My own personal tantrum

So as I sit here, angry; I want to be sarcastic, caustic, humorous. I want to thumb my nose at the world. To essentially tell the world to bite me. To say, that I have it all under control. That it doesn't bother me, that I have to get in and out of my car five times in the morning just to remember everything. Everything which is essentially nothing. I want to pout. To pooch my lip out like a kid, and shout at the top of my lungs, "ITS NOT FAIR". Cause its not (life). Ya know.

I looked it up, and write there in fine print just below the warranty section, right after jurisdictional issues between mallard/platypus relationships; it says, "BEAR IN MIND LIFE IS NOT FAIR".

So I will sit here grateful. Grateful and angry. I will allow myself to pout, whilst I acknowledge the reality that there is in fact real suffering going on in the world. The world to which, despite my incessant protestations, continues to NOT revolve around me.

God bless.

j

Two Cats in a cold garage.

If my cats could speak, I'm thinking this is the dialogue presently underway....


"You idiot"
"If I told you one time, I told you a thousand times; night-time is not play-time"
"Now look at us. Freezing our fat cat tails off, in the garage."
"No don't... Don't pee on his shoes. The last time you did that his crazy ass kept us out here for solid week."

"You realize two minutes ago, I was sprawled out on the sofa. The Warm Sofa."
"And for the love of Sweet god, you always run, roll-over, and look at him with the excitement of a game of chase. It's not chase. Moron. Human's call it remove the cat and sleep."

"God almighty its cold out here.. You know what . Screw it. Pee on his shoes."

Just a couple of musings. I heard this morning that a murder trial was being moved out of one state to another. The concerns expressed where a "tainted jury pool". This certainly raises a lot of questions for me. One. Is there a more, what shall I say "Murder Friendly" state. Further speculation leads me to think that perhaps its not the "tainted jury pool" of concern, rather issues of looking for a perhaps "shallower gene pool".

Oh, and yes I get the whole liberal, not liberal, life in jail, versus being a brief guest on a cooking show (so to speak) scenario. I just found it odd the way it was presented is all.

Sigh.............. There is so much beauty in this world, I just find that some days its harder to find through all of the crap. So much of what we hear on radio and television, is basically anger based, divisive, almost propaganda shtuff.... Its nauseating.

I sight my favorite worldly microcosmic barometer: Professional Wrestling. In today's wrestling climate, you can't tell the good guys from the bad guys. Or why they are liked or disliked. Basically you watch to deranged narcissistic figures which are essentially real life caricatures of different aspects of society puffed up and hissing at other; while a building full of truly deranged people shout chant and hold up signs hoping to be spotted by some relative in whatever distant small town from which they hale.

Long story short. Life imitates art or vice versa. In this case the mirror represented takes on a fun house kind of feel.....

On Not being cool.....

Some of the harder moments in our lives. Realizing are parents are fallible. That's a biggie. And a bummer. Realizing we are fallible. At some point in our lives it occurs to us that we aren't going to live forever. Also a bummer. And a little anxiety provoking at that.

Which brings me to my present realization of awareness. I'm not cool. I'm not as interesting as I think. I'm not always right. I know this is hard for some of you to take in, and I hope I haven't hurt any of you with the bluntness of my flaws. Still I owe to you, the reader (literally), to share.

We have a neighbor, someone who lives in our area. Very nice person. Funny, kind. Good people, all around. Anyway, I being me, was probably overly me in trying to be funny and entertaining. When I met this person, I thought, hey this is a cool person. Someone I could hang out with. Sort of a "Fred and Barney" "Ralph and Norton" kind of deal.

However, and I go back to the beginning of this diatribe, methinks I am not as cool as me thinks. Recently our kids were playing in the yard, running around with our friends kids, and the wives were chatting. The other individual in this story, was on a phone call when the kids were running around playing and the wives were visiting. So we go to walk to away, and my wife off-handedly jokes, "Man he really doesn't like you". No malice. Just a joke. And its like a light bulb goes off (dim, flickering at best), but I remember all of these, "can you take hint" scenarios dating back almost six months.

In the first Shrek movie, Donkey follows Shrek back to his Swamp and invites himself over. Standing at the front door, Donkey says, and I suck at paraphrasing, "Don't you hate that awkward silence when somebody wants you to leave..." Then Donkey looks up and see's Shrek staring at him uncomfortably.

I guess my first order of business is to apologize to this person, who is to nice to say, "Hey Donkey, leave me alone". Next, I guess I'll stop entering dance competitions, as I rumors speculate I lack rhythm. I've already cancelled my back waxing this week, so all that remains is to sell auction off my chest wigs. I'm thinkin e-bay. Maybe Craigs-list. I bet that Craig guy is cool. His neighbors probably like him.

god bless,
j

Ok, I give on Woods matter....

Generally, I try to stay removed from such matters as the Tiger Woods affair (get it affair. I'm startin slow). Since its all that anyone can talk about, I in my greatness have decided to weigh in.

Firstly, I see a lot of possibilities for Tiger to continue his relationship with his many sponsors. Buick, for instance. "I'm Tiger Woods, and lets talk about new and improved safety glass. Bigger mirrors to enhance vision..."

Nike, "When I'm not golfing, I'm running. Which is why I use the new golf-sprint 2600. So whether your putting or sprinting...."

Hmmmmmmm. "Tiger here on the q-t about the new mobile q-t supersecret 6000"

I don't know. It's none of my business, but man does the media feed on this stuff. And if I here one more person talk about what a forgiving society we are. FORGIVING????

Let me help you with this. Forgiving how, exactly? Maybe in that, "Confess your a Witch, and we'll kill you quickly and not burn you kinda way? Or are we looking for more of a Braveheart ending. "Tell us Tiger.... You were wrong, and confess your allegiance to England in the Ryder Cup or its the Nine Irons for you"....

Cut to back drop, Tiger screams out "Auuuuguusssstaaaaa"

Too much? Over the top? Probly.

peace,
j

I gotta counter

I gotta counter. Very excited. I used to have one. Then I ditched it. Now I got one back. Now I can count all of my Fan(s). So Siked. Bring on my beloved Minions. .....

Still waiting..... Hello..... I don't know how to type Echo Echo Echo....


I betcha, I will be my biggest fan.

Tiger Woods

Briefly. Don't care about Tiger Woods private life. Not really a big fan of golf. It is incidents like these that make me grow to loathe sports talk shows. To whit, I take full responsibility for listening to them. Its the same thing every time. "Now I don't want to Talk about Tiger Woods....but"

"If I could tell Tiger anything...."

Really.

Now the only sports show I will listen to is Mike and Mike in the Morning on ESPN Radio. Love these guys. You have a combination of humor and sports intellect. You have two guys who have fun, don't take themselves too seriously, and actually listen to people who know stuff.

And they don't whine so much.

To continue, Mike and Mike did play a quote from Charles Barkley, referring to the Tiger Woods incident. Personally, hilarious. The piece wasn't so much meant for humor, but the idea of Charles Barkley giving anyone advice on anything that doesn't involve a ball and hoop.... Is at best .... worst. This cat is a PR nightmare.

That's all I got for today.

Peace,
j

Tiger Woods

A T

Interesting Holiday, Thanksgiving. Everyone gathers together to eat a large bird, known exclusively for its stupidity, and a chemical which makes people lethargic. This Thanksgiving, is purported to have come from a time when the English "settlers", or "Invaders" as some people would say, apparently came together with the Native Americans to eat corn. And Squash.

I think that's it, cause some time shortly there-after we began to "discover", or "take" things from the Native Americans (Indians). Like Land and stuff. Not that the Native Americans could tell at first, because they essentially, didn't follow the general concept of ownership.

Now, to be clear, lets further explore the term Native, from Native American. Native is a word which comes from the Latin "Here First" or the later transcribed Greek term "Dibbs". Which is really where the debate as to "Discovery"/"Theftscovery" begins.

Now, to some eyes it would appear that the whole, "We were here before you" thing is open and shut, and pretty much ends the whole debate. But wait, on the settlers side comes the idea, rather notion, ergo concept of "Manifest Destiny"; or the "Well God said we could have it so there", idea.

Again, I find it a little bit odd that these folks fled England for religious freedom (zealotry) in the first place; only to turn right around and invoke this whole god (idolatry) thing leans towards absurdity.

To whit I realy get lost on this whole we're civilized and your savages thing. First off, nobody showered. Nobody. Ever. Its in all the movies. Furthermore, powder is not Soap. I don't care if Lye was invented understood or available. Powder is but a thin veil that the skunk wears to appear like a Kitten.

Then there is the whole TP thing. Of which I am not referring to Native American lodging (Tee Pee). I have two scary words for you. The first is Corn. Which is only shortly followed after dramatic pause by Cobb. Corn Cobb. R U KIDDING ME? So not only is every ones poop full of corn, which is horrific an image enough, but then folks had to return to the source to return the pieces to the source (think about it, but don't picture it).

Savages my foot. At-least Native American clothing was roomier. and breathed better. A truss? A Truss? Really? If your clothing hampers your breathing.....

So I'm in a tavern looking across from this fair maiden who is powdered for smell, purple for lack of oxygen, and wreaks of corn. And she wants to make small talk about savages. Savages, at this point I'm leaving the tavern and lookin for Pocahontas.

peace,
j

Pre Thanksgiving

You know, and I hate this. I sit here and I want to write some completely immoral diatribe attacking some conservative faction of some sort. I want to make fun of someone. Put someone down. Needle, be-little, generally otherwise oppose something. But I can't. I got nothing. I am grateful for my family. My blessings. I have wonderful supportive friends. I am working. So I guess whining is out. Curse you perspective. Curse you and ........

I hope whoever you are and wherever you are, you are safe and sound wherever you may be.

peace,

j

I'm stupid.... and here's why

So I have some rare spare time at work, when I am actually caught up on everything. I decide to take a walk around the block. To you know exercise. Well anyway, after about three minutes of this walk, it occurs to me that it has been awhile since I have actually taken a walk.

Suddenly the sedentary nature of my whole existence becomes horrifically into focus. Wake up. Drive to work. Drive to drive-thru for lunch. walk to desk. sit. walk to car. drive home. spend time with kids (around house). Sleep. Repeat.

Holy shchnitzel batman, I think I know why I can't fit into my pants. Could it be that I eat almost an average of one fast food meal a day???? Sometimes two??? All the while walking to and from my car. Distances not to exceed twenty yards.

Fischizzle Robin!!!! That's it. So today Tuesday November 17th the chronicles of Fatman begins. I am sitting here a paltry (poultry, deep fried) two-hundred and 36 pds. I will let you know how it goes from here.

this just in...

Reo Speedwagon, Styx, and Night Ranger are coming to perform at a .............. I don't know Six Flags near you. Reo Speedwagon Really??? What was the Night Ranger Song? Office mate said "Sister Christian". Good stuff Sher Bear. She also makes the excellent point that this would have been an awesome concert 20ish years ago.

This brings me back to the good times of really big hair, and concert shirts. Oh yeah. Concert shirts. Nothing says your the man (or the woman) like a skin tight Tee-shirt, ripped tight jeans, and REALLY BIG GIANT HAIR WITH MOOSE in it. Moose that was made from a .... wait for it.... MOOSE. That's right actual Moose saliva, sent in fresh, not frozen from the Rockies. None of this Moose farm Moose spit. Only Ferile Moose spit will do.

Nuff said. Sadly, I have too much work to do to mock "Mr. Roboto".

Peace

Just Briefly

Good morning all. Just typing in some quick notes to my fan(s). Who am I kidding. Hi Erin. So here's where I am. babies- good. Swine flu- scary as foshizzle. work-stressful as foshizzle.

It is hard live in the precious fleeting moments of life, while planning for the future. I feel like a one armed man in a juggling competition.... who's glasses fell off... while tying his shoes... on a steep embank....

Then I feel blessed as I watch my precious newborn sleep. At work I feel persecuted, when I think maybe I should be appreciated. I am trying to find the line between coach-ability and accountability juxtaposed with am I just being bullied???

My pulse is 106 as I try to typed this e-mail with shaky fingers.

Still, life is fun, and funnier still. I look forward to my next (mis)adventures. I wish I could sing (well). That looks like fun. A hot spotlight would really serve my ego about now.

So wherever or whoever you are on this big spinning rock, I hope you are well safe and loved. Try to hug someone today. Splash in a puddle and giggle if possible. And just maybe forgive yourself for one of your foibles. Ooh and if you don't send this to anyone..... whoopty schnit. I hate chain letters. Why would anyone send someone a blessing wrapped in a veiled threat of a curse. That's why they gave swimming lessons to creepy old ladies in Salem for gosh sakes....

Peace...

J

Baby Day

Today is the last day my wife has a larger belly than me. So ...... "John are you ready"??????


I'll keep you posted......

P.S. I Love You

OK. To have a cerebral understanding of the game of football that I have. To have an awareness of all things manly and athletic, such that I have been blessed. I would have to say I find it odd that I have just completed an entire Chick Flick.

Total chick flick. Complete Chick Flick. Having said this, I am in love with Kathy Bates. She is absolutely one of my favorite actors. I thought Harry Connick Jr. was simply divine in his role in this movie. Hillary Swank, who gets nominated for everything, was her usual resplendent self.

Did I cry? No? Crossed my mind. Still. No tears. But I would say this movie moved me. I really appreciate a film that captures the human spirit with passion, and guts. A film which embraces the bittersweet reality of true emotion. Pain and loss, experienced in a way that can only be healed with love and humor. The awkwardness of people trying to wrangle their way through life wrestling with these emotions, is awesome to me. Awe inspiring even.

There really is something to be said for a good "Chick Flick". I say this with full authority and a sense of pride. I shout this with no fear of losing my man card. No lurking issues of homophobia cropping up. I, being a man without an iron, or hairbrush for that matter. A man who cannot cook without the coals of a grill, to whit it would require said coals on my feet to make me dance. No dear, friends. This is not a freeing from a closet full of footballs, wooden tennis rackets, and sweat pants beyond reproach. This is simply one man, stepping out of his cave, to appreciate a film that somehow, while reaching for the fairer sex, stumbled across the radar of the hairier sex. I am satiated. Now I can sleep.

Peanut Butter and Bikes

Life is complicated. Its hard to be cynical, if you have any perspective. I think the saying goes along the lines of, "I wept for need of shoe's, until I saw a man with no feet"(somewhere in the bible. I think).

You can find joy anywhere in life. All you have to do is look. Likewise, sorrow is in high demand. The longer I spin on this marble, the more my perspective changes. What was once important, is now of little value.

I have always put a premium on friendship. And Peanut Butter. Both of which have served me well. The other stuff, well that's where the shift comes in. Family. And I don't want to say that I have devalued family lo these many years; rather I have come to appreciate family all the more so. Every moment with my children is, to me, a sacred stolen moment. A moment I will never forget, and never get back. Every hug. Every laugh. All stolen.

Like so many Dad's before and after me, I got to watch my little girl ride a bike sans-training wheels for the first time. And like any dad who was paying attention or filled with pride, I was blown away. Not so much by the accomplishment, but from the sheer joy and pride; the genuine mirth and giddiness my child displayed as she realized that she was riding on her own. If life had a pause button, I'm wearin it out. Right there on that smile. That, for me was good stuff. For in that one fleeting instant, I was one, maybe two peanut butter crackers away from perfection.

Obama Speech to Students

You know what. Here's the thing. I have a job. I'm busy. So I don't have a lot of time to weigh in on this. However, our President is addressing our students about "about the need to work hard and stay in school". This quote was taken from the article "Obama speech to students sparks new controversy" By LIBBY QUAID and LINDA STEWART BALL Associated Press Writers.

So anyway, radio pundits, television bandits, and various other forms of nausea have declared this is a bad thing, and that it is politically motivated such that the president can further push his agenda. R U kidding me? REALLY. First of all our schools are so underfunded I doubt we even have the technology to show the freakin speech. Secondly the schools with the technology are most likely private institutions whose constituents lean towards a philosophy of the "Rich get Richer and the Poor get Poorer". Not name calling (Republican Party), I'm just saying.

I really wish I had more time to look at this, but frankly the people that stir this kind of stuff sicken me, so I'll go back to work. We live in a country that is about Freedom. Freedom of choice, religion, free speech, and other rights. After two consecutive elections which mocked, laughed at, and disparaged the very things this country stands for. Eight years in which our vice presidents own company made ungodly (yes I said ungodly. intentionally) amounts of money rebuilding that which (Haliburton) our President leveled (Iraq) as an odd misadventure on an otherwise logical expedition (Afganistan).

Did I get side tracked? My bad.

In closing, I think it would be nice if our President could serve as a role model and tell our kids to stay in school. Our last President addressed a graduating class at Yale and remarked, "You too can make C's and be President of the United States". Everyone laughed. That is to say everyone graduating from Yale that day. Hmmmmm.

Weighing in on Farve

OK. I know I am late weighing in on my Farve opinion. I generally state somewhat out of the sports genre; but I am compelled to share my genius on this matter. All I have been hearing and reading about of late is the recent re-re-return of Quarterback Brett Farve.

I hear questions about his legacy. Will it be tarnished? Diminished? I hear people say he is a "flip-flopper", and that he should just make up "his mind". Which brings me succinctly to my point. It is his mind. Not mine. Not yours. His. Honestly the guy can play till he fifty for all I care. One of the interesting quotes I heard from someone about playing with Brett was this; "Playing with Brett made the game fun again". I'm paraphrasing, as I am prone to do. But this point is strong and relevant; and even pervasive in the language people use around him. He plays the game with childlike enthusiasm. He is a relentless competitor. He is tenacious.

OK. Now bear in mind, these comments are not coming from the local chess-club. The people making these statements are ball-players at the highest level. Men who have paid the price to play arguably the greatest game ever. If there is a Valhalla (Viking Lore, how ironic), then Farve has earned a seat at the table.

Walking away. Again, I hear people talking about how he should "walk away", and "step aside". Really? By whose rules? Who says when its time to go? Remember most of the people who's opinions we're listening too, are looking forward to retirement. Which many of us dream of. Thats because we WORK for living. Imagine if you played for a living. And yes I know this is where everyone (both of my readers) says how hard the game is year round training, etc.... Remember, this is a guy who "plays" the game like a "kid". Also the other word you hear when people talk about Brett and football is "fun".

So basically, if I'm hearing things correctly, we have a lot of people, who are upset because this guy kept changing his mind about doing something "fun". With a few small (12-13 million) benefits as well.

My take on this. GO Vikings.

The Cats in Carriage

You know, I don't think it gets any easier. As adults we age. Our children age. Our parents age. Each scenario creates its own set of challenges. Just when you think you have some understanding of something; anything. Then life throws you another curve. Changes the rules. Breaks the rules. Life really sucks that way. Honestly, and I think I could make a fairly certain case that the main rule of life is that there really are no rules.

Yes there are certainties. Gravity is good one. Generally speaking you "reap what you sew"(the bible, chapter somewhere, verse somewhere), which is an oldy but a goody. If its too good to be true.... It is.

But I digress. My kids are growing exponentially right in front of me. I don't want to miss any of it. Man does it go fast. One minute your holding this tiny being in your hand, only to sit dumbfounded the next, realizing you have again (again) been outsmarted by your child. My god if they ever learn to get along, and start hunting in a pack; I'm toast. Its funny I spend so much time trying to make my children get along. It really smacks of "be careful what you wish for". Besides that, sibs will be sibs. They concur on the important things. Ice-cream, Scooby Doo, and Mom is really the one in charge.

If only to stop time in its tracks. To enjoy the moment. The moment which I fear has a tendency to get lost in our fast paced society of instant information. I wonder if it is like this in Amish country.

"Well Ezekial, I would love to play with yee, but I've got this barn to raise, and these cows to milk. Oh Hezekia, it's seems as though yesterday you were but a boy. Know here you are eleven, married, with a full beard (I might have my religions wrong......)."

I wonder if someday our kids will laugh and say, "remember DVD players?"

A Grateful Pirate

So it has fallen again, the day of my birth. In borrowing from the Jimmy Buffet song, "A Pirate Looks at Forty", I have been writing things as such on my birthday since I can't remember. Hmmmmmmm. I'm 39 today.

Yesterday, I did water aerobics at our pool. It was pretty much like you would imagine water aerobics to be. Mostly elderly people. I had thoughts as I was treading water about various ways this could funny; but I was struck by the kindness of the people, and the fun they were having. Lots of laughter, and kidding. Not just laughter and kidding, but childish stuff. It was like being around children in old people suits. It was cool.

And yes part of me thought, "Hell your almost 39 years old; you should be playing hockey somewhere. You should be running, really working out." Honestly though, the bulk of me (and there is too much bulk), thought, "I'm just grateful to be here, and to have this opportunity to work out and relax. My wife and kids are near me, and their happy. Who cares."

Don't get me wrong, I live to rant about stuff. I hate answering machines that blather on and on.

"Hello you have reached bla, bla, bla. We regret that we can't come to the phone bla bla bla
but if you'll leave your bla bla at the bla". Ten minutes later the automated voice gives you options. Options? Really? "To page this person...." If I wanted to "page this person", I would have, oh I don't know.... PAGED THEM. "To send this message as urgent" Guess what, if this message was urgent; its too freakin late, Timmy has fallen down the well and Lassie was hit by a car trying to run for help. Unfortunately the motorist was texting someone and didn't see him.
I could go on but you get the gist.

So where was I; oh yeah, one step closer to forty. Again, I love to whine, but lets look at the facts. I have a job, a wonderful wife, and two amazing children, who just get more amazing every day. Not only am I healthy enough to swim with them, I am blessed to have the time to. As far as friends are concerned, I am truly one of the richest men alive. I have the best friends you could ask for. People that have supported me, nurtured me, tolerated me, and made me a better person. Which is saying something, when it comes to me; cause I'm way over rated.

Not to get dramatic, but we live in world of suffering. This is a tough time for so many. Our country is experiencing what I can only describe as growing pains. We have so many people with so much, and even more with so little. We have the technology to pinpoint it, and identify it, but we are still behind the curve in terms of fixing it. I often wonder if things have always been as they are; and that we are the same puppets on the same stage as our forefathers, and their forefathers before them. Rather, the only difference in then and know being our ability to see our frailties. Metaphorically its the same old humanity, just standing in front of a much clearer mirror.

I could ramble on, but I have things to do. I would simply say to those of you that peruse this blog, thank you and god bless you.

Sincerely,

A Grateful Pirate

"C is for Conifer"

So it's Sunday night, sometime after 9:00, and this kid (early twenty's) is flying down the ice; freezes a defense men in his tracks, blows by him and raises his stick to shoot. I'm loose at this point, I had a good practice earlier, so I'm well stretched and warm. I am beyond out of shape. I my be the unhealthiest Goalie in the history of the sport at this point. Anyway, I slide out to the top of the crease to cut the angle. I came out the second this kid picked up the puck. There are certain players on the ice that you are always plugged into, such that when they move you move. Other players you see as less dangerous, but if this guy blinks; I blink.

So he raises his stick to shoot, and in a second drops the stick like a hammer, and the puck whistles at me like a bullet out of gun. Its that fast. I hear the pop of the shot, and then the pop in my glove. My pointer finger is numb. The sting of the shot caught my finger just well enough, to remove any thoughts sensation for the next several hours.

That's not interesting though. What is interesting, is that as all of this drama is unfolding around me like a scene in a great Western; I am playing the soundtrack from my children's favorite CD. I have children's music in my head. Shout out to my boys, "They Might be Giants" and their wicked cool, ABC'S CD. Righteous stuff. Honestly, I feel like Barney at the "Head-Bangers Ball". Sadly, it is probably how I appear to the other players.

I like Pick-Up games, cause you have such a range of talent, going anywhere from retired semi-pro's, former college players, all the way down to..... me. Their were other Goalies there with snarling animals painted on their helmets, gliding from side to side making every save look effortless and easy. Then, by point of contrast, I find myself out of breath just watching the puck as close as I can stabbing and swatting, just trying to get by. I would imagine that players watching me get a real "shark infested bloody water/ lion thins the herd" kind of feel. You can always tell which side I'm on because of the unmistakable frozen puddles of drool around the crease.

In closing, for those of you who are my friends and are forever chiding me about my self deprecation; I have but one thing to share with you. Yes, I really do suck that bad. Really.

my first womens magazine

So I'm picking up my usual coffee at the local mini-mart, and the latest issue of Cosmopolitan catches my eye. Generally I don't pay much attention to these things, other than the over-all observation that with the right amount of air-brushing, I would look hot on the cover of these magazines.

Article title reads:
"125 sex moves" Now there is eye catcher. First of all, and I don't mean to brag (Really), but that's like 122 more sex moves than I know. Talk about curiosity killing the cat. This is more like; "The curious cat was found dead in a pretzel shape, with his tail disappeared but not removed. This reported would like to add that this is perhaps the only time he has seen a cat smile. Felix will be missed, but we can all take solace in the knowledge that he is, or was in a better place in his last moments. Back to you Stu."

Next Article:
The Orgasm Whisperer (Every Woman Should have one). Scary. I know. Personally, I think if every man had one of these then many more women would be happy. Just me? Probly not.

Was it awkward purchasing this magazine from a 72 year old lady? Perhaps a little. Was it worth it? Like the commercial says priceless.

Funny thing though, I could swear when I was leaving the store I heard that nice little old lady say, "hmmmm that's 4 more moves than I know"

Bull Kills Man at Spanish Festival

Now. For the record. If I have already blogged about this I apologize. Secondly, I do feel for the friends and family of the individual noted in this article. So here is basically what the article outlines.

"1 dead at Pamplona; first goring death since '95
9 others injured in unusually dangerous chapter of the running of the bulls"

Hmmmmm. "unusually dangerous"? So this particular episode of the running of the bulls was somehow more dangerous than previous "bull runnings". Folk(s) there are just some things in this world I don't understand. Carnival people (Carnies), anything pertaining to Physics, and "the running of the bulls". I don't get it? I don't. They get bulls. People. Put the people in front of the bulls. and run them. You know there is a word for this. Its called trampling. Probably would hurt the whole tourist attraction thing if it were called "the Trampling of the Bulls".

People might argue that it tradition, and history. So was the plague; and you won't find me on vacation kissing rats.

The article went on to mention a particular bull in this incident named Cappuccino.
"A brown, 1,130-pound bull named Cappuccino fell early in the run and ended up on its own."

1,130 pounds of bull. I like this part of the article which outlines Bull behavior:
"The bulls covering the half-mile course with six accompanying steers tend to mind their own business and keep running as long as they stay in a pack. A bull that gets separated is more likely to get spooked and aggressive and that is just what happened Friday."

"Spooked and Aggressive"? Hmmmmmmmm. Folks, were not talking about squirrels here. You can't tell me that ordinarily a group of bulls being herded down a crowded street towards people is somehow safer. Here's why. At some point you stop measuring safety levels. Me, I start at Bulls named after energy beverages. I also stop at anything over a 1,000 pds with horns. Actually, I pretty much just stop at horns.

This is indeed a tragedy, and I hate it for those who have lost loved ones in such an event; but come on, I mean. Really. I'm looking for a word to top stupid, and frankly I'm drawing a blank.

Godsmack

I think there is a band called "Godsmack". Not sure. Don't care. Totally different angle. So last night I'm doing that thing I do at work. I help people. Anyways, I'm getting ready to leave and this lady walks up to me and asks, "Are you John?".

I soooo badly want to say no. I see where this is going. I am so on the tracks, and so not the train. I am thinking to myself that I am tired, that I want to go home; and that I don't want to deal with anymore schnit.

The lady looks like hell. Her hair is a mess. She is missing most of her front teeth. She is not in shoes. She is overweight and her clothes are too small. She looks like every person I have ever seen interviewed after a tornado hit a trailer park. She is of the ilk that if you listen hard enough you can hear people chanting "JERRY JERRY JERRY".

So she says to me. "You don't remember me do you?" I am trying to be polite and mention that I see literally hundreds of people a year. But she continues, "I remember you" "You helped my daughter out with her Bi-polar thing" She said, "I remember all the things you told me about looking in the mirror and saying I love you to myself ten times a day" "I thought you where a crazy mot^&rf*cker". To which I replied, "I am".

At this point I begin to feel smaller and stupider. It begins to sink in that this lady wants to say thank you. Nothing more.

"I remember you were funny. You were crackin all them jokes. You told me things would be hard, but that I could do it" "Anyways, I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to care about my little girl". She shook my hand and walked away.

To me, that is Godsmack. That is Gods way of telling me to get my head out of my ass. It is gods way of indicating why I do this job. It is gods reminder that I don't get to choose who I help, or who chooses to be helped. That even though I am so very impressed with the wonderfulness that is me; I'm a speck of dirt on the stage that is his.

My point, I think.....lies somewhere in maintaining a healthy perspective. Be genuine and caring. I would like to hope that I am still as genuine as I was, and that despite my venomous sense of humor; I still care and maintain a presence when it gets down to the nut cutting. To the place where caring matters most, and simply shutting up and listening does more than sarcasm.

I find experiences like these both empowering and alarming. Empowering is self explanatory. Alarming falls under the category of an internal dialogue in my head that says "Pay attention dummy. Don't judge. Don't short change."

Have a great day.

I didn't play hockey last night

Last night I didn't play hockey. I didn't get the opportunity to release all of the angst and frustration from an otherwise overwhelming, and difficult day. No, I had to stay home and put my kids to bed. I had to read to them. I had to play chess with my daughter. I decided to play a little harder since she is improving, and I want her to learn to lose well and win graciously.

She is my daughter. She is ultra-competitive, just like her father. So I brace her for the concept that she might actually lose to her papa. She basically says, "OK daddy, but then I want to go back to beating you". I think we both like it better that way.

Three moves in my daughter castles, and it occurs to me that fools mate is not only not an option, but that I may have to replace the gerbil with a slightly larger hamster on the wheel that fires the neurons in my brain. We play on. She is tired, unfocused, and adorable. Eventually, I win. She smiles at me. I tell her how proud I am of her, and what a great little chess player she is. She is happy. We play again. She wins.

Hockey is for sissies. My kids rock.

PTFBD

I have Post Traumatic Facebook Disorder. This occurs when you get on face book and remember how fucked up your life was, and why none of these people bothered to call you for twenty something years. I wonder how many suicides have been connected to this insidious device.

I can see the note now, "Turns out I really do suck" "Thanks for not inviting me to the reunion ...." Its pretty wild actually. I wonder how it plays out in terms of pricks and such. Have the pricks of old evolved into a kinder gentler penis? Or are they just old Pricks?

I admit to mostly fond memories and forlorn disappointments in my pathetic high school football career watch unfortunately serves as a litmus test for me existence (SCAAAARRRY).

I confess to nothing. I remember being mostly uncool, in an over exuberant attempt to be cool. Generally speaking ..... I sucked. I was funny enough to be amusing, but unfunny enough to be viewed as obnoxious. I did try to swim or fly or whatever awkward shit teenagers do to fit in, and I did it all without the use of marijuana; and with the mildly debilitating qualities of Panic Attacks with night time on set, and some actual PTSD. Fortunately I was barely humorous enough to myself to keep the joke that was me afloat.

Where was I..... Aaaah yes facebook. I guess "serial killers paradise dot com" was taken. I know I sound bitter. Resentful of all the other who's. Not so. I adored the other who's, and even longed to be one. OK it really wasn't that important to me, I just wanted to get laid. Still those whose with their ..... all blinging and blanging.... and clinging and clanging.... Made the old Grinch (oooh this is good) green with envy. Get it green? Grinch? Envy???? Just me? OK my bad.....

thats all I got. sleep well.

Happy St. Patricks Day

First off this joke is too easy so I'm gonna take a pass. If you don't get the oxymoronic irony, than you probably can't be helped anyway.

Anyways I'm listening to one of these "Classic Rock Stations", you know the one who's dee-jay moniker is like, "Granola Sandalwood". Anyway Granola bar decides that since today is Saint Patricks day, the day that Saint Patrick drove all of the Snakes off of an island which wasn't inhabited by snakes got me to thinking. What happens when people stop drinking? People with drinking problems? Anyone?.... Anyone?

They see snakes. Its documented. I can personally vouch for about thirty personal encounters, and one very personal encounter back in college. So is it Saint Patrick's Day, or National Detox and Withdrawls from Alcohol day? Just a little Guinness for thought.

So Granola decides she is going to play a song by Yoko Ono and John Lennon, "The Luck of the Irish" Here are they lyrics:

Ok, one, two, three, one two, three

If you had the luck of the irish,

You'd be sorry and wish you were dead.

You should have the luck of the irish,

And you'd wish you was english instead.

A thousand years of torture and hunger,

Drove the people away from their land.

A land full of beauty and wonder

Was raped by the british brigands

!Goddamned!Goddamned!

If you could keep voices like flowers,

There's be shamrock all over the world.

If you could drink dreams like irish streams,

Then the world would be as high as the mountain of morn.

In the 'pool they told us the story

How the english divided the land.

Of the pain and the death and the glory

And the poets of auld eireland.

If we could make chains with the morning dew,

The world would be like galway bay.

Let's walk over rainbows like leprechauns,

The world would be one big blarney stone

.Why the hell are the english there anyway?

As they kill with God on their side!

Blame it all on the kids and the i.r.a.

As the bastards commit genocide!

Aye! aye!Genocide!Okay!

You should have the luck of the irish,

You'd be sorry and wish you were dead.

You should have the luck of the irish,

And you'd wish you was english instead.

One more time!

You should have the luck of the irish,

You'd be sorry and wish you were dead.

You should have the luck of the irish,

And you'd wish you was english instead,

Hey, yes, you'd wish you were english instead.

Niiiice. Really Niiice. Don't look for Billy Joel to be remaking this classic anytime soon. In fact, lets not look for anyone to re-anything this anytime soon. Sorta like Gansta Rap and Herpes. I know its out there, I just don't need to see it. And I gotta tell ya, nothin chops through brutal lyrics like that songbird voice of Yoko. Ouch. I'm tone def, and that shit hurt. Damn. Its like trying to weed your flower garden with a brick.

And here's irony for ya.

You've got John Lennon, the voice of generations. A messenger of peace and Love. Easily considered one of the greats by young and old. Then. Sitting next to him, we find an Extra-Terrestrial wearing Glasses that Elton John wouldn't be caught dead in. Talk about Imagine?

Well, we already know that love is blind, so I guess this is proof positive that love is deaf.

On Rush Limbaugh

Are you kidding me? Are you really serious? In an article I read on msnbc.com,

Republicans seeks balance with Limbaugh
GOP struggles to keep icon's conservative base while wooing moderates
written by By Perry Bacon Jr. for the Washington Post.com

Mr. Bacon (really) notes some of the recent controversy surrounding remarks made by Rush Limbaugh which apparently managed to offend many Democrats, and possibly alienate an already fragmenting Republican party. Hmmmmmmm where do I start. So basically the Republicans want to keep Limbaugh's popularity, and lose some of his "radio-active" antics. Talk about taking pork off the pig, Mr. Bacon. That's like trying to sell Spam as a healthy Snack. The very concept is Oxymoronic (pun intended) indeed.

Here's another gem

"Few Republicans are eager to alienate Limbaugh's millions of avid listeners." Don't you mean "rabid listeners". Listeners? Do people really listen to this guy? And I know the answer is yes? And I know that Professional Wrestling is the top rated show on Cable/Satellite/Cellphone/Porta-Potty Vision. Yes Virginia there really is a Santa Clause, But he is not this whiny, fat, bloated, hypocritical, mass of wasted oxygen.

OK, I get it. This is a difficult time for our country. We have a new administration. We are looking down the barrel at a lot of change. There are a lot of people for this new administration, and a lot of people against this administration. Or economy is in crisis. Yes "Rome is essentially Burning" so to speak; but before we can even begin to dissect or analyze the issues at hand, do we really want to turn to Rush Limbaugh for commentary? On anything? This guy has made a living off of whining and hypocrisy. Some people would call him a watch dog. I would call him an idiot. Some would say courageous. I would say stupid.

Honestly, I could give a flip whether you are Republican, Democrat, Independent, Libertarian. At least do yourself the favor of listening to someone with sense. Yes there was a wise man from the bible who cried out from the wilderness. A man who ate locust and honey. However, there are also a lot of crazy hermits running around in the woods getting stung by bees, and frankly I'm not listening to them either.

Here's a test. If you listen to someone and all that they ever say is negative, hateful, and injected with venom (except me, of course), then maybe their view on life is a little skewed.

This is arguably one of the most critical times in our nations history, we owe it to ourselves and our children to be at-least informed.

In like a Lion

Well March is coming in like a Lion. I like Lion's. Its my sign. I'm a Leo. Which if you follow Astrology as close as I do then you understand that I am a very loyal narcissist. Which is to say, I'm all about me, and if I like you. You.

Male Lions, in the wild, as I understand it; primarily sleep and mate. Good job if you can get it. Of course I know about as much about nature as I do astrology so don't quote me.

Anyways, its March, snowy, and cold. If anyone see's that fr#%n wood-chuck. Let me know.... I'll sick my Lion on em. :)

a Call to Arms

In a word. Yes. That is to say, correct. Uh-hu. Ditto. Amen to that. I do succinctly and most definitely agree. Notwithstanding the logic and balance of which adhere the cause of both parties I simple feel drawn towards agreement. So there you have it. I'm in.

I would even say unwaveringly. In fact I feel a tempestuous confidence and erstwhile regularity with this movement. I am freed. Undone. I am vindicated.

The celebration of choice is remarkable. Awe inspiring even. So I say let loose the hounds and decide. Cry forth your feelings, and let havoc the emotions that make you tick. Swing loose the pendulous tepid concerns that say, "No you are meek. You don't count" Dare I say unto you, that you do in fact count. Moreover, you matter greatly. You are special.

So I urge you. No. I beseech you.


Stand forth,




pick up your phone. and call in your vote because................





American Idol needs you. and i don't trust simon. or paula:)

my new book

I am thinking about penning a novel to further announce my greatness to the world. Here are some potential titles. Your thoughts?

1) " I'm not borderline, everyone else is just stupid and wrong"
One man's harrowing journey to defeat the obstacles placed before him and overcome all the wrongs he suffered at the hands of many.

2) "Why not Me"
a insightful celebration of one man's greatness

3) "Yes I can, and Boy did I ever"
a harrowing and insightful glimpse into the genius of one man, and his struggles to blossom into his full potential.

4) "Breast Milk is for Sissies"
One man's ..... I got nothin here it just popped into my head and sounded funny.

5) "Narcissus Validated"
One great genius insightful man's bold journey through time to vindicate one of histories marvels. A cleansing journey to reveal inner brilliance for the world to behold.

6) "All you need is Windex and a Mirror"
A provocative new way to explore self esteem. One great man, and one great window cleaner show us all we can truly be like him (the great, brilliant, genius, insightful author guy).

7) "How to throw stones from within and not break glass"
Is it really your fault? hmmmm. One man, One chicken, and the complete misgivings of four major religions expose human frailty in a gripping, emotional ride that will leave you breathless and truly appreciative of the authors sterling wit.

Happy Chocolate's & Flower's Day!!!!!!!!!!

Good morning. It's Valentine's day. If your married, and missed this fact. Well, it's too late for you. Buy a quilt cause your sleeping outdoors.

I love Valentines Day. Its a great opportunity to be romantic with the one you love. Its a chance to eat chocolate, which for me is always a plus. Although at this rate of chocolate consumption factored with my age, I am cruizin towards plus sized.

Valentines Day is the kiddie ride for the unromantic. The idiot's guide if you will. Everywhere you go, you see opportunities to purchase things to tittilate the senses.
"He Beavis....."

But yes with Amore comes ..... looking for a good word for stupid. Hmmmm? I recall one year I purchased my wife a radio for Valentines Day. This was dumb on so many levels. Lets explore. Walk with me.

First, never buy your wife an appliance unless it has batteries and should be kept hidden. Incidentally don't over do this purchase either, because like so many good science fiction novels, the robots take over the world and man can't "handle" or in this case "compete" with the competition. For those of you slower readers.... The rabbit keeps pounding away to the chorus of "Still Going".

Back to the radio. When I purchased this radio I did so against the advice of an entire "Intro to Sociology Class" I was teaching. I remember this because I was measuring each vote with my own profiles of the students. Even the lonely hearts club in the front row looked skeptical about my purchase. Of course they were right.

I think my best work came when the University I worked at had the Barber Shop quartet going around delivering roses and serenading for charity. JACK-POT. This is easy. Romantic, Spontaneous, Awesome. There is no way I could screw this up. None.

I blew it. For that very same day, while checking her e-mail.......Note to self. Don't go pornographic websites without your wife's consent. "Curse you history bar"

There's a theme here. Technology continues to undo my genius. I feel the Amorous Coyote, never able to catch that delicious Road Runner. Re-read this later and picture the Coyote in the back ground . At certain spots you can actually here the Coyote falling off the cliff. sssssssssssshhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaar POOOOWWWW!!!!. Cloud of dust, next scene.

"Meep Meep" Happy Valentines Day.

The Far Side

I just had a minute to catch a blog, titled, Ars Psychiatrica (http://arspsychiatrica.blogspot.com/), which I would highly recommend, as it is own of my favorite reads. On Sunday the author wrote a piece about the genuis that was the "Far Side" by Gary Larson. Great piece, and oh did it take me back. I have so many fond fond memories of the Far Side. I can remember its genuis well back into early adolescence. There where evenings when my father and I would read one of his many books or compilations, and laugh till our sides hurt. There is just something about a Caveman who is both the hunter, and the bait, that continues to break me up even today, "Thag throw.... throw,throw, throw, throw, throw." Larson's commentary on society was onion like in that seemed to penetrate all levels of society. His humor was poignant and articulate. Off-beat and genuis. Who puts a crocodile in psychiatrist couch? Be it caveman, duck, and oooh the cows, gotta love the cows. Bears, the scientists, dorks. His gift for understanding Poodles, and Poodle owners speaks volumes. Furthermore to mix this Falconers, and people that would own a Predator in scenarios, where maybe a classic car show would suffice (the "trouble brewing" cartoon with the Falconers Lunch, depicted adjacent to the Poodle Fanciers Tea, at a park). Genuis.

Anyway, time permitting, and if your a Larson fan like myself check the site,Ars Psychiatrica, its titled, The Funny Book. The guy writes like me. Only funnier, and with correct punctuation, and use of polysyllabic verbage.

He's a SWIMMER

Dude, he's a swimmer. A role model to millions of children. I get it. However, there is no criteria for a swimmer to have social skills. In fact, if you spend more time in the pool than say, the average dolphin, who incidentally is probably smarter than the average human; then perhaps you lack social skills.

I'm speculating, but when you take a gawky awkward kid, who's primary skill in life is to swim faster than other awkward kids, give him say millions of dollars, popularity which has to be at the best difficult for even refined people. Hell politicians screw this kind of thing up daily, and its there JOB, to deal with the public.

I mean basically we're in the Garden of Eden with a very LARGE tree with bulbous Neon Fruit, a Snake with a bullhorn, and Kid with the keys to kingdom furnished him from society.

Fast forward to Kellogg's spokeswoman, " who threw out some choice terms including ""low life". Nice. Really nice.

Lets revisit this scenario in even simpler terms. We have a kid. Maybe somewhat cool. From my observations, I doubt it. Lets give him world fame and celebrity status, loose him in the world and see what happens.

Here's what happens. He gets spotted hitting bong in South Carolina. South Carolina?? Really? Potentially $100 million dollars in sponsorships, and he hits about $4.75 worth of cheap weed in Podunk, South Carolina. A place that is so removed from the real world, that State Troopers speculate, they could prosecute on "Pictorial Evidence". State Troopers? I don't think we'll be seeing CSI South Carolina any time soon. Can you say, "Hey Barn, get the fingerprint Kit".

Really. I mean Really. You look at all of these dynamics, and you have Phelps, ergo the stick of social dynamite, so to speak. Society and all it entails, which I will plug into the equation as the fuse prepped and ready. Which leaves the real culprit and culpable figure in this, his handlers, parents, real friends. Did no-one see this coming? Really? Really?

Bob Knight, when interviewed about this, and I have no idea why, talk about needed a handler, this guy needs a keeper; said, basically, "how dumb can this guy be?"

Answer. Not as DUMB as the people responsible for this kid. The people who built him up. Somebody had to know this was coming. If you are a corporation and you invest Millions of Dollars in a kid for swimming, it should occur to you that maybe, just maybe you should look into his publicity people.

To sum. Michael Phelps is behaving like most 23 year old kids. I don't condone the behavior, at all. However, getting mad at a 23 year old geek for trying to get (and I'm guessing) laid at a party, hits a bong, is ridiculous at best. To use another analogy, and I know these get old, but I love them; its like putting a 7 year old in Porshe starting it up, and getting mad at him for crashing it.

Enough already. He's a swimmer. Yes, and a role model. And yes, that should have been drilled into his head. However, if after 15 million dollars (give or take) he still doesn't get it, somebody should have pointed this out, long before South Carolina's "Flipper Gate"

Just wanted to share.

Living Room of Dreams

Walking out of the cornfield the man asks, "Is this Heaven?"

"No it's Iowa." Field of Dreams. One of my favorite movies of all time. Kevin Costner has a love affair with baseball that really seems to be on the pulse of the game. I would say this is before Steroids, Congress, and 72 Million dollar contracts. I would suspect, and I could be wrong, but I get the feeling that Mr. Costner would be just as at home with a Double A Double Dip on a Tuesday afternoon, as he would box seats at Yankee Stadium.

So I'm sitting here contemplating the shame of icing my elbow and shoulder after playing several 3 inning games of Wii Baseball. But I remember, like it was just minutes ago (probably because it was) fouling off those seventeen pitches before going deep on the giant-headed armless lefty chic, who had proven to be so formidable those first two innings.

Me, I'm still trying to figure out the remote control's; but I am, and I mean I really am, the reason those things got a bracelet attached. In fact I'm the guy they added the locking clip for. Why? And you know the answer to this. Why? Because I'm that guy. You know. The fat guy, using accurate but clumsy form hurling himself from a full wind-up towards the big screen. I'm the guy who starts fast ball, goes curve, and then 2 splitters to close the deal. Listen to that for a minute. "fast ball, goes curve, and then 2 splitters to close the deal." Sounds like I'm the shit. At least I'm half right.

The shame of it all. The shame. I'm too out of shape to play Wii. But still, as I stand there looking at a Television I have no business affording, and I hit this virtual ball, and the joystick vibrates (insert Beavis and Butthead joke here), and makes the sweat sweat sound of the crack of a bat....... I tell ya what. For just a second it takes me back to better places, days, and childhood memories.

So I guess the question is, "Is this heaven?"
"Sadly: No, its Nintendo".

Traditional Pregnancy Test

This just in..... Apparently one in four woman can misread a "traditional pregnancy test" Well thank god for Clear Blue Easy. Apparently there is now an easier way to determine if your pregnant than the BLUE line. That would be the "your pregnant" BLUE line. But wait there's more. This how they've improved the concept, for now if your pregnant Clear Blue Easy "Digital" prints the word "Pregnant" on the test for you.

Hmmmmmmmm. Possible flaws? I can think of a few. Firstly, if you are so stupid that you could not interpret the original Clear Blue Easy pregnancy test, then it occurs to me that you probably can't read. More-over if you can't follow the "BLUE" its you, then pregnancy itself might be a mystery in its own.... "So the guy says Rubbers, hell these things don't work. I been wearing one for 3 weeks and I caught a cold"

The Perfect Storm

You know sometimes things just seem to conspire together. The "Fates" as it were. There are just some days when god puts just the right amount of stupid, with a pinch of confusion, two table spoons of arrogance, one family that has several appearances on "Springer"; neatly combined with a Nurse who knows enough amateurs psychology to be...... stupid. Not so much dangerous. Maybe dangerously stupid. Yeah. Fits (dangerously stupid). Topped off with a Dr who's sarcasm and impulse control make yours truly seem both dull and methodical. A Dr. Who would make House MD. cry. Oh. and me.





Part I. It begins (clouds on the horizon)


So on my way in this morning I call to check on said individual I am working with on placement for some of his "issues"; and I get his nurse on the phone. We'll call her "Madame Empathy" or "Miss Co-Dependant" at this point. So MS. E starts rambling on about how the patient is fine, that he is just "miss understood". "a child robbed of his youth".... "Clearly the victim in all of this"Bla bla bla, and the kicker here comes in with the, and I hate this part, the "You know what I mean?" Like somehow I'm in the loop with this lady. Were kindred. Compadres out to heal the world............... This would be where the headache just starts to form.





Arrival confirms my suspicions. The woman..... Is..... an idiot. Which is ok in certain scenario's, not so much this particular happenstance. I continue further discourse with said Nurse reveals that she has gotten along sooooooooooo famously with our patient that he has agreed to get a flu shot. Hazaaaaaaaaa. Making the world Vomit Free for you and Me....





Part II. The interview (Darkening Skies)

So I'm interviewing Cato here, and he notes that suddenly he has an unusual muscle spasm in his arm and shoulder. Not clear why or how. I take note and we continue the interview. Pain "reportedly" gets worse and moves to his neck. At this point lacking any medical knowledge I defer to the MD who confirms my suspicion that said individual is "faking". Still, such that I am unsure of even how to confront "faking" I go back in to continue, only to find that the "spasms" are worse, and now he is having trouble seeing.



Know to fully appreciate the bad acting that is taking place, imagine auditioning to be an extra on the old television show Chips, only not to receive a call back. Its like bad porn acting. Only worse somehow. A monologue on Miami Vice. You know the kind of stuff that hurts.



Part III. (Impending vitriolic storm)



So lets surmise. At this point, I am in a holding pattern because I can no longer fully asses the client because, He appears to be pretending to physically decompensate and I am waiting to see his next move (both out of fascination and curiosity). However, my job dictates I have other tasks to perform so whilst I am away the stupid come out to play. Let me clarify. As soon as I step down the hall Nurse Ratchet/Nightingale takes it upon herself to continue her assessment of this poor lost soul, and has now managed to either knowingly and or unknowingly create the possibility of this becoming a legal matter. So here I am trying to tolerate Ray Charles dinner theater, when I get up for intermission only to return to The Helen Keller Story. Fortunately I had Dr. Phils personal dog trainer (Nurse wackit) to explain the behaviors for me.



Part IV. (And then it rained)

Finishing up another matter I am summoned by a policeman to talk to the patient. In walking into the room I find what I can only call more proof of evolution and a stronger case for birth control than I wanted or expected to see. Apparently Mamma, Daddy, Jethro, Cletus, Clovis, and the entire Nascar racing team for Oxy Codone had come to support their "Boy". Touching moment really. Ok not so much. Upon my entrance into this small room I find the patient now sticking his tongue out to perhaps mimick the rarely identified Tardic Dyskenesthia with rapid onset. Its like anafalactic shock, only without the shock. No sweat, tremors........ nothing really, just faking. However, apparently the Clampet family has not had the opportunity to purview some of the finer theatrics life has to offer so the are encapsulated and enraptured with our young wounded swan. I get the "You ain't takin my boy..........." "What are gonna do about......" "You look just like a pig........" Kind of questions.



Now I do manage to settle the mob, with the mere use of a lighter and the promise of tickets to the upcoming Wrestle Mania. I am now viewed as a Deity. I can make fire and create passes to the greatest Wrestling Event Known to man. So I'm starting to piss this fire down at least to some degree when it happens.



Part V. Lightning Crashes the Party

Now, it has been said that some doctors lack tact. Low some Doctors are even narcissistic at times. And granted as one progresses further up on the food chain of intelligence, one can tend to lose some of the fruit of social skill so to speak. And Speak he did. This guy. This Doctor who presents with the dry humor akin to British Culture, and A sense of Aloof entitlement sometimes seen with those of German Descent ("not only do you suck, but sadly you are not me").



So are hero enters stage right. Family begins to question prince empathy about "their boy". And sure as I'm typing this they got all the answers with both barrels. Dr. Mengela when one family member stated,
" he can't go anywhere like this" responded with

"well he's not goin in my car." Silence. Again the natives stand in awe as if the great man has produced beads mirrors and fire water.



Another family member makes reference to the client being "crazy" to which the Doctor responds " "thats for sure". Which was when I left.



Part VI (time for shelter)

I had finally had enough. I was afraid of the questions the family would ask, and more afraid of the Doctors Responses. Much more. I did upon exiting instruct one of the deputies to not "take his eye off the Doctor" as for fear of retribution for his communicable disease (communication).



At this point I am walking down the hall shaking my head, trying to figure out if what I just saw really happened. Really?



So the Doc orders further tests for our boy and the family is instructed to leave by the police, and things are somewhat right with the world. Standing quietly next to Dr. Strangelove I mention, kind of stammeringly, " Read any good books on Empathy lately? " A poor nurse who had to witness this whole afternoon almost fell out of her chair laughing. And then when the Dr looks at me and says "what?" She pretty much did (fall out of her chair).



I began to try and recount some of his dialogue with the family. Like the parts when He explained that the client was "faking it" in such a way that I could only define as incendiary. Shortly into this dialogue I realized the futility of my point. This was a man who redefines blunt. A man who both walks loudly and carries a big stick... With a hammer on the end.



My favorite part came when I left the scene of the crime where two policemen where trying to maintain order, and he is explaining to the worried family why their son is full of shit. I walk out shaking my head and there is nurse stupid. Piningly she looks into the room and says, " l love working with him" I think referring to the Doctor. I am tired, frustrated, and worried about a Dr. who's social ineptitude is only eclipsed by his medical genius; and I simply walk drudgingly toward my car looking forward to a time when I can peacefully share this story with you the readers.

wii or should I say weeeeeeeeeee

Oh were to begin. The shame of it all really. I finally broke down and got a wii for the kids (lie, all about me). I've heard all the great hoopla and balderdash, about the great wii. The excitement, the fitness craze, the ability to get car sick in your own living room. So far. All true.

As per fitness, I don't know if these thing is good exercize, or an indicator of just how out of shape I am. I'm most certain the latter. After using solid fundamentals and dismantling my first four opponents (computer replicated) with apparent ascention in difficulty, I barely had time to be impressed with myself as I watched my three year old drop a 3rd round decision to my would be fifth opponent. It was about six minutes of "yeah daddy" arm flailing and button pushing. It was like watching hobbits re-enact a baseball fight.

Even as I type this my arms are sore. Sore from the boxing? Maybe. Perhaps the grueling 1 game tennis sets, or the three innings of bobble-head baseball. To whit, I threw more junk than Phil Niekro at the Seniors All-star Game.

Still, I am excited. Motivated, challenged. I will continue my quest to be or to wii the best boxer I can be. Tomorrow. Bowling.

Good times I tell ya. Good times. If this isn't old, got help me when I become it.

And so we blog........

I had the distinct privilege of attending a party with my wife Saturday evening. Something I find to be a somewhat rare treat. Now granted, we did have kids in tow, so party... not so much. Still I love any scenario where human beings gather to socialize. At times it is just interesting. While at other times I feel like a large crocodile sitting in a small pond in the African Savanna on a hot hot day.

The party. My wife's friends who are primarily composed of engineer types, and some collegiate effluents scattered about. Mostly wife's friends co-workers. You know the usual suspects. I'll start with the ever popular, Boss.Tonights version was a true classic.

The boss.

Guy walks in and the first thing I hear is that he is from Texas. Not just from Texas, but from Texas in that, "I'm from Texas and your not" kind of way. Not that I had time to think that it could get worse, but it went ahead and did without my approval. The boss of course brought "the bosses wife" again, another archetypal figure. Enough make-up and jewelery ensconced such that at any moment I felt as though we could go live to Televangelist event. To further heighten the mood she was as politically incorrect as she was tacky. Nothing like leading off a party dialogue with discussions about conflicts between the Republic of Georgia, and Russia; with residents from both countries. Thank god for social skills, and I suspect liquor. The woman actually quoted Rodney King, with the famous/infamous "Can't we all just get along?"

I'm not making this up. I'm not that creative. Cynically based comedic type that I be, I immediately start looking for something to write on, paper, napkin, tree bark. Anything to truly do justice to this social event which is unfolding before me.

And oh yes, just when you thought it was safe to go back into the water.... I look up and standing before me, is a man approximately 7 feet 14 inches tall, wearing the ugliest shirt I have ever seen in my life. Again please bear in mind, that I am impulse control challenged. I am already fighting back urges here that strain my better judgement. To speak Fruedian, if I dare, my Id is Really wanting to come off the chain. REEEEEEEEEEeaally.

"Just don't look at the shirt. Don't look at it. it's hideous. Even for paisley. I don't even now that shade of ..... don't look at the shirt ..... green exists".

The boss interjects (hand to god, happened) "That's a nice shirt Where'd ya g....." I begin to feel faint, laughter building need to comment overwhelming. Spirit of Louis Black rising from within.

I step away for a moment to get some air. My blessed spouse who is observant but perhaps not completely. Walks over to me, noting my flush color (I get flush when I want to laugh at people and can't). She asked me

"what is it?" I look incredulously at her "No really what?" Again I am dumbfounded "WHAT".

At this point I turn to her friend (our) and say, "now. you know me right? (she nodds) And you know my sense of humor (second nodd)? Do ya think right now is the best time to inquire as to my thoughts in any anecdotal manner?" Slight giggle. Point taken.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah calm. I breathe. Happy unfunny thoughts. Happy Zen moments.

Nope. The fertile ground of humor continues to spill forth. I am trapped between a right-wing Christendom view of Russian Politics, and a fashion show for Frankensteins Monster, complete with a discussion about socks. Socks? At least it can't get any worse................. I swear I think I heard god laugh when I thought this.

For it now seems the boss has started a discussion about his weekly morning YOGA routine on his wii game console. Complete with showing us his new poses. Now while I am thrilled that this man is seeking eastern treatments for relaxation and overall improvement of health, despite full knowledge that as a Christian from Texas he will surely burn in Hell with all the Democrats and small foreign car owners. I really didn't need to see his "warrior pose" or his "dangling downward dog" thing right there in the living room.

And dare I say it, suddenly I am trapped in a Yoga discussion I can't escape, eyes burning from this boot wearing freaks flexibility I turn quickly away only to find some woman's buttocks squarely in my face. Yes that's right, there's always one at every party. The "one upper". This woman also felt the need to display her flexibility so she promptly bent over completely. Which again was odd, because she was placed such and I was standing such that essentially all I could see was butt. Nothing else. Just Butt.

Again my mind began to swim and I escaped to the kitchen.

Silence. Sweet sweet dulcid silence. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Best 4 seconds of the night. For the next thing I know. The butt comes in and sits down across from me. I play it cool. My wife comes in, and despite the fear that she might say anything at anytime, to trigger uncontrollable and inconsolable mirth on my part, I am a rock. Steady and Strong.

Then it happens. And for those of you out there who aren't as "party savvy" as myself; a word to the wise, "stay away from accordion chatter my friends". The accordion might seem like a safe topic but in the hands of the socially inept, Pandora's harmonica can lead you on a bad bad solo.

Daughter comes down. For the sake of time and deference to Dr. Seuss, I will call her "Thing one". Thing one complains to mom (buttock lady) that her sister (thing 2) will not share the accordion. Mom is patient and tells thing one to be as well (patient). Some moments later Father of Things one and two, and spouse of buttock, who of course is none-other than the big footed fashion terror from a big and tall shop for the near sighted and sexually disoriented men of the north woods, steps forth and decrees that yes the accordion will be shared much to thing two's discontent.

At this point I am exhausted. I have had 1,327 jokes all running through my head at once. Most of which are neither kind, nor funny to anyone but myself and possibly the late Sam Kinneson; and in moment of weakness I turn to ass lady and say, "You know its ironic, cause most people don't even like the accordion".

This was her response:

"When I was in college I had a gym teacher who used to play the accordion. Every night, alone in his room, he would play beautifully. Many times I would walk by and just listen. Some nights I even sat out on the grass, like a little concert. It was dark so he couldn't see out, but I could see in (anywhere at this point the word naked would have truly improved the quality of this story). He was quite surprised one day when I complemented him on his playing (any reference to stalking or restraining orders would have also heightened this particular piece). "

I was speechless. Moved. Not to tears. Or at-least tears of happiness or kindness. I was cornered really. This poor man dragged from his secret closet life of accordion playing. Gym teacher by day, sissy pirate musician by night. The scandal

If I had a choice at this point I probably would have said, "that's gin" got up and walked out of the house; as it was however, my wife and children were present such that I retrieved them and we departed happily for home. I enjoyed the privilege of sharing the party through my eyes with her and together we both agreed that it was time for us to purchase a wii.