Just the mention of that name sends even the bravest of men to their knees with their hands cupped over their ears. Bleeding from openings out of which blood was never intended to spring.
Rosie. Rosie.
I wish I were talking about Rosie who is my friends' dog. Or the Rosies at the end of my arms.
Rosie O'Donnell has a blog. I know, I know. Like you care. But I'll bet you click this link anyway, obviously out of morbid self-loathing.
Rosie's blog
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Sideways
Last night, Tawnya and I went to a late dinner and caught the movie "Sideways." Showtime was 10:15 pm at a new theater on a Tuesday night, so there was only one other couple in the place with us, and they came in late.
The movie was great. It had an independent film feel to it, although it is distributed by FoxSearchlight, or something like that. It's a story of two middle-aged men, former college roommates, who go on a tour of California wine country as a last hurrah before one of them gets married. All that guy wants to do is get laid one more time, and the other guy is mired in a depression from underperformance as an aspiring author, school teacher and husband. (he's been divorced two years, but still pines for his wife - who he discovers has remarried)
On the surface, it sounds like an exercise in extremes between two very different personality types. It is. But the author found a way to mix and mingle the parts in a VERY cool way. The guys are my age, so it was instantly relatable to me - but the magic of this film is, I believe everyone can find a part of them in it. Dark, but never too dark. Melancholy in parts, insanely funny in others. Shit, I'm starting to sound like Gene Siskel. If he were alive.
Tawnya didn't care for the way it ended, but I loved it. It left you to imagine your own ending, which is one of my favorite tactics in writing. And, as a wine lover, it gave me a new level of appreciation for the subtlties of the art of vino. One scene made me want to go straight home and open my best bottle.
Okay, the best I have comes in a box, but wine is wine, right?
Too bad, I had hoped to recreate the famous line from Alanis Morrissette's song "You Oughtta Know." If you aren't familiar, you're probably better off.
The movie was great. It had an independent film feel to it, although it is distributed by FoxSearchlight, or something like that. It's a story of two middle-aged men, former college roommates, who go on a tour of California wine country as a last hurrah before one of them gets married. All that guy wants to do is get laid one more time, and the other guy is mired in a depression from underperformance as an aspiring author, school teacher and husband. (he's been divorced two years, but still pines for his wife - who he discovers has remarried)
On the surface, it sounds like an exercise in extremes between two very different personality types. It is. But the author found a way to mix and mingle the parts in a VERY cool way. The guys are my age, so it was instantly relatable to me - but the magic of this film is, I believe everyone can find a part of them in it. Dark, but never too dark. Melancholy in parts, insanely funny in others. Shit, I'm starting to sound like Gene Siskel. If he were alive.
Tawnya didn't care for the way it ended, but I loved it. It left you to imagine your own ending, which is one of my favorite tactics in writing. And, as a wine lover, it gave me a new level of appreciation for the subtlties of the art of vino. One scene made me want to go straight home and open my best bottle.
Okay, the best I have comes in a box, but wine is wine, right?
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Opposite Day
Childish, I am. So I'm thinking about "opposite day," an event (usually occurring once per week, except in the second week of each month when it's twice) that we always celebrate around the Morris compound.
But I was confounded earlier by a thought. If you announce that today is opposite day, (and that's really the only way we know when it is, there's no opposite day calendar) doesn't that really make it NOT opposite day? Therefore, does opposite day ever really occur at all?
(pausing to let the incredible depth of that concept sink in)
A sad thing it would be if there were no "opposite day." I would almost never be right, it would never ever be my turn... and I really WOULD be guilty of relations with sheep.
Oh come on, it's not like I do that every day.
Only about once a week. Second week twice.
But I was confounded earlier by a thought. If you announce that today is opposite day, (and that's really the only way we know when it is, there's no opposite day calendar) doesn't that really make it NOT opposite day? Therefore, does opposite day ever really occur at all?
(pausing to let the incredible depth of that concept sink in)
A sad thing it would be if there were no "opposite day." I would almost never be right, it would never ever be my turn... and I really WOULD be guilty of relations with sheep.
Oh come on, it's not like I do that every day.
Only about once a week. Second week twice.
Through the ears...
I'm not a NASCAR fan, but apparently the farmer who owns this cornfield is. Jeezus!
Or should I say Junior!
Click here to see a bigger version - and thanks to Chris Cope for bringing it to my attention.
UPDATE! – It appears this field was carved by an unknown being in the dark of night. Apparently aliens are Michael Waltrip fans.
FCC gets it right
I'm not sure why it was even a question. The FCC took up the issue of the Monday Night Football intro featuring Nicole Sheridan and Terrell Owens, and quickly announced there was no indecency involved in the skit.
Of course there was no indecency... at least not in the legal (but admittedly fuzzy) definition. Was it something we expected to see when we tuned in MNF? Probably not, and it may have required explaining something to your 10 year old. But it's nothing more than parents subject their children to watching soap operas, and it's far less impactful than Springer ever was.
I don't think the question should have ever been "was there indecency involved"... it's a moral issue only - and if you feel it's immoral, teach your children to be aghast. Sometimes a parent has to take time to explain a few things to children. Society cannot do that for you.
It was just a skit. On just another TV show. We should be used to it by now. If not, uh-oh.
Of course there was no indecency... at least not in the legal (but admittedly fuzzy) definition. Was it something we expected to see when we tuned in MNF? Probably not, and it may have required explaining something to your 10 year old. But it's nothing more than parents subject their children to watching soap operas, and it's far less impactful than Springer ever was.
I don't think the question should have ever been "was there indecency involved"... it's a moral issue only - and if you feel it's immoral, teach your children to be aghast. Sometimes a parent has to take time to explain a few things to children. Society cannot do that for you.
It was just a skit. On just another TV show. We should be used to it by now. If not, uh-oh.
Monday, March 14, 2005
If I were a cop...
Please, just endulge my fantasy for a moment.
What is the fine for littering, anyway? The first thing I'd do if I were a cop is stop every single person I caught throwing out their cigarette butts. Neither the road, nor the grill of my car, are your personal ashtrays. Those little butts have a half-life longer than a pair of my socks, so put it in your ashtray or your ass. I don't care. Just keep it off the road.
I'd stop every mini van. I'd find a reason. End of statement.
I'd stop every person I caught refusing to drive in the right lane. What is your problem, stud? Can't you see the left lane is for passing? Okay, so you sleep on the left side of the bed and masturbate with your left hand. Neither is a reason for what you're doing. Slide over. Let the faster drivers pass, so I can bust their ass down the road doing 80 in a 65.
I'd stop my fellow cops for speeding up through yellow lights, failing to use their turn signal and for double parking. Of course it would be just to laugh at my own bombastic gall, because of course I believe in doing all these things. I would just want my fellow officers to come to hate me. I really don't know why.
I would stop every single person who ever passed me. Even if they're only doing the speed limit. I would want them to meet the cop they just had the balls to pass. No tickets, of course, just to say hello. And, that you have balls.
I'd throw in jail EVERY person who believes they are more important than the next guy. Some of those people include:
What is the fine for littering, anyway? The first thing I'd do if I were a cop is stop every single person I caught throwing out their cigarette butts. Neither the road, nor the grill of my car, are your personal ashtrays. Those little butts have a half-life longer than a pair of my socks, so put it in your ashtray or your ass. I don't care. Just keep it off the road.
I'd stop every mini van. I'd find a reason. End of statement.
I'd stop every person I caught refusing to drive in the right lane. What is your problem, stud? Can't you see the left lane is for passing? Okay, so you sleep on the left side of the bed and masturbate with your left hand. Neither is a reason for what you're doing. Slide over. Let the faster drivers pass, so I can bust their ass down the road doing 80 in a 65.
I'd stop my fellow cops for speeding up through yellow lights, failing to use their turn signal and for double parking. Of course it would be just to laugh at my own bombastic gall, because of course I believe in doing all these things. I would just want my fellow officers to come to hate me. I really don't know why.
I would stop every single person who ever passed me. Even if they're only doing the speed limit. I would want them to meet the cop they just had the balls to pass. No tickets, of course, just to say hello. And, that you have balls.
I'd throw in jail EVERY person who believes they are more important than the next guy. Some of those people include:
- The guy who is in the middle of the intersection stuck behind other cars when the light turns red. He's blocking traffic going the other way. He's an asshole. He's going to jail.
- The person who blocks traffic because they forgot they need to turn left. So they sit there with their turn signal on, blocking traffic behind them, so THEY can cut into the left turn lane when the cars in that lane begin to move. God forbid you would be considerate of others' schedules, you're the important one, right? SCREW you buddy, go straight and turn around. Don't make others wait behind you because you were daydreaming. And by "others," of course I mean me.
- The jackass who thinks he knows when the light is ready to turn green, so he starts going at that time. Little does asshole know, he has no anticipatory prowess, because the left turn signal going the opposite direction turned green instead. So half his car is in the intersection. And I'm there to bust his poor-timing, in-a-hurry ass. Me. The cop.
I have a very healthy fantasy life.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Congrats...
To my son Danny for deciding to take up guitar.
I can't WAIT to get him an amp and let him play loud late into the night.
If you got it in ya...
I invite you to listen to a song.
After years of doing fund raisers for St. Jude Children's Hospital in Memphis I am total mush about kids with handicaps or diseases. There's nothing fair about it, end of story.
Martina McBride's song "God's Will" just kicks my butt. I have kids and it reminds me how fortunate I am. And it makes me want to do something for those not so lucky.
The song is on my server, click the link to listen:
God's Will
After years of doing fund raisers for St. Jude Children's Hospital in Memphis I am total mush about kids with handicaps or diseases. There's nothing fair about it, end of story.
Martina McBride's song "God's Will" just kicks my butt. I have kids and it reminds me how fortunate I am. And it makes me want to do something for those not so lucky.
The song is on my server, click the link to listen:
God's Will
Friday, March 11, 2005
Groundhog Day
I'm getting sick of the euphemistic overuse of the term "groundhog day."
I wonder if Danny Rubin (the writer of the movie) or Bill Murray (the star) knew politicians, verbal vomitors and other various perveyors of verbosity would overuse the movie's concept as a euphemism for something that happens repetitiously.
More importantly, I wonder if Punxsutawney Phil feels his hogular privacy or his position as "predictor of spring" has been inappropriately exploited.
Poor hog.
More on this developing story later.
I wonder if Danny Rubin (the writer of the movie) or Bill Murray (the star) knew politicians, verbal vomitors and other various perveyors of verbosity would overuse the movie's concept as a euphemism for something that happens repetitiously.
More importantly, I wonder if Punxsutawney Phil feels his hogular privacy or his position as "predictor of spring" has been inappropriately exploited.
Poor hog.
More on this developing story later.
Vanity
I ran into a friend last week from my little hometown out west. (LA) He's the host of a very popular syndicated radio show that runs on hundreds of stations across the country during the overnight hours. Let's call him "Blair." Because that's his name.
I hadn't seen him for a year, and I barely recognized him. He has lost a TON of weight! Not literally, wise ass. I must say, I never considered Blair heavy - at least no more than I am - just a little on the beefy side. So I was really shocked to hear that his secret to weight loss was gastric bypass. Gastric bypass, the Al Roker surgery. (gosh, Roker surgery, Atkins diet, Gehrig's disease... how can I get something named after ME?)
Blair looks healthy, thin and happy... so obviously it was a positive move. I just thought gastric bypass was a measure taken by those considered obese, I was unaware it was available to anyone now. I was really shocked. Feel free to substitute the word "shocked" with "envious."
I'm now thinking about having the procedure done. I need to call Blair and find out more. I'm about 25 pounds overweight right now, but I need to lose it fast. I have a wager with a friend that says I'll either lose more weight than him by April 15 or pay him a ridiculous amount of money.
Oh yes, it all comes down to the almighty dollar. You didn't think I was actually concerned about my HEALTH, did you??
I should point out, I'm over 6'3", so an extra 25 pounds isn't the worst to look at. I just have a beer gut.
I prefer to think of it as a "shed for the horse." (cocky sniff)
I hadn't seen him for a year, and I barely recognized him. He has lost a TON of weight! Not literally, wise ass. I must say, I never considered Blair heavy - at least no more than I am - just a little on the beefy side. So I was really shocked to hear that his secret to weight loss was gastric bypass. Gastric bypass, the Al Roker surgery. (gosh, Roker surgery, Atkins diet, Gehrig's disease... how can I get something named after ME?)
Blair looks healthy, thin and happy... so obviously it was a positive move. I just thought gastric bypass was a measure taken by those considered obese, I was unaware it was available to anyone now. I was really shocked. Feel free to substitute the word "shocked" with "envious."
I'm now thinking about having the procedure done. I need to call Blair and find out more. I'm about 25 pounds overweight right now, but I need to lose it fast. I have a wager with a friend that says I'll either lose more weight than him by April 15 or pay him a ridiculous amount of money.
Oh yes, it all comes down to the almighty dollar. You didn't think I was actually concerned about my HEALTH, did you??
I should point out, I'm over 6'3", so an extra 25 pounds isn't the worst to look at. I just have a beer gut.
I prefer to think of it as a "shed for the horse." (cocky sniff)
Thursday, March 10, 2005
It takes all kinds to make a blogosphere
The world of blogging is very diverse. Just click "next blog" at the top of this page and you'll find out just how diverse it is. And feel free to substitute the word "diverse" with "freakin' whacked out."
Here are a few examples... not actual content - I made all this shit up... of the types of blogs you might find.
Example #1 - the conservative blog:
Liberals are stupid! Let's lower taxes! Homeless people are a drain on society!
__________________________
Example #2 - the liberal blog:
Conservatives are stupid! Let's raise taxes! Rich people suck!
__________________________
Example #3 - the whacked out drug induced blog:
I felt a scratching at my feet. It wasn't unpleasant - sort of like the feel of a baby mountain lion with very small, new claws.
To make a long story short, it was a baby mountain lion that had climbed under the covers in the night.
I raised the blanket enough for him to escape, and boy did he fly out the door. I think the trapeze aparatus scared him.
___________________________
Example #4 - the advice blog:
My friend is having an affair with an old classmate who is bi-polar and bi-sexual. The friend is not happy in her marriage and is experiencing symptoms of dyslexia. I don't know what to tell her, as I am myself a paranormal schizophrenic with latent psychosomatic narcolepsy.
How would you handle the advice process as it pertains to laws of proximity? Please comment below.
___________________________
Example #5 - the marketing/search engine catch-all blog:
Travel to Mexico. Mexican travel. Mexican vacation. All inclusive Mexico beachfront. Beach resorts in Cancun. Senoritas and sand. Cabo taco get-away. Fiesta siesta beach fun. Margaritas sand and sun. Tequila induced sex with strangers in Mexico... (list goes on for like 75 pages)
___________________________
Example #6 - the foreign blog:
Venho hoje falar de uma coisa que é impensével não existir nos dias de hoje e dá grande sentido à minha vida..já devem ter percebido que estou a falar da revista maria!vou passar a transcrever umas linhas que me tocaram bastante...
___________________________
Example #7 - the "teen white kid who thinks he's black" blog:
I have a class wit this gizzirl, bitch is fine as a mafugga. I really like ho but I diznont know if she likes me. I want ta ask her if she likes me but I dizzay have tha nutz. If she said no I would be like "oh mah god I want ta buss a cap on mah own head." Im saggin' gameboy rizzight now while Im blogg'n but real niggaz don't give a fuck. I thiznink I will hizzy a snack.
___________________________
Example #8 - the way-too-positive blog:
Seduction happens by tapping into your love's deepest desires and dreams. And because of this sensitivity, you can be the ideal lover for anyone you seek. Smile, you are a shapeshifter - bringing romance, adventure and spirituality to relationships. Go forth this day with a spring in your step and know that you're making a difference to someone!
___________________________
Aaarrrrghhh! I could go on all day. Why can't all blogs be just like mine... boring?
Here are a few examples... not actual content - I made all this shit up... of the types of blogs you might find.
Example #1 - the conservative blog:
Liberals are stupid! Let's lower taxes! Homeless people are a drain on society!
__________________________
Example #2 - the liberal blog:
Conservatives are stupid! Let's raise taxes! Rich people suck!
__________________________
Example #3 - the whacked out drug induced blog:
I felt a scratching at my feet. It wasn't unpleasant - sort of like the feel of a baby mountain lion with very small, new claws.
To make a long story short, it was a baby mountain lion that had climbed under the covers in the night.
I raised the blanket enough for him to escape, and boy did he fly out the door. I think the trapeze aparatus scared him.
___________________________
Example #4 - the advice blog:
My friend is having an affair with an old classmate who is bi-polar and bi-sexual. The friend is not happy in her marriage and is experiencing symptoms of dyslexia. I don't know what to tell her, as I am myself a paranormal schizophrenic with latent psychosomatic narcolepsy.
How would you handle the advice process as it pertains to laws of proximity? Please comment below.
___________________________
Example #5 - the marketing/search engine catch-all blog:
Travel to Mexico. Mexican travel. Mexican vacation. All inclusive Mexico beachfront. Beach resorts in Cancun. Senoritas and sand. Cabo taco get-away. Fiesta siesta beach fun. Margaritas sand and sun. Tequila induced sex with strangers in Mexico... (list goes on for like 75 pages)
___________________________
Example #6 - the foreign blog:
Venho hoje falar de uma coisa que é impensével não existir nos dias de hoje e dá grande sentido à minha vida..já devem ter percebido que estou a falar da revista maria!vou passar a transcrever umas linhas que me tocaram bastante...
___________________________
Example #7 - the "teen white kid who thinks he's black" blog:
I have a class wit this gizzirl, bitch is fine as a mafugga. I really like ho but I diznont know if she likes me. I want ta ask her if she likes me but I dizzay have tha nutz. If she said no I would be like "oh mah god I want ta buss a cap on mah own head." Im saggin' gameboy rizzight now while Im blogg'n but real niggaz don't give a fuck. I thiznink I will hizzy a snack.
___________________________
Example #8 - the way-too-positive blog:
Seduction happens by tapping into your love's deepest desires and dreams. And because of this sensitivity, you can be the ideal lover for anyone you seek. Smile, you are a shapeshifter - bringing romance, adventure and spirituality to relationships. Go forth this day with a spring in your step and know that you're making a difference to someone!
___________________________
Aaarrrrghhh! I could go on all day. Why can't all blogs be just like mine... boring?
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Hitch
Sometimes we're 3 or 4... or 72 weeks behind on seeing movies. Tonight was dinner and a movie for Mrs. Morris and me. We chose Hitch.
Don't get me wrong, I liked the flick, but I cannot recommend it for married couples. Guys might find it uncomfortable watching the expressions on their wives faces or hearing the heavy sighs that can only mean "I feel I've been cheated!"
A little background - it's about a dating coach (Will Smith) who works with clients to help them say the right things, make the right moves and get the girl to fall in love with them. The smoothness with which he operates is... well, inspirational.
Unfortunately, (and here's why married couples shouldn't see the movie... or maybe just married women... or maybe just my wife) most guys aren't that smooth. And of course when I say most guys, I mean only me.
Looking back on the early dates with Tawnya, I'm not really sure why it all worked out. I drove an old VW Passat, for chrissakes. I was a radio geek who carried headphones in my backseat. Our first encounter, not really a date, was lunch, where I told her I wasn't sure we would make a very good pair. Our first real date was at a sports bar, where we watched live coverage of the Columbine shootings. (yeah, COLUMBINE - such great timing) Our second date was dinner, and she was afraid to eat her corn-on-the-cob in front of me (fearing it would get in her teeth or she would look not-very-smooth doing it) yet I plowed through a plate of ribs as if I hadn't eaten for 17 days.
But the bottom line is, I broke every rule in the Will Smith movie. I lumbered my way through our early dates with the debonaire of a crippled yak. The fact that I got the girl only means she was having a weak moment. Or weak week. Whatever.
Nope... if you can avoid it (God forbid you've already gone) avoid seeing Hitch with your wife. It will only make you look bad.
And of course, by "you," I mean me.
Don't get me wrong, I liked the flick, but I cannot recommend it for married couples. Guys might find it uncomfortable watching the expressions on their wives faces or hearing the heavy sighs that can only mean "I feel I've been cheated!"
A little background - it's about a dating coach (Will Smith) who works with clients to help them say the right things, make the right moves and get the girl to fall in love with them. The smoothness with which he operates is... well, inspirational.
Unfortunately, (and here's why married couples shouldn't see the movie... or maybe just married women... or maybe just my wife) most guys aren't that smooth. And of course when I say most guys, I mean only me.
Looking back on the early dates with Tawnya, I'm not really sure why it all worked out. I drove an old VW Passat, for chrissakes. I was a radio geek who carried headphones in my backseat. Our first encounter, not really a date, was lunch, where I told her I wasn't sure we would make a very good pair. Our first real date was at a sports bar, where we watched live coverage of the Columbine shootings. (yeah, COLUMBINE - such great timing) Our second date was dinner, and she was afraid to eat her corn-on-the-cob in front of me (fearing it would get in her teeth or she would look not-very-smooth doing it) yet I plowed through a plate of ribs as if I hadn't eaten for 17 days.
I should point out that by then I had traded the Passat in for a uber smooth Nissan Maxima.
But the bottom line is, I broke every rule in the Will Smith movie. I lumbered my way through our early dates with the debonaire of a crippled yak. The fact that I got the girl only means she was having a weak moment. Or weak week. Whatever.
Nope... if you can avoid it (God forbid you've already gone) avoid seeing Hitch with your wife. It will only make you look bad.
And of course, by "you," I mean me.
Weather & Java
Ain't nothing like me some home-ground coffee in the mo'nin'! But as I'm reading my friend Dr. Mike's blog, it made me think about how our expectations of coffee have been lowered by the automatic drip machines. As Mike was remembering HIS grandpa, it made me think of mine - and the taste of coffee from his perculator. The sound it made was loud, kind of a struggling sound like an old man lifting something heavy, but it had the Pavlov's dog effect that an alarm clock cannot duplicate. Coffee in a perculator took a long time to make... and occasionally you'd find some grounds in the bottom of your cup... but wow. It was MUCH better than what passes for coffee today from a drip machine. Neat memory.
I'd like to open a shop that sells coffee from a perculator. I'll bet I could make money.
The wind is howling outside right now, it sounds like freakin' Antarctica. I just looked at the forecast and it is still decidedly winter. Highs in the low 40s, cloudy. Chance of rain or snow. And to think I was considering opening my pool in 2 weeks. Something tells me I should wait a month. It's heated, but I'm not sure anyone would use it yet... a trip out there in this weather would produce shrinkage I'm not willing to experience.
I hate this shit. I need a backyard with a beach. And I won't find it in St. Louis.
I'd like to open a shop that sells coffee from a perculator. I'll bet I could make money.
The wind is howling outside right now, it sounds like freakin' Antarctica. I just looked at the forecast and it is still decidedly winter. Highs in the low 40s, cloudy. Chance of rain or snow. And to think I was considering opening my pool in 2 weeks. Something tells me I should wait a month. It's heated, but I'm not sure anyone would use it yet... a trip out there in this weather would produce shrinkage I'm not willing to experience.
I hate this shit. I need a backyard with a beach. And I won't find it in St. Louis.
Monday, March 07, 2005
I can't say too much yet, but...
I am excited for my friend.
We'll call him "Sam" because well, you know... it's his name - and "Sam" is partners with a guy who has invented something huge. Quick history:
"Sam" was a paper-man. Not the kind that weighs 350, drives the white van past your house at 3:30 am and litters your yard with plastic-wrapped garbage. He worked for a major paper company and, long story short, "Sam" was the developer of towels-in-a-box. He retired with his fortune, but was lured out of his life of leisure recently by an excited phone call. His buddy, a chemist, developed a formula that might completely revolutionize...
... the car wax industry.
Oh stop with the heavy sighs, I never promised a cure for cancer.
A few weeks ago I stopped to visit "Sam." When I pulled up, he came out of his garage with an Evian bottle which contained about one inch of yellow liquid. (I told him he needed to take that to his doctor) He said that was enough to do my car and truck. Put it on a cloth, wipe it across the finish... and that's it. No buffing, no wiping off. For lazy bastards like me, this is pure gold.
So I applied it to both my vehicles. It was easy to do and I've never seen a wax job so incredible. Both vehicles shine like a mirror. (or if you're an old timer, like a diamond in a goat's ass) One application lasts 6 months. The product will show up soon on QVC and in major stores.
And I will have a billionaire friend.
We'll call him "Sam" because well, you know... it's his name - and "Sam" is partners with a guy who has invented something huge. Quick history:
"Sam" was a paper-man. Not the kind that weighs 350, drives the white van past your house at 3:30 am and litters your yard with plastic-wrapped garbage. He worked for a major paper company and, long story short, "Sam" was the developer of towels-in-a-box. He retired with his fortune, but was lured out of his life of leisure recently by an excited phone call. His buddy, a chemist, developed a formula that might completely revolutionize...
... the car wax industry.
Oh stop with the heavy sighs, I never promised a cure for cancer.
A few weeks ago I stopped to visit "Sam." When I pulled up, he came out of his garage with an Evian bottle which contained about one inch of yellow liquid. (I told him he needed to take that to his doctor) He said that was enough to do my car and truck. Put it on a cloth, wipe it across the finish... and that's it. No buffing, no wiping off. For lazy bastards like me, this is pure gold.
So I applied it to both my vehicles. It was easy to do and I've never seen a wax job so incredible. Both vehicles shine like a mirror. (or if you're an old timer, like a diamond in a goat's ass) One application lasts 6 months. The product will show up soon on QVC and in major stores.
And I will have a billionaire friend.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
"The Return"
Post-CRS is always fun. Fun in the same way it would be if a friend asked to taste your 15 year old Grand Marnier and slammed it. Inside joke, and apologies to my buddy Dave Steele.
First let me say, I won't be attending another CRS without my wife. One reason is, she brings a whole new level of fun to the festivities. She's popular with my friends, she hangs with me and gives me something to smile about.
Another reason is "the return." Here's a dialogue from this morning:
She: So how many 20 year olds hit on you?
Me: Well, when there is an abundance of 20 year old MALES in the room, usually the 20 year old female will hit on them. Not some 40 year old.
She: good way of dodging the question.
(silence for a minute or two while we watched the dog shit in the yard)
She: so did (assumed name to protect the innocent) Susie Smith tell you what kind of underwear she was wearing?
She: another dodge.
Me: (hug) I love you. Next year, you're going WITH me.
The return is always interesting. By the way, she never asked me how many clients I had run into, or how many new clients I had developed.
Women.
First let me say, I won't be attending another CRS without my wife. One reason is, she brings a whole new level of fun to the festivities. She's popular with my friends, she hangs with me and gives me something to smile about.
Another reason is "the return." Here's a dialogue from this morning:
She: So how many 20 year olds hit on you?
Me: Well, when there is an abundance of 20 year old MALES in the room, usually the 20 year old female will hit on them. Not some 40 year old.
She: good way of dodging the question.
(silence for a minute or two while we watched the dog shit in the yard)
She: so did (assumed name to protect the innocent) Susie Smith tell you what kind of underwear she was wearing?
Side note: a few years ago my wife intercepted a harmless email between "Susie" and me regarding underwear. "Susie" is known for her flirtatiousness and it's all harmless. I was merely engaging her in conversation, giving it back, as it were. In fact, I believe I had told her I was wearing "underoos."Me: (silence for effect, only a smile)
She: another dodge.
Me: (hug) I love you. Next year, you're going WITH me.
The return is always interesting. By the way, she never asked me how many clients I had run into, or how many new clients I had developed.
Women.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Day four
I can't believe we're finished. A yearly event and always a good time, CRS now officially stands for "Can't Remember Shit." Last night I was a good boy, which of course means I didn't get arrested.
I must say, it was rather tame. Dinner was at Morton's Steak House, a favorite gathering of Nashvillians, record promoters, artist-wannabes and their ilk. In fact, I think half of the wait staff are looking for record deals. Two of them dropped off samples while we ate.
Another filet was in order, this one only 16 ounces. I'm ramping down to reduce further self-injury. After dinner I made one final trip through the bar and said goodbye to clients and friends. Then...
I went to bed. Before midnight. On the final night.
In my defense, most of the people I've been hanging with had also disappeared to their rooms, there's only so much you can do to your body before it starts telling you to screw yourself.
So now I'm packing, having breakfast with a friend, dropping in on Jim one more time to make sure he's still ticking, gassing up and heading north. The trip home is 4 1/2 hours, so I'd better stop for a chocolate milk and a jumbo bag of beef jerky.
Damn, more beef. Isn't that sad?
I must say, it was rather tame. Dinner was at Morton's Steak House, a favorite gathering of Nashvillians, record promoters, artist-wannabes and their ilk. In fact, I think half of the wait staff are looking for record deals. Two of them dropped off samples while we ate.
Another filet was in order, this one only 16 ounces. I'm ramping down to reduce further self-injury. After dinner I made one final trip through the bar and said goodbye to clients and friends. Then...
I went to bed. Before midnight. On the final night.
In my defense, most of the people I've been hanging with had also disappeared to their rooms, there's only so much you can do to your body before it starts telling you to screw yourself.
So now I'm packing, having breakfast with a friend, dropping in on Jim one more time to make sure he's still ticking, gassing up and heading north. The trip home is 4 1/2 hours, so I'd better stop for a chocolate milk and a jumbo bag of beef jerky.
Damn, more beef. Isn't that sad?
Random Previous Post #5
St. Louis Rams suck.
I was forced to rise at a ridiculously early hour this morning after staying up a little too late the night before. Tawnya worked into the wee hours, making dessert for the girls in her Bunko group... she's hosting a party tonight for twenty players... and I tried to keep her company, but I forced myself into bed prematurely to avoid the morning headache which accompanies lack of sleep.
My wife is serving homemade lasagna, salad, dinner rolls... and dream pie & fudge for dessert. And of course, I can't have any. "It's for the girls!"
So the boys and I will head to Frailey's to watch Monday night football and drink beers. And I won't bring her any.
Mom's here visiting for the week, so we're telling stories and catching up. I was just thinking about fears our parents instill in us, as I was handing her a particularly robust pair of scissors. I began thinking about how long she terrorized me by making me believe I could possibly fall on a pair, driving them deep into my own chest... even though I haven't fallen in that manner since I was - oh, 6. As if somehow my wrist would encounter a strange centrifugal force and turn at just the right moment (called the "shear instant") and become a deadly dagger of death. An inadvertent self-serve bayonet.
Remember Mom telling you how it is dangerous to lick the peanut butter knife? Again, as if you could find a way to fall face-first directly onto it, driving it deep into your skull via your PB&J hole... causing severe life-threatening esophageal lacerations.
Deadly, horrifying pseudo-SWORDS, those butter knives.
Talk about irrational mother-imposed fear.
I was forced to rise at a ridiculously early hour this morning after staying up a little too late the night before. Tawnya worked into the wee hours, making dessert for the girls in her Bunko group... she's hosting a party tonight for twenty players... and I tried to keep her company, but I forced myself into bed prematurely to avoid the morning headache which accompanies lack of sleep.
My wife is serving homemade lasagna, salad, dinner rolls... and dream pie & fudge for dessert. And of course, I can't have any. "It's for the girls!"
So the boys and I will head to Frailey's to watch Monday night football and drink beers. And I won't bring her any.
Mom's here visiting for the week, so we're telling stories and catching up. I was just thinking about fears our parents instill in us, as I was handing her a particularly robust pair of scissors. I began thinking about how long she terrorized me by making me believe I could possibly fall on a pair, driving them deep into my own chest... even though I haven't fallen in that manner since I was - oh, 6. As if somehow my wrist would encounter a strange centrifugal force and turn at just the right moment (called the "shear instant") and become a deadly dagger of death. An inadvertent self-serve bayonet.
Remember Mom telling you how it is dangerous to lick the peanut butter knife? Again, as if you could find a way to fall face-first directly onto it, driving it deep into your skull via your PB&J hole... causing severe life-threatening esophageal lacerations.
Deadly, horrifying pseudo-SWORDS, those butter knives.
Talk about irrational mother-imposed fear.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Day three
Not a ton to talk about today. Mostly because my fingers hurt from the "clubbing" effect they undergo from too much intake of protein and intoxicant. The death grip I use for my handshake has the tendons stretched to the point that they are dangling similarly to the way a jumprope hangs between two girls on a playground.
You must be wondering about the source of the protein. Let me say what you are thinking is disgusting.
It was another night at the Palm Restaurant last night, and the side of beef I ordered was the approximate size of an official NFL regulation football. Minus the air - it wasn't a round steak. A USDA grade A 32 ounce filet, one sprout of asparagus (simply to say I had SOME sort of nutritious vegetable) and a baked spud that looked to be only a little larger than a Mini Cooper.
I ran into several friends later and ended up going to one of the suites to hear a band. Ryan (heart-attack victim Jim's wife) took a little time away from the hospital to give Jim some rest, so I fed her some liquor and walked her around the hotel. By the way, I told Jim about the well wishes and he's doing great. He will most likely recuperate 100 percent. Ironically, the fact he's in Nashville probably saved his life, if he were home in Traverse City, he wouldn't have had a good cardiac center at his disposal and may very well have circled the drain. (official paramedic lingo from my friend Dave who is a real geek)
Day four, the final day, is now underway. If I can keep Reba from rubbing my thigh, Martina McBride out of my hotel room and the entire group Shedaisy from trying to make me forget my wedding vows, it will, I'm sure, be the piece de resistance.
You must be wondering about the source of the protein. Let me say what you are thinking is disgusting.
It was another night at the Palm Restaurant last night, and the side of beef I ordered was the approximate size of an official NFL regulation football. Minus the air - it wasn't a round steak. A USDA grade A 32 ounce filet, one sprout of asparagus (simply to say I had SOME sort of nutritious vegetable) and a baked spud that looked to be only a little larger than a Mini Cooper.
I ran into several friends later and ended up going to one of the suites to hear a band. Ryan (heart-attack victim Jim's wife) took a little time away from the hospital to give Jim some rest, so I fed her some liquor and walked her around the hotel. By the way, I told Jim about the well wishes and he's doing great. He will most likely recuperate 100 percent. Ironically, the fact he's in Nashville probably saved his life, if he were home in Traverse City, he wouldn't have had a good cardiac center at his disposal and may very well have circled the drain. (official paramedic lingo from my friend Dave who is a real geek)
Day four, the final day, is now underway. If I can keep Reba from rubbing my thigh, Martina McBride out of my hotel room and the entire group Shedaisy from trying to make me forget my wedding vows, it will, I'm sure, be the piece de resistance.
PS - Jim reads this blog, which I suspect was a contributing factor for his heart attack. I just know he would feel very encouraged if you would leave a well wish by clicking the "comments" link below this entry and just saying hello. He's really making remarkable progress. And he's a good man.
Random Previous Post #4
The new Bud Light bottle has spurred a debate these days. Many are already missing the old-school metallic silver and red labels that, for decades, have adorned the world's most popular brew. You know, the ones that hardly ever peel correctly without error. Sure, they're easy to get started, but then the gummy under-layer won't release smoothly, leaving a sticky white partial label, which can only speak to the integrity of the paper used.
So by now you know, for me it's not the design, style or logo. But how it peels.
I will tell you, peeling the new label is a far more bewildering task. Although it always comes off in one piece (haven't torn one yet) getting it started is a real challenge. You'll be tempted to cheat and use the twist-off top or a pocket knife -- don't insult me. Any label-peeling purist knows better. The persevering drinker will use legal methods such as a fingernail... or when nobody's looking, a tooth. (legal, but you look goofy as hell) Be diligent, the patient peeler will be rewarded for their assiduousness. You'll eventually snag a corner, and it's all downhill from there.
At this point, we must consider the possible uses for the freshly peeled label. Years ago, I would have been satisfied with USE NUMBER ONE... to stack them to the side in hopes that the old "sex coupon" line might work with an unwitting female passer-by.
Hmm, wonder why that never worked...
Well, anyway. Another favorite application, USE NUMBER TWO, for the peeled document is to invert it. This serves two purposes. One, you always know which beer is yours. Two, (and far more fun) it makes the bartender or waitress at least consider the possibility that the bottle actually came from the brewery that way, a victim of some freak assembly line capsizing accident.
My friend Gary always flips his label. I never asked him why.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Day two
It started not-so-unusually. Shower, coffee. I picked up my phone to call our friends Jim & Ryan to meet up for breakfast - when Ryan answered she was out of breath. "Jim's having a heart attack right now and the paramedics have just arrived. Get over here!"
I looked down and found I had shit down both legs.
I hopped in the car and headed toward the hospital. Jim had already been rushed into surgery for angioplasty and a stint. He had very little blockage, but a piece of plaque had broken loose. A few minutes longer and he might not be here. All's well that ends well, Jim was joking around with his nurse right after the surgery. He should soon be as good as new, and will be having sex with Ryan again before you can say "it's gross thinking about Jim and Ryan having sex."
By the time we finished with all that, it was 4 pm. We had a late lunch and headed to the lounge for a couple of cocktails. When I say a couple, of course I mean 47. After leaving a ceiling-high stack of glasses, we left for the Palm Restaurant for enough beef to feed a family of T-Rexes. A 28-ounce rib-eye was the order of business tonight, and it felt as if I had ingested an entire North American buffalo.
We found a great cigar bar after dinner and had a couple of Cohibas. Also about 23 more cocktails. We returned to the hotel at 2 am and hung around the lounge until 4. At this point I feel it's time for bed, but there is a sissy chick-flick on HBO and I feel like a good cry.
I would have posted pictures tonight, but my buddy Dave said I would appear too much a "fan" so I didn't take any today. We ran into Montgomery Gentry, Joe Nichols, Sawyer Brown, SheDaisy, Andy Griggs, Billy Dean, Mark Wills, Faith Hill and Phil Vassar. Thursday is a new day, but it's not likely to start prior to noon.
Here's wishing Jim a speedy recovery. And that Shania could understand I'm MARRIED and not available to handle her "needs."
I looked down and found I had shit down both legs.
I hopped in the car and headed toward the hospital. Jim had already been rushed into surgery for angioplasty and a stint. He had very little blockage, but a piece of plaque had broken loose. A few minutes longer and he might not be here. All's well that ends well, Jim was joking around with his nurse right after the surgery. He should soon be as good as new, and will be having sex with Ryan again before you can say "it's gross thinking about Jim and Ryan having sex."
By the time we finished with all that, it was 4 pm. We had a late lunch and headed to the lounge for a couple of cocktails. When I say a couple, of course I mean 47. After leaving a ceiling-high stack of glasses, we left for the Palm Restaurant for enough beef to feed a family of T-Rexes. A 28-ounce rib-eye was the order of business tonight, and it felt as if I had ingested an entire North American buffalo.
We found a great cigar bar after dinner and had a couple of Cohibas. Also about 23 more cocktails. We returned to the hotel at 2 am and hung around the lounge until 4. At this point I feel it's time for bed, but there is a sissy chick-flick on HBO and I feel like a good cry.
I would have posted pictures tonight, but my buddy Dave said I would appear too much a "fan" so I didn't take any today. We ran into Montgomery Gentry, Joe Nichols, Sawyer Brown, SheDaisy, Andy Griggs, Billy Dean, Mark Wills, Faith Hill and Phil Vassar. Thursday is a new day, but it's not likely to start prior to noon.
Here's wishing Jim a speedy recovery. And that Shania could understand I'm MARRIED and not available to handle her "needs."
Random Previous Post #3
My post subject from this morning was space. It only makes sense that this one is about time.
Einstein once said, "time, no matter how persistent, is only an illusion." (he also once said "which way to the restroom?" but I digress)
I'm lying in bed with the laptop and... it seems like I just climbed OUT of it... yet it was 16 hours ago. I work from home, so I don't have a commute or a fixed workday. But recently, and for about 5 months, I took an outside job for 4 hours a day every afternoon. During that period, time really slowed down. My daily routine went as such:
Get up at about 7, throw on shorts/t-shirt, have breakfast and coffee, head into the recording studio, work until around 12:30, shower, dress AGAIN, drive through a fast-food place for lunch (which was eaten on the commute) get downtown at 1:55 for a 2 o'clock show. At 6, drive home.
It was actually TWO workdays in one. Get up, prepare for work, GO to work, finish... then prepare for work, GO to work, finish, drive home. I don't need to point out the negatives of that scenario, but the positive is that each day seemed like two. And considering how time flies as you get older, that was a good thing!
Now that I've come to my senses and ended my binary career configuration, time is FLYING by again. Part of the reason - I love my job. I'm a voice over artist and it's a blast... and as they say, time flies when you're having fun.
So how can I solve the problem and decelerate my day? My only recourse, as I see it, is to take regular breaks to do something I hate.
A short list of possibilities:
Einstein once said, "time, no matter how persistent, is only an illusion." (he also once said "which way to the restroom?" but I digress)
I'm lying in bed with the laptop and... it seems like I just climbed OUT of it... yet it was 16 hours ago. I work from home, so I don't have a commute or a fixed workday. But recently, and for about 5 months, I took an outside job for 4 hours a day every afternoon. During that period, time really slowed down. My daily routine went as such:
Get up at about 7, throw on shorts/t-shirt, have breakfast and coffee, head into the recording studio, work until around 12:30, shower, dress AGAIN, drive through a fast-food place for lunch (which was eaten on the commute) get downtown at 1:55 for a 2 o'clock show. At 6, drive home.
It was actually TWO workdays in one. Get up, prepare for work, GO to work, finish... then prepare for work, GO to work, finish, drive home. I don't need to point out the negatives of that scenario, but the positive is that each day seemed like two. And considering how time flies as you get older, that was a good thing!
Now that I've come to my senses and ended my binary career configuration, time is FLYING by again. Part of the reason - I love my job. I'm a voice over artist and it's a blast... and as they say, time flies when you're having fun.
So how can I solve the problem and decelerate my day? My only recourse, as I see it, is to take regular breaks to do something I hate.
A short list of possibilities:
- Watch shopping channel for 1 hour
- Rake leaves and put them in my pants
- Scratch chalkboard with fingernails
- Mall shopping with Ernest Borgnine
- Pick up dog poop from yard with hands tied behind my back
- Assault my own skull with a blunt instrument until I lose consciousness, wake up, repeat
Maybe I could spend time watching water come to a boil or counting marbles in a jar. I do have a frustratingly large box of christmas lights to untangle, THAT should slow the day down a bit. Hmmm.
Okay, maybe I need to stop thinking about it and just accept life's brutally fast tempo. It was, after all, Einstein who said:"I never think of the future. It comes soon enough."
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Random Previous Post #2
Subject: Forever
Went to a place called Robata's of Japan steak house and enjoyed dinner and drinks. It was a holiday party thrown by American Express investments, so we went and got the best chef in the place. I must say the restaurant has gone down hill since I first came to town. They need to clean, replace carpet and further upgrade, but we had a blast and the chef (Vince) was great! Went with our friends Rick & Robin. (Robin is Tawnya's real estate partner and Rick is our investment guy) We finished the night off with a tequila shot and felt like we could have partied later, but were home by 10:45 pm. Sat in the hottub for about an hour and now am thinking of hitting the bed.
So on to my subject. T and I had a long chat tonight about whether we believe in forever. Of course SHE does, women usually do. I'm more reticent regarding the concept. My take is, it's sort of like a job, a project, etc. If you just look at your long term goal (in this case being married forever) it will be harder to make it happen. If you take one day at a time and figure that today will be another successful married day, you'll be more likely to succeed. Before you know it, another week, a month, a year goes by and you haven't really thought about "forever," but you're on your way to it. I think long-term "expectations" can damage your chances of achievement.
Is this too clinical? Am I overthinking? I'm not a believer in fairy tales. But then, I've been involved in two marriages that did not work, and while both have taught me much... perhaps they have taken wind out of my sails.
So I hope that the fine breeze I've found continues.
Went to a place called Robata's of Japan steak house and enjoyed dinner and drinks. It was a holiday party thrown by American Express investments, so we went and got the best chef in the place. I must say the restaurant has gone down hill since I first came to town. They need to clean, replace carpet and further upgrade, but we had a blast and the chef (Vince) was great! Went with our friends Rick & Robin. (Robin is Tawnya's real estate partner and Rick is our investment guy) We finished the night off with a tequila shot and felt like we could have partied later, but were home by 10:45 pm. Sat in the hottub for about an hour and now am thinking of hitting the bed.
So on to my subject. T and I had a long chat tonight about whether we believe in forever. Of course SHE does, women usually do. I'm more reticent regarding the concept. My take is, it's sort of like a job, a project, etc. If you just look at your long term goal (in this case being married forever) it will be harder to make it happen. If you take one day at a time and figure that today will be another successful married day, you'll be more likely to succeed. Before you know it, another week, a month, a year goes by and you haven't really thought about "forever," but you're on your way to it. I think long-term "expectations" can damage your chances of achievement.
Is this too clinical? Am I overthinking? I'm not a believer in fairy tales. But then, I've been involved in two marriages that did not work, and while both have taught me much... perhaps they have taken wind out of my sails.
So I hope that the fine breeze I've found continues.
First night
On the way to Nashville, I made record time. If you're a policeman, go somewhere else right now.
The guy in the "other" BMW didn't have a chance. On the highway north of town there's a long stretch of straight road... and it was there he decided he wanted to run.
He blew past me at about 100 the first time... he looked like an NFL player with a cap on backwards. Screw him. I waited until the moment, then dropped the hammer. I blew past him with a clear road ahead going 130. It was as if he were sitting still. He saw nothing of me the rest of the trip into town but my taillights, and even then it was from a distance. It was a good thing.
After my arrival, my first mission was to meet up with my friend Dave and get started. A single malt scotch seemed right, along with a bowl of mixed nuts. Dave showed up and we spent about an hour lying about all kinds of things, including how little we would drink tonight.
We decided a trip to Morton's Steak House was in order. Two cigars, two glasses of wine, a double filet mignon and half a bushel of asparagus later, we each dug into a big slice of new york cheese cake. I think that was our undoing.
We returned to the hotel and it wasn't the same. I attempted a go at another glass of scotch, but it wasn't to be. I hastened a path back toward the room and found myself in a rather ugly position... ready for bed before 1 am.
It sucks to be 40.
The guy in the "other" BMW didn't have a chance. On the highway north of town there's a long stretch of straight road... and it was there he decided he wanted to run.
He blew past me at about 100 the first time... he looked like an NFL player with a cap on backwards. Screw him. I waited until the moment, then dropped the hammer. I blew past him with a clear road ahead going 130. It was as if he were sitting still. He saw nothing of me the rest of the trip into town but my taillights, and even then it was from a distance. It was a good thing.
After my arrival, my first mission was to meet up with my friend Dave and get started. A single malt scotch seemed right, along with a bowl of mixed nuts. Dave showed up and we spent about an hour lying about all kinds of things, including how little we would drink tonight.
We decided a trip to Morton's Steak House was in order. Two cigars, two glasses of wine, a double filet mignon and half a bushel of asparagus later, we each dug into a big slice of new york cheese cake. I think that was our undoing.
We returned to the hotel and it wasn't the same. I attempted a go at another glass of scotch, but it wasn't to be. I hastened a path back toward the room and found myself in a rather ugly position... ready for bed before 1 am.
It sucks to be 40.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Live from Nash-Vegas!
During the next few days, I will be posting information on the goings-on and general debauchery of my trip to Music City, USA. During this time there will likely be pictures, a few inside pieces of info not intended for publication, and some giant lapses with no new entries because of extended hangovers. (did I say hangovers, of course I meant meetings)
During those lapses, and since I have new blog friends who have recently started dropping by, I will be re-posting some random previous entries from a few months back. Who has time to go through all those archives anyway?
Have a nice day, I'll tell Nashville hello for ya.
During those lapses, and since I have new blog friends who have recently started dropping by, I will be re-posting some random previous entries from a few months back. Who has time to go through all those archives anyway?
Have a nice day, I'll tell Nashville hello for ya.
Random Previous Post #1
Learned earlier that the wife will be staying at her moms tonight - helping with cleaning and cooking to take some of the load off. Her mom's doing better, but not 100 percent yet. So I took the opportunity to soak in the hottub and crank up some old tunes. Had a really cold Bud Light and the remains of a particularly stout Cuban cigar... and watched the clouds race across the sky, there must be some pretty fast upper winds.
Then I dried off and hit the fridge. Ate about half a big jar of sliced grapefruit with a little sugar on it - and a peanut butter sandwich. Oh, and about two pints of ice cold milk. MMMM! The "Gods of the Frigidaire" must be smiling on me tonight, the whole thing was a near-religious experience! I'm sure it will trigger an immense chemical reaction later, just when I'm dozing off... but for now, I can't wipe the satisfied look off my face.
See, if Tawnya were home tonight she'd surely remind me how unhealthy it is to eat late at night and how much cholesterol peanut butter has... and how Wonder bread contains no real nutrients, and that all this eating SHOULD have waited until the morning... but hey. She's gone.
The good news, there's still some week-old meatloaf in there, some leftover breakfast potatoes, the rest of that jar of grapefruit and some spicy polish sausage. And there's still about a half-gallon of perfect-temperature ('bout 34 degrees) fresh milk left. Sounds to me like a plan for tomorrow night at around bedtime. In fact, I'm SURE of it. I wonder if I could talk my wife into one more night with her mom. Hmmmm...
I wish we had some spam.
Then I dried off and hit the fridge. Ate about half a big jar of sliced grapefruit with a little sugar on it - and a peanut butter sandwich. Oh, and about two pints of ice cold milk. MMMM! The "Gods of the Frigidaire" must be smiling on me tonight, the whole thing was a near-religious experience! I'm sure it will trigger an immense chemical reaction later, just when I'm dozing off... but for now, I can't wipe the satisfied look off my face.
See, if Tawnya were home tonight she'd surely remind me how unhealthy it is to eat late at night and how much cholesterol peanut butter has... and how Wonder bread contains no real nutrients, and that all this eating SHOULD have waited until the morning... but hey. She's gone.
The good news, there's still some week-old meatloaf in there, some leftover breakfast potatoes, the rest of that jar of grapefruit and some spicy polish sausage. And there's still about a half-gallon of perfect-temperature ('bout 34 degrees) fresh milk left. Sounds to me like a plan for tomorrow night at around bedtime. In fact, I'm SURE of it. I wonder if I could talk my wife into one more night with her mom. Hmmmm...
I wish we had some spam.
Sunday, February 27, 2005
I was looking for something to do, and...
...I found this cool quote - Will Rogers said it:
"Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with the time we have rushed through life trying to save."
This week has been wack
I did a morning show all week on the radio, worked in the recording studio all day, and 3 evenings I had outside appointments. Okay, maybe a couple of them were "drinking" appointments but so what? I'm looking for sympathy.
I haven't had my usual time to commit to my blog this week - and next week I'm in Nashville for important meetings. (and by meetings, of course I mean "drinking" appointments) It's time for the annual Country Radio Seminar, a time when radio types get together, talk about their year, discuss the future and... drink. Alot.
Side note: Country Radio Seminar is normally shortened to CRS. Which by the end of the week, usually stands for Can't Remember Shit.
During the course of the week there will be country artists roaming around the bar, you'll see people like Toby Keith, Hank Jr., a ton of start-up artists... and record companies whose job it is to see that their songs get played on your radio station. Those efforts include buying drinks and cigars for radio people at a pace reminiscent of a long-tailed cat covering up shit in a room full of rocking chairs.
Fortunately I'm not in charge of music at any radio station, those days are over. Now I attend the seminar simply for the opportunity to see clients and tell lies. Er, I mean share ideas. I will have my laptop and internet service, so chances are I'll have interesting stories to blog about. And probably compromising pictures, so "stay tuned."
-------------------
Now it's time for our lovely Sunday morning ritual. I've made coffee, and in minutes my wife and I will sit and enjoy a cup. Right before she puts on her coat and heads out the door to show property and do an "open house."
Ahhhh, Sunday mornings with a realtor.
I haven't had my usual time to commit to my blog this week - and next week I'm in Nashville for important meetings. (and by meetings, of course I mean "drinking" appointments) It's time for the annual Country Radio Seminar, a time when radio types get together, talk about their year, discuss the future and... drink. Alot.
Side note: Country Radio Seminar is normally shortened to CRS. Which by the end of the week, usually stands for Can't Remember Shit.
During the course of the week there will be country artists roaming around the bar, you'll see people like Toby Keith, Hank Jr., a ton of start-up artists... and record companies whose job it is to see that their songs get played on your radio station. Those efforts include buying drinks and cigars for radio people at a pace reminiscent of a long-tailed cat covering up shit in a room full of rocking chairs.
Fortunately I'm not in charge of music at any radio station, those days are over. Now I attend the seminar simply for the opportunity to see clients and tell lies. Er, I mean share ideas. I will have my laptop and internet service, so chances are I'll have interesting stories to blog about. And probably compromising pictures, so "stay tuned."
-------------------
Now it's time for our lovely Sunday morning ritual. I've made coffee, and in minutes my wife and I will sit and enjoy a cup. Right before she puts on her coat and heads out the door to show property and do an "open house."
Ahhhh, Sunday mornings with a realtor.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Clarification
A good friend of mine asked me the other night where all my anger came from. I was sort of taken by surprise - I hadn't noticed an inordinate amount of anger lately, I've actually been fairly content. He told me his question was based on a recent post on my blog, and said it made me sound like a very angry person.
Well, to be honest I am a fairly emotional person. I resent it when I'm wronged and I'm protective of my family. But the honest truth is, it's just a blog.
The other day I had a couple of hours free and decided to go to a little Irish pub in our neighborhood. This guy at the bar was drunk and getting loud... and he wouldn't leave me alone. He kept asking me about my nationality and mocking the shirt I was wearing. Finally I had had enough, got up, spun him around and slugged him hard, square in the gut. He doubled over, and when he did I elbowed him on the back. At nearly the same time, the bartender came across the bar and subdued the guy... and we were both escorted from the bar. A guy shouldn't insult another man's nationality or his clothing - and frankly it pissed me off the point that I exploded!
That was a lie. Many times in the world of fictional writing, both professional and blog, we embellish a story to elicit a reaction. I get bored and feel the need to shake things up.
I should tell you I DID go to Frailey's and DID have a discussion with a guy at the bar about my shirt and where I was from. He WASN'T drunk, we DIDN'T fight, it was friendly and brief. But the story was better in it's embellished form.
I don't enhance all my entries - most of them are dead on. But don't get the wrong idea, my blog is an outlet for creativity as much as a release for me.
Besides, I'd rather get pissed off and write it down... than take it out on a poor guy at the bar.
Well, to be honest I am a fairly emotional person. I resent it when I'm wronged and I'm protective of my family. But the honest truth is, it's just a blog.
The other day I had a couple of hours free and decided to go to a little Irish pub in our neighborhood. This guy at the bar was drunk and getting loud... and he wouldn't leave me alone. He kept asking me about my nationality and mocking the shirt I was wearing. Finally I had had enough, got up, spun him around and slugged him hard, square in the gut. He doubled over, and when he did I elbowed him on the back. At nearly the same time, the bartender came across the bar and subdued the guy... and we were both escorted from the bar. A guy shouldn't insult another man's nationality or his clothing - and frankly it pissed me off the point that I exploded!
That was a lie. Many times in the world of fictional writing, both professional and blog, we embellish a story to elicit a reaction. I get bored and feel the need to shake things up.
I should tell you I DID go to Frailey's and DID have a discussion with a guy at the bar about my shirt and where I was from. He WASN'T drunk, we DIDN'T fight, it was friendly and brief. But the story was better in it's embellished form.
I don't enhance all my entries - most of them are dead on. But don't get the wrong idea, my blog is an outlet for creativity as much as a release for me.
Besides, I'd rather get pissed off and write it down... than take it out on a poor guy at the bar.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
I love me a Jon Stewart
The Daily Show on Comedy Central is a funny damn show. My wife hates it, but I try to never miss it. It is one of the only things we disagree about.
Jon Stewart did a piece recently on blogging that I found VERY funny. If you have a high speed connection, click the link. It might not be advised for slow connections.
Here it is.
Stewart is funny. His style is right up my alley and I'm a big fan.
And that DOESN'T make me gay.
Jon Stewart did a piece recently on blogging that I found VERY funny. If you have a high speed connection, click the link. It might not be advised for slow connections.
Here it is.
Stewart is funny. His style is right up my alley and I'm a big fan.
And that DOESN'T make me gay.
Uh oh
What I'm reading about the Pope worries me. And I suppose I'm a real asshole for WHY it worries me.
We all know the Pope is not in good health. Now, he's been hospitalized again and given a tracheotomy.
Uh oh.
Look, as harsh as it may sound, I figure it's only a matter of time. God bless him, he's 84. He has pneumonia. But I hope he stays with us a little while longer for a really selfish reason. I have a morning show to do tomorrow, filling in for a guy on vacation... and I don't want to have to spend the morning talking about it. No disrespect, I just wouldn't know what to say. I'm not Catholic. I'd be finished after... oh, 15 seconds. But they would WANT me to spend the whole show talking about it and taking calls.
So John Paul, hang in there man. Kick this thing to the curb and get back to work. It's what we ALL want.
For our own reasons.
We all know the Pope is not in good health. Now, he's been hospitalized again and given a tracheotomy.
Uh oh.
Look, as harsh as it may sound, I figure it's only a matter of time. God bless him, he's 84. He has pneumonia. But I hope he stays with us a little while longer for a really selfish reason. I have a morning show to do tomorrow, filling in for a guy on vacation... and I don't want to have to spend the morning talking about it. No disrespect, I just wouldn't know what to say. I'm not Catholic. I'd be finished after... oh, 15 seconds. But they would WANT me to spend the whole show talking about it and taking calls.
So John Paul, hang in there man. Kick this thing to the curb and get back to work. It's what we ALL want.
For our own reasons.
Side note: Today is Abe Vigoda's birthday. He's 84 also. I don't know what that has to do with anything, but... now you know.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Carrot Cake
You can't taste the carrots. So why is it "carrot cake?" Shouldn't we preserve the world's carrot supply and just make the CAKE? Send the carrots to Ethiopia or Sudan where they're needed. Maybe to Germany, those people need some color.
Anyone? Beuller? WTF?
Anyone? Beuller? WTF?
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
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...
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...
Monday, February 21, 2005
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, February 20, 2005
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."
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."
Saturday, February 19, 2005
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.
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.
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.
Friday, February 18, 2005
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
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
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
-author unknown
Thursday, February 17, 2005
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.
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.
(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:Strictly from the pen of pure evil, my friend!
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
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
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:
Yeah, right.
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:
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.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.
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
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
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
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...
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...
Monday, February 14, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, February 11, 2005
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."
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."
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
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!
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!
Monday, February 07, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, February 05, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, February 04, 2005
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???
A Badonkadonk???
Thursday, February 03, 2005
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.
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."
As boxing legend Don King said, "You don't get nothing from sleep but a dream."
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
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.
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.
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.
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