The Answer Is Always More Cowbell

Insure This!

2009-11-16T14:32:00.001-08:00

I began a rant on Facebook today but unfortunately I was limited in space to say how I really feel. On the FB I had noted that I am not one to express his political views publicly. I say live and let live, everybody has their views and the right to hold them and express them as they see fit. Me I choose to keep mine to my self typically. However, today I am furious, and feel like I have something to say, though it may fall on deaf ears, for me it will be cathartic. I found out I was denied for health insurance today. Insurance companies can kiss my ever loving bare white ass! I am furious that they can deny me coverage because of my so called "pre-existing conditions".

I have been genetically blessed (thanks mom and dad) with health concerns, in fact most all of us have. Sure I must take my share of the responsibility. After all I can do some limited things to help control these problems, but in the end genetics take over and it is what it is. Medical science has made it possible for my fat lazy ass to take pills to control the disorders that could potentially kill me and I for one am thankful for this.

I have never been subjected to such discrimination prior to this denial. I have been fortunate enough to have been consistently insured through employment. Earlier this year I became unemployed and thus privy to a different vantage point of the current health care system. Particularly the insurance industry and it's broken ass EFF'D up policies on insuring people.

I have followed the debate and listened to these so called politicians bicker and spin their bullshit about right and wrong, and in the end it is all about the almighty dollar. I have no problem with capitalism but at what cost?

I can't get insured privately because I have pre-existing conditions that make me too much of a liability in their black soulless eyes. God forbid they insure someone with high blood pressure or high cholesterol because they will have to pay for the medications and lab work required to manage my condition. God forbid those executives don't get to take their next exotic vacations or pay the mortgages on their indulgent mansions they live in while I have to quit taking my cholesterol medications because I can't afford to pay full price for them.

So now, when I have that heart attack and have to be rushed to the hospital, in the end who is going to pay for the bill? Not the bastards sitting in their huge office buildings throwing wads of their filthy lucre at each other! It will be the tax payers. You are welcome America, I apologize in advance. Write your congress man if you don't like it!

Congress sits up there on Capitol Hill and debates about it, making senseless propaganda ridden arguments perpetuated by the lobbyists that are taking them out on their yachts and giving their States, kickbacks for taking care of them. All the while the freakin' Republican party is chatting cries of "socialism" and how we are turning in to the now defunct Soviet Union. They are clueless about such things and have never lived in, nor even visited some of these so called "socialist" countries.

Their argument that the quality of medical care would substantially drop if we adopted a socialized medical model is just plain crap. I have experienced socialized medicine, it was fine. I am still alive to tell about it! I don't even care if we do adopt a socialized medical model. I would be happy with a system that didn't discriminate on pre-existing conditions and that allowed you to choose whatever doctor you want to see. Make it affordable and accessible and I will shut up. I am willing to pay something, I was ready to shell out almost $200 a month as it was for a minimal plan. Now I can shell out $200 a month for one prescription and I have 4 that I should be taking daily.

The system the way it is, in my opinion, is criminal. I am in between the income levels to qualify for Medicaid, and can't afford getting insurance through my wife's group plan. All the while the fat cat politicians and the big company executives that have them in their hip pockets are fully insured and can eat their rib eye steaks and caviar, while I have to eat leafy green vegetables and oatmeal to stay alive. Ok a bit dramatic but you get the point.

Whew.....do I feel better? Not particularly. However, I can at least say that I said something. You may not agree, or you may agree with portions of the venom that I have spewed. Like I said, to each his own. Just remember that someday it could happen to you. And when it does, I hope by then something has changed and Congress can go on to debating the next bullshit agenda item that their lobbyists have asked them to push. Viva la revolution! Peace, love and good health for all!

Gonna Have to Face it.........

2009-08-05T10:12:00.000-07:00

Crack cocaine. Scourge of the inner cities of our nation in the 80s and 90s. A highly addictive derivative of the more expensive cocaine, that led to the addiction of millions of men and women because of the intense high and the cheap accessibility of these "rocks".
Spawning the term "crack whore" named for the women who would prostitute themselves just to get that next high they were so badly jonesin' to get. Ultimately producing the "crack baby" who was born addicted to this substance through the in-vitro transfer to the child.
Soon crack was replaced by an even cheaper and more addictive drug methamphetamine which produced a similar high that lasted longer and was cheaper and easier to obtain. Meth continues to plague our great nation, taking it's toll on families because of it's highly addictive properties.

Now I did not decide to write this blog to educate people on substance abuse, rather a much different, yet just as addictive activity as doing drugs. I am referring to the ever popular, cue music; dum dum duuuummm; Facebook.
Yes my friends Facebook has now become the crack and meth of this generation. I speak of this through my own experience and the experiences of those around me. They know who they are. Just like a meth user can spot another meth user from a mile away, so too can the Facebook addict, affectionately called amongst it's constituents as "Crackbook". Add to it the fact that if you own a "Crackberry" device, you can access your Crackbook account any place any time with the push of a button. This becomes one powerful speedball that will keep you coming back time and time again.

Crackbook has penetrated deep into the nooks and crannies of urban as well as suburban, hell, even rural areas of the world. This is a pandemic unequaled by any other plague in history. An unstoppable force that just keeps growing and dragging unwitting victims into the depths of addiction with no respite. It has no discretion as to age, sex, socioeconomic status. It preys on any and all who heed it's call to "reconnect" with old friends and acquaintances. Social networkers looking to in turn prey upon the imprisoned masses looking for the next high, have found this forum to be highly lucrative and an excellent platform to gain their own real world riches. Like big tobacco, disregarding the harmful effects of their products, only seeking to gain from the misfortune of those gullible enough to take that first puff, that first hit.

Become a mob boss, a gangster. Accumulate untold wealth in a world of crime and adventure. Taking pleasure from the notion that you just whacked another mobster and gained more power and status. Prefer a slower paced life? Become a farmer, planting crops, harvesting them and selling them for a small profit just so you can get your next fix of whatever fruit or vegetable you can afford to plant. Don't have enough money? Go to the market and whore yourself out like the crack whores of old, begging for the job that will allow you to satiate your craving for more land, bigger homes, and infamy; as people praise what you have built as a Farm Empire from just a few patches of potatoes.

Crackbook has caused great minds such as myself to actually calculate whether it was more profitable to plant carrots vs. pumpkins. Even as I write this I am a slave to this cyberspace master, being beckoned by a friend to come harvest their crops for them. I can't say no, and quite frankly I don't know that I want to.

You see people get addicted to things because they receive some benefits from the addiction, although in the end it most usually ends poorly. Me, I just earned several thousands of dollars in a very short period of time. Like Pavlov's dogs, a bell rings, they get fed, they eventually learn to salivate at the sound of a bell. For the Crackbook addict as in real life, the pursuit of possessions helps feed the monster, I want that Farm Town Mansion, and I won't stop until I obtain the elusive prize. What then? Who can say for sure. One thing is for certain, you can find me on the Crackbook most everyday, searching for that elusive high, that next hit of whatever it may be to keep me coming back for more and more.

One for the ages

2009-08-03T09:54:00.001-07:00

I have to confess that I have been guilty of a heinous crime against well, myself. For the last lets say 5 or so years I have been professing that I am a fat, old, man. Perhaps it was turning 40, perhaps it was the seemingly never ending travail of aches and pains that have assaulted me more frequently, regardless, I felt old.
I say it all the time. I'm old. My beard is salt and pepper....more salt than pepper. My hair has shades of silver throughout, of course at least I still have a full head of hair. I have started to require reading glasses to read, I can't even see the date on my watch without them. Let's face it, I have reason to say that I am old.

The cherry on top of this proverbial sundae we call life came a week and a half ago when I started noticing that my heartbeat was extremely accelerated. I was helping a good friend install some sod at his home and I'll be damned if I was getting outdone by his wife which again made me feel ancient. She was hauling that sod around like it was some rag doll she was carrying around, meanwhile I would lift one piece and about pass out from exertion.

My feelings of inadequacy continued to worsen. My friends gave me their left over sod, enough to do our front yard, all I had to do was till up the weeds, rake it out, and haul the sod from his house to mine. I was on a tight time line as the temperature was in the 100's and the sod was going to die if we didn't get it down quickly. So here is the kicker, I ask my father, a 70 year old man, to come help me out since he has a big truck, and wouldn't you know it, the old man out did me as well. This is the man that had a heart attack 5 or so years ago and he is kicking my ass up and down the front yard. Granted my heart beat was going nuts and it was 107 degrees outside, and I had been working the whole day before, but still, embarrassing none the less. I am happy to say we got it all done and neither of us died, but I sure felt like I was going to.

So the next day I am taking it easy, feeling sorry for myself and much older than the 44 years that I have been in existence, and notice my heart racing, despite doing absolutely nothing. My wife takes my pulse and it hits 120 beats a minute. Resting heart rate should be in the 70's and mine is nearly double that. I make a determination that despite how much I hate going to the doctor, this seemed serious enough for me to consent to getting things checked out.

This happened over the weekend, fast forward to mid week. My doc sends me to a cardiologist to get a Holter Monitor which is a bunch of electrodes that will measure your heart activity over a 24 hour period, as the EKG he had done didn't show anything abnormal. So I am sitting in the waiting room at this cardiologist's office and begin to look around the room. Something just seemed out of place there, and that something was me. I glanced at the faces of the clientele in the office and noticed that I was surrounded by a room full of overweight septa-, and octogenarian men. No women, no middle aged men, just men that appeared to be much older than I.
It was like I had been awaken by the ghost of Christmas Future and he was showing me what my life was going to be like. I was in a circle of waiting room chairs, a kind of intimate setting really, surrounded by four other men, some with their wives some with their daughters who by appearance seemed to be older than me, but all these men were significantly older than myself. This experience was surreal to me. I sat there nodding as I listened to their conversations with each other, talking about what procedure they had done or were about to be getting done. Occasionally I would drop a witty quip so as to feel as if I were part of the discussion, however it opened my eyes to just how NOT old I really am.

People always point to life altering experiences and say how they are going to change or how it has actually changed their life. I have had a few in mine, but none that had this kind of impact on me. Have I run out and changed my eating habits, or even run anywhere in a feeble attempt to exercise? No. Do I believe that I will? At the moment I say yes, but the reality of it all is, I haven't made any attempts thus far so who knows. The main thing I will take from this is that I am indeed not old. I have only lived maybe half of my life. They say how old you are is a function of how old you think that you are. Chronologically I am 44 years old, mentally I have been acting like I am 70. That is what I can change. That is what I will change. Baby steps to the door, baby steps to the elevator, before you know it I could be tied the the mast of a sail boat exclaiming that "I'm sailing" just like Bob!

Employ Me

2009-07-14T13:30:00.000-07:00

Unemployment rates are on the rise in the United States and are the highest they have been in several years. Yours truly is counted amongst the not so elite company of the nation’s jobless community. My unfortunate inclusion with this group is not a result of layoffs due the current economic climate, although I suspect that could have played a part in the big scheme of things. Rather it was a premature, hasty, decision on my part to resign from my post due to circumstances that I will not relate here, as they are not particularly relevant to what I am trying to say in this piece. The point is that I am unemployed and currently seeking to become employed again.

I have been extremely blessed throughout my life as to not have had to work hard to get a job, and when I obtained employment I made damn sure to do the job well so I could maintain my status as employed. I have had three “real” jobs in my adult life; with some variations on the job it’s self. Throw out the fact that I did a tour of duty at the Sizzler starting out as a bus boy and within two months promoted to cook because I worked hard and took an interest in learning more about things. I stayed at the “Sizz” for 6 months before my mother pulled some strings to get me hired on with a residential treatment facility for adolescent females whose parents had a lot of money that they could throw at their problems. I worked as a maintenance man for the facility, fixing holes in walls, replacing light bulbs, that sort of menial labor. Thanks to my father, I was fairly handy which is not only a blessing but also a curse, but that is another piece for another time. This job quickly turned into a better job as a night watch counselor for a new adolescent boys program that they were starting up. I stayed with this job for 6 years before leaving it for a brief stint managing a pet store, which failed miserably.

Subsequently a friend put me onto a job working again, with adolescents, and it appeared to me that I had a calling to work with teenagers, which led me to obtain an education in Psychology to further my career goals. I stayed with this company for 7 years, through three different acquisitions by bigger corporations, and managed to not only maintain employment but also climb the career ladder.

Finally, as I could sense the changes coming in the air, I made a leap of desperation to work for the State of Utah. I took a big pay cut to make this change but it was better than the alternative, which was reveled to be the ultimate demise of this company. This would surely have led to my being unemployed for the first time since I was a young man, however it did not and I continued my status as an employed individual.

I worked for the State for nearly 10 years, which brings me to the aforementioned status of my unemployment. I gave you this history to help you understand my current plight, which has now opened my eyes to a world that heretofore I fortunately have not been a part. Being unemployed is hard work. Starting over, having no income, these things are difficult and I wish them on no one, well maybe someone but that again is another tale for another time.

The government has passed bills to funnel money back into the economy, giving it to huge corporations, under the premise that this would in turn help maintain and even “create” more jobs thus stimulating the economy, putting it back on whatever the metaphorical track it was or is supposed to be on, dependent on your views. Sure these things take time, it is a huge train to move, I get it believe me, I worked in a bureaucracy. My question is this…Where’s the benefit to the little guy? Meanwhile these big companies got all of this money while me along with hundreds of thousands of others are still unemployed standing here waiting for this to “trickle down” to the people.

I don’t presume to sit here at my desk and begin to imply that I am an expert on the economy; hell I can’t even manage my own finances. No, this is about the fact that it seems to me that the rich keep getting richer and the poor keep getting poorer. I don’t care if you are Democrat, Republican, or adhere to some other ideology, the fact of the matter is this, I have no job and not a dime of that money has funneled down to little ol’ me. And the thing that really chaps my hide is that I am still paying for that expenditure through the taxes I have paid and will pay through my wife’s income. Where’s mine Mr. President? Where’s mine Senator, Congressperson? Where the Eff is mine?

I just want a job people. I am a hard worker; I can do pretty much anything that is thrown my way, ok not anything because I can’t do math! I keep submitting my resume and keep getting told that I am not qualified. Give me a friggin’ break here. I guarantee that I could do the job as good as, if not better, than any other chump who happens to have had a job doing customer service or in retail for a year and therefore have the experience that you are looking for in a new hire.

So I say to my fellow Americans, who are out there treading water trying to keep their heads above the onslaught of economic despair, I empathize, I couldn’t say that before, but I can today. Keep the faith, here’s hoping that we get that life preserver thrown to us soon. Meanwhile I had better go get these resume's posted and dropped off to perspective employers so that I can get turned down some more. I sure wish my house would sell so I could get moved over to Hawaii and at least be poor and unemployed in paradise, but that too is another story for another time!

Man in the Mirror

2009-07-03T13:28:00.000-07:00

The self proclaimed "King of Pop", Michael Joseph Jackson, is dead. A week later the frenzy over his death continues, and not unlike his predecessor and former ghostly father in law, Elvis "The King of Rock" Presley, the frenzy will undoubtedly continue on for the rest of my lifetime in one form or another.

Like the rest of the world, I too was a fan of Michael and mourn his passing as not only sad but tragic. Taken before his time, 50 years of age, just as he was about to launch his highly anticipated ascension to the throne. This would be the Michael that the world wanted to remember, the man who changed the face of the music world, not the altered face of his human form, going out with a blaze of glory, back on top.

However there is a part of me that wonders if perhaps he isn't in a better place now. I look at Michael in a way that I believe his millions of adoring fans did not see him. I have ruminated over his death now for a week as I have watched the countless reports on his life and people making feeble attempts at tying themselves to his legacy in one way or another. This is the same man who was vilified for being an accused child molester by the same media machine that is now trying to cover his passing as if it has affected them personally.

I didn't know Michael personally, didn't know anyone who did know him. I never saw him in concert, have a few of his albums, but not all, yet I like to think I had an understanding of this man. I appreciated Michael for the musical genius he was, but with genius comes a price. Michael was different than most of us. As with many who are considered to have genius, they are concurrently just as eccentric as they are brilliant. Michael was no different. Thrust into the spotlight at a young age, Michael became a lost child. Accounts of his childhood tell tales of an allegedly abusive father that most likely had a hand in creating Michael's deficits that were so prevalent as fodder for the media that covered his every move while he matured before the world's eyes. My education and experience in Psychology and Social Work have taught me that an abused child will find a way to cope, however their coping does not always make up for the damage caused from the experiences they have.

The recording industry must have taken it's toll on Michael's psyche as well, perpetuating what was most likely started early on in his life. I have heard many, many so called stars recount their negative experiences with the industry. Imagine being a young man like Michael, thrust out of nowhere onto a world stage, in an industry that demands perfection. His childhood lost, he created a world of his own in which he could revert back to the childhood he so sorely missed out. He built the Neverland Ranch and surrounded himself with children in a mad attempt to reclaim that which was absent from his memories, but still he knew existed for others. He wanted that too, and sought it through means that were considered to be perverse and odd to those on the outside looking in to his world. Like Peter Pan, I suppose he didn't want to grow up because he knew what that was like and it was painful to him.

When Michael looked into his mirror, the man he saw was not the person he wanted to see. Though denying any modifications, the rest of the world watched as he changed right before our eyes. He became what some would say was a hideous looking soul, almost as if he were one of the zombies in his historic Thriller Video. Could his genius been born out of the nightmares that he must have suffered as a child, giving the world an album and video that was truly remarkable?

One can find meaning in anything, and art holds many meanings to those who not only create it, but to those who appreciate the works presented to them. The time I have spent listening to Michael's works of art in the last week have revealed a soul that I believe was not able to find its true Neverland. Michael lived in exile at times, sequestered from the world that once embraced him only to then turn on him like some cobra that has been grabbed by it's tail. One last attempt on his part to recapture the hearts and imagination of the world through a comeback concert ended prematurely. The world has lost a tortured soul, a genius, the likes of which may never surface again. Michael Joseph Jackson is dead, rest in peace. I hope you find your Neverland wherever you land in this universe.

Just Write

2009-05-05T09:10:00.000-07:00

I used to hate writing. My earliest recollections of having to write were that it was a requirement for some stodgy old teacher who derived pleasure from the cries and moans of the children in their classes. My guess was that they were into torture, and secretly had a dungeon with a cage and various other implements of pain that they would use on unsuspecting traveling salesmen and small children whose baseballs landed in her yard. I personally never experienced that exact scenario, but I heard the stories.

As I grew I still never really gained an affinity for writing, however I discovered that I wasn't half bad at it. That meant that I was at least half good at it; but I still didn't enjoy it. I recall one assignment that I was given in high school, in fact my mother found it in a box recently, and it was to journal everyday of the quarter. I think of myself as an empathetic person. (Maybe Pres. Obama would appoint me to the Supreme Court?) I suddenly felt the pain of all those tortured traveling salesmen and baseball-less children in a giant cage, being poked at with a stick by a hunchbacked, troll of a man, who was ultimately discovered to be her love child from a one night stand with a aluminum siding salesman, whom she subsequently tortured and devoured like some humanoid black widow. Sorry, I digress.

As I was saying, I had this assignment and I spent every day of the quarter writing about how much I hated writing. I must admit, it was slightly funny, even now I read it and chuckle at my wit. Yet, it had no real substance. It basically went like this... "I hate writing, I hate is so very much. I hate it more than I hate broccoli and I really hate broccoli, that is how much I hate writing." I went on to compare writing to all of the things in my teenage world that I had extreme contempt for, including the teacher. I figured she wouldn't really read them so I tossed in a few jabs at her now and again to see if she was paying attention. She never called me on it so I suspect my postulation was correct.

College wasn't much better, there I had to write research papers and the like. That was boring and pointless as well. Unfortunately I didn't get the luxury of adding insults and witty commentary about my professors and how I thought that perhaps they too had cages and implements of torture that they would use on students who dared to visit them during office hours. Regardless, throughout all of my suffering, I learned and gained a respect for writing.
Fast forward to today. It has been several months now since I have written anything other than a honey do list and maybe a few bad checks. You see, I recently lost my motivation to write due to some, lets just say shit, that gave me a pretty good right hook to the jaw and sent me to my corner to regain my composure. But today, I choose to just write. I don't know how often I will blog, but I have good intentions and hope that this is a new beginning for me. I started on a novel, didn't get very far with it, but I hope that I will get back to work on that as well.

Long story short, I enjoy writing now. I don't have anyone to answer to but myself. I am not being graded, and I do it because I can, not because it is required. I will just write.

Snow, Snow Go Away

2008-12-16T06:38:00.000-08:00

In case anyone cares, I am done with the snow. It can just go away now. Unlike Ice Cube, today is NOT a good day, if I had an AK I would probably be forced to use it. (for you older folk that is in reference to a rap song. An AK is a Russian assault rifle and I could have used one this morning.)

Sure no two snow flakes are exactly alike, but to me they all look the same, they look cold and slippery and I am done. DONE I tell ya!

I am already tired of lame ass people feeling the need to go 20 MPH on the freeway because they are afraid. I get it, your ascared, no worries, but for God's sake get the crap outta my way. And don't take up two lanes, believe me when I say I would shoot you if I had my AK.

AK is also the abbreviation for Alaska, which I blame for this stoopit weather. Not only that, but that Sarah Palin chick (although I gotta admit that it did provide me with lots o' laughs at her expense thanks to Tina Fey!) I am certain they did something else to piss me off, but mainly Alaska is just cold and snowy and they say that this cold weather is coming down from up there, so thanks for that.
So yeah I am done, stick a fork in me.

Novel Concept

2008-12-09T09:00:00.000-08:00

Well it's official. I have joined the ranks of those who are "working on a novel." I am very excited to be one of those people who can now say, "yeah, I have written a couple of screen plays and now I am working on my novel."
The funny thing about it is, I have no clue what I am doing. Sure I have a concept, and a vague outline about how the story will go. I haven't ever really considered writing a novel, but what the hell. I figure what do I have to lose? That chick that wrote those damn vampire books can do it, why not me.

I'm sure it will sit in my computer along with my screen plays and the only use it will have is to give me an interesting comment to insert into a conversation occasionally. But hey, I am working on a novel, and you can't take that away from me. So if you are very nice and beg me a lot, I may let you take a peek at it some time. And you, being the nice people you are will say, oh that's really good, and in reality it will probably be drivel.
But at least I can say..."yeah I am working on a novel." Can you? And if you are also working on a novel, we can compare notes, and if you know a good publisher let me know!

The Toys of Christmas Past

2008-12-02T06:48:00.001-08:00

Well another year has come and gone and Christmas is looming large on the horizon. In anticipation of this, I got to thinking about all of the Christmas mornings that I have had over the years, particularly of the ones when I was a young child, and came up with a list of gifts that I recall receiving. I have decided to do a list of comparisons between similar gifts in honor of all the super cool stuff I loved and enjoyed as a child.

Tinker Toys Vs. Erector Set:

Growing up with a father that was a mechanic and watching him work on cars and fixing things in general, I developed a curiosity for well, tinkering with or erecting things. I recall several Christmas' over the years in which I received one or t'other of these collections of parts that one could pour out all over the table or floor, and build some of the most wonderfully awesome contraptions.

My preference was the Erector set. (Is it just me or does the name Erector set just sound dirty?) He he he he, yes I know I am acting like a little kid, but how can I not, it's Christmas! So yeah, the Erector set (he he he) was awesome. I liked it better than Tinker Toys because it was made of metal parts. These things had all sorts of nuts and bolts and pulleys and wheels that you could slap together and create the best sorts of machines. I loved making a catapult and then putting hot wheels in it and launching them at my siblings. Oh the fun it was erecting things!

Tinker Toys were alright. They were made of wood which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but not as cool as metal. You had a bunch of round pieces of wood that had a bunch of holes drilled into them and then several lengths of wooden dowels that you could push into the holes to create some pretty cool stuff. It came with some directions for things you could make and of course if you were really creative you could concoct your own machines that were pretty cool. But by in large the Tinker Toys just weren't as fun as the Erector set in my opinion.

Lincoln Logs Vs. Lego:

An off shoot of the Tinker Toy vs. Erector Set debate is the Lincoln Log vs. Lego discussion. Again like the Tinker Toys you had a wooden product vs. a much more sleek and sturdy product in the Lego's that were hard plastic. Again you could build some pretty cool shit with both gifts, although with the Lincoln Logs you were pretty much limited to building Log cabins. Don't get me wrong, I love me some log cabins. Hell if it was good enough for Honest Abe, it was certainly good enough for the likes of me. I could build some pretty cool cabins with my Lincoln Logs. Both products were good for hucking at your siblings when they would come along and break your creations, though the Logs held a lot more appeal for the hurling process because they were bigger so they carried more velocity than the comparatively smaller and lighter Lego blocks.

I think the versatility of the Lego's were in my mind the better toy to have. There were just so many more interesting things you could do with the Lego's, you weren't just limited to building housing for small plastic Army dudes.

Verti-bird Vs. Plane on a String:

Oh how I long for my Verti-bird helicopter. The Verti-bird helicopter set was a masterpiece that was by far my favorite toy ever! I am sure many of my readers may not have ever heard of, or seen a Verti-bird, but to this day I still wish I had one. In fact anyone who gets me one for Christmas this year will earn my undying gratitude. This was the most awesome toy ever created on God's green earth. It was a little plastic helicopter that was attached to a metal arm that had two levers on a control box that made the helicopter go up/down and forward/backward. Sure it only went around and around in a circle, but I'll be damned if that wasn't just hours of joy. It also had a hook on the bottom of the copter that you could use to hover and pick up things. The challenge was to pick up an item and then carry it to another spot on the Verti-bird landscape, which was basically a painted piece of cardboard with a heli-pad for the landing area. I would spend hours playing with this thing until I wore the batteries out.

The plane on a string was well, in my opinion not quite as cool. Sure it was as dangerous as the Verti-bird in that it had a plastic propeller that would really hurt if it hit your fingers, and sure like the Verti-bird it was an aircraft that went round and round in a circle. But the fact of the matter is, your arm got tired of having to spin this thing around your head over and over again. I have to admit that it was fun to chase your younger brothers and friends around threatening to run it into them. But then your parents would just take it away from you, and you were left to beg your sister for a tasty light bulb warmed cake treat from her Easy Bake Oven. Then, when she wouldn't share, you couldn't threaten her with the plane because your mom took it away and so you would threaten to eat the cake batter before she could cook it, then she tells mom and you are relegated to sitting in your room with all your broke ass toys from the Christmas before.

Slot Car Track Vs. Train Set:

I never really got either one of these toys, but I always wanted them. Every year I would pull out the Sears and Roebuck catalogue and I would look at all of the magnificent slot car tracks, dreaming of all the spectacular races that I would have. I always wanted the biggest race track that they had, but would tell my parents that I would settle for a smaller, less expensive one. There were some really cool race tracks and I never got any of them. I had friends that got them, and of course I got to play with theirs, that was cool. In fact it was actually not a horrible thing that I didn't have one because I got the pleasure of playing with my friends and didn't have all of the headache of actually setting up the track. I am betting that is why my parents never got me one, I discovered this when I bought my own kids a slot car set. Every time they wanted to play, I had to set it up and it is a real pain in the ass.

Like the slot car set, the train set was something that I would always look at in the catalogue and dream about the biggest one with all of the tunnels and bridges and having like 20 different train cars. A train set didn't hold the appeal of the slot car track because of it's lack of speed, but dang a train set would have been cool to have. Again, thankfully I had friends that had trains, and we would have a good ol' time putting hot wheels on the tracks or stealing a sister's barbie doll to put down and then let the train run into them, all the while the sister is screaming and telling on you. It either resulted in de-railing the train or just pushing the toy out of the way, then continuing on clacking down the tracks as if nothing had happened. Of course the mom would come and un-plug the train and tell you to go outside and quit bugging the sister.

Like the slot car track I bought a train set for one of my own children and had fun with it myself, however again I realized that my parents probably didn't get me one because of the labor intensiveness carried with the "some assembly required" slogan. As a parent I have learned that toys for kids should be as little work as possible for the parent. After all, isn't that the idea behind getting toys, to keep the kid busy, not the parent?

Hot Wheels Vs. Matchbox:

Two different versions of the same thing. For my money Hot Wheels were the only game in town though. I mean how could you not love the Hot Wheels better. They had the better looking wheels. Plus they had all these cool concept cars that were so awesome. Who didn't love the Red Baron car with it's Nazi helmet as the cab of the vehicle and the kick ass engine that it sported? Hot Wheels also had so many killer tracks that you could buy and race cars on. Damn I loved those orange slats of plastic that were held together with smaller tongue like pieces of plastic. Not to mention those tracks were good for sword fighting or smacking your siblings with when your mom sent you to your room after taking away your Plane on a string toy!

Matchbox just had miniature versions of the real cars like the Pontiac Station Wagon or the Ford Panel Van. In my mind the Matchbox cars were the generic brand of toy vehicles and certainly looked the part. I don't even recall whether Matchbox made a race track for their vehicles or not, but you certainly could run them down the Hot Wheels track just fine.

Overall I think Hot Wheels just had the better accessories not to mention the better looking cars.

Lastly, though I won't compare it to anything, because in all actuality there is really no comparison. Right next to the Verti bird, my next favorite Christmas toy was the Big Wheel. Man did I love that thing. Who was the bad boy cruisin' round the streets of San Jose on his spankin' new bad ass Big Wheel? Me that's who. It was so awesome to get peddling as fast as you possibly could and then just hit the proverbial brakes by instantly stopping the pedal motion and holding the big front wheel from spinning, resulting in a skid for the ages. When they came out with the hand break on the rear wheels it was even more fun to get up to top speed and slide out sideways. Eventually you would ware a flat spot in the Big Wheel from all of the skidding and you would have to ride around with a "flat" tire that couldn't be repaired.

Taking it off of jumps was pretty sweet too, although I don't think I ever really caught as much air as I believed I had. I once tried to get my little sister to lie down under the jump so that I could try to see if I could clear her like some sort of pre-pubescent Evel Knievel. She would never stay still long enough for me to try, and it's probably just as well looking back on it.

So there you have it. As with most of my lists it is not comprehensive and is certainly open for debate or elaboration on the part of the reader.

Of course in reading this, one might wonder how I ever managed to get anything out of Santa at all. It would seem that I should have been on the naughty list every year for using my toys as torturous weapons against my siblings. Come to think of it, had I been given lumps of coal as the legend goes, I may have had a small fortune built up and not been a broke ass adult begging people to buy him video Ipods or classic Verti-bird helicopters! Damn it Santa, you ripped me off!

Culturalization

2008-11-18T06:31:00.000-08:00

I like to think that I am somewhat of a cultured individual. I have been to the opera, ballet, theatre, (I even spelled theater the English way. That should prove that I have culture). I enjoy, and can talk competently about fine wines. I can tell the difference between Van Gogh and Picasso, I have eaten escargot at French restaurants, and been to the symphony. I can mingle with society types with the best of them I believe, and all of this, despite my parents up-rooting me from Northern California at an early age, and ploppin' me right smack dab in the middle of probably the least cultured part of the planet, Heber City, Utah.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't want to immerse myself in these particular things, but I have certainly found enjoyment in them at times, and feel like I am a better person for having had the experiences. No, I would much rather spend an afternoon watching Utah kick BYU up and down the football field than go to the opera. I enjoy low brow, even crass humor, much more than the hilarity of the Magic Flute. However there are still some things of a cultural nature, that I would like to do before I depart from this earthly realm.

I need to visit the Louvre, enjoy Michelangelo's masterpiece on the Sistine Chapel in Rome, in fact I should probably just visit Europe in general. But there is one thing that I need to try that is associated with culture, at least as far as I can deduce, that I have never seen nor used,to date. I know of their existence, and am intrigued. I am speaking of the bidet.

I saw one once on the Crocodile Dundee. "It's for washin' your backside" he says. This movie single handedly sparked a fire deep within my soul to live the high society lifestyle so that I could have access to such a gift from God as a bidet.

I have to admit that it seems like it would be a useful instrument to have lying around your bathroom, but alas I have never had the opportunity. Many is the time that I have wished I had one. Think of the ramifications it could have on the environment by reducing or eliminating toilet paper. Perhaps this is the "go green" business opportunity that I have been looking for. I need to get right on this, and if any of you think of stealing my idea, remember, I have said it before, I am quite litigious!

Through my train of thought, I got to wondering about the logistics of using a bidet. For example, I know that I don't particularly enjoy it when I get a back splash from a plopper. Who does? So then I get to thinking that shooting a stream of cold water up your bum might not be so pleasant despite the obvious up side to being able to have a nice clean crevasse. Let's say you go ahead and utilize one, then what? Is there a wash cloth handy for the dirty work? Is there a bar of soap? Do you have a towel rack next to the bidet for wash cloths and towels? And what of the wet towel and wash cloths if this is the case? Is there laundry basket in proximity for damp bum towels or do you just drop them on the floor and let "the help" take care of that? I imagine that you don't want to be drying your face off with a bum towel and I certainly don't want to be the one rounding up the wet bum towels for the laundry. I suppose it would definitely necessitate having "people" to do that for you.

I would think that you must dis-robe to use a bidet, at least your pantaloons. I can't imagine that you could effectively just drop your drawers and have much success without incidental water coming in contact with your pants, thus creating a whole other issue of walking around with wet trousers subsequent to partaking of the cleansing power of the bidet.

Yep, I have lots of questions about the bidet. It seems like a pain in the ass, well not literally, but it sure seems like the benefits would outweigh the trouble, and is something that I would like to experience some day.

Thank You

2008-11-13T06:38:00.000-08:00

The Northern Hemisphere is firmly entrenched in Autumn. The mountains have begun to don their snow caps, the leaves have turned colors and begun to fall from the outstretched branches on which they had been perched for the previous months. The eleventh month has arrived and it has been designated a time of reflection on the last year. We are given the opportunity to express our gratitude for those things that have enhanced and made our lives worthwhile. A season of graciousness and giving is now upon us and in honor of this, I think I will compile a list of things that I am thankful for, again, in no particular order. Now I don't want y'all taking exception that I am not listing the traditional things such as family, friends, job, etc. Those things are a constant just as the sun will always rise in the East. I want to give thanks for those things that may not get props on a regular basis or that only happen on occasion.

1. Caffeine: What can I say about caffeine that most people don't already know. It is the life's blood of all that is good and decent. I am consistently thankful for the substance that daily, jolts me into production. Whatever form you prefer to have it delivered into your blood stream is good. I like the coffee, followed closely by the Diet Mt. Dew. I would probably take it intravenously, however I am a needle phobe and well, we all know that isn't a realistic delivery system albeit extremely effective I am certain.

2. High Definition Television: What did I ever do before I obtained my 50 inch plasma screen high definition television? One of God's greatest gifts to man is the gift of life, but what kind of life would it be without the crispy clear picture of a high definition telee? I honestly can't watch a program in regular definition any more. I hate it, it's like I am blind. I thank God for my Television and the accompanying programming. It is truly one of my favorite things.

3. The 49ers finally fired Mike Nolan: It's no big secret that I am a humongo 49er faithful. Ever since my child hood growing up in Northern California I was a die hard fan. I suffered through a lot of bad years to get to the glory days of the 80's and early 90's of being a Niner's fan. In recent times this once proud franchise has plummeted in to relative, well, irrelevance. The coach for the last 4 years had been Mike Nolan whose father was once the coach. He came with high hopes along with history and expectations. But the team consistently stunk it up under the Nolan regime. I couldn't stand listening to this man speak. He made no sense to me when he talked. He drove the team into the ground and I have been saying for awhile now that he needed to go. Actually the ownership needs to go as well, but I have high hopes for Jed York who is taking a more hands on approach to the team. Back when Eddie Debartalo owned the team he had the ship going in the right direction until his indiscretions and he had to leave my beloved Niners to his sister and her lame ass husband. Eddie says that Jed has the right stuff and I sure hope he is right. Meanwhile I am thankful I don't have to listen to that blathering idiot Mike Nolan. Now I get to hear about Samurai Mike Singletary dropping his pantaloons in the locker room at half time to demonstrate the ass whoopin' that they were taking at the hands of an equally bad Seattle team. Thank you 8lb 6oz baby Jesus for getting rid of a lame duck coach and bringing us one of the greatest linebackers to play the game.

4. The Utes are 10 and 0: We have two more games to go, to repeat the accomplishments of the 2004 Ute team that won the Fiesta Bowl. I am mostly thankful that BYU lost to TCU, opening the door for Utah to jump ahead in the BCS standings and have a chance to repeat their historical year in 2004. If they don't stumble this week at San Diego it sets up a huge game at Rice-Eccles Stadium on November 22nd. The last few years BYU has been able to eek out a last minute win against the U, but this year will be different. Go Utes!

5. Rib Eye Steaks: Seasoned to perfection and grilled to medium rare. I love to grill and who can resist a beautifully marbled piece of rib eye steak? It has to be one of the most delicious of God's wondrous blessings to mankind. I know some may say the Fillet, but as for me and my house I will serve the Rib Eye.

6. Bush only has 68 days left as President: Is there anyone left out there that thinks Bush has done right by our great nation? I know there has to be, after all his approval rating is in the teens! Forgive me for bringing politics into my blog, but I am indeed grateful that America has grown weary of business as usual. I don't know that Obama will be the great white, I mean black, hope that people believe him to be, but I certainly don't think he can do worse. I will however, miss playing the "do a shot of tequila" every time Bush says "nucular" game, during his speeches! My liver however will be thankful that he is leaving.

7. Breakfast Cereal: Anyone who has kids can appreciate and give thanks for the idea that you don't have to wake up every morning and make breakfast like in the olden days. Drop a box of Count Chocula on the table in the morning, along with a bowl and a spoon, and voila! Happy kids, happy parents.

8. The Dick in a Box video: If you haven't seen this masterpiece then you have been sorely deprived of one of the truly magnificent creations to ever grace the airwaves. Saturday Night Live has given us many, many great memories over the years, but in my opinion none as wonderful as this video. For those of you who are offended by the title of the song, well perhaps you should not partake, but I highly recommend that you watch it here

9. The Dollar Menu at McDonalds: You gotta love it, oh wait that is Hot Rod Hundly. I'm lovin' it is Mickey Dees. Being a poor social worker as I am, one must continuously be on the look out for ways to conserve coinage. Also being a fat man I have to get the most bang for my buck. One must agree that the golden arches has a way of hitting the spot, and for just a measly buckarooni you can get a satisfyingly delicious samich. Many is the time that I have made the trek to acquire me some good ol' dollar menu selections and come away satisfied that I got filled and didn't have to spend a lot of money. Now granted, my blood delivery system may not be quite as thankful for these greasy delights, but I sure am.

10. Rock Band: Now I don't know about you, but me, I will never get to fulfill my dream of becoming an actual rock star. But now, thanks to Harmonix and MTV, over the hill dreamers like myself can have the next best thing. Drop your air guitars and drums fellas and get yourself the Rock Band. It is so kick ass. I loves me some Rock Band, this game is a hoot. Don't give me the Guitar Hero argument, this is so much better. So much so in fact that Guitar Hero created their own version called World Tour. I have yet to play it, and I am sure it is a very nice platform, but either way, I must give thanks to them all for letting an old man live out his dream of rockin' out.

So there you have it, a non-comprehensive, yet adequate list of things that I am thankful for at this current point in time. Again, feel free to add to this as you see fit.

Clownin' Around

2008-11-05T09:17:00.000-08:00

I wonder who made the decision that clowns were a good thing? You see them at the circus running around with all that makeup on and crazy floppy feet, and they are supposed to make you laugh. In fact it is quite the opposite. This spectacle is what nightmares are made of. They aren't funny. Not one little bit. They are freakin' scary. Clowns are evil everyone knows it, yet circus culture still tries to propagate the notion that they are somehow entertaining. They are not. Hollywood knows they are evil, just look at all of the movies that have evil clowns in them, there are a plethora, and the clown is always evil. Two little letters for you, I T. That was one crazy mutha effin' clown.
Did you know there are various types of clowns? Yeah, it's true. Do a Wiki search and you will see all of them. I couldn't even read the article because I was getting a bad case of the heebie jeebies again. Shiver!
There is even an actual word for being afraid of clowns, Coulrophobia. I must apologize, for I am struggling to get through this piece, and I have yet to post the visual aids to accentuate my point. I must forge on.

Perhaps Krusty the clown is an exception to the scary clown premise that will prod me to continue. The Simpsons try to make him out to be a beloved Harlequin whom the children love. But really, who ever heard of a clown that children love? Nope, I am sitting here looking at the bobble head Krusty I have on my desk and he too looks miscreant to me. I would put him away in my file cabinet, but I just know he will show up the next morning, back on my desk. Just staring back at me, communicating telepathically, "you think you can get rid of me sucka? I will kill you! I will murder you dead if you EVER, put me back in that metal box!"

Ronald McDonald? Please give me a break. That freak is, well, just that, a freak. Sure he tries to do right by the children with his Ronald McDonald house for families of sick children to stay in, while the kid is in treatment at the hospital. This however is only making amends for the fact that Ronald is still just a clown and clowns are sinister. McDonalds has to do something to counter balance the evil, you know yin-yang.

Bozo the Clown? Please that clown must have molested unsuspecting children all through the 50's and 60's before it was really discovered just how diabolical clowns really were.

Clarabell the Clown? Just look at this dude. A) his name is Clarabell...isn't that a chick name? B) tell me this picture of he/she isn't scary? This picture reminds me of another very intense individual whose driver's license has almost the same picture on it, minus the make up. You know who you are, and I better not see you show up to work in clown make up or you're fired!

If your opinion differs from mine on this subject matter, I don't want to hear it. Clowns are, have always been, and will always be, malevolent. "But Rich" you say, "they are just people under all of that white face paint." Look, I'm sure that the individuals that are putting on these horrific disguises are most likely wonderful people in their human form, but I believe once you don the makeup and costume, it's like that Jim Carrey movie The Mask. It takes over you and you in fact become an alter ego that is nefarious.
Nope, clowns have no place in our society, Eff you clown. Eff you.

Haiku Ka Choo

2008-10-29T08:56:00.000-07:00

I have decided to honor you all with a series of Haiku's for your reading enjoyment.

Cat

Cat independent
You think you own, but you don't
Hair balls; eff you cat

Dog

Much better than cat
Sure they lick balls then lick you
Happy to see you

Mornings

Mornings are the worst
Coffee life's blood; must have you
Stupid Governor

SCUBA
Breath under water
Visibility endless
I need more SCUBA

Simpsons
Cartoon family
Dysfunctional family
O.J. killed his wife

Music
Melodic rhythm
Good beat and can dance to it
I give it a ten

Winter

Cold snow blankets all
Looks pretty, no fun to drive
Go away Winter

The Demise of Radio

2008-10-22T06:13:00.001-07:00

I realize that I am getting older. Everyday I do or say something that is a cold, hard slap of reality in the face. Don't get me wrong, I don't think I am old just yet. But when I can't move because my back is Eff'd up or I look at the resplendent waves of whiskers in my goatee, I can see father time taking his toll on me.

But today I became overly contemplative about my senectitude (SAT word of the day) due to a simple a thing as listening to the radio. You might go straight to the NPR card, but no, not so. This day I turned on the radio as I drove in to work and I hear a tasty gem from the 70's era by The Commodores. The funktastic, Brick House. The very first concert I ever went to was The Commodores, I am not ashamed, I loved it. This is still one of my top 5 concerts ever.

This, however is not the reason I am pondering my agedness.

So I am bustin' a funk groove in my car, (it's dark outside so no one can really see just how white and foolish I am, as I bounce and funk it up) and the damn, idiotic morning "disc jockeys" and I use this term loosely, begin talking over the song.

I have two pet peeves, ok I have more, but as they pertain to the radio I have two.

A) I absolutely HATE it when a radio station cuts the end of a song off. This drives me insane.

B) Don't EVER, EVER, EVER talk over the song.

Both of these things are just like nails on a chalk board to me. Ok deep breaths Rich.

I decided a few years ago, that I have grown to despise morning radio. I feel that they contribute absolutely nothing to society nor do I find them amusing at all. These morons this morning were making feeble attempts at humor (talking over the music) about this song and failing miserably. I just don't get it anymore. I used to, but I no longer have the patience for such idiocy. Hence my oldness. I feel like the old man on his porch, shaking his fist and yelling at the kids to "get off my lawn!"

Back in the day I lived to listen to Jon and Dan in the morning on 103.5. I thought those guys were the best and would go out of my way to listen religiously. Once they broke up and went away, I moved on to Jimmy Chunga and the various partners he had. I particularly enjoyed he and Mister West. Hell I even won an all expense paid trip to Greece from them, so I had reason to like them. The other program I enjoyed and in a pinch I still tune in, is the Radio from Hell on X96. However, by and large I have just grown weary of all the yammerin' and stupidity that is propagated by these people.

To make matters worse a lot of stations have afternoon drive time "disc jockeys" (still using the term loosely) and they do and say the same damn shit. Maybe it's just me, but what ever happened to listening to the radio to, oh I don't know, LISTEN TO THE MUSIC? (Doobie Brothers) I just hate them so much! Radio DJ's, not the Doobies.

"But Rich" you say, "why don't you just listen to your Ipod?" Good question my friend. Now don't freak out when I tell you this, but I don't own an Ipod. Ok that is a small lie. I own one but it is broken and it's a old piece of dung. (much like the steaming pile of feces that these alleged radio DJ's produce, wrap it in tin foil, attach fish hooks and call them ear rings.) The thing just gave up the ghost about a year ago. Being a poor social worker, I haven't the monetary wherewith all to replace it with the one I really want, the 80 gig video Ipod. I am like the only one that doesn't have one. That plus I would need to purchase a fancy shmancy transmitter thingy mabobby to make it work with the radio so I could listen in the car.

Sure I could listen to CD's and I often do. I know right? You kids thought CD was a dead technology. Gone the way of the LP and cassette tapes.

So pity me people, feel my pain. I don't have an Ipod and I hate morning radio. I don't know how I manage to make it into work every morning under such extremely torturous circumstances either.

If you really cared about me you would get me a black 80 gig Ipod, thats all I'm saying.

Love/Hate

2008-10-21T14:41:00.001-07:00

So I am watching an unplugged version of the Black Crowes on the Telee yesterday. I like me some Black Crowes, saw them in concert and quite enjoyed them. I enjoy listening to Chris Robinson orate on his music. He says some pretty funny and outrageous stuff that really makes you think.

But then I start thinking about when I went to the concert with some buddies of mine and the wife says to me...."if Kate Hudson is there, you can't run off with her." Don't get me wrong, I am waaaaay better lookin' than Chris Robinson, but I don't have a kick ass band, she would never go for me. But then she goes and dumps Chris for Owen Wilson.

Ok I get it, he's cute with the blond hair and all, but his nose is just atrocious. No worries it's his trademark I wouldn't expect him to change that, plus hell, he got Kate to leave Chris so there has to be something to this guy.

The point I am going for here is this. I am watching this concert and thinking, I like the Black Crowes, so what if it were the case that I was Kate Hudson and I split from Chris. Would I automatically have to stop liking the Black Crowes? How does that really work? Now granted, she cheated on Chris, so I don't necessarily think that she has to stop liking the Black Crowes music. I am working on the assumption that she actually did like them, after all she was married to Chris Robinson, I would hope she was into his music.

Of course he may think, "Eff that little whore, she don't get to listen to me pour my soul into my craft." Maybe Chris actually told her to her face, "Eff you, you little whore, don't you ever buy my album or come to my shows ever again." In that case I could see Kate having a bit of a dilemma on her hands.

Then I gotta wonder if Chris would stop going to her movies. What if he really likes Matthew McConaghey, (let's say that he scores his pot from Matt), does he never watch that movie How to Lose a Guy in 10 days ever again? (Not that it's a great movie to begin with, but for the sake of the discussion, Chris likes it.) Then what?

What about Heather Locklear? Does she have to hate on Bon Jovi because Richie Sambora went and banged Denise Richards? Who could stop listening to the Jovi? Not me! So how does Heather cope with that, I mean her Ipod would take a serious hit if she has to stop liking Bon Jovi. For Denise Richards she gets the bonus of still having an Ipod full of rockin' Bon Jovi, AND she is no longer obliged to endure having to watch Two and Half Men. I can't see how she loses in this vignette. But poor Heather she has to turn to little man David Spade for her needs. Could you imagine those two competing for mirror time? I almost think that his hair demands as much attention as Heather's does. Don't hate him because he's beautiful Heather, men's hair needs love too.

Cover This

2008-10-20T06:28:00.000-07:00

So I'm listening to the Pandora this morning and a song comes on that I kind of really dig. It was a cover song of Manic Monday. I know a little something about mania, being a social worker and dealing with mentally ill people that exhibit such a disorder, and quite frankly I don't ever feel manic on Monday, in fact quite the opposite. That aside, I think the original song was alright. I didn't mind it when the Bangles put it out there, it had a good beat and you could dance to it, I would give it a 6 out of 10.

The one thing that the Bangles had going for them was that Suzanna Hoffs was pretty hot. Actually the whole band wasn't too shabby to look at, especially to a teenager with ragin' hormones. Although I must admit that when she sang the Walk Like an Egyptian, that eye thing she did was a bit funky and made me believe that she might go all Fatal Attraction. Oh and that dance, what the crap was that? Yeah I didn't care for that at all, but the song was ok. But I digress.

The point is that I actually liked this cover of the song better than the original. I am usually the first one to stand up and put on my sense of moral judgement when it comes to the corruption of a perfectly good song. Like the Godsmack does a cover of the Led Zeppelin tune Good Times Bad Times. I hate it. I like to think that I am a purist when it comes to some of the classics, and the Mighty Mighty Zep is just not a band whose music you go and mess with. Oh and don't get me started on these damn "mash up" songs that the idiot DJ's are doing. They think they are so cool, taking two songs and re-mixing them together. I absolutely DETEST these moronic music monkeys who think they are oh so clever, creating such an atrocity and then forcing the public to be tortured by listening to this crap.

A lot of times someone does a cover song and people had never heard it before. I remember when that little bitch Tiffany did I Think We're Alone Now. I remember hearing people say what a great song that was, when in reality Tommy James and the Shondells had done it back in the 60's, long before that ungrateful little princess was even a twinkle in her father's eye. Foolish children thought she was the greatest thing since sliced bread, when in reality she was just a little mall rat, duping young girls into thinking that they could live the American dream, touring around and singing to droves of screaming teenie boppers in the mall. And I know some of you dudes out there were running out to those glorified glee club performances, just on the hopes that she would take a look at your horrible 80's hair doo and drag you back stage to the ladies room that was converted to her dressing room and give you a NCMO.

I think there are plenty of really good cover songs that are actually better than the originals. I won't make a list because well, I don't want to. Feel free to add comments and make your own list and I will judge you, or maybe Boyd will, since believes that he is the end all be all of what is good in music. Viva La Rush!

GROSS Anatomy

2008-10-15T09:47:00.000-07:00

My wife is buggin' me to go see this Body exhibit. Have you seen this thing? Apparently there are several of these things around the world and they are comprised of all these dead people that have donated themselves to science. Then in return for their good deeds, they have been re-paid by being turned inside out and put on display. They are basically mummified and posed in all these awkward positions. Maybe it's just me, but this just gives me the heebie jeebies. As an aside, what is a heebie jeebie and are they contagious?

I don't get it. These are dead human corpses people! Gross! To make matters worse I checked out the website and I'll be damned if they aren't selling merchandise. Oh I realize that merchandising is the sweetest nugget when it comes to this sort of thing, but seriously people. A key chain with one of these zombified homo sapiens?

I have to believe that these things are coming alive at night just like in that lame ass movie A Night at the Museum. You thought Ben Stiller had it bad with that cheeky little monkey stealing his keys all the time. Mix in some zombies looking to satisfy their need for brains and that little monkey will look like a chia pet in comparison. (Notice the inclusion of my previous two blogs?)

So this is one of those things that I believe I will have to give in to, because she said please like a thousand times. I have no desire to go see these freaky things, but I probably will because that's just the kind of guy that I am. Don't worry, I'll get mine by making her do something she absolutely doesn't want to do. Compromise is a lovely thing!

Ch ch ch chia

2008-10-14T06:21:00.000-07:00

Has anyone ever actually purchased and grown a Chiapet? You can tell me, I won't judge. As Christmas nears it occurs to me that we will start seeing advertisements for this mythical creature, the Chia. I have always been curious about these things, not enough to actually make the purchase, but there is a certain level of intrigue that they hold for me.

A quick scan of Wiki tells me that they first crashed onto the scene in 1982 and are named Chia Pets after the plant Salvia hispanica, common name chia. Apparently this is edible, much like the alfalfa sprouts that one might consume on a lovely salad or samich. Perhaps you may think the same thing I did when I saw Salvia in the name. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Salvia, this is also a herb, only one that is used by kids these days as a hallucinogen. This however, was a dead end. I had postulated that one would only purchase such a novelty item on the supposition that the plant must posses some sort of recreational uses, but further Wiki-search has put the proverbial kibosh on that theory.

Anyone out there remember Sea Monkeys? Damn those were cool. Well, when I was like 6 they were cool. Then someone broke the news to me that they were just brine shrimp. Talk about a real downer. I would put that one right up there with the Tooth Fairy not being real. I loved those little aquatic monkeys swimming around in their little sea cage. I imagined them doing all sorts of funny, underwater, monkey shines. (see my earlier post for examples!) I tell you what, someone was thinkin'when they marketed brine shrimp as Sea Monkeys. They got my parents money!

I won't even go into the farce that is the pet rock. P.T. Barnum said it best,(although this is even disputed as to what he really said) "There's a sucker born every minute." God bless free enterprise.

Chicken Delight

2008-10-13T10:44:00.000-07:00

Original or Extra Crispy? Who doesn't love some KFC? I like original recipe, so delicious. Damn that Colonel with his wee bitty eyes. Everyone knows that he puts a chemical in his chicken that makes you crave it fortnightly. (Hardly original I know) What is it about those eleven herbs and spices that makes it so good? The colonel is truly evil for creating such a mistress. It really is finger lickin' good! I have been known, on many the occasion, to avoid the usage of a napkin in lieu of a good finger lickin'. That would just be a waste of perfectly good chicken juice. Mmmmm chicken juiiicceee.....aaaaghhhhh (drool)

I don't mind the Extra Crispy, in fact quite the opposite. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe you still get all the eleven herbs and spices AND as a bonus you get the extra breading. How can you go wrong there? The left over crumbs are delectable little nuggets of joy, just sitting there for your snacking pleasure.

Don't forget the sides. I know it's just instant, fake potatoes, but I'll be damned if I don't just adore their mashed potatoes and gravy. Oh and the slaw....mmmmm. That slaw juice mixes in with the gravy and it is almost ambrosia. I'm not a huge biscuit fan, I prefer the cornbread. I think the biscuits are kind of dry and crumbly, although throw some gravy on those bad boys and now you're talkin' about a delicious combination.
I have a real Pavlovian response going at the moment. I am salivating and my tummy is growling. I should know better than to go writing a blog during lunch time. Think I'm a gonna go get me a three piece.

Monkey=Funny

2008-10-09T07:14:00.000-07:00

Why do we as the human race find our primate cousins to be so funny? I don't know the answer, they just are. (Perhaps it has to do with more cowbell?) I loves me some monkey humor. I defy you to just look at these pictures without at least smiling, if not give a laugh out loud. Monkeys do funny things in addition to looking funny. Who doesn't enjoy seeing a monkey hurl it's feces at an unsuspecting visitor or drink it's own urine? Watch this video and tell me that you didn't chuckle? Go ahead I'll wait.....See? Funny!
Look at this one, he is doing a Gene Simmons impersonation. I bet he gets all the monkey ladies with that tongue!

Even the monkey's think that monkey's are funny. Look at this one. You just know that he is laughing at the monkey antics of another and just cracking up.

Wazzzzzzzz uuuuuppppppp

After all we aren't all that far removed from them genetically, and evolutionally.....don't you think?

All Hallows Tale

2008-10-08T07:02:00.000-07:00

The full moon peeked it's head above the mountain top beginning it's monthly illumination of the valley, climbing slowly upward like some regal monarch ascending a throne, ruling over all that belong to the night. The lunar luminescence of this lesser heavenly body spreads upon it's subjects, the trees, casting eery shadows upon the ground. One's imagination could run wild on a night like this, spawning horrific images within, that if left un-checked, could induce anxiety and panic in an individual.

It had taken many years of therapy and psychotropic medications to bring Jim to a level of functioning that would allow him to adequately cope with the demons that haunted him each year. All Hallows Eve had always sent him into a place so dark and lonely that nothing could quiet his tortured soul. His annual ritual for this pagan celebration was much different than the other children he grew up with. Jim always spent this night locked in a psych hospital, heavily sedated. His parents had no explanations to give to the medical staff, only that it began when he was 4 years old and got worse each year, and only on Halloween.

As he reached adulthood, his fears gradually subsided but never fully vanished. No longer did he require the obligatory hospitalization that he knew throughout his childhood. Now that he had his own child, he didn't want him to suffer the same fate that he had suffered all those years. This was the year. He finally felt well enough to take his now 4 year old child out for trick or treat. As his wife readied their child for the foray into the neighborhood, he sat on the edge of their bed, practicing breathing techniques preparing for the battle he would face.

The moon, now standing fully visible in the sky, stared back at Jim as he waited on the porch for his wife and child to emerge from the house. A small group of children approached him adorned in their disguises; "trick or treat" they exclaimed. Jim reached in the front door producing a large bowl of assorted candies. The children rummaged through the bowl taking what they found to their liking. "Thank you" and off they went to the next house. Jim ventured off the porch pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of his domicile.

A mosquito began buzzing around his head. He swatted at this pest creating a whirl of wind around it but failing to deter it from it's desire to have it's evening meal at Jim's expense. Suddenly as if from out of nowhere, a bat had picked up on the signal of the mosi and swooped in for a take out meal at the expense of the parasite that hummed in front of Jim's face. The wing of the flying mammal slapped him in the face as it snapped up the mosquito and then quickly retreated, leaving Jim short one heartbeat and breathless. Determined to finally extricate himself from his life long incarceration, he managed to regain his composure. He glanced at his watch, noticing that it had only been 3 minutes since stepping out of the house, but feeling as if it had already been an eternity.

As his heart beat and breathing returned to normal, he stood on the sidewalk contemplating how best to proceed with the plan to finally overcome his curse. Another mosquito found it's way to Jim, this one landing on his arm. Becoming suddenly aware of the sting from the poking of a miniature hypodermic needle attached to the insect, he slapped it, leaving blood splattered on his forearm. Almost as if a scent had been released into the air much like the effect of a shark bite creating notification to other sharks in the area that soup's on, a nearby swarm of mosquitoes heard the cry of sustenance and made their way to the new found smorgasbord.

One by one thousands of mosquitoes had their way with Jim's exposed epidermis, poking and prodding at him like some 15 year old boy trying to cop his first feel. Un-sated from it's amuse bouche, the bat hears the squabble that has ensued, making it's way back to the melee between Jim and the mosquitoes. Not only the assailant from the previous drive by, but now his cronies have notified one another through sonar, that the feast is on.

Squeals of excitement exude through the night air like some animalistic dinner bell, creating a frenzy of activity around the man. Swooping in upon their prey, the hunter has now become the hunted. Mosquito feasting upon it's quarry, only to become the meal of a larger, faster predator.

A chunk of flesh gets ripped from his ear where a dozen mosquitoes had set up drilling, only to become the main course along with the flesh of man.

Horrified and paralyzed Jim cowers into a fetal position, unable to release the scream that has built up inside. He has been overcome by a collage of insects and mammals that have now piece by piece begun to shred his exposed arms and face. Terrestrial pirranah's devouring, gorging themselves upon a once in a life time menu. His eyes clench tightly, but to no avail as the bats make short work of this tender flesh, leaving his eye balls exposed forcing him to watch this horror, yet being unable to fight back.

Mustering every ounce of will that remains within, he manages to expel the remaining air in his lungs to create a scream that would make one's skin crawl if heard. Startled by this intense and horrific sound his wife wakes from her slumber, shaking Jim to arouse him from the nightmare that had him trapped. Jim sits up in his bed, soaking wet from the drops of sweat that have permeated through his pajamas, breathing heavily trying to gather his wits. "You must have been dreaming again honey" his wife consoles. A single mosquito buzzes it's way around the bedroom lighting upon his exposed arm. Feeling the sting of the miniature hypodermic needle piercing his skin, he quickly swats at it, leaving blood splattered upon his arm. "Get some rest honey, tonight is Halloween"

10 Things I Hate About...

2008-10-02T06:47:00.000-07:00

I have decided to compile a list. This is not typical for me as I rarely feel the need to categorize and rank things. Realizing of course that any list is really subjective, so just because this is my list, doesn't preclude one from adding or subtracting to it. Feel free to do so through the comment section if you wish. Therefore without further adieu, I give you my list of "Things That Blow Chunks" in no particular order.

1. Blowing Chunks: Sure this is obvious, but tell me, who really likes dropping a technicolor yawn? Ok maybe someone who is bulimic, but I am not certain there is a level of enjoyment to such a disorder. I hate hurling, and I think most, if not all of you, would agree.

2. Stubbing your toe: Nothing sucks worse than when you are just moseying along barefooted and all of the sudden you hear "BAM" followed almost instantaneously by excruciating pain in one of your pediacle appendages.(sure I made that up, but you must admit it sounds medical?) Add in the potential of a possible breaking of the bone and this really blows chunks.

3. The ice maker in my office: This thing really blows chunks and is the inspiration for this posting. I wanted some ice water to quench my parchedness as I work. This bloody thing trickles the ice cubes out one by one like a 70 year old man's urethra that is being strangled by an enlarged prostrate gland. I hate this thing more than I hate, well nothing. It just makes me want to go postal.

4. Being stuck in traffic when you have to pee: Have you ever had this happen? Maybe it's just me, I realize I have been cursed with an over-active bladder. Too many times I have been in a traffic jam and people are just creeping along and my back teeth are floating. It's always on a freeway and it's always in a situation that I don't have a Gatorade bottle handy. I have been lucky thus far and managed to avoid an internal explosion of my bladder, but I just know it is only a matter of time. THAT would really blow chunks.

5. The Dude at the Canyon Inn that wouldn't let me in the door because my drivers license had expired three weeks before: This sum bitch literally wouldn't let me in this bar for my friends party because my DL was expired for three weeks. Look at me, I have grey hairs littered throughout my luscious goatee, it seems quite easily deduced that I am over 21. But Nooooo, bastard made me run home to get my passport. Here's the kicker. I get back and there is a new Dude at the door. I show him the passport and tell him the story, and Dude says, "oh well, I would have just let you in the door." Gee thanks bro, that makes me feel oh so much better. That whole place pretty much blows chunks as far as I am concerned.

6. The Economy: Enough said.

7. Taking a swig off a milk carton then realizing it has expired: Ever do this? Sure I probably deserved it since I shouldn't have been swiggin' right out the carton. I pretty much don't have this happen anymore, since I always check the expiration date now, but it really does blow chunks. In fact it usually leads to literally blowing chunks.

8. "We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you..." : Oh, just the very thought of this message coming across the airwaves really chaps my hide. As the French say "Je detest". I love my programs, don't screw with them please, this really blows chunks. Oh and losing the satellite signal goes right along with this. Dammit mother nature, I'm trying to do my part to help, and this is how you repay me? Don't do that, it really blows chunks.

9. Accidentally swallowing a bug: I hate when that happens. They usually get stuck in your throat and that is what really blows chunks about this. I think what happens is that the sudden shock of this critter flying into your mouth creates an involuntary response from your throat and it clamps down on the thing. "Ack" ,"cough", "ahem", nothing works. You just have to resign yourself to finishing the job by obtaining a liquid to wash it down with. Mear spit won't work because I think in the horror of the moment, the salivary glands shut down creating a failure to produce a substantial enough amount to do the job. Just be careful to check the expiration date on the milk if this is your poison because well, we have already established what happens when you don't.

10. The Shart: If I need to explain why this blows chunks then well, feel free to contact me and ask. It brings with it a plethora of rationales as to why it blows that quite frankly no one wants to have explained to them in an open forum such as this.

The Creation and What Not

2008-10-01T10:58:00.000-07:00

Do you ever see something and just think to yourself, "what the hell was God thinking when he created that?" I've had this thought process a number of times in my life.

We have all heard the story of Adam and Eve and their expulsion from the garden of Eden due to their negligence of one simple rule...don't eat the apple. Then just for shits and giggles he tests them with a talking snake and long story short they break the rule. Talk about setting them up to fail, I mean come on, a talking snake? That would be hard to resist for any of us. That's a pretty good parlor trick I'm thinkin', so how can you blame them?

So anyway, God gets pissed, kicks them out, and things get pretty harsh. They deserved it, they broke the rules, and now women get the pain, I mean, joy of experiencing child birth. You ladies can thank mother Eve for that one. But I am not here to place blame for who broke the rules first. We all know women have all the control over men anyway. I'm just sayin'.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, life gets harsh. Weeds and the likes, menial labor, etc. Like I said, they did the crime they should do the time.

So God created everything right? Man, women, plants and animals. All manner of things were created and they were created for the use of man. But this gets me thinking, of what use do I have for things like mosquitoes or just bugs in general. They aren't named bugs because they are the most awesome things that God whipped out in those six days. They are called bugs because they "BUG" people. It all comes back to that whole punishment thing for the oppositional defiance disorder that Eve had.

So I start to think one of two things. 1) God was really pissed and didn't want to stop with something as simple as making them have to pull weeds in their garden. 2) God has a pretty damn good sense of humor and perhaps he is even a little sadistic. I am inclined to think that the latter is probably the most likely postulation, after all have you seen the faces that people pull when they are having sex? (My apologies to Kevin Smith for the plagiarism)

"But Rich" you say, "that covers the humor part, but what of the sadistic piece to the puzzle?" Patience my children I am getting there.

Think of all the many, many things on this Earth that are just plain wrong and cause us pain and suffering. I won't make a list for you because I am certain that once I give you this one example, you need not look any further for confirmation.

Look at this creature and then tell me that God isn't sadistic in the least bit. Go ahead gaze upon the horror and help me understand why God felt the need to create such an abomination? You have to wonder what this poor fellow did to deserve such a lot in life? Proof positive that God finds humor in the suffering of others. Your welcome.

Poop Face

2008-09-30T06:21:00.000-07:00

Ever read the children's book Everyone Poops? Not me. I'm not really sure why I haven't read it. I have four children that I had to potty train. One would think that I would have referenced this famous tome through this process, but I didn't. I'm sure it's a wonderful book, but I just never really felt the urge to read such a thing.

What I am building up to here is this. I have this mirror in the bathroom, that quite frankly isn't the most flattering thing to have in the particular position in which it is located. It's a full length mirror that is located on the wall adjacent to the toilet. Thus, when one sits down on the commode, were you to glance to your left, the scenery, in my case anyway, isn't a pretty one. No one really wants this visual of me, but I promise the following anecdote is a pretty funny one if you can get past the horror of my bare ass sitting on the throne, reflecting in the mirror.

So I'm sitting there minding my own business, perusing through The Secret, (did I just say that out loud?) since there is nothing else to read. So I'm thinking to myself good thoughts, as per the advice the book is giving me, that this is going to end well without blowing a gasket or worse a coronary event. Because, as you all well know, this requires some physical exertion if you will, to complete ones duties (pun intended).

So I'm workin' it out, then due to a momentary lapse of reason, I looked to my left and I noticed the face I was pulling. It then occurs to me that I have seen this expression before many times. Perhaps I blacked out momentarily, but I flashed back to all those years of raising my children and the chuckles I used to get out of watching them pull that same face. It was the poop face. I have seen it literally thousands of times but never on my own face.

There's no mistaking it. If you have children you know when they are stinkin' it up just by the look that comes across their precious little face, and it's funny. If you have access to a human baby, I highly suggest you watch them when they're dookin' it up. Then take it a step further. Put a mirror in proximity of your toilet and pay attention to your face while you get after it. That's some pretty funny shit!

Much Ado About Nothing

2008-09-24T06:23:00.000-07:00

Maybe if I just start typing something will happen. Maybe the words will all come together in some masterful grouping that will be the next great piece of literature. Then again maybe I will just ramble on for three or four paragraphs about nothing in particular, cracking a few mediocre observational jokes that are just incidental to nothing in particular.
Writer's block? I wouldn't really label it as writer's block. Then again, maybe it is, but I manage to write something so I don't think it's really a block.

Some people choose to blog about the mundane, day to day crap that happens in their lives, and I suppose that is sufficient for them, but for me I feel like I need to do more. I don't particularly care to read about how you had a really great day at church or that someone you know got married. No offense I just don't find that entertaining. I want to be entertained when I read, but then what I find entertaining may not necessarily be entertaining to you. I aspire to write something that people will read, and say to themselves that was worth the time.

Some people just post pictures with captions explaining that they are standing in front of the Matterhorn at Disneyland. Yeah, we've all seen the Matterhorn, it's not real you know! Pictures are nice, but then I always feel like I am back in the 70's at a relatives home sitting on their gold and white flower patterned sofa, in my corduroy jeans and hair parted down the middle with feathered bangs, bored out of my mind, watching a slide show of their latest expedition to God knows where. Two full carousels of 100 slides each, remember that technology?
"And this is a picture of Tom standing in front of the worlds tallest thermometer in the middle of the Mojave Desert." That's two hours of my life that I will never get back. At least at the end of it all there was a wonderful peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream.
So there you have it. I got nuttin'. No great masterpiece, no gut busting anecdote, nuttin'. I have two pictures that I didn't even take and a bunch of commentary that amounts to bupkiss. Hope it was worth your time. Enjoy!

Thus Sayeth Boyd

2008-09-18T06:34:00.000-07:00

Apparently I have been ordered to have a blog posted by 6 pm today or I will end up in a state of murderedness. As I have no real affinity towards such a state of being, I am compelled to oblige. For any fans that I have out there, and I know you exist even if you don't leave comments, you can thank my muse/editor in chief B-Dog.

Unfortunately this mandate has left me scratching my head as to a subject matter that would create an adequately entertaining musing for your reading pleasure. Come to think of it, this is a special mandate from an apparent sociopathic entity, (and you should see his driver's license, the photograph would support such a label) perhaps it need be nothing more than an homage to the innate, albeit non-traditional, use of murder as a means of motivation employed by he that is called Boyd.

Actually murder would seem to be an excellent motivator. It spawns the idea in my melon as to why we don't utilize it more. Granted it is illegal, and there's that whole, "thou shalt not kill" thing that God carved into stone. Such an act most likely symbolized the permanency that was meant, as well as a serious desire that His children had really better play nice or He would put them into eternal time out. After all it can't be all that easy to carve words into stone, let alone making it legible. I wonder if God has bad hand writing and that's why he chose to carve it in stone rather than just jot it down on some parchment or animal skins and hand it to Moses. It certainly wouldn't make as dramatic of an impression on the children of Israel had he done that, thus negating the spectacle of the movie and Charlton Heston's epic performance.

But yeah, murder seems to be a perfectly good motivator other wise. Hell it got me to post today. Good job Boyd, my wife and children will thank you for sparing me an early demise, and the world thanks you as well. And as an added bonus you spare yourself the indignity of your Heavenly Father banishing you to Satan's lair for eternity just because you needed your daily fix of Wealthymusings.

Celebrity

2008-09-17T07:58:00.000-07:00

I have postulated that I must be somewhat of a celebrity. The notion of this came to my attention today. A buddy of mine who works in another office, who hasn't seen me for a week, mentioned that he had heard I cut my beautiful flowing locks of hair off. Those of you who know me, are aware that I have had longish hair for a dude for a few years now. I got a wild hair on my day off Friday, (pun intended, bad I know!) and decided to get it chopped. What this wild hair consists of is irrelevant, believe me people it's not a mid-life crisis, (one would grow one's hair out if that were the case) I'm not looking for another job ( Though I wouldn't turn down a high paying job if you know of one). I just felt like wearing it short again because lets face it, it's really a lot of work being pretty. Am I right ladies?
Anyway, I ask my chum, "who told you?" He says that he heard it from a dude that works in yet a different office than he or myself. "Are you kidding me?" A bloke that hasn't even seen me in probably a good month or so is telling my pal that I radically altered my appearance. Long story short, one of the workers on my team here in my office told the second fellow who then told the first.

So now I have decided that I'm a celebrity. I think maybe there are levels of celebrity. Obviously I'm not famous in the realm of Hollywood or to the world. I don't know that I want that level of infamy. Look at Michael Jackson, that dude is a train wreck for all the world to see and grew up as a celebrity. That just doesn't appeal to me.
We have local celebrities here in Utah, but I don't even rise to that level. I do however have my own world, the one where I must be a celebrity, because people apparently just talk about me. All I did was get a haircut and it made the evening news as it were.
I read one of the "blogs of note" that I actually have found to be funny and interesting. This poor woman posted, and had 88, count 'em 88 comments on here latest posting. These were obviously, by their comments, not people that already know her. They were the gravy trainers, the people that jump on other people's celebrity and try to create their own.
"But Rich," you say, in your last posting you were pleading to be noticed. "Why don't you jump on?" I don't think that is what I want. These people were blatantly ingratiating themselves to be noticed. I don't think I want to be noticed that badly. Ok, I'm lying. I totally want to be noticed. But I'm putting all y'all on notice. If my celebrity grows beyond my own narcissistic little world that I live in, don't come jumpin' on my gravy train. Sure my friends can come along for the ride, I gotta take care of my own. But you other sucka's find your own celebrity, this is mine.

Are you there God? It's Me Rich

2008-09-11T06:20:00.000-07:00

Why am I not a blog of note yet? Is it because I'm not good enough? Maybe you think I couldn't handle the pressure, but I can, I just know it. I've read some of those blogs of note, I don't get it. Look at the one they put up today, it's about some woman planning her wedding. Sure, I'm more than a little biased about my stuff, but geez, I think that belly button lint is far more interesting than a potential guest list for a wedding that I am not even invited to. (By the way, if that person reads this by some miracle, I am a decent videographer at a reasonable price if you need one!)

Maybe that is a stretch, not every one finds belly button lint as exciting as Boyd and I do, but I have other wares to peddle. For example, there's a pretty cool picture of a fat cat that looks stoned, just down there.

Go ahead have a look, I'll wait. See, that is pretty remarkable don't you think. Do you know how hard it is to write 1000 words?

"But Rich", you say. People don't care about a talking stoned cat. Ok well what about my creative piece that I wrote called "Hot August Death"? I defy you to read that and not feel something, anything. Go ahead, I'm not going anywhere, I've got 10 hours to kill here at work. Well, I take that back. I have to leave for a meeting at 9 am but other than that I'm good. Ok I lied, I also have a meeting again at 1:30. But other than those two things I got all day.

Pretty good, no? So you see, I think I have what it takes to be a blog of note. Trust me you won't regret it. Please notice me, I'm ever so talented.

So I beckon, nay, challenge you, make me a blog of note. This is a call to all who read this (apart from Boyd, because he always has something to say) Feel free to comment, do it, I can take it. Like it? Don't like it? Tell me, let me know you're out there.

If you make me a blog of note I can't promise you a chicken in every pot or a car in every garage, but I can promise you won't regret it.

Spamalot

2008-09-10T07:25:00.000-07:00

Dear spammers,

I am quite happy with the size of my penis. I don't have a problem in the bed room, my wife is quite satisfied with my performance. You can keep your Cialis and Viagra prescriptions and your claims that I will be able to go all night.

I don't need breast enhancement, my man boobs are quite ample as they are, thank you very much. I don't want to buy your fake Rolex watches or get paid to stay in luxury hotels, but thanks anyway.

Yours truly,
Hotsauce65@yahoo.com

Do people really respond to this crap? Everyday I open up my email,(hotsauce65@yahoo.com is not my real email address) and in my spam box are several of these ridiculous spam letters. People must respond, because I have to think that if they didn't these advertisers wouldn't continue to send them out.

Why is it called spam anyway? I have eaten spam, in fact recently I had me a hankerin' for some spam after watching the movie 50 first dates. I actually picked up a Costco size pack of spam, but then thought better of it.

What is this stuff? I had to go look it up and you just have to go see the website yourself, it's truly amazing. Check it out here.

Basically it's a combination of ham and pork. They even give an explanation of the differences between the two. A person might think that they are one in the same, but apparently that is not true.

The bottom line is that it appears to be a "junk meat" (the hilarity of the redundancy of "junk meat" is not lost on me, hope it isn't lost on you!) so I have decided to make the connection that spam=junk.

You're welcome.

Hibernation

2008-09-09T10:06:00.000-07:00

I think I was meant to be a bear. I say this because the summer has now begun to wind down and I am feeling blase' about everything. I have decided to identify this as an intense need to hibernate. I came to this conclusion today as I realized how much I am really dreading the winter months. The bears have it right. Gorge yourself on salmon and then sleep it off until it warms up. I do enjoy a nice piece of fish and equally as much I adore a good nap. I think there is not a whole lot that beats having a full belly and then sleeping.

Yeah that sounds pretty much like what I need to be doing. I don't like being cold, I hate that it is getting darker earlier and it's dark in the morning when I wake up. I just need to sleep it off like a bad night of partying. It all makes sense to me now. God must have intended for me to be a bear.
The only problem I see with this whole thing is my constant need to urinate. Thanks to my overactive bladder this creates some logistical problems with my design. That, plus the fact that when I wake up I am always hungry. I think I have the grumpy thing down pretty good though. Nobody wants to mess with a bear when he is hibernating and they pretty much don't want to mess with me neither. I am a grumpy bear when I am tired.

So if you don't see me or hear from me for a few months you can pretty much guess that I will be hibernating for the winter. See you when it gets warm!

My Name Is Skippy Dammit

2008-08-26T07:29:00.000-07:00

Look at this handsome chap posing for his prehistoric mugshot. Sure he has no neck, but have you seen some of those humans playing in the NFL? Magnificent individual, don't you think?

This my friends, is Neanderthal Man. You can call him Skippy, that's what I call him. I read an article today that says scientists have determined that Skippy and his friends weren't dumb, just different. I think it's about damn time that someone finally stepped up and started defending his good name. I have always thought that Neanderthals got a bad rap. You hear people use his name in a derogatory manner all the time. What did Skippy ever do to anyone to deserve this sort of slander? Now scientists have determined that the Skippy clan actually had tools that were every bit as good as Homo-sapiens, perhaps even "more efficient." You can read the article here.

I think it's nice that researchers are able to do this for Skip and his chums. I find it interesting that they spent three whole years re-creating the tools that Skip and Homo used and then compared them against each other. I wonder how long it actually took Skippy to create them. Accounting of course for the whole evolutionary process, I mean, that in and of it's self was a chore. I bet it didn't take him three years to come up with the notion that a sharp rock could cut things. Skippy was probably just shuffling around, hunched over and bare footed, then he stepped on a sharp piece of flint that cut his toe clean off. Despite his trauma he probably thought "Damn, if this rock can cut my toe clean off, I bet I could use it to kill me some 'Macha' (Neanderthal word for Monster) for dinner!

They have decided that the Skipster may have even had a "rudimentary language." You bet your sweet bippy he did. (see Macha) Granted there is no way to prove this, but you have to figure that they could communicate. Although looking at his picture I don't know that Skip was a man of many words. He appears to have an expressive face. His portrait relays a message of unhappiness about something. He's probably like me and doesn't like getting his picture taken, that's what he is communicating to me. Who knows for sure, but I would bet he's a riot at a Neanderthal party.

So raise a glass to Skip and celebrate his existence. Here's to hopes, that science will continue to show the world that we should celebrate not defame, Neanderthal Man!

Bollocks

2008-08-20T07:25:00.000-07:00

I accidentally hit myself in the balls today. I really hate when that happens. Fortunately it wasn't a direct hit so I was spared the mind numbing, eye crossing pain, of a bulls eye. Why did God decide to dangle those things on the outside of our bodies, with the thinnest of sacks, no protection whatsoever, and then just for shits and giggles made them the most sensitive spot for pain? He put a woman's ovaries inside her body, why not men? If you punched a woman in the ovaries would they experience the same excruciating pain that men do?
Sure child birth is no picnic, I get it. I witnessed the births of my four children, I don't presume to equate the two at all. I'm just sayin', it really, really, hurts to get hit in the nuts. Women will never understand this pain just as men will never understand the pain of forcing a human baby through their hoo hoo, and for that I thank God.
My wife and I have had this debate for years and we have to agree to disagree. "We get PMS and child birth, it's the least God could do to even the score! Besides it can't hurt that bad." You women have no idea, you can't understand just like we can't. Plus I'm not so sure PMS isn't a punishment for men too! Sure we can pass a kidney stone through our very tiny pee pee hole, they say that hurts like child birth. I don't know and I hope never to find out, but you could certainly ask a women who has done both.

I have to admit that it is pretty humorous to see someone else take a shot in the junk, hell Hollywood has made it a mainstay in movies and television for years. I'm betting that since we get a kick out of watching it, no doubt God thought to himself, "this ought to keep me entertained for a few million years or so."
I played Tennis in high school and took a serve right square in the crotchal region. I believe that was the most intense pain I have ever experienced. While the other guy stood laughing to the point of tears, I rolled around on the court, hands over nuts, (a bit too late for protecting them now) breathless, preparing to meet my maker and give him a good shot to the nards. In retrospect I can laugh about it and use it in my own self deprecation to obtain a chuckle.

Hot August Death

2008-08-07T10:42:00.001-07:00

It's a hot August night, reminiscent of a marathon 10 night concert in L.A. from which melodic sounds of Neil Diamond's immortal performance created musical perfection. A screech from a pair of alley cats tussling over a discarded scrap of Mackerel cuts an incision through the din of the city.

A single bead of sweat makes it's way down the temple of a robust, balding man in a dingy white wife beater, as he takes another slow drag from the stump of a cigarette perched between his index finger and thumb. The tattered nylon lawn chair that squats on his stoop groans under his weight as he shifts from right ass cheek to left. A vacant brown bottle lies on it's side, devoid of the amber liquid it once held, while a slight breeze investigates the area and coaxes the bottle into mobility. It quickly surrenders, rattling forward. Suddenly weary of this activity, the breeze moves on, the bottle falls still.

The man flicks the cottony, tar-stained butt of the cigarette towards the sidewalk. It comes to rest near a black ant passing by who wonders, as chicken little did, why the sky is falling. Unconcerned, he continues his quest to find a morsel of food to take back to the colony. The man considers striking up another cig only to have his thought interrupted by the shrill voice of his wife in his head. "Those things are going to kill you some day." The tobacco demands of him, "just one more, I promise I won't tell her." He shakes his head, places the cigarette in his mouth, and strikes the lighter. Instantly, deep within the confines of his thoracic cavity his heart insists on proving the wife's point, it goes into a spasm. The lighter drops from his hand as he clutches his chest in pain, the cigarette still dangling from his lip. He reaches down to pick up the lighter, determined to finish what he started. With the need to prove the point now, the cardio muscles clamp down even tighter as he bends. The inertia from his lean combined with another simultaneous spasm of his heart propels him forward out of the chair and onto the stoop, narrowly avoiding a fall down the steps. He winces in pain as he gasps for air, his lungs have now decided to get in on the act. You see they too have a vendetta for the years of pollutants forced upon them relentlessly. He makes a feeble attempt to call out for assistance, but his lungs won't cooperate, slowly they deflate themselves squeezing the last bit of carbon dioxide out of the grey bubbles that comprise their structure. Even should his lungs be willing to complete their task, it would not matter, for his companion sits in her flower patterned house coat in front of the television, the volume turned up due to deafness that inflicts her ears.

Lying on the stoop, dying on the stoop, he never planned to go like this, he had high hopes for his life, he had plans. Reflections of his life pass through his thoughts. He finds it interesting how they always said that this is what happens when you begin the journey to the great beyond, and suddenly here he lies, his life literally flashing before his eyes. So many wrong turns, so many opportunities passed on, leaving him here. 56 years old and dying in the heat of an August night. Just as Neil's concerts wouldn't soon be forgotten in the minds of some, he too will have those who recall him with fondness. His wife, his daughter who only comes to visit occasionally out of obligation. The occasional friend who would stop by to share a beer and talk about how things used to be. These are the people who will be affected by his demise. These are those who will say I remembered him when. But now here he lies, his years of gluttony and inactivity evident in the lump of fat and flesh that is his stomach, exposed from under his shirt, lying on the cement of a stoop that has seen better days just as he had.

One last gasp, hoping to raise the call of someone who isn't listening, he inhales with every fiber of his stricken being, but to no avail. One last thump in his chest and the blood ceases to run the course it was pre-destined to follow through the highways of his body, thus sustaining life.

A passerby sees the now inanimate lump of flesh lying in the hot darkness of the city and he calls out "are you ok?" No reply, not a sound nor a movement. Reluctant, yet driven by the nature of humans to help another, he cautiously approaches the slumped body, making a quick determination that things are not right and he begins to dial 911 at the same time knocking on a door to solicit help.

The wife shuffles to the door, yelling out "I told you not to lock the door behind you!" As she opens the portal she sees the stranger and the source of her irritation now lying lifeless on the stoop. Her demeanor immediately shifts to an emotion long since dead in her. No! No no no no, she exclaims. Dropping to her knees, sobbing she begins pounding on his chest exclaiming "why" as she reaches into the depths of her grey matter desperately trying to recall how to perform CPR. The stranger notes to her "the ambulance is on it's way" but she fails to hear anything but her own sobs.

In the distance a siren whines. The melodic sounds of Neil Diamond echo through the night air coming from the television in the flat that she must now inhabit alone.

Rich I Am

2008-08-05T06:13:00.000-07:00

In honor of the new "improved" 4 day work week and having to drag my ass to work by 7 am I composed a poem, I hope you like.

It's 6 am and time to wake,
get ready for work, with haste I should make.
Stumble out of bed and into the shower,
pause at the mirror a moment to glower.
Water turned on and naked I get,
shower curtain closed and suddenly I'm wet.

I do not feel happy as a clam,
I do not like this 6 am
I do not like it Rich I am.

Out of the shower my teeth I do brush,
the Wife is still sleeping, try to keep it hush hush.
Deodorant and gel, tousled hair is a mess,
off to the closet for now I get dressed.

Frankly Scarlett I don't give a damn,
I do not like this 6 am,
I do not like it Rich I am.

Iron my clothes and button my pants,
I look at my pillow and think, no I can't.
Just a few more minutes is all it would take,
but it is of no use, I'm already awake.

I am a very tired man,
I do not like this 6 am
I do not like it Rich I am.

Garage door opens and car door slams,
it's off to the office without my green eggs and ham.
No coffee, no caffeine not even a drop,
speeding onto the freeway watch out there's a cop.

I should have had some toast with jam,
I do not like this 6 am
I do not like it Rich I am.

It's ok I've made it and it's only day two,
the halls are all vacant, now what should I do?
7 am and not even a peep,
I'm like a Shepard without any sheep.

A baby sheep is called a lamb,
My workers do not like this 7 am
They do not like it Rich I am.

Alas I will blog, there's a thing I enjoy,
like a slinky on Christmas, fun for girl or for boy.
Coffee now brewed and it's starting to kick in,
don't tell my mom she may think it's a sin!

Caffeine is measured in milligrams,
I do not like this 7 am
I do not like it Rich I am.

Only 9 and a half more long hours to work,
under my breath there's a mutter, the Guv is a jerk!
Sure on Friday my tune it may change,
but come Monday morning it will all be the same.

I think this schedule is a sham
I do not like this 6 am
I do not like it Rich I am.

TGIF

2008-08-01T09:08:00.000-07:00

This is the end. The last Friday I have to work. Governor Jon M. Huntsman in his infinite wisdom has signed into law that employees of the Great State of Utah will beginning Monday August 4th, 2008 commence a four day work week. Sure we have to now put in 10 hour days to get the hours, God forbid we actually show how progressive we can be by actually pioneering a shorter work week by cutting back the number of hours worked. Everybody knows that government employees don't ever work 40 hours anyway right?

So the reason that you may detect a hint of sarcasm in my writing is that our Division rushed into this proposal by the Guv without fully thinking things through. Hey no skin off my nose, for me it works. Ok granted I am the last person that wants to be in my office by 7 am. I am just not a morning person. (thanks for that mom, why couldn't I get THAT from my father?) Regardless, this new schedule works to my advantage. But several of my compatriots have bigger issues with the new schedule.

You see, people don't stop abusing their children just because the government shuts down. The Guv thinks that this is going to have all sorts of benefits for the workers at the same time saving the State beau coup bucks. Sure in theory it all sounds good, but me, a peon, a virtual nobody, can see all sorts of flaws in the plan. Hell I read the initial proposal and noted right away that there were going to be certain divisions that could be exempt from this. My thoughts were that we would be one of them. Did we ask for this? No! We jumped in with both feet, the train was barreling down and we jumped in front of it. Now we start on Monday and our Division's plan hasn't even been approved by our Department. Some of the things that the Guv has listed in his reasons why this is a good thing are as follows.

Spend more time with your families because you are off on Fridays! Yeah, well in another month the kids will be back in school, sorry, no benefit there. Reduced commuting obligations thereby reducing the impact on the environment? Riiiight, we are all going to sit at home and absolutely go no where. In fact we will probably drive more releasing more emissions into the precious atmosphere. Take that Al Gore.
Offices will be closed thus reducing energy consumption? Ok I'll buy that, but the reality is that those savings are going to minuscule because the fact of the matter is that business must go on, there is still a mandate by statute that says we have deadlines to investigate abuse allegations. This is going to necessitate workers coming into the offices, accessing databases and doing business anyway, not to mention the projected overtime costs because these things occur at intervals that can not be planned for earlier in the week to flex your time to compensate.

I am sure it will all work out. Hell I hope it does, like I said it works for me. I don't have to worry about child care or getting my kids off to school. With any change comes growing pains. It will take some time, there will be some adjustments to be made. In the end, the crown jewel of this whole thing is that about the time we work out all of the kinks, guess what? This is only in effect for 1 year! That's right. 1 year, make all the necessary adjustments and I bet you that all of the headaches and glitches that haven't been thought through will cause him to pull the plug on the deal. Nice, thanks Guv. Even better we could get lucky and he could get defeated in re-election and the new Guv will come in and change everything anyway just like our boy Johnny did. Yep I love working for the government.

1000 Words or Bust

2008-07-30T09:00:00.000-07:00

They say a picture paints a thousand words. I have decided to see if this is true. I found this picture on the Internet. I'm not sure whom to give credit to, and if I borrowed it from you I apologize and thank you.

As I stare at this picture, I laugh at the comical element of this proverbial "fat cat" and wonder what he may be thinking. The first thing I think of is the fact that he looks like he just smoked a big ol' fattie blunt and is wondering where the Cheetos are hiding. "Why are you pointing that device at me laughing man? Quit screwing around and pass me the Cheetos man. God I am so wasted. Why is there no hair on my belly? Seriously man where are the Cheetos? Wow I have gloves on my hands. Check this out, mittens. Hey that rhymes with kittens. I used to be a kitten once. Whoa, my belly is so fat, maybe I ate a kitten. Dude, where's Bootsy? Bootsy? Oh God I ate Bootsy. Damn I could really use some Cheetos."

"Why am I sitting like this? I want to cross my legs but I can't. Check it, this is insane, I am wearing boots. He he he he, waiiiit a minute. I'm Bootsy. I didn't eat Bootsy, that would be impossible. I can't eat myself. I can lick myself. Watch this, uuuggghhhh, uuuggghhhhhhh, ok maybe I can't lick myself. What happened to you man? You used to be top cat. You were buff, you were suave. The ladies all wanted you. Now you're just a fat, stoned mess. Did you know cat nip is a gate way drug? Just try it they said, it's totally awesome they said. It's all natural. Drugs. Man I am really hungry. I think I saw some Ding Dongs up on the shelf. Mmmmm Ding Dongs. Are you still here with that contraption? Who are you looking at? Are you looking at me?"

"See this hand right here,the one between my legs? I'm gonna scratch myself with it. Where am I going to scratch? Figure it out man, right between the legs. You know what they say, if you have an itch, scratch it. Man, I have a dicky do. You know a dicky do, when your belly sticks out further than your dicky do. Damn I'm fat. I'm going to start exercising tomorrow. Turn over a new leaf. No more smokin' up, no more bags of Cheetos. Hell who am I kidding? Look at my face. I'm not going to stop. Are you looking at me? Take the picture already. Do you see this nose? This nose. Don't you just love how it is outlined from the rest of my face?"

"Did you know I am part tiger? Check out my stripes man. Tigers have stripes, I have stripes, ipso facto, I'm part tiger. Shear Khan was a tiger, he was a bad ass tiger. If I was Shear Khan I would have eaten that punk ass Mowgli. Tie a stick of fire onto my tail. Please, I would have knocked his punk ass down with one fell swoop of my massive paw and then just devoured his scrawny ass before he could be tyin' some fire stick to my tail. Wait. Dude! Did I eat Mowgli? Is that why I am so fat? Dude I AM Shear Khan." (571 for those of you who are counting).

I am now more than half way through 1000 words and quite frankly I think I may just be rambling hoping that I some how get to 1000. I mean seriously, a stoned, talking cat? Although come on, he does look stoned doesn't he? And fat, quite Jabba-esque don't you think? Yeah there is no way I am going to hit 1000. I am not even really inclined to continue trying.
Perhaps it is that I am not fully inspired by this particular picture. Perhaps I am not the word-smith that I thought I was. Maybe I don't see all the beauty that this pudgy little feline has to offer the world apart from a pretty stellar stoned face look. What about what's on the inside of this rotund mammal. His heart, what is it saying? "Damn I wish this beast would lose some weight so I can take a break from the responsibility of transporting all this THC to his brain so he can get his stone on." His lungs, are they laden with scorch marks from inhaling the smoke? Is his stomach really full of junk food from his constant state of munchiness? I wonder how much this portly fellow weighs. Is he sitting in front of that vent across the way so he can cool down with the nice cross breeze that wafts through providing a welcome respite from the no doubtingly increased body temperature that he experiences from the additional layers of cat blubber that he carries. For all we know this guy is just sitting there after suffering a massive coronary infarction while the owners are away and now rigormortis has set in. Maybe just maybe this is some backwoods family whose sick idea of cool is to stuff animals in funny poses after they die.

Regardless of what is really going on with our friend in the picture, did it live up to the haughty task of aspiring to create a thousand word blog on my part? Did it fall short like a geriatric Casanova hoping to satiate his proclivity for romance yet having the inability to create arousal without pharmaceutical assistance. 1000 words is not a task that one should undertake lightly. It can easily turn into non-sensical blabber that can leave the reader thinking that the writer should have stopped at word one. And for all of you haters out there that are going to count each and every word, pointing out that hyphenated words should only count as one word or that Jabba-esque isn't really a word (1000) and you had the nerve to use it twice. Well to you I say "Suck It" I did it with twenty five words to spare!

Me? Serious?

2008-07-22T10:15:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I amaze myself. I like to think of myself as a fairly easy going non-serious kind of fellow. When I write my blog I am usually trying to figure out ways to make people laugh or keep it light. I have developed this desire to blog and yet when I sit down to do it I don't always come up with something witty and then abandon the process hoping that perhaps something will happen during the day to inspire me to write. Invariably I just get bogged down in my day to day grind at work and yet another day passes without a column.
Today however the grind has produced a more serious, contemplative mood in me and I have decided to explore this for a change. The last couple of days at work have been quite stressful. I won't elaborate on the fine details, but suffice it to say that the work load for the people I supervise is sharply increasing as is my frustration with "administrative protocol".
Working for a government agency has it's benefits to be sure, but more often than not it comes with a myriad of headaches that people in the general public refer to as "red tape".
Now as I previously stated, I am not by any means a serious individual and I would hardly describe myself as passionate on any given day. However today is one of those days that I have discovered something in myself that has probably always been there, but my self inventory has revealed what I would label as passion.
It comes on the heels of yet another conflict with a "higher power", the court system. I have kind of always viewed my job as just that, a job. I don't know that I became a social worker because of some idealistic principles to which I adhere or that these were ingrained in me by my parents. The job just kind of fell into my lap.
I think perhaps I have embraced these idealistic principles by virtue of doing the job, and this is who I have become. You see today I found myself arguing with not only the judge in this case, but my own legal counsel. I felt a driving need to get this attorney to represent to the court what I feel is in the best interest of some children that have been removed from their parents home and custody. I felt like I had "passion" for not only this situation but the aforementioned struggle to get through the red tape that I actually represent through my job. As I look at the definition of passion in the dictionary I am not certain that it completely fits what I have experienced lately. It describes either "boundless enthusiasm" or an "abandoned display of emotion". Regardless, I felt something, call it what you will. I enjoy fighting the good fight. I feel like I have purpose in my direction.
On the other end of the scale I have a lot of apathy about a great many things. I don't see myself taking up any big political causes. I care about the environment as long as it is convenient for me. I still resent that the city I live in has forced me to recycle AND they are charging me to do it, I mean what is that all about? I enjoy driving my big SUV. I don't like paying for it, but I enjoy it none the less. I think there are a lot of atrocities in the world that get my attention, however I am content to let other people worry about those things. Is that so wrong? Am I a horrible person because I have become a bit myopic in my crusade?
After all I think I am doing my part. I am helping the little guy in my own way. I am fighting for things that others may not recognize as important. But by gum I am going to keep doing those things and whether or not it makes a big difference in the world remains to be seen. Maybe I am passionate. Maybe, just maybe I am more than what I traditionally believe about myself.

Ignernt

2008-07-16T10:33:00.000-07:00

So I wasn't going to blog today, mostly due to a lack of focus on my part, which in all actuality is more the norm rather than the exception. But I just got off the phone with a client. As you may know I am a social worker and work with people that have abused or neglected their children in some way shape or form. Actually I am a "program manager' which in lay men's terms means "boss". I actually prefer to be called Commodore, but that isn't in the HR definitions for an administrative position. So I am a program manager. As such I supervise the day to day work of several case managers that do the actual work and I just sit around and blog about things and occasionally give advice about things related to our job.
I have a wonderful group of people that I manage, and the majority of the time they make my life pretty easy. But as the old saying goes, you can please some of the people some of the time...but you can't please all of the people all of the time. Given the nature of our work, the ability to please any of the people any of the time becomes quite a monumental task, but some how some way the majority of the time our workers manage to find a way to please their clients. Well as much as you can please someone who has every reason to be difficult.
So my job for the most part is pretty easy for me to do, but there are those instances that despite their best efforts, a worker just can't seem to get their client to understand what they need to be doing and I get the complaint call. Today was one of those days.
Now 99% of the time I am very good at what I do, and have a certain, as the French say, Je' ne'sais quoi. But there is 1% of the time that I just well, let's just say don't care. It actually doesn't occur until after I have already begun the process of listening to the client, and then it just comes on like a Mack truck barrelling down the freeway with no brakes. It is usually sparked by one little word or phrase that they spew forth in their, let's call it passion, like venom flowing from the fangs of a viper. It usually isn't even anything personal towards me.
On this occasion it was the use of the word "ignernt." Now I am by no means the smartest guy I know, but I do pretty well in the intelligence department. On most occasions I am every man. I can relate to anyone and part of that is my ability to put aside my superior intellect and just go with the flow. Sorry if I seem a bit braggadocios, but it is what it is!
So this angry mother is talking in circles and not saying anything at all. She doesn't even know what the problem is, she just knows that she is upset at my worker. I can also hear a voice in the background, a male, spouting off about what I can only assume are the very things that this woman is yappin' about. She says to me, "she was sitting in our front room being all ignernt to us." I bite my tongue and ask for clarification. "What do you mean she was being ignernt?" Only I pronounced the word correctly. "Ignernt" she says, she is so ignernt to us. I snapped. "Do you even know what ignernt means?" I purposefully pronounced it wrong. "Of course I know what it means." At this point I have already lost my "Je' ne'sais quoi" and said to myself what the fuck. (sometimes you just have to say "what the fuck"). I said, "you don't really know what the word means, it means that she doesn't know something."
Now this goes against all of my training in conflict resolution and how to deal with difficult people, but it was just like word vomit, I couldn't stop. Along with my correction of her grammar, I could here this man still flappin' his gums and again I figured "what the fuck" stick a fork in me because I'm done. I say to her "who is that in the background because it is really distracting so if he wants to say something to me, put him on the phone." Fortunately for me he was a bit more rational than this woman and I was quickly able to regain composure and have a civil conversation with him. However by the end of this 30 minute phone call I was spent. The good news, I found my inspiration to write today. The bad news? He asked for my supervisor's name and number. This doesn't worry me because I can play this off as "one of those clients that we just can't please". I am certain that my boss will find this out quickly and commiserate with myself and my worker.

An Ode To Toe

2008-07-15T09:03:00.000-07:00

Hidden so deeply under leather and cotton
yearning for the release from it's restrictive prison. A toe lies in wait, twitching and flinching, wondering when it will next see the light of day. Crowded and cramped by it's taller skinnier brother, it flounders and flops taking what liberties it can while respecting the proximity and attachment to something bigger than he.
A small gathering of hair holds a celebration of triumph, standing atop the chubby protrusion of bone and flesh. Temporarily matted and oppressed by this system of containment called shoe. Hoping, anticipating, living, for that moment in time when the host will release them from their bonds. It comes not soon enough, they concede for now, choosing to remain prostrate to a higher calling of which they have no understanding.
Evolution has created this marvel of horror and beauty, a stabilizing appendage of biological construct, yet less significant than his cousin opposable thumb who comes to visit when the call goes out for assistance. A indulgent scratch, a tug, a traumatic intervention of cropping. The harvest? Keratin Protein. The majestic and equally mis-understood toe nail.
Thumb has purpose, he has use. Jealousy creeps into the primitive mind, we have purpose, we have meaning. Respect is something lacking for our friend, yet admiration is on the horizon. For were it not for this unsung hero, aesthetics become challenged, balance becomes skewed, and the greater system would be less for not having known him. For he is... Toe.

Explain-atives

2008-07-14T09:17:00.000-07:00

There is a phenomenon in Utah that I find quite amusing. Actually I am certain it probably isn't just Utah, but there is a version of it that is prevalent here that just takes it to a whole other level. Whole other, this is an aside, but don't you just love people that say "whole nother" instead of whole other. I digress yet again.
So I was thinking about the practice of substitute swearing. I again must confess that I am guilty of such a practice in days of yore. I won't trace the origins of such a thing as I am sure I could spend my whole day looking up articles about it, however I just get a kick out of the practice here in Zion.
There has always been the obvious "dang it" that is substituted for "dammit". I believe most little kids grow up learning to shout "dang it" when they get blasted on a video game. Hell, oops I mean heck, my boys consistently drop "dang it" when they are playing rock band. The one that cracked me up the other day was my boy Keaton who dropped a "son of a.." and stopped it right there. It was funny because his step-mom was giving him crap about it saying he was in trouble. This is the same kid that when he was about three years old dropped a "what the hell is this?" in the middle of a crowded Asian food restaurant when they brought him something to eat that wasn't mac and cheese. I have high hopes for this one actually picking up his father's love of expletives solely based on this one incident.
One of my favorites is the liberal use of the word "fetch" among Utahn's. Again I am not certain of it's origins, but I know that the missionary population is quite fond of this one. One that has emerged in the last few years is "shut the front door" a variation of good old "fetch or fetchin"
Now we all know what these words are substitute for so I will forgo using the actual word. (your welcome mother!)
Other substitute swears are variations of "son of a.." such as "summer ditches" "son of a biscuit eater" and the ever popular "sunny beaches"
A variation of the biggie of taking the name of the Lord in vain is "got dandruff" or "cheese and rice".
Me I decided long ago just to go with the profane. I tried on the substitutes and honestly they are good for a laugh or two. They come in handy when you work with people that get offended easily by vulgarities. However these same people that use the substitutes are in my mind just being hypocritical. After all doesn't it say somewhere that "as a man thinketh, so is he?" If you are going to use substitutes, isn't it really just the same thing as actually swearing? Maybe it isn't that black and white for people, but for me, I wonder if you are really gaining points with the big man upstairs by replacing the actual word with one that has the same intent.
I think I'm sounding a bit preachy at the moment, and in reality I want to avoid that so I will dispense with the sermon.
In conclusion I want to just say; what the heck is the problem here? I mean seriously all you sunny beaches out there that think it is a fetchin problem to swear or curse need to re-examine your friggin' values and determine if this crap is really going to dang you all to heck and keep you from heaven. For heck's sake just get off your behinds, and shut the front door as you get the flock outta here and quit worrying about the consequences of saying what you really mean!

Musicality

2008-07-10T07:08:00.000-07:00

Music. I like it. I like most of it. I can listen to just about anything. Yes even country music. I recall having a little AM radio when I was a kid in California, listening to whatever station it could pick up. You kids these days probably don't even know what AM radio is. We didn't have these fancy Ipod's or booming car stereos when I was a kid. It was the early 70's and disco was coming on strong, but I still always had an affinity for the rock and roll. I found myself torn between the two styles of music. I say torn because as disco gained it's stranglehold on the airwaves you started seeing tee shirts that said disco sucks. A tee shirt told me that disco sucked so I guess disco sucked. But I liked it. I was a closet disco fan. At this point not knowing what being in the closet meant I would take my radio into the closet whenever a disco song came on and I would listen to it in there. It's a wonder that I am not gay from spending so much time in the closet and listening to disco music. (Not that there's anything wrong with it....love you Ryan!)
The point of all this is that I developed a taste for different music genres. I listened to whatever was pleasing to my ears, and I listened to everything. I eventually began piano lessons and had to learn the classics, Beethoven, Bach and the likes. I gained an appreciation for these master pieces and what it took to master playing them. In junior high I began learning to play the trombone and I was initiated into the world of jazz music. Our high school jazz band was spectacular and we took first place in two different national competitions.
The 80's came and with it came alternative music. I fell in love with what in my opinion is one of the greatest musical geniuses of my time, Danny Elfman and Oingo Boingo. I mostly wanted to listen to it because they had such a cool name. It just rolls off the tongue. Oingo Boingo. Once I heard them I was hooked for life. The 80's were an interesting time for music, but I went along with it, listening, absorbing, and at the same time learning to play music gave me a greater appreciation for what the musicians were trying to do with the sounds. I had a buddy who turned me onto Rush. My muse B-dog is probably getting a shiver as I write this because he just doesn't like Rush. We have agreed to disagree about this band. I like them for the intricacy and complexity of their rhythms. Because I was learning to play jazz music I was really into the theory behind the music. My fellow band geeks and I had fun trying to pick out the time signatures and phrasings of some of these songs.
The 90's brought on a new era for me and I discovered a new band that I absolutely love and that is the Bare Naked Ladies (BNL). This is another band that I just had to listen to because of the name. Now musically they aren't anything special, but lyrically they bring something to the table because the make me laugh. Their music is smart to me. To this day I think that they are my favorite band to see in concert because of the show they put on and I always come away laughing at some of the stuff that they have done on stage.
The whole reason I decided to write this piece was inspired by something I saw on the music television yesterday. It is rare these days when a music television station actually plays music videos, what a novel concept huh? That is another blog for another day. The point is that yesterday morning I caught VH1 playing vidoes and one happened to be on that caught my attention. The music wasn't bad, it was actually as I said before "pleasing to my ears". I watched and noticed that it was 5 men dancing and singing. Now I realize that boy bands have been around for a very long time. I don't credit Boyz2Men or N'Sync for this musical style, but they certainly ushered in a huge tsunami of boy bands that were popular in the 90's, one of which was New Kids on the Block. So I'm watching the VH1 and see Marky Mark's brother dancing and singing and think to myself, "no, it can't be". Sho 'nuff the name of the band and title of the song comes onto the screen and it was none other than the New Kids on the Block. I just laughed out loud, literally. Seriously? You guys are old. You're certainly not kids. Sure I get the whole reunion thing....hell I'm still holding out for Oingo Boingo to get back together for their second coming. Zepplin did it, the Police did it and they hated each other, you can too Danny, I'm beggin you!
But come on "Kids", you probably need to re-think this whole name thing. I'm just sayin. So I liked the tune. I'm not going to run out and buy the album, but I won't change the station if it comes on again. After all I like music, it's good for you. It's Good for Your Soul....come on Danny, Steve, somebody please make it happen!

Just For The Articles

2008-07-08T08:03:00.000-07:00

So my buddy B-dog, my self-proclaimed muse, has suggested that I do a piece that reveals a more personal side. I took some time to think about this concept and the following is what I think will be a personal yet entertaining look at the man, Rich.
I do not subscribe to or even own a copy of the skin mag Playboy. (My mother who has begun reading this, as well as my wife will appreciate that disclosure). But you always hear the joke that "I get it for the articles." Riiiight, the articles. I have decided that though I don't read or look at Playboy, I wonder what the "article" about me would read like.

Playboy: So Rich, you are a social worker. How did you get into this work?

Rich: Well it started back in 1986. I had just returned home from an LDS mission to Australia (hard to believe I know!) I was working at a Sizzler in Salt Lake City. To this day I still struggle to not answer the phone "Steak, Seafood, Salad, Sizzler on South State." I was also taking some classes at the Salt Lake Community College. My mother was working for a program that worked with teenage delinquent girls. She got me a job doing maintenance around the ranch. You know, fixing holes in the walls that the girls would punch, changing light bulbs...that sort of thing. The program decided to start a boys program and asked me to work as a night watch staff. I took the job and got to work with some of the kids a little bit. I found this to be interesting. The kids seemed to like me. I felt like I was helping them by just listening to them when they couldn't get to sleep. I decided to take some psychology classes to see what was behind that sort of thing, and liked what I was learning. Long story short, here I am 22 years later and I am still working with people. Now I work for the State of Utah in the child abuse and neglect realm and really enjoy helping people. I am a supervisor over 7 people. I mainly help them understand how we need to work with these families that have neglected or abused their children. I do a lot of listening like a therapist, but not really therapy. I actually do give advice based on what I believe is the best course of action for them to take in trying to help people. It's funny because I have a couch in my office and people come in and I tell them to sit on the therapy couch. It seems to be pretty effective.

Playboy: You're a funny guy from what we have read in your blog, is that how you deal with such a difficult job?

Rich: What by blogging? Yeah I know that was lame. Actually, thanks! I like to think I have a pretty good sense of humor. Sure it may be warped at times, but in general, you know what they say. Laughter is the best medicine. (Reader's Digest isn't going to sue me for trade mark infringement are they?) I have discovered that finding humor in everything can really help you cope with life in general. I wrote a screen play about this concept.

Playboy: You wrote a screenplay?

Rich: Actually I have two and the beginnings of a third. The one I referred to is one that is kind of a memoir if you will, of my job experiences and how I have found humor as a way to deal with very difficult situations that I have encountered over the years. I also have aspirations of actually making a couple of these scripts into movies. They are a collaborative effort with a very good friend of mine, J-Hi.

Playboy: Have you had anyone read them?

Rich: Other than family or friends no. I dabble in film making and editing. I have done some weddings and personal things that have turned out alright. I think that I could go Kevin Smith on the world and make the next Clerks. Ok maybe that is a bit of a stretch, but hell who knows right?

Playboy: Your 43 and have four kids. How old are your kids?

Rich: I have a 17 year old daughter, a 13 year old son, a 11 year old son and an 8 year old son. I can't believe my daughter is going to be a senior in high school this year.

Playboy: Does your daughter drive then?

Rich: Thank God no! I am kind of lucky actually. She hasn't bugged us to get her drivers license. Hell she hasn't really even been dating anyone. She went to her junior prom this year. That was nice for her. It was a group date thing so I feel pretty lucky that she isn't all infatuated with one boy friend.

Playboy: And your boys?

Rich: They are good kids. They are all really good students and stay out of trouble. The 13 year old is going into 8th grade and made the honor roll each semester last year.

Playboy: Your divorced right? The kids seem to be doing well in spite of such a tough thing to deal with.

Rich: Yes I am divorced. My current wife and I have been able to work well with my ex and her husband. The kids have had some minor things throughout the years, but over all have really thrived. I think we all do a great job of co-parenting the kids. I pick them up every Friday after work and they stay with us for the weekend. We have even done a family trip to California with their mother and step-dad. Talk about out of the norm. It worked out quite well, and best of all it was a good message to the kids that parents can work together despite the pain that can come from a divorce.

Playboy: So you don't read Playboy, you won't be reading this article then?

Rich: Well, you know, if I want to see a naked woman, I can just go tell my wife to prance around the house naked. She probably won't, but I am sure I could persuade her if it was between that or me going out and buying a magazine. By the way who is the centerfold this month? Maybe I will go out and buy it....just for the articles!

"Air Quotes" and the English Language

2008-07-02T09:19:00.000-07:00

Why do people do "air quotes"? I thought about this as I caught a buddy of mine doing it this morning. I must confess, I have used the "air quotes" liberally over the years. The more I ruminated on the subject the more and more ridiculous it seemed to me. I recall a character of Chris Farley, (God rest his soul) that exaggerated the use of "air quotes" and it was hilarious to me. I despise these motivational speaker types the get up on a stage with their wireless microphones and power point presentations, preaching about the beauty of some multi-level marketing scheme that has made them a millionaire and can change your life too if you just "Believe" dropping the "air quotes" on the frenzied crowd. Yet as I took respite from my attempt to deliver another gem of a submission for your consideration to staff some cases for my real job, I caught myself dropping an "air quote" on my worker. Oh my hell. I am a freakin' idiot! This is insane. I begin to obsess about why people, including myself make this inane gesture. In my insanity I start thinking about the word "air". Air and heir have the same pronunciation. Why isn't it an "heir quote"? I am certain that society inherited this ritual from someone who thought they were being clever.
Suddenly my mind gets held hostage at this question. Why is the English language so confusing? Heir/Air. Are/Our. The letter "R" is commonly used as a substitution for the word "are" in the realm of shorthand texting. Why do we have to spell out W-h-y when a simple letter "y" would suffice? So many words have similar pronunciations yet have different spelling and meaning. Unfortunately my inability to correctly spell the words "pronounce" and "pronunciation" led to the premature death of a really good bit. God bless the spell check feature! I could drudge on with anecdotal observations about a myriad of discrepancies with our beloved language, but I will abstain, you get the point.
In summation, I find myself wondering if I can ever cease the use of what I believe should be an archaic idiosyncrasy, yet is still perpetuated by fools like me. Damn the person that believed it would be "cool" to raise both hands in front of them and use the index and middle fingers to simulate quotation marks. Damn them for passing it on, bestowing it upon the general population. Damn them all to hell!

Our Problems Are Now Solved!!!

2008-07-01T10:28:00.001-07:00

Asparagus! You have read it correctly, I said asparagus. Scientists have discovered that the soil on Mars is capable of growing, that's right, asparagus!
Here is a link to the article. http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20080627/ts_afp/usspacemars_080627040240;_ylt=AjCrZWGJf3lvw37Q4d2jIDL737YB
This is astounding! The soil environment on Mars will support a vegetable that makes urine smell after you eat it. This poses the question for me, I wonder if Martians eat asparagus and does their urine smell? Does the Phoenix Lander have olfactory capacity? Because that would be the easiest way to determine if there has been or is life on Mars. Take a big ol' wiff of the air and see if it smells like asparagus pee!
Me, I'm not a big asparagus fan quite frankly. In fact I think it is quite a dangerous plant. They are shaped like spears, and it would seem to me that they could put your eye out if you had a sudden stroke while eating one. Maybe that is why there doesn't appear to be Martians on Mars. Perhaps they all got maimed or killed from eating asparagus.
I have a thought, and if anyone steals my idea, I have this as evidence so I wouldn't consider pilfering this one from me. Don't think I won't get all litigious on your ass because I will. I am going to be the first asparagus farmer on Mars. I will make a fortune. Martian grown asparagus, I am sure it will be all the rage in places like L.A., Paris, New York. I can make a killing. And if they won't buy it from me I will just threaten to put their eyes out with it.
Asparagus reportedly also has aphrodisiac properties. Which is contradictory to my theory that it may have led to the extinction of the Martian race, because one would think that were it an aphrodisiac, those Martians would be bumpin' uglies all night long, thus perpetuating the species. One would also think that the pro-creation factor would probably out pace the mortality rates, however even that is not definitive because the intelligence factor is still unknown. After all who builds a society around the cultivation of a weed that makes your urine smell? Not to mention that the smell factor would probably counter-balance the aphrodesiactical properties, (yes I just made that word up) thus negating the pro-creative factors, allowing the mortality rate to prevail.
Maybe I am going to re-think my original statement that our problems have been solved. After all, The Answer Is Always More Cowbell!

Time

2008-06-30T08:57:00.000-07:00

There is an plethora of cliche's and sayings in which the subject is that of Time. "Time flies when you're having fun." "Time is on my side" (Mick Jagger) "Time is money" "Time to make the doughnuts." You get the idea.
It has been well over a week since I last found time to blog. You see when I set out on this journey of introspection and formalizing my thoughts into the written word, I had intentions to compose 5 days a week. Well, another cliche' states: "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." I'm not saying that I am planning a trip down the river Styx into the great abyss in the near future,(of this I am not absolutely certain, after all I can't see into the future, but I like my chances of obtaining at least the "Telestial kingdom"). However:
A) I did have good intentions. And:
2) to again steal a thought from my boy B-Dog, the notion of blogging every day is a bit "indulgent". I believe gluttony is a sin. (perhaps a sinonym? Ok maybe a stretch. B-Dog thinks HE is the master of the parenthetical!)
The notion that I am going to visit Mephistopheles is a distinct possibility given the above notation.
Digression. It seems to be a pattern for me. I believe the subject at hand is Time, of which for myself has been scarce in the last week. Time did indeed fly, though I must say I wasn't having all that much fun. So that cliche isn't relevant. Perhaps it should say: "Time flies when your having fun, but it also flies when you are extremely busy." It's easy to "lose track of Time" when you are busy. Next thing you know you are 43 years old with 4 kids and you look in the mirror and see an old man staring back at you. A bit over-dramatic, but you see the point. Even as I sit here now I feel the Time slipping away from me and my thoughts turn to other things vying for my attention. Maybe it is "Time to make the doughnuts." "Mmmmmmm dooooughhhhnutttsss" (Homer). Yeah it's definitely Time.

A Dog's Blog

2008-06-20T10:49:00.000-07:00

Salutations! My name is Shep. As you can see, like my master Rich, I am a handsome fellow.(See his blog about how People Magazine snubbed him again.) Being as I am a dog, you might think that I would not have a lot to say in a web log, in fact it is quite the opposite. Starting at a very young age I have had a voice. I remember the first time Rich came to meet me in the furthest reaches of rural Idaho. He tells me that he drove for many hours with two young children in the hopes of obtaining a companion for the family. As he arrived, myself along with my 11 litter-mates stood at attention at the sound of the minivan pulling into the gravel drive way. I was only 8 weeks old at this time, very small, but boy did I have a voice. We lived in a pretty nice home with lots of straw and acres of land to run around on and I stood up and told Rich all about it. I barked and barked and barked about it. I had lots to tell him about myself. You see I had to tell him that I almost didn't survive being born. My human mother told Rich that I was her "spider puppy" that I was so tiny that I shouldn't have survived. I had to compete with all of my brothers and sisters for food, but by god I did it. Also, my canine mother tugged kind of hard on my umbilical cord creating a hernia in my belly button. I know Rich has a belly button and he finds nice surprises in it, but mine is an outtie because of mom. Long story short I did survive and Rich took me home to Utah to live. I never stopped talking the whole way there. I was sad that I had to leave the only family I had ever known and it made me cry. Rich and his family told me it was going to be ok and they gave me a nice place to live. He taught me how to behave too, because just between you and I, I was a bit of a little shit. As I said I had a lot to say and I said it a lot. Rich told me to be quiet all the time, in fact he still does. But I still need to tell the world all of the wonderful things that go through my big beautiful head. ( I am pretty aren't I?) So I talk. I talk to anyone that will listen. It's kind of funny because the humans that I talk to just look at me in puzzlement and tell me that I need to be quiet. I don't really have an inside voice, I just have to speak at the top of my lungs. Sometimes Rich actually commands me to speak and I let it rip. He seems to really enjoy it when I talk after he tells me too. Sometimes though I do have a quiet voice. In fact the humans don't seem to even hear it, but I think Rich does. Sometimes I stand in front of him and just look at him with my big brown eyes. This gets his attention and he looks at me, I can tell he knows that I am saying things to him. Usually I am saying that I am hungry and want some supper. He just gets it, and he takes me and my other dogs up to the place that he keeps our food and I just chow down. I along with all Labradors absolutely love food.

Sometimes I look at him and tell him I have to go outside and pee, and he gets it. He lets me out so I can go. Other times I just look at him and tell him I need a hug and he gets down on my level and gives me attention. I act like I don't want it, but I really do. My other humans love me too. I have a boy that comes to visit me every weekend and sometimes he just won't leave me alone. Don't tell my other dogs but he loves me the best! I have it pretty good I must admit. My humans give me everything I need and I will keep telling anyone who wants to listen. By the way, thank you for listening to me.

People Magazine Has Snubbed Me Again

2008-06-19T07:34:00.000-07:00

Once again the literary giant People magazine has published one of it's "who's hot" lists and I am not on it. They announced today their Hottest Bachelors for 2008. Topping the list, Mario Lopez with a wonderful pose paying tribute to Marky Mark in his Calvin Klein's. He looks absolutely scrumptious and I can certainly see why he is at the head of the class, wait it was Saved By The Bell wasn't it. Never mind.
People Magazine always does this to me. They put out these lists of people that are "hot", "sexy", "beautiful" etc. and invariably I am never on them. I don't mean to be braggadocious, to borrow a term from my boy B-Dog, that he dropped on me yesterday, but I am a damn good looking fellow if I do say so myself. Hell ask my wife, she'll tell ya. Sure she has a slightly biased opinion, but I am certain there are others who can confirm this for me.
Who are the "people" that are responsible for compiling these lists and why aren't they looking for me? I'm just sitting here at my desk every day, it's not like I am hard to find People! So yeah I get it, I just gave them a reason to not come looking for me this time, I'm married and therefore not a "sexy bachelor". Sure I'll give them that one, but how valid can their lists really be if they aren't scanning the globe, scouring every nook and cranny, ever searching... for me?
You know People, it really hurts. I deserve to be on that list, not that list, but one of them. Throw me a friggin bone here. I'll be the guy sitting behind his computer, day after day, doing my part to make the world a better place with not only my mad skills in social work, but with my beauty. You owe it to the world, make it right, put me on your lists.

Fonts

2008-06-18T10:45:00.000-07:00

As I sit in front of my computer this beautiful sunny day, I feel as though my gaze into the computer screen is going to reveal a universe of diodes and wires that create the many colors and letters that make up the page. My thoughts of blogging on a daily basis have prematurely come to a stand still after only two posts. Did I burn out too quickly like some distant super-nova in the expanses of the universe? Is Belly Button Lint the only clever and witty topic that the bundle of neurons I call a brain could muster up to muse about? My blank stare at the monitor stimulates the neuro-transmitters into action. Words, I need words. Good this is a start, things are again moving. But how to assemble them into sentences and paragraphs. A topic, I need a topic, then suddenly I see a small white box in the right hand corner of this posting box. "Font" The proverbial filament in the light bulb over my head blazes forth with irradiation. Fonts. Lets examine fonts. What an interesting and perhaps expansive subject to contemplate. I click on the drop down box, revealing the available styles. Only Eight. Suddenly it isn't so expansive any more, but maybe I can squeeze more out of this. How did fonts come to be? Back in the day we didn't have word processing programs to document. We had mechanical boxes with metal arms inside of it that leaped forward when a key was depressed by the user, striking a black carbon ribbon creating an imprint of the corresponding letter that was cast into the end of the metal arm. We didn't have a diversity of options that allowed us to "change it up" if you will. Now I have eight, eight different options to work with here. Who comes up with these things? Web Dings? What the crap are Webdings? Does this make any sense at all?
The above sentence, yes it is a sentence, says "How does this make any sense at all?" I am going to warn the reader right now that my admiration for profanity is about to be exhibited so stop reading right now if you are adverse to obscene verbage. Go on, leave the room, I'll let you know when it's safe to return.
What the fuck? I mean seriously, who the hell was sitting around going " We should create a font that is all just pictures, it will be cool" ? Oh and by the way "Pass the Dutchie bro because my buzz is starting to wear off, I thought you just said lets make a font out of pictures!" Come on people!
Those of you who left the room may now return, I am back in control of myself. Sadly though, I think that I have depleted the available neurotransmitters that so aptly allowed me to create this entry today.
Maybe I'll go get some coffee.

The Human Belly Button, Natures Lint Trap

2008-06-17T11:07:00.000-07:00

Many years ago when I was a young child, my parents received a gag gift from someone that was very intriguing to my young mind. It was a small plastic box with a clear hinged lid and gold lettering that said Belly Button Lint Kit. Within the box was a small brush and a small packet of seeds. There may have been one or two other inconsequential items in the kit, but what they may be I do not recall. I do remember asking my parents why they had this kit and they proceeded to tell me that it was a joke.
As a young child I failed to see the humor in this gift, but I proceeded to ask my parents how it worked. They told me that you had to plant the "lint seed" in your belly button and then wait for it to grow into a lint ball. The small brush was to harvest the fully mature lint plant. "Does it really work?" I asked them. "No sweetie it's just something that adults have to deal with and that is why it is funny to us." I shook my head, looked at the shallow indentation in my stomach, wondered how could a plant exist in such a small hole, then wandered off to play with my Evil Kanevil racing bike. Do you remember those toys? Man they were cool. Yet again I digress.
I never did plant a lint seed in my belly button to see what all the fuss was about, but here I am decades later and this anecdote came to mind as I was sitting in my recliner last night pondering what I would blog about today. As I often do at the end of a long day I go home, get changed into some comfortable clothes, pour a glass of red wine, and sit in my recliner to partake of television programming that will take my mind off the day's events. For dinner I had a particularly nasty meal of Del Taco, god what was I thinking when I got that for supper? I had gorged myself and was rubbing my rather substantial torso, proud of the accomplishment of downing not only a Macho Burrito, but also a Macho Taco. To top it off I had a nice piece of strawberry short cake. As I was rubbing my Buddha belly for good luck, praying that the misgiving of over indulging myself; god what was I thinking, Del Taco, really? My finger crossed over my belly button. I found myself exploring the now cavernous indentation of my abdomen, and to my surprise I found a full grown lint plant. There was my blog, belly button lint. So it's not the most eloquent and political topic that one could choose to blog about, but it absolutely fits with my personality. Think about it. Belly Button Lint. What the hell? Where does it really come from? How did this fully grown lint plant come to exist in my button? I didn't plant any seeds. Did it spontaneously appear out of the microcosm that surely exists within such a place? Now my mind has wandered to realms that perhaps are better left un-disclosed for this dialogue. But here's a thought that I will share. What if I were to collect all the fully grown lint plants that I am able to harvest for an undetermined amount of time. After all the fruit of a fully grown lint plant is minuscule and doesn't yield a usable harvest. However a collection of lint fruit could eventually have global implications. Could one utilize this resource to say perhaps create a nice pair of knit socks? A cardigan? An afghan comforter? I think the possibilities are endless and in a day and age that gasoline is over $4.00 a gallon, the savings of creating usable items from an item in which the investment is naught? Well I think the fiscal implications for a person could be substantially positive.

Blog Virgin

2008-06-13T10:29:00.000-07:00

It has been many many years since I lost my virginity, so this is a new feeling for me. It is difficult to admit to being a virgin at the age of 43. It conjures up images of Steve Carell lying on a table getting his chest hair waxed, just letting the expletives fly. I am quite fond of expletives. Sometimes there isn't a better way to express oneself that using a good curse. I don't know that blogging is quite comparable to having scalding hot wax placed onto the hair of my chest, then having it ripped off with excruciating pain. Conversely, I imagine that blogging can be enjoyable, maybe not to the level of losing ones virginity, but in a more cathartic way perhaps?
Like the pressure to have sex in high school, the notion that "everybody's doing it" has me wondering if blogging is all that people say. After all, it seems like work. Losing one's virginity is work, sex doesn't just fall into your lap, ok maybe for some people. But in reality this isn't about sex, it's about blogging and finding meaningful things to say to the world.
The title of my blog is "The Answer is Always More Cowbell" Many of you in the blogosphere (is that the correct term?), may be familiar with the SNL sketch with Will Ferrell playing a cowbell in the band Blue Oyster Cult. Here is a link to it: Here
So maybe not everyone loves Will Ferrell the way I do, but the reality of it all is that he makes me laugh out loud. I love to laugh. There is truth in the old saying that "laughter is the best medicine." Laughing is good for your soul. The great Danny Elfman wrote: "Just once or twice it's good for your soul." Of course he wasn't referring to laughter, but Danny Elfman is a musical genius in my mind and any time I can reference him in the course of a thought or conversation I will exploit my admiration for him. But I digress. The point is this, I am a social worker with abused and neglected children, which is sad and difficult work at times. The one way that I have found to be able to cope with all of that is to laugh. Finding humor in things; looking for ways to laugh. Just being able to look at a grown man with a curly haired wig and a shirt that is too tight and short so that it exposes his hairy belly, banging on a cowbell and dancing like there is no tomorrow; this is what life is about for me. No matter what life throws at you, the answer is more cowbell.