Monday, May 02, 2005

Monday morning round-up

It was a simply shitty weekend. I can't think of a better way of summarizing it, just... shitty. Without going into why, let me just be thankful it's Monday. (I thought I'd never say those words!)

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In the news this morning:

"...Adrift on a sailboat without food or fresh water for six days, 17-year-old Josh Long and a friend survived on sea water, raw jellyfish — and faith..."
Link

I wonder how many days I've gone without "fresh water." I can remember one period where I went for 4 or 5 MONTHS drinking nothing more than beer, Pepsi and a little coffee. Not a single glass of water.

And sunburn? Holy UV, I've spent time in the emergency room after certain float trips when I figured sunscreen was for p*ssies. Not to mention a period of my life where I ate nothing but sushi for like 8 weeks. If it didn't come from the ocean and wasn't raw, I didn't ingest it.

Those guys are lightweights.

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The woman from Georgia who, under pressure of a 600-attendee, 28-groomsmen/bridesmaid, completely overdone waste-of-time-and-money wedding ceremony, staged her own abduction and went to Albuquerque... it now appears, planned her getaway days prior to her "disappearance." And as we all know, the only thing worse than spur-of-the-moment lying about being abducted by a short Hispanic guy while jogging, taken to Albuquerque and being held against your will... is premeditatingly lying about being abducted by a short Hispanic guy while jogging, taken to Albuquerque and being held against your will.

Actually, it's quite possible that every single person IN Albuquerque is being held there against their will, but I digress.

Let's be honest. Nobody needs a wedding where 30 freakin' people stand at the altar at once, being watched by 600 guests. To spend that amount of money on a ceremony for a "cahoots" that will statistically last no more than 6 or 7 years is a ridiculous waste of hard-earned money.

And the poor fiance'. With the precidence of Peterson, Condit, O-J and others, the cops had him framed tighter than the Mona Lisa and taking lie-detector tests already. If he still marries this gal he's crazier than she is.

Wouldn't it be ironic if the punishment for "inventing a crime that doesn't exist" is 6 to 7 years in prison? Same basic result, different method.

Although this way, her family has leftovers for 600.

Link

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"Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" opened over the weekend. If it's anywhere NEAR as good as the book (which I've just finished reading for the first time since the 80's) I can't wait to see it.


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Have a good week everyone.

***

Friday, April 29, 2005

Brittons aren't as smart as they sound

A new, quite disturbing trend called "happy slapping" is gaining momentum in the UK, here's a preview of the story from thefeature.com:
"Happy slapping" -- essentially violently attacking someone while it's recorded with a videophone -- is a growing problem in the UK, with British Transport police investigating 200 incidents in the last six months in London's public transport system alone, with who knows how many attacks going unreported. This isn't harmless childplay, the ferociousness and utter stupidity of these attacks is appalling. And the hooligans have embraced user-created content: they share the videos via Bluetooth, MMS and the Web, often describing their efforts as "Happy Slap TV".

There is video, if you're patient enough to allow it to stream - it's a little slow. And more than a little disturbing. The movies are being swapped and sold as entertainment.

The victims of the "slapping" are sometimes complete strangers. The whole thing is kind of reminiscent of Jackass, except with Jackass at least it's self-abuse.

It's time for one of the unsuspecting victims to just totally wail on the slapper, hospitalize them and end the "fun."

LINK to the story.

source: boingboing.net

***

He's baaaaack!

The Ivory Billed Woodpecker, thought to be extinct since 1880, has resurfaced in of all places, Arkansas.

It provides hope for many who have since written off the existence of the bird. Also known as the 'Lord God' bird, it's a huge, majestic American icon, found nowhere else in the world. (actual picture below)

If we can just keep those Arkansasians from eatin' em.*




*Come on, I kid the Arkansasians! Ya'll are great!

***

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Joke I heard in the bar last night...

A guy with no arms or legs is sitting on the beach when three women come along.

Giving him a pitiful look, the first woman says "have you ever been hugged?"

"No," he says. So she hugs him and walks away.

The second woman says "have you ever been kissed?"

Again, "no," says the guy. So she kisses him and walks away.

The third woman says "have you ever been screwed?"

He smiles sheepishly. "Well, no," he says.

"Just wait until the tide comes in."

41 was harder than 40

I don't know why. Please indulge my pensive meanderings.


Things I wish for as I officially enter my 40's:
______

More time for swimming.

A better golf game - or at least to keep it in the fairway.

Less anger, more smile.

Remember the fun in a bike ride.

To know I can fly to Vegas on a red-eye and a whim, and be home in time to work the next day.

Remember how much I like salad, so I can feel better about taking my shirt off.

Find the energy/time to begin the hobby of oil painting.

Remember to take a camera wherever I go, and get more pictures of the kids and other things that move me.

To simplify my world, cut unnecessary weight and have the ability to ebb and flow as I see fit.
To remember that I still feel 25.

To not let the next 40 years pass as fast as the first 40.


(to be continued...)

***

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Lie old

As I sit in my living room pondering the imponderable on the eve of my 41st birthday, I wonder - is it better to lie old or lie young? As you can see, I like to wrap my mind around the big issues.

When lying about your age, I think it's best to lie old. "Today is my 50th birthday!" I'd exclaim.

"Gee, you look great for 50," they'd marvel. "You barely look 45."

On second thought, playing guessing games with my age can only lead to humiliation. And not the good kind.

Get the suicide hotline number ready, it's another segment of dull facts about Dave

31- I am more able to hit the tricky shots in pool than the straight-on shots. I don’t take time to really aim on any my pool shots, for some reason.

32- I skydived from a height of 14,000 feet in 1995 with a buddy. The only jump suit they had in my size was pink and blue. I added a third color on the way down.

33- I am a Taurus. However I am not stubborn, don’t knock things over in a china shop, and have never charged full-speed at a red piece of cloth. Okay, maybe I’m stubborn. And there was that one time with the red cloth…

34- If I ever entrust you with information about my income or other similar personal information, you are obviously a VERY close friend. I am a very private person.

35- I have one pair of tennis shoes. I don’t understand the significance of that fact, but maybe it means something.

36- Throughout my single life, I dated mostly brunettes. Yet most of the famous women I find attractive are blonde.

37- I have a fascination with watches. I have a Breitling I bought in the Virgin Islands that has almost doubled in value because it is one of only a thousand made.

38- I tend toward the sarcastic side with my sense of humor. Sometimes people don’t realize when I’m joking… must be the poker face.

39- I have a thing about crabgrass. It’s an anxious time of year for me, hoping the timing of my pre-emergence was spot-on.

40- I never understood mincemeat pie. I don’t even know what it is. I’m comfortable not knowing.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Sign o' the times...


Steve Mays brought this 'toon to my attention via a comment last week - I got a good laugh, so I thought I'd post it for all to see.

Interesting discussion

Carol, over at The Cerebral Outpost, (a blog I read daily) made some interesting observations about the differences between men and women.

Exerpt:


"... I have noticed that when I need to ask someone to abide by our Theater rules, they generally comply, but it’s my like-gender that puts up the biggest fuss and requires some sort of explanation. Men seem to just take it in stride, comply, and move on to enjoy the show. Sure some men will make a passing comment such as “well that seems stupid,” but it’s usually under their breath and it’s stated while in the process of complying. Women generally react as though I have just asked them to tap dance on the water..."
Read the whole thing here.

***

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Sam's Wholesale Club

I have never gone to Sam's and come away completely satisfied. Much like a Chinese restaurant.

It's hard to ever be sure if Sam's will have what you're looking for. If your favorite 65-gallon jar of pickles happens to be bread 'n butter, they'll only have the 65-gallon jar of dill. Never the right pickle. Ever.

Today was a great example. I went there for a tall office chair and a small flat-screen television for my office. What I found was a 25-pound drum of chicken cacciatore. Can't watch it, can't really sit on it.

Sam's never stocks the same products two visits in a row. They USED to have tall office chairs. Not anymore. As for the television, of course they're out of the model I wanted. But oooh... that cacciatore.

From now on, when I feel I need a particularly unsatisfying evening, I'll go to Sam's. Then on to Wang's House of Chow.


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UPDATE: I received a really nice Samsung 22" flat screen HDTV monitor for my birthday, goes great in my recording studio. Thanks T and kids...

Saturday, April 23, 2005

Bored? Me too, as evidenced below

More totally unscripted, completely random, and ultimately useless facts about me. Try to keep your dinner down.

21- In high school, my girlfriend went to prom with another guy, my friend Tony. He had asked her to prom a couple of months before we started to date, so I had to pretend I was okay with that.

22- When I was a kid, I was a dishwasher in the busiest restaurant in town. There was no machine to wash dishes, it was all by hand – and I had an ulcer within 3 weeks. I quit the job shortly after. 26 years later, I probably still have the ulcer.

23- I enjoy Las Vegas, but I’ve never lost more than 100 bucks there. I always get bored with losing money. Which makes it even more surprising I’ve been married three times.

24- I have a weird thing about dirty sinks. If my sink is full of dirty dishes or has water in it, I’ve been known to lose sleep.

25- Automatic weapons should not be available to the public in America. Gun collectors should be the only exception.

26- I am a happy drunk, although I tend to pick minor, playful arguments with my wife when drinking. She always wins. You’d think I’d learn.

27- I place a high value on friends, and would do most anything I could for a good friend.

28- I love my dog. Not that way, pervert.

29- Where party games are concerned, it is tough to beat me at charades, trivial pursuit or pictionary.

30- One of my pet peeves is exaggeration. In fact, it’s the biggest pet peeve in the history of all time, ever, ever.


If this is boring you, imagine how I feel trying to remember all this shit.

Friday, April 22, 2005

Dave's Friday Photo


Patiently waiting for the first patio party.

Things I've slept through

The Lion King in the theatre, picking up a friend at the airport, nearly my entire morning radio show, sex... all these things I've missed because I was (as Grandpa used to say) checking my eyelids for holes. Zzzzzzzzzz...

Now it appears a technique has been found for inducing hybernation in humans.

The possibilities are endless for this scientific breakthrough. Humans could be put "under" until a new organ is available for transplant, until a cure for certain diseases is found... until the mother-in-law leaves...

And there are a few people I could see being forcefully placed in hybernation, honestly. Al Sharpton, Richard Simmons, Joan Rivers and her freakin' clone-of-a-daughter. The next door neighbor's dog (barking sonofabitch)...

Ah, technology.


Courtesy MSNBC.COM

Thursday, April 21, 2005

A delightful amalgamation of cerebral debris

The GOP has taken every opportunity possible this year to make itself look bad. Most of it centers around Tom DeLay, who has allegedly violated several ethics rules regarding campaign fundraising and usage, and clearly tried to refocus public opinion and muddy the water with the Terri Schiavo case.

GOP protectors/friends earlier this year changed some rules so that, amidst his troubles, Tom DeLay could remain majority leader. So a rule gets violated, so you just... change it???

Bye, Tom. Good riddance. I'm pretty conservative, but in the court of public opinion, I'm afraid you're through.

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Communiques to the Netherworld: TalkToAliens.com began taking orders in March, recording the voices of customers at a rate of $3.99 per minute and beaming them into space, aimed toward the center of the Milky Way by a parabolic dish antenna on an FM frequency. If you'd rather, you can send an email, and get a print-out of the text on a fancy certificate for under 20 bucks.

Come on, if aliens are listening to FM, I just KNOW they are cranking up a good classic-country station out of Dubuque. And, if they know ANYTHING about email, they probably have the galaxy's tightest spam filter in place.

And a German guy introduced his "telephonic angel" system, at a cost of about US$2,000, which is a battery operated speaker placed underground at a gravesite, and includes a microphone so you can talk to the corpse of your dearly departed (for up to a year on a single battery charge!)

I've completely missed the boat on making my fortune, 'cause you KNOW there are hordes of people who just can't wait to give these people their money. Damn!

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I mentioned my opinion about the new Pope in a comment yesterday on Hoss' blo... er, I mean 'piece," and perhaps I've offended a few. I mentioned Benedict XVI has the "evil" look to him, and that he has been known to be ultra-conservative, therefore, probably will not be making any sweeping changes the church sorely needs... such as allowing priests to marry, allowing condoms and other forms of birth control, etc.

To clarify and set the record straight for all those who were offended, I have nothing against the Catholic church, I have a bazillion friends who are Catholic.

I also have many friends who WERE Catholic until recently. And, I meant every word I said.

___________________


Well, I gotta go. This coffee/Kahlua ain't gonna drink itself. See ya tomorrow...


***

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

A moment of fatherly mush

She has a disarming charm, a great smile and fabulous personality. She's having a hard time right now - and since she reads this blog sometimes, I have a message for her.

Your Dad loves you. No matter what happens in your life, good or bad, you'll always have a Father to lean on. I won't always say things you want to hear, but I'll always tell you the truth and I will always do what is best for you. I promise.

Someday you will look back and know how much you've meant to me. Things will look much different when you have age and wisdom. Right now, I probably mostly just seem like a mean guy. Right now, not everything makes sense to you. Someday it will. I promise.

There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, no place I wouldn't go. I give you my time and patience because you DESERVE it, and I owe it to you... but most importantly, because I want to. You have the ability to be whomever you wish, and do whatever you want. I will help you, I promise.

You will always be at the top of my list and the front of my heart. I'll prove to you how much I care. You have no idea what a powerful, positive and pretty person you are.

You ARE. I promise.

Okay, I'll bite

Chris at Dancing the Polka made me curious. Here are my results of this goofy dialect test. Taking it will tell you two things. First, your linguistic profile. Second, you have a serious problem finding things to keep you busy.



Your Linguistic Profile:



70% General American English

10% Dixie

10% Upper Midwestern

10% Yankee

0% Midwestern





***

I don't usually share this kind of info

I have a marinade for steaks which I've developed over a period of several years. It has, according to my wife, silently slipped me into the upper echelon of grillers in America.

No, of COURSE I'm not sharing THAT recipe.

I have more recently developed a secondary marinade - whose base was the brilliant idea of my friend Rick - and I will now share that recipe:

Start with a bottle of Crystal Louisiana Hot Sauce. Don't be shy, use the entire bottle. Add about a cup of the italian dressing of your choice, but not the low-fat kind. Give me a break.

Then stir in a quarter-cup of soy sauce, and a half-cup of red wine. (make sure you've opened a fresh bottle, merlot works best, and it is your responsibility to drink the rest of the bottle while working around the kitchen) Stir this concoction into a nice, orangish sauce. While stirring, add two tablespoons of brown sugar and one teaspoon of powdered mustard.

Soak meat in this marinade for at least 2 hours, but shoot for 3. More than that, and you'll likely lose the flavor of the meat. Prior to putting the meat in the marinade, I like to rub it with Montreal seasoning. Use whatever floats your boat.

This is a marinade designed for beef. Use on other meats at your own risk, I haven't tried it.

If you have a favorite marinade, share it by commenting below. If not, fine... you're probably a ketchup person.

Monday, April 18, 2005

Monday observations

This weekend felt twice as long as usual. Friday, I discovered that my subwoofers in the car aren't working. And when my audio's not right, nothing's right. You can bet the car is in the shop right-damn-now.

_____________________

Students at Washington University in St. Louis are conducting a protest and hunger strike. Well, not really a hunger strike, because they've already given up on that...

The subject of the protest is, what they believe to be the too-low salaries and sub-adequate benefits of campus workers. Not the professors, mind you. The cooks, custodians, etc. So students decided to try to attract media attention with this "protest."

One of the local morning shows had a listener on campus, and sent the listener walking up to the protestors for an interview. There were about 8 protestors there, most were sleeping (at 9 am today) but all refused to be interviewed.

It appears we now know the level of resolve of these students, (first they take turns with their "hunger strike," call it off, then refuse media interviews) so this should be wrapped up soon.

Question to the students: Who do you think pays the salaries of those campus workers? If you guessed "Mom & Dad," you're starting to get the picture. In the free market system, it's up to the workers to negotiate their best deal, or leave. It's up to the college to pay them more, or not. Your parents WILL be the ones who ultimately suffer.

Perhaps if you feel that strongly, kids... YOU should pay them more! Sacrifice one meal a day and hand the money to the guy mowing the lawn. Just say no to beer for the weekend and give the dough to the woman working the snack bar. Forgo the new swimsuit and slide the cash to the custodian.

Suggest that to the "protestors," and the proceeding would be over faster than you could say "bong party at Dave's place."

Funny how college students aren't nearly as smart as they believe.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Baseball, scotch, pools, hitchhikers... and how they all tie together

I love baseball, but I am not a fan of what the game is becoming. It's quickly going the way of the NFL, NHL and NBA.

All rich men's games.

The new stadiums are getting smaller, sacrificing seats for luxury suites. The St. Louis Cardinals are building a new one, and now I see the Yankees are following suit.* Neither team really needs a new "house."

PSL's, ticket prices and "back-door-entry-with-no-lube" parking rates are slowly (okay, not so slowly) taking the game out of reach of the common man.

Among professional sports, baseball still remains the most affordable. You can still go to Busch and get a $9 ticket. But take an oxygen tank.

And don't expect things to get any better.

______________________


I'm attending a scotch-tasting party tonight, and it's been a while since I tried anything new. Although I consider myself more scotch-knowledgeable than the average person, I figure I can learn a lot tonight.

Okay, kidding. I'm just looking for a smooth buzz.

______________________


I am reminded what a pain in the butt owning a pool can be. But I also found that there are few things more peaceful than a walk around it in the morning with a cup of coffee.

______________________


I just realized how boring this post is. And what's even more surprising - you're still reading. Get a life.

Speaking of, I am re-reading a great book (a friend reminded me of it) called The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I sat in the backyard and laughed my ass off this afternoon.

Now that I have no ass, I hope to find none of the rest of the book funny.

Have a nice weekend!


*courtesy MSNBC (as if I couldn't have gotten the story myself)

Friday, April 15, 2005

The Man

The restaurant was called Kreis, and it was known for a king-cut prime rib the size of Vermont. We had all ordered the next smaller choice and were still feeling lethargic.

Jason was an aspiring country singer, making the rounds to radio stations and playing his music for anyone who would listen. His style was unique, but his ex-wife was Lee Ann Womack, who just happened to be one of the hottest singers at the time. Unfortunately, most people wanted to talk about her, so I had spent our time at dinner making small talk about baseball.

Finally finished, we pulled on our winter coats and headed toward the door. Our thoughts moved toward finding a beer and a television - it was basketball season.

When we reached the sidewalk outside, we stopped to enjoy the chill in the air and Jason lit a cigarette. I turned back to inspect the restaurant once more and saw an older gentleman exiting behind us, pulling his trench coat over his shoulders as he walked. I did the classic double-take.

"You guys know who that is?" Scot knew, Jason didn't. It was 'The Man'. I could see in my mind the baseball card I owned as a kid. He played from 1941 to 1963, and only for the St. Louis Cardinals.

We stood motionless and quiet as Stan moved toward us. I had to say something to him, he had been my idol for 25 years. "Mr. Musial?"

"Yes sir, that's me," he said. He wore a wool beret and had a gleam in his eye. It was obvious he had never grown tired of fans.

"Did you get enough to eat in there?" I fumbled for something to say other than an obvious fan reference.

"They don't serve anything small, do they?" he quipped. I slipped my hands in my pockets as we laughed.

He had stopped to exchange pleasantries, but his glance toward the parking lot told me he was ready to move on. I decided to take the plunge. "Sir, I don't want to intrude on your evening, but I just wanted you to know that my friends and I have always been inspired by the way you played baseball."

He leaned forward a little, looking me straight in the eye. "Thank you son, I never get tired of hearing that." Then a smile crossed his face as if he'd remembered something. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and a stack of cards. "Would you mind if I give you guys a little something to remember this evening?" His speech and demeanor seemed reminiscent of another era. It felt a little eerie.

Jason, suddenly conscious of his cigarette, tossed it away. The last of the smoke hung in the air and mixed with the smell of the restaurant kitchen. Stan signed three baseball cards and handed one to each of us. I waved mine around in the cool air to dry the ink, then slipped it carefully into my pocket. "Thank you, sir." I shook his hand, then a flush crossed my face as I thought how he probably just wanted to get in his car and go home.

"What are your names?" he inquired.

I introduced the group and he shook each of our hands. I bragged that Jason was an up and coming country music star.

Stan's eyes lit up. "Is that right? I love country music! I loved listening to the Grand Ole Opry and square dancing when I was a younger man." As he spoke, I started thinking about the places he'd been and things he had seen.

He reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out a harmonica. "I can even play a country song or two on this," he said as he examined it thoughtfully.

We looked at each other, wondering if just maybe...

"Tell me what you think," he said, putting the instrument to his lips. The first few notes were all we needed, he was playing The Wabash Cannonball.

We tapped our feet and watched in amazement. He was very good, and indulged us with the entire first verse. When he finished and slipped the instrument back into his pocket, we erupted in applause. He took the slightest hint of a bow and smiled.

"Well, good luck Jason, I hope to hear you on the radio." He tipped his hat, nodded to each of us and strolled off into the evening. We said goodnight and watched him walk away. I sensed a spring in his step, and it was obvious he enjoyed playing for us as much as we enjoyed listening.

A solemn quiet came over us, standing there on that sidewalk. It was almost as if we'd seen a ghost. We watched as his car pulled off the lot and floated into the night, the exhaust hanging in the air.

Scan of my card from Stan Musial

Dave's Friday Photo


"Last one in is a rotten egg!"

My backyard is very happy it's spring.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Politicians

I must say, the budget of the state of Missouri is stretched tighter than a gnat's ass over a rain barrel. Dollars are short, there is always too much month at the end of the money.

So recently, the Missouri legislature voted to cut medicare benefits to many residents - and those kinds of cuts hurt. It affected my Mom, for instance, who's challenged by many medical problems. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a proponent of programs that allow people to be lazy... the state doesn't owe you a living. But this is one of those ironic situations where the cut hurts those who work, but don't make enough to pay for medical expenses.

Here's where I have a problem with politicians. When a (highly symbolic but meaningful) proposal was floated by a few state lawmakers to cut their own medical benefits by 20 percent... guess what. They voted NOT to.

As I've said before... and will until I see evidence to the contrary... politicians suck in the worst way.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

It was just a freakin' OIL CHANGE!

In the past two weeks, we've had the oil changed in both vehicles. Directly afterward, we received in the mail exactly two customer satisfaction surveys from the dealerships. Each survey was at least two pages in length.

If you don't fill out the survey and return it, they call you. And if you DO fill it out but indicate a less-than-glowing experience, they call you.

Note to dealership: I'm sick of the surveys. Pleave me and my freshly-oil-filled vehicles alone. You want praise... we get it. But for chrissake, it's an OIL change.

Not an engine rebuild.

Hey Eric, God doesn't support you - he thinks you're a jagoff

A defiant Eric Rudolph pleaded guilty Wednesday to carrying out the deadly bombing at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics and three other attacks, saying he picked the Summer Games to embarrass the U.S. government in front of the world “for its abominable sanctioning of abortion on demand.”


Guess what... there's a jail cell with a bed, a head and a horny man just waiting for you, my friend. No, wait... I mean asshole.

And the thermostat in hell has just been turned up a little in honor of your pending arrival.

Uh oh


It's a "family emergency" kinda day, so I'm having coffee and trying to get a few things done before I leave town. This picture will hopefully tide you over.

They're manatees.

Question: could it REALLY be possible these are the origin of the legend of the mermaid? If so, what kind of women did the early explorers date, fer chrissake?

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

A leech? In her WHAT?

A story which made me nearly lose my omelette.

Here's the link

And here's an exerpt:

"...could have suffocated the woman if it had moved into her larynx..."


Thanks to Chris at El Cajone

Monday, April 11, 2005

Nifty notification tool

A few friends have asked if I can send them an email notification when I write a piece on my site.

These people clearly:

1- Have lives mostly devoid of personal pain and torture, and would like to add some... or
2- Have a lively interest in what I have to say. (therefore, certifiably insane)

I've found a service that does it... it's your chance to be notified when I've posted something new, so you don't have to stop in 8 times a day in rabid anticipation. (I crack myself up!)

Just scroll down on the left side of this page, look for the Bloglet registration tab and enter your email address. There will be no spam sent, you won't be added to any list. Just an automated email whenever something new appears here. And if you don't like it, you can easily unsubscribe. I won't know who's subscribed so your stalker status will be secure. (still cracking myself up!)

Or, simply ignore all the above and read on...

More things about Dave (aka - a chance to scroll down quickly)

Second installment. Feel free to criticize, demean and demoralize me, but they're all honest.

11- As a child we had no money, so I had a poor wardrobe. Sometimes I had to wear pants 2 or 3 inches too short. To this day, I feel strange if my socks are showing.

12- I have only known my Father for 9 years. He and Mom split before I was born, and I was almost 32 when I first met him in L-A in 1996.

13- My golf handicap is probably about 25. I suck, suck, suck. Suck. But I received a package of 4 lessons for Father’s day last year, so I’m planning to get better.

14- My drink of choice is Scotch. Lagavulin is my favorite brand, but generally I drink Glenfiddich or Glenlivet. I own a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label – but it’s priced such that I only drink it on special occasions.

15- I was a band geek in high school. I never got into sports, but wish I had. I can make good contact with a baseball, but we didn’t have a team at Warsaw High School.

16- I can eat an amazing number of tacos. When I was younger, it was upwards of 20 tacos, but now I can probably knock back 11 or 12 on a good night.

17- My favorite artist is Van Gogh. He is able to communicate more in a painting than most people can with a 10-thousand word vocabulary.

18- I dig Dennis Miller’s sense of humor. He’s smart and sarcastic, two personality traits I can relate to. Most people either really like him or really don't.

19- I have never broken a bone. I have had many opportunities, but mine must be very flexible.

20- I hate minivans. I question why people who have one child believe they need one.



Ready to slit your wrists yet?

Stupid, cliche list

My friend Gene, aka Hoss, has started a movement in the world of the internet - to stop using the word "blog." He wants to start calling the stories, anecdotes, opinions, etc. recorded here "pieces."

First step - getting the people at Blogger to rename their service "Piecer," but hey, a movement has to start somewhere.

For the record, I support Hoss in his quest, and from now on will avoid using the "B" word. Unless I forget or something.

Something you'll see on a lot of people's bl... um, personal sites... (how my doin' Hoss?) is the "(insert person's name here) Top 100 Fact List." As mundane and cliche as it may seem, I have read others' lists and found them beguiling. It's always fun to see how people actually describe themselves. (honesty seems sorely lacking in some of the lists I've seen)

I will now give you the first 10 items on my list of Dave-facts. I promise they will be honest, not contrived, and completely boring to you.

1- I am a fairly good saxophone player, but hardly ever pull out my instrument. (I love the phrase "pull out my instrument") I also play trombone and piano, neither very well.

2- I have my own business, and I owe my success to Bob Grayson and Emmis Broadcasting. Bob’s the first guy who hired me for imaging voice overs, Emmis paid out my contract after I quit, when they didn’t have to.

3- I am 1/4 Indian, and as a consequence, have little body hair. I only have to shave 3 times per week.

4- I love crossword puzzles but haven’t done one in years. I get addicted too easily.

5- I used to purchase cans of coke in the teacher's lounge at school, pour out some coke and add Jack Daniels I carried in a flask in my saxophone case.

6- I don’t really have a favorite kind of music, but I equally like country, jazz, classic rock, standards and old-school R&B.

7- I have a daughter from my first marriage. The marriage only lasted a few years, the daughter has now lasted almost 16. Lord, help me.

8- When I bought my first CD player, (1986) I also bought two CDs – Bon Jovi “Slippery When Wet” and Carpenter’s “Greatest Hits.” Advice: never put those two CDs in at the same time on shuffle.

9- My favorite book of all time is Robert Fulghum’s “Everything You Need To Know You Learned in Kindergarten.” I still believe it’s true.

10- My first car was a 1965 Dodge Coronet. It was my grandparent’s car, who sold it to my aunt, who later gave it to me.


More later, I'm even making myself sick.

Weekend Recap

Tiger won the Masters, the Cardinals lost two out of three to Philly, and I lost a monumental amount of cash. And lost my dinner Saturday night at the hands of that vicious yet bewitching nectar that is tequila. Damn you Masters tournament. DAMN YOU!

I learned that a hangover can be conquered with the following (in order):

  1. 1 half bottle Pepto Bismol
  2. 5 advil
  3. 1 half gallon coffee
  4. 1 bloody mary, extra spicy
  5. 2 dozen fried mushrooms with plenty of horseradish
  6. 2/3 pound bison burger with bleu cheese 'n' bacon & greasy onion straws
  7. 2 gallons water
  8. 1 warmed over ham & egg "Breakfast Jack" sandwich
  9. 2 more gallons water

By 5 pm Sunday, I was again functioning at a full 65 percent. This morning I feel great, except for having to sell my watch collection and big screen.

Note to self: arrange untimely death of "Sam the bookie."

Friday, April 08, 2005

Pope pourri

Even some of the world's lesser beings (aren't we humans arrogant?) have a morning ritual. The birds outside my bedroom window have one, which is to begin annoying me around 6:00 am. (therefore, the first item on MY morning ritual is to close the window and sleep another 2 hours)

At around 8:00 I slide out, "check the plumbing," feed Regis and let him out, feed Kramer and make coffee. Okay, some of those things my wife does. Like, oh... all of them except the plumbing part. But I'm always careful to tell her how good that coffee tastes, so get off my back.

Then it's to the laptop for blog-hopping and a news update. I generally read about 30 blogs during the course of the day, migrating from the hard news to the goofy/entertaining ones as I go.

Then I finish coffee, shower, dress and get into the studio by 9:30 or 10. This ritual is fairly important to me, and I must say if something crops up to disturb it, I'm just not myself that day.

Today is one of those days. The only time they can do an oil change on my car is 11 am. ELEVEN. AM. Could it get any worse? It breaks up my session times, puts my day in a lurch, screws up my tea on the veranda, and forces me take another one of those little pills the doctor told me would make things alright. WHY, oil man? WHY!?!?!

Side note: I should point out I'm completely capable of changing my own oil, but the lease on my car prohibits me from doing it. The dealership must do it, and they never charge for routine maintenance. But thanks for just assuming I was an incapable hack.

Oh sure, I'm fine now, but I wanted you to know up front... later today I will be a different person. Maybe not on the surface, but after the ritual-disruption there will be unpredictable undercurrents.

_____________

This weekend is the annual weekend-long Masters Tournament party at the Morris compound. I know what you're thinking, try to contain yourself. It's five buddies who will use any excuse to burn brats, smoke cigars and drink beer. There will be bursts of personal body gas, scratching and cussing. Lying and bullshit will abound.

Sounds fun, huh? (and word to my friend Greg - Vijay is on fire this year, my "benjamin" says he's the man)

_____________

I reserve most evenings at around 9 or 10 to visit the blog of a real writing genius, a throwback to the old west. He's a squinty-eyed modern-day gunslinger named Latigo Flint. Please bookmark his site and go back often. He's a gentleman and a thigh-slapping iron-shucker. A real mother-shucker, too.

_____________

The pope's funeral was this morning, a full week after he died. Probably Correct pointed out the grisly truth about the customary embalming procedure Papal bodies undergo after death. Did they REALLY have to close down the viewing to apply more makeup so you couldn't tell the Pope was decomposing already? How gross is that?

I was told the other day that Catholics don't believe in cremation because you will have to use your body again when it's time to... uh, I guess go to heaven. I wonder if that's true. And what about the billions of people who have been dead for hundreds of years and whose bodies are now soil?

I suppose we're not supposed to question those things. Sorry.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Value of a dollar

As a child, my family (which was composed of just Mom and me most of the time) was about as poor as we could get. I got free lunch at school, wore hand-me-down clothes from neighbors and ate a steady diet of government cheese... the only thing missing was the van down by the river. (who could afford a van?) Mom was divorcing her husband at the time - he was a Green Beret at Fort Bragg - and we were going through some generally hard times in Fayetteville, NC.

I was 11, and attended Alger B. Wilkins elementary. Oddly enough, my most vivid memory of that school was breakfast. I had never attended a school that served it, (it was free for me of course) and it was always the same thing... a lump of grits, a flat, dry sausage patty and some powdered eggs. I remember how thankful I was because sometimes it was hard for Mom to afford to do breakfast. (I also remember how hard school was in Carolina, they were almost a year ahead of the schools in California and it took me a while to catch up)

Money had always been scarce, so I found ways of scratching together occasional candy funds by doing odd jobs for whomever might pay me. About a block up the street from us was a laundromat, and one day I dropped in to see if the attendant might need some help. She said she didn't have money to pay me, but if I wanted I could sweep the floors every day and keep any money I found. Opportunity had knocked and (since the door didn't have a peephole) I answered!

Most days I'd find 75 cents or a buck, some days a quarter is all I could scrounge, but it was great extra cash for a kid. Eventually the attendant started letting me fold laundry, and in return she'd round my findings up to the nearest dollar. Mom asked one day if I had been hired on full-time, because after school I'd make a beeline straight to the laundromat from the bus stop, and sometimes wouldn't make it home until dark.

And I'd never go straight home - always took a detour across the parking lot to the liquor store for the ritualistic "spending of the cash." Candy bars were 10 or 20 cents (Three Musketeers and Bit O Honey were cheapest) and sometimes I'd even splurge for a soda, which was 20 cents. Then I'd get home and slip the rest into the piggy bank for a rainy day.

That rainy day came when Mom decided to move us to Missouri where my Grandparents lived. We needed gas money for the trip and the extra cash was a godsend. We never would have made it without the laundromat money and I'll never forget how proud it made me feel to contribute.

Life wasn't always easy, but I wouldn't trade the lessons or memories for anything. I wish my kids knew the value of a dollar.

Too bad we don't live anywhere near a Duds in Suds.

***

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Screw OPEC

Okay, time for a reality check.

Oil closed somewhere in the mid 50's per barrel today, and the gas-guzzling GMC "cowboy cadillac" sitting in my driveway costs nearly $60 per fill-up. Between our two vehicles, we "shell" out $430 a month for dead dinosaur juice!

Having said that, let's examine gasoline's relative cheapness. You heard me, it's cheap.

Consider these admittedly ridiculous scenarios:

If my truck burned Gatorade, at a cost of $10.17 per gallon, it would cost $254 per fill-up - over a grand a month. (but imagine that electrolyte buzz)

If it burned Evian bottled water, I'd expect to peel off 21.19 per gallon - or in excess of $2,100 per month. (but wouldn't I look sophisticated?)

Filling up a truck's tank with Scope mouth wash for a month, 9 thousand dollars. Never having to worry about foul-smelling exhaust, priceless.

Then there's Nyquil. In the incredibly farfetched event my truck burned the "nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, aching, coughing, stuffy-head, fever, so you can rest medicine," I'd be getting a "damn, freaking, son-of-a-bitching, shitting-my-pantsing, MF-ing loan" for $17,800 per month in order to keep the tank full.

(if you're easily offended, at this time please page down to my article about Easter because you probably don't want to know about the following price comparison)

Years ago, I considered making my contribution toward advancement of the human race by giving a small "DNA sample" at a "repository" down the street. They were offering 200 bucks per "donation," and I definitely needed the "money." (why am I putting quotes around everything?) Long story short, I decided I couldn't withstand the embarrassment of the "handoff." But, at a price point of 200 bucks per "shot..." if ol' Betsy burned "baby batter..."

Know what? Never mind.

Next time you look with disdain at the gas station sign, instead just be happy your vehicle doesn't guzzle any of these, uh, products... and FILL 'ER UP! It's ONLY a second mortgage.

***

Monday, April 04, 2005

Dave Morris

Ever Google yourself? It was less of an ego thing than a "trying to find a new web address for myself" thing.

Just kidding, it was an ego thing. I don't show up on Google until the very bottom of page 3. Sucks to be me.

www.davemorris.com is taken by a writer as his personal website, complete with family pictures, etc. How dare he? It is a pretty cool site and I'm envious of the web address.

www.davidmorris.com is a jeweler in London. Wish I had a few of his bucks. I wonder if I could talk him into taking www.davidmorris.co.uk... it's available. Problem is, nobody wants a web address that doesn't end with dot-com. Do you? See, told ya.

www.sonofabitch.com is taken, too. If there is a nickname to which I've become most accustomed, that would probably be it.

Ever meet someone with the same name as you? Strange the feeling of kinship you get when considering it. You wonder if they were similarly taunted in school. "Hey, Morris the cat! Here kitty kitty!"

"Yeah, well at least I can lick myself!" Followed by a quick right upper-cut. Then blood.

You wonder if other Dave Morris' also get sick of the sound of their name. Or if by chance they have been assigned similar nicknames. Or what they've accomplished with their lives. There's a professor at the University of Lethbridge, a photographer, a women's soccer coach and a published author all named Dave Morris. Google said so.

There's a lot to a name. It's the only thing you come into the world with, and the only thing you'll have after you're gone.

Probably all of us have scoured the search engines looking for ourselves.

Caption Contest, Part Deux

Another week, another fun caption contest!

I know what you're thinking - Dave must have writer's block. Of course this is not the case, I've brought back the caption contest BY POPULAR DEMAND.

AND I have writer's block. Sue me.


Your creativity on this one won't require any prompting from me.

Best one wins. I've primed the pump with my own entry, I just couldn't resist.


*I have no idea who this poor guy is, but we'll have fun at his expense*

***

Brief, stupid thought

(as I'm replacing the lid)

Do Bacos ever REALLY make it onto a salad?

***

Sunday, April 03, 2005

No time like the present

It's not bad enough that we still have blood lettings, peasant revolts, and oxen for transportation, (at least in my world) do we really STILL need to be changing the clocks twice a year?

First, let me clarify the term. It's "daylight saving time" - not savings, saving. The word "saving" is a verbal adjective that modifies time. Although it's been pointed out that it flows more mellifluously off the tongue when inserting the extra S, it just ain't right. (and doesn't the word "ain't" flow mellifluously too?)

It's an idea that was originally hatched by an otherwise brilliant man, Benjamin Franklin, who was CLEARLY hopped up on the goofball when this one hit him.

Contrary to popular belief, the reasons for the time shift are NOT farmers needing more time in the field, nor to please aliens from the planet Xrieke, both of which are myths. The real reasons are to have more swim, cookout and girl-down-the-street-stalking time in the evening, and to save a little energy. Was that my outside voice?

That's it. THOSE are the only justifications for this utter nonsense. And to complicate issues (he draws a deep breath):

77 counties (including Indianapolis) are in the Eastern Time Zone but do not change to Daylight time in April. Instead they remain on Standard Time all year long. 10 counties - five near Chicago and five near Evansville - are in the Central Time Zone and use both Central Standard and Central Daylight. Five other counties - two near Cincinnati, OH, and three near Louisville, KY - are in the Eastern Time Zone but use both Eastern Standard and Eastern Daylight. Not to mention Hawaii and Arizona, who are also exempt.

ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

To put a fine point on it... of all major industrialized countries in the world, the one holdout - the people who have the balls not to conform to this goofy premise - is Japan. Coincidentally, WHO leads the world in productivity? Technical/electronic innovation? Percentage of people with straight black hair?

I can give you 50 great reasons we should STOP the insanity of changing the time twice a year:

* the clock in the kitchen
* the clock in the car that nobody knows how to set
* the 48 watches I own




The prosecution rests.



***

Saturday, April 02, 2005

The Pope and Gary

The 24-hour cable news networks have (over)done it again.

On the Schiavo case, by the time the poor lady passed on, Americans were case-hardened. Now with the Pope death-watch, it's constant coverage again and they've already interviewed everyone AND their brother AND their second cousin from the maternal side AND a couple of people's pets about John Paul II. Clearly they were expecting him to die yesterday, circling like rabid buzzards. But the Pope's health has shown incredible resiliency - and now as I check the multi-channel death-watch this morning, I'm ROOTIN' for him more than ever. I hope he lasts another week... and that finally, at the time of his passing, all the reporters are suffering exhaustion, nodding off on camera.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all about celebrating technology, it's great to have such extensive world-wide news coverage capabilities. But USE those capabilities by following some of the 2000 other stories worthy of coverage right now. Please. Let us not mourn the passing of the Pope until it happens. I don't want to be calloused to it and have his impact lessened when that time comes.

And Godspeed, John Paul II.

___________________

Will there be beer?

That's a question my friend Gary always asks before accepting an invitation to... well, anything. The subject is near and dear to him, so when we had lunch yesterday I had to deal with an exceptional level of ribbing for not drinking.

If I drink at lunch, it is impossible for me to finish the day. Alcohol affects my speech before I even feel a buzz. I have learned this through experience, I know and accept this about myself, and so now I always avoid drinking when I have voice overs left to do.

So thanks Gary. I appreciate the SEVEN LAYERS OF SHIT you gave me for drinking iced tea at lunch yesterday.

Gary is in the drafting business, he draws blueprints for the steel part of malls, parking garages, buildings... outhouses. Oddly enough, I've noticed that some of the structures he has drawn appear to be leaning. I must assume those structures were after-lunch projects.

______________

Off to get a hair cut. Have a great weekend.




UPDATE: It was announced at 2pm, a few minutes ago, the most travelled Pope in history, a survivor of an assassination attempt and the first Polish Pope in history, passed away. Arguably the most influential, most decent man of our age.

Thursday, March 31, 2005

Caption Contest



Be creative.


Thought starters:
  1. The tie.
  2. Male pattern baldness.
  3. What's he looking at?

Leave a comment with your submission. The best one wins. Posted by Hello

Nervous

For a few years, I've done voice overs for radio stations big and small, all around the world - but my audition this morning was for a TV station in Boston. If I get the job, I will be the voice that says:

"Tonight on CBS-4, an investigative report: why your tax dollars are being wasted on hookers and crack. Fern Knudsen reports at 11 on CBS-4."

It will be a big deal - my first television client. Obviously I was nervous and wishing for liquor.

The audition was to be conducted over a connection called an ISDN. It's a studio-quality phone line, and the decision-makers would be on the other end listening through a big set of speakers.

The day's beginning was coarse. The first thing I learned when I rose and opened my laptop was that my audition was an hour earlier than I thought. Which meant I would have to make it downtown in rush hour traffic in 25 minutes. No problem, with the help of the growling 325-horse engine in the 745Li, I accomplished the feat... only to learn the studio engineer - the guy who knows how to make the ISDN work - had overslept. It was up to me to set things up.

I don't need to tell you how ridiculous that concept is.

No matter which buttons I pushed, I could not determine why they could hear me but I couldn't hear them. With no hope of reaching audio nirvana without the help of hungover-sound-guy, we agreed to move the session back 45 minutes. What a GREAT first impression! Shit.

Finally the engineer guy arrived, he un-pushed the buttons I had pushed and we got things ready to go. The line connected, I exchanged pleasantries and apologies with the director in Boston and we were underway. I read a couple of fluff pieces for them, which were fine. I'm a real fluff kinda guy.

Then it was time to convince them. They wanted me to read the nightly news intro, the grandaddy of all voice over lines. It will be played over an official sounding news bed with drums, horns and strings, so I have to be good. I reached way down deep to muster up the serious, ominous tone it would require to accomplish my goal... and I let 'her rip.

"LIVE AT 11.. THIS IS YOUR LOCAL NEWSTATION... CBS 4 NEWS... WITH LISA HUGHES AND JOSH BINSWANGER."

A moment of silence, then they pop on. "Can you give us a little more umph, more authority. And be more serious, less friendly."

Gulp. Huh? Are they kidding?!? Nope, they wanted more. "Okay," I responded, "no problem!" My mind started changed gears. I had to go to a mental place I had never been before. I had to imagine I was someone else... somewhere else... in another time.

Yes, suddenly, I was Lord Fontleroy issuing a declaration of war over the huns of the valley.

Me: "LIVE AT 11.. (dramatic pause) THIS IS YOUR LOCAL NEWSTATION... CBS 4 NEWS... (dramatic pause) WITH LISA HUGHES AND JOSH BINSWANGER."

I should tell you how difficult it is to say "Binswanger" in a serious tone. Binswanger. BINZ-wang-er.

Another moment of silence. Their microphone clicks and I hear room noise, but nothing more.

Silence.

Then, a clap. Another clap. Someone else joins in. Suddenly, applause erupts throughout the room and the director says "that was PERFECT!"

Audio Nirvana.

So what could a guy like me possibly do at a moment like this - but spill his coffee.

All over the control board. All over my pants. Shorting out the microphone and sending a small whisp of smoke toward the ceiling.

And losing the connection with Boston.

I smiled. What more COULD I do? There are just some days you wish you could fast-forward through. I picked up my cell phone, dialed the television station, thanked them for their time and sunk back in my chair. It was time for a double Lagavulin on the rocks.

I'll let you know if I get the gig.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

"If the coffin fits..."



He died rather young, age 67... I can only suppose he ran out of appeals.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Dear public school:

As a parent, I just wanted to thank you for doing your part in helping America claim the title of WORLD'S FATTEST NATION.

It's no easy feat, so we should be proud of our status. Eliminating the requirement of physical education classes was brilliant! Who needs physical activity in today's world? We're preparing our children for jobs that are mostly sedintary in nature, why waste time with PE? Let's get those guts and butts growing early!

And the school lunch program is a glowing example of your contribution to our world-wide distinction! Pizza, french fries, soda, snack pies, ice cream... such careful choosing of comestibles will ENSURE we retain our proud status. Bigger is better, that's what I say.

And when those inerudite, short-sighted parents complain to you periodically about the cafeteria fare, your answer is utterly ingenious... especially the part about teaching children good nourishment by giving them an opportunity to make choices on their own, even if they're the wrong choices. FANTASTIC!

With that basic concept in mind, I would encourage you to rethink your entire curriculum. Design every class around giving them both right AND wrong answers, and let THEM decide which is correct. After all, school is not an institution of LEARNING, it's an institution of GUESSING. Before long, we'll not only hold the title of fattest nation on earth, we'll also be the LEAST-EDUCATED.

Bravo! I am excited about the prospect... and hope you stay on course. CARRY ON, public schools... and remember our motto - NO CHILD LEFT (with a small) BEHIND!

Millions long for immortality...

... who do not know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

Susan Ertz

Monday, March 28, 2005

Surprise 35-year belated gift


After reading the Easter story (below) my son Danny went out and spent his own money to buy me this Easter basket, complete with rubber duckies for the hottub.

It more than made up for any missing basket of candy... and reminded me of what a great son I have.

Sunday, March 27, 2005

An Easter Story

He fidgeted with the Pez dispenser, knowing that by this time tomorrow it would be full again. Click. Click. Click. Donald Duck’s head nodded, controlled by a grimy thumb.

He would have refilled it but he'd already spent his dime on a Coke this morning. He earned money by picking up trash, helping check oil, and pumping gas at the Standard station in front of the apartment where he and his mother lived. He was mostly a good helper and Sam paid him well; 10 cents a day, and usually it went right back into the cash register for candy. But not today, he would need no Pez, no Milk Duds, no bubble gum. Those things would be coming tonight for free.

What was Easter about anyway? As far as he knew, it was about eggs, candy, and baskets. Wasn’t there something else though? He strained to remember, his forehead wrinkling from concentration. If there was, he would have to think of it later. Right now he was focused on candy.

Mom had told him the Easter bunny only came if you had followed the rules - gotten to bed on time, didn’t talk back, finished your supper - and as the big day drew closer, he had made sure his record was spotless. He smiled, then frowned. It was 9 o’clock. He was pretty smart for a 6-year old, he knew 9 o’clock meant bedtime on the weekend, but Mom wasn’t home yet.

There were rules with people like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, rules that must not be broken. A big one was the “can’t be awake” rule. He scrunched his nose, deliberating. He didn’t know where Mom was tonight, so he couldn’t call her.

He walked to the window and peered into the dark. In the distance, red lights began flashing on the train crossing arm. As he watched it lower into position, he wondered if Fairfield California was at the beginning of the Easter Bunny’s tour or near the end. He watched and waited for the train to finish, hoping the headlights he could see flickering between the boxcar wheels were Mom’s. They were not.

Worried, he turned from the window and paced the kitchen. The parrot stirred in his cage, so he offered his finger between the bars to calm the bird. He considered going to bed now, so if the Easter Bunny came before his Mom got home he would at least be asleep and ready. That made the most sense to him, so he put on his pajamas, brushed his teeth, washed the day’s dirt off his hands, and slipped into bed. He got back up quickly, having forgotten an important detail. The milk and carrot!

He poured the milk, but there were no carrots to be found. He looked around thoughtfully and decided a cookie would have to suffice. He placed the items carefully on the table and scurried back to bed.
________

He awoke to sunlight streaming through the window. He lingered in bed looking at the ceiling, trying to clear the fog.

His face lit up. It’s Easter!

He sat up and looked across the room. It was a small house with only one bedroom and Mom was sleeping soundly in her bed. A big smile crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a frown. Did she make it to bed in time, or was she awake when the bunny arrived? He bounded out of bed and rushed toward the door, then remembered to tip-toe so mom wouldn't wake up. He imagined how silly he must look, trying to run and tip-toe at the same time, but he knew what waited for him beyond the door.

There would be eggs hidden around the house, a huge basket in the living room, and candy everywhere. It was something he especially enjoyed, the hunt for the eggs. Last year the bunny had taken extraordinary steps to make them hard to find.

He stepped gingerly around the corner and peered into the living room. The basket wasn’t in its usual place. He frowned. Surely the Bunny wouldn’t have hidden the entire basket but he must have. What a clever idea! This would just add to the fun.

He poked around behind the chair, checked under the table, in the bathroom. He slipped down onto his belly to see what might be under the couch. Nothing there - no basket, no eggs. In a flurry, he ran around the house looking everywhere - under, above, behind things. Nothing. He pursed his lips and folded his arms. Hmmm…

Under the sink! It was one of the last places he could think of, so surely it would be there. He ran into the kitchen and dropped to his knees, sliding the last few feet to the cabinet. He peeked in carefully, gingerly, wanting to prolong the excited surprise he would feel when he saw the basket.

Nothing. The frown returned as he stood up and walked to the living room. Surely there was something he had missed. Surely Mom had gone to bed in time. Surely he had been a good boy. Surely.

But then he thought about that day a few weeks ago when he was late walking home from school. He had stopped at a friend’s house to see his new bike, and Mom was waiting for him on the porch. She was very unhappy with him that day.

Another time a puppy had “followed” him home. Truth be told some coaxing was involved. Mom wasn’t too excited about that either.

Another time he had slipped an unwanted ham and cheese sandwich behind the refrigerator and told his mom he had finished it. He had planned to return later and toss it outside but the dog discovered it first and exposed his transgression.

Could it be he hadn't been good enough this year? He rubbed his chin and realized it was wet. He hadn't noticed the tears that were rolling down his face. He wanted to awaken Mom and ask her advice but it was still pretty early, so he curled up on the couch and turned on the television.

An hour later, his mother woke up and walked into the room in robe and slippers. She looked at the television and noticed it was an Easter church service. She looked at him and realized what had happened.

She struggled for answers as he questioned her. Sometimes, she said, the Easter Bunny just forgets. Sometimes he runs out of candy and has to finish the next night. It could be a hundred things, but she was sure it wasn’t because he was a bad boy.

He began considering her thoughts. He couldn’t imagine the Easter Bunny would forget him, and he’s never been known to run out of candy. Was she sure it wasn’t the sandwich or the puppy? All she could do was shrug her shoulders and hug him. The candy and eggs will probably come tonight, he thought.

He got dressed, brushed his teeth, and headed to the Standard station. Sam was probably needing his help! Today's dime would go toward refilling his Pez dispenser, just in case.

Saturday, March 26, 2005

"The race is long...

... and in the end, it's only with yourself."

Mary Schmich

Drinking and blogging

Do you have any idea how great it is to finally sleep in? My eyelids fluttered at 9:30, I got up around 10, lounged in my robe until 1, then began drinking Bud Light and dirty Sapphire martinis at a furious pace.

I can only imagine what the evening holds in store. I think I'll go out and blow some money. That's always what I end up doing when drinking.

Well, that... and occasionally crapping my own pants.


UPDATE: I spent 10 bucks. I didn't crap my pants.

Friday, March 25, 2005

Is it warm in here, or is it just me?

With all due respect to those offended by comparing an asshole to a method of hygene...

Here is a douche bag.

And here's why:

Is there a "hysteria" over global warming? I wouldn't call it that, but there are members of the scientific community, who stand to profit nothing, saying man IS affecting the climate of the Earth.

The ozone IS disappearing, fact. The mean temperature of the Earth IS rising, fact. We are dumping MEGATONS of fossil fuel emmissions into the atmosphere, fact. Those emmissions DO chemically alter and eliminate ozone, fact. Earth IS delicately balanced and susceptible to mass-extinctions, fact. (just look back through history) These are things that cannot be ignored, regardless of how the economy is. They are facts.

Is it doomsday? No, we'll likely survive. Science is advancing faster than global warming, we'll find a way to adapt. But are we adversely affecting our environment? Of course we are. I can hardly imagine anyone arguing that, it's common sense. (oh, wait... maybe that's the reason)

Some people ignore information, however factual, that doesn't benefit their agenda. But there is a point at which we must weigh the price of a cleaner Earth against the impact on economy. I'm no tree hugger, but we must find cleaner, less environmentally impactful energy.

Even asshole-douche-bag should be able to see that.

-----------

UPDATE 3-26-05: Okay, I'm feeling a little embarrassed. Sometimes I get worked up when I write opinion pieces. Did you notice?

For fear of being categorized as a heathen, (or worse, someone who doesn't see both sides of a debate) I must scale back the name calling. Replace asshole with assHAT, and douche bag with goober.

But he's still a guy who ignores those things which are inconvenient.

Dave's Friday Photo


Must have been a damn good night. I wish I could remember it.

How safe IS Iraq?


Iraqi kids are smarter and more savvy than we might think. And probably safer than American kids!

If you click the picture, you can see why I say that. I had to share it, considering the trial is going on.

UPDATE: Fine, Quinn. It's a doctored picture. It's not real. Forgery. Photoshop masterpiece. Thanks man. Now tell me there's no easter bunny.
courtesy Probably Correct

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Most of the time...

I feel like my blog is read-worthy. Mostly, I have lucid, intelligent, stupid, inconsistent, fascinating yet boring things on my mind.

The hobby of having a blog fills a hole in my life somehow.

Of course, part of my blog is my profile... in which I state that I am a "hater of hypocrisy." Do I just say I hate hypocrisy because it sounds good and makes me feel noble? Of COURSE NOT. Do I only say it so I seem like a better person? ABSOLUTELY NOT!

Uh, okay well... maybe.

I didn't THINK so until I read the blog entry of LIGHTNING BUG'S BUTT. It really was an epiphany for me.

After careful self-examination, it seems I actually hate hypocrisy... IN OTHERS. Mine is okay, it's the next guy I really hate.

Wow, a new plateau of self-awareness! Drinks for everyone!

Let's be honest, the sort of hypocrisy I hate mostly deals with the big things. Politics, right to life... religion... frequent flyer miles. The small things pass through my hypocrisy strainer and drop neatly into the puzzle that is my life. Isn't that convenient?


Side note: when I first started blogging, I felt really good about the things I wrote. I found them insightful, fascinating, interesting and well written. Since then, I've found blogs that make mine seem mundane and pedestrian. Lightning Bug's Butt, among others, is a great example.

Yet, curiously, I continue blogging.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Why?

Why do the fries in the bottom of the bag taste so much better than the fries in the french fry box? Is it some sort of mysterious "spud sorcery?"

Also, I realize that with all the hubbub in baseball right now it will be tough to avoid the word, but I'm getting tired of the overuse of the phrase "on steroids."

"Disneyland is like Six Flags on steroids!"

"The new Ford Mustang is like the 1980 Ford Fiesta on steroids!"

"My new Harley is like a moped on steroids!"

Okay, a couple of those examples are bad. Anyway...

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Worrisome search words...

Every day I scan through my site to see who has dropped by, and which search words through Google, Technorati, Yahoo and others, are bringing people to my little corner of the blogosphere.

Today, I find that someone arrived at my site by searching the phrase "divorced wife and sex with teenage son." This is mortifying. I gotta stop writing when I'm drunk.

Another interesting one. "goats gay single nude men." Uh. Moving on.

How about this one. "Nissan Maxima with cuban cigars." Had I known these were an option on the new Maxima, I would have never bought that used 80 Ford Fiesta.

Monday, March 21, 2005

Can you see me now? Good.

The newest manifestation of the blogosphere has surfaced, and like blogging, has a really stupid name. Vlogging. Say it with me. Vlogging. Vlogging. Yeah, I hate it too.

It's video blogging. You record yourself through a webcam, post it and people can watch your "show." It's the natural progression from ordinary blogging.

No it's not.

The world of web self-expression is a young one. First, there was owning your own website. Prohibitively* expensive for the common man for many years. Then came our opportunity, blogging, where anyone could blather mindlessly about anything they want. Then came the audio blog, where others could hear what a moron you sound like. Now we're seeing the advent of vlogging, where anyone and everyone can eyeball you and critique every mole, tic and hangin' booger. What is it that drives us to keep putting more of ourselves "out there?" And what will it take to convince Anna Kournikova to start hers?

And... what's next? The 3D blog? The textureblog so you can feel someone's ass? The fartblog (self explanatory)? The virtual reality "head-in-a-shark's-mouth-blog" maybe?

And what an unattractive word "blog" is. Why can't we all put our heads together as a community and come up with a better word.

Like nippling.

*yep, Dave used a FIVE SYLLABLE word.

SNL making waves... just wait 'til you see what they're waving


It looks like a Saturday Night Live skit featuring a fictitious roast of Clint Eastwood slipped by the censors. David Spade, playing the part of Owen Wilson, was given a wanger-whiffer, a prosthetic penis-proboscis. Fairly realistic set of NAD NOSTRILS, if you ask me.

I'm sure after this hits the mainstream media, there will be many complaints about the spooge-moose schnoz. Ironically, it probably would have been a more appropriate make-up job for a roast of "Spurt Reynolds."

Okay, enough of that... if there were ever a question about whether or not I'm going to hell, I think it's been answered.


Courtesy Boing Boing

What a great weekend

It was relaxing, although I probably worked more than usual. I did some gardening in the atrium, cleaned up dog shit from the yards and stocked the beer fridge. Grocery shopped, bought a new TIVO to replace the one in the family room that died... it was pretty busy. But I did a lot of relaxing too. Drank a little wine, had some good food.

Okay, a lot of wine.

Now it's back to work. I'm lucky, I do all my work from home... so now I head downstairs to the recording studio to read script and build some "theater of the mind." If you're ever interested, my job is very public. Click this link to my website and then click DEMO. The RADIO audio is the best example of what I do.

Not like you care, what the hell am I saying? Have a good Monday.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

I thought George Bush was different

Silly me. According to MSNBC.com:

"President Bush rushed back from his Texas ranch for a chance to sign the measure that Republicans view as an opportunity to strengthen their support among religious conservatives ahead of next year’s congressional elections."


I seem to remember President Bush staying put at his Texas ranch when a Tsunami killed over 200,000 people. But a political opportunity arises in the Schiavo case, and he's on a plane to Washington DC to build his political capital among the ultra-right faster than you can say "Laura, get me my flight suit."

I am a 65/35 moderate conservative. George Bush was someone I thought might be different than the PAC.

It appears I was wrong.

Saturday, March 19, 2005

None Of Our Business

Let me make this perfectly clear... my opinion on whether Terri Schiavo should remain on a feeding tube doesn't matter. I will not bother you with it.

The only people to whom it should matter are she and her husband. That's the way the law is written, it's the only fair way to have it, and the system has worked marvelously. The law states that in this situation, the next-of-kin decides the patient's fate. It's time to allow our laws to work. It's a family issue, a personal issue. NOT a political issue.

The arrogant, self-serving Tom DeLay of Texas and others should keep their big opinionated noses out of it. Government made the laws, they've been in place for a good long time, and they work. DeLay and his ilk are masters at changing laws that don't suit them, so it's not at all surprising they are trying to push their morals and dogma on the Schiavos and others in similar situations. Those who use this poor lady to forward their "cause" will be exposed through the lucid eye of public opinion for what they are... self-serving opportunists.

What if our opinions DID matter? (which they do not) I have yet to see a poll that favors leaving Terri's feeding tube in. According to a Fox News poll a huge majority of us would want to die if we were in Terri's place:

If you were in Terri Schiavo’s place, what would you want your guardian to do? Would you have your guardian:

1. Remove the feeding tube -- 74%
2. Keep the feeding tube inserted? -- 16%
3. (Not sure) -- 10%
If so many of us would choose NOT to endure such a horrible existence, why does congress believe she would feel any differently? Mr. Schiavo says he loves his wife and will do whatever it takes to end an existence that he believes she would not want to endure. He says she would want her feeding tube stopped and that she would wish to die rather than remain bed-bound in a nursing home in a permanent vegetative state, unable to speak, respond or care for herself for the rest of her days. And honestly, isn't he most likely the last person to have discussed it with her?

Clearly, Michael Schiavo could have taken the easy way out long ago. If he only cared for himself, he could have divorced Terri and walked away. The fact he didn't speaks a great deal to his character. It should also tell us she felt strongly about the subject.

Look... through her husband, Terri Schiavo has spoken. We can argue the case all we want, but none of us matter.

Only Terri.

Friday, March 18, 2005

Last Night

We had our mouths and minds set on the green beer, corned beef & cabbage and Irish music. Of course NONE of those things happened.

As we drove from Irish bar to Irish bar and saw the crowds and drunken debauchery (is anything more irritating than being around on-your-ass drunk people when you're stone sober?) we started thinking our desire for the Irish celebration had waned. As we pulled into our favorite corner bar, Frailey's, we decided it looked less crowded so we parked. Just as we did, a TOUR BUS pulled up on the sidewalk out front and... oh, a good hundred drunk leprechaun-hat-wearing, belching, stumbling, cabbage-puking, self-respect-lacking people came stumbling out - and into the front door of Frailey's. Again, normally these are just my kind of people. But not when I'm sober.

Shit.

So we did what any good 8-percent Irish person would do. Went to a seafood restaurant. Isn't that sad? Sad, I tell you. Not sad like Old Yeller, sad like "damn, we're getting old."

The highlight of the night was a bottle of wine. It was a Kim Crawford Marlborough Pinot Noir from New Zealand. Damn good wine, and it didn't even force Tawnya to do the "wine face" when she drank it. (frown, pursed lips, crinkled nose) We had found our new favorite wine.

If you're in the St. Louis area, you really should try this place... it's called "Wholly Mackerel." It's a neat seafood place with incredible food and a helluva wine list. With bottle of wine, last night's dinner set us back about 150, but it was really worth it. Great special-occasion place.

Ramble over. Weekend on!

Dave's Friday Photo


Bob hated the taste of fish, and had an almost uncontrollable fear of water. This is how he knew God hated him.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Jeezus

I just re-read the bromidic CRAP I posted this morning for St. Patrick's day. Afterward, I did the following things:

1 - Heaved up a partly digested omolette, 2 cups of coffee, a box-and-a-half of thin mints and some leftover buffalo wings.
2 - Made a promise to myself to have a friend pre-read everything I post in the future, to avoid the humiliation I just experienced by reading my own work.
3 - Deleted the post, to avoid causing others to deal with the taste of their own bile.


If you visited my blog this morning and were unfortunate enough to read the unimaginative absurdity I posted, please forgive me. Although I DID give it green font, there was absolutely nothing imaginative, compelling or cogent about it.

Just like most of the stuff I write, except worse. Although there was that one line about waxing the Shillelagh.