Kids in high resolution

This is something I assembled tonight, it's about three minutes long. It's a neat montage of my daughter, Courtney... step son, Danny... dog, Regis... and cat, Kramer. It came out better than I thought it would, for my first project. It's best enjoyed with speakers turned up.

Side note: I know it sucks when friends start pulling out family pictures, so you can skip watching it with no guilt whatsoever.

You might have already taken one of these...

... but they are interesting. This one asks more questions than ones I've seen before, so perhaps it will be more accurate.

Death Calendar

I come in at about 80. Obviously, there are a lot of things you can change to extend that, and medical advances are increasing exponentially, which they cannot factor in. So skip it if you wish... but I think you want to know. ;)

What was that yellow streak?

I spent the weekend in Jefferson City, hanging out at my friend Ron's... and driving his 1978 Triumph Spitfire. This car is a freakin' riot.

Me in "Spitty"

The first thing you need to know... it's really small. I had to remove my flip-flops to drive it, and could only fit my big toes on the pedals. Sure, I wear size 13 shoes, (you know what they say)but still it was funny that I couldn't drive the car with shoes on. The RPMs run around 4000 at 60 mph, so you don't want to drive it over 60 or 65 most of the time. It buzzes like a moped at 70.

You get all kinds of looks driving this machine. Women smile and wave, guys are eaten alive with envy. Screw you guys!

It's like a go-cart to a tall guy like me - to exit the vehicle, I almost have to roll out. Your ass is skimming along at about 6 inches above the pavement, and you get the feeling with each bump that you are going to get racked.

Anyway, I had a blast - we drove down to a farm about 30 miles outside of town and rode 4-wheelers through the fields and creeks. (the 4-wheelers likely had more horse power than the Spitfire) I got hayseeds in my asscrack, chiggers in my socks and lots of fresh air. It was great.

My only regret is not getting to a body of water this weekend... although I still have one more day.

Like Grandpa used to say, "Live fast, love hard, die old, and leave 'em with good memories."

... We shall never forget...

Who'd of thunk it?

Six weeks ago, I wouldn't have given Taylor Hicks a chance at being Idol. When Daughtry was eliminated, it changed everything.


I love Taylor, but until Tuesday, I figured Katharine had it sewn up.

And who didn't notice those amazing cleavage shots last night, right???

Both will have great careers. Best Idol ever.

Dave's Reading Chair

I'm a voracious reader, but Spring is my busy season, so lately I haven't had a lot of time. Right now, I'm in the middle of no fewer than SEVEN different books. Since I know you'll ask, here's a synopsis:

New Rules - Bill Maher. He's another brilliant comedian who has flirted with ruining his comedic career by becoming too political. (ala Dennis Miller, Al Franken) This book is good, though, and I still have When You Ride Alone You Ride with Bin Laden to read.

E=MC2: A Biography of the World's Most Famous Equation - David Bodanis. This is a sort of biography of Albert Einstein's life and career, and discusses in detail some of the principles of energy. Really fascinating. Plus it makes me look really smart to have this book lying around.

Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors - Sagan/Druyan. It is another brilliant Carl Sagan masterpiece. Sagan is a captivating writer who provides amazing perspective of humanity and our role in the universe. Guess what... we're screwed. (this is another book that makes me look good)

America (The Book) - Jon Stewart. More great comedy. I mostly read in bed at night, so if the bed is shaking and squeaking, unfortunately it's probably because I'm laughing.

Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown. What can I say? Everybody's either reading it, or seeing the movie right now.

The Five People You Meet in Heaven - Mitch Albom. I've alreay read Tuesdays With Morrie, and this is the natural follow-up. So far, both books have been outstanding, if not just a little simplistic.

The Martini Book - Sally Ann Berk. What the hell does Sally Ann know about martinis that I don't?? Yeah, that's what I thought. (by the way, I have philosophical problems with colored martinis... call me a purist) (or, just a sonofabitch)

I am hoping to finish no fewer than three books this week. If I don't, I will start confusing story lines. Tuesdays with Bill Maher... or The Five Forgotten Ancestors You Meet in America. Not good.

Simple

“I miss Mayberry, sitting on the porch drinking ice cold cherry coke,
where everything is black and white…”

I turned on TV to catch up on the news this morning, and The Andy Griffith Show was on. I hadn’t watched it for probably over a year, so I stayed and watched. Even though it was the Ernest T. Bass episode, I still got a refresher course on life. It’s amazing that a simple television show has so many great messages and lessons.

For instance, today I learned not to throw rocks through windows. I learned not to put my hand into the punch bowl. I also learned that a good suit won’t change who you are, but there’s someone out there for everyone. (I should know, after being married um, a time or two)

Then Mayberry ended… and Jerry Springer came on. I was yanked back into reality. The person who decides WB11’s schedule lineup should be executed.

My credo is a vignette written by Robert Fulghum, called “All I Really Need to Know, I Learned in Kindergarten.”

I love and miss the simple life. Recently, my life underwent a fairly dramatic simplification, when I moved into a smaller place, shed pressures like maintaining a 5,500 square foot house, taking care of a pool, paying a yard service and countless other complications and expenses.

Yet I feel like simplifying even more. We’ll see.

"...where people pass by and you call them by their first name... watching the clouds roll by... bye, bye..."

Well isn't this awkward

The world watches. (and by "world," of course I mean San Francisco only) Today, Barry Bonds holds a tie for second most home runs in a career, poised to beat Babe Ruth at the next swing of the bat.

It makes you wonder who really owns the record. When you look at pictures of Bonds several years ago, he was half the size, and his head was 8 sizes smaller. What do you do with his record numbers? Can you put asterisks by them? At best, we can place a mental asterisk, but that's about it.

Fans (except in San Francisco) are apathetic about Bonds' home run count, and people are left wondering what to do with meaningless statistics such as his. It's been estimated that steroids add 8 to 20 feet on each shot. Clearly, Bonds would have nothing CLOSE to his current numbers, had he not been juicing.

It's surprising that Bonds hasn't retired in shame... but I think he's too big of an arrogant dick to do the right thing.

And he's grown a big fat head.


Then... Now...

My two cents on a four-letter word

If you asked me to name one person I hated, I'm not sure I could come up with a single soul. Truly. There are people I disagree with, those who irritate me. Nobody I hate.

These are protestors. They are also haters. They believe in something so fervently, they'll do anything to force that belief on others, regardless of situation or personal expense.

In this instance, these people are gay haters. They are demonstrating outside of a young soldier's funeral.

Writing those words makes me want to puke.

Imagine mourning the death of your son, then walking outside to see these people with their signs. "GOD HATES YOUR TEARS." "THANK GOD FOR DEAD SOLDIERS."

I know a few gay people. Like NASCAR driving, road construction or the priesthood, it's not a lifestyle I am interested in for myself... but they are people, just the same. What they choose to do in the freedom of their homes is up to them. They are neighbors, friends... one is a step brother. Generally, they seem quite happy and jovial. Gay, if you will.

When will society, politicians and religious zealots get it through their heads that sexual preference, religious belief, the food you eat, who you marry and what you do for a living is a personal choice... and nobody else's concern?

I changed my mind. I hate those protestors.

Toss in Jerry Falwell and Charlie Manson for good measure, I forgot about their sorry asses.

Link to the story

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EDIT: Speaking of protesters... now, hundreds are showing up to protest the Da Vinci Code. "This movie offends my Lord..." said one woman.

I think God has proven he has no problem with getting rid of things that offend him. (see: Soddam and Gommorah, Great Flood, et al)

Plus, this is a movie. A work of fiction. Can you not discern the difference? Or perhaps you should run home and check your backyard for animated varmints.

They're real, you know!

Fair Warning

It's Friday at 5 - and I'm looking for the...

Might wanna get out of my way. I don't want anyone to get hurt.

Rolled up into one

My friend Chris has issued a proclamation that all who read his blog should post pictures of themselves wearing rolled jeans. Why? Because it screams "I lived through the 80s and you can't take that away from me."

I've gone one step further, adding sandals with black socks to my already-fashion-challenged photo.


By the way, I was actually guilty of wearing black socks with sandals once. Here's how my fashion gaffe came to be:

I got home from a meeting, and immediately (as I always do) removed my shoes. I removed my pants and replaced them with shorts... but prior to taking off the socks, realized it had begun raining.

Earlier in the day, I was cleaning out the gutter and had left some materials and the ladder up against the house outside. In order to hasten the movement of those materials into the garage, I threw on a pair of sandals that happened to be sitting by the door.

So there I was. Shorts, black socks, sandals. I wasn't outside for, I swear, 30 seconds... but during that little window of time, our neighor Liz and her daughter Meagan drove by. Down rolls their window, out comes the wolf whistles, screams and hysterical laughter... and I was a branded man.

Phuque.

They will never let me forget that fateful day. They are both bitches. And of course, by "bitches," I mean... you know, bitches.

50K

I am not a person who counts every hit to my blog. (lie) I post this stuff for my own benefit (lie) and don't give a shit who reads it. (total lie)

My counter hit 50,000 tonight. That pales in comparison to some of my blogger friends, but it's pretty cool to me. I promise not to mention my hit counter again until I get to 100k.

IM LOL BRB

Since I am sick, and don't really feel like writing, I've plagiarized* myself. (and we all know how painful that can be)

I wrote this about a year ago and I'm making you read it again. I tweaked it a little. I'd like to think I tweaked because I'm a better writer today... but we all know better, don't we?

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UFOs, crop circles and the mass extinction of dinosaurs 65 million years ago are more easily explained than the phenomenon of instant messaging.

My daughter can be next door to a friend and, instead of walking outside and talking over the fence (oooh that sun is sooo hot!) they'll sit and chat via IM.

For hours.

Instead of getting together or picking up the phone and holding a conversation, some choose to type into a cold, unfeeling computer program, which whisks each message through India, Indiana and outer space via the 'net to your friend's computer - at the same time stripping every bit of emotion, nuance and meaning out of it. And all the smiley faces in the world won't truly convey the message or emotion of the spoken word. That's why we're always mad at each other... we depend too much on email and IM when we're right next door... or in the next cubicle.

For example, the following sentence can be taken a number of ways:

"How many times has he told you about fixating on sheep?"

First it could be asking how MANY times. Or, how many times has HE told you. Or, how many times has he told YOU. Or, about FIXATING on sheep. Or, fixating on SHEEP.

A simple sentence can mean so many things, and a phone call would make the message crystal clear... that you are wasting your time on sheep when goats are perfect replacements. Yet, we continue to be confused, pissed or bewildered by things we should be informed, enlightened and lucid about.

While I'm at it, I am tired of terms like LOL. People, look... LOL means "Laugh Out Loud." If you don't laugh out loud, don't type LOL! Okay?


ROFLMAO means "Rolling On the Floor Laughing My Ass Off." Don't you agree that it would be difficult to reach the keyboard from the floor? So in reality, you weren't rolling anywhere, were you?

I suggest new, more appropriate acronyms:

CHUCKLE - Chuckle
STHWWS - Slight Tee Hee With Wry Smile
IFWYJSPFA - I Found What You Just Said Pretty Freaking Amusing (substitute the F if you wish)
TWFIAPSOW - That Was Funny In A Perverse Sort Of Way
TMPSOOMN - That Made Pepsi Shoot Out Of My Nose
YMMLSHITUALIMM - You Made Me Laugh So Hard I Threw Up A Little In My Mouth

Sure, it will take longer to type these, but at least you won't be deceptive. I want real honesty in the IM's. Not LOL.

And NO MORE SMILEY FACES!

:-)


*I corrected the spelling. "Thanks," Violet. I think.

Day three

If I make it through this flu, I will be immortal! Nothing will be able to get me down. Give me more time, 'cause I'm really, really sick.

Bird Flu

I've been stricken with a high fever, swollen adenoids, androids, hemmorhoids, factoids and paranoids, sore throat, sore back, sore leg, the sweats, the shivers, the gout, scurvy, massive crippling gas and the heebie jeebies.

I haven't felt this bad in a long time.

Dave's "Ways to Make the World a Better Place"

1. Stop naming mobile home parks anything with words like "estates" in it. Shady Lane Estates? Rolling Acres? Pleasant Plantation? Name them appropriately - Firetrap Tornado Hole Park. (no offense to those who live in mobile homes, I used to own one... but at least I was pragmatic about it)
2. 2. Slow down on the building of strip malls. For godsake, I pass a million of them every day that are empty... yet right next door, a brand new one is going up. Give it a rest, developers. Use that acreage for something we REALLY need, like 4 extra lanes. Or, how about this... strip CLUBS instead of strip MALLS.
3. Stop it already with the 9/10ths BS at the gas pump. I can understand using that deceptive tactic 40 years ago... if gas is a quarter, an extra 9/10ths is a pretty substantial 3.85 percent of pure deceit. Now that gas is 3 bucks a gallon, the 9/10ths is nothing more than an insult to those of us who don't own an oil company. Screw you, fat bastard Exxon/Mobil CEO. Shove your 9/10ths where the solar-powered sun don't shine.
4. 4. Stop spending research money on cures for acne, until we find a cure for cancer or AIDS or jock itch. Kids, zits are a part of life, deal with it... but I can't be seen in Kroger with my hand down my pants digging for gold any longer. (seriously, if we spent half the money on cancer research that we spend on feasibility studies for the preservation of the Oregon newt, or whether it will be right to drill for oil in Alaska, or how to alleviate "restless leg syndrome," we'd be home free) (and what the HELL is "restless leg syndrome?" Is it really important to have a drug for something that can be cured by a brisk walk around the house, when millions of people are dying every year from cancer?) (truly, get a grip... one kills you, the other is called "heebie jeebies.") (we also need to use fewer parentheses)
5. If you're tired of high gas prices, don't start the car and drive 2/10 of a mile to pick up your kid from the neighbor's house. Have him hoof his little ass back up the street like I did. I wore the tires off my bike when I was a kid... and that was just from running to the store for my mom's cigarettes and tampons. It didn't kill me to walk or ride my bike the two blocks to Todd Dialioso's house so we could look at his sister in her bikini and wonder why our balls tingled.
6. If you're going to post a list of things on a blog, have more than five godamn things to say. It's enough of an injustice to expect people to take their valuable time to click over to your "writer-never-will-be" spot on the internet, without disappointing them by posting a few useless, recycled thoughts from a bored, self-absorbed jagoff. (whoa, that one hits home)

Feeling goofy

Sometimes if there's a camera around, my daughter and I do silly things with it.

Hope you find some time this weekend to get goofy.

Remote regions

My friend Bug's Butt wrote a brilliant blog entry today about the cumbersome, foiblish relationship the elderly have with the remote control.

My mind occasionally (and by occasionally, I mean always) needs outside stimuli to produce cognizant, lucid thought - and Bug's piece was the catalyst. Why, I thought, should the remote control be limited to televisions and DVD players, when they could serve a perfectly good purpose in other aspects of life?

For instance, I believe there should be a remote to turn on the girlfriend or spouse. "What, honey... not in the mood tonight?" *click* "How 'bout now?"

In a related area, sometimes men just don't have the energy to masturbate. There should be a remote for that, too... just hit the 'ejaculate' button. Then, the 'roll over and go to sleep' button.

There should be a remote to flip the meat on the grill without having to labor out in that hot sun and breath the carbon-filled smoke. How can we be expected to finish our beer when we're worrying with meal preparation? *click*... food's done. (important: don't confuse the masturbation remote with the burger-flipping remote)

There should be a remote control that mutes the neighbor lady when she's showering. Jesus, do I really need to hear her rendition of "Love Shack" through the wall when I'm trying to go potty?

There should be a remote which automatically picks out clothes that match. My friend Mike could stop looking like a used car salesman. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

A remote should be invented that moves the car in front of you to another lane. The finger I have been using doesn't work the greatest, although it's gotten my paint job keyed on a couple of occasions.

It would be supremely nice to have a remote that makes the doorbell ring during phone calls, so I have an excuse to hang the hell up. That remote would also double as a dog-teasing device, since Regis loses his cool when somebody stops by.

Finally, and perhaps mostly, when the television remote is across the room and you're on the couch, it would be nice to have a remote... to get that remote. Left with no more real reason, many could then abandon their plan to have kids.


This is my family room footstool. Clearly, I need a universal remote.

American Idle

And Dave chimes in:

A lot of people in Vegas lost money tonight.

Chris Daughtry being voted off is an example of my assertion that American Idol is a complete joke. When you ask fickle Americans to vote for anything, you never know WHAT you'll get. Look at the elections... we can't even get out en masse to vote for who'll run the country.

Here's a shocker, women don't like Katharine McPhee. Ladies... regarding Katharine, pull the cotton out of your ears. Her voice is absolutely the purest female voice we've seen on AI - ever. Katharine was always my choice for second place. From here, if it's just about pure, unadulterated vocal talent and star quality, Katharine will win... IF the female voting public can overcome their jealousy and cattiness. ;)

(regarding Kat forgetting the lyrics, even Elvis forgot his OWN lyrics sometimes... there is video to prove it)

I think Taylor's stage presence and "likeability" will take him to second. I don't think goat-boy Elliot has a shot. Although he's a talented singer, he has little star-quality. If he ends up the winner, it will be a record company's nightmare and AI will be confirmed as a sham...

But arguably, that's been proven already.

Captioned Dead or Alive

Best caption wins.

Quick bitch session, even though I have the busiest day in the history of man... see how much I love you?

I am working on the air and doing the usual voice over work at home, so today I'm humping harder than dingos in the rain. Regardless, I still have time to pop on here and bitch a little.

This is a piece of shit. I have a TREO 650 through Cingular, and it sucks... sucks... SUCKS ass. First, it re-boots itself almost constantly. Then, it crashes every time it attempts to retrieve mail. I'm not sure if the TREO's software is corrupt, but the people who sell this piece of shit certainly are.

Cingular wouldn't allow me to buy insurance on this particular PDA. (nor would they sell insurance on the Razr cell phone I use) Apparently, they are tired of losing money on the TREO from needing to replace them every 30 to 60 days.

Nothing puts a bee in my bonnet faster than a company who sells products that don't deliver. (the 'bee in the bonnet' thing means 'pissed off,' and is something my grandma used to say - I'm not even really wearing a bonnet) (well maybe I am, how bad would that bee?)

Now I will have to make that call to Cingular, tell them about the TREO, tell them about the bee that's in this bonnet, (that I'm not wearing) and ask them to refund my money. I'm sure that around that time, the marmosets will begin flying out of my butt.

Fear the marmosets. Don't ask why, just do.

And fear Cingular's TREO.

It ain't Better Homes & Gardens,* but...

I said I would... and I did. (which is highly unusual, but anyway...)

Here, I hung pictures and arranged stuff on shelves. Goody for me. Give me a freaking medal.

I hung these shelves on the wall and put kitchy shit on them. Thank god for those easy drywall anchor things that just screw in. Viola! I'm a goddamn decorator!

I was brilliant enough to sit these plates up on the shelves next to the huge 1,000 pound milk cans. Go ahead, touch the hem of my garment.

I saw this wall and decided that it needed some shit. So I put some up. Whatta ya think?

I also put my amazing hanging prowess to work in the commode. I can now shave without sameness, bathe without boredom. Pee without pococurantism.

It took NINE months for me to decorate some walls. Still to go: my master bedroom, the family room, bar and my daughter's room. Hey, one year at a time.


---
*who'd WANT it to be like BH&G anyway? (which is the same thinking poor people use when saying things like "I wouldn't WANT to be rich." BS!)

The following is a rambling post of mental disconnects and non sequiturs

Sometimes you have to redecorate the place.

I've just completed a challenging switch to a new blog template. (by challenging, I mean it took more than 20 minutes) The irony is, I spent all that time redecorating my blog, but haven't hung pictures in my new home. And I've been here since last August.

---

We're trying to decide what we're going to do this weekend. First, I'm hanging pictures.

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I can't believe I'm watching the ridiculous movie Carpool on television right now.

Wait, what if Tom Arnold is reading my blog? Er... um, I mean, what a great cinematic specimen! Amazing artistic creativity, and what a master thespian that Tom Arnold is.

---

Theory vs. Reality. As I was fruitlessly pondering a subject for my blog entry this morning, I THEORIZED that I was experiencing writer's block. REALITY is, I'm just a shitty, uncreative writer.

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It's time to take back our country from the marmosets.

---

I need to watch the entire Sopranos DVD series in a row with no interruptions so I can release some of my rage by living vicariously through Big Pussy Bonpensiero... and more specifically, via the fantasy of sucking a living off of someone else, all the while carrying a gun and being called "Big Pussy" with no social ramifications. Of course, he got "iced" a couple of seasons ago - and how much fun would that be? (where has Vincent Pastore's career gone since that time?)

---

I just heard American Idol contestant Paris Bennett's mother say "I think God has great things planned for Paris." I'm tired of people NOT giving themselves (and their children) credit for their accomplishments. What about the promising, smart, kind-hearted, loving teenager with great grades who was hit by a truck and killed... I suppose God just didn't have great things planned for him?

---

Okay, it's a beautiful day, so I'm taking the bicycle out now... then jog awhile, then probably hit the weight room. And of course by "bicycle... jog awhile... then hit the weight room," I mean roll around on the couch with a six pack of beer and a bag of cheetos, watching TV Land, and lamenting the fact that nobody really realized the true acting potential of Rod Perry as Sergeant David 'Deacon' Kay on SWAT.

Daktari, you're going a little deep into the jungle aren't you?

Colonoscopies are never fun - although I have never had one, I can only imagine that putting something the size of an average microphone stand up your butt will cause pain.

Here is a list of things patients have said to their ASSMAN during a colonoscopy:

"Take it easy, Doc. You're boldly going where no man has gone before!"

"Find Amelia Earhart yet?"

"Can you hear me NOW?"

"Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"

"You know, in Arkansas, we're now legally married."

"Any sign of the trapped miners, Chief?"

"You put your left hand in, you take your left hand out..."

"Hey! Now I know how a Muppet feels!"

"If your hand doesn't fit, you must quit!"

"Hey Doc, let me know if you find my dignity."

"You used to be an executive at Enron, didn't you?"

"God, now I know why I am not gay."

"Could you write a note for my wife saying that my head is not up there?"

Add your own, if you can think of one.

At age 42, I can imagine my doctor will be broaching the subject soon. I can't wait.

It's still the "real thing," just not in schools

I get called "liberal" (??) because I've long ranted (on my blog and on political message boards) about getting healthier food and drinks in public schools. Opponents argue that it's not government's place to make sure our kids are eating healthy, it's the parents' responsibility. I've always said BULLSHIT to that... if that's the case, then why not just make education the parents' responsibility too?

If students bringing their own lunch, fine... but I'd rather schools didn't make junk food available to them. School is an institution of learning, so let kids learn good nutrition.

It's sad, but there are parents who simply can't (or won't) provide their kids with nutritious foods - so for some, school lunch is the only opportunity to get a balanced meal.

Today, the soft drink industry has taken a step toward helping fix the problem, although it was likely about as voluntary as a shotgun wedding.

Here's the story.

Finally, a move in the right direction. Too bad it's about 10 years too late to benefit my daughter.

What if?

A newly discovered asteroid (NEO, near-earth object) has stirred up some concern today that the earth could be struck by an 800-meter piece of space debris on June 21, 2008.

The odds are very low, 1 in 6 million right now, but new info aquired in the next day or two will either raise or lower the odds of 2006 HZ51 hitting home. I know people who have won the lottery at less-likely odds.

If it hits us, there will be next to nothing we can do about it. Neither the technology, nor the procedure, is in place to deal with such an event as early as 2008. It's not nearly as big as the dinosaur-killer 65 million years ago (which was 6-8 miles in diameter) but a tsunami formed by an ocean impact could obliterate coastal cities worldwide.

So my question is, if after further study, they find that the object is LIKELY to strike the earth, will we even be told? Imagine the world-wide hysteria.

Happy Wednesday!

Today is Tuesday, May 2, 2006:

4:15 am - Wake up after horrible nightmare wherein my taxes were due, my bank balance was off by a grand, and I was screwed in a nasty divorce... to realize I wasn't sleeping.

4:16 am - Roll around pondering where the hell that thousand dollars went and how any woman could ever divorce a guy like me. Get up and make coffee.

5:01 am - Coffee is smelling up the place pretty good by now. Step outside onto the deck to watch the morning steam rise off the lake, and see the geese shitting all over my petunias.

5:02 am - Retrieve firearm from nightstand, wipe spiderwebs off my face, point firearm threateningly at the geese. They don't seem to care, so replace firearm in nightstand and notice facial twitch is worsening.

5:15 am - Begin planning my day.

5:16 am - Scrap the planning of my day, pour first cup of coffee, make a heart design in the creamy foam to remind me to love myself and dismiss my flaws. Long morning fart, brush teeth.

5:20 am - Make note to see doctor about the voices.

5:30 am - Open laptop, scour internet for any piece of good news. Realize my futility, start reading bad news.

5:45 am - Second cup of coffee, this time with lightning bolt shape in foam, float second long air biscuit.

6:00 am - Self loathing begins, just a few minutes earlier than yesterday. Read several blogs.

6:30 am - Shower, shave, apply baby oil to massive biceps/pecs/abs. Realize I don't have massive biceps/pecs/abs, towel off the oil.

7:00 am - Enter recording studio, read... er, I mean dramatically interpret, scripts for a hundred great radio stations worldwide who entrust me with their image. Thank Mother Mary I have fooled so many of them into believing I can adequately do this.

***this is where I am now - the rest of the schedule is best guess for what I will do the rest of the day***

9:00 am - Take a break, read Newsweek magazine. And by Newsweek, of course I mean Penthouse Forum. Think about how each of the letters are really true, and that everybody except me has nailed their cleaning lady on the hood of their car while the lawn boy runs the camcorder.

9:10 am - Back to work with the "dramatic interpretation."

12:00 noon - Go upstairs to kitchen, glance at Lupita the cleaning lady funny for a moment, then realize she's just not nailing-on-the-hood-of-the-car material. Besides, I would be breaking all kinds of social rules and a certain blonde would kick my ass.

12:01 pm - Assemble a turkey sandwich with chipotle mayo, cheese, lettuce, bacon and onion. Consume ravenously 'til gone. Repeat procedure.

12:30 pm - Take off my work uniform (robe) and put on street clothes. (cargo shorts, flipflops, wrinkled shirt) Depart for KSD, (93.7 The Bull) where I will be charged with entertaining 100,000 St. Louis commuters on their ride home. And by entertain, of course I mean read funny shit that I paid a guy to write for me, because I haven't an ounce of originality, creativity or talent.

7:00 pm - Drive home anticipating American Idol, hating myself because I'm not Ryan Seacrest, and hoping against hopes that Katharine McPhee has another wardrobe malfunction.

8:00 pm - Slip into a Red Bull/vodka haze as House, M. D. comes on, hate myself because I'm not Hugh Laurie.

9:00 pm - Go to bed, realizing that I have the best life ever and I'm the luckiest sonofabitch on earth. Or at least that I AM a sonofabitch.

Things that drive you crazy

Between St. Louis and Columbia, at an exit called "High Hill," there are two abandoned buildings which were former restaurant/gas roadside stops. One was a Stuckey's, which is famous for the pecan logs.* The other one is this:


I can't remember the name of this franchise. You used to see them across the country, almost as prevalent as Stuckey's... only sans pecan logs. It seemed like a German or Swiss name, but it escapes me.

Can you help a guy out? Otherwise, I will have to continue passing this sonofabitch and beating my steering wheel in frustration.


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*I never had one of those pecan logs. They sound pretty gross.