"I'm not dead"

My ex-neighbor at the apartment complex I just left was an older German man that I called Horst. We were friendly in the way that neighbors who share a common staircase should be friendly but we weren't really close. Just small talk on the way up or down those stairs, That kind of thing, We got along just fine.

Relevant to this story, I'm embarrassed by my stuff. I own a lot of toys and sports memorabilia and assorted silly things that I like but can't justify owning beyond my own personal preferences. Not that I need to justify that to anyone but  I'm a little self-conscious about things I shouldn't be. In seven years, I had company over very few times. It's just one of my delightful hang-ups. Because of this, I made up a story for the benefit of the movers who came over last weekend, two guys I was paying to do a job who don't know me and I would never see again and who could probably care less. These are the people to whom it was very important to present a cool front. What I told them was it was my brother's apartment. He just died and on behalf of my family, I flew into town with the task to taking care of his stuff. I made up a brother and faked my own death through him for the purpose of proving to guys who see people in terms of cardboard boxes that I wasn't some pathetic nerd.

"Yeah, I have no idea what half this crap even is. Be very careful with that one."

Over the course of the afternoon, they made several trips up and downstairs. I stayed in the apartment, directing. At one point, I heard Horst come out of his apartment and he spoke to one of the movers.

HORST: "Moving some things out, eh?"
MOVER: "Yep. Moving everything out."
HORST: "Where is the owner?"
MOVER: "He died."
ME (to myself): "Uh-oh."

I hid inside and Horst went on his way. About an hour later, the movers finished up and left. I hung back a few minutes to make sure they got everything. When I left, I got to the top of the stairs and saw Horst halfway up.

HORST: "You're alive!"
ME: "Um. Yep."
HORST: "Those men, they said you were dead."
ME: "What? They did? I'm not dead. That's nutty, huh?"

Horst looked concerned. "They took your things. Is everything okay?", he asked. I told him, "Oh yeah. Everything is fine. I'm just moving out, that's all. Those guys are working for me today." "Moving out?", he asked. "But why?" He seemed troubled. He had no idea I wanted out. I put a hand gently on his shoulder and said, "Because, Horst", I said. "Because this place sucks balls." He still looked confused and said, "My name is not Horst."
I'm going to miss him.

Honey, I'm (almost) home!

Hi.
First off, I'm almost entirely 100% back and more than 100% glad to be so. I've missed this. I'm not planning on going away again any time soon. So sit back and relax. New and (hopefully) fun stuff to follow! Today, just to tie up loose ends and get back into the swing of things, I'll answer questions for those who have them. The beauty of this is, if you don't have any questions you don't have to read any more! Hurray! Go on and enjoy your day. Hopefully, it's lovely outside. If you want to stick around, here we go...

WHY WAS I GONE and WHERE WAS I? Okay, for those who care or feel they need to know, the reason I was away is because I'm buying a house and moving into it. Things deteriorated quickly between me and the management company at my apartment complex and a mutual decision was reached for me to get the eff out. I have military benefits that allow me access to VA loans and it's kind of stupid to spend money on rent and it was time to do something so I did. This required a quick turnaround and Lori, my realtor, jumped through some serious hoops on my behalf, for which I am extremely appreciative. She was able to help me find a place, work out a deal and get it closed in just over a month. However, I had to be out of the apartment on August 31 and I'm not scheduled to close until Wednesday, September 11th. This resulted in moving all my crap into the house (a generous and unusual concession by the seller negotiated by Lori, for which I am also grateful), while boarding my cats and sleeping in a cheap hotel for over a week. Between having a ton of stuff to do (I've also worked full-time throughout) and crappy wifi at the hotel, I just couldn't be around like usual. More to come but now at least you have an answer to the question of my absence. Most importantly, for the first time in a very long time, I feel like I will have a home soon. Part of that, believe it or not, is writing this blog. So yeah, pretty good.


WHY DIDN'T I JUST KEEP WRITING AND KEEP UP WITH EVERYTHING? Didn't you read what I just wrote? Or were you outside, enjoying the lovely day and decided to come back? That's fine but don't make a habit of it; going in and out like that plays havoc with the A/C, you know. Like I said,  the wifi at the hotel where I'm staying stinks. It's simply been a matter of not being able to get on line.

WHY DIDN'T I SAY SOMETHING? There are a lot of wonderful, kind people out there. I know some of them. You might be one of them. A lot of those wonderful, kind people are crazy. You might be one of them. Of the very, very, very few people I told (less than five of 'em), every single one of them offered me a place to crash or at least assistance in finding a place. However, I'm not good at accepting help or being cared for/about. Another example why it's a good thing I don't have children is that if they ever put me in a nursing home, I would be an awful patient and ultimately a huge waste of money for the kiddos. Before you say anything, I'm aware that's not good or anything to be proud of. Still, for better or worse (in this case, admittedly worse), it's how I'm wired. It's probably a combination of my upbringing and a million little incidents over the years that make me like this. At any rate, offers of assistance make me uncomfortable. Not because of any misconceptions about weakness really but because I feel like I'm imposing. Even when people insist otherwise, I know that stepping outside of their normal routine to accommodate me is not anybody's favorite thing to do. Also, let me be totally honest about it, I just didn't want any help. But wonderful, kind people are persistent and offers of assistance quickly turn into INSISTENCE. When that happens, it becomes extremely difficult to decline gracefully without it turning into a whole awkward, impolite thing.

WIFE: "You can stay in the baby's room. It's not like we're using it. Hope you don't mind pictures of adorable baby bunnies and ducklings painted on the wall. Ha ha!"
ME: "Baby's room? I didn't know you guys ever had kids."
HUSBAND: "(Softly, eyes cast downward) We didn't."

Eww. Between that and sleeping in the bed somebody's grandmother died in and their weird-smelling food and their in-jokes and unspoken expectations of me pitching in with some of the household chores and their fights. Oh God, the fights...

HUSBAND: "Here we go. You're going to bring this up again? Now??"
WIFE: "I'm going to bring it up until you decide to do something about it!"
ME: "Should I leave? I didn't want to be here in the first place. It would be very easy for me to leave."
HUSBAND: "No, stay. She's just dying to share with someone else about how I'm the worst person in the world who never does anything right!"
ME: "(Very quietly) Oh goody."

I was trying to limit that kind of activity to a manageable level (none) and the best way to do that was not to say anything.
Anyway, I think that brings us up to date. If you have any other questions, ask.

Officially "off the grid". For now.

Okay, here it is. This journey or whatever it is I've been on lately (there is some travel involved, so why not call it a journey?) is nearing an end, a successful one, I'm happy to say. Unfortunately, this is the most difficult part of that journey and as of right now, I'm really, REALLY out of circulation. No phone, no text messages, no Facebook, no Twitter, no television, no radio, no nothin'. I mean gone as in GONE. This, naturally, also means no posts here of any kind (brief pause for you to cheer or boo, whatever feels right for you). But more important than announcing my absence is re-iterating my promise that I will be back, sooner than later. I WILL BE BACK! When? Can't say but trust me, you will know. And when it happens, I'm bringing good stuff. Better stuff. Really good stuff. I'll go so far as to say it will be THE BEST stuff, which is probably a huge error in judgment on my part, but yeah, it'll be pretty good.

This happened yesterday

I'm moving out of my apartment on Sunday. I don't exactly know when I'm moving into my new home. As a result, there's going to be a gap and I will, for all intents and purposes be homeless. This is strictly a descriptive term. I'm not homeless like most people who are homeless in that I have prospects, I have a place to go (eventually), I have hope. In my case, it's not a big deal. It's, at worst, a pain in the ass. Temporary, at that. Seriously. It's going to work out and I will be fine. Still, there's upheaval and a certain measure of uncertainty (I have no idea where I'm sleeping Sunday night; Tampa has some lovely parks) and it's stressing me. That's the background. Now, here's what happened yesterday. I left work at 5:30 to go to my other job less than two miles away. I hadn't had lunch and I needed to be there by 6:30, so I had an hour to get something to eat and get to work. However, downtown Tampa being what it is (a fucking nightmare in terms of access in, out or around), traffic was snarled due to Kennedy Boulevard, the busiest east-west street in downtown, being closed to one lane for construction. The hour I had to get something to eat between my two jobs that are less than two miles apart evaporated quickly. I had wanted to get something good to eat and a bottle of water at the grocery store. Instead, I settled for ordering a stupid hamburger and a Coke at a fast food place. I ordered and as I moved up in line, some guy stuck his big, dumb, fat face in my window. "Excuse me, sir..." I was not in the mood to be panhandled, mainly because I am never in the mood to be panhandled, and I told him, truthfully, by the way, "I have no cash". He said, "I don't want money. I want food. Will you buy me some food?" Timing is everything, you know. And the timing of this request is worthy of note in that I had already ordered my food and the dominant thought in my head right now is that I am on the verge of not having a place to live. I snapped. I paid for my food and shoved the bag at him. "HERE! TAKE IT! WHY NOT? ANYBODY ELSE? IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE I CAN DO FOR ANYBODY WHILE WE'RE AT IT?" He took the food and backed away slowly, staring at me. "You know, I don't know where I'm going to live in a few days", I told him. "Who do you think is going to step up and give ME something, huh? When is it MY turn to cash in?" He said, "Somebody will". "Somebody?", I yelled back incredulously. "Who? You? Where's mine, goddamn it??" He just backed away slowly and I drove off. As a result, I felt terrible for being a big, fat, still relatively well-off, entitled asshole who yelled at somebody who was hungry and whose circumstances were undoubtedly more dire than mine. I felt terrible for just giving away the meal that I'd paid for, having gone without lunch and now dinner. I felt generally terrible for all this crap piling up and causing me to lose my shit. Still, and I know this doesn't make me a good person, when I was going off, that felt GREAT! For a few seconds there, I felt all the pressure and stress releasing and that was fantastic. Sure, almost immediately I felt like the biggest piece of shit on the planet, and I still have all the problems I did before. But for a minute there? Wow! I've never smoked crack but if it's anything like that, I totally get the appeal now. For what it's worth, if anybody's worried that I didn't receive sufficient karmic payback for that outburst, my day ended with a Philadelphia Flyers fan sending me bible verses via Twitter. I think that makes me even.

Take me home

I need a home.
I'm not homeless in the classic sense. There's a place with a roof and walls where I can sleep and store my stuff. I know this puts me ahead of the curve relative to people who have real homeless troubles, so I feel bad complaining. But because I'm no longer comfortable there, I feel... displaced. And that's a pretty significant source of stress right now, manifesting itself in digestive issues lack-of-rest issues.Everybody deserves a true home.
I used to love where I live, an older apartment complex north of Raymond James Stadium. It wasn't the nicest place when I moved in but the people who worked there were cool and committed to doing the best they could. One time, my water heater sprung a leak at five in the morning on a Sunday. As I sat on the floor catching the boiling hot water spraying out with a bucket, I called the emergency number and pictured myself in that situation for hours, possibly all day. To my surprise, the on-call maintenance guy was there within a half hour and I was actually able to go back to bed by 6:30. That really impressed me. So in spite of little inconveniences like being robbed at gunpoint, I was happy there. In a lot of ways, it takes very little to make me happy. In the case of where I live, I really don't want much more than privacy. I had that and that was enough. But something has changed and things have deteriorated. Now the management lacks regard in terms of the privacy of their residents. Now I'm unhappy. Here's a recent example.

Last Thursday, I got a call at work from the property manager's office.

MANAGER: There's a problem and we need to go into your apartment.
ME: Oh crap. What is it?
MANAGER: There's a water leak in the apartment below yours.
ME: Oh. Well, I can probably be there in about a hlf hour...
MANAGER: We're going in now. We're just calling to let you know.
ME: Oh.
(CLICK)

I wasn't thrilled but an emergency is an emergency, I guess. I came home that night and found that everything had been pulled out of my bedroom closet and strewn around the bedroom. There was a hole in the wall at the back of the closet. That's not cool on a number of fronts and I went to bed angry.
The next morning, I woke up with someone simultaneously banging on my front door and ringing the doorbell. DingDongBANGBANGBANGDingDong. It was the maintenance man. Because I don't know his name, we'll call him Rudy. For all I know, that is his name, He wears a work shirt with a big R on the breast. That could be the logo of the property management company but I don't know for sure. I guess what I'm saying is I don't know for sure that it doesn't stand for 'RAPIST'. But he is rude so let's go with Rudy.
Okay.
I answer the door and Rudy is standing there with a plumber.

ME: Yes?
RUDY: There was a leak in the apartment below, coming from the ceiling. We couldn't find where it was coming from. So it must be something you're doing.

This is perfectly reasonable in the same way that I don't know what 17 X 63 is without sitting down and doing the work to figure it out, but I'm not going top do that so I'll just say the answer is 'BUNNY RABBIT'.

ME: I don't know what I could be doing wrong; I've been taking showers in this apartment every day for the last seven years and I generally do it the same way every time.
RUDY: You need to make sure the shower curtain stays inside the tub and the water doesn't run out on to the floor.
ME: Yep, that's how I do it. I'm going to take a shower in about 45 minutes. You're welcome tto come back and check when I'm done.
RUDY: Yeah, well, this was very expensive and if the problem continues, we're going to send the bills to you.
ME: Uh huh. Good luck with that.

I closed the door. I hadn't planned on being in a bad mood that day but sometimes other people make plans for you without your consent.
I was in an even worse mood when I came home that night and saw this note taped to my door:

"We caulk around the tub & install splash guard. Please let dry for 8 hrs"

I hadn't received a call in advance. They just came in and made alterations to my bathroom, including the installation of a new shower head that sends maybe 30% of the water through the shower head while the rest continues to pour from the bathtub spigot The result is less a shower and more like having someone spill a little bit of water on you.
Good work, Rudy. Take the rest of the day off and go celebrate at Applebys. This is in addition to my truck being broken into and my air conditioning not working.

Back to school

No, not me.
In my case, it's probably safe to assume I've learned everything I ever will at this point. I'm not saying I know everything; I'm saying the part of my brain that is supposed to pick up and process new information probably shriveled up, died and fell out of my earhole.

But in terms of other people, it seems like everybody I know has kids going back to school this week, either grade school or college. And the small handful to whom that doesn't apply are teachers, so they're on the receiving end. My friend Marissa wrote this wonderful article on her blog.
She sums up the bittersweet situation with this:

"Emotionally letting go of our kids is painful. The process begins from the moment we hear their first cry."   

Once again, my not having children is endorsed as a solid plan. Because here's me as a father holding his newborn child for the first time...

Wait a minute. What was that? Did you hear that? It made a noise. Sounded like crying. Not cool! Good thing we're still here at the hospital. Let's get that fixed while we're here, okay? Huh? It is? Well, how often is that going to happen? What?? Seriously?! And what in the world is that smell?!?

So here's to all of you dealing with the wee ones tryin' to get their learn on and here's to me not being a participant at any level of that madness.

My friend Rob and the "Oklahoma!" story

I know a lot of very funny people but nobody on earth makes me laugh like my friend Rob Gander. 

He and I are similarly wired in a lot of ways but also different enough to keep the relationship interesting. Rob's a theater guy. I like to think I am, but I'm really not. I can recognize something by Neil Simon or somebody trying to be Neil Simon but that's about it. Rob knows about Sartre and Jacques Brel and all kinds of other stuff that makes my head hurt. I met him when I lived in Sarasota and got involved with a local theater company, Theatreworks. He was directing "Bleacher Bums", the play about Chicago Cubs fans. I auditioned and was cast and Rob and I hit it off immediately, in spite of my increasingly exaggerated re-telling of our first meeting:

WHAT REALLY HAPPENED
ROB: Thanks for coming in. We'll announce the cast after tomorrow's auditions.
ME: Great. Can I come back tomorrow?
ROB: Sure.

HOW I RE-TELL IT
ROB: Thanks for coming in. We'll announce the cast after tomorrow's auditions.
ME: Great. Can I come back tomorrow.
ROB: I guess. If you want. I mean, there's no point but it's open to the public so I can't legally keep you from coming in. So yeah, the short answer is yes. If it were me, I wouldn't bother, but hey. Sure.

He and his wife Melody, whom I have seen in her underwear because we were in a show ("Grease") together, now live in Nevada where Rob is a college professor teaching theater. Sometimes I call him and say something like, "So Dr. Gander. Once again what was briefly yours is now mine. Ha ha ha ha!" or I ask him about all the hot co-eds in his class. This is because my knowledge of what college professors do is informed entirely by movies, specifically the Indiana Jones saga and "National Lampoon's Animal House".And then we complain about our lives and catch up on terrible things that we find funny.

The other day, I remembered one of my favorite Rob memories, which I'd like to share with you now.

As I mentioned, Rob is a theater guy. That doesn't mean he loves everything about it though. Quite the contrary. There are many, many aspects of it that he despises. I was still married at this time and I don't remember how or why but our wives wanted to go see a local production of "Oklahoma!" at the Golden Apple Dinner Theatre. Rob was not a fan of any of the last ten words in that previous sentence. Yet another re-telling of corny old material by performers of varying degrees of proficiency spread out over two plus hours in what might as well have been a rest home cafeteria (on average, the typical Golden Apple Dinner Theatre patron was about 135 years old) is something theater people have to do from time to time because that kind of thing sells tickets. But most of them hate it at least a little bit. In Rob's case, he hates it so much that I believe it physically hurts him. As such, he would never willingly subject himself to a production of "Oklahoma!" unless he had to. He might begrudgingly present the show as a means of keeping the light bill paid but he definitely would not buy a ticket and watch it on what would otherwise be a perfectly good night to do absolutely anything else in the whole world. However, as spouses all have to do from time to time, he eventually resolved to suck it up and be a team player.

MELODY: Come on, it will be fun!
ROB: No. No it won't. It'll be awful and long and terrible.
ME (purely instigating): It's a western! How can it not be awesome?
ROB: If anything, it's a mid-western, which is very true to life because nothing interesting happens in it, ever. (NOTE: Rob grew up in Wisconsin and I'm from Michigan)
DEBBIE (my wife, totally sincere): I really want to see it.
MELODY: Some of our friends are in the cast.
ROB: Those people are not my friends.
MELODY: Since when?
ROB: Since they were cast in "Oklahoma!"
MELODY: ...
ROB: Fine. I'll go. Sure. It will be great.

I knew with just the gentlest of prodding that I could get him to abandon that attitude, though. Our wives knew this too and made sure to keep us separated by sitting between us. We ate dinner, which I don't remember but I'm sure featured an entree of the 'creamed' variety. Rob was managing to stay on his best behavior though, and I remember being kind of proud of him, in spite of how much I wanted to instigate activity that would get us both in trouble for weeks. "Wow", I remember thinking. "He's actually going to get through this." 

Then the house lights went out. The stage lights came up and an actor offstage launched into "Oh What a Beautiful Morning", That's when I heard Rob let out an exasperated and disgusted "auuugh", His resolve had lasted exactly two syllables into the first line of the opening song. He had made it as far as "There's a" and melted down before "bright, golden haze on the meadow" before being utterly defeated by life. Meanwhile, I nearly ruptured myself in trying not to laugh.

Man, I miss that guy.

Here's something

She loves me.

Hi. How are you? Are you guys okay? I'm worried about you in my semi-absence. Are you getting enough sleep at night? How's your situation with what's-his/her-name? Everything all right? These are the things I worry about.
Mostly I worry that you're going to wander off because I'm giving you pretty much nuthin'.
So here's somethin'.
Sure, it's a re-run but it's from a long time ago and it's entirely possible you never saw it or forgot about it.
It's a tribute video to our old pal Lynne Austin. She's so funny that she's not even in this video (aside from a couple of stills) and she's still hilarious.
So please enjoy
A Pilgrimage To Hooters
And get some rest, will you please?

I really believe this is the best acting I've ever done.

Forecast: Continued inconsistency

Sorry the posting has been so sporadic but I did kind of warn you. Unfortunately, that's going to still be the case for a little while longer. I promise* that things will settle down eventually and things will return to normal. Sooner than later, hopefully (prospects are relatively promising!). Until then, whenever "then" is, I'll post when I can but the only promise I can make is no promises. Look at it this way; the blog is simply living up (down?) to its toothsome title.

If you really, really need a Clark fix, I'll continue to appear on the Spike On The Mic Show every Monday night at 7pm. And those are lots of fun.
If you really don't need a Clark fix, and I don't blame you, just keep coming here while I'm not posting on the regular. Or go somewhere else, for that matter. I hear Pennsylvania is nice in the summertime. It doesn't matter to me. Get out. Pack your shit and go already. Who needs you?

Just kidding. Don't leave me, baby. I love you.


* = All promises are null and void in the event that I am run over by some kind of farm machinery or meet any otherwise untimely and unpleasant demise. Please don't sue my estate.

Nobody I know doesn't speak English!

You know, it's really not such a small world after all. I came to this conclusion recently when I realized that every person I know speaks English. Some of them speak other languages too, but every single person I know speaks at least a little bit of English.

I know English is the world's dominant language (air traffic controllers everywhere are required to use it on the job) but there are still lots places out there where people don't speak it. There are literally a couple of other languages and that's what those people speak instead. And I don't know none of 'em. That means that right this minute in some village in the Sudan, nobody is thinking, "Hey, I wonder how Clark is doing?". Nobody in Sri Lanka wants to email me a picture of a kitty. Not one person in Cechnya is concerned about what's on my mind and how they can make my life better. This, in spite of the fact that I rarely turn down Facebook friend requests and I accept any and all challenges in "Words With Friends".

What the hell is wrong with the world?

Smoothie operator

Someday soon, I'm going to get myself a smoothie maker (I told somebody I was going to get a blender and make smoothies and was told emphatically that they're not the same thing). Smoothies are fun, colorful and good for you. Have you ever seen anyone drinking a smoothie in a bad mood? No, you have not, because it's impossible. Just saying the word "smoothie" makes you smile, whether you want to or not. When I get my smoothie maker, I'm going to commit to using it frequently and making all kinds of fresh, fun, healthy, colorful, delicious beverages. I'm pretty sure I will go insane in the process. I'm also pretty sure I won't be the first, because I bet this happens a lot...


First smoothie

• Bananas

NOTE: Nothing to it! Pretty bland though.


Second smoothie

• Bananas
• Cup of vanilla yogurt

NOTE: Fancy!


Third smoothie

• Bananas
• Cup of vanilla yogurt
• Strawberries

NOTE: Nobody really knows why, but bananas and strawberries are frequently paired up. Bananas and strawberries are the Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson of fruits.


Fourth smoothie

• Bananas
• Cup of vanilla yogurt
• Strawberries
• Blueberries

NOTE: Why not?


Fifth smoothie

• Bananas
• Cup of vanilla yogurt
• Strawberries
• Blueberries
• A blorp of peanut butter

NOTE: Stick a spoon into a jar of peanut butter and pull out as much as you possibly can. Flick it into the smoothie maker. Whatever comes off the spoon is one blorp. Now lick the rest of the peanut butter off of the spoon. You're just cleaning the spoon so this doesn't count as eating it.


Sixth smoothie

• Bananas
• Cup of vanilla yogurt
• Strawberries
• Blueberries
• A blorp of peanut butter
• Chunks of pineapple

NOTE: About time we introduced citrus into the mix.

Seventh smoothie

• Bananas
• Cup of vanilla yogurt
• Strawberries
• Blueberries
• A blorp of peanut butter
• Chunks of pineapple
• Carrots

NOTE: Can vegetables be part of a smoothie? Of course they can!

Eighth smoothie

• Bananas
• Cup of vanilla yogurt
• Strawberries
• Blueberries
• A blorp of peanut butter
• Chunks of pineapple
• Carrots
• Cucumber slices

NOTE: As is always the case, introducing a cucumber into the situation makes things a little weird but whatever. I can do whatever I want. Soon, my colon will be eligible to compete in those strong man competitions on ESPN.

Ninth smoothie

• Bananas
• Cup of vanilla yogurt
• Strawberries
• Blueberries
• A blorp of peanut butter
• Chunks of pineapple
• Carrots
• Cucumber slices
• Celery

NOTE: Oh my God, I really CAN do whatever I want. The only limits are those I impose upon my own imagination. There are no rules! There are no ramifications for my actions! I am become smoothie, the blender of foods! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! 

Tenth smoothie

• Bananas
• Cup of vanilla yogurt
• Strawberries
• Blueberries
• A blorp of peanut butter
• Chunks of pineapple
• Carrots
• Cucumber slices
• Celery
• Asparagus
• Grilled onions
• Ham
• Sardines
• Coffee beans
• A potato
• Helium
• Feta cheese

NOTE: Clean smoothie maker and put it away. Sit quietly in the dark for many hours, contemplating the gravity of our decisions and how they shape us and the world around us. Wait about a month. Start over with first smoothie. Repeat.

Hit the switch

There are people who believe that folks choose their sexual orientation, that it's no different than picking between ice cream flavors. They also believe that if you choose to be gay, you can choose to be un-gay. It's simply a matter of resolve and will power. Most people today don't subscribe to that, but I think there was a time not that long ago when that was a pretty prevalent opinion.
In a way, it's a shame that's no longer a widely-held belief. Because the ability to swap sexual preferences at will, if managed properly, could be a very effective social defense mechanism.
Think about it; you're on a "boys night out". It's late, you've eaten all the chicken wings you possibly can, the game is over, you want to go home but somebody orders another round of beers.

"Not for me, thanks. Can I get some water?"
"Water?!? Come on! What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong with me. But I'm gay now."
"Oh. Okay."

Odds are they won't challenge you on the grounds that gay people can like sports, chicken wings and beer until it's too late. But even if they do...

"So what? Since when can't gay people drink beer?"
:You're trying to keep me here against my will. That's illegal. And since I'm gay now, it's also a hate crime."

Listen, there's nothing we can do about our ethnic background, even though there are occasions when it would be handy to play what's known as "The Race Card". But that's not the case with sexual orientation because it's not something people can determine on sight and it's not even something you'd have to prove!

"If you're gay, go have sex with that guy."
"Here at Hooters?"
"Wherever."
"I'm not attracted to him."

You can be gay and never have sex with anybody. Maybe you're inclined to be asexual. Or have ridiculously high standards. Point being, if you decide to turn gay or straight, nobody can question it.

But providing an escape from your douchebag frat-boy friends isn't the only thing this would be good for. There are countless practical applications. Say you see a girl who is impossibly out of your league...

"Hi there. Do you want to dance?"
"With you? Seriously? HA HA HA HA HA!"
"No? Okay, well, I just turned gay. How about if we dance and I totally feel you up in an ironic funny and not sexual way?"
"Sounds awesome!"

Later, back at her place...

"I like this dress but let me take it off in front of you and try on another one..."
"I'm not gay anymore."
"Oh damn it."
"Look, I've groped you on a dance floor, I've seen you naked, we drank wine and I'm here. We might as well go ahead and have sex."
"I can't argue with that logic."

The next day...

"I wouldn't have guessed, but you're really a great guy! Listen, I know this is sudden since we just met last night, but what do you think about spending the weekend together?"
"No can do. I'm gay again."
"That's okay. I have tickets to see 'Hairspray' at the performing arts center Saturday night!"
"Ooh, no. The Rays are in town and I'll be straight again by then."

A week or so goes by and you give her a call...

"Hey. So I know I was gay the last time we talked but..."
"Forget it. I'm a lesbian right now."
"That's cool! I'm straight now and I kinda dig lesbians!"
"Okay, then I'm straight right now too, just long enough to reject you on the grounds that I'm out of your league. But later I'm going to be a lesbian and I'm going to hook up with a girl as hot as I am. I need you to know that and to know that you won't be involved in any way shape or form. All right?"
"Oh damn it."

Hey, fair is fair.

These dollars make no sense to me

I've worked in sports off and on for almost 30 years but I have absolutely no idea how sports finance works. That should come as no surprise since I have no idea how real finance works (often have been the times when I've paid for something with my debit card and felt like I was squeezing the trigger in the third round of a game of Russian Roulette) but in sports, where numbers just seem to appear to people in visions of flaming pies, I have no chance of comprehending what's going on.

The latest bit of financial news to come out of the world of sports that made me cock my head to the side like a dog hearing Yoko Ono for the first time was the announcement that the state of Michigan, my old home, is going to make up to $450 million dollars in taxpayer money available to build a new arena for the Detroit Red Wings. The main reason I was confused was I had just read this list of facts I came across the day before at The Economic Collapse blog:

1) At this point, the city of Detroit owes money to more than 100,000 creditors.

2) Detroit is facing $20 billion in debt and unfunded liabilities.  That breaks down to more than $25,000 per resident.

3) Back in 1960, the city of Detroit actually had the highest per-capita income in the entire nation.

4) In 1950, there were about 296,000 manufacturing jobs in Detroit.  Today, there are less than 27,000.

5) Between December 2000 and December 2010, 48 percent of the manufacturing jobs in the state of Michigan were lost.

6) There are lots of houses available for sale in Detroit right now for $500 or less.

7) At this point, there are approximately 78,000 abandoned homes in the city.

8) About one-third of Detroit's 140 square miles is either vacant or derelict.

9) An astounding 47 percent of the residents of the city of Detroit are functionally illiterate.

10) Less than half of the residents of Detroit over the age of 16 are working at this point.

11) If you can believe it, 60 percent of all children in the city of Detroit are living in poverty.

12) Detroit was once the fourth-largest city in the United States, but over the past 60 years the population of Detroit has fallen by 63 percent.

13) The city of Detroit is now very heavily dependent on the tax revenue it pulls in from the casinos in the city.  Right now, Detroit is bringing in about 11 million dollars a month in tax revenue from the casinos.

14) There are 70 "Superfund" hazardous waste sites in Detroit.

15) 40 percent of the street lights do not work.

16) Only about a third of the ambulances are running.

17) Some ambulances in the city of Detroit have been used for so long that they have more than 250,000 miles on them.

18) Two-thirds of the parks in the city of Detroit have been permanently closed down since 2008.

19) The size of the police force in Detroit has been cut by about 40 percent over the past decade.

20) When you call the police in Detroit, it takes them an average of 58 minutes to respond.

21) Due to budget cutbacks, most police stations in Detroit are now closed to the public for 16 hours a day.

22) The violent crime rate in Detroit is five times higher than the national average.

23) The murder rate in Detroit is 11 times higher than it is in New York City.

24) Today, police solve less than 10 percent of the crimes that are committed in Detroit.

25) Crime has gotten so bad in Detroit that even the police are telling people to "enter Detroit at your own risk".

Now, I can do the basic four math functions (add, subtract, multiply and divide) so maybe I need algebra or calculus to answer the question I'm left with after processing this information:

How many illiterate people still hanging around and raising children in poverty are willing to venture out after dark into the city streets where they can expect to wait almost an hour if they're a victim of a crime, followed -maybe- by a ride in an antique ambulance, will fill the seats at 41 Red Wings home games (not counting playoffs) every year?

By the way, I'm from Benton Harbor, where Main Street has looked like this since the 1970s

We never had any professsional sports franchises though.

Lesson learned: Never underestimate our love of sharks

Last week, the pop culture universe was utterly consumed by the "Sharknado" phenomenon. I have to admit, I wasn't on board, dismissing the whole thing sight unseen. I assumed it was the movie equivalent of those cheeseburgers with donuts instead of buns you get at the fair; a ludicrously over-the-top premise you enjoy as a concept but would never actually partake. Turns out I may have judged too harshly and missed out. Reviews from people I know and respect who watched it range from "Not nearly as bad as you'd think" to "Actually very entertaining". Well, okay then. I will make a point of watching it.

In the meantime, I should try to cash in on our apparently deep love of shark-infested everything. Here are some ideas I have for which I can produce scripts in 24 to 36 hours. Well-financed producers should contact me at their earliest convenience. Thanks!

Asharkolypse Now (aka Shark of Darkness)
A marine biologist is dispatched to assassinate the megalomaniac renegade leader of the sharks. He, of course, fails.

The Sharking Dead
Shark zombies

Sharkverment
What happens when the American electoral process is subverted at all levels by evil, conniving, man-eating, ocean-dwelling predators? A government by the sharks, of the sharks and for the sharks (Plot twist: the overall quality of life for most Americans actually improves)

Shark to the Future
Sharks master time travel (Plot twist: terrifying in any era)

Barton Shark
An award-winning Broadway playwright who is also a shark is lured to Hollywood with promises of untold riches and develops a crippling case of writer's block. Before you dismiss this outright, ask yourself who is filling the niche of quirky, absurdist, postmodern, existential dramas about sharks? You, possibly?

Sharkpires
Once they bite you, you become one of them! Unless they eat you completely up.

Blazing Sharks
All I really have so far is that this would be a western. There's a great campfire scene, though (shark farts!),

Doctor Sharkvago
Chronicling the years prior to, during and after the Russian Revolution as seen through the cold, dead eyes of a shark.

Beverly Hills Shark
Cultures clash in this fish-out-of-water (HA!) comedy.

S*H*A*R*K
The comedic exploits of shark doctors and shark nurses during a war of some sort, presumably between sharks.

Roboshark
Robo. Shark. Come on!

A Shark Grows in Brooklyn
The trials and tribulations of a family living in a Brooklyn tenement during the turn-of-the century. In spite of their best intentions, their efforts are invariably doomed to failure, because there's a shark in the neighborhood who keeps eating them.

Seven Brides for Seven Sharks
Misguided sharks with romantic aspirations kidnap women with the hopes of marrying them. They eventually smarten up and eat them instead. (Plot twist: There will be more than seven sharks)

Pledge and get perked!

As the entertainment industry continues to undergo evolutionary changes, I've become a huge fan of these new pledge-based funding platforms that have sprung up. In case you're not familiar with them and how they work, what happens is an artist who needs funding for a project launches a campaign where they explain to the public (and ideally, a target audience) what they want to do and how much it will cost. Individuals decide whether they want to support that effort and to what extent. In exchange, the artist offers "perks", in the form of exclusive rewards, for their pledges. If the campaign is a success, the patron is charged at that time while the artist receives the funds and goes on to complete their project. If for whatever reason the campaign falls short of it's expressed goal, the artist receives nothing and the patron pays nothing.
To me, this is ideally organic and democratic. It's truly grassroots and fan-friendly, elements that have traditionally been absent or, at best, artificially simulated in the entertainment industry. The market decides if it wants the product based on potential merit without the undue influence of a loud, obnoxious marketing campaign. I mean, the strength of the artist's appeal certainly plays a role but that's a one-time pitch direct from the source. It also allows the patron to determine at which level they want to contribute (some campaigns will accept as little as five bucks) and they're rewarded proportionately for going above and beyond with their support. Seriously, what's more democratic than that? Rebekah Pulley funded her latest album "Tra La La" this way via Kickstarter. Backers who pledged $5 got a sticker while those who pledged $250 or more to that campaign were treated to homemade eggplant parmesan from bassist Rob Pastore. Spike Lee has launched a Kickstarter to fund his next movie. A pledge of $5 to that project gets you a personal thank you and behind the scenes updates and $10,000 will put you in a front row seat next to the award-winning director at a New York Knicks game.

Another platform that operates the same way is Pledge Music, where fDeluxe (formerly known as The Family), a band that is near and dear to my heart personally, is trying to finance their next album. Here's some background for those of you who are not Purpleheads or Prince freaks or whatever it is we're being called these days:

• In the mid-1980s, Prince was at the height of his commercial fame and was using his influence to spin off a number of new bands and side projects for his Paisley Park record label, most of whom produced little or no material. There are two artists and two eponymous albums that came out of that period that remain highly regarded all these years later. One was Jill Jones in 1987 and the other was The Family in 1985. The Family was a funk band with jazz influences and was comprised of Paul "St. Paul" Peterson, Susannah Melvoin, saxophonist Eric Leeds, drummer "Jellybean" Johnson and Jerome Benton. Their one and only album had only eight songs (including the first recorded version of "Nothing Compares 2 U") and the band never toured but they've been held in high regard by Prince fans for almost 30 years now. In 2003, they got together to perform at a charity function and in 2007, Peterson, Melvoin, Leeds and Johnson started making plans to work together again as a band. Reforming as "fDeluxe" and out out from under the control of Prince, they released the album "Gaslight" in 2011. 

Thanks to the access provided by the internet, fans were able to tune in to recording sessions and interact with the band via UStream feeds. Thanks to that accessibility, I've been able to interact and get to know Paul Peterson a little bit. In a weird, "it's-a-small-world" circumstance, he hooked me up with an interview with his daughter Taylor for a story I wrote for RawCharge.com about Jack Jablonski and Jenna Privette that had nothing to do with music. It's connections like these that make me sad for people who don't see the positive aspects of participating in social media.

Anyway, I made my pledge and look forward to receiving and listening to my autographed CD, where my name will be listed in the "thank you"s in the liner notes. ,click here to contribute and get a nice juicy perk of your own. You can listen to the songs from "Gaslight" there too.

Irony is not always delicious

Hi.
I'm still away doing whatever it is I'm doing (there's slight, barely measurable progress on that front) but I wanred to chime in on something while it's still timely (plus the idea of my traffic numbers crashing to utter zero is really depressing) so I'm sneaking in here real quick.

The matter at hand: the Rolling Stone cover. Specifically, this Rolling Stone cover

A lot of people are very upset about the photo on the cover. Many of them are people I know and respect. They're boycotting the magazine and supporting merchants who are boycotting it. They're also missing the point.
If they (you) would actually read the article inside, they (you) would see that the picture isn't intended to portray Dzokhar Tsarnaev as some sort of rock star (the root of much of the displeasure being voiced), it's to portray him as an average, ordinary kid. At least that's the front he displayed so effectively for so long that his closest friends are still trying to come to terms with his involvement in the Boston bombing.
And therein lies the problem: by being so put off by the cover of a magazine, people won't even consider reading an article inside that illustrates how this happened, thereby increasing the possibility it could, and probably will, happen again. It's the equivalent of freaking out when you see a woman at an airport wearing a burqa while you smile and wave at your next door neighbor who's stockpiling fertilizer.

For more, read Kelly DeBie's excellent take on the matter.
Also, please, read the actual article yourself. Clicking this link will allow you to do so without buying the magazine.


Okay, I'm off again. The next time I sneak on, I'll try to bring something funny/

Time in, some clarification, then time out again

That last update came out kind of cryptic. Don't you hate it when people do that? Me too. It's such a pathetic, transparent, passive-aggressive attempt to get attention. Sorry. I was in a hurry and that wasn't my intent.

Anyway, I'm not in danger or in trouble. I'm just going to be busy taking care of a personal matter and I'm not going to have time to devote to the blog on a consistent basis.
Okay, I know that still sounds kind of cryptic. But it's not for passive-aggressive, attention-seeking purposes, I promise. I just don't want to get into it right now. If for some reason you're concerned, rest assured that I am not:

• Going to jail
• Having surgery
• Running a meth dealing operation in Albuquerque, New Mexico
• On location shooting a delightful romantic comedy with Jennifer Aniston
• Seeking asylum because of my involvement with WikiLeaks
• Pregnant
• Attending comic-con in San Diego
• Tracking down some dude and killing him because he needs killin'
• Joining a cult
• Starting a cult
• Disbanding a cult I formed secretly back in the '80s
• Getting married
• Following Phish
• At Disneyworld

Everything is cool and I'll be back soon, some time after the first of August I think.

Sorry about the unease, if any, caused by the previous update.

Cool? Good. Go back to sleep.

Time out

Sorry, guys. I have to go offline for a while and take care of something. Probably about two weeks. No new stuff til then but I'll be back.
Sorry.

Kids gotta learn!

Ha ha ha! Okay, okay. Settle down, kids. I can tell by your reactions in this video that some of you are confused that anyone could have a problem with something so simple and harmless and I think I know why: obviously, you children are too young and unsophisticated to understand that many adults, those people who are older than you and are entrusted with your safety and well-being, simply don't have it together. I know this is unpleasant to hear, being as you rely on these people for basic things like food and shelter and not catching polio.

Ouch, huh? Yeah, I know.

But the sad fact is, when you really boil it down to the very essence, precious few of us grown-ups are actually anywhere near as smart as we think we are. Allow me to explain.

What many of us have done as we've grown older and matured is acquired bad habits as a result of irrational fears and a reluctance to accept responsibility for the consequences of our actions. For many of us, this is what we refer to as "knowledge". As a result, we ignore our natural instincts, as well as common sense and book learnin', and rely on this "knowledge" to guide our decisions instead. For example, in the case of race relations, we ignore the natural instinct to judge individuals as threats or allies based on their actual behavior and treatment of us in favor of our "knowledge" that Other People (in this case, those with different skin color) are inherently bad. We acquire this "knowledge" from various sources. Maybe our friends or relatives or other people we trust have told us about their bad experiences dealing with these Other People. Maybe we made some bad choices and blame our resultant misfortune in life on the Other People, which is far easier than taking responsibility for it. It's all part of acquiring "knowledge"!

I can see you're still kind of confused by all of this. That's okay; you just haven't acquired that much "knowledge" yet. At this point, you might be asking, "well, why are you jerks still in charge, being as you've abandoned basic common sense in favor of nonsensical panic reactions when it comes to making decisions?" Well, that's just the way it is and it's going to stay that way, all right? We have lawyers, guns and money. You don't want to mess with us.

Let's stay focused, shall we? Now, there's a reason I keep putting the word "knowledge" in quotes and why I say this is the case for many, but not all, of us. And that's because it doesn't apply to ALL adults. Some of us DO have actual knowledge and apply it to problems we face in our daily lives in attempts to improve ourselves and the world around us. The rest of everybody are dumbasses. And while ALL of us acknowledge the existence of dumbasses everywhere, all over the place, all of the damn time, NONE of us believe that we might be one of them. In other words, none of us are very good at math.

This presents a challenge for you as children: figuring out which of us you should actually pay attention to and learn from and which of us are just dumbasses to be avoided. I wish I could be more of a help here, but after watching this video, I really only have three pieces of advice to guide you:

1. The more someone presents themselves as being smarter than anyone else, the less likely that is to be true. If you encounter an adult who says they have all the answers, I promise you that person is a guaranteed dumbass. Run fast in the opposite direction when you come across these people. Don't stop until you find someone whose favorite scent is not that of their own farts. This may take a while so you may have to run far. Good thing you're eating Cheerios to help stay in shape. Good for you! 
2. Trust your instincts until you have a reason not to. You're already pre-loaded with some pretty good ideas about what is good or bad. If you rely on just those and nothing else, you're probably going to turn out okay. There will be exceptions and those exceptions will probably result in you getting hurt a couple of times but the trade-off there is you'll be compensated with actual first-hand life knowledge insteadd of second-hand dumbass "knowledge"
3.  Cheerios taste pretty terrible. Regular Cheerios, anyway. The Honey Nut kind is pretty good.

Some ground rules before we, well, you, fight

I know a lot of you are pretty raw about the outcome of the Zimmerman trial, with a verdict of Not Guilty handed down late Saturday night, and I know that applies to people of all different viewpoints. Everyone is entitled to their opinion and I'm not going to try to influence anyone's. If it really matters to you where I fall on the matter, all I'll say is that as someone who is a resident of the state where this occurred and someone who is vehemently opposed to getting shot, I'm dismayed by any development that sets a precedent that makes it legally easier for other residents of this state to shoot me. Most people form their opinions on matters like this from their own personal experience and research but I also think some of you just like to fight. I'm not here to tell you not to fight either. I gave up on that during the last preseidential election. If that's your thing, by all means, knock yourselves out. Literally. I would like to throw out a couple of things for you to consider before you commence to ripping each other's heads off though.

First and foremost, if you're drawing any kind of comparisons between this and the OJ trial, find a bus moving at a high rate of speed and stand in front of it, please. You're making an ass of yourself and that's honestly the best thing for everybody involved.

Secondly, I'm seeing and hearing a lot of "what if" statements:

• What if Trayvon was white?
• What if Zimmerman was black?
• What if Trayvon was over 18?
• What if Trayvon had been armed?
• What if Zimmerman was a woman?

None of these are facts in the case so none of them are things the jury could have or should have taken into consideration. When you propose "what if" scenarios to back your argument, your expectation is that people will alter their opinion based on circumstances that don't exist. That renders your argument instantly invalid.

Third, and most important, don't speak in asinine absolutes.

• White people don't care when black people get killed.
• Black people introduce race into everything.

If you honestly believe rhetoric like that, please follow the advice given in the first point. If you don't and you're just saying it because this incident has you fired up, look at what you're doing. You're putting your opponent in a position where they have to defend themselves by denying something that doesn't even have to do with this case. It's counter-productive. So don't do it. In fact, don't do it, ever, under any circumstances. Because that thinking will always be counter-productive.

Thanks. Now, have at it.

Join me at the diner

I had the pleasure and privilege of appearing on the ArtSee's Diner Radio show last week. Check it out!
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/artseesdiner/2013/07/12/clark-brooks-top-tampa-blogger-author-1

Tanks, PETA

Our local baseball team, the Tampa Bay Rays, is in trouble with PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) because Detroit Tigers slugger Miguel Cabrera hit a home run into a tank of cownosed rays that the team has on display in center field. PETA sent the team a letter, asking them to remove the tank because the rays are in danger.

"The rays held captive at Tropicana Field not only were traumatically taken from their vast home waters but also are subject to harassment, loud crowds, and even baseballs capable of seriously injuring them," Winders said in a statement to the media. "When it comes to compassion, the Rays are batting .000."

Oh PETA.
As I've mentioned before, I wish I could be a PETA fan, but I just can't. I'm certainly pre-disposed to supporting them, since I'm generally a much bigger fan of the A's than the P in PETA. And I'm all about treating them at least ethically. In fact, even in this case, I don't think their concern is completely unreasonable. It's not hard to see baseballs flying in from 400 feet away as a potential threat. But then they use language where they refer to the rays in question being "held captive", and it's hard not to roll your eyes. A tank full of defenseless creatures under attack by a hail of projectiles is something I can take seriously. A baseball player cutting words out of magazines to make a ransom note to send to Neptune is not. Sure, the term "captive" is technically accurate. By that same token, every pet, every farm animal, is being "held captive". And maybe PETA has a problem with that too, but are we equipped to handle cats, dogs, cows, goats and chickens to run around all over the place? And this is where I have trouble standing behind PETA, and I'll bet it's the same for lots of people who think similarly; their efforts to convey concern about a serious issue come off as unreasonable and silly and they make people who might be inclined to support them tune out.

Still, it makes me think about how weird it must be to be an animal that lives in the water. We on the surface flip out every time a comet gets close. What about what aquatic creatures have to deal with on a regular basis? Living heir lives in a contained environment with weird things that don't belong there being introduced into it on a near-constant basis. Scuba divers, sinking boats, submarines, a sudden influx of petroleum products. It's a wonder that every fish isn't completely neurotic, suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and in need of counselling. There's something PETA should look into.

There's always help in The Good Book

I was watching a marathon of "The Walking Dead" this past weekend. Yeah, I've seen eery episode but it's one of those shows where if it's on, I'm probably going to watch. Anyway, as often happens when you see something more than once, I noticed stuff I hadn't noticed before. One of the things I noticed happens in season three with the character or Merle, played by Michael Rooker. The character has been portrayed from the beginning as an opportunistic, selfish, mean, dirty, redneck. Among the ways his redneck-edness has been established is a backstory that highlights his ability to survive in the wilderness, where he is an expert tracker and hunter, living in the woods and eating squirrels.
In one scene, Merle and his brother Daryl disagree about what body of water they're near. It turns out that Darryl is correct. During this same scene, Merle also misidentifies a baby crying as raccoons having sex. Shortly after, in another scene, the character of Herschel is talking to Merle and starts quoting a bible passage. Merle finishes it and correctly cites the chapter and verse.

Okay, so we're supposed to believe that the scumbag survivalist, expert outdoorsman can't correctly identify what coon love sounds like or a major terrain feature but has memorized the bible? I guess so.

I see this happen often, with tv and movie characters suddenly whipping out bible knowledge, and I'm always a little disappointed. It's a cheap trick. It's similar to decorating a set with sports memorabilia to establish a location. "Gee, this police precinct has Mets, Yankees and Knicks pennants all over the place and the lead character is wearing a Jets jersey, I guess this show takes place in New York".It's a lazy way for writers to add depth, an unexpected layer of spirituality that gives the character an interesting new dimension. Probably the most well-known example is Jules from "Pulp Fiction...
But at least he freely admits he only memorized the one passage, and only uses it on certain, special occasions. Not like he committed the entire bible, both testaments, to memory like I've seen other characters do and like never happens in real life.

Oh well. I still like the show and will continue to watch it. At least it's slightly less obvious and heavy-handed than sticking a gospel choir into a pop song and accompanying music video...

Everything old is new again

Hey, so you guys know how we haven't really invented anything (no, smaller and more technologically complex versions of stuff that already exists like phones and computers and cigarettes don't count) in a really long time, like how we're still almost entirely reliant on technology from the 1850's to power our vehicles? Well, who has time to waste on that shit when new, colorful packaging and an effective marketing campaign suffice just fine?
The other day a companion was really excited to tell me all about Mio, the flavor additive you put in water to make it taste different/better. Or as it says on the little bottle, it's a 'LIQUID WATER ENHANCER'. "It's fantastic!", she said. "You just take a bottle or glass of water, squirt some Mio into it and it becomes flavored. And you can put as much or as little of it in the water as you want, depending on your individual taste preference. It's amazing!" I stared at her for a minute and then asked, "Is it? It's something that amazes you? Is it really fantastic, in that it's extraordinarily imaginative? If I'll bet it's also awesome, as in it inspires awe!" "Yeah, it is pretty awesome. I don't know why somebody didn't come up with it before. The people who did are geniuses and are probably going to be millionaires." "I don't doubt it", I replied while providing positive feedback to her unbridled enthusiasm for this pioneering effort into the previously-unexplored frontier of LIQUID WATER ENHANCEMENT. Then I asked her, "Have you ever heard of Kool Aid?"

It's not all of you, it's me

This isn’t easy to admit, but I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not qualified to be a good boyfriend. This, coming on the heels of realizing a few years ago that I’m not qualified to be a good husband, kinda paints a bleak picture for the future.

Yikes. If you look at it the wrong way.

I’ve gone on lots of dates over the last couple of years and had some fine times with some lovely women. I like dating. I’m a serial dater. I’m good at it, partially because I’m lots of fun. Fun is one of my favorite things. But when things start looking like they might get a teeny, tiny little bit serious, I hit the eject button. And I mean things like “I want you to meet my friends” or “let’s listen to a different radio station” in the car. Any, any, any little signal that indicates my ability to do whatever I want whenever I want to might be even slightly at risk of being hampered in any way, I flip out. “But Clark”, you say. “That’s what being in a relationship is all about! You make some sacrifices as an individual and you actually gain so much more in the process!” To which I reply by shivering, making a sour face and saying “Ugh!”

Isn’t that awful? I know it is. It’s a horrible, selfish and immature attitude. What an asshole! It’s not something I’m proud of, but I own it and I’m okay with it. Not seeking pity here. Seriously. Don't want it, don't need it, will not accept it. That's something that also makes me make facrs and go "ugh". You know how even the bravest, most inspiring blind person eventually has to say, "well, I guess I'm never going tp be a fighter pilot"? That's kind of like this, without the bravery, inspiration or combat aircraft..

I’ll give you a little glimpse into how I came to this conclusion and why I’m so okay with it. On St. Patrick’s Day, I was downtown, working an event hosted by a local bar and restaurant. A couple showed up and got to the gate. The guy said, “Well, do you want to go in?” and his companion said, “Hmm, I don’t know…” You don’t know?!? How can you not know?? That’s a question you resolve before you get dressed, leave the house, drive downtown, park the car and walk up to the place. That’s how it works for me, at least. And that’s because I don’t have to consult another person on the decision. I know where I’m going and what I’m doing when I head out and if I’m late, it’s nobody’s fault but mine. It’s perfect!

“But Clark”, you say, interrupting again. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right girl.” Are you kidding me? As if I haven’t met anyone good enough for me? Come on. Don’t you think I’m aware of the fact that I look like a bag of clothes that fell off the back of a Goodwill truck during a rainstorm? This is not a case of the women of the world failing to live up to the legend of Me. I’ll still go on dates, because as I mentioned, that’s fun, but I’m taking myself out of consideration for boyfriend (and whatever comes after that) status. This is a good, sound decision; it means I don’t have to worry about ruining somebody else’s life and vice versa.

The one part I haven’t really worked out is what if something “bad” happens. I’m pretty sure I could be missing for a week before anybody noticed I was gone and another week after that before anybody came looking for me. That could be problematic if I were to be standing on my toilet seat to change a lightbulb, slipped and got my foot stuck in the toilet. Or something.

Obviously there some minor, unresolved details. But overall, yeah.

Coming soon: a new interview

Normally, I don't like to use this space to tease upcoming stuff but I haven't written anything (and do I have a good reason for that? No, I do not. Geez, could I somehow be more of a selfish, lazy asshole? I don't know; buy my book) so I thought I'd let you know about an upcoming interview with singer/songwriter Nicholas Megalis to promote his new album, due out later this summer.
Nicholas is very talented in his own write, having already released one album ("Praise Be, Hype Machine") and opening for Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails in Cleveland a while back. He also comes from a crazy talented family. Honestly, everybody in his family is really, really good at something artistic. It's very discouraging. If you think you've heard of him from somewhere else, it's entirely possible. Nicholas is one of the first breakout artists on Vine, the new media platform consisting of very short videos. There, he's kind of a combination of Adam Sandler and "Weird Al", as you'll see in this compilation.

We'll be talking about music, comedy, videos and other strange topics, like how I want to be adopted by the Megalis family, So look forward to that in the next couple of weeks.