As some of you faithful readers know, The lovely bride and I recently attended a funeral in Texas. Now, let me say first off that I have always avoided funerals. They are not happy occasions and quite frankly I don't like saying goodbye. I don't like leaving the High Falls Hilton and saying goodbye, so the permanent goodbye has been something that I have avoided whenever possible.
However this one was different.
Dwayne had given thought to how he wanted to be remembered. He had taken the time to write down and plan for everything. From the motorcycle that he wanted in the viewing room, to the leathers that he was wearing, the music being played, the route to the cemetery and how he wanted to be taken (on a motorcycle trailer). He took the time to make sure that he was remembered for the person that he was, not as the person that some unnamed funeral director thought that he should be remembered as.
What a final gift.
His family didn't have to really make any of those decisions that certainly would have been colored by grief. They never had to fall into the trap of letting a funeral home "make all of the arrangements" and "take care of everything".
He did that for them.
What a gift.
He let someone like me, that had had only met him once, really get a sense of who he was. He allowed his friends to be themselves in the midst of their grieving over a fallen friend. Most of his friends were bikers, he was in his leathers and they were in theirs. He rode with them in life and they rode with him and gave him an escort for their final farewell. One last ride with him...
What a gift.
He chose the music that was played at the cemetery, and evidently it was music that was recognised by his friends as being from him. No hymns, no hosannas, no bringing in the sheaves. Instead the Eagles, Steve Miller and Lynyrd Skynrd sang him on the way to his final ride. And his friends and family recognized that this was how he wanted to be remembered. No choir, no church group, instead fifty bikers, as bikers, with leathers and do rags softly singing Take it to the Limit. No recirculated pap, just a few songs that told the story of one mans life and the impact that he had on others.
From all accounts he was almost mythic. Ten feet tall, bulletproof, a force of nature, unforgettable. On their bikes, in their leathers, allowed to be themselves I learned about Dwayne. Quick to anger, quick to forgive, loyal to a fault, a prankster, a family man...one man that had known him for over 40 years told me "if you were his friend you were his f*cking friend, and he was yours". Real friends are hard to find.
I wish I would have known him better.
He made me think.
How do I want to be remembered? Do I really want my wife and family trying to figure out what to do and say?
I hear those songs now and I think of a man I never knew. I think about the friends that I met through his passing. I met some great people. If you can judge a man by his friends I missed knowing someone worthwhile.
And without ever knowing, he left me a gift by letting me get to be friends with some of his.
What a gift.
Finally, I did get my best gift from him. And he did know about this one.
I married his daughter....
What a gift.
Ride free Dwayne...you are missed by many.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Government double talk
Let me start by saying that I am not a fan of government. I am not a fan of bail outs and I believe that most politicians are such liars that if they told the truth their tongues would snap off in their mouths and they would choke to death.
That said, I read in the paper this morning yet another article that keeps me at a constant low state of rage against the government and politicians.
As most know, the South has been under a severe drought for the last several years. To combat this our local officials and the local electric and water monopoly (JEA) have spent millions of dollars running ads touting the benefits of water and electric conservation.
According to the local fish wrap JEA is now saying that those ads have worked TO WELL. Water use in Jacksonville is down nearly 1000 gallons per month per household and electric use is down also. A good thing you say, NO, now we are facing another rate increase because revenues are down BECAUSE OF CONSERVATION.
JEA is the only game in town, if you want electricity or water you have to be a JEA customer. In the last 2 years rates in Jacksonville have been increased 124%. The last increase was in October '08. Now we are being told that if we conserve they will just raise rates to match pre-conservation revenues!
This is absolutely outrageous!
This sh*t happens at every single level of government. When are the people in this country going to wake the f*uck up!
There are NOT 2 parties running government now there are only the REPUBLICRATS.
We as a people need to vote these sorry S.O.B.'s out of office and the sooner the better.
For the last several elections I have voted for 3rd party candidates whenever one was on the ballot. If no third party candidate is available I vote against the incumbent. People have told me that I am throwing away my vote.
Absolutely not, I have voted my conscience.
Unless we as the people of the United States wake up we deserve what we get.
That said, I read in the paper this morning yet another article that keeps me at a constant low state of rage against the government and politicians.
As most know, the South has been under a severe drought for the last several years. To combat this our local officials and the local electric and water monopoly (JEA) have spent millions of dollars running ads touting the benefits of water and electric conservation.
According to the local fish wrap JEA is now saying that those ads have worked TO WELL. Water use in Jacksonville is down nearly 1000 gallons per month per household and electric use is down also. A good thing you say, NO, now we are facing another rate increase because revenues are down BECAUSE OF CONSERVATION.
JEA is the only game in town, if you want electricity or water you have to be a JEA customer. In the last 2 years rates in Jacksonville have been increased 124%. The last increase was in October '08. Now we are being told that if we conserve they will just raise rates to match pre-conservation revenues!
This is absolutely outrageous!
This sh*t happens at every single level of government. When are the people in this country going to wake the f*uck up!
There are NOT 2 parties running government now there are only the REPUBLICRATS.
We as a people need to vote these sorry S.O.B.'s out of office and the sooner the better.
For the last several elections I have voted for 3rd party candidates whenever one was on the ballot. If no third party candidate is available I vote against the incumbent. People have told me that I am throwing away my vote.
Absolutely not, I have voted my conscience.
Unless we as the people of the United States wake up we deserve what we get.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Eavesdropping at the Golden Corral
A while ago, the lovely bride, the child and I stopped at....The Golden Corral, for dinner. For those of you not acquainted with the Golden Corral it is basically a feeding trough for humans. It is an all you can eat bland food extravaganza and the child loved going there at the time. It is also a gathering spot for all things redneck.
I'm not saying that's necessarily bad but it is sometimes humorous.
On this particular evening we were seated next to a couple that was trying to console an obviously distraught young lady. I say obviously distraught, because she was crying loudly and blowing her nose in her napkins repeatedly. The couple that was with her kept making "there there" noises and telling her that "he weren't good enough fer you anyway honeypot".
Honest, I wasn't eavesdropping but the loud wails coming from less than 5 feet away were impossible to ignore.
Honeypot: I shouldn't have come here (Golden Corral) Whenever Billy Jim Bob and I wanted to go SOMEWHERE REALLY NICE we always came here.
Me (silently): GOLDEN CORRAL??!!
Consoling couple: Did you come here often honeypot?
Let me note that I don't know if "honeypot" was the girls actual name or a Southern term of endearment. We're in the South, could have been either.
Honeypot: No not often, just for special occasions, like the anniversary of the Lynyrd Skynyrd plane crash. But every time we came it was special.
Consoling couple: Did Billy Jim Bob take you out often?
Honeypot: Yep we went out quite a bit but, usually we went somewheres where we could have a couple of drinks. So usually we would just drive through Burger King with a 6-pack.
Me: Thud, just fell off of the chair, choking so I don't laugh out loud.
Lovely wife glaring at me telling me not to make a scene.
I wasn't trying to make light of her obvious pain.
I was playing out the scene, in my mind, of me telling the bride "get all purteyed up darlin' we're going to the CORRAL tonight.
Then I thought of the Rog, elder bro, best bud Joe, n.o.c. or any other guy that I know trying to pull that one off...
Billy Jim Bob would have made a fortune in sales.
To top it off, as I am recovering from my fall the lovely wife and child point out to me that the couple behind us are shoving FISH into the woman's purse.
I look at the table behind us and seated are a couple that have brought a giant gold purse filled with nothing but ziplock bags.
When they paid for an all you can eat buffet they must have thought all you can eat for a month.
They were filling their baggies with fish, steaks, beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, fried okra, biscuits and anything else that struck their fancy. They must have made 20 trips to the buffet.
They would wait until the waitress had left the area open up the ziplock, slide the food off of the plate and put the ziplock into this giant gold purse.
And this didn't look like a homeless couple. They were both fairly well dressed and could certainly afford the gold carry on bag. And they left in a better car than I can afford.
I haven't been able to make it back to the corral since then. I came away with a bad case of whiplash from the double takes last time. The lovely bride and child giggle uncontrollably every time we drive past the Corral and both refuse to eat there now.
I was thinking of buying my wife a giant gold purse...but that is not to be.
I solemnly swear that this is a true story.
You just can't make this sh*t up.
And, I have witnesses.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Diffrent filters
Men and women have different filters. It has been said that men are from Mars and women from Venus, but I don't think that is the case. We just filter information differently. And we look at the world through two entirely different sets of glasses.
Face it we men just can't do sh*t right. Ask any woman, she'll tell you that men are nearly incapable of making even the simplest decisions.
For example, man and woman move into an apartment/house and immediately the woman will say something like " wouldn't painting the walls ecru, with a plum accent wall really help define the space". The man will grunt, scratch, think furiously, wondering if ecru is really a color or is she just f*cking with him and wonder who came up with idea that walls should be anything other than white anyway.
All we know is that we're getting ready to lose a perfectly good afternoon of football, painting walls a color that we never even knew existed.
And, what do you mean "define" the space. The whole house is defined. Kitchen, living room, dining room, den, bathrooms and bedrooms. Do we really need a definition?
Another example, we get a call from a friend who says something like "man I just totaled the car". Men assume, since we are receiving the call, that our friend did not die. The first words out of a woman's mouth are inevitably are you OK? The man's mouth, it wasn't the 69 Mustang was it...please tell me you were driving the Camry.
Just a different way of looking at things.
So please ladies remember that most of the time we don't have any idea what you are talking about. When you say everything's OK we foolishly think you mean that...everything's OK. We don't as a rule seek out the deeper meanings...we're pretty shallow or stupid...or something.
I think that the creator must have put infinite patience and nearly infinite forgiveness in women as a survival mechanism to ensure species survival.
How else can you explain the fact they put up with us at all?
Face it we men just can't do sh*t right. Ask any woman, she'll tell you that men are nearly incapable of making even the simplest decisions.
For example, man and woman move into an apartment/house and immediately the woman will say something like " wouldn't painting the walls ecru, with a plum accent wall really help define the space". The man will grunt, scratch, think furiously, wondering if ecru is really a color or is she just f*cking with him and wonder who came up with idea that walls should be anything other than white anyway.
All we know is that we're getting ready to lose a perfectly good afternoon of football, painting walls a color that we never even knew existed.
And, what do you mean "define" the space. The whole house is defined. Kitchen, living room, dining room, den, bathrooms and bedrooms. Do we really need a definition?
Another example, we get a call from a friend who says something like "man I just totaled the car". Men assume, since we are receiving the call, that our friend did not die. The first words out of a woman's mouth are inevitably are you OK? The man's mouth, it wasn't the 69 Mustang was it...please tell me you were driving the Camry.
Just a different way of looking at things.
So please ladies remember that most of the time we don't have any idea what you are talking about. When you say everything's OK we foolishly think you mean that...everything's OK. We don't as a rule seek out the deeper meanings...we're pretty shallow or stupid...or something.
I think that the creator must have put infinite patience and nearly infinite forgiveness in women as a survival mechanism to ensure species survival.
How else can you explain the fact they put up with us at all?
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Belated Birthaday Munchies
Well another year has come and gone. The anniversary of the day of my birth was actually the 9th but, I had to work late so we decided to celebrate today.
The plan was, I thought, ribeyes on the grill, fresh asparagus with hollandaise sauce and baked potato with all the fixin's set off with a nice Casa Lapostolle Cabernet Sauvignon.
We had actually made the run to acquire aforementioned accoutrements and had in fact purchased them and loaded them in the 4-wheeled mode of transport when the lovely bride said that we had to make a run to Whole Paycheck...er Foods.
We browsed, we purchased the odds, the ends, fruits and stuff mainly and departed for the abode.
Around 7:30 I was summarily dismissed from the living quarters to the boudoir. I figured that lovely bride or MIL had snuck out to the store to buy a birthday cake and they wanted to "surprise" me when I exited the boudoir.
Instead I walked out to a munchie repast fit for a king (or at least some member of the ruling family).
The spread laid out before me was magnificent and I shall itemize here for YOUR benefit. After all you may want to partake yourself sometime....the lovely bride refuses to show the aftermath of the feeding frenzy so you will have to content yourself with the before.
Cheeses
1.) Doux De Montagne Brebis Pyrenees
2.) Vintage Dubliner aged 24 months
3.) Capricho De Cabra Peppered (goat cheese)
4.) Parmigiano Reggiano (best parm EVER)
5.) 365 organic Cream Cheese
Crackers (wafer thin)
1.) 34 degree Cracked Pepper Crispbread
2.) 34 degree Rosemary Crispbread
Salmon
Wild Caught and smoked in house
Wine
A very nice Baron Phillippe De Rothschild Pinot Noir
Background music
Bruce Becvar Time Dreams (highly recommended)
I was amazed at the different nuances in the wine that each cheese brought out...I am definitely turning into one of THEM.
My favorite was the Doux De Montagne Brebis Pyrenees followed by the goat cheese on a peppered cracker topped with salmon....
Oh SH*T i have to stop now before I get the urge to run out and buy a smoking jacket or start wearing an ascot.
Notice the placecards identifying each cheese.
Pooh (MIL) did the flowers with her own 2 little hands...for me... I knew I was special (and not in the short bus kind of way)
It was REALLY good...
Thanks baby.
We decided to do steak tomorrow....yea!
Friday, March 13, 2009
Who's in charge here anyway?
Sitting at the 'puter pondering which bit of inane drivel to put to page, when it hits me...the lovely bride just walked by asking the dog if she needed to go outside to "tink tink".
I realize at that moment that we really aren't in charge.
We have, living at the abode, 3 full time indoor cats, one full time pit bull, one full time squirrel, one full time outdoor cat and one part time indoor cat. That is on top of the humans that the critters have to cater to their every whim.
Dog walks to the door, casts a soulful glance in humans direction and human drops everything to attend to dogs needs.
Cat walks to litter box, sniffs disdainfully and human scoops out their poop, bags it, removes it to the nearest waste receptacle and rakes aforementioned poop box in pleasing to the eye zen pattern.
6PM, all critters in house congregate around humans, looking at us with limpid eyes. Letting us know through every ounce of guilt inducing body posture that they really are starving. They might not even have the strength to make it to their bowls unless we stop everything RIGHT NOW and rush them their favorite repast. We mix their food with water, just the right temperature, put it in their favorite bowl, place the bowls the correct distance apart and ONLY THEN can we resume with our lives.
Dog sighs, casts mournful look at human, sighs again then rolls on back. The meaning is clear, I need tummy scratched and can you please stop watching the game winning drive in the super bowl and scratch RIGHT NOW.
They even have their own bodyguards...dog tries to sneakily lick food off a plate on the coffee table. I yell at dog, doggie bodyguard (aforementioned lovely wife) tells me that I have hurt dogs feelings. One look at dog tells me this is true, head down big brown eyes looking at me reproachfully...I APOLOGIZE TO THE DOG!!! If wife isn't around mom-in-law takes over. They work in shifts, like the secret service.
Dog mopes away to next room, closes the door, and I hear hysterical doggie laughter.
I could go on, but one of the cats is telling me that the poop box isn't raked properly...
I realize at that moment that we really aren't in charge.
We have, living at the abode, 3 full time indoor cats, one full time pit bull, one full time squirrel, one full time outdoor cat and one part time indoor cat. That is on top of the humans that the critters have to cater to their every whim.
Dog walks to the door, casts a soulful glance in humans direction and human drops everything to attend to dogs needs.
Cat walks to litter box, sniffs disdainfully and human scoops out their poop, bags it, removes it to the nearest waste receptacle and rakes aforementioned poop box in pleasing to the eye zen pattern.
6PM, all critters in house congregate around humans, looking at us with limpid eyes. Letting us know through every ounce of guilt inducing body posture that they really are starving. They might not even have the strength to make it to their bowls unless we stop everything RIGHT NOW and rush them their favorite repast. We mix their food with water, just the right temperature, put it in their favorite bowl, place the bowls the correct distance apart and ONLY THEN can we resume with our lives.
Dog sighs, casts mournful look at human, sighs again then rolls on back. The meaning is clear, I need tummy scratched and can you please stop watching the game winning drive in the super bowl and scratch RIGHT NOW.
They even have their own bodyguards...dog tries to sneakily lick food off a plate on the coffee table. I yell at dog, doggie bodyguard (aforementioned lovely wife) tells me that I have hurt dogs feelings. One look at dog tells me this is true, head down big brown eyes looking at me reproachfully...I APOLOGIZE TO THE DOG!!! If wife isn't around mom-in-law takes over. They work in shifts, like the secret service.
Dog mopes away to next room, closes the door, and I hear hysterical doggie laughter.
I could go on, but one of the cats is telling me that the poop box isn't raked properly...
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Just Stuff
It's not my fault this time...we were invaded by a pernicious virus that locked us out of all of our sites. And, unlike the niece, I can't blog at the salt mine. Big brother is watching. I tried to log on to blogspot and the e-mail Nazi's immediately pounced on my innocent attempt at blogging with HUGE YELLOW WARNINGS that I was attempting to access an UNAUTHORIZED SITE. They even FLASHED ON THE SCREEN...yellow background, red letters. I suppose this was to alert the casual passerby that I was engaged in in a HIGHLY QUESTIONABLE ACTIVITY.
Anyway lovely wife fixed the 'puter so now I can once again put my rum soaked musings on the page. As fate would have it, soaking my musings in rum right now.
Anyway I started to wonder, just who are the Nazi's that monitor corporate surfing. And , just what is it that casts an internet site into the FORBIDDEN category? The reason that I wonder is this....
As I make my rounds about the salt mine I notice that the WOMEN at the salt mine are all out on shopping sites. They are buying a multitude of HIGHLY QUESTIONABLE products. When I inquire as to why they would shop online, when we are 5 blocks from the mall, they will wax eloquent on the joys and savings of online shopping. These women save on everything.
They wax poetic about the savings on household products. They rhapsodize about the discounts on books and movies...walking by I even glimpsed (I think) someone ordering feminine protection (perhaps a pink Uzi??).
My question is this, are the Nazi's asleep at the wheel? How are there not FLASHING YELLOW AND RED ALERTS on every friggin 'puter in the office. Are these women perhaps more clever than I and figured out a way to bypass the internet Nazi's?
Since I have to fix their 'puters every time they lock them up, I think not.
I have to come to the conclusion that big brother is watching ME.
I am not one to buy into conspiracy theories but right now I am feeling a bit uneasy. I mean ever since the government cover up of Bush actually BLOWING UP THE TWIN TOWERS, I've felt a mite uneasy....
excuse me I have to go check all the door and window locks...
and make sure that we have plenty of canned goods...
and ammo...
Anyway lovely wife fixed the 'puter so now I can once again put my rum soaked musings on the page. As fate would have it, soaking my musings in rum right now.
Anyway I started to wonder, just who are the Nazi's that monitor corporate surfing. And , just what is it that casts an internet site into the FORBIDDEN category? The reason that I wonder is this....
As I make my rounds about the salt mine I notice that the WOMEN at the salt mine are all out on shopping sites. They are buying a multitude of HIGHLY QUESTIONABLE products. When I inquire as to why they would shop online, when we are 5 blocks from the mall, they will wax eloquent on the joys and savings of online shopping. These women save on everything.
They wax poetic about the savings on household products. They rhapsodize about the discounts on books and movies...walking by I even glimpsed (I think) someone ordering feminine protection (perhaps a pink Uzi??).
My question is this, are the Nazi's asleep at the wheel? How are there not FLASHING YELLOW AND RED ALERTS on every friggin 'puter in the office. Are these women perhaps more clever than I and figured out a way to bypass the internet Nazi's?
Since I have to fix their 'puters every time they lock them up, I think not.
I have to come to the conclusion that big brother is watching ME.
I am not one to buy into conspiracy theories but right now I am feeling a bit uneasy. I mean ever since the government cover up of Bush actually BLOWING UP THE TWIN TOWERS, I've felt a mite uneasy....
excuse me I have to go check all the door and window locks...
and make sure that we have plenty of canned goods...
and ammo...
Sunday, March 8, 2009
BIKE WEEK
Just back from a beautiful day at bike week, we did NOT win the truck or the bike. BUMMED, going to bed.
Will write something deeply inspiring (or not) tomorrow.
Will write something deeply inspiring (or not) tomorrow.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Very Tired
I have to limit myself tonight...just arrived at the abode, worn out from a day of two wheeled testosterone at bike week. There is actually a fair amount of estrogen flowing at bike week also, and beads fall from the sky like a cheap iridescent shower for any one that has cute "puppies".
We arrived late and we didn't get to people watch like we usually do. We are heading back tomorrow.
We registered to win a bike and a truck. The odds have to be better than lotto so everyone keep their fingers crossed. This is the bike we are hoping to win...
Just realized that daylight savings time hit so it's later than I think it is.... will blog more tomorrow....or today or whenever the heck it is.
Friday, March 6, 2009
the closet of plenty
I have decided that I may have to much in the way of attire. I'm not saying that I have attire that is in style, or even in this decade. But I certainly have to much in the way of attire.
This fact struck home this morning as I was preparing to leave the abode and foray out to the salt mine.
Now, those that know me know that I am a bundle of energy, always eager to leap into the next household chore....or maybe not.
Anyhoos, laundry is my favorite household chore....not.
The problem is this, my lovely bride and I usually have 2 rooms to hide away the masses of unwashed clothes. We do wash the stuff we have to, socks, undergarments, towels etc. but there never seemed to be a pressing need to wash say....shirts for work or pants for work.
When one gazes upon the closet of plenty there seems to be a never ending supply. However this morning as I climbed over the landfill of unhung clothes, to get to the hung clothes I realized a startling fact. I think that the pants I pulled down were actually the ones that I wore to Grad Night in 1978. And, as I frantically shuffle through the remaining shirts on the hangers I realize, with growing dread, that the most current clean shirt that I own is a Greg Norman golf shirt from around 1990.
Thank the Gods that today was Friday, I was able to wear jeans...and a 1990 Greg Norman golf shirt.
All day long the 20 something crowd was asking who Greg Norman is and why am I wearing a 4 color, line drawing of a shark.
Anyway I have come to realize that I do NOT actually have 30 pairs of pants in my closet. I have 4 or maybe 6 if I suck in my gut all day.
Nor do I have an endless supply of shirts. I can actually hear most of the shirts start to giggle when I pull one out for perusal.
I tried on a suit the other day and though I did manage get everything fastened I finally understood what a sausage must feel like, after being stuffed into a skin.....sigh.
It must be the fact that I am ever optimistic that keeps me from throwing out clothes that last fit me 20 years ago.
If I hold onto clothes long enough they may even come back in style. Although I haven't quite figured out how I would actually wear a pair of pants that I can only fit ONE leg into. There has to be a solution out there somewhere. In the meantime...
Good thing I love to do laundry....
This fact struck home this morning as I was preparing to leave the abode and foray out to the salt mine.
Now, those that know me know that I am a bundle of energy, always eager to leap into the next household chore....or maybe not.
Anyhoos, laundry is my favorite household chore....not.
The problem is this, my lovely bride and I usually have 2 rooms to hide away the masses of unwashed clothes. We do wash the stuff we have to, socks, undergarments, towels etc. but there never seemed to be a pressing need to wash say....shirts for work or pants for work.
When one gazes upon the closet of plenty there seems to be a never ending supply. However this morning as I climbed over the landfill of unhung clothes, to get to the hung clothes I realized a startling fact. I think that the pants I pulled down were actually the ones that I wore to Grad Night in 1978. And, as I frantically shuffle through the remaining shirts on the hangers I realize, with growing dread, that the most current clean shirt that I own is a Greg Norman golf shirt from around 1990.
Thank the Gods that today was Friday, I was able to wear jeans...and a 1990 Greg Norman golf shirt.
All day long the 20 something crowd was asking who Greg Norman is and why am I wearing a 4 color, line drawing of a shark.
Anyway I have come to realize that I do NOT actually have 30 pairs of pants in my closet. I have 4 or maybe 6 if I suck in my gut all day.
Nor do I have an endless supply of shirts. I can actually hear most of the shirts start to giggle when I pull one out for perusal.
I tried on a suit the other day and though I did manage get everything fastened I finally understood what a sausage must feel like, after being stuffed into a skin.....sigh.
It must be the fact that I am ever optimistic that keeps me from throwing out clothes that last fit me 20 years ago.
If I hold onto clothes long enough they may even come back in style. Although I haven't quite figured out how I would actually wear a pair of pants that I can only fit ONE leg into. There has to be a solution out there somewhere. In the meantime...
Good thing I love to do laundry....
Thursday, March 5, 2009
reality bites
OK I admit it, there are a few "reality" shows that are must sees at the abode.
First (I am ashamed to admit) is American Idol. After watching some of the intro shows, I can sit back secure in the knowledge that my shower time crooning isn't really all that bad. Hey I might not get a golden ticket but, with enough alcohol in the audience, people at least wouldn't be saying "what the hell was he thinking". After the finalists have been chosen I can sit back and judge the fates of those few brave souls that have the guts to go on stage in front of millions and be crucified by the judges.
They are pitchy, flat, nasally, have poor song choices and sing like an out of control drunk at a redneck wedding. If I had to do what those poor saps do I would be lucky to get A note out, much less a whole song. All the while knowing that the people deciding my fate are millions of couch potatoes that can't hit a note to begin with.
I am sure that during one show we are going to see someone have a total loss of bladder control.
And I will be entertained.
Morbidly, sadistically and completely entertained.
First (I am ashamed to admit) is American Idol. After watching some of the intro shows, I can sit back secure in the knowledge that my shower time crooning isn't really all that bad. Hey I might not get a golden ticket but, with enough alcohol in the audience, people at least wouldn't be saying "what the hell was he thinking". After the finalists have been chosen I can sit back and judge the fates of those few brave souls that have the guts to go on stage in front of millions and be crucified by the judges.
They are pitchy, flat, nasally, have poor song choices and sing like an out of control drunk at a redneck wedding. If I had to do what those poor saps do I would be lucky to get A note out, much less a whole song. All the while knowing that the people deciding my fate are millions of couch potatoes that can't hit a note to begin with.
I am sure that during one show we are going to see someone have a total loss of bladder control.
And I will be entertained.
Morbidly, sadistically and completely entertained.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
don't you just hate it
Well I've missed some time, I thought that driving more than halfway across the country and back WITHOUT A COMPUTER would buy me a little slack...but nooooo. Even if the drive was for a good cause (really crappy reason but a good cause). But, I have been informed otherwise so I'm back.
I just wasted about an hour and a half watching a REALLY bad movie. A movie that no one else has even heard of, a movie that the studio, after making it, said, oh the hell with it lets just put it out on DVD, maybe some sucker will rent it.
The reason that I got to watch this cinematic gem is simple, my mom-in-law thought that she was renting something else. She thought that she rented The Day The Earth Stood Still but what she actually rented was The Day The Earth Stopped. It stars....oh who the hell knows who it stars...a bunch of people that no one has EVER heard of and then those people have extras.
Everyone else in the house had the good sense to leave during the credits, but not me.
This might just be a hidden gem that only I will know about. Then after I have "discovered" this hidden masterpiece, I will be able to smugly recommend to my friends and family, thus gaining accolades for uncovering an Indie masterpiece.
Alas, this is not to be.
The movie is basically this...naked semi-hot alien chick lands on earth packing 666 big ass robots.
Earth bad, must wipe out earthlings before we spread out into universe, so we stop Earth from spinning around using aforementioned big ass robots. HUH???
Earth stops spinning, all big buildings, Ferris wheels and the Eiffel Tower fall down go boom.
Semi hot, now clothed, alien chick sees earth baby being born, decides that Earth people NOT bad, starts Earth spinning again. Earth people learn lesson??? not be bad anymore...THE END!!!
Minor issue here, aside from the fact that the aliens show up naked, semi-hot and looking COMPLETELY HUMAN (mascara and everything). Doesn't the rotation of the Earth keep shit DOWN?! If you stopped the Earth from spinning shouldn't the big buildings fall up?
Aside from the bad acting, the horrible script, the inane dialogue, "your planet has less than an hour to survive, your family is scared, you should be with them" (no shit that's really in there). The fact that the Earth is ending in an hour is a BIG SECRET. It is being held back from the populace to prevent a panic. so why are they scared?? Besides, if the panic is only going to last an hour...why not just make a worldwide announcement and FREAK EVERYONE OUT?
On top of all of that I have deal with shit FALLING DOWN INSTEAD OF UP.
I guess the director never heard the saying "Stop the planet I want to get off". If it did he would.
Sigh....sometimes you watch shit to see if it gets better. Sadly most of the time it doesn't
At least it wasn't a Bo Derek movie.
I just wasted about an hour and a half watching a REALLY bad movie. A movie that no one else has even heard of, a movie that the studio, after making it, said, oh the hell with it lets just put it out on DVD, maybe some sucker will rent it.
The reason that I got to watch this cinematic gem is simple, my mom-in-law thought that she was renting something else. She thought that she rented The Day The Earth Stood Still but what she actually rented was The Day The Earth Stopped. It stars....oh who the hell knows who it stars...a bunch of people that no one has EVER heard of and then those people have extras.
Everyone else in the house had the good sense to leave during the credits, but not me.
This might just be a hidden gem that only I will know about. Then after I have "discovered" this hidden masterpiece, I will be able to smugly recommend to my friends and family, thus gaining accolades for uncovering an Indie masterpiece.
Alas, this is not to be.
The movie is basically this...naked semi-hot alien chick lands on earth packing 666 big ass robots.
Earth bad, must wipe out earthlings before we spread out into universe, so we stop Earth from spinning around using aforementioned big ass robots. HUH???
Earth stops spinning, all big buildings, Ferris wheels and the Eiffel Tower fall down go boom.
Semi hot, now clothed, alien chick sees earth baby being born, decides that Earth people NOT bad, starts Earth spinning again. Earth people learn lesson??? not be bad anymore...THE END!!!
Minor issue here, aside from the fact that the aliens show up naked, semi-hot and looking COMPLETELY HUMAN (mascara and everything). Doesn't the rotation of the Earth keep shit DOWN?! If you stopped the Earth from spinning shouldn't the big buildings fall up?
Aside from the bad acting, the horrible script, the inane dialogue, "your planet has less than an hour to survive, your family is scared, you should be with them" (no shit that's really in there). The fact that the Earth is ending in an hour is a BIG SECRET. It is being held back from the populace to prevent a panic. so why are they scared?? Besides, if the panic is only going to last an hour...why not just make a worldwide announcement and FREAK EVERYONE OUT?
On top of all of that I have deal with shit FALLING DOWN INSTEAD OF UP.
I guess the director never heard the saying "Stop the planet I want to get off". If it did he would.
Sigh....sometimes you watch shit to see if it gets better. Sadly most of the time it doesn't
At least it wasn't a Bo Derek movie.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Ancient Chinese drowning ceromony...
The last time the spousal unit and yours truly ventured to the High Falls Hilton, we engaged in an interesting conversation with a family member that was extolling the virtues of the NETI pot.
For the unenlightened, a NETI pot is a teapot that you stick up your nose and "gently clean out your nasal passages with warm water".
In other words you attempt to drown yourself without actually drowning yourself. The last time I checked, which was the last time I inhaled, one is supposed to draw air into ones nasal cavities. I have heard tell of people that have actually DIED while trying to inhale water. Even if that water is "a gentle saline solution", which means water with salt in it. I guess the inventors of NETI never heard of people drowning in SALT WATER.
They must not have cable.
To continue, the instruction manual goes on to tell how the nasal cavity is the "first step in filtering impurities entering the body by using mucous and fine hairs", yuck. I mean we all know they are in there, we just don't talk about it, yuck.
And the instruction manual tells us that we need "to clean the filter regularly to allow it to operate efficiently". This is actually what I thought was happening when people pick their noses.
I could go on but I will spare you the rest. The short of it is this...my lovely bride is now extolling the virtues of NETI, to me...yuck.
Every man out there knows the inevitable end to this story....yuck.
The really scary part is that all of the women out there know the inevitable end too.
And they are all laughing.
For the unenlightened, a NETI pot is a teapot that you stick up your nose and "gently clean out your nasal passages with warm water".
In other words you attempt to drown yourself without actually drowning yourself. The last time I checked, which was the last time I inhaled, one is supposed to draw air into ones nasal cavities. I have heard tell of people that have actually DIED while trying to inhale water. Even if that water is "a gentle saline solution", which means water with salt in it. I guess the inventors of NETI never heard of people drowning in SALT WATER.
They must not have cable.
To continue, the instruction manual goes on to tell how the nasal cavity is the "first step in filtering impurities entering the body by using mucous and fine hairs", yuck. I mean we all know they are in there, we just don't talk about it, yuck.
And the instruction manual tells us that we need "to clean the filter regularly to allow it to operate efficiently". This is actually what I thought was happening when people pick their noses.
I could go on but I will spare you the rest. The short of it is this...my lovely bride is now extolling the virtues of NETI, to me...yuck.
Every man out there knows the inevitable end to this story....yuck.
The really scary part is that all of the women out there know the inevitable end too.
And they are all laughing.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I've become one of them!!
I stopped today on the way home from work to pick up a few essentials for the abode. One of them, the very nectar of life, coffee. I have always been a coffee drinker. I was in retail long enough that if it's a black liquid that smells vaguely of caffeine I need some. I can drink it all day long and still fall into a deep slumber without to much effort. In fact I've been accused of having narcolepsy on more than one occasion.
Anyway, I make my stop at the local food purveyor and head to the coffee aisle. And I realize that no longer do I walk around to the canned or freeze dried coffees. Instead I now head for the whole bean coffees. And no longer do I even glance at my first whole bean love (8 O'clock Coffee) but instead I find myself over at "the good stuff".
I find myself having an internal dialogue about the relative merits of Kenya vs Sumatra, about Seattle's Best vs New England's Best and I actually wonder if it might be nice to try a nice Kona Bean blended with some Millstone Foglifter. What the hell happened to me!! Sadly, I have become a coffee snob. Maxwell House and Folgers get nary a glance. Chock Full 'O Nuts, Yuban and Fransisco have all been banished from my coffee thought processing. Like fondly remembered childhood toys they have all been put away.
But what the hell, we all have to have a vice. And, as vices go this one is fairly benign. So if you'll excuse me I really must go and pick up some Organic sugar and half and half...I have to be up early.
Anyway, I make my stop at the local food purveyor and head to the coffee aisle. And I realize that no longer do I walk around to the canned or freeze dried coffees. Instead I now head for the whole bean coffees. And no longer do I even glance at my first whole bean love (8 O'clock Coffee) but instead I find myself over at "the good stuff".
I find myself having an internal dialogue about the relative merits of Kenya vs Sumatra, about Seattle's Best vs New England's Best and I actually wonder if it might be nice to try a nice Kona Bean blended with some Millstone Foglifter. What the hell happened to me!! Sadly, I have become a coffee snob. Maxwell House and Folgers get nary a glance. Chock Full 'O Nuts, Yuban and Fransisco have all been banished from my coffee thought processing. Like fondly remembered childhood toys they have all been put away.
But what the hell, we all have to have a vice. And, as vices go this one is fairly benign. So if you'll excuse me I really must go and pick up some Organic sugar and half and half...I have to be up early.
Friggin Authors!
I am annoyed, mildly annoyed right now but annoyed nonetheless. I am annoyed with the very real possibility to get (as Marvin the Martian used to say) very, very angry.
I know that authors get paid by the word but some of them carry their wordiness entirely to far.
Case in point, last year I decided to give the Robert Jordan Wheel of Time series another shot. A pretty good high fantasy series but, MY GOD, the guy loved the sound of keys clacking on the keyboard. After spending MONTHS getting involved in a very damn convoluted story line, I was finally beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I had gone through 12 FRIGGIN BOOKS of 700 to 1000 pages each, went to go find what must surely be the last book in this endless series....and what do I discover? THE AUTHOR DIED! That's right, he croaked right before the grand finale.
I ask you who in the hell is going to give me that time back?! Did the publishers have the courtesy to put a warning label on the books? Something like "Warning the books that you are about to read are good enough to get you sucked in...but will ultimately leave you feeling unsatisfied, 'cause the dude croaked". Nope. Those underhanded bastards are still pushing those 10,000 pages of foreplay at bookstores across the country, with nary a warning label in sight.
First of all, the premise itself is absurd. I mean the Bible goes from... BEFORE THE BEGINNING OF THE WORLD all the way to... THE END OF THE WORLD in considerably less than 10-12 THOUSAND pages. Don't you think a good author should be able to wrap up a storyline, about damn near anything, without being 10 times as wordy as the BIBLE?
Second, if it takes you a page or more to describe opening a damn door, you are verbally masturbating. I don't care if the door is a dark cherry stain, with the patina of generations of use gilding the hardware, The dents and dings showing the passage of generations of children that had played outside of the hallowed room that the door now guarded. The massive weight of the doors... BLAH BLAH BLAH...IT'S A FREAKIN' DOOR!!! He turned the handle and went in the room....I don't care about the door!! The door doesn't have ANYTHING to do with the damn story!! It's a door!
I'm a little testy now, because I have been sucked into yet another endless series of books. I am in the midst of book #8. I have books 9 and 10 already. And I see that book #11 is FORTHCOMING.
I think I'll write the publisher and see if they will send over the results of the authors last physical. With my luck he'll be a chain smoking, alcoholic that rides motorcycles without a helmet and likes to dive with great white sharks. If this guy keels over before finishing the damn series, I will limit myself to books by dead people. That way I can be sure they finished their epic vision before I start on it.
At least I know that Twain isn't going to add on to Huck Finn
I know that authors get paid by the word but some of them carry their wordiness entirely to far.
Case in point, last year I decided to give the Robert Jordan Wheel of Time series another shot. A pretty good high fantasy series but, MY GOD, the guy loved the sound of keys clacking on the keyboard. After spending MONTHS getting involved in a very damn convoluted story line, I was finally beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I had gone through 12 FRIGGIN BOOKS of 700 to 1000 pages each, went to go find what must surely be the last book in this endless series....and what do I discover? THE AUTHOR DIED! That's right, he croaked right before the grand finale.
I ask you who in the hell is going to give me that time back?! Did the publishers have the courtesy to put a warning label on the books? Something like "Warning the books that you are about to read are good enough to get you sucked in...but will ultimately leave you feeling unsatisfied, 'cause the dude croaked". Nope. Those underhanded bastards are still pushing those 10,000 pages of foreplay at bookstores across the country, with nary a warning label in sight.
First of all, the premise itself is absurd. I mean the Bible goes from... BEFORE THE BEGINNING OF THE WORLD all the way to... THE END OF THE WORLD in considerably less than 10-12 THOUSAND pages. Don't you think a good author should be able to wrap up a storyline, about damn near anything, without being 10 times as wordy as the BIBLE?
Second, if it takes you a page or more to describe opening a damn door, you are verbally masturbating. I don't care if the door is a dark cherry stain, with the patina of generations of use gilding the hardware, The dents and dings showing the passage of generations of children that had played outside of the hallowed room that the door now guarded. The massive weight of the doors... BLAH BLAH BLAH...IT'S A FREAKIN' DOOR!!! He turned the handle and went in the room....I don't care about the door!! The door doesn't have ANYTHING to do with the damn story!! It's a door!
I'm a little testy now, because I have been sucked into yet another endless series of books. I am in the midst of book #8. I have books 9 and 10 already. And I see that book #11 is FORTHCOMING.
I think I'll write the publisher and see if they will send over the results of the authors last physical. With my luck he'll be a chain smoking, alcoholic that rides motorcycles without a helmet and likes to dive with great white sharks. If this guy keels over before finishing the damn series, I will limit myself to books by dead people. That way I can be sure they finished their epic vision before I start on it.
At least I know that Twain isn't going to add on to Huck Finn
Monday, February 16, 2009
Another side of the story
Let me take a moment and tell you about the menagerie. I currently have residing at the abode, 3 full-time cats, 2 part-time cats, a squirrel and a {{gasp}} pit bulldog.
This is 'da pup, as you can see she fits the image of one of those vicious killer pit bulls that we have all heard/read about to a tee.
I did not start out wanting to be a pit bulldog owner. At the time we acquired Clover (sounds like a cow's name, but we didn't name her) we had 3 cats.
I read the papers, I've heard all about how pit bulls are aggressive to other animals. I have heard that they aren't very easy to train, that they are stubborn and that you have to provide lots of chew toys or they are liable to use the love seat (or the cats). I have read the stories about how they turn on their owners, they aren't safe around children and yadayadayada. I had visions of coming home to shredded cat, chewed furniture and monster pit bull "accidents" that I would likely have to clean up. Nope a pit bulldog just wasn't the dog that I was looking for.
But, I have become a believer.
When Clover first moved she thought that she owned the place...the cats took care of that right away. You see they KNEW that they owned the place and made sure that the dog knew it too. Now, a quick aside about the cats. They are all declawed so they really couldn't stop the dog from turning them into chew toys if she so desired. but that was never an issue. This "vicious" pit bull only had to be told a couple of time not to use the cats as chew toys and she happily accepted her place in the animal hierarchy. We later acquired a squirrel (whole 'nother story) and she rides on the dogs back when we let her out. So with this evidence I have come to believe that maybe the breed as a whole isn't animal aggressive. Maybe they just have to be raised right.
As for being stubborn and hard to train, I have found that pits in general and this one in particular love people so much that they are EASY to train. They love making their people happy. They LOVE to be around their people. I've done quite a bit of research on the breed and found that this breed scores HIGHER than Golden Retrievers and Collies on human socialability.
Clover has indeed chomped on one person in her life. But that guy was trying to push his way into our apartment one afternoon when my wife was home alone. We later found out that there were several home invasion/attacks in the area where a guy was going around knocking on doors and forcing his way in. So I bought her a large steak-which actually gave her diarrhea for days,but I digress.
The bottom line on Pit Bulldogs is this. There are certain group of people that buy Pits to enhance an image. They want people to think that they are tough so they buy a dog that people are already scared of. And then they try to make that dog even scarier. It isn't fair to blame the dogs.
I'm writing this because tonight I went to the store with my wife. we stopped in a seedy area where there are often hookers and panhandlers around. They sell items cheaper and we normally frequent this store only during daylight hours. Sure enough, as I stepped out of the car I was approached by a panhandler wanting me to buy him some beer. I told him to buzz off and went into the store. While I was in the store he rounded up a friend and approached my wife in the car. When Clover saw strangers approaching she moved from the back seat to the front and put herself between Elisha and the guys outside. And she let them know that it wouldn't be a good thing for them to get any closer to the car. About this time I came out of the store with the store owner and told them to shove off. Would anything have happened if Clover hadn't been in the car, who knows? But I do know this, when they saw a PIT BULLDOG putting herself between them and my wife THEY STOPPED. I doubt a poodle would have given them any pause at all in approaching the car.
Just by being the breed that she is she has, on more than one occasion, stopped situations that may have had criminal intent. She isn't a guard dog but she guards us.
Clover has Lymphoma. She probably won't be with us very much longer. She has enriched my life and opened my eyes to the prejudice that this wonderful breed has against it. I will savour every minute that we have left with her. When she is gone my whole family will mourn. We will have lost a member of the family and a faithful friend.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
A daily post?
I stayed up late last night doing the traditional Valentine thing (watching boxing on HBO until 1:00 AM) and then stumbled off to bed to get my well deserved few hours of sleep. Just as I was about to fall asleep my wife asks "did you blog today? You know you're supposed to post something DAILY".
Excuse me...did you just say I had to write something down DAILY??!!
I don't eat enough fiber to even be regular DAILY....I even get a day off from work at least once a week. What cyber sadist is out there watching over all of the web pages in the world making sure that we all write something down DAILY?
I thought that this was more on the lines of, if you notice something during your day that you feel might be worthy of comment, you just post it on your little blog and go on about your daily routine. But noooo... I let myself get suckered into writing down some inane rambling in a blog and all unknowing I have entered into a contract with the devil.
I evidently did this without having any memory of going to a crossroad or signing anything in blood. I even checked my palm and fingertips to find out where the blood that I signed in came from. I believe that this is the first time in my life that I have sleepwalked or signed a contract of lifetime servitude.
Anyway now I have PRESSURE! What will I write about? Something funny, sad, pithy, witty, sarcastic, cynical, mean, inspiring , caustic or confused? And, if I start out writing something humorous do I have to stay humorous or can I switch and try for something else? I mean football season will be here in a few months and that will be my consuming passion until the next off season. Am I allowed to switch gears and start writing sports commentary? Do I write stories about my family (family members reading this better be nice to me because I have something on ALL of you), friends, pets and neighbors? I guess I'll just have to figure this out as I go along.
The smell of brimstone is fading so I must have fulfilled the terms of the contract for the day...I wonder how many strikes I get before the BAD parts of the contract get enforced.
I need to go now and soak my fingertips in peroxide...I seem to have acquired a cut....
Excuse me...did you just say I had to write something down DAILY??!!
I don't eat enough fiber to even be regular DAILY....I even get a day off from work at least once a week. What cyber sadist is out there watching over all of the web pages in the world making sure that we all write something down DAILY?
I thought that this was more on the lines of, if you notice something during your day that you feel might be worthy of comment, you just post it on your little blog and go on about your daily routine. But noooo... I let myself get suckered into writing down some inane rambling in a blog and all unknowing I have entered into a contract with the devil.
I evidently did this without having any memory of going to a crossroad or signing anything in blood. I even checked my palm and fingertips to find out where the blood that I signed in came from. I believe that this is the first time in my life that I have sleepwalked or signed a contract of lifetime servitude.
Anyway now I have PRESSURE! What will I write about? Something funny, sad, pithy, witty, sarcastic, cynical, mean, inspiring , caustic or confused? And, if I start out writing something humorous do I have to stay humorous or can I switch and try for something else? I mean football season will be here in a few months and that will be my consuming passion until the next off season. Am I allowed to switch gears and start writing sports commentary? Do I write stories about my family (family members reading this better be nice to me because I have something on ALL of you), friends, pets and neighbors? I guess I'll just have to figure this out as I go along.
The smell of brimstone is fading so I must have fulfilled the terms of the contract for the day...I wonder how many strikes I get before the BAD parts of the contract get enforced.
I need to go now and soak my fingertips in peroxide...I seem to have acquired a cut....
Friday, February 13, 2009
Mythbusters and Grey Goose
Well...lovely wife worked to make a cool looking blog page, my lovely niece encouraged me to put something on it...so here I sit, thoughts bouncing around like a ping pong ball in a cement mixer. What shall I pontificate on? What razor sharp analysis of the human condition shall I put out for the world (or at least my friends and family members) to see? Hmmm well tonight I feel about as deep as a birdbath so I think that I'll start with........ MYTHBUSTERS!
I am, I freely admit, semi addicted to the Discovery Channel. I love this stuff, everything from Blue Planet to Deadliest Catch. From Survivorman to How it's Made. One of my favorites is Mythbusters. I recently saw an episode that tested the myth that VODKA will effectively combat foot odor.
Now this was of some interest to me because I have been told, in the past...by nearly everyone..., that I have stinky feet. I find that hard to believe myself but I am willing to suspend my disbelief, because as Carlin said "everyone's farts smell bad but your own". So maybe it's the same for feet.
Actually if I am being honest I will admit to a small bit of foot stinkyness because I have seen people hold a full garbage bag to their nose to combat the smell of my socks. And my mom and step mom have been known on more than one occasion to just give up and buy those large economy sized Bag-O-Socks rather than chase all of mine down, beat them into submission and throw them in the wash. But I digress.
In my callow youth I did pull one of the best, read meanest, practical jokes of all times on a roommate. I put this out for all to read in the hope that some other callow youth will read this and use the knowledge gained herein wisely.
But first, you have to understand that I did NOT start the practical joke war. It started the usual way SOMEONE dumping a GIANT pot of ice water on someone else who was taking a hot, steamy shower...and then we have escalation. There is no real point in going through the mayhem that ensued. All that is really needed is an understanding that there were cigarette loads, Vaseline, shaving cream, more Vaseline, condoms, mashed potatoes, calls to friends, employers and girlfriends...the usual pranks that all red blooded American boys engage in at some time or another...but then there was THE MOMENT.
Something, some inner primeval guardian, a survival instinct that must be encoded on our DNA jolted me out of a sound slumber early one morning. As my eyes flew open what do I see but my roommate, in mid -sneak coming into my room with a pan of warm water.
Everyone that has ever pulled this trick on someone knows that the theory behind the warm water is this. You come upon an unsuspecting sound sleeper, dip their hand into aforementioned water and the sleeper will lose bladder control thus wetting himself to the general hilarity of all watching. Pretty good you say, a great joke to pull on someone in the midst of a joke war....BUT consider this before you laugh....at the time I was a broke kid that had no real mattress and was sleeping on an old FEATHER MATTRESS with not one sheet to my name. Instead I had A SLEEPING BAG....and that's it.
I was APPALLED that my roommate would stoop to such a low and nasty trick. But instead of getting angry... escalation.
I added a key lock to my bedroom and started playing basketball....every day...for two weeks...in the summer...in Florida....in the same pair of socks.
You may not be able to smell your own gaseous emissions, but take my word for it after a few days in the same pair of sweat socks, in a small bedroom, with limited air movement, you can definitely smell the funk.
I would wake thinking...I thought I put my socks in the closet....what are they doing drinking out of the toilet? I had a hamster that disappeared during this time and I swear that one of the socks had a lump in it one morning.
After a week they start to get stiff and you can lean them in the corner. After 10 days if you don't double bag them in plastic you start hallucinating like you've dropped some really bad acid or ate few to many magic mushrooms. After two weeks even I couldn't stand it anymore....so I stuck them in Sherman's pillowcase...and waited.
I will never forget the first night...I stayed up late watching the tube and listened to him getting ready for bed. Straining for any sound, I detect, tossing, turning, gasps for air and finally an "OH MY GOD!!! Striving to contain my mirth I yell out "is everything OK?" He comes stomping back out to the living room and tells me that he thinks a rat has DIED in his room. Being a good friend I help him move all of his furniture around in an attempt to locate the deceased, alas to no avail. Still chuckling I head to bed and on to work the next day.
When I return home from work I am greeted by the sound of sawing coming from Sherm's room. I peek in and find that the search for Jimmy Hoffa has been going on in my absence. Sherman has pulled off all of the base boards in his room and is cutting HOLES IN THE WALL trying to find the rat carcass. He knows that it has to be in the east side of the room (near the headboard) because that is where the smell is the worst.
At this point I have a dilemma, do I confess or let him proceed with dismantling the edifice in which we dwell.....of course I let the construction/destruction proceed. I retire to the living room pour myself a drink and congratulate myself on my resounding victory in the joke war (even though my victim is as yet unaware that a joke has been played). It wasn't until 4 days later when he did laundry that he discovered what really happened...as I recall he was nearly homicidal but he did calm down after I promised to buy him new pillows (he burned the old ones). I helped him put up new drywall in the bedroom and life resumed to the usual routine.
Now I said all of that to say this...does VODKA really stop malodorous foot emissions? According to Mythbusters this old wives tale really does have merit.
I have noticed that as I have gotten older that my feet seem to emit less of a noxious cloud. So after watching this episode I started to wonder if the Vodka that I have consumed over the years is battling foot odor from the INSIDE. Have the odor killing molecules in the Vodka somehow attached themselves to smelly foot enzymes in my body and have been systematically attacking them before they have a chance to go out into the world and assault the nostrils of the innocent?
If this is indeed the fact then think of the new Grey Goose ad campaign.
Drink Grey Goose, makes you more attractive to the opposite sex (if they have had a few), makes you a better singer (if you have had a few) makes you wittier (if everyone has had a few) and.....reduces foot odour (you have spell odour this way... it is a Grey Goose ad after all)
I think I should send this in, you never know it just might be the ad campaign that they have been looking for.
I am, I freely admit, semi addicted to the Discovery Channel. I love this stuff, everything from Blue Planet to Deadliest Catch. From Survivorman to How it's Made. One of my favorites is Mythbusters. I recently saw an episode that tested the myth that VODKA will effectively combat foot odor.
Now this was of some interest to me because I have been told, in the past...by nearly everyone..., that I have stinky feet. I find that hard to believe myself but I am willing to suspend my disbelief, because as Carlin said "everyone's farts smell bad but your own". So maybe it's the same for feet.
Actually if I am being honest I will admit to a small bit of foot stinkyness because I have seen people hold a full garbage bag to their nose to combat the smell of my socks. And my mom and step mom have been known on more than one occasion to just give up and buy those large economy sized Bag-O-Socks rather than chase all of mine down, beat them into submission and throw them in the wash. But I digress.
In my callow youth I did pull one of the best, read meanest, practical jokes of all times on a roommate. I put this out for all to read in the hope that some other callow youth will read this and use the knowledge gained herein wisely.
But first, you have to understand that I did NOT start the practical joke war. It started the usual way SOMEONE dumping a GIANT pot of ice water on someone else who was taking a hot, steamy shower...and then we have escalation. There is no real point in going through the mayhem that ensued. All that is really needed is an understanding that there were cigarette loads, Vaseline, shaving cream, more Vaseline, condoms, mashed potatoes, calls to friends, employers and girlfriends...the usual pranks that all red blooded American boys engage in at some time or another...but then there was THE MOMENT.
Something, some inner primeval guardian, a survival instinct that must be encoded on our DNA jolted me out of a sound slumber early one morning. As my eyes flew open what do I see but my roommate, in mid -sneak coming into my room with a pan of warm water.
Everyone that has ever pulled this trick on someone knows that the theory behind the warm water is this. You come upon an unsuspecting sound sleeper, dip their hand into aforementioned water and the sleeper will lose bladder control thus wetting himself to the general hilarity of all watching. Pretty good you say, a great joke to pull on someone in the midst of a joke war....BUT consider this before you laugh....at the time I was a broke kid that had no real mattress and was sleeping on an old FEATHER MATTRESS with not one sheet to my name. Instead I had A SLEEPING BAG....and that's it.
I was APPALLED that my roommate would stoop to such a low and nasty trick. But instead of getting angry... escalation.
I added a key lock to my bedroom and started playing basketball....every day...for two weeks...in the summer...in Florida....in the same pair of socks.
You may not be able to smell your own gaseous emissions, but take my word for it after a few days in the same pair of sweat socks, in a small bedroom, with limited air movement, you can definitely smell the funk.
I would wake thinking...I thought I put my socks in the closet....what are they doing drinking out of the toilet? I had a hamster that disappeared during this time and I swear that one of the socks had a lump in it one morning.
After a week they start to get stiff and you can lean them in the corner. After 10 days if you don't double bag them in plastic you start hallucinating like you've dropped some really bad acid or ate few to many magic mushrooms. After two weeks even I couldn't stand it anymore....so I stuck them in Sherman's pillowcase...and waited.
I will never forget the first night...I stayed up late watching the tube and listened to him getting ready for bed. Straining for any sound, I detect, tossing, turning, gasps for air and finally an "OH MY GOD!!! Striving to contain my mirth I yell out "is everything OK?" He comes stomping back out to the living room and tells me that he thinks a rat has DIED in his room. Being a good friend I help him move all of his furniture around in an attempt to locate the deceased, alas to no avail. Still chuckling I head to bed and on to work the next day.
When I return home from work I am greeted by the sound of sawing coming from Sherm's room. I peek in and find that the search for Jimmy Hoffa has been going on in my absence. Sherman has pulled off all of the base boards in his room and is cutting HOLES IN THE WALL trying to find the rat carcass. He knows that it has to be in the east side of the room (near the headboard) because that is where the smell is the worst.
At this point I have a dilemma, do I confess or let him proceed with dismantling the edifice in which we dwell.....of course I let the construction/destruction proceed. I retire to the living room pour myself a drink and congratulate myself on my resounding victory in the joke war (even though my victim is as yet unaware that a joke has been played). It wasn't until 4 days later when he did laundry that he discovered what really happened...as I recall he was nearly homicidal but he did calm down after I promised to buy him new pillows (he burned the old ones). I helped him put up new drywall in the bedroom and life resumed to the usual routine.
Now I said all of that to say this...does VODKA really stop malodorous foot emissions? According to Mythbusters this old wives tale really does have merit.
I have noticed that as I have gotten older that my feet seem to emit less of a noxious cloud. So after watching this episode I started to wonder if the Vodka that I have consumed over the years is battling foot odor from the INSIDE. Have the odor killing molecules in the Vodka somehow attached themselves to smelly foot enzymes in my body and have been systematically attacking them before they have a chance to go out into the world and assault the nostrils of the innocent?
If this is indeed the fact then think of the new Grey Goose ad campaign.
Drink Grey Goose, makes you more attractive to the opposite sex (if they have had a few), makes you a better singer (if you have had a few) makes you wittier (if everyone has had a few) and.....reduces foot odour (you have spell odour this way... it is a Grey Goose ad after all)
I think I should send this in, you never know it just might be the ad campaign that they have been looking for.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Under Construction
This will be my feeble attempt at blogging soon...this page is now under construction!
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