Happy Independence Day 2014!

Hey there! It's July 4th, which here in America is Independence Day. That's the day that we fought the Revolutionary War back when soldiers wore band uniforms and wigs. It's also the title for a science fiction/action flick that came out a few years ago and is probably on TV right now. If you haven't started watching it, don't because it's awful. Really, really stupid. If you have, eh, go ahead and finish it. It's not that bad.
Anywho, I presume you're off to celebrate the holiday. Hey, me too! For that reason, you know, no new material for you today. But it is Friday and I still feel obligated to entertain you three days a week. So here's a video of a gentleman eating a sandwich.

Naw man, I don't know his name or anything about him. This was the first thing that pops up if you search "guy eating a sandwich" on YouTube. I don't even know what kind of sandwich it is. It doesn't matter. You wanna know why? Because freedom, that's why. Because in this country, on this special day, he is free to eat any kind of goddamn sandwich he pleases. Or not eat one, for that matter. The Taliban, the Westboro Baptist Church, the Tea Party, various unaffiliated nihilists, the British. Nobody can mess with that. DON'T MESS WITH TEXAS! (seriously, you don't want to do it)

More concerns about nature and how it's out to get me

On Monday, I wrote about the climbing vine that tried to steal my wind chime. That entry resulted in this comment bveing posted by one of my writing partners, Michael Noble:

"If I were you - and I'm not, so you know - I would keep one eye open when you go to bed at night. That plant could be a renegade Triffid or something and you might have pissed it off. Better yet ... I'd move if I were you. Or at least get a dummy that looks like you for a decoy just in case."

Well, that's just great. That's coming from my writing partner, you guys! Who has my best interests in mind more than a writing partner? That's correct; nobody. if he thinks it's a serious threat, THEN IT IS!!
There's proof beyond Michael's trepidations that this is a legitimate threat. Here's one of the vines on Tuesday morning at 9:00AM...

And here it is at the same time this morning...

It looks like it grew nearly six inches in 24 hours. That's fast!
Obviously, I'm not equipped to handle this. I've never made a dummy of myself before. My first instinct is to get a pumpkin to use as a head and then take some of my clothes and stuff them with more of my other clothes. Since I already pretty much look like a pile of my clothes (specifically if someone were to leave a pile of my clothes on the ground next to the Goodwill box and they were rained on for a couple of days), I guess that would mostly work but I JUST DON'T KNOW!
This plays directly into my already-instilled fear that if something happens to me, I'll be missing a week before somebody notices and that it will be another week before they decide they should come looking for me. And that's if I die from natural causes like some woman stabbing me. It doesn't take into account being murdered in my sleep by a sentient weed that can hide my entire house with camouflage. This is something I'm going to need to keep an eye on. Meanwhile, if you guys don't see me for a couple of weeks, you know what's up.

Mother Nature tried to steal my stuff!

When I first moved into my house, I bought a wind chime at a local craft market to hang on my front porch. It's got a metal duck with beads and forks and spoons hanging off of it that make a pleasant tinkling noise when there's a breeze. I know it sounds fruity. Screw you, I like it.
Anyway, the other day I was going somewhere and I happened to notice that it was gone. My first thought was major disappointment, because I really like my neighborhood and the people who live there. "Aw man, what kind of trifling, no-nothing steals a wind chime?", I thought. But then I got out of my truck and looked closer at a huge vine creeping up the front of the house that I somehow hadn't noticed previously.

When did that get there??

Look at that thing. It's friggin' huge! I leave my house every day and I like to think I'm fairly observant. That means it grew REALLY fast, like the vines you see in a Tarzan movie that actually reach out and grab people. I think if I'd sat in the yard and watched it, I would have seen it grow. Upon examining it, I realized that my wind chime was still there but ensnared in a half dozen or more tendrils that had grabbed hold of it to help it climb.

There's a wind chime in there

I went inside and got a knife and hacked it away then moved the wind chime to another area on the porch, so that mystery/problem is solved. But now I'm creeped out. What if I went away for a week or two? Would that thing have climbed up and over the roof and eventually surrounded the entire house? I cut it but will it just grow again? Are there more of them? Are they pissed at me?? This is a situation that will require twice-daily monitoring, at least for the immediate future.
I've got my eye on you, Mother Nature, you and your sneaky-ass plants. Keep your grubby little vines off my shit!

Just another day down at the ol' plant

"All right, boneless pork rectum inverters. Coffee break is over, let's get back to... hey, what the hell is going on here? You've stacked this entire batch of boneless pork rectums upside down! How many times do I have to tell you guys that in this case, 'inverted' means inside out, not upside down. You can't just stack a bunch of boneless pork rectums upside down and call them inverted. No, you gotta get in there, with both hands if necessary and turn those boneless pork rectums inside out, one at a time. Now, I don't know how they do things at the bone-in pork rectum division or at any of the cow rectum or seheep rectum or goat rectum divisions, but goddamnn it, here at the boneless pork rectum division, we do things the right way. That means inverting a rectum the way a rectum should be inverted. Now, start over from scratch... yes, go ahead and scratch these rectums. Each and every one of them. We'll just have to write this batch off because you guys have totally ruined these rectums. You should know that a rectum isn't something that a whole bunch of guys should be handling. We'll start over with a fresh batch of rectums and from here on in, the sloppy handling of rectums will simply not be tolerated. Do you understand me? When it comes to rectums, you guys are supposed to be professionals! Respect your craft!"

Smoothie madness!

Recently (okay, almost a year ago), I mentioned plans to get myself a smoothie maker. At that time, I theorized that I would go nuts with it. Well, I was recently given a Magic Bullet set as a gift and I'm here to report that it's worse (and by "worse", I mean "better") than I imagined it would be.
For starters, I got it last Friday and immediately went to the grocery store to get all manner of smoothie-able foods. Then I locked myself in my house and tried every possible combination I could think of. Some were better than others but all of them were really good. When I emerged some time the next morning, I ran out into the street, laughing maniacally with banana smoothie foaming from my mouth. I approached a stranger walking down the sidewalk, grabbed him by his lapels and shouted, "Listen to me; you make it in the cup... that you drink it out of!!". I ran over to an old lady waiting for the bus. "All you have to do for clean-up is rinse off the blades! You just rinse off the blades!" At one point, cops started following me. I threw a smoothie at them and said, "You can't stop me! I can do anything I want! I put apples and spinach together in the same smoothie. The frail bonds of this Earth are not capable of confining me!". As they pushed me into the back seat of their cruiser, I screamed, "MAGIC BULLET, MOTHERFUCKERS! AH HA HA HA HA HA!!"
Anyway, yeah. I like it. The Magic Bullet is pretty damn great.

The only thing worse than soccer fans is people who hate soccer

I hate the people who hate these people

I don't care for soccer. It's no big deal. I've made honest efforts to get into it and it simply doesn't appeal to me. That's all. No big tirade. I just don't care for it.
Meanwhile, everybody knows the World Cup is going on right now. That's fine. When people approach me and they're all excited about it, I smile patiently, maybe give them a high-five or a fist-bump and go about my business. Again, it's not a big deal.
However, standing right behind me are a bunch of mouthy fart-sniffing pricks who hate soccer. Ugh. When those people approach me and want to tell me how soccer sucks, I turn and head in the opposite direction.

"You wanna know why soccer sucks?"

Nope, I do not. I have my own reasons for not liking it and I certainly don't need nor want to hear yours.

"Okay, for starters..."

Motherf... what did I just say?!?
Honestly, it's like the way that some atheists are worse... much, much worse... than some religious zealots. Because while wild-eyed maniacal enthusiasm is tiresome (and in some cases, scary), it's still nowhere nearly as annoying and soul-crushing as the condescending, self-important prattle billowing from blowhard know-it-alls. These are people under the sad, ill-informed, self-mandated belief that anybody thinks that what they say is in any way important or even slightly influential.

There is absolutely no chance that this person is going to change their behavior because of anything you say.

Look, the World Cup will all be over in a few days. In the meantime, if you aren't into it, just leave the people who are having a good time alone, you miserable, joyless humps. 

Why do I blog?

This being the week of my 8th anniversary of blogging, I've been all reflective and shit. Writers like to be reflective. It gives us a legitimate reason to indulge our moody brooding, one of our favorite, favorite things.


Wah! Look how angsty I am, because I'm a writer, although rarely do I actually sit down and write anything. But still; wah.

 First, I prefer to self-label myself as a writer, not a blogger. I don't look down on bloggers, but what traditional bloggers do is not what I do, even though this is a blog and it's mine and by definition, I am indeed a blogger. But what I do is more along the lines of posting a writer's journal for public consumption and I write about whatever happens to strike me. Most bloggers tend to focus on something specific and write about just that.
From what I've been told, most bloggers live in their mom's basement. I do not. I live in Florida where we don't even have basements. I've never lived in anybody's basement, although I kind of wanted to. When I lived in Michigan, lots of people had turned their basements into small underground playrooms or even apartments and sometimes, they let their kids live down there. They had pool tables and air hockey, a bed and usually a TV. Sure, there might be a washer and dryer down there too, but still; basically a private underground lair. What kid, blogger or not, wouldn't want that? My family only lived in one house that had a basement and it was pretty sad. It was a wide-open space with a cold concrete slab of a floor and cinderblock walls. More often than not, depending on the time of year, it was flooded, not suitable for washing machines or air hockey. Picture a concrete room the size and shape of a house's footprint under two feet of water. We didn't go down there very often because it was creepy and depressing.
Aside from online journaling and subterranean living accomodations, why blog? There are therapeutic aspects. I get to rant and rave about things that distress me. I get to praise things I like. I meet women (that hasn't really worked out that well...yet... I mean, it kinda has, on a short term basis, which is fine but... well, you never know). I meet cool people in general (this has worked out VERY well).
Those are all pretty solid reasons. Solid enough that I'll stick with it.

Eight friggin' years

You know what happened in 2006?

• A Maryland judge struck down a state law banning same-sex marriage saying the measure violated a state constitutional amendment prohibiting sex discrimination.
• The Pittsburgh Steelers beat the Seattle Seahawks 21-10 in Super Bowl XL.
•  AIG apologized for deceptive business practices and reached a $1.64 billion settlement with federal and state securities and insurance regulators
• "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest" was the top grossing movie.
• The United States won nine gold medals, nine silver medals and seven bronze medals in the winter Olympics in Italy.
• "Heroes" was on TV.
• Vice President Dick Cheney shot a dude!
• The Blu-Ray disc format was introduced in America.
• "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley was the #1 song.
• Suri Cruise was born.
• Gerald Ford died.
• And on this very date, June 18th, 2006, this blog began with this.

My God. Get me a slice of cake or pour me a drink. Or both. I've been doing this for eight years (or approximately seven years, eleven months and two weeks longer than most blogs last). Sheesh. You'd think if I had something significant to say, I'd have said it by now. Maybe in another eight years, I'll get around to it.

Thanks to Gail Worley who's been at it even longer than I have for all her support over the years. She'll always be the pink to my purple.

Thanks to The Comics Curmudgeon, the first blog I ever followed and the one that made me think I could do it too.

Thanks to two women who sort of legitimized this whole thing by saying yes to interview requests when they had no real good reason to do so, Lynne Austin and Maria Bamford.

Thanks to John Fontana and all my colleagues at Raw Charge for letting me write about sports (specifically my beloved Tampa Bay Lightning), which prevents you (mostly) form having to read about it here.

Thanks to Appleby's, which I wrote about as being terrible a long time ago. People continue to chime in with agreement six years later, making it the most popular post I've ever written.

Thanks to my writing partners Jeff Hickmott and Michael Noble with "The Unbelievables". Honestly, if you aren't checking that out on at least a semi-regular basis, you're missing out on some LOLZ.

Thanks to Keri Ramos, Jessie and Pavel Stehlik and Amy DeMilo for helping me squeeze a book out of this nonsense. If I hadn't been able to work with exactly the people I wanted to, I wouldn't have even done it.

Lastly and by far most importantly, thank you to you as readers for sticking around as long you have. Hang out for another eight years and let's see what happens, all right?

I owe you

We're two weeks into June and I haven't delivered a podcast since April. I know the title says "Ridiculously Inconsistent" and that's my out, but I do feel it's an oligation I should really try to meet. So I owe you two podcasts and I plan on delivering them by the end of this month.

Hey, sometimes things happen, you know? Sometimes I fall behind on stuff. Sometimes I don't record a perfectly good interview and have to do it all over again. Sometimes I forget that I'm supposed to do a podcast. It happens, all right?!?
Please don't sue me or break my legs.

Problem: Solved!

If you owned a boat that had the problem of constantly sinking and people were constantly drowning as a result, a way to deal with an annoyance like that is to issue those inflatable arm floaties. Because after all, boats don't drown people.
A similar solution to the school shooting problem is this, the bullet-proof blankie.

Bang! Nailed it! Err, so to speak...

Home run! This is it, the big idea. Since 'duck and cover' saved us from all those nuclear strikes in the '50s, there's no reason an updated version of it shouldn't protect us from the occasional three-times-a-week school shooting. Once you come up with the best idea possible, you cancel all your meetings and go have celebratory drinks at the corner pub. Do you think the guys who invented the microwave kept looking for a better way to heat a burrito?

I shouldn't make fun. I mean, kudos to the guy who invented it for at least doing something, since the rest of us are never going to. It's not a bad idea, even though it's not a solution to the problem. It's something, which is better than nothing and nothing is all we've been offered up until now. Because having a reasonable conversation between adults where both sides are at least willing to agree that there's a problem is too hard. And considering any kind of flexibility that could be looked at as a sacrifice (aka "a loss", aka "pussing out") is simply off the table altogether.

I'm not one to judge, but...

"Hey, so, you used to go out with ______? What do you think of her?"
"Oh, I don't know. She's fine."
"Come on man, just tell me what you think."
"Listen, I'm making efforts to be a better person, and part of that is not being judgmental toward other people, you know? I mean, people are all basically the same. We all have flaws and some people mesh better than others. It doesn't necessarily mean anything, so..."
"I'm not asking for a full psychological profile. Just a thumbnail sketch based entirely on your opinion."
"Well..."
"Come on."
"It's no secret that we didn't really get along. That's nobody's fault, though."
"Right."
"I mean, it could be as much my fault as hers."
"Uh-huh."
"If I'm being totally honest, it's probably more her fault though."
"Oh?"
"She has some annoying traits. But of course, who doesn't?"
"Mmm?"
"But hers..."
"Go on."
"Really annoying..."
"Okay."
"And the thing is, she knows they're annoying. But she doesn't stop. It's like she's trying to be annoying in an aggressive manner."
"Oh, I see."
"What kind of person does that?"
"Well, I guess..."
"A bad person. That's who does that."
"Oh. Okay."
"A real piece of human garbage. I'm sorry to say that, but I really feel that's what she is."
"Oh my."
"She doesn't think before she speaks. She's uninformed. She's rude. She's insensitive. She lacks empathy or any sense of basic human kindness. She laughs at old people when they fall down. She's a high-functioning sociopath."
"..."
"She pushed a blind guy down the stairs once. She boos the Make-A-Wish Foundation."
"Holy... !"
"She made jokes about my genitals."
"Ouch!"
"To my grandmother."
"Wow!"
"She hates children. And I don't mean she doesn't want any. I mean she hates that children exist. She advocated that they be hunted for sport. She had a booth at the fair where she handed out pamphlets and everything."
"Are you serious?"
"One time, she accidentally scratched herself and this bubbling, black tar-like substance oozed out. I went to clean it up and it barked at me."
"That--that's a lot to deal with."
"Tell me about it. Pretty much a 24-hour waking nightmare."
"She is kinda cute, though."
"Oh yeah, she's smokin' hot. I miss her."

Here's what I'm kind of bothered by right now.

On the bright side, look
how svelte I'm getting!

Before I state my concern, let me give you a little background. When I was in the military, I served in combat support units as a vehicle operator. That means I was never in a unit whose primary function was to go fight in battle. However, every member of the armed services is trained with the expectation that not only does shit happen, shit probably WILL happen and at some point, EVERYBODY could be called on to participate in combat. Therefor, every member of the armed services is taught to fight. Cooks, clerks, medics, truck drivers. Everyone is issued a weapon, everyone is taught how to use it and everyone fully understands why it's important. At my two duty stations (Ft. Campbell in Kentucky and with the 3rd Armored Division in Frankfurt, Germany), I requested to be issued an M-203. An M-203 is an M-16 assault rifle with an additional component that launches grenades. That's right; my weapon could do everything a regular M-16 could do plus this...

As a non-combat unit, we only had a few of these in our stockpile and it meant extra time spent on the practice range but I always wanted to be one of the troops to whom they were issued. If things went south, I wanted a weapon that could not only shoot out a whole bunch of bullets but could also blow shit up real good. Had a highly-flammable version with knives all over it that dispensed potentially dangerous prescription medicine been available, I would have wanted one of those. That's because I was in the army when the Soviet Union still existed and there was a wall between East and West Germany and my job as a heavy equipment operator was to retrieve broken tanks. Had we actually gone to war, that would have meant going to the places where Soviet troops had broken the tanks and pulling them out of there so they could be repaired and sent back into battle. The Soviets, being as proud of their handiwork as one might expect, would probably take offense to any attempts to fix the tanks they had worked so hard to break. I'm pretty sure they would have expressed their displeasure by trying to prevent me from doing my job in the most effective way possible: killing me with bullets and stuff. I take no offense to this because if the roles were reversed, I'm sure I'd feel the same way, and when you take all the circumstances into consideration, it's a fairly reasonable response on their part. But that doesn't mean I would accept this response willingly and without objections of my own. Hence, my desire to carry the most shooting-est and blow-shit-up-real-good-est piece of hardware our unit had on hand.
I mention all this only to illustrate I'm not someone who doesn't recognize the value of a weapon for the sake of personal defense in the face of a real, possibly imminent threat to one's well-being.

Now here's my concern...

I am not afraid of you Gun People, and you know who you are if you're a member of the Gun People (notice I didn't use the term "Nuts"; I'm trying to be polite and respectful here). You, who value the Second Amendment to the Constitution, a document drafted when an assault rifle was, well, a rifle (defined as a rifle-like object with which you assault someone), seemingly more than human life itself. I don't doubt you when you tell me that you're safe, reasonable people who are responsible handlers of firearms. Okay, fine. I have no reason to think you'd lie to me. Benefit of a doubt and all that. Again, polite and respectful.
I am afraid of this guy, however, and guys like him who I have to believe exist (because, you know, they do) by the hundreds (thousands?). Spare me the mentally ill thing. He doesn't seem mentally deficient in any way. To the contrary, he's well-spoken and apparently educated, indicating an at-least average level of intelligence. He's shown here telling me and anybody else who saw this on The Colbert Report that he's a safe, responsible person who is a responsible handler of firearms, while also stating that he employs his geriatric and addled parents (who turn their backs to him while he shoots in their direction) as "lookouts" and that he simply doesn't care that innocent bystanders may be within his line of fire.
See where I'm going with this? That's who I'm afraid of. Oh, plus these people...

And these...
Because, you know, "Ha ha ha ha ha!", as the soundtrack to so many of these clips says.

Just so you know where I'm at on this stuff that happens and keeps happening and that we never, ever actually do anything about, even to the exclusion of sitting down and having a responsible, adult conversation about the possibility that a problem even exists, choosing to sling fault and blame and insults around instead.
I find that troubling. That's all.

Do they have to be JUST like this?

I mean, the price is pretty good, but...

Choose your word wisely

Actor Jonah Hill got himself in some trouble this past weekend. Harrassed by photographers, he snapped and called one of them a faggot. He meant it entirely as a slur without regard to his target's sexuality. It's a mean, nasty word and that's how he meant it, in spite of the fact that he doesn't harbor ill will towards gay people. Now he's making the rounds and apologizing for it.

"I'm not at all defending my choice of words but I am happy to be the poster boy for thinking about what you say, and how those words even though you don't intend them, they are rooted in hate, and that's bullshit and I shouldn't have said that."

That's fine, he's doing what he should do and there's no doubt that he's being sincere. Plus, he's 100% correct. This is very similar to situations when people use the hateful word "retard" when they're trying to insult someone's lack of intelligence. They want to use a hurtful word towards the subject of their ire, but they don't intend to direct that invective toward those who are mentally challenged. Hill's right; he's guilty of choosing the wrong word. Why call someone a retard when you mean to say they're an idiot? Why call someone a faggot when you mean to say they're being an asshole?
And that's the whole point of today's post.
People, the elders, in their infinite wisdom, have passed down a glorious gift to us in the form of a classic pejorative descriptor that cuts across all societal bounds, be they racial, political, religious or gender:
Asshole.
It's perfect! It's mean. It's nasty. It fires across the tongue and right out of the mouth with ease. "HEY, YOU ASSHOLE!" Mmm, that just feels so *right*! I love it! It hurts the recipient's feelings without taking into question their sexual orientation, standing in society, ethnic heritage or spiritual beliefs. What could possibly be better than that? Well, aside from being the bigger person and not compounding the situation by throwing hatred at hatred. But who has time for that shit?
If Jonah Hill had called the photographer an asshole, he'd have been fine. If Donald Sterling had used it, he'd still own the Clippers:

“It bothers me a lot that you want to broadcast that you’re associating with assholes. Do you have to?”

“You can sleep with assholes. You can bring them in, you can do whatever you want. The little I ask you is not to promote it on that … and not to bring them to my games.”

"Don’t put that asshole on an Instagram for the world to have to see so they have to call me. And don’t bring him to my games.”

See how many problems can be avoided in the first place when you just take a second to use the one, all-inclusive, specific word?

Not so fast, would-be Spike on the Mic Show attendee...

Tonight's show is cancelled. I just found out. Cancelled on account of sometimes, life isn't fair. Sorry if this ruins your plans. Sorry even if it doesn't. You can say you were going to come if you had no real intention of actually showing up and I wouldn't know. So you have that to hang over my head at least.
Plus, I know I owe you a podcast too. I know, I know. I'm working on it! Geez!

A plug in lieu of a post. Lucky, lucky you!

Hey, how's it going? Everything all right? Did that thing with the... you know... did that whole deal turn out okay or... ?  Don't wanna talk about it? No, that's cool. Me? I'm fine but I am having some internet issues, as in dependable access to, so no new post today. Sorry. But while I'm on line, let me sneak in a gratuitous plug.

These people.

Check out the Spike on the Mic Show tonight, 7pm (EST)! Watch and listen live via a dependable internet connection. You can call in to the show at (813) 667-7453 (or 81366Spike if that's easier for you, which I know it isn't, so I'm sorry). Even better, if you're in the Tampa Bay area, be a part of the live studio audience. We're at the Pin Chasers bowling center located at 4847 N. Armenia Avenue. Blow Spike's wee mind by actually showing up! Seriously. There's food and beer and you can get totally naked, just like every show hosted at a bowling alley.

The last donut

That, my friends is a donut. It's covered in powdered sugar and filled with chocolate creme. There's no hole in the center but I assure you, it is indeed a donut. As such, there's no question it is delicious. Because it's a donut. It's delicious-ness is inherent. Yet, no one will ever eat that donut. Nobody will ever even touch it. Not because there's anything wrong with it, but because it's the last donut.
There were once many donuts in that box. Dozens! Over the course of time (this morning, in the office), people visited this box of donuts, which was at one time, full. People came by, sometimes one-by-one, other times in small groups, and they would each take a donut to enjoy. They would make these individual selections based entirely upon their own personal preferences. For no good, less-arbitrary reason than that, all the other donuts were selected before this one. It became, through no fault of its own, the last donut.
After this, people still came by to look at the donut box. Some of them were people who had previously selected a donut and thought about treating themselves to a second donut. They changed their mind when they saw that the only thing left in the box was the last donut.
Why, exactly, is this true? Why is there stigma attached to a donut based entirely on it's status as being the last one? Because it's actually less of a stigma against the donut than it is against the person who might take it...

"Oh look, who took the last donut. You couldn't resist, could you? Had to eat it. Just had to!!"
"Huh? No! I just got here and I didn't have time for breakfast and I saw the donut box and..."
"Liar! I parked next to you this morning. You filthy, lying scavenger!"
"B-but what's wrong with eating it...?"
"You're a pig, that's what's wrong. Nobody else felt it necessary to finish off that box of donuts. But you sure did."
"Hey! It's not like I ate all the donuts. I just happened to have the last one."
"Oh, shut up, reviled eater of the last donut. Your very existence disgusts us."

As though eating an entire box of donuts except for one demonstrates an admirable level of restraint and moderation. How silly. Still, nobody wants to be the office pariah. So instead, for the sake of nothing more than a false sense of shallow, human pride, somebody had to throw this poor, innocent, delicious donut in the trash.
Yeah, that's probably what happened to it.

Finally! A new idea!

I spend a lot of time complaining about stuff. Since there's a finite amount of stuff in the world, I spend a lot of time complaining about the same things over and over again. One of my consistent complaints is that there are no new ideas, that we stopped inventing stuff back in the '50s. Yep, right around the same time time somebody figured out there was more money in treating diseases than curing them, we stopped coming up with inventions. Sure, there are better, faster, smaller (or bigger) phones, computers, televisions and kitchen appliances, but those are tweeks on old ideas. All of those things existed before and now we spend our resources maintaining their viability rather than coming up with The Next Thing. So while we have smaller phones with incredible computing power, we still drive around on the remains of used dinosaurs. That's why we haven't had a The Next Thing in a long time. Until now. Check this out...
All right, technically this isn't a new new idea. Roads have been around for a long, long time. But not like this! THIS can, could and should be The Next Thing! I won't go over all the positive benefits because the video does that just fine. However, I dare someone to try to come up with a reasonable argument for why this is not an absurdly great idea.

That's not a truck. THIS is a truck

When people find out that I was in the army, their first question (Well, first after "YOU were in the army?!?", all incredulous-like. I understand, though) is usually, "what did you do?". I answer that I was a truck driver. That's kind of underselling it though. I did spend some time driving trucks but a majority of my time was spent with the 3rd Armored Division in Frankfurt, Germany where I drove this...

This one was mine, B554 of B Company, 4th Support Battalion, 3rd Armored Division. AKA The Mongomobile

That, my friends, is what was known as the M-746 Heavy Equipment Transporter, or HET for short. It was 27 feet long, 10 feet wide, weighed 22 1/2  tons and was paired with a 60 ton trailer. They were designed to retrieve and haul broken tanks. There were less than 200 of them ever made, all between 1973 and 1977. In 1985, I was chosen, along with five other guys, to be part of a squad driving these things for the purpose of determining whether or not they should keep them or suck it up and buy brand new ones. So on one hand, we had higher-ups that wanted us to succeed and keep the beat-up old things on the road so they could save money, as well as those who wanted us to fail miserably so they could buy new toys. We were loved and hated like rock stars and we acted like it, too. Uber-cocky and arrogant to the point of being insufferable at times. What fun! It wasn't always easy but we managed a 100% mission completion rate. Every time we were sent out, we came back with tanks. I have no idea why I was selected to be a part of that team. I was not, nor am I now, by any means a motorhead. Maybe it was my attitude. Regardless, it was an honor to be part of a group doing good good work.

L to R: Sumaster Newell, Ricky Holstein, Lt. Kathleen Costello, Ken Gates, Paul Tucker, me and Dave Mansfield

As you might imagine, there are some pretty good stories from that time. I will try to list some of them here in the days to come. Anyway, Happy Memorial Day to you and yours.

Of course there's a gift shop at the 9/11 Memorial Museum

Let's be honest; the only thing that would have been more shocking and appalling than the new 9/11 Memorial Museum having a gift shop and snack bar is if it didn't have them. After all, there were over 46,000 casualties at the Battle of Gettysburg in 1863 and they have a gift shop there today. More than 1,500 died when the Titanic sunk in 1912 and today, you can rent an inflatable bouncy slide version of the doomed ocean liner for a kids party.

"Whee! I'm plunging to an icy death!"

Let's not waste time pretending that this is a new or sopmehow more tacky development. Come on. You know how we do. And though I can't really think of a lot of situations where it would be appropriate for me to pop on a 9/11 commemorative t-shirt, at least I know where I can get one. So let's go shopping!

A wide variety of souvenirs means there's something for everyone!

Blankets with our favorite corporate logo symbol of freedom

Jewelry!

Hey black teenagers, minimize your odds of getting shot with this memorial hoodie!

"Arf! Arf!", says your fuzzy first-responder in this doggy fireman's jacket

Scream blindly through your own miniature urban hellscape with these emergency vehicle replicas

Who is the most patriotic and introspective third baseman in your Thursday night softball league? You are, if you're wearing this hat!

Seeking assistance on a project

Christina is a co-worker of mine and she is a big soccer fan. I am not a soccer fan. She is currently working on trying to complete a sticker album for the upcoming World Cup. It's a book with blanks that you're supposed to fill in with collectible stickers of players, stadiums and logos that you get in packs. My first instinct was to make fun of her for this pursuit, so I did. However, being a collector of baseball cards (among other useless things), my penchant for ridicule faded after I actually looked at her album. Once I saw what it was all about, my inherent collectors' obsessive need to complete sets, which is a severely twisted, highly specific form of OCD, kicked in to a high degree. She could have had an album of war criminals (for all I know, some of those guys are war criminals) and I would NEED to see it completed. Turns out helping a fellow collector experience the thrill of "got 'im, need 'im, need 'im, got 'im, got 'im..." outweighs the desire to point and laugh at how silly soccer is.
She really wants the Cristiano Ronaldo (#523) sticker. When I told her I was enlisting the help of the internet, she said, "Wait, I only need one. What if we get a whole bunch of extras?". I tactfully explained that excess inventory is useful for making trades, duh. Okay, maybe I could have been more tactful. Point is, she gets it now.
Anyhow, here's where we appeal to you: Help us complete this album by either sending us packs of Panini stickers (word is that Walgreens carries them for a dollar a pack) or if you have individual stickers (especially the Ronaldo one) you'd like to give or trade. Let us know either in the comments section or by sending an email to clark@clarkbrooks.com. Please help us; if this doesn't work out, we'll have to go to eBay. Thanks!
Actually, I don't want anyone to go out of pocket and jeopardize their financial status. So steal them instead of buying them.
Wait a minute. It's not right to take something that doesn't belong to you without paying for it. Don't steal them. Okay.
How about if you want to send any extra money you might have, we'll spend 75% on stickers and the remaining 25% on cancer. Not pro-cancer but on anti-cancer measures. All right. Yeah, do that. That's better.

She really wants this one.

Think twice, speak once

I used to be really bad about opening my mouth without thinking, watching helplessly as stupid words spewed out into the atmosphere to go forth and ruin my life. With maturity (and hard-learned lessons), I've gotten much better about taking a half second to think before I start talking. But old habits die hard.
That's why this happened...

ME: You know, it's been driving me crazy but you look like a movie star.
HER: Oh, right.
ME: No, seriously. A celebrity if not an actual movie star. Somebody famous. I just can't think of who it is. It's driving me nuts.
HER: Wow, I've never had anyone tell me that before! Who do you think it is?
ME: I'm trying to think of it.
HER: I need you to figure out who it is!
ME (to myself, inside my head upon realizing the movie star I've been thinking of is Scott Thompson of Kids in the Hall in drag.): Uh-oh.

That's it?

The other day, I posted this status on Facebook...

"To the people who are all upset about having The Gay Agenda "rammed down (their) throat", first of all, let me compliment you on your absolutely top notch choice of idioms. Secondly, I spent all weekend watching sports and I haven't seen the video of Michael Sam kissing his boyfriend. Not one time. If you've seen it several times, over and over, and it bothers you, maybe that's your punishment for being a person who actually watched all seven rounds of the NFL draft."

I felt I had to say something because, well, it's not every day I get to take a shot at homophobes AND the NFL Draft. You simply can't pass up opportunities like that.
People are pretty worked up about it though, and they're making comments like this (all posted to local sports radio station 620 WDAE's Facebook page):

"It always make me wonder if we are to accept the gay thing, why does it seem like that have to shove it down our throats?"
"Keep that garbage behind closed doors that's pathetic"
"Too much for TV"
"vomiting in my mouth can't type..."
"Just that most us dont like GAY P.D.A...dont care about his personal crap..lets see if he can play."
"No 7th rounder had ever been showed on tv when they were drafted and neither should he have been. Them kissing was sick"
"Sorry nothin against Gay people but it's not right to see a football player kiss another man in the mouth"

I think in the case of some of these people, it's less about homophobia than it is about maintaining the traditional stereotype of football players as warriors. I've always thought equating sports with war and players with soldiers is stupid, simply because they're not even close to the same things. Folks do love that outdated, false convention, though. You gotta know that on some level, they're as annoyed by the dreadlocks worn by so many African American players as they are by the existence of Michael Sam.


"This is what football players are supposed to look like, goddamnit! Also, gas should be .36 a gallon."

Anyway, the other day, since making the comment on Facebook, I saw The Kiss. Somebody felt obligated to make me watch it so they showed it to me on their phone. All I can say is...that's it? That's what has people so upset? Honestly, based on the level of outrage, I would have guessed that they had stripped down to leather harnesses, oiled each other up and went to town on each other on top of a Little Tikes playhouse filled with grandmothers. But that? That's nothing! As someone who was also witnessing it for the first time said, "I kiss my dad like that." Seriously, I've seen more over-the-top public displays of affection on "The Price is Right".
The irony is that many of the people upset by this are also the ones who bemoan how everyone in America has allowed political correctness to make them too overly sensitive.
Just yesterday, a co-worker was moaning about a reality show about Sam that is being developed for the Oprah Winfrey Network.

"And that bothers you why? Because it will pre-empt other programming that you enjoy so much on that channel?"
"No. I don't watch the Oprah Winfrey Network!"
"So what's the problem?"
"It's just too much, that's all."

I don't know. Maybe it is. Gay people who are looking for opportunities just to be included in more aspects of day-to-day life in America might say it's not close to enough. Again, I really don't know. Michael Sam is a seventh round draft choice who may not even make the team. Even if he does, statistics indicate the average length of a "career" in the NFL is just over three years. What I'm pretty sure will happen is years from now, when Michael Sam and his career are distant memories, some kid who drew inspiration from his example will feel free to be himself and live his life. He'll be drafted in the first round and lead a team to a Super Bowl victory. Then everybody will be okay with it.

Stiouxpid White Kids

Did you know that Dakota, Lakota and Nakota people comprise the Oceti Sakowin and that Oceti Sakowin were called ‘Sioux’ by their enemies because 'Sioux' is a slur?

"Sioux is a derogatory slang word that means devil. Serpent is the original word for "sioux" but was mistranslated as snake. Nadowessioux is two words Nadowessi and Oux (Nadowessioux). The slang word sioux comes from (Nadowes sioux)." - Lakota Country Times

If you did know that, I'm willing to bet you didn't learn it in the same public school system I came out of. We were taught that 'Sioux' is the proper name of an Indian tribe. We were also taught that Native Americans were Indians.

Well, you know, that's what we were taught. I was in school a long time ago, though. Maybe teachers didn't know any better back then. Sorry. So what do you do? You make mistakes, you acknowledge those mistakes, you learn from them and you move forward better informed, right?
Wellllllllll...

Mere weeks after this happened in Cleveland, we have the students from the University of North Dakota and their "Siouxper Drunk" t-shirts...

The university's former mascot The Fighting Sioux was removed in 2012 after the NCAA had declared it was "hostile and abusive" in 2005. But this is about tradition, goddamnit!

Specifically, the interwoven traditions of white kids spending entire weekends getting wasted with their besties and generations of Native Americans being decimated by alcoholism.

"Oh, lighten up. Stop being so sensitive. Racism is over. All of this stuff happened hundreds of years ago. None of us had anything to do with all of that. Besides, it's not like these kids were knowingly committing any harm, right?"

Riiiiiiight.

I'm a moonshiner now!

Way back when I was stationed at Fort Campbell in Kentucky, some of my more adventurous comrades would go out in the woods and get moonshine. I don't know how they knew where to find it but they did. This was the stuff that came in fruit jars with tin foil lids. Since I had been raised to believe that drinking that stuff could render you blind (or worse) I never partook. I do remember my friend Paul drinking some while we were talking to girls at a party when the front of his jeans suddenly became soaking wet. He had pee'd himself while he was wide awake and having a relatively coherent conversation and had no idea that it happened. Up until recently, that was my experience with moonshine.
Back in January, Lee Nelson with The Florida Distillery approached me with a proposal involving his efforts to produce a legal, safe, smooth, tasty moonshine that people would be able to buy in stores and restaurants:

"This is going to be a VERY high proof product (109) and has a very light, almost buttery, profile to it... There is no other moonshine product like this on the market for two reasons: They usually price, package and sell themselves as a whiskey. Moonshine is unaged whiskey -- but it's significantly cheaper to produce and if distilled correctly can be lighter and smoother. Also, none of them are 109 proof... We are going to market it as the craft-mixologists choice and the 'affordable sophisticated' moonshine. So that's why I'm reaching out to you... One way we can unify the theme is with a short and intriguing story on the back of each bottle. It could be a single story line that runs across the bottles. It could be about four unique characters whose profiles are all written similarly. Or, why I specifically thought of you: It could be four humorous observations. About anything! It does not have to mention the flavor profiles but I would like it to."

I was beyond flattered so of course I said yes. Even more important than my being flattered was that it sounded like it would be fun so of course my yes was pretty emphatic. Now, just under five months after that initial proposal, Sunshine Moonshine was officially unveiled this past Saturday and will be hitting the shelves soon. There are four flavors: Sunrise, High Noon, Sunset and Midnight and each one has its own blurb written by yours truly. I'm pretty excited to see it in a liquor store when I will compare that experience with seeing my book on the shelf at a local bookstore. Another perk is that Lee and his partners gave me a case (one of each flavor). I have them displayed on top of my 'fridge, figuring that if I ever bottom out, I can drink it, get wasted, read the blurbs to myself, ruminate on a past when I was a big shot who wrote blurbs for moonshine bottles, look sadly into a mirror and then smash the bottle into the mirror. That'll be super dramatic!
I'll probably just drink it and share it with guests, though, the way it should be enjoyed.

Another mystery solved

Back in early March, I presented an odd situation: the belief that somebody I didn't know was cutting my grass. Turns out I was right and I found out who and why.
At the time, my theories were that either it was a good samaritan or somebody making a mistake. The answer is that it's kind of the former, but not entirely a selfless deed.
I went out to my mailbox the other day and my next door neighbor was in his driveway. Small talk ensued and I mentioned that I would eventually need to figure out a long-term solution for having my yard mowed. He said, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that." Uh-oh. Is this where I find out I'm the bad neighbor and that everybody on the block hates me? Geez, the grass has never gotten THAT long. "I was hoping you'd let me do that. I used to do it for the lady who lived there before you moved in." Oh. Cool. How much will that cost me? "Nothing..." Nothing? That fits my budget perfectly! "...but I'd like to keep the clippings and use them in my composting." Let's see; my grass gets cut on a regular basis, the resultant detritus is hauled off, I get to take a little credit for helping the environment and it doesn't cost me anything? I know virtually nothing about composting, other than it's like controlled rot to produce fertilizer and that it involves worms and pee and is good for nature. But even if he has a way of turning my yard waste into actual, shiny, spendable American pennies that he uses to make himself wealthy, that's fine with me.

Happy Sinko de Dishes!

This is a 100% true conversation I had with someone this past Sunday...

THEM: Hey, tomorrow is Cinco de Mayo! What are you doing to celebrate?
ME: I am probably going to celebrate Cinco de Mayo by going home and washing dishes.
THEM: Wow. That... that is EXTREMELY racist.
ME: Is it?
THEM: You know that it is. Ha ha. Washing dishes. Ha ha ha. Very funny.
ME: I have dirty dishes that need to be washed...
THEM: Right. And then what? Are you going to mow lawns and pick lettuce?
ME: No. I don't mow my lawn and I don't grow lettuce.
THEM: Please. Don't act like you're not familiar with the stereotype of Hispanic people having low-wage, menial labor jobs.
ME: Yeah, I'm familiar with it. Is that what you think I'm doing?
THEM: I know it's what you're doing and you know it's what you're doing and I don't appreciate it.
ME: Because perpetuating that stereotype offends you?
THEM: Yes, it does actually.
ME: So your perception of my portrayal of Mexicans as people who do tough, low-wage jobs that other people don't want to do is more offensive to you than if I were to participate in the annual tradition of portraying Mexicans as drunken clowns?
THEM: Well...no. Wait. What?
ME: Have a Corona for me, amigo.

Preparing for the deluge



This album deserves better, and frankly, so do I.

 I've written previously about my unique relationship with Prince. Naturally, I'm very excited about the news that he has reached a new agreement with Warner Brothers records. For one, as an advocate for the rights of artists, it pleases me that he is gaining control of his publishing rights. I'm not somebody who feels that record companies are useless and should cease to exist, but the relationship between them and those who actually create the product has been hideously lopsided since forever. This is a step in the right direction toward more equitable relationships going forward.
Then there's the expectation that we stand to receive just a ton of new material from Prince, including the already-announced album of new material and a special 30th anniversary edition of the "Purple Rain" album. That has fellow Prince fans sitting down and writing long wish lists with hopes of hearing the hundreds (thousands?) of previously-unreleased gems that have been locked away in the legendary Vault.
I guess I'm relatively low maintenance because all I really want is a re-mastered "Sign O' The Times" album, complete with extended B-sides, and a proper home video release of the accompanying film. The album, which is my all-time favorite was originally released in 1987. '87 was a good and bad year for me and that album supplied the soundtrack to some pretty significant events in my life. It has never sounded as good as it could, with curiously low levels requiring you to crank up the volume to even hear it. As far as the film, I saw it once in a theatre and bought it on VHS when it came out. It's never been released on DVD or BluRay in America. I bought a legit DVD via Amazon, Canada a while back but the only other DVD is a virtually unwatchable Portugese bootleg that has been floating around for years. Even the legit version is lacking in that it contains no special features. A new version with outtakes, behind-the-scenes features and a commentary track would be fantastic.
Of course, I'll probably wind up buying everything that comes out but if they could just make those two things happen, I'd be thrilled.

This is a test



"A test? I didn't even study!" (nervous laughter)

  This is a test. This blog is conducting a test of the First Amendment to the United States Constitution. This is only a test.

It occurs to me that I have exactly as many commendations from the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) and exactly one less hot, mixed-race girlfriend than Donald Sterling. How bad a person am I to be tied or trailing in categories like that to that guy?

"So that's it? We're giving it to Sterling then?"
"Yeah, I'm just not that impressed with Brooks."
"Hey, no argument here! Ha ha!"
"I mean, it's not like we have recorded evidence of Sterling being a racist or anything."
"And if we did, there's nothing that says we have to commend anybody."
"The odds are solidly in our favor on this one, for a change."

And the hot, mixed-race girlfriend? What the hell is going on there? Sure, I'm not worth $1.9 billion but women don't really care about material things like that, do they?

Maybe not, but apparently, they are really into Daft Punk though.

Because aside from that, we're practically twinsies. I'm old. I'm creepy. I'm a megalomaniac with a wildly inflated ego who's drastically out-of-touch with modern society. Who knew self-loathing hotties were that into racism? Well, I can take a hint. I know when to step my game up. One romantic, candle-lit dinner at Golden Corral with me, during which I outline how the Jews control the media (among other things) along with Blacks ability to sing, dance and play basketball, how weirdly smart Indian and Japanese kids are and the illegal aliens from Hispanica (or wherever) are taking all the non-acting jobs and how the homos are taking what's left along with how all Muslims are terrorists, well, I expect her to be licking my big, fat, white feet before we've even had the banana pudding.


This has been a test of the First Amendment to the United States Constitution. The bloggers of your area in voluntary cooperation with the Federal, State and local authorities have developed this system to keep you informed in the event of an emergency. If the First Amendment didn't actually function the way it's supposed to, armed government officials in uniforms would have rapelled from black helicopters and stopped me from writing it in the first place or at least erased it from the internet before you had a chance to read it. Being as it appears to be in perfect working order, I am not protected from the reactions of those who might find the stupidity posted above to be objectionable for any reason at all. This concludes this test of the First Amendment to the United States Constitution.