning a child's future a distant reality.
4. I am prone to fits of wanderlust. The day our 13 year old leaves for college, it is likely I will desire to pack our stuff and move to a beach. Then maybe the top of a mountain. Then NYC. I may never settle down again. What kind of life would that be for a child?
5. I have no intention of missing sleep ever again for anything that cries.
6. Similarly, changing diapers holds the same appeal to me as having a rabid badger loose in my pants.
7. I have friends with kids. I can borrow theirs from time to time. When I'm finished, I will say "here, take it."
8. Teenagers are painful when they believe they know more than me. They are even MORE painful when it turns out they are right.
9. I have no idea what the world will be like in 20 years - for the first time in my life, I am concerned enough to NOT want to risk it.
10. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog's back.

(that last one was just filler... for some reason a list just isn't complete without 10 items)

So, I will run this list through the printer and place it on the fridge - right about where the crayon drawings would go - to remind me my parenting days are almost over.

And from the looks of my list, that's a wise decision.

SpongeBob, stir fry & such things

So SpongeBob is gay.

That is the latest word from "Focus on the Family" founder Dr. James Dobson.

Okay, look... I am as conservative as the next guy. I hate what gangsta rap and MTV have done to kids these days. I think we're walking a fine line of decency on television and radio. I wish things were more pure - like, say, 30 years ago.

But I am also irked by the continued stupidity of the ultra-right. My recent Falwell piece is another example of how the off-the-map neoconservatives have sullied their party's platform. Guys, do me a favor. Sweep your own back porch. Jesus preached tolerance, why do you have such a hard time with it?

And for Christ sake, SpongeBob is NOT gay. I know this for a fact, I hit on him at a party once. Completely stonewalled me.

I made dinner tonight, and although I spent most of the day barely able to swallow because of sore throat, this meal was fantastic. It was nothing near what my wife makes routinely... but I'm talking about ME here, a guy who can barely manage to open his own bag of chips.

The meal was stir fry, a recipe borrowed from my friend Rick. Lots of vegetables, mushrooms, peppers, shrimp and orange slices... sauteed in soy, olive oil and red wine, served over rice with a splash of teriyaki sauce. It was a groovy meal - and a good break from the type of meals I usually cook.

We signed up for AT&T CallVantage(sm) service this week. It's VOIP, (voice over internet protocol) so everything goes through the cable modem. (weird to think about getting rid of the telephone company) It's great, if the modem ever goes out, AT&T automatically routes all calls to my cell phone. When I get a call, I can make it ring at home, both of our cell phones and in the car simultaneously. Whoever answers first gets the call. Like having extensions anywhere you want. Pretty neat stuff!

Voice mail can be retrieved through the home phone, from any other phone in the world, we can click on an icon on our call management page of the internet, or have the mp3 recordings emailed to our inbox. The quality seems good so far, but we're bandwidth hogs - my voice over sessions all get uploaded to a central server. I generally upload hundreds of megabytes every day, so I already had to ask AT&T to up the bandwidth the telephone adapter can handle. But since then, it's been perfect. We did have to get new phone numbers, so if you're a friend or client, dial the old number. The new digits are recorded on the outgoing voicemail messages.

Okay, you're bored, and I am out of things to say. So what are we still doing here?

Literally breathtaking observation... gasp.... gasp!

Have you ever noticed how people misuse the word "literally?"

"Bobby Joe literally jumped out of his skin when he heard the news about Ginny May!" That always slays me. So you're telling me a skinless man is standing there with his mouth agape? Really?

Or, "Grandma literally crapped her pants when the officer stopped her for speeding." Well, no. She didn't literally crap her pants. She only pooped figuratively.

It was a fairly good day, with one exception. I am coming down with my first cold in over 2 years. Not just the sniffles, I mean a real doozy. Sore throat, tight muscles, slight fever, headache. And it comes at a most inopportune time... I am working on some major projects right now. But there's never a convenient sickness.

So this will be a short entry, I need to get some sleep. I feel like I've literally been hit by a truck.

Well, I WAS in a good mood...

So I'm standing in line at Fed Ex this evening - and on the television in the corner, CNN is reporting that according to a study, today (January 24) is the most depressing day of the year. Well, I immediately start a conversation with the guy next to me, because I don't want to hear this.

But I'm a thinker, and I just couldn't leave it alone. So here's my hypothesis:

For starters, the 24th is probably the average day December credit card bills hit most mailboxes. Merry Christmas.

Also, it's a dead spot for holidays. The hooplah of the xmas season is over, and there's nothing really happening until St. Patricks day. Folks are just starting to drool at the thought of beer and corned beef/cabbage - yet still have two long weeks to wait. Well... hell.

Hmmm. What else? Oh, it's January... which SUCKS. And I'll bet the record book says the 24th is when the lowest average temperature of winter hits. That would certainly serve to depress the crap out of normal people.

Uh, let's see. OH! It's Monday... I'm sure that has something to do with it. A cold weekend of wind and snow, staying inside getting cabin fever... then BOOM! Back to freakin' work with the traffic and the boss and the cubicle. Shit.

So I'm starting to see why it's the most depressing day of the year.

"But hey, it really didn't affect me, my day was just fine!" I think.

But wait... wasn't it this morning that Tawnya left for work, then came back in saying, "the truck battery is dead, it won't start"? Yeah, that was today.

Didn't we then call On-Star and get a tow truck - only to have the guy show up, turn the key and p-o-o-f, it started? And didn't the dealership find the ONE thing wrong with the truck (the battery) that wasn't covered under our warranty? Mmm, yes - that was also today.

Wasn't it also this very date that I missed the Fed Ex delivery guy... and had to drive all the way across town to retrieve the package for which I just couldn't wait until tomorrow's delivery? And once I GOT the package from Fed Ex (which is where I heard the report about depression in the first place) weren't the contents useless - forcing me to wait until tomorrow to install my new toy anyway??? Uh-huh.

Which made my trip across town unnecessary. #$&*%!

Side note: by now, you're thinking there couldn't possibly be a pièce de resistance. You're wrong.

A few minutes ago, we turned on the Tivo in the family room to watch some highly anticipated shows which were recorded last week... and it gives us this pretty green screen which says "A SEVERE ERROR HAS OCCURRED." We lost everything we had recorded. And the machine.

And the God-damned dog next door won't shut the hell up.

Maybe there IS something to this January 24 thing.

Johnny Carson - 1925-2005

"America's Bedtime Story"

Some absolutely withering news...

I am the same height as Fabio.

And Ed Begley, Jr., Buddy Ebsen, James Taylor, Gregory Peck, George Foreman and Jimmy Stewart. Even at 6'3", I am A FULL FOOT shorter than Peter Mayhew. (Chewbacca the Wooiekee)

But Fabio?!?! Depressing news for a Monday.

Click here if you want to check yourself against a celebrity or two.

Hi Googlers!!!

Here are a few phrases that will now show up on search engines and should get some errant (although soon-to-be disillusioned) visitors to my blog:

Britney Spears nude
nude pics of Britney
Britney topless pictures
Spears without clothing
Britney Spears porn
naked pictures of Britney
totally nude Britney Spears
skank without scruples Spears
Britney boobies
boobies Britney
Britney Spears freshly shaven ass
she's Britney she's naked
spank to Spears free
Brittney lesbian photos (Britney misspelled deliberately)
Kournikova Spears video
Britney Spears with a goat

Message to Spears fans - there's no porn, but maybe you'll learn something. Keep reading!

Forgive this experiment...

Testing my capabilities for posting from my palm. Cool!

Dave's Friday Photo

Waiting for Spring.

Things to do

I was thumbing through pictures of vacations and it occurred to me - I need to make a list of things I want to do before I... not that I plan to anytime soon, but... die.

Most of the things I wish to accomplish involve travel. And sure, some of the things are private and involve pulleys and Wesson oil. But I digress.

1. Learn to fly a plane.
2. Tour Australia for 10 days.
3. Drive around Europe for 10 days. (sub-item: drive on the autobahn)
4. Live in a house on the beach.
5. Take a picture near Mt. Rushmore in a pose which makes it look like my finger is in George Washington's nose.
6. Try to be serious through an entire blog entry.
7. Live in New York City.
8. Discover who I am - really down deep - and be completely satisfied with that person.
9. Find out that the "down deep" person I discover is a very rich man with no worries and no real schedule.
10. Successfully end my addiction to beef jerky.

I hope after reading my (mostly serious) blog about life's potential, you will make your own list. Please click the COMMENT link below and share at least one.

"If you're not a born-again Christian, you're a failure as a human being"

Jerry Falwell is a joke.

Look, Christianity is a fine religion - hell, (pardon the pun) I'm a Christian. I just don't see the need to make every disaster, convention or door-bell an opportunity for "witnessing." Good LORD, (pun again) Jerry... if you're going to help with tsunami relief, do so because it's the right thing to do. NOT because you might recruit more Christians who will, in turn, line your greedy pockets.

A few Falwell quotes for you to savor:

• "Billy Graham is the chief servant of Satan in America"
• "AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals; it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals"
• "God continues to ... allow the enemies of America to give us probably what we deserve."

That final quote regards the terrorist attacks of September 11. As I said, Falwell is a joke. A profiteering, high-living, judgmental hypocrite.

The sad thing is, he has followers.

link to the story

Morning chuckle

A couple of entrepreneurial kids stumbled across a sensation - and most of us have seen their work. Talking here about JibJab.com

Their animated "This Land Is Your Land" has received copius amounts of airplay on all the major networks and cable outlets, MTV, Comedy Central ... and I must say, they were careful to be equal opportunity animators.

The wait has been long, but the newest production of JibJab is called "Second Term," and again... it's pretty hilarious! Click here and enjoy.

Or click here if you have no life... and you place no value on time.

My life hasn't always been so normal...

In fact, although "normal" is a relative term, even today I think I'm textbook lunatic fringe.

Case-in-point: I've been married THREE times. A fact I am not proud of... although by today's standards, not so unusual. The unusual part is (and here's a little unsolicited insight into my marital past) in a cruel twist of irony, it would seem I was too mature for my first wife, and not mature enough for my second. WTF?!? Of course things have settled down, and this time, (as if I were some male modern-day version of Goldilocks) my maturity level is "just right." But the marriage fairy has made it clear she can completely screw me anytime she pleases.

Side note: Sticking with the nursery-rhyme theme, I think my current wife secretly wishes she were Rapunzel - and could chop off her locks and shimmy down from a window for a quick exit if she so desired.

Another somewhat abnormal aspect of my life is fatherhood. I have a daughter from my first marriage, but she's 2 hours away - so it's hard to thump her when she needs it. She is now (in a strange dicotomous world) the wonderful/dreadful age of 15. She's as beautiful/reprehensible as any Father could want or expect from an offspring. The wonder/torment she brings to my life is absolutely devine/loathesome. I have her 26 weekends a year, which is never/always enough. Isn't 15 a great/repugnant age?

And you want REAL abnormality? I didn't know my father until I was 32 - something I am still struggling to deal with. Oh sure, we're trying to catch up - but when I ask him to play catch in the yard, I AM THE ONE quitting early with the bad back. Plus I tire easily chasing after the ball. Though I must say, Dad really is making an effort to recapture lost experiences. The speakerphone long distance bedtime stories he tells are just... great - although they're usually paraphrased from the Wall Street Journal or some political blog - and peppered with his own Texan opinion (and a few curse words). Not good sleep-inducing material, but his efforts are appreciated. It's hard being a 40 year old kid.


And I won't even START with my unusual affinity for ovine.


So, look... next time you feel your life is strange, ask me for a pair of my shoes and take a little walk. Obviously my normalcy graph has more ups 'n' downs than Michael Jackson's wrist in a Chuck E. Cheese restroom.

And if you find a penny in the toe of one of the shoes - leave it. I need all the luck I can get.

Happy Martin Luther King, Jr. Day

"... When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

MMMmmm... cocoa

I slept until 11 today - I can't believe that happened! I am usually awake around 8-ish on weekends, but my friend Gary had one of his famous margarita/pina colada/football parties last night - and I never arise early after those.

Rams lost their playoff game last night - another dreadful defensive performance. Fire defensive coordinator Larry Marmie, retool the special teams. Please.

We had a day of errand-running today, a trip to the central west end to exchange a kitchen chair that was damaged on delivery, had lunch at a great place called "Blueberry Hill," stopped a few times and finally made it home at around 5:30pm. We're watching the rest of the New England/Indianapolis game, then watching Anchorman. (Will Farrell) A nice quiet family night at home. Just what the doctor ordered!

I'm going to warm up some milk and fix some hot cocoa. It's 15 degrees - and that sucks.

More news for the non-commuter...

I wrote a piece last week about working at home. Looks like there's a new frontier for the "boxer shorts work force." Check out this article. It seems Americans can still beat workers from India - with our slippers on, and one hand stuck in a bag of Doritos.

Dave's Friday Photo

A thingy with some out of focus stuff behind it. Took this in Seaside, Florida.

New gizmos

Recently, a technology convention was held in Las Vegas - during which a whole new generation of techno gadgets was unveiled. Each promised to make life easier for its user - or gaming more realistic for the player.

Being a techie, I love learning about new doo-hickery... I especially like the hands-on experience! But lately I've come to believe we've gone too far. Presented as evidence:

Samsung has released a new cell phone that is motion-sensitive. Shake it once, it dials a number. Shake twice, it hangs up your call. Making an "O" shape in the air indicates a yes, wave an "X" in the air and it's no. For upcoming models, the company plans to build in more features, including tools for analyzing changes in a user's movements... and dispensing diet advice.

Diet advice. From my cell phone. Riiiight. First, I ignore diet advice from my DOCTOR. Secondly, I have no intention of being anywhere in public shaking my phone. Making an "X" or "O" in the air, arms flailing wildly for all to scrutinize just ain't gonna happen. I look goofy enough on a daily basis, I need no help from Samsung.

Another new cell phone offered by Verizon features video playback. A handy feature (especially when you're DRIVING), you'll be able to download a whole range of video clips from CNN, NBC, AccuWeather, (and probably soon the SPICE channel) directlly to your phone.

"Uh... hello, Verizon? Yes, could you do me a favor and get me a usable signal in all parts of the town where I live before you start selling PHONES YOU CAN WATCH TV ON?"

And get this... there is also a new ONLINE fitness bike on the market. Yes, that's right... if you can't peel yourself away from the @%$! XBox long enough for life-extending (albeit artificial) exercise, we now have a stationary bike that won't unfairly require you to log off of HALO II. An absolute must for the gaming heart patient!

Quite obviously there is an abundance of new gadgets coming to an electronics store near you. More than enough, in fact, to make me say, "uh... why?"

So I propose putting a moratorium on new technology until we can accomplish the following:

• I want nail clippers that DON'T shoot your organic jetsam across the room into someone's tea.
• Give me a garbage disposal that won't be completely disabled by one little piece of beef gristle.
• Make it possible for me to NEVER have to take the lid off the back of the toilet to do... anything.
• (keeping with the bathroom theme) Give me an exhaust fan that actually sucks... and turns itself off when it's finished sucking.
• Show me a car that has a "check engine light" light. (how do we know when it might be burned out?)
• Give we large-handed people a way to get to the last few Pringles.

And finally...

• I want a lover that won't drive me crazy.

But mostly, the nail clippers.

Circle of life

Today we experienced a beginning and an end. On the same day.

Welcome Jaylin Noelle Camden. 3 lbs., 13 ounces, Tawnya's new great niece! Born several weeks early, she'll be in the hospital for a little while longer, but she's in great health. Congrats to Ryan and Melanie, the proud parents. MAN, are your lives about to change!

And...

Godspeed to Adrianne Marie Fenton. We mourned her passing tonight at her funeral in Greenville, IL. (my tribute to her remains on this site, a few stories down)

One final word on the subject and I promise I'm through for a while. Ever heard of those celebratory funerals... the kind some black folks have? The ones that include friends, neighbors, family and anyone looking for a good plate of casserole afterward... and where folks rear back and practically shout the songs? It's almost like a party - an utter all-out celebration of the life of the person - and the biggest tears are usually followed with a good belly laugh from way down deep! Anyone who wants to is free to stand up and say how they feel... and stories of the deceased are retold one more time...



And you can almost feel the person's soul in the room.



THAT is the kind of funeral I want. Let the attendees decide what's next... an open schedule and open hearts. I want people to leave with a warm feeling - and I want them to know how much I cared for them.

Yep. That's how I want to go. I'm going to copy this and give it to my wife so she knows what to do. But not anytime soon, honey.

Bye bye, Adrianne. We love ya.

Pocket protectors and those who wear them

I have taken an IQ test. I will not tell you my score, but I will say (in a very snobbish "holier than thou" tone) I am well above average. I'm smiling as I type this because I'm really not a braggart... but it's above what is considered "genius." WTF?!?

If you're a friend of mine, I know what you're thinking right now. Screw you.

So I took a nerd test.



It's a 1 to 100 scale. I can't decide how to feel about my result. 15 feels pretty low for someone of my obvious intelligence! (ha!) I should research the subject more... I think I'll utilize my Hewlett Packard 48gll graphing calculator to cipher the results.

And if you'd like, click the icon above, take the short test and post your result in the COMMENTS section of this entry. I'd love to know if I'm even close to average on the nerd scale.

Better go, I have a couple of episodes of "The Man Show" on the Tivo. But wait, I see there is a Star Trek marathon on. Decisions, decisions.

There is wisdom in quoting wise people

I ran across some interesting words this morning that deserve repeating. Both from author Anita Sharpe.

"Accepting your destiny may require abandoning your dream."

This really struck me. I wonder how many of us are so busy trying to be who we WISH we were, we fail to see who we truly are.

Also:

"...self confidence is nothing special. It is the absence of self-consciousness, nothing more, nothing less."

Food for thought. Hope it helps.

Fat Bastard

I was putting some bottles in the wine rack today and realized I had received this bottle from an unknown friend during our recent house-warming party. Whoever you are, you're lucky I have forgotten it was you.

In the same vein, my Dad sent me several bottles of wine for Christmas this year from a place called MY HUSBAND'S NUTS. Redneck Red, White Trash White, and Granny's Last Syrah. I wonder how they taste... but I might not even drink them, the novelty factor is just too good!

Is it just me, or...

I can't seem to keep these guys separate in my mind. Don Cheadle is being interviewed and I'm thinking Saturday Night Live. Meadows is on and I'm thinking Oceans Eleven.

WTF?!? It's 2 am. I need some REAL things to worry about.

The 12-step commuter

If things get too crazy at work - phone, boss, deadlines - you can get up, walk to the coffee pot or water cooler and unwind for a minute. Doesn't it take the edge off to walk around a little and get some water?

Okay, it never worked for me either.

Now, when I hit a stress point I sit on the couch and read a book for a while. Or go into the kitchen and pour some milk and open a bag of Cheetos. (aren't Cheetos therapeutic?) Or I grab a bottle of OJ, venture out to the patio and ease into the hot tub. Occasionally I head out to the garage, open the toolbox and fix something. Sometimes I go to the billiard room and practice pool. In the summertime, I might cruise to the backyard to a different kind of pool and hop a raft for a while with a good book.

Ain't it great working from home????

Well, sometimes. You definitely have to be self-motivated. You can't ever let "I can do it tomorrow" enter your mind... and that's a lot harder than you think. (there's a whole stocked bar in my house - yet if I even TOUCH alcohol, I'm done for the day!)

Work-at-home people have to know when to get back to work. My wife can't do it, she takes herself to her office every day - the television, pool and her reading chair are too distracting. I respect her for doing what she needs to do. Workin' at home ain't for everyone.

Yet the business world is moving fast toward incorporating home-offices into the work structure. People everyday are breaking the surly bonds of the commute and working via internet from home. I hope the trend continues... imagine how much more healthy we'd all be! Traffic is a leading cause of stress, right? We'll decrease our dependency on foreign oil and help clean the air. Less money will be spent on road repairs and infrastructure. We'll use less paper, Prozac and parking spots.

But alas, without direct supervision many just won't be able to make the transition. They risk falling victim to Judge Judy, Oprah and The Guiding Light. So for them, the commute continues. And that's okay, working-at-home is not for everyone.

So if you must remain bound to the cubicle, pop a Prozac, head to the water cooler or take a walk. As for me, I gotta run, Divorce Court is starting in 5 minutes.

Our friend Adrianne

Death is a subject I don't like to discuss. If you'll endulge me, I'll talk about it now.

While on vacation, we received news of the death of our friend Adrianne Fenton. She was found in her home by a friend on New Years day. She died way too young, leaving behind a son, Truman, age 6. I've searched the internet for an obituary or news story of any kind. I cannot find one, so I will endeavor to pay my own tribute.

I met Adrianne back in the mid 90's, when she became an employee of the radio station where I worked. She was a native of St. Louis, but had been in Los Angeles for a while and had only a few friends here. We became friends, and I helped her with the job of scheduling guests for the radio station's morning show she produced. She was a hard worker and perfectionist, and I admired her work and personal ethic. She ended up staying in St. Louis for only a short time, choosing to move back to Los Angeles for a job with Disney. She stayed in touch, and eventually became good friends with my wife as well.

Adrianne was an incredible person. She also held within her a simmering turmoil and sadness nobody could fix. I always wondered which life experiences left her with such heartache. She never really offered an explanation... in fact, she did her best to hide her problems. She never wanted to trouble friends. That's part of why she had such an infectious laugh and warm smile.

Adrianne's relationships with parents and grandparents were a little rocky, although she worked hard to improve them. She would travel back to St. Louis every 4 to 6 months, but her visits were never happy and always short.

She had friends, but essentially she and her son Truman were alone in California. Truman was her life. She took great care to make sure his school was top notch, that he had everything he needed, and that he knew how to celebrate life. Every birthday was a party, every holiday a celebration. She would send me pictures of their trips to the park, Disneyland, the beach - she really loved being a Mom.

I pray Truman wasn't there when she died, although I have a feeling he probably was. If so, I hope the memory of that day fades quickly. I wonder what will become of him - his father wasn't an active part of his life.

Our friend Adrianne Fenton was only in her mid 30's - but she seemed to have an older soul. I pray she passed easily - and I hope against hope that she is finally able to soften her melancholy and find some contentment.

And, that Truman remembers what a good Mom he had.

Adrianne & Truman, Christmas 2001

Just where in the HELL have you been???

This is a map of the states I've visited. If you'd like to waste your valuable time making your own map, click here. Kinda fun.

Well, only if you have no life. Like me.

Last evening in Destin

After something called a DESTRESSER (some vodka and rum concoction) we decided to try to take some dramatic photos.

The sun, ducking below the horizon for the second time in 2005. Great sunset at a place called Whale Tail here in Destin.