A short conversation about principles

"Look out, that guy isn't stopping."

"It's all right, we have the right of way."

"Well...yeah. That's fine, but while the right of way and rule of law may prove useful in determining fault after an accident, it doesn't prevent the accident itself."

"Don't worry about it. He's the one who's supposed to stop. See? there are signs everywhere."

"I agree. But it would appear he either hasn't noticed those signs or he doesn't care."

"Well, then an accident would be his fault, not mine."

"Ok...sure...but what if we die in a car accident that could have been prevented if you had simply forfeited your right to be, uh, right? I don't think I'm going to feel a sense of pride, or anything else, if that happens. I mean, I haven't planned what my last words will be but I don't want them to 'Ha ha, take that, living!' Plus, I'm pretty sure if we get to heaven and have to explain what happened, they're not going to let us into regular heaven. There's probably some sort of remedial heaven for the righteous-but-stupid, where instead of a halo, they give you a helmet. I really don't want to go to remedial heaven. So while I gladly acknowledge that you are correct and are well within the established legal paramaters for operating a motor vehicle, could you just let this guy go ahead, just this once, as a personal favor to me. Please?"

"He stopped."

"Oh. Well, step on it then. Let's go."

Team Daddy-O Alley Katz

I am the captain of a Relay For Life team this year. We’re calling ourselves ‘Team Daddy-O Alley Katz’ and our theme is retro bowling. I know, right? Someone actually appointed me to a position of leadership and responsibility, which is about as likely an occurrence as seeing the Hamburglar profiled on America’s Most Wanted. Well, actually, it’s not like I’m completely unqualified. I am sincerely committed to the cause, which is raising money to find a cure for cancer and eliminating it once and for all. I don’t want to just defeat cancer, I want to defeat it and humiliate it in the process. I want to pull down cancer’s pants and make crude, derisive comments about its genitalia. I want to give cancer a swirly in front of all the other diseases. I want to date cancer’s mom just so I can steal all her money, call her a bitch and tell her to go make me sandwiches. So obviously my heart is in the right place.

I’ve taken to my role as team captain and have done my best to motivate my team. I assured them of my sincerity and dedication by telling them that I had already gone so far as to have written “CAPTAIN” on the waistband of all my underwear…in Sharpie. But working with volunteers is a challenge at times. It’s hard to make demands of busy people who are doing stuff for you in their spare time. I have to remind myself to be patient and encouraging when things aren’t moving quite as quickly as I’d like. And actually, our team is doing pretty well so far. But it takes effort to come up with ways to keep everyone interested and enthusiastic without being completely obnoxious about it. I have little doubt that many of them will no longer want to speak to me when it’s all over. I’m basing that on the fact I have no doubt that I’ve already been so obnoxious that some of them don’t even want to speak to me right now.

Relay For Life isn’t really a competition per se, but teams do challenge each other to do a good job as a matter of pride and in the interest of pushing each other to raise as much money as possible. When it’s over, the American Cancer Society recognizes the best teams’ efforts with trophies and prizes. So screw what I said before; it’s totally a competition.
There’s a team in our Relay that’s been at it for years and they win a majority of the awards every year. I’ve decided that I hate them. In my mind, I consider them smug know-it-alls who act like they invented cancer just so they could raise funds to eradicate it and make me feel inadequate in the process as a bonus. Now, you don’t have to tell me what a terrible person I am for feeling this way. I’m already fully aware that resenting a group of people for effectively raising funds to combat a horrible disease is about as reprehensible an act as you can think of. I’m ok with it though, because I want to win trophies and prizes. Besides, it’s not that I don’t want them to raise a lot of money; I just want my team to raise more than they do. So as I was sitting around tonight trying to think of new ways to try to motivate my team, it occurred to me that I should use this unjustified hatred to our advantage and pass it along to the people on my team. I wonder why I haven’t thought of it before; exploiting people’s healthy desire to see their like-minded peers re-cast as severely defeated opponents is not only natural, but repeatedly proven to be a highly successful tactic! Hmm, I think I know why I was selected to be captain…

Anyway, if you’d like to learn more about Relay For Life and contribute to our team’s efforts, I've put yet another link to the site right here.

The Joy of Hot Dogs

Sometimes, you just want a hot dog. There's no logic to this. We all know that no good can come from eating them. But as Americans, they are simply our second favorite phallic food item and we love them as much as they hate us. Bratwursts are great but they're just too Bavarian for us to embrace as our own. Same with the uppity corndog, which is like the hot dog's arrogant, pretentious cousin that got into an Ivy League university (less the product of good breeding than good breading). No sir, we love the good old regular hot dog with working class condiments like mustard, onions and relish (read about anti-ketchup-on-hot-dogs sentiments here, here and here). As such, I found myself craving one today and as such, I had to have one.

Tampa doesn't really have street corner hot dog vendors and very few restuarants serve them. Of course, there's Mel's and I think Checkers has them but the quality of food and service at Checkers, which used to be superior for a fast food joint, has degenerated to the point where I'm not sure you can even call them restaurants anymore. That means your options for getting a hot dog if you're not in the vicinity of Mel's are limited to convenience stores and sporting events. And since there are precious few Tuesday afternoon sporting events until spring training starts, I started looking for a convenience store.

Being born and raised in Michigan, it was drilled into me at a very early age that the best hot dogs were made in Michigan because the state had by far the most stringent quality control standards in the nation when it came to making hot dogs. I don't know if that's common knowledge nationally but I used to hear it all the time from people who were obviously quite proud of it. Oddly enough, I never heard that said about anything else produced in Michigan and remember thinking at an early age, "Really? Hot dog production is where we plant the state flag when it comes to a commitment to excellence?" I mean it's still a hot dog, folks. Someone who makes a point of insisting on only eating hot dogs made in Michigan because they're just soooo much better than the ones made elsewhere is a little like someone facing a firing squad and demanding that they sterilize the bullets first.

Anyway, since I no longer live in Michigan, I've surrendered what little high-mindedness I ever had in regards to hot dogs and I went in search of a convenience store, specifically a 7-Eleven. 7-Eleven is like the Williams-Sonoma of convenience stores when it comes to hot dogs. The dogs themselves are plump and juicy and they have all the condiments you could ever want, including pumps that dispense chili and bright yellow cheese-esque goo. But believe it or not, I actually couldn't find one so I pulled into some generic, dime-a-dozen Pump & Gulp, Shop & Suk, Blo & Go or whatever it was called on Kennedy Avenue. Again, we're talking about hot dogs. There's no reason to think that even the skeeviest convenience store can't serve (what passes for) a decent hot dog.

I got into the car, pulled into traffic and took a bite because I'm such an outstanding driver that I actually drive better while eating a four course meal than most professional ambulance drivers with their hands at ten and two. I was struck immediately by the taste. It wasn't that it was bad. Hell, I was sort of expecting it to be bad. Rather, what struck me was the lack of taste. It was utterly devoid of flavor. I became alarmed immediately. "Is my tongue having a stroke?", I thought. "No wait, I can taste the bun". This realization failed to comfort me. Quite the opposite, actually. "Oh lord, how is that possible? Buns are supposed to be flavorless. The only reason they exist is so you don't get your hands messy. They're edible napkins. And yet, the bun has more flavor than this hot dog? This...this just isn't right." Of course, there was only one thing to do, which was to take another bite to make sure. So I did and the same thing happened again. "No flavor! How is this possible? Every hot dog has a flavor of some sort! Even if it's spoiled...especially if it's spoiled...it's going to taste like...something! Dear God, in what unholy manner of abomination have I just invested .89? More importantly, what is it doing to my innards?" I took another bite and wondered if it was some sort of tubular, meaty, dirty bomb, it's insipidness cleverly disguising a new and painfully lethal strain of botulism that would explode in my stomach. It would be just like the terrorists to try to get to us through our wieners. Bastards! I took the fourth bite and started wondering where the nearest hospital was, just in case. Thankfully, it was just after I'd taken the fifth bite of this Satan's spawn-sage when I finally saw the friendly, familiar green, red and orange glow of a 7-Eleven sign in the distance. "Thank God", I thought. "If I c-can...just...get some..ch-chili...before it's t-too late...". But by then, I looked down and realized that there was just one bite left. So I just gulped it down, went back home and wrote this.

Just how little regard does ESPN have for hockey?

If you've ever wondered what exactly has to happen for something that happens in the NHL to be the lead story on SportsCenter and thought, "Hmm, a player almost dying during a game after having his cartoid artery slashed by a skate should do it", you'd be right! That is, if by 'lead story' you meant the fourth thing mentioned after two regular season college basketball game recaps and a report on the results of a NASCAR pre-season event. Apparently at ESPN, the self-proclaimed "Worldwide Leader In Sports" (or more accurately "Worldwide American Leader Primarily In The Eastern Time Zone Teams That Participate In The Sports That We Broadcast"), even if it bleeds, it doesn't necessarily lead.

Health care isn't the only thing that Canada does beter than America; the video above is from TSN, the Canadian version of ESPN.

Something stronger than shame

I helped out at a yard sale yesterday to raise funds for the American Cancer Society's upcoming Relay For Life event, with which I am involved this year. I'll write more about that later this week, but feel free to click the link to take a glimpse...and contribute (if you already have, Thank You).

Anyway, after the sale was over we still had a few piles of stuff that, understandably, nobody wanted to take back home. So we all split it up and took it to other worthy charitable drop offs. Clothing went to Goodwill and household items went to the Salvation Army. As for me, I loaded up the books and drove them over to the local VA hospital, specifically the James A. Haley Veterans' Hospital. It's something I've done before and it's something I dread every single time.

I hope I don't sound self righteous here, mostly because that would be insincere, but it's something stronger than shame that I feel every time I go to the VA hospital. And I find it hard to believe that anybody else wouldn't feel the same way. Whether it's putting an American flag in the front yard, slapping a magnet on a car or voting for the people who say what sounds like the right things, I can't believe anybody can ever enter one of these places and not immediately want to re-examine what it means to "support the troops". A VA hospital is less a place of healing than it is a repository for damaged, lonely, used up people. I frequently hear people in positions of power sermonize about the sanctity of human life. These are people who should visit one of these places and take a good look at what we do with those we send away to do the dirtiest work imaginable when they no longer serve our purposes. Not all of them, of course. Just the ones who inconvenience us by not coming back either unscathed or dead. Those troublesome folks who are still alive but missing pieces of their bodies and/or psyches and are just no good to us anymore. To them we give a wheelchair, a pat on the back and maybe an old, unwanted paperback book or two. And that's not a shame. It's something stronger.

A short conversation about the 2008 presidential race

"Well, it's official. Mitt Romney is out."

"Wait. What? Mitt Romney is gay?"

"Yes. Obviously that's what I meant. He's finally admitted to being a flaming, ultra-conservative, gay Republican. What else could I possibly talking about?"

"That is so brave of him. I am totally voting for him for president now."

"Ten at the Top in Tampa Bay" news

The film is STILL going strong. Here's two new items:

St. Pete Celebrates Area Female Filmmakers

Every month, JimSam Inc. Publishing features authors at an open house sponsored by Wahoo Mortgage of St. Pete. This month's event will celebrate Tampa Bay area Female Filmmakers.

"Ten at the Top in Tampa Bay" producer Renee Warmack will be the special guest. This film will be screened at the Gasparilla Film Festival during a special event celebrating local women. "Ten at the Top in Tampa Bay" captures an unprecedented time in the city of Tampa/Hillsborough County area---where 10 extraordinary women led governmental institutions, in positions traditionally held by men. The women who agreed to be filmed were asked to share the paths they traveled, the risks they took, the decisions they made, and who helped them along the way as they climbed their respective ladders of success. A cornerstone to this film is that it serves as a mentoring tool for young girls who may not realize that they too can reach such high levels of public service.

Renee Warmack is a native of Tampa who holds a masters degree from USF in Public Administration. Due to the success of the film, she formed Renee Warmack Productions, Inc. Renee is also a member of the American Society for Public Administration (ASPA); a Tampa Theatre member and member of the League of Women Voters.

The event will be held on Friday, Februrary 22 from 5pm to 8pm at Wahoo Mortgage at 2433 Central Avenue in St. Pete. This event is free and open to the public. Refreshments will be provided.

For more information contact Mona Burrows at Wahoo Mortgage: 727.522.0039, http://www.wahoomortgage.com/ or Renee Warmack at Renee Warmack, M.P.A.: 813-610-3132, tenatthetop@yahoo.com http://www.tenatthetop.com/

And...

"Ten at the Top in Tampa Bay" selected to be shown at 2nd Annual Gasparilla Film Festival

The Gasparilla Film Festival is a unique film festival blending the arts and film making, with a rich cultural backdrop. This year's festival begins on Wednesday, February 27th and concludes on Sunday, March 2nd. "Ten at the Top in Tampa Bay" will be shown on Saturday, March 1st at 5:30 PM at ChannelSide Cinemas (Theatre 3), located at 615 Channelside Drive Tampa Fl 33602

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break XIII

Thirteenth break (halftime - Patriots 7, Giants 3)

• Accura; Drag & Drop - Car commercial. Boring. Also not new. Strike out. 15 for 30.
• Alltel; Wizard - Not a car commercial but see above. 15 for 31.
• Nissan; Murano - See above and above. 15 for 32.
• Mercedes; 2008 C-class - See above and above and above. 15 for 33.
• NFL Network; Get your story straight. Amusing but they've done it before. plus the NFL Network is inherently evil. Soft pop up. 15 for 34.

FINAL BATTING AVERAGE = .441. That is definitely a Hall Of Fame number in baseball. In advertising? Hmmm, not so sure. Overall, I'd have to say it was a disappointing crop this year.

The best: FedEx Pigeons.

Close runner up: Pepsi Justin Timberlake

The worst: The car commercials are terrible but you don't expect anything from them. Beer companies, on the other hand, usually bring their best material to the Superbowl. Budweiser has definitely done better work and Miller didn't even have an ad! So Bud and Miller share the dubious distinction.

Scratch that, I just caught another Sales Genie ad with a talking Chinese panda that recalled this brilliant piece of advertising:

Yeah, I changed my mind. Sales Genie is the worst.

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break XII

Twelfth break

• Pepsi; Justin Timberlake - I'm not a fan but I have to give him credit; he's funny and doesn't take himself seriously. Homer! 14 for 28.
• Doritos; Mousetrap - Weird, random and unexpected. Guy in a mouse suit whoops ass for Doritos. Another single. 15 for 29

Batting average = .517

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break XI

Eleventh break (note: I'm quitting after halftime)

• "...Narnia 2"; Trailer - Not interested. Strike out. 11 for 25
• Planters Nuts; Unibrow girl - She's ugly but guys like nuts. Bleeding single barely gets through the middle. 12 for 26.
• T-Mobile; Barkley and Wade - Charles Barkley abuses his top 5. Everything he does is funny. Double. 13 for 27.

Batting average = .481

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break X

Tenth break

• GMC; Sisyphus - I kept waiting for the boulder to roll back and crush him. No such luck. Fly out. 11 for 23.
• Bud Lite; Foreigners - Man, I hate Carlos Mencia. Whiff. 11 for 24.

Batting average = .458

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break IX

Ninth break

• Careerbuilder.com; Follow your heart - Cool special effects. Could have been better. Sharp grounder to short, thrown out at first. 10 for 21.
• Lifewater; Thriller Lizards. - Is that Rihanna (sp?)? She's hot. She's hot even if that isn't her. So are dancing lizards. 11 for 22.

Batting average = .500

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break VIII

Eighth break

• Toyota Corolla; Badgers - A doofus's cell phone goes off, causing a mother badger to rip his face off. Beautiful! Another solid single. 10 for 18.
• "Leatherheads"; trailer - Eh. Pop out. 10 for 19.
• Garman; Napoleon - One long short joke. Strikeout. 10 for 20.

Batting average = .500

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break VII

Seventh break

• Budweiser; Rocky - Clydesdale misses the cut, trains to the the theme from Rocky and with the assistance of a Dalmation (presumably named Mickey) makes the team the following year. Single. 8 for 16.
• "Iron Man"; Trailer - I'm looking forward to the movie. This was actually a cool trailer. Bunt single. 9 for 17

Batting average = .529

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break VI

Sixth break

• FedEx; Pigeons - Giant pigeons dropping cargo and causing mayhem. Finally, a home run!! 5 for 13.
• Cars.com; Plan B - Car salesman versus crazy tribal fighter in the ring of death. Good concept, especially if it were true. Single. 6 for 14.
• Tide; Talking Stain - A guy's mayonaise (?) stain upstages him at a job interview. Very funny! Double. 7 for 15.

Batting average = .467

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break V

Fifth break

• "Wanted"; Trailer - Just an ad for a movie. Ground out. 3 for 10.
• G2; Derek Jeter, Peyton Manning & Bill Parcells - Cool effects, kind of funny. Another bloop single just over the 2nd baseman's head. 4 for 10.
• GoDaddy.com; Commercial for a commercial - A little funny but an ad for an ad is annoying. I'll give it to them...no, I won't. They reached base but that's an error and counts against the average. 4 for 11.
• Dell; Red - Nope, nothing special. Fly out. 4 for 12.

Batting average = .333

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break IV

Fourth break (end of the 1st quarter, Giants 3, Patriots 0)

• Bridgestone; Screaming - Anthropomorphic animals freaking out? I'm already on record as being in favor of that. Bloop single. 3 for 7
• Doritos; Kina Gramas (sp?) - Eh. Boring. Nice song but didn't make me want Doritos. Strike 3, looking. 3 for 8.
• Toyota; Cabin - Not a new ad! Boo! Another backwards K. 3 for 9.

Batting average = .333

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break III

Third break:

• Bud Lite; Cheese run - Solid rally, new comedy in the Bud Lite "guys trying to get away with beer drinking mischief without the girls finding out" tradition. Double into the gap. 2 for 5
• Under Armour; The Future - Kinda cool to look at but vaguely fascist in tone. Bunch of athletes participating in some kind of underwear uber alles rally? Creepy. Line out. 2 for 6.

Batting average = .333

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break II

Second break:

• Diet Pepsi Max; What Is Love? - Celebrities, bobbleheads, some guy with a bad combover and an ironic cameo from Chris Kattan. Attababy, solid single up the middle! 1 for 3
• Sales Genie; Ramesh - Boring. Animated. Borderline racist maybe? Pop up in foul territory. 1 for 4

Batting avg. = .250

Blogging the Superbowl ads: Break I

Just for kicks, I'm grading the ads during tonight's game. And because I like baseball better, I'm scoring them in baseball terms. Here's the first batch:

• Bud Lite; Breathing Fire - They've been doing these 'superpowers revoked' commercials for a while now. This was another one of those. Eh. Infield ground out. 0 for 1.
• Audi; Godfather parody - Cute, well done but not particularly memorable. Swing and a miss. 0 for 2.

batting average = .000

More to come!

Steinbrenner Stadium? Sure, why not.

Hillsborough County commissioner Rose Ferlita and Tampa city councilman Charlie Miranda are proposing that Legends Field be re-named George Steinbrenner Stadium in honor of New York Yankees principal owner and part-time Tampa resident George Steinbrenner. If you're a baseball fan who lays the conjoined plagues of outrageous player salaries and lack of competetive balance squarely at Steinbrenner's feet, or if you just happen to have a (healthy) general hatred of the Yankees, you might have a problem with this on first sight. However, the fact of the matter is that Steinbrenner the man has been extremely generous to and supportive of a number of worthwhile endeavors here in Tampa (and elsewhere) for a very long time and is as deserving of anyone of some lifetime recognition. It makes as much sense as anything to name a ballpark after him.
What's really disturbing and off-putting about it is Ferlita's recurrent efforts to shove the New York Yankees down the county's collective throat. In 2006, Ferlita led an unsuccessful bid to have the Yankees included on Tampa's "City of Champions" signage that noted the championships of Tampa Bay's Buccaneers, Lightning and Storm. In attempting to explain the logic behind her idea, Ferlita said the Devil Rays are "out in St. Petersburg. So to me, the Yankees are the home team". Never mind that the Yankees are "home" for about six weeks out of the year or that not one of the Yankees 26 world champions was ever won on behalf of Tampa. Or Tampa Bay for that matter. Regardless of what you think of the Rays' prospects in the future, the odds are still 100% higher that there will be a local parade celebrating a championship for them before there's one for the Yankees. Also never mind the fact that the Yankees have only been "home" in Tampa since 1996. The Cincinnati Reds were the "home" team for 30 years before that. Local government honored the "home" team by neglecting Al Lopez Field, making it untenable and basically driving them out of town to Plant City so they could tear it down and build an ice arena. Ironically, as a result the monument built to honor the achievements of Tampa native Al Lopez was razed...while he was still alive...and the property stayed undeveloped, serving as another parking lot for Bucs games, until Raymond James Stadium was built 10 years later. Ferlita is quoted in the Tampa Tribune as saying "I want to do it as quickly as possible so maybe it would be in concert with their first (2008 spring training) game". What's the urgency? After all, next year there's going to be a new high school in Lutz named after Steinbrenner. I would say that's actually a more significant and profound monument to someone's good works than re-naming a stadium. Why does there need to be a priority placed on establishing a second one? Well, you probably don't get to wear your Yankees cap and pal around with Reggie Jackson and Yogi Berra at some stupid school grand opening, I guess.

Enjoy it. We do.

That's the marketing slogan of WTSP, our local CBS affiliate. I'm not 100% sure what "it" is exactly but there's actually a tradition here in Tampa Bay of our local media embracing the credo as a lifestyle choice and truly partying like rock stars. Names that come to mind immediately include Hugh Smith, Reginald Roundtree, Nancy Alexander, Chris Thomas and Bob Hite. This week, WFLA's Gayle Guyardo was either drunk (according to numerous complaints to WFLA management) or suffering from the flu (according to her) while covering the Gasparilla Parade. That's a picture of her, tears streaming down her face after being briefly yanked off the air and spoken to during the parade. Now, I didn't watch so I don't know. I've seen girls who were drunk who looked like that. I've also seen girls who were sick who looked like that. But honestly, since it's coverage of a parade featuring hundreds of drunk participants viewed by thousands of drunk spectators, who really cares? In fact, it appears that the only people involved who weren't drunk are the people who bothered to call in to complain. Maybe they were jealous? I know if I was wasting a perfectly good Saturday watching a parade on television without being inebriated I could see becoming bitter and vindictive enough to pick up the phone and kill someone else's buzz. But I'd rather look at the bright side of this situation. If she was drunk, she was actually being responsible and conscientous and doing us all a favor. After all, it's when these people are not on the air that they're a threat to our safety.

Job update

Well, I've been at my "new" job at the print shop for two months now. I had no idea there would be so much to learn. My boss isn't worried and says it will probably take three years(!) to get up to speed on everything I need to know. That's reassuring, since I still haven't been able to figure out the difference between the various kinds of paper during the same amount of time in which I once learned how to assemble, disassemble and fire semi-automatic weapons, field triage and first aid, chemical weapons, military courtesy, field survival skills, drill and ceremony and how to identify Soviet aircraft and tanks.

The New York Football Giants

Thank God the Superbowl is almost here. That means it will be over soon which means hopefully people will take a break from referring to the Giants as “The New York Football Giants”. For me, this archaic descriptor has become the sports equivalent of “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity”. It used to be that ESPN’s Chris Berman would be the only one to use the phrase as a quaint, retro nod to one of the NFL’s oldest franchises. But now every asshole who says the team’s name aloud uses it, rendering it no longer quaint but annoying. You don’t hear people saying the “Utah Basketball Jazz” because it’s unnecessary and most unnecessary things are annoying. Aside from the basketball team, there is no jazz in Utah, just like aside from the football team, there are no Giants in New York.
I know, I know, before they moved to San Francisco, the Giants played baseball in New York too and so there were two teams in the same city sharing the nickname. But you don’t hear anybody saying “The St. Louis Baseball Cardinals” and there were two teams sharing the same name in St. Louis a lot more recently (1988) than in New York (1958). In Chicago, people seem to have been able to figure out the difference between Cubs and Bears without having to resort to “The Chicago Football Bears” and “The Chicago Younger, Smaller, Baseball Bears”, which must frustrate New Yorkers who 50 years after the fact still get constant reminders which game their Giants play.
For the sake of decreasing the sheer volume of things that annoy mankind (and by mankind, I mostly mean me), there should be some sort of rule or law that restricts this phraseology to cases where it is necessary and makes sense. Such as:

• The Colorado Baseball Rockies / The Colorado Rocky Mountains


• The Toronto Baseball Blue Jays / The Toronto Bird Blue Jays


• The Detroit Basketball Pistons / The Detroit Locally Manufactured Automobile Part Pistons


• The Tampa Bay Hockey Lightning / The Tampa Bay Lightning Which Can Kill You On A Golf Course


• The San Antonio Basketball Spurs / The San Antonio Jinglin’, Janglin’ Spurs


• The Tampa Bay Football Buccaneers / The Tampa Bay Bunch of Drunken Idiots Dressing Up Like Buccaneers For Gasparilla


• The Montreal Hockey Canadians / The Montreal Everybody Else Who Lives There Canadians

The Worst Band I've Ever Been In

When we all decided to form a band, nobody wanted Steve to be in it. Steve’s really not one of us, he just kind of hangs around all the time. But he’s one of those kids whose parents let him do whatever he wants and buy him anything he asks for. You know the type. Anyway, his parents let him have the whole basement of their house. Steve has his bedroom there and there’s a pool table, an air hockey table and even an old antique slot machine his aunt gave him. Steve said if we let him be in the band we could use the basement to rehearse any time we wanted and even keep our instruments there so I figured we could give it a try.

At the very first rehearsal, Steve decided he wanted to be play guitar and be lead singer. I had a big problem with that. After all, I had written most of the songs we were going to be playing so I had naturally figured I would be the one to sing them. Plus, I feel that I’m a pretty good guitarist and Steve didn’t even own a guitar. But as it turned out, once Steve’s dad found out about the band, he’d gone out and spent about $5000 to buy Steve a brand new Gibson DG-335 and an amp. This was more money than what the rest of us had invested in our instruments combined. The rest of the guys said that with a guitar that awesome there was no way we could NOT let him be the lead. I realized I couldn’t mount much of an argument to that and begrudgingly agreed to play drums instead.

Things went along ok for a while, although Steve couldn’t play very well. It was obvious he hadn’t been practicing and it wasn’t like his parents would make him. And he really couldn’t sing at all. He couldn’t even get the lyrics I’d written right, sometimes changing whole verses, which I didn’t even mind since he was making my songs sound so terrible anyway.

One day, we were in the basement taking a break during rehearsal and Steve announced that he wanted to change the name of the band to The Cincinnati Reds. “You have got to be kidding me”, I said. “That’s easily the stupidest name for a band ever.” Steve (naturally) got all defensive. “It is not! The Reds are my favorite team.” “Exactly”, I said. “It’s the name of a baseball team, not a band!” I couldn’t believe I was the only one opposed to this horrible idea but Steve’s mom had made this awesome barbecue chicken pizza for us and everybody was too busy eating to say anything. I turned to Wayne, our bassist for support. Generally, in any band the bass player is going to be the guy with the most common sense. It’s the nature of the instrument, I guess. “Wayne, help me here. I thought we all agreed our name would be The Destroyed, which is a bad ass, subversive thrash metal band name. How the hell can we be a bad ass, subversive thrash metal band calling ourselves the Cincinnati Reds?” Wayne swallowed a bite of pizza and said, “Well, a thrash metal band named after a baseball team from the midwest is kinda subversive. You know, like ironically.” I just rolled my eyes as Wayne leaned forward and helped himself to another slice. Steve yelled, “Reds rule!” and crashed my cymbal with the head of his outrageously expensive guitar, showing no regard whatsoever for the tuners. Unbelievable, but whatever.

The next day I showed up for rehearsal and as I walked up to Steve’s house, it sounded like they had started already…and I could hear somebody playing drums! What kinda crap is this, I wondered as I ran downstairs. Sure enough, there they all were, playing one of my songs with some other guy as the damn drummer. “Dude!” I yelled to everybody. The music stopped and nobody said anything. So I asked, “What the hell is going on?” Steve piped up and said, “The Cincinnati Reds have a new drummer: meet Ken Griffey Jr.!” Sure as shit, Ken Griffey Jr. was sitting there in Steve’s basement, playing my drums. Wayne stared at the floor, shuffled his feet and mumbled something about Steve’s dad knowing some guy who knew some other guy and Ken was actually a really good drummer and whatever, whatever. “So what now?” I asked. “I’m out of the band or what?” Everybody said “no, no, not at all, you’re still in if you want to be”. Before I could ask in what capacity, Steve tossed me a tambourine. A tambourine? A girl’s instrument! It’s not even an instrument. It’s a noisemaker! I caught it and stood there a second, fuming. But I eventually walked over to them, glaring at Ken Griffey, Jr. who just glared right back at me.

We launched into the song and I’m banging on the tambourine, feeling like a total tool when Steve all of a sudden cuts everybody off and says, “I’m bored. Let’s go outside and play baseball.” They all dropped their instruments and went out into the 42,941 seat ballpark that Steve’s dad had built in their backyard. They told me I could play with them (right field) if I wanted to but by that point I’d totally had enough.

I’m not bitter or anything but I’m glad those assholes finished fifth in the NL Central last year.

Too much, too soon

I'm just wondering, how much do you have to hate gay people to find humor in the untimely death of a young actor who played one in a movie?

I'm guessing we'll find out as John Gibson becomes the latest contestant in the "Oops! Now I am very, very sorry" sweepstakes, the only game show where just about everybody cashes in except for the person playing it.

On a somewhat related note, I'm also wondering why things that happen to Heath Ledger, Owen Wilson, Brad Renfro are (for the most part) handled with sensitivity and respect while the lives of Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan and Amy Winehouse are treated with all the dignity of recurring sketches on Saturday Night Live.

I don't have any answers. Like I said, I was just wondering.

I am a artist!

Because sometimes I have to remind everyone that I'm like a combination of Rembrandt, Picasso and Keith Haring when it comes to MS paint...

How do you know when you need to tell Houston you have a problem? When even the moon is horrifed.

Yes, even the Premium Crispy Chicken Ranch BLT Sandwich!

What? This is an anorexic, druid hockey goalie, pitching in to help find a neighbor's pet. What did you think was happening here, sicko?

Apparently, race is a touchy issue in avian society too. Thanks, Chris!

I know what you're thinking: "Which one should I use for my desktop wallpaper and/or My Space page?!?". Obviously the answer is "All of them"! You're welcome.

The Tarnished Fox

There are generally three things that every man thinks he can do better than any other man:

1. Build a fire
2. Manage a baseball team
3. Manage a bar and/or restaurant

The existence of terrible establishments like The Silver Fox here in Tampa helps to justify #3's placement on that list. To call the place a shithole is an insult to fecal matter and hollow places in solid masses everywhere. It may seem like I'm just posting this because I enjoy complaining, which is true, but I'm honestly trying to provide a public service here. I did not have the benefit of a warning like this when I visited Friday night so I'm publishing my tale of woe so no one else has to relive it. I talked to other bitterly disappointed patrons who had gone there because previously the place had been known as the Blue Moon Saloon which was apparently pretty great. However, much like when your dearly departed Peepaw comes unexpectedly crashing through your living room window as an undead, brain-eating zombie, sometimes dead things should just stay dead. Seriously, unless you truly enjoy bad service, bad food, bad atmosphere and bad booze (did you ever imagine there even was such a thing?) you'll want to avoid this place at all costs. Here's a partial list of godawful things I can recall. I'm sure there are more but thankfully my brain has done me a favor by destroying parts of itself in order to erase those memories forever.

• Had to ask the bartender to turn off the horrendous fluorescent lighting. The kind of lighting hat would have been suitable for a hardware store or indoor batting cages, but not a bar.
• The place is billed as a "sports bar". There are two kinds of sports bars, those that cater to creating an atmosphere for fans to enjoy watching sports and those that serve booze and have at least one television. Guess which category this place falls into?
• Asking the owner/manager about all the people smoking within sight of the multiple no-smoking signs posted, he replied "Well, we have a deal; if I get busted, they have to pay the fine." He then said "I'll make sure no smoke comes over here". I guess he planned to accomplish this through the power of prayer, because other than that he did absolutely nothing.
• There were a couple of grease-stained, one-sided photocopied menus with a small handful of food items on it, half of which according to the waitress were not even available. There was actually a philosophical debate at one point over the existence of hamburgers.
• No limes for Coronas. Lemons were offered instead. Unsuitable substitutions would become a prevailing theme as you will see.
• PS: The lemons looked like they were rotten.
• Nachos were ordered. The waitress said there was no ground beef, which I think was just to buttress her argument that hamburgers were strictly creatures of ancient mythology.
• Lemon Drop shots were ordered. Typically, for a Lemon Drop you need vodka, lemon (which we had already established were available) and sugar. What showed up was vodka, (rotten) lemon and Sweet & Low. At this point, I wanted to order more stuff just to see what would show up at the table: "I know you ordered a ham and cheese sandwich with a side of fries but I decided to bring you this key chain flashlight and a picture I drew of a sea monster instead. Enjoy!".
• It took about a half hour, no exaggeration, to cash out when we'd finally had enough and decided to leave. This was because seemingly random amounts were charged to all kinds of credit cards (we had made the critical mistake of thinking we would be allowed the autonomy of paying separately). Even though this was eventually straightened out, it still resulted in strange amounts of money being put on hold on our credit card accounts. When informed of this, the owner/manager thoughtfully replied "that won't happen". Upon further discussion, he begrudgingly offered that "it might".
• My original assessment, which I stand by, is that it looks like the place was closed for a while and when these people re-opened it, they just took whatever had been lying around before and put it to work; menus, tables, chairs, lights, televisions, food...

So in conclusion, please, just stay away from this dump. It shouldn't be that difficult; I'd guess they're only going to be around for a month or so anyway.

The next blockbuster? Yep!

Ok, it isn't real. But here's the thing; if it were real and featured big name stars in it (Will Smith? Nick Cage?), people would pay money to see it. Aw, who am I kidding? I'd pay money to see it.

Thanks to Chris L for finding this.

A short conversation about dreams

"Hey, I'm pretty upset about what you wrote in my going away card."

"What, that I hope all of your dreams come true?"

"Yeah, that. Thanks. Thanks a lot. You jerk."

"You have got to be kidding me. How could that possibly upset you?"

"Dreams aren't supposed to come true. Dreams are unattainable, impossible things you can only wish and hope for. They're what keep us going in life, striving ever onward. That's why they're dreams, stupid. If they came true, they'd just be things that happen, like every other tedious, boring thing in life. Don't you understand? The second the impossible happens, it ceases being impossible, and therefor, it becomes just another common occurrence, like every other damn dull, mundane circumstance."

"So wait a minute. If you dreamt all your life of one day seeing a real, live unicorn and all of a sudden, one just appeared in front of you..."

"I'd say, 'oh great, a stupid horse with a horn on it's head. I guess they'll be all over the place now. Who's going to clean up after them? Me probably'."

"Gee, I never thought of it that way before but it kind of makes sense. I suppose it would have been better if I had written 'I hope none of your dreams ever come true' instead."

"Well, now you're just being mean."

I want one!

I have always wanted to own a Jeep, never more than I do now...
Of course, I was thinking something more rugged and kick-ass, like the old Army jeep. But if there's even a remote possibility of what happens in that commercial happening to me, I'll take it! Do you realize if this happened to me, I would be happier than I've ever been in my whole life. Yes, happier even than I would have been that time I thought fireworks might shoot down a low-flying rescue chopper over Sarasota Bay that one 4th of July. Who doesn't dream of cruising around with a posse of singing animals? And one of them is a wolf! Think about it; ease the sunroof open, crank the cheesy 70's pop up and cut loose with some serious five-part harmonizing. As you drive along, you catch the curious eyes of other motorists, stressed out and all caught up in their tedious 9-to-5 existence. You wonder if they have any idea what real living is but the knowing smile on the face of your squirrel pal riding shotgun tells you that's their problem, man. After a while, you get hungry and pull over at a roadside diner to get a bite. The animals wonder if it's cool if they come in with you and the reproachful glares from the people you see inside through the window make you pause a second and think about it. But then you say "Hell yeah, you can come in. And guess what? You can have anything you want. It's on me". Because these aren't your pets, for chrissakes. They're your buddies! And that's what buddies do for each other. Wolfie would probably like a nice ham steak, squirrel would go for a peanut butter sandwich and the birds, I don't know, pancakes maybe. Whatever. The food arrives and is delicious. Everyone is so charmed by you and your ani-pals that their initial trepidation melts away. Eventually they're asking you all to stay and sing along to some old Charlie Pride records on the diner's jukebox. And you do, for a little while. But then you excuse yourself cordially, telling them the open road is calling. They understand and wish you well on your future travels. You, a wolf, a squirrel, two birds and your Jeep.

New stuff

Three quick things...

1. I added some new links over there to the right. I included Denise and Gadzooks because in spite of the remarkably poor judgement they exhibit by reading this blog on a regular basis, they inexplicably don't hate me. Cracked is there because it is a very funny site and I hold only a minimal grudge against them for screwing me out of a subscription when they were publishing a magazine. And Stuck In the 80's is there because, at least to some degree, I am and so are you, whether you want to admit it or not.
2. I am now actively occupying an apathetic presence on Facebook as well as MySpace. I don't do very much with either one of them but I like Facebook better if for no other reason than it doesn't look so tacky that it would make an airbrush artist at the state fair blanch. I've looked around a little and have yet to see a single picture of a diamond encrusted teddy bear holding a bouquet of roses asking "Won't you (sniffle, whimper, sob, whine) be my friend?" while a James Blunt song plays in the background.
3. I was off line for a couple of days but I got a new computer this weekend. My old ("old" in terms of computers and perishable food items only) died and I had to get a replacement. Unless you are highly savvy when it comes to technical matters, shopping for computers is the worst. Worse even than buying a new car. You're expected to compare items that all look alike, yet are completely different, based solely on criteria that's presented like this: Intel® Core™2 Quad desktop processor Q6600; 2GB memory; DL DVD±RW/CD-RW drive; 500GB hard drive; Windows Vista Home Premium versus Intel® Core™2 Duo desktop processor E4500; 3GB DDR2 memory; DL DVD±RW/CD-RW drive; 500GB hard drive; Windows Vista Home Premium with TV tuner. Which one is better? Hell if I know; they're exactly the same price on Best Buy's web site. Look, why can't they just list the features I might actually be interested in, like which one blocks friend requests from people with hideous MySpace pages?

Lies lies lies!

Lying is nothing new to us humans. Remember all those guys claiming to be Spartacus? Well, all except one of them was lying. However, in recent years we've seemed to embrace outright dishonesty with a renewed fervor. OJ Simpson, Michael Jackson and Larry Craig maintain their innocence in spite of mountains of evidence and mountain ranges of public opinion to the contrary. Well, why not? At this point, there's literally nothing to be gained from admitting otherwise. In a way, such commitment is almost admirable. That way being a very sad and sick way. Of course, 2008 is an election year and most of us are already resigned to the fact that we're going to be spoon fed a heapin' helping of lies between now and November. But lying isn't just for celebrities and politicians. Here are a couple of heartwarming stories that have broken over the last couple of days:

• A woman in Texas made up a story about her daughter's father being killed in Iraq so she could win tickets to a Hannah Montana concert. She went on the Today show yesterday to apologize but in the tradition of all great liars, pulled up just short of actually owning it. When asked what she told the 6-year-old after she got busted, she said "I told my daughter the truth. I told her we wrote an essay and they said it was a lie." I'm guessing she didn't go on to explain that "they" said that because it was. If liars have a toolbox, blaming "them" would be the 24-piece socket wrench set. Well, I guess offering up some sort of one possible partial version of the truth is better than nothing.
• Locally this week, we've been treated to the unraveling of the Ben Moffitt saga. Moffitt, a linebacker for USF who is married with two children, has been heralded for being a devoted family man working towards a college degree while playing football at a stellar level. Well, one out of three ain't bad. As it turns out, Ben left his wife and kids about two months ago and the estranged Mrs. Moffitt now claims she actually took his online classes, wrote his papers and took his tests for him. She was served with divorce papers four days after USF's season, and Moffitt's college career, concluded with a 56-21 loss to Oregon in the Sun Bowl.

I hear things

Through no fault of my own, I find myself listening to a lot of people's business that's none of my business. I don't consider myself an eavesdropper. I'd like to think...I hope anyway...that it's just that I'm quiet (sometimes) and I pay attention to my surroundings. Hmm. Maybe that does make me an eavesdropper. Anyway, here are two recent examples:

• Yesterday, I was minding my business and eating lunch at Sweet Tomatoes. At the table next to me, two guys, a man and his supervisor, were reviewing job performance. It was apparent that the evaluation was not good and the conversation started steering towards "making a necessary change". Holy crap, this guy is getting fired. At Sweet Tomatoes! Like dying, getting fired is something you don't have a lot of control over when it comes to where and when. However, if polled I believe most people, if presented a choice of where they were to be fired, would choose "not at Sweet Tomatoes". Interestingly enough, those same people, if presented a choice of where and when they would die, would choose "nowhere" and "never". Go figure.
• Tonight, while eating dinner at Origami Sushi, a woman watching tv kept saying "Oh my God!" over and over and over. I'm not exaggerating, she must have said it at least a dozen times. It was like she was witnessing the Kennedy assassination for the first time. It was none of my business, but I had to turn around and see what she was looking at it. What if it was footage of an alien invasion? I'd need to go out to my car and get a screwdriver or something to use as a weapon. But it turns out it was highlights of today's Outback Bowl. I thought that was odd. The game was virtually meaningless, except to the people who went to go see it. And since the stadium was literally walking distance from this restaurant and was not sold out, if she was that into it, she could have gone. But it all made sense when she told her companion, "I was so hoping Tennessee won so he'll be happy!" Seriously, honey? You're really that excited about the result of a virtually meaningless sporting event pleasing some guy who isn't even here with you right now? Wow.

How do I know all this stuff? Like I said, I hear things.

One sporting event we'll never host

Unless Al Gore's inconvenient forecast is overly optimistic, in spite of the best efforts of Rob Higgins and Paul Catoe, Tampa Bay will never host the NHL's Winter Classic. If you're not familiar with what that is, it's a regular season game between two National Hockey League teams...played outdoors. Not an exhibition, but an actual game whose results count in the standings. The NHL hopes to make this a regular, if not annual, occurence. Previously, the Montreal Canadiens and Edmonton Oilers played an outdoor game four years ago. And Michigan and Michigan State played outdoors in 2001. This year's Classic featured the Pittsburgh Penguins versus the Buffalo Sabres at Ralph Wilson Stadium, home of the NFL's Buffalo Bills. The game drew an NHL record crowd of 71,217 who sat through snow and temperatures in the 20s to see the Penguins win 2-1 in a shootout. While debate continues over whether or not Tampa is a hockey town, uh, it gets cold here (although up north friends and relatives will vehemently disagree) but it ain't gonna get...or more importantly, stay...that cold any time soon.

In spite of the poor playing conditions (weather necessitated near-constant ice maintenance), the game was a lot of fun to watch, with all that snow and players like Ryan Miller and his homemade toque getting into the spirit of it:

So I guess we'll just have to accept that our Lightning are forever house-bound when it comes to home games and make do with all the Superbowls, Final Fours, college football bowl games and (at least hypothetically possible) World Series to satisfy our appetites when it comes to high profile sporting events.

Television at it's absolute best

Here's a tv commercial from 1985...

If you've never seen this one, no doubt you've seen hundreds just like it. Go ahead, make fun of it if you want to (but not too much because I am in love/obsessed with the girl in it and if you make fun of her, I will have no choice but to fight you). It's ok, it is funny. These commercials always follow the same formula:

• Present some tedious common chore in a manner that makes it seem more difficult than the combined labors of Hercules.
• Demonstrate a miraculous product that will make accomplishing this chore not only possible but fun, possibly for the whole family.
• Hint vaguely that the development of this miraculous product is somehow affiliated with the space program (optional).
• Show a ludicrously low price for this miraculous product.
• Point out that the consumer actually gets two miraculous products for the ludicrously low price of one.
• Inspire call to action by offering at least one free additional separate premium feature or item if the miraculous product is ordered immediately.

Now, in the case of the Powerjet presented above, the free additional premium item is an on/off switch, which is pretty shitty if you think about it. Seriously, how screwed are we if all manufacturers start considering on/off switches as premium, value-added features? But that's the beauty; these commercials are designed so you don't have to think. At all. The last thing the manufacturer wants is for the minds of people watching these to function beyond the ability to dial a phone and read a sequence of numbers from a credit card. And that's what happens to you when you see enough of them, which is why I love them so much. Not all commercials, just ones like this from the "as seen on tv" family. I wish with all my might that there were a cable channel that showed nothing but these commercials 24 hours a day. I'm envisioning something along the lines of mid-eighties MTV, with these commercials instead of videos (which are actually just commercials anyway). I guarantee I'd watch for at least an hour every day. As it is, I have been known to reach an almost zen-like state while watching Tarnex commercials. Man, they just stick those crusty old spoons in a bowl of Tarnex and they come out gleaming. In fact, If I ever become independently wealthy, I am going to hire teams of people to scour the globe in search of the crustiest, nastiest pots, pans, candlesticks and flatware. They'll bring them back to me in my palatial mansion, where I will lock myself in a room on the second floor and live out the rest of my days growing a long beard and fingernails and polishing those items with Tarnex. Maybe you would bliss out to the Topsy Tail or the Bedazzler or, if you want to go really old school, the Pocket Fisherman. But that's another beautiful thing; there's something for everyone!

Now, I know none of this crap works in real life like it does in the commercials, but that's the whole point. As seen on tv, imperfections are erased, families are brought together, wrongs are righted and the mundane is made fun and exciting for one low, low price plus a free egg timer. You won't find anything else on television that gives you such feelings of tranquility, inspiration and inner peace and if you do, return this blog for a full refund.

Oh wait, it's '08

It's New Year's Eve, a time when everyone is required to assess the past and predict the future. The past? I don't see much value in worrying about what's already happened. It's like the old saying goes, "There's no sense crying over spilled milk so quit crying and let's go beat the shit out of the jerk that spilled your milk." Sure, I have a few regrets. I'm sorry the dinosaurs are extinct. I would have liked to have seen flocks of Tyrannosaurus Rex roaming the earth like God intended. Who wouldn't? On the other hand, I'm glad that World War II is over and that we were able to blow up Hitler. I'd call that a wash. It's like that other old saying goes, "You can't make a blown-up Hitler omelet without breaking some Tyrannosaurus Rex eggs". So overall, I feel pretty good about the past.

But what about the future? Hmm. That's tricky because there's no such thing as a time machine that will take us into the future except for this one that I heard about that only goes into the future and takes 15 minutes to go 15 minutes, in which case what's the point? I think it's safe to say that what we have to look forward to in the future is more of the same ol' shit only louder and in different packaging. I sincerely believe that we've stopped inventing new stuff and all our innovative energy is dedicated to modifying that which already exists. This is most clearly evident in medicine where all efforts go toward treating symptoms and not developing cures. Simply put, there's no profit to made from solving problems. To quote yet another old saying, "Give a man a fish that prevents the development of malignant tumors and he will eat for a day and not develop certain forms of cancer, but teach a man that he needs a fish that treats chapped lips but has side effects that may include blindness, feelings of anxiety and uncontrollable seeping anal discharge and he will give you all of his money".

In spite of this, I'm genuinely hopeful regarding the upcoming New Year. Even though I think it's going to be 366 laps around the sun worth of more of the same ol' shit, most of that same ol' shit is still worth getting out of bed for. I'm also hopeful that what's damaged can be repaired. And if not, that it can at least be replaced. So good night, good luck and Happy Auld Lung Syringe.

Surprising fact I learned today

My cat does not like egg nog. I thought he would, since he likes everything else I put in my piehole. He thought he would too, getting all up in my grill trying to get some, which is par for the course any time I'm eating or drinking. Also par for the course, I offered only token resistance before sharing it with him, which is why he thinks he's entitled to whatever I'm eating or drinking in the first place. I know that's entirely my fault so I don't even get mad about it anymore. Anyway, he licked at it twice, made an "aw, hell naw!" face and hauled ass. I don't know what he didn't like, maybe it was the thick texture or the hint of cinnamon he didn't expect when he first saw and smelled it. There's no booze in it, so that isn't it...unless maybe it is. Maybe he thought we were gonna spend a quiet Wednesday night, basking in the twinkle lights of the Christmas tree, watching the Lightning choke away yet another road game and getting snockered. Well normally two out of three ain't bad. Except of course when one of those two is the Lightning playing down to expectations. Next time I'll be sure to spike the egg nog.

Eight things that annoy me (and should annoy you too) about Christmas

I'm not one of those people who hate Christmas, but certain aspects of the holiday season do get on my nerves. Ok, here we go, in no particular order:

1. Remaking Christmas songs – I don’t know why but every so-called pop star is required to record at least one Christmas song, if not an entire album. And for some other unknown reason, they always feel compelled to go out of their way to make the song their own, like they’re creating the definitive version of a song that’s already been recorded at least 300 times. You can almost hear them saying “Suck on that, Bing Crosby”. This is usually accomplished by altering the tempo slightly and piling on heaping scoops of unnecessary, elaborate vocal flourishes featuring lots of “whoa-ho-ho-ho” and “me-heh-heh-ree-yeah chree-ee-ee-ee-ee-st-may-aaaaas” nonsense which just makes everything a big mess, sort of like a cargo plane pilot doing barrel rolls just to show he can.
   
2. Year end lists – I don’t need VH1 or Time to remind me what a wacky year it’s been. Whatever “it” is, I either remember “it” already on my own or I’ve intentionally forgotten “it” on purpose because “it’s” not worth the storage space in my brain required to remember “it”. Besides, I already told you back in February that the Story of the Year would be the Astronaut Love Triangle. Sex, astronauts, diapers, scorned lovers, a cross-country quest for vengeance and diapers. Nothing could possibly top that. Not “Chocolate Rain”, not the litany of Britney Spears shenanigans nor even the recent harmonic convergence of a Tampa Bay troika of trollops with Debra Lafave, Jessica Sierra and former Wharton High School basketball coach Jaymee Wallace all occupying what seemed to be the same 15 minutes of sex scandal and poor judgment fame at the same time. Not even Larry Craig. Ok, maybe Larry Craig.
   
3. Online Greeting Cards – When you virtually care enough to hit send. Gee, how thoughtful. I’ll cherish this for up to 30 days.
   
4. Misleading Christmas words – Not only is fruitcake terrible, unlike it’s two delicious primary components (fruit and cake) but mistletoe, which could be the most awesome nickname ever for a punter (basically by default, since nobody bothers to bestow nicknames on punters) has nothing to do with missiles or feet. Also frankincense has nothing to do with Boris Karloff.
   
5. Making up new words to “The 12 Days Of Christmas” – For whatever reason, people don’t seem to understand that merely changing the words to what is easily the longest, most boring and annoying Christmas carol ever doesn’t render any of those negative attributes void. No, they’re too busy congratulating themselves for cleverly coming up with “The 12 Days Of (where they work/their family/their favorite TV show/something else they think is important here)” to get that. They also expect you to be suitably impressed with their cleverness. And, since it is Christmas, you’re sorta morally obligated to act like you are or else you’re a Grinch or a Scrooge (see #7).
   
6. “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” – Back to the subject of pop singers and Christmas music, this song begat Band Aid which begat USA For Africa which begat “We Are The World” which begat that smug "yeah, we got this" thumbs-up from Lionel Richie that makes me hate charity every time I see that video.
   
7. Sexy Santas – The coalescence of two things that normally bring me great joy, but for entirely different reasons, Santa Claus and scantily clad women, confuses and frightens me. Please stop it.
   
8. Being called Scrooge or Grinch for complaining about Christmas – Christmas as we know it now has been celebrated for hundreds of years. There are dozens of traditions, hundreds of movies and countless songs about Christmas…but you’re telling me there are only two derogatory terms for people who aren’t into it? How is that possible? We deserve, and should demand, more Christmas insults!
   

Merry non-annoying Christmas, everyone.

Notice to Pit Bull Gym

When I got home from work today, I noticed fliers hanging from my downstairs neighbors' doorknobs. But when I got to my apartment, there was no flyer hanging on my doorknob. There also wasn't one hanging on the door of the apartment across from mine either. Now I'm not complaining that I didn't get a flyer. That actually pleases me. Not having to throw it away without reading it, which is what I would have done, helps me feel good about doing my part not to harm the environment. Plus, the time I save by not having to throw away fliers that I have no intention of reading frees me up for eating crackers with cheese on them, watching "Most Shocking" on television and other leisure activities. No, my point is that I live on the second floor. And Pit Bull Gym is, well, a gym. Presumably, a place where people go to work out and get in shape. Do you see where I'm going with this? What I'm trying to say, proprietors of Pit Bull Gym, a place where people go to work out and get in shape, is that the person responsible for going door-to-door to tout your fabulous pitbull-esque getting in shape services is too lazy to climb stairs. This is probably not the most effective use of marketing resources nor the message you want to send. As such, this is going to be the reason I use to not join your gym that I was not going to join anyway.

A short conversation about similes

"Did I ever tell you that my great grandfather was killed in the Boston Molasses Disaster of 1919?"
"Really? How did that happen?"
"Yeah, apparently an enormous tank full of molasses burst and a massive wave of molasses flowed through the streets of Boston, swallowing everything in it's path. Great granddad tried to outrun it but was swept away and drowned in it."
"So wait, your great grandfather died because...he was slower than molasses?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Wow. That's probably the worst thing I ever heard."
"No, actually the worst part is he died before he ever even met my great grandmother."
"Oh. What? Wait a minute. How is that pos...hey, where did you go?"

J'a ever notice...?

Why is it that the guys who look goofiest in a baseball cap worn askew tend to be the ones who wear them that way? Whether it's because of a misshapen head, a bad haircut or simply an unfortunate collection and arrangement of facial features, the hat makes them look...how do I put this delicately?...stupid. It doesn't come off like they're making any kind of fashion statement, it just looks like they're the sort of people who aren't quite capable of grasping what a hat is or how it's supposed to work.

The Cell Phone People

Do you see...and hear...those people on their cell phones? I don't mean people who have cell phones. Hell, everybody has one. I'm talking about the people who are constantly on their cell phones. Well, here are some things you need to know about them:

• The Cell Phone People are better, smarter and prettier than you are. They know it, too. But they aren't sure you know it. So they work really hard around the clock and at peak volume to remind you. You're welcome.
• Their ring tones are not obnoxious, grating look-at-me sirens, they're melodic, soulful expressions of The Cell Phone People's beautiful, unique personalities, like snowflakes. Only better.
• As a matter of fact, yes, what The Cell Phone People are talking about right this minute is that important, goddamnit.
• Maybe you don't need to hear about The Cell Phone People's half of the conversation with uncle George and his visit to the chiropractor, but you don't deserve to hear it either. You're welcome again.
• Actually, there are only two things in the world less important than what The Cell Phone People are doing on their cell phones right now, and here they are, in order:

1. Everything else in the world, except you
2. You

Update on the New Job

Only because I've been asked...

I've been at my new job for just over two weeks now and am still settling in. There's a lot to learn. But I go home every night at 5:00, I stop worrying about the job the second I walk out the door and I have every weekend off, which is exactly what I wanted. The job itself is not a repetition of the same routine day after day so I don't think I will get bored, so over all, it's working out exactly like I had hoped it would.

What is a little weird and a little difficult is being the new guy there. This is the first time I've started a new job where I didn't know anybody since, hmmm, maybe since I joined the Army 25 years ago. People who know me might find it hard to believe (although people who know me well will find it very easy to believe) that I am somewhat withdrawn and guarded around people I don't know. I enjoy being lively and entertaining but I choose to distribute my raucous, silly behavior in portions that I control in situations where I'm comfortable. Right now I don't have that, or even anyone to talk to, so my days are really kind of quiet and that's not much fun. Everybody who works there has been there at least seven years and they're all older adults, married with adult or late-teenage kids, so who knows, I may never fit in there. But life is all about trade-offs (or so I'm told) and I'm in a situation I chose for myself so I have no regrets and I should shut up already. It'll all be fine. I'm shutting up now.

Observances

Today was what would have been my 20th wedding anniversary.
In other news, "Deal Or No Deal" was on television tonight.

I observed both of these with equal indifference.