Go laugh at Boober tomorrow!

If you're in Tampa Thursday night, you should go to Side Splitters Comedy Club and see Boomer Nichols' (aka Boober Nipples) homecoming stand-up show. I'd be there but the Lightning have a home game, hosting the Edmonton Oilers and, well, duty calls. If not for that, I'd be at Boomer's show. He's a funny cat and also a good guy. See proof of the first part yourself Thursday night. The proof of the second part is that he has a smokin' hot wife and two adorable kids and that doesn't happen to every asshole who happens to be funny.

Boomer Nichols

Thursday, Nov 7, 8:30pm

Side Splitters

Tampa FL

Today's forecast: Love is in the air!

This is an email I received this weekend. Needless to say, I will be married soon:

FROM: kenisha.granberry55066@planetmail.net
TO: clark clarkbrooks.com

SUBJECT: Don't get me wrong but you're really interesting to me...

Howdy, sweetheart! How do you do?
My name is Kenisha and I liked you so much right from the very first glance on your pics.
I like pals like you! That is why I wished to write this message and get an message for it from you.
So, let me tell u something about me! I'm a blonde beauty with perfect titties, amazingly long legs, sporty butt.
My breast's size is 2 and I am looking forward about meeting you.
So, do not miss your opportunity!

Wowie! First off, there's nothing sexier than beng greeted with "Howdy", is there? Not when it's followed by exquisite grammar and phrasing! Sure, we'll start out as pals (as is the case with any relationship between lovers or participants in the Big Brothers/Big Sisters organization) but she really got my attention with her physical description and I can tell we're soulmates!
"Perfect titties!" - Perfect, in that she has two of those PLUS one breast whose size is 2 (presumably 1 = small and 2 = big?) somewhere on her body.
"Amazingly long legs" - How did she know I like my women spider-y?
"Sporty butt" - Like a little red Italian roadster with racing stripes where the top comes down and the horn goes 'beep, beep'!

I do not plan to miss my opportunity so I'm writing her back:

FROM: clark@clarkbrooks.com
TO: kenisha.granberry55066@planetmail.net

SUBJECT: Re: Don't get me wrong but you're really interesting to me...

Howdy yourself, future pal! How do you do yourself?
My name is Clark and I am flattered so much right from your very first email.
I also like blonde beauty pals like you, what with your perfect titties, spider-like legs and butt like a convertible car! Beep! Beep! That is why I am sending an message via reply to it from me to you. How?
I am intrigued by your breast (not your titties; I get those. Perfect!) Please tell me, is it located on your torso, like directly beneath your titties, as though an upside-down pyramid of boobs? A size 2 could fit real nice right there. Regardless, I can relate as I have an extra buttock (it's under my testicles).
I too am looking forward around meeting you!

I can not WAIT to hear back from her!!

Listen to Grandpa

When I was little younger, I used to stay up really late and watch tv for no good reason. Lots of low-budget horror movies, tons of talk shows and every episode at least twice of "The Virginian". I didn't particularly care for any of these shows (okay, I did enjoy "The Virginian"), it was just something to do. Back then, not all TV stations aired programming around the clock, but the ones that did would run the Public Service Announcements (PSAs) obligated by the FCC during those late night hours because there was no sense in wasting a perfectly good actual commercial on the likes of me and the other no-life wackjobs tuned in during those hours. One of those PSAs that I recall (because I saw it a lot) addressed racism and featured a little boy talking to his grandfather while out fishing in a boat. I haven't seen it in a really long time but it went something like this...

LITTLE BOY: Grandpa, Jimmy says I'm a racist.
GRANDFATHER: Who is Jimmy?
LITTLE BOY: He's my black friend.
GRANDFATHER: If you think of him as your black friend and not simply as your friend, he might be right, you little cunt.
LITTLE BOY: Grandpa!
GRANDFATHER: Ah, shut up. I'm not really your grandfather. Your mom is adopted. Now come over here and go through my pants pockets. Try to find some coins or something.

I may have some of the details wrong but that was the gist. After that, I think it got kind of weird. Anyway.
I think they should start running it again, and in prime time, because a lot of people I know either never got this message or have forgotten it. They're very much into mentioning their black friends, their gay friends, their Jewish friends, etc. Actually they skirt it, or attempt to by phrasing it like, "...my friend Jimmy. He's black." It's kind of sad. Oh, look how diverse and accepting and tolerant you are. You're a special person. I wish I was more like you.
In reality, it's a full-of-shit move and you need to stop it. Just have friends and stop collecting people by demographic profile like they're a series of coins from the Franklin Mint. All of your friends share the same racial heritage? That's fine. Who cares? Nobody's going to think less of you if you don't have at least one of each ethnicity as a friend, just like nobody is going to be suitably impressed if you do.
Listen, don't overthink it. Don't go out looking for the "right" freinds. Sure, you don't want to hang out with people who are bad to and/or for you, but as long as you're not putting out the wrong signals, that shouldn't be a problem. Just leave your door open and see who wanders in. If it's two Jews, a gay dude, a couple of black people, an aethiest, four conservative Republicans and three Puerto Ricans and you enjoy these people and they have your best interests at heart, then so be it. These are your friends. By the same token, if there are 23 of them and they all have blonde hair and blue eyes, well, that's weird, but same thing; so be it. Just stop assigning labels to the people in your life like albums at a bad record store.

Would it kill you to listen to your grandpa?

Saving my old home town, one building at a time

My old home town of Benton Harbor, Michigan has been doing hard times and a bad economy long before it became fashionable eveywhere else. It's been a rough four or five decades. However, in recent years, there's been a grass-roots resurgence with artsy types taking over some of the old buildings and re-opening them as viable, small businesses. Boutique shops, coffee houses, that kind of thing. It's not a return to the town's glory days as a manufacturing hub for companies like Whirlpool and Clark Equipment, but that ship has sailed off anyway. What it is is a sign of life, which is something the city lacked when I lived there over 30 years ago.
Recently, a woman named Sherry Miller got in touch with me (presumably via this blog, or at least because of it) and told me about a campaign that she and her husband Tom have launched for the purpose of refurbishing the old Farmers & Merchants Bank building at 92 West Main Street and turning it into an arts center with a performance space.

As you can see, it's a good, old-fashioned, honest-to-goodness bank building with lots of columns and marble, the kind of place where men in three-piece suits and hard shoes were very serious about the money business. In other words, classic. Sherry asked me as a former resident with a platform to speak out if I would help spread the word about their efforts. I still have a soft spot for the place and I'd love to see anybody who wants to make things better there succeed so I said sure. Plus, all through high school, I had a crush on this girl whose sister worked there. The girl turned out to totally not be worth the effort (owes me $150, as a matter of fact) but her sister was really attractive, so you know, not a complete waste of time there.
The Millers are coming close to their deadline so here is all their info. I realize the appeal might be limited to residents and former residents or those who really have a keen interest in seeing old buildings restored, but what the heck. Check it out and if you're so inclined, pass along a couple of bucks to help them out, okay?
Here's their fundraising page: http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/save-92-west-main

And here's a Facebook page with photos and more info: https://www.facebook.com/Save92WestMainBentonHarbor

Happy Halloween, 2013

Once again, Halloween is here. That means it's time to celebrate an annual rite. No, I don't mean being allowed to crossdress in public without catching grief.



"What? It's Halloween! It's just a costume, that's all! Don't look for any kind of greater meaning in it. I still like football or whatever. Sheesh."

 Although that's swell too. But no, I'm talking about re-posting the only actual traditionally formatted joke, I've ever written, which is as follows...

Knock knock
Who's there?
Ow.
Ow who?
Werewolves of London.

Get it? Get it?? If not, read it aloud and then watch this video...
Now do you get it? HA HA HA HA HA HA!!
Happy Halloween!

Welcome to Very Short And Specific Celebrity Impression Theatre

Good evening and welcome to Very Short And Specific Celebrity Impression Theatre. Today, I will be portraying actor Sean Penn in our presentation of "Sean Penn Wants To Watch a Specific YouTube Video But There Is a One Minute Commercial That He Can Not Skip After Five Seconds". There will be no intermission during "Sean Penn Wants To Watch a Specific YouTube Video But There Is a One Minute Commercial That He Can Not Skip After Five Seconds" so snacks and soft drinks will not be served in the lobby. However, if you enjoy "Sean Penn Wants To Watch a Specific YouTube Video But There Is a One Minute Commercial That He Can Not Skip After Five Seconds", please stop by the box office on your way out and pick up a flyer that lists the remaining productions this season as well as information regarding subscriptions for next season. Those interested in donating or volunteering should stop by our patron services desk.
Funding for Very Short And Specific Celebrity Impression Theatre productions like "Sean Penn Wants To Watch a Specific YouTube Video But There Is a One Minute Commercial That He Can Not Skip After Five Seconds" is made possible by a grant from the Milkhammer Trust. We'd also like to thank our corporate sponsors for supporting our production of "Sean Penn Wants To Watch a Specific YouTube Video But There Is a One Minute Commercial That He Can Not Skip After Five Seconds". Of course, it would be impossible to present "Sean Penn Wants To Watch a Specific YouTube Video But There Is a One Minute Commercial That He Can Not Skip After Five Seconds" without the efforts of our volunteers, so a huge thank you to them on behalf of the cast and crew of "Sean Penn Wants To Watch a Specific YouTube Video But There Is a One Minute Commercial That He Can Not Skip After Five Seconds". And without further ado, please enjoy "Sean Penn Wants To Watch a Specific YouTube Video But There Is a One Minute Commercial That He Can Not Skip After Five Seconds"

(HOUSELIGHTS DIM, CURTAINS OPEN AND A SINGLE OVERHEAD SPOTLIGHT ILLUMINATES A DESK, UPON WHICH SITS A COMPUTER. "SEAN PENN" IS SEATED AT THE DESK AND CLICKS THE MOUSE. A VIDEO ON THE POPULAR WEB SITE "YOUTUBE" IS SELECTED. HOWEVER, IT IS PRECEDED BY A COMMERCIAL FOR PROGRESSIVE INSURANCE AND THERE IS NO "SKIP" OPTION AVAILABLE.)

"Sean Penn": Darn. (clicks some other video and watches that instead).

Thank you, thank you. You're too kind. Thank you.

You read the book, now drink from the cup!

"Hey, is that a T-Rex?"
Yeah, I said 'forest creatures', duh.

Here's a new item for sale: The Ridiculously Inconsistent Cup.

Actually, it fails to live up to the name in that it is really quite reliable. It will always hold a beverage for you to drink unless you break it or otherwise render it unusable as a beverage container, dumbass. Hey, look how much purple is on it!

This handy, dandy item, adorned with the cover illustration by Jessie Stehlik from my book, "A Ridiculously Inconsistent Treasury", was originally produced in a very limited quantity as Thank You gifts for the team who helped produce the book. Now I'm going to have more made and sell them to you, if you want them. The illustration features a robot reading stories to lovable forest creatures. Impress your co-workers by having the weirdest coffee mug in your entire company. It will be a great conversation starter and a way to drive more traffic to this here blog and maybe even help sell some books. Check it out:

"Well, here we are again, at work, drinking coffee."
"Another day closer to death at least"
"Yeah, that about sums it up."

Ugh, they're the worst. Don't be like those assholes. Be like these assholes!

"Well, here we are again... Say, what's with that weird purple coffee cup, Karen?"
"It's a Ridiculously Inconsistent Cup, Doug! The artwork is from an awesome book titled "A Ridiculously Inconsistent Treasury" that compiles all the best material from this awesome blog, "A Ridiculously Inconsistent Trickle of Consciousness"
"Really, Karen? Awesome? Totally awesome? Are these things really awesome, in that they inspire awe? Like I'll be awestruck if I read them?"
"Well... no. But I'm banging the author so I'm sort of obligated to say that."
"..."
"..."
"Were you planning on telling me about this, Karen?"
"No, Brenda, I wasn't."
"Cool mug, Karen."
"Thanks, Doug."
"Oh, can it, Doug. Tool."

See? Conversation starter!
If that doesn't inspire you to buy an overpriced coffee cup, I don't know what will. Somebody asked me, "do you expect to make a lot of money with this?", and I said, "of course not; what's funny about that?". Anywho, if you want to order one or a dozen (actually, if people ordered dozens at a time, I would make money AND that would be pretty funny), please visit the online store at clarkbrooks.com

I've been shirking my Unbelieva-duties

There are lots of pictures we're tagged in out there
now, yet I keep returning to this one. Hey, if it
ain't broke, don't fix it.

With my personal living situation turmoil behind me, things have settled down and I've been taking stock of stuff that may have suffered when I was unable to devote adequate attention to it.

Let's see: Still got my job(s). Okay, good. My cats are alive. Nice. My vehicle hasn't been repo'ed or stolen. Whew. Personal relationship(s)? Nobody's perfect.

Anyway, one thing that I'm not sure I've ever adequately plugged promoted is The Unbelievables.
The Unbelievables is a writing project helmed by myself and my partners Jeff Hickmott and Michael Noble.

THE MYTHOS: "These dudes are bad. Bad clothes, bad hair, bad attitudes. From the secret files of The Kitsch Bitsch come ... The Unbelievables! One day, three altruistic rogues (Jeff Hickmott, Michael Noble and Clark Brooks) were lounging around the raquetball club when they decided to use their unique skills and senses of style to form a non-government affiliated, multi-jurisdictional, not-for-profit crime & injustice fighting organization and The Unbelievables were born. Originally, their adventures were chronicled in the top-secret files of The Kitsch Bitsch but now, they're exploding in your face with a web site all their own: http://the-unbelievables.blogspot.com/. If the sexy, action-packed adventures of men in double-knit, polyester fashions with un-ironic mustaches and macrame underwear turn you on, you're really going to dig ... The Unbelievables!"

THE TRUE STORY: Jeff, Michael and I are all writers who have mutual on-line connections (specifically. one Marissa Rapier) and had known of each other primarily through our creative output. We had discussed working together on something, some day, but none of us were ever motivated enough to sit down and put a plan together so we didn't. One day, Jeff's sweetie pie Laura, for reasons known only to her, was visiting The Kitsch Bitsch's page on Facebook and thought it would be funny to tag Jeff and I in a photo of two hirsute and bronzed gentlemen in terribly small, tight and shiny bathing suits. This put us in a position of having to justify the tags, which we did by inventing some fercockt tale about being studly private eyes. Laura thought this was great fun and tagged more photos. Somebody thought it would be a good idea to drag Michael into the madness so that happened. This went on for months and somebody (I honestly don't recall who) said "You know, this could be the thing we do together!" and the other two (I honestly don't recall who) said, "Yeah, great idea! Let's get going on that right away!" so of course we didn't. Then one day, several weeks later, out of the blue Jeff said (I recall this quite clearly), "I've set us up with a blog on line. It's live already so we need to start filling it up with content" and with an official endorsement from The Kitsch Bitsch herself, we've been at it (more or less) ever since.

WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT: Crime-fighting adventures. Sex. Music. Style tips. Life lessons. Grown-up villains who look like children. Senseless violence. Advice. Twins. Snacks. Sex. It's like an issue of Penthouse come to life. Or maybe, an issue of Highlights. Somewhere in the middle, probably. Actually, a female acquaintance once described it as "Spinal Tap as crimefighters". However, my relationship with her ended, um, abruptly, so aside from this, I'd ask that you not put a lot of weight behind her opinions on matters involving my participation.

WHY YOU SHOULD CHECK IT OUT:

• More often than not, it's pretty funny. I'd say roughly 67 times out of 71. 
• And the four "eh"s are usually at least weird. 
• We publish three times a week (Monday, Wednesday and Friday). 
• If you like wacky, kitschy retro stuff, you'll probably be entertained most of the time. 
• It's free.
• We have a Twitter* and a Facebook page and we like interacting with people*.

VALID REASONS FOR NOT CHECKING IT OUT:

• You are out in the real world helping people, making a positive difference in the lives of others, dedicated to improving the quality of life on this planet for all and probably not even reading this.
• You don't like things.

A FUN FACT (TRUE!): Jeff, Michael and I are scattered around the globe (I'm in Florida, Jeff is in England and I've learned it's easiest to just say that Michael is "out west") so we've never met in person. We did talk on the phone once, though.

SOMETHING COOL: The Flaming Schwartzkopf Experience wrote and produced a theme song for us. There's even a video (see below...nearly 300 hits)!

* I'm not sure any of us remember the password for the Twitter account so we don't really interact much through that. But we get some good back-and-forth on Facebook. It's fun, check it out. Don't cost nothin'.

A ridiculously inconsistent guide to the World Series

In case you're not a sports fan, you are probably not aware that something very important is about to happen: The World Series. This is a seven-game series to determine the world champion of all the baseballs. That means we will know who the best baseball team in the world is and that team will be allowed to have free french fries for a year! Again, if you're not a sports fan, I'm here to give you everything you need to enjoy this grand spectacle.

Our two combatants are the Boston Red Sox and the St. Louis Cardinals.

WHAT TO KNOW ABOUT THE ST. LOUIS CARDINALS: I have been to St. Louis once, to serve as a groomsman in my friend Jenniffer's wedding. During the reception, one of the other groomsmen, a bridesmaid and I snuck out and went to Ted Drewes which is a place that serves frozen custard and is a St. Louis landmark. There, we ran into a bunch of Cardinals fans who were celebrating after attending a playoff win over the Colorado Rockies. They were cool. We had fun.
WHAT TO KNOW ABOUT THE BOSTON RED SOX: Red Sox fans are assholes. The only fans worse are those from Philadelphia. At least Red Sox fans are people. Rude, obnoxious, stupid, marble-mouthed drunks who talk like they've suffered a head injury and only cheer for their teams when they're winning, but people.

WHO WILL WIN? If there is a just and merciful God, not the Red Sox. I mean, I hope the Cardinals do.

FUN FACT: The Tampa Bay Rays, a wildcard participant in the playoffs (in spite of spending a mere fraction of what other teams do on payroll) but not going to the World Series, again, are a team full of charm and personality.

FUN FACT: Some of the Red Sox players grew beards.

FUN FACT: There is actually a secret law that prohibits teams from Boston and Philadelphia competing head-to-head for championships in any sport because that many assholes in one spot at the same time would be really, really bad. The Eagles played the Patriots in Super Bowl XXXIX only because Super Bowls are played in neutral sites attended exclusively by high rollers and actors who just happen to have a new show that will be cancelled within six weeks on the network broadcasting the game. Not enough Boston and Philadelphia fans are able to get time off from their jobs of vomiting on children to travel to New Orleans or Miami to create that much of a noticeably more negative impact on those hellholes.

FUN FACT: I hate Red Sox fans.

FUN FACT THAT ALL SPORTS FANS ALREADY KNOW: Broadcasters are trained to hate your team. Here's what it happens in their secret meeting before every big match-up in every sport:
NETWORK GUY: Don't forget to say only negative things about (your name here)'s team and only positive things about the opponent.
PLAY-BY-PLAY GUY: Got it. Because taking a bias and sticking to it regardless of what actually happens during the game is the best way to drive consumrs to our sponsors.
NETWORK GUY: It's the only way!
COLOR GUY: Excuse me, how often should I say something wacky, archaic and/or borderline offensive?
NETWORK GUY: Why don't you fire one off now?
COLOR GUY: (sighs, puts on deliberately tacky sportscoat and a silly hat) Jumpin' Jackie Robinson, the Negroes in this league just keep gettin' better and better!
PLAY-BY-PLAY GUY: Ha ha! Classic!
NETWORK GUY: Aren't you forgetting something?
COLOR GUY: Oh yeah. (clears throat) Budweiser me!
PLAY-BY-PLAY GUY: Ha ha! Never gets old!
COLOR GUY: (to himself) I was supposed to die some time during the '70s.

FUN FACT: The eventual goal of every sports broadcaster is to stick around long enough to turn into a clown, a beloved catch-phrase spouting buffoon who is a caricature of the professional broadcast journalist he was at some point in his life, hopefully with side gigs playing an even more cartoonish version of himself in video games and movies while also shilling appeteaser specials for a national chain of horrible neighborhood-style tavern/eateries.

 There are, of course, notable exceptions

Well, that oughtta show... us?

I had this long, angry screed about the government shutdown accomplishing absolutely nothing and finally coming to an end before a global calamity could occur all written and ready to go, but I wasn't happy with it so I deleted it. I'm as fed up, embarrassed and dismayed with the utter stupidity of the situation and the people responsible for it as anybody (and "anybody" at this point also includes a lot of people who were originally at least partly responsible for the rationale behind it, if not the actual shutdown itself) but angry political punditry is not what I do. At least it's not what I do well. Folks like Peter Schorsch are much better suited to that than I am, so I'll happily leave it to them.

Still, I felt obligated to say something. And being as I've just admitted that it's not an area where I feel confident in expressing myself, I'll let the numbers speak and we can all just foam at the mouth or shake our heads or whatever feels right. I just hope that beyond whatever our initial, visceral reaction is, we remember all of this when the elections roll around again.

• 16 days.
• A $24 billion hit to the U.S. economy.
• A 6% reduction in the projected GDP growth for the quarter.
• $152 million lost per day in travel spending.
• $76 million lost per day by visitors to national parks.
• $160 million lost per work day due to government employee furloughs.
• 385,000 initial unemployment claims last week.

"Member of Congress who are refusing to raise the debt ceiling (or raise taxes) until their ancillary demands are met are acting immorally, since they are refusing to pay the debts they themselves authorized. " - conservative Christian Joe Carter

Post-dream follow up

Sometimes I have really intense dreams. I don't mean nightmares, although I have those too. What I'm talking about are dreams that are like action movies; harrowing but not hopeless situations. Often these dreams feature people I know in real life. Sometimes, these dreams are so intense that when they're over, even though I know they're just dreams, I feel obligated to check up on the people who were in them. Is that weird? Maybe. Too bad, though. It's something I do to make me feel better. Of course, they're always fine, being as dreams aren't real and they aren't a shared experience, so they don't even have a recollection of the experience that never actually happened. Still, I like knowing they're all right.

The other night, I had one of those dreams and my friend Mary was in it. She and I used to work together before she got out of show biz to go into nursing. That's admirable, I think. She also moved away and I haven't seen her in four or five years. But here's the note I wrote to her:

 Hi Mary,
I had a dream last night and you were in it. It was scary and realistic and I haven't talked to you in a while so I felt like I needed to check and see if you are okay. In the dream, it was you, me and some other unknown person (they kept changing to different people, which is an annoying thing that happens in dreams). We were in the middle of a park and there were a whole bunch of huge tornadoes all around us. We were all running around trying to survive. Also, in this dream, you were a cop. At one point, you broke a whole bunch of windows for seemingly no good reason (you said "I'm a cop!" at the time, which is how I knew you were one). I'd ask you what that was all about but it was my dream, not yours, and I doubt you'd have a good answer. I woke up before it was over but I assume we all survived, so that's good. You aren't a cop now, are you? You're already a nurse. You can do whatever you want, of course, but I don't think it's necessary to be all the emergency jobs. What I'm saying is don't be a cop. Let some other people pick up the slack. Do they even have tornadoes in Denver? I dream about them all the time, I think because I grew up in the midwest. Anyway, I hope you are doing well, not a cop (although if you are, that's your business and it's fine) and not breaking windows just because you think a job gives you some sort of unbridled authority to do so. - Clark

I haven't heard back form her yet. I hope she's okay.

Dearly beloved...

The other day, a life-long dream of mine came true. Well, a dream I've had since April of 2010, the day I became an ordained minister.

A while back, my friend Rachel got in touch:

"Am I remembering correctly that you can marry people?"
"Yep!"
"We may be in need of your service. I believe we (she and her ex-husband Tom) may get re-married so that we can do a VA loan for a house. I will let you know if we do."
"Yes, please!"
"It will be simple. You basically just have to sign the license. We can do it at Jimbo's."
"How romantic. Right in front of the fresh pickles."
"We can do it over lunch and it will be done, clean and simple. That's all we want."
"I understand exactly what you want. No Santa jacket, no ram's horn, no drummers."
"Right. None of that."
"Yes, but I do have to sing a song. My philisophical doctrine requires it."
"I love you but I don't think Tom would go for that..."
"It doesn't have to be a long song but everybody at Jimbo's must listen to it. Now, does Tom have a favorite Broadway show? I could do something from 'Guys and Dolls' or 'Oliver'."
"Um, I would have to say no. He's not a Broadway kind of guy."
"Ugh. Fine. No song then. It will be fine. Non-traditional and unorthodox but fine. Fine-ish, anyway."
"Can you do Friday at noon?"
"Yes, that will do, my child."
"Awesome!"
"Now, who will be wearing the helmet? It can be either of you. Your choice."
"Helmet?"
"Yes, the sacred ceremonial helmet."
"Assuming you're providing it, I guess I could wear it. If it's absolutely necessary."
"Of course it's necessary, especially in lieu of no song and of course I have one. It's very classy."
"All right, If you say so."
"How many bridesmaids will there be and please rank them individually on a scale of 1-10 in terms of loose moral standards. 10 being 'The Best' and 1 being 'unlikely to put out'."
"It's just going to be the three of us so I guess you'll have to pick up a waitress. I have no idea how loose any of them are."
"Ah. No song, no bridesmaids. Not ideal but I can make it work."

I was really excited. Finally, I would get to commit my first real, live wedding! We met at Jimbo's last Friday. I got there early and then Rachel got there. Tom was a few minutes late and after a few runaway bride jokes, he showed up. We ordered lunch and got things underway.
I looked over the paperwork. "Yes, yes, everything here seems to be in order." "It is in order", said Rachel. "It's a one-page document from the county that requires three signatures. All you have to do is add yours." "All in good time", I replied as I arranged my ceremonial paraphernalia. First, I produced a copy of The Good Book. Since it was a non-denominational wedding, I didn't bring a bible and figured I would just use A Good Book. The only book I had with me was A Ridiculously Inconsistent Treasury. Pretty good book, I think. Amazon says so anyway.
And then, with much fanfare, the ceremonial helmet.

"Okay, seriously, what's with the helmet?"
"What? It's ceremonial."
"It's a hard hat."
"Right. In this case, it symbolizes your commitment to hard work, the hard work required to make marriage work. Also your commitment to safety, and that's always important. Plus, it's gold which symbolizes money. That's good, right?"
"It says 'Clark Equipment' on it."
"Yeah, well, it's my helmet."

Then it was time for the legal disclaimer...

"Now, we're all straight here, right?"
"Straight?"
"Yeah, no gay people are participating in this ceremony in any way, correct?"
"Um, yeah, I guess."
"Good. It's very important that it's stated for the record that any mockery, farce, lampoon or spoof directed in the general direction of narrow-minded people who have made it their solemn duty to defend the sanctity of the sacred rite of marriage is being done in the complete absence of any homosexuals whatsoever. Whatever damage is being done to one myopic and archaic definition of the venerable institution here today is entirely the responsibility of straight people. Agreed?"
"Yeah, sure."

Having gotten everything established, I began the ceremony...

"Dearly beloved
We are gathered here today
2 get through this thing called life
Electric word, life
It means forever and that's a mighty long time
But I'm here 2 tell u..."

"Okay, who had the cheeseburger?", the waitress interrupted. "Oh, that's mine!", Tom said. I offered, "I'm not done yet" and Tom said "We know but, hey, food's here and it's gonna get cold, so...". He had a solid point so I pushed on...

"Tom, do you take her to be the woman who will live in your new house?"
"I do."
"Good. Rachel, do you promise to clean that house and cook the meals and stuff?"
"Hey!!"
"It's just a wedding vow. It doesn't mean anything. Come on, food is getting cold."
"Okay, sure. I do."
"Then if no one here objects... Rachel, go ask that guy over there if he objects."
"Who? The guy with the banana pudding?"
"Yeah."
"I'm not asking him that!"
"Then ask if I can have some of that pudding."
"Would you come on, please?"
"All right then. By the power vested in me by the Universal Life Church via the internet, boom, you're married!"
"Boom?"

Suddenly I felt powerful. I felt alive! I had just directly impacted the fates of two human beings. A warm feeling of goodness surged through me. I felt the true meaning of being an ordained minister for the first time, an agent of a higher power, on Earth to go forth and do good works. That, or it might also have been the shredded pork sandwich I'd ordered for lunch, which was excellent and that Rachel and Tom paid for.

When one door opens, someone may lose an eye

This is a door inside the office where I work:

It's a problem.
There's another one on the other end of the office. They're both problems.

Not the doors themselves. They've both been there for a while and have never caused any trouble. But up until about a week ago, the little window you see was clear. You could see through it. Not anymore. Management was concerned about people outside peering in and so they had them frosted with some kind of opaque coating. This has been a source of great concern among some of the people I work with in this office.

"Ohmygod, that isn't safe!""I just know I'm going to open that door and hit somebody on the other side.""Assuming somebody doesn't hit you first!"
"I know! What were they thinking?""I know! Somebody is going to get seriously hurt.""Ohmygod, I know!"

What I take from this is that some of the people I work with have somehow lived their entire lives up until now without ever encountering a door that doesn't have a window in it.
Oh well. I guess they'll be dead soon.

A trivial pursuit

Believe it or not, I used to be a competitive athlete, with a much stronger emphasis on the competitive part than the athlete part. Not that I wasn't a good athlete but something about participating in sports would get me really fired up and I'd get into it to crazy degrees. Even though I was usually among the biggest kids on the field, I rarely played like it. I dove head-first, chattered incessantly and got really pissed off when things didn't go my way. I was a classic "red ass", a term usually applied to 5'6" slap-hitting middle infielders from the Dominican Republic, not 6'3" slugging first basemen from the Midwest.

These traits tended to endear me to teammates and aggravate opponents which is exactly how I wanted it. I was once thrown out of a church league softball game for swearing. While protesting the ejection, I asked the umpire to tell me exactly what I said, not because I doubted him but because I honestly didn't know. He said there was no way he would repeat it and was so angry he wanted to fight me. I'm sure he was right but I still don't know what I said. It must have been really bad. I probably called someone or something either a cocksucker, a motherfucker or, most likely, some colorful combination of those bon mots, enhanced by a shit or bitch or two.
I'm still a passionate sports fan but now that I'm no longer an active participant, I'm not wired as tightly. I'm happy when my team wins and sad when they lose but I recover pretty quickly either way. I'm fortunate in that regard because I'd be a mess. I know some people who are and it's not pretty. Or healthy. People like that are not fun to be around unless you're their teammate actively involved in a sporting event. I assume this part of me died when I hung up my cleats for the last time and I'm glad. As it turns out, it might have just been hibernating all along, lying dormant until awakened.

A while back, I met a friend at a local Irish pub for dinner. As we were sitting there, there was an announcement that the weekly trivia contest would be starting soon. I figured that would be a fun way to pass time during dinner. And it was. But something happened about three questions in...

• There were numbers being written down on sheets of paper.
• Somebody was keeping track of the numbers being written down.
• There were rewards (prizes) at stake for who had the best numbers.

"Wait a minute", I thought. "I know what this is. This is sports! That's what this is!" With that, a switch was flipped and I got serious about it. Suddenly, fellow diners passing leisure time in a contest were opponents, standing between me and triumph. I needed to destroy these cocksuckers. My dinner companion left before the end, leaving me there to intently battle to the death, if necessary. I listened intently and hunched down over my answer sheet, shutting out any and all distractions. I don't remember paying my tab but I guess I did. I pumped my fist when I'd get an answer right and stare down at the floor and blurt out expletives when I'd miss one. My reactions feeding directly off the emotions demonstrated by those at the other tables as the answeres were read off.
I finished tied for fifth. Out of the money but I was competing against whole tables of people who were playing as teams. At least I didn't get thrown out for mouthing off.

Moving right along

Part of moving is getting rid of some of your old stuff, which gives you an excuse or reason to get new stuff. Whether you view that as an opportunity or a chore depends on how you feel about shopping and/or spending money, I guess. Me, I'm not what you'd call cheap (I have a real problem resisting impulses some times; after an ill-advised visit to Craigslist the other day, I haven't completely talked myself out of buying a pinball machine yet) but shelling out big dollars for things makes me anxious and I often experience regret after wasting cash on something silly so I try to limit my big spending to things that are absolute necessities. I got rid of a lot of stuff when I moved, including almost all of my furniture and housewares, so I've had to replace some of it just to be able to live.
The last time I moved, it was my first time living on my own since I was a kid and I went out and bought all kinds of crazy things with the idea that I would be entertaining all sorts of social gatherings. "My many charming party guests are certain to be amused by these napkin holders!" Yeah, that didn't really work out. The one time I had company over, it was an occasion for me to show off the apartment before going out to dinner. One of them looked around real quick but didn't even want to sit down before hustling everyone out and off to the restaurant. She said later it was just because she was hungry but it made me self-conscious about my things and I never invited friends over again.
This time I was smart and went practical. I stocked my whole home with one trip to WalMart, where I bought:

• One set of sheets
• One pillow
• One comforter
• One bath towel
• One bath mat
• One sauce pan
• One skillet
• One plate
• One bowl
• One fork
• One spoon
• One multi-purpose knife

Boom. I'm all set. I already had a coffee cup that I was given as a gift (thanks, Donna) so my beverage needs were covered. Someone offered to custom build me a desk for $1200, but what do I need with a desk? A place to organize all my important paperwork? Ppphht. Nonsense. A card table would suit me fine. Even better, I found what appears to be half of a standard card table at WalMart. Perfect.
I also bought two metal folding chairs. Why two? Did I suddenly think I was Donald Trump and I needed to sate my lust for extravagant creature comforts? Not exactly. It's a matter of practicality. Observe...

Chair

Loveseat

Sleeper sofa

Two chairs, three different pieces of furniture!
Sometimes, I am a genius.

Cool people out there doing cool stuff

As I make preparations to get up and running again, I'd like to dedicate this space today to some people who are already doing things that are pretty neat.

Tom Megalis, father of Nicholas, has an exhibit of original artwork opening today at Translations Art Gallery in Canton, Ohio. "CURIOSITIES: New work by Tom Megalis" will run through October 26th.


In other Megalis family news, we're still on for an interview with Nicholas, the King of all Vines, just as soon as schedules and stars (mostly schedules) align. In the meantime, his new single "Forget It in a Day" is out. Here's a link to the video. Also, his first album "Praise Be, Hype Machine" is now available on iTunes.


Believe it or not, there are people not named Megalis doing cool stuff.

This is Jacqueline Kabat and she is working on her documentary film, "Comedy Improv Can Save The World". She's using comedy improv as a means of therapy and a teaching tool. It's all based on teaching people to connect without judgment, trust and collaborate with one another. Here's a link to the site hosting her fundraising campaign where you can learn more and make a pledge. I've already made my thoughts known on how much I love these kinds of campaigns. Also, Jacqueline is someone who has said nice things to and about me, which means, naturally, she is deeply in love with me. So obviously I've already made my pledge.

Last but certainly not least, our old friend Jeremy Gloff has a new album out. Jeremy has had a hell of a lot of crap come his way this year, something to which more of us than not can relate. The result is "Inside of Blue Buildings", his 18th album and a celebration of 20 years as a professional musician. Jeremy is a good dude and he's an artist that truly puts his heart and soul into his work. Check it out for one or both of those reasons.

Jeez, I'm feeling pretty lame now. Guess this is as good a reason as any to get off my ass and do something, huh?

I'll shut up now

After what seems like two solid months of angst over my housing situation, I finally closed on my new home late Monday. During that two months, I know I was a font of unrelenting despair. "My home, my cats, my worldly possessions. Me, mine, I. Wah, wah, wah and blah, blah, blah."
Ugh. What a drag.
Now that the whole thing is totally resolved and in the rear view, I'll stop being mopey and boring and complaining and depressing and annoying. After all, I have a lovely new home, my cats are safe and happy, the cable guy arrived in plenty of time to allow me to see the series finale of Breaking Bad, it's almost hockey season and my beloved Rays are in the postseason. It's a beautiful time to be alive!
As I promised previously, good and fun stuff is coming. Stay tuned.

This is my new home. I'm seriously considering having it painted purple. What do you think?

A resolution of sorts

An update on my housing situation: I'm moved into the new place, although the loan still...STILL...isn't closed. So my status has been elevated from "homeless" to "squatter".
We were set to close on Friday but the seller said she wasn't available due to having company in town and they had plans. This caused me... discomfort. I snapped and I informed all parties concerned that I would not spend one more night, let alone an entire weekend, in the hotel. And if that meant the deal was dead, so be it. It was a total bluff since between losing all the money I've already spent plus having nowhere to go, I really didn't have the option of killing the deal. Still, I'd been in a hotel for the better part of a month with my pet cats in a shelter during that same time. While all of us were safe and sound, the idea of having to sustain that less-than-favorable status quo because the seller wanted to take her friends and family to Busch Gardens and Outback Steakhouse instead of signing some paperwork wasn't something I could tolerate. A deal was worked out where I was able to move into the house, after agreeing not to burn it down or sue anybody if I fell in the shower and broke my leg of course. I went and got the cats and here we all are now. It's unfortunate that nothing seems to get done when I'm being patient and compliant, that it takes anger and yelling and threats to move things along but that's what we are.

Snack attack

There are lots of ways to get your hands on food with the intent of getting that food into your mouth, especially here in America. None are as cold and dark as getting it from a coin-operated vending machine, though. What we all think of as a convenience is actually a study of how much we hate each other and, on some levels, ourselves. There is a lot of fairly aggressive contempt going back and forth when you buy something from a vending machine. Let's take a look...

• You get what you pay for - When you go to the vending machine it's because you're looking for something to eat and you either only have or don't want to spend more than about a dollar. The chances of getting something actually good for you with even a little nutritional value are not good under this kind of budgetary constraint.
• You're dealing with a machine - In most cases, we as humans feed each other. Whether we're cooking for our family, being waited on by a server in a restaurant, or patronizing a grocer at the supermarket, there's almost always some sort of human element in effect when we eat. Not so with a vending machine. Sure, some person puts the stuff inside but that's not the same thing. The same guy who empties the coins is also cramming snacks into the coils so there will be more coins next time. Guess which element he cares about more? (hint: people throw away food all the time; when does anybody ever intentionally throw away even the smallest amount of money?) I'm sure at the end of the day the vending machine guy doesn't consider what he does as "feeding people".
• Take this - So you show up, decide what you want and start cramming in your coins (because, again, it's cheap) into the slot. "Here, machine. Take my little metal discs that represent fractions of a whole dollar", you say as you force them inside of it. Sometimes, for whatever reason, a coin won't take. Then what do you do? You jam it in there even more forcefully, sometimes over and over, until it takes it. Then you push two buttons and a coil starts to rotate, dispensing your item. Hopefully.
• All sales final - Because the person stocking the machine doesn't really care about you, anonymous vending machine customer, they invest a lot more care in getting the coins out of the machine than they do in putting the food into it. As a result, sometimes things get stuck. Or worse, the revolving dispenser coil rotates to a completely empty slot, yielding nothing.
• Better than nothing - If you pushed the wrong buttons for some reason, too bad. You're getting what you asked for, even if it's not what you wanted to ask for. In this and the above instance,the machine doesn't care. Nor should it; because fuck you, it did its job and also, fuck you. 
• Complain at your own risk - You can register your displeasure by shaking the machine until it gives you what you want. Just keep in mind that the machine reserves the right to kill you.
• Best case scenario - Let's say you pushed the right button and the machine is going to give you what you requested. Your reward arrives when your chunks of orange salt or congealed chocolate goo or whatever it is drops with a thunk into a metal bin at the bottom, only because the machine is not built to sneer at you and throw it on the floor. This is the almost exactly the same thing, though.

It's sad, but what choice do you have when you're broke, hate yourself and didn't bring anything for lunch?

The simple case for good triumphing over evil

I think I'm a pretty simple person and I've never claimed to have a clear understanding of all the factors that go into complex dilemmas, such as the one at the heart of all of mankind's existential angst, the battle between good and evil. That doesn't stop me from thinking about it and coming up with my own conclusions. For me, it breaks down along these lines:

Puppies are the best example I can think of to demonstrate pure goodness. They're motivated by their desires to play, eat and sleep. That's it. There is nothing even slightly malicious about them or what they do. They're also fluffy and adorable. On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have these guys:

Nazis, neo or otherwise, are just the worst. They exist to be stupid and hateful and that's all. They're also ugly and decidedly not fluffy. The ugliest, least fluffy puppy ever born is 10 times more adorable and fluffy than Adolph Hitler ever was, even as a baby. That's besides the point though, and should not be factored into this forensic analysis. Still...

Awww, who couldn't love you??

Awww, why couldn't time travel exist so somebody could go back and choke you out?

Now here's why puppies (Good) will always eventually triumph over Nazis (Evil).
Puppies are organic. They're the natural result of the procreation of their species. They've been around for thousands of years and barring an unforeseeable global catastrophe, they'll be here forever. Unless a comet hits the planet or dogs lose interest in having sex (with each other), we will always have puppies.
However, somebody had to come up with the idea of Nazis. There's nothing natural about them. Some guy had to sit down and organize a bunch of shitty thoughts out of his damaged mind into a relatively coherent philosophy. Then he had to go out and find enough people with similarly flawed mindsets to get behind it and turn it into a movement. Somebody had to come up with a logo and sew uniforms and find a place to have meetings, not to mention the printing and distribution of propaganda. That's a lot of work by a lot of people getting together and forcing things to happen. That's not nature. Think of it this way:
Every time any two dogs get together, it usually yields between four to six new adorable puppies. But I would guess that Nazis have to yell at hundreds of a very specific type of people to yield one potential Nazi recruit.
The ongoing propagation of Nazis is simply unsustainable.
I hope that helps you sleep better tonight. I know it helps me.

This is perfect; perfectly awful

I know sometimes.. okay, maybe a lot of times... it seems like I'm just boiling over with sheer, unbridled hatred, but that's honestly not the case. More often than not, I'm complaining about things that are, at most, a pain in the ass. Relatively minor inconveniences that really don't matter much that I try to exaggerate for (hopefully comic) effect. But if there's one thing I can say that I truly, truly hate, it's a lack of courtesy fueled by an inflated sense of entitlement. I'm talking about those people who equate freedom with being able to do whatever they want, whenever they want, with absolutely no consideration for how it might impact someone else.
A perfect example of this occurred last Wednesday while I was sitting in a Panera Bread. That's when I Tweeted this photo:

"This woman simply does not care if you trip and kill yourself"

In case you can't quite tell, this woman is on her laptop which is plugged into the wall with a cord that she stretched over a chair and across an aisle into an outlet on the wall. Here's a shot of the cord:

After the Tweet, a friend of mine asked, "did you say something to her?". I didn't see the point after stepping carefully over the cord and she smirked at me and said, "sorry!" in that pinched, smarmy, "I'm trying to be cute" way that never, ever is. This wasn't someone who had carelessly created a dangerous situation accidentally and unintentionally by not thinking about it, the kind of mistake to which all of us are prone. This was someone who wanted to sit there and plug her computer into that outlet and while I'm sure I hope she didn't want anyone to hurt themselves, well, that wasn't really her problem, was it? In other words, she's an aggressively inconsiderate asshole, someone who will go out of their way to create a trip hazard in the middle of a crowded restaurant simply because that's something she wants to do. Why should the health and safety of other people infringe upon that? It flat-out pisses me off because it's not even senseless, it's totally thought-out. She had to have considered the possible consequences and simply chose to ignore them. Who does that? More importantly, why do we need them walking around and using up our water and oxygen when life is already hard and so many of us just want to get through it without losing our minds and in as few pieces as possible?

If I may invoke a scenario that people often use when they talk about the abuse of freedom, I'm pretty sure nobody who stormed the beach at Normandy did so with the idea that they were risking their lives and fighting for one citizen's right to make another plunge face-first into a sourdough bread bowl full of hot broccoli and cheese soup because they didn't want to waste their laptop battery while reading their email (whatever most of those things are, since they weren't invented until well after World War II was over).

I wish I had thought of tripping over it on my way out in a way that would bend the shit out of the prongs on the cord, rendering it useless. "Sorry!"

Yet another snag

Are you as sick of reading about this buying-a-house thing as I am of writing/thinking about it? Yeah, I doubt it. Sorry, but that simply isn't possible. But since this is all that's going on in my life, it's all I have to write about.

The latest SNAFU, and boy, is that acronym apt in this case, was Wednesday. My realtor Lori and I thought there was a chance we'd do the deal late Tuesday. When that didn't happen, we figured a slam dunk for Wednesday. Nope. I called the loan officer myself late that afternoon. No answer, so I left a message.

"Hi. This is Clark Brooks. Please call me back, as I would like firm answers to what is happening with my loan as well as what your company policy is in regard to dealing with customers in general."

He didn't return my call, so I tried again a half hour later.

"Hi. It's Clark Brooks again. Just to be clear, that wasn't the only phone call I plan to make. Since sitting back and trusting that somebody was doing something on my behalf has yielded exactly zero positive results, I'm abandoning that approach. So yeah, I'm now one of those customers. Please call me back so I don't have to call you again."

Fifteen minutes later, I called and he answered.

"Oh hey! I was just getting ready to call you!"
"Yeah, okay. Can you just give me a straight answer on what's happening?"
"Well, the underwriter is reviewing the termite inspection. After that, everything should be all set."
"How is that possible? The termite inspection was last Friday."
"The underwriter didn't get it until yesterday. Late yesterday."
"All right. One, that isn't my fault. Two, why does it take an entire day to process one document?"
"These things take time."
"I'm living in a hotel! You know who lives in hotels? Rock stars like Mick Jagger. Do you think I have Mick Jagger money? You've spent the last two months burrowing deep into my financial records' colon. You know I don't have Mick Jagger money."
I heard him chuckle.
"Is that funny to you? That's perfect. That's just perfect."
"I wasn't laughing at your situation. I thought you were making a joke..."
"You know how the banking industry has been taking a beating in terms of public opinion for the last few years? This is why; your blatant disregard for your customers. It borders on contempt. I'm bleeding money while you guys fart around with a termite inspection that's probably going to be out of date by the time this closes, at this rate, and you find humor in that! That brings you joy! How absolutely perfect."

He muttered something about trying to get me some extra money at closing for the inconvenience. I said, "just get it to closing, please" and hung up. At some point, I also told him that going forward, I would be extremely diligent about watching how my account was handled, in terms of posting payments and whatever other dealings I had with them. Because we're not partners, we're adversaries. I don't care what they think about me but they are not to be trusted. Not to paint with too broad of a brush, but bankers, especially loan processors, are baby-raping nazi pricks who should get a painful rectal venereal disease. In the eyeball.

I'm somewhat encouraged that I'm not the only one this happens to. I hate feeding my paranoia with validation. Below is a letter my friend wrote (I've anonymous-ed) when the bankers processing her mortgage became suspicious because she was moving out of a big house in a rural area to a small condo in downtown Tampa:

To Whom it May Concern:
The purpose of this letter is to inform you in detail of the numerous reasons why we feel it is in everyone’s best interest that we sell our 4 bedroom/2 bath home in Ruskin, Florida, in exchange for an 700 square foot, 1 bedroom condo in Downtown Tampa. You may find a move of this nature to be suspicious. You would not be alone, as many of my friends, our neighbors, and even my mother has questioned the sanity of such a move. In order to demonstrate the validity of such a decision, please consider the following:
• Ruskin is 33.2 miles from our studio. Downtown Tampa is 1.5.
• It costs us $1,000 in gas every year to travel, and requires 2 automobiles. Living in Downtown Tampa will cost an estimated $300 a year, and will require 1 automobile.
• The closest coffee shop from our current home is 10.7 miles away. The closest coffee shop from the condo is downstairs and to the left.
• We have a dog that loves to get out and romp around. The dog park across the street from the condo building in Tampa is huge and beautifully landscaped, and patronized by intellectual and engaging urban dwellers. The dog park down the street from our current home has some dirt, a guy named Roger, and a defecating duck that always seems to loiter around suspiciously.
• Our current home has 3 unused bedrooms as we have no children – and will never have children. It requires extensive time and resources to maintain – time and resources that prohibit us from traveling often. A 1 bedroom condo will allow us to travel freely without worrying who will cut the grass, while conveniently also offering a legitimate reason to tell our in-laws to get a hotel room when they visit.
These are just the highlights. I guarantee you that if I were to list out our entire grievances with living in an oversized home in the armpit of Hillsborough County, it would take more than a one page letter. Or you could just take the word of the NY Times that this is, in fact, a great decision and approve our loan: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/03/10/opinion/sunday/living-with-less-a-lot-less.html?smid=fb-share&_r=0 I hope this letter adequately addressed your concerns. Please let me move now.

I hate this picture

I hate this picture.
It's a huge waste of time to hate an object. As dumb and pointless as it is to hate people, it's at least twice as dumb to hate things. Because when you hate people, whether it's a single individual person or a whole group of individula persons, there's a possibility of inflicting some kind of emotional and/or psychological damage. That's not a good thing but at least you're accomplishing aomething. Things are immune to all of that because they lack the ability to care. Still, I hate this picture.
This whole buying-a-house thing is still not resolved and I'm living in a hotel room where this picture is the only decoration in the place. I've been spending virtually all of my time by myself locked up in that room, waiting for a call that doesn't come. The hotel is nice and the room itself is perfectly fine, but it has started to feel like a jail cell. When I'm there, the tv is on but I'm not really able to pay attention to what's on. I brought books but can't summon the level of concentration neccesary to be able to read them. Instead, I find myself listening to the same dozen thoughts, all tied to my current anxieties (How much longer is this going to last? What if it never ends? How am I going to pay for this? I miss my cats! etc.), cycling through my head. It's like having a radio that only gets one station that only plays ten different songs; after a while, you start thinking, "well, this is all the music there is". That's what happens when you're stuck. You lose perspective. Being aware of that isn't the cure for it either; it's very difficult to force yourself to adapt a different viewpoint. Pointing out an inability to see the forest for the trees is not going to help anyone whose face has been stapled to a tree.
What I'm saying is I know my persepctive is skewed and I'm pretty sure I've started going a little nuts. And through it all, I find myself staring at this one picture.
Man, I hate this picture.

Louisville Sluggers and Old Lace

Last Thursday, I went to Inkwood Books (Tampa's best independent bookstore) to talk about my book. A RELEVANT ASIDE: The management at Inkwood is to be commended for their support of local independent authors. It's great to not only walk into a real live bookstore and see something you wrote on the shelves but their SelfPub Club gives writers like me a forum to promote ourselves. I couldn't be more appreciative.
Anywho, I was on the way there and stopped at a nearby Wendy's for a quick bite and to get my talking points organized in my head. I wanted to talk about how I write observations on things that happen around me and how I try to find the inherent absurdity that exists in the ugly, dumb, mean, cruel, arbitrarily disheartening crap we all have to deal with.
Now, we all profile other people. We may not do it with malice and hatred in our hearts but we all have our prejudices. Whether it's subconsciously or otherwise, these prejudices influence our comfort levels around other people. This was how I came to sit near the two sweet little old (white) ladies in the picture. Not that I was necessarily afraid of the two black guys sitting together or the three rowdy teenagers with multiple parts of their heads pierced; I just felt more comfortable sitting near the ladies that looked like my mom. Until I overheard their table conversation, and I swear to God this is true...

"You know you can't kill someone with a single blow from a softball bat."
"Of course you can. If it was an aluminum bat."
"I'm assuming it would be an aluminum bat. But I'm thinking the first blow would only crack his skull, maybe send him into convulsions."
"You're probably right. That's why it always takes 16 or 17 times, to finish them off."

I finished my baked potato and got the hell out of there. I probably should have thanked them for giving me a perfect illustration of what I planned to talk about but I didn't want to interrupt.

Not so fast, would-be homeowner boy

Long story short, I didn't close on Wednesday, or yesterday (Thursday), for that matter. Hopefully, I am doing that as you're reading this. That's the tentative plan, anyway.
It's remarkable how much I am a person who is defined by setbacks like this. I don't mean catastrophic occurrences like disease and death and dismemberment. I know I'm fortunate to have side-stepped anything in that regard so far. I mean in areas where a normal person should be able to follow steps from A to B to C and end up at D. I simply can't seem to do that without detouring into E, J, M and Y. It took me longer than normal to learn to tie my shoes and ride a bike. I almost missed my deployment to Germany while I was in the army because my paperwork got jacked up. The book took almost a year longer to get published than I wanted. Now, apparently, I can't just buy a house and move into it. Sure, sometimes that's funny and gives me stuff to write about. But I don't need to take the scenic route every time, do I? And sure, it was interesting to learn that my employer had me under the wrong social security number for the last two years for some reason, but I could have done without that step and the messes it has caused.
I hate to sound like I'm complaining. Like I said, in light of how things could always be worse, this stuff just boils down to pains in the ass. And I'm really NOT complaining, just more like remarking with amazement. I am the sum total of a seemingly endless series of mistakes, accidents and screw-ups.
Still, if I may whine just a little, I'd really like to go home soon, so I can stop staring at this for hours every night: