Hello again. When I first started doing this blog, I told myself that I needed to keep it fresh and add new posts to it on a regular basis. Looking back, I realize it has now been since November when I last spewed my infinite wisdom.I’d like to say that I’ve been on sabbatical or been traveling to Haiti to work with orphaned kids. But the fact of the matter is, I have been doing nothing overly exciting and nothing that makes me a productive citizen in this world we live in.Having said that, I will start today's post with some entries that I had begun working on but never "published". I'm under pressure from my editor to pick up the pace and start pumping out entries. So I have hastily thrown this together.
I liken it to getting everyone in the car before embarking on a big trip. The bags are packed, the engine has been started, the kids are buckled in..and you suddenly have to take a ginormous shit. Instead of "scrubbing the launch", you decide to sprint to the bathroom and finish the deed before you get caught in traffic. This particular blog is similar. While it contains a few month's worth of entries, it was thrown together quite hastily and pushed out...like that giant pre-trip turd I mentioned before.
So....Please forgive the time warp. Please show mercy on me for making you backtrack in time a few months. Nevermind the “Christmas” references and such.Try to think of it as a pleasant stroll down memory lane. Think of it as "Blog Classic".
I liken it to getting everyone in the car before embarking on a big trip. The bags are packed, the engine has been started, the kids are buckled in..and you suddenly have to take a ginormous shit. Instead of "scrubbing the launch", you decide to sprint to the bathroom and finish the deed before you get caught in traffic. This particular blog is similar. While it contains a few month's worth of entries, it was thrown together quite hastily and pushed out...like that giant pre-trip turd I mentioned before.
So....Please forgive the time warp. Please show mercy on me for making you backtrack in time a few months. Nevermind the “Christmas” references and such.Try to think of it as a pleasant stroll down memory lane. Think of it as "Blog Classic".
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I’ve noticed that with most of the colder weather holidays, i.e. Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas, that the latest big trend is the inflatable yard decoration. First, don’t get me wrong, I think they’re kinda cool. I have a small inflatable pumpkin montage that I stake out in the yard and run 275 feet of extension cord to and it looks pretty cool all lit up at night. Of course, with the hurricane force winds that are prevalent at that time of year, I must tie down these bulbous celebratory decorations with battleship anchors to keep them from ending up in Columbus the next morning.What I find funny though is a few of the houses on our road have what seems to be an entire warehouse of holiday specific inflatable gear. This one house has more than 5 for each season! Perhaps too many, one may say.Example, for Thanksgiving they have a giant turkey and giant pilgrim, etc…and for all I know they are ordering a giant replica of a television with a Lion's game on it or an inflatable object resembling a can of cranberry sauce (still in the form of the can) or anything else I might associate with Thanksgiving. **Side note: At the end of Strawberry Fields forever, by the Beatles, John Lennon apparently utters the phrase “I buried Paul” setting off a firestorm of controversy on the rumored death of Paul McCartney. Some scholars believe that he was actually saying “cranberry sauce” and if you listen to it, you’d be hard pressed to tell the difference….Don’t know why I’m mentioning this but hey, this is what I do.**But back to the inflatable holiday shwag. It always makes me kinda’ chuckle when I drive past these people’s houses in the daytime. They have unplugged the multitudes of inflatable novelties which causes the air to go out of them. Thus, they lay strewn across the yard in heaps. To me, it looks like they were victims of a Holiday drive-by shooting. Bodies scattered to and fro…Santa laying slumped over the driveway…Rudolph, nose frighteningly not aglow, spread out by the maple tree. It’s like a Christmas Massacre and it is visually, quite troubling but still pretty funny.
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Something I have learned only in the past few years of my life. Some people tip certain service folks during the holidays. I never knew this went on until recently. And this brings on that ever-awkward decision we must face in regard to tipping. Who do you tip and how much? Why do we tip at all?The other night, I took the girls to Z’s and got a pizza. We know the waitress and she’s always been good to us so I gave her a larger-than-twenty-percent-tip. I felt good about it because she’s a hard-working mother. Plus, she’s got killer jugs and that’s worth a few extra percent no matter how the service was. If I had to count the times I gave extra money to a girl with giant....er.....nevermind.But now I’m faced with the conundrum of tipping my mail person and/or my trash guy. I’m more apt to tip the trash guy for a couple of reasons. For one, it would suck shlepping around people's trash all day. Having the dripping juices from curdled milk in the bottom of the milk jug seeping through the punctured bags flying around all over your clothes as you toss them in the back. Dealing with the smell of week old diapers as they fester in a black, plastic, air-tight bag in the hot July sun. Plus, I like our trash guy because he’s a hard working fella who feeds his family based on the amount of work he actually does.This brings me to my mailperson. As you may or may not know, I have a deep disdain for the Postal Service in general. I think they are now beginning to realize they aren’t a necessity in this day and age (faxes, email, UPS, etc..) and they’re trying to hold onto olden times when they actually were significant and relevant. Furthermore, people that work for the Post Office are civil servants, which means that the only qualifications they had to have for their job was the ability to write their name, demonstrate they have a pulse, and be able to drive in their car and stick paper out of their open window into a mailbox.But I do almost feel like I should give something to them. Perhaps it’s peer pressure more than anything. What if my neighbors are tipping and I’m not. Does this mean my mail is less important?The only mail I really need is my subscriptions to Sports Illustrated and Golf Digest. Which reminds me of election time. I received at least 5 letters a day from folks telling me which candidate I should vote for or what issues I should support. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again…if you have to have mail to inform you how to vote then DON’T VOTE. If you rely on commercials to sway your position, your ballot should go into a shredder. If you vote straight party tickets, you’re an idiot. If you have to read the issues on your ballot and aren’t informed on them before you go in…vote denied. If you vote for someone you don’t know about, Thomas Jefferson should rise from the grave and flog you with a hickory stick. Don’t know how I got off on that tangent…but I’ve decided, I’m not tipping my mail person. Thanks for walking me through the process. You all are very good listeners.
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Britney Spears got in trouble a while back for getting out of a car with no panties on. I have one important question for all of you: Why is this a bad thing? Sure, you may think she’s trashy and untalented, but by golly, if a lady wants to go panty-less then who are we to cause such a ruckus about it? Personally, I like her even more than before even after one factors in the fact that she’s a total whackjob.
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I recently watched the season finale of “The Office”. I’ve mentioned it a thousand times and I will state it again…If this show maintains its current pace of brilliant writing, great acting, and superb story-lines for a few more years, I will place it in the pantheon of Greatest Television Shows of All Time (perhaps even up there with Seinfeld)
Now I realize that not all of my audience (all 3 of you) watches the show. And that’s perfectly okay with me. However, I’m getting to the point where if The Office is brought up in conversation and someones says, “I don’t like it” or “I don’t get it”, I immediately dismiss this person as an ignorant, knock-kneed dirtbag that I don’t much care for. I’m that passionate about this show.
I recently watched the season finale of “The Office”. I’ve mentioned it a thousand times and I will state it again…If this show maintains its current pace of brilliant writing, great acting, and superb story-lines for a few more years, I will place it in the pantheon of Greatest Television Shows of All Time (perhaps even up there with Seinfeld)
Now I realize that not all of my audience (all 3 of you) watches the show. And that’s perfectly okay with me. However, I’m getting to the point where if The Office is brought up in conversation and someones says, “I don’t like it” or “I don’t get it”, I immediately dismiss this person as an ignorant, knock-kneed dirtbag that I don’t much care for. I’m that passionate about this show.
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I was flipping through some channels the other night on the television. The wife had taken the kids and they were running around somewhere. It's late and I'm curled up on the couch with clicker in hand looking for anything remotely (ha! a pun) interesting when I come across a scene of an old Ford pickup truck. It looked to be about a 1966 model. How do I know that? Well, my dad received, back in 1966, a new Ford truck to drive while he was working construction. Years later, when that truck was to be retired, he purchased it and kept it for himself. Many years after that, when my older brother turned 16, they fixed it up and painted it, of all things, purple. Renegade Plum to be exact. A high school kid driving a '66 Ford pickup is eye-catching enough...but purple? There were a few years that the old truck sat idle until I reached that glorious age of 16. Dad did some more work on it, getting it looking pretty good again and the rest is history. That truck was legendary! In fact, to this day, people still ask about that truck and if we still have it.This truck was geared so low that I used to put it into first gear and step out of the truck as it rolled along, driving it’s self. I'd often jump into the bed of it while the truck drove through the parking lot. It had the jumpiest front end and if you popped the clutch just right and goosed the gas pedal, you could get it hopping to where the front wheels would come off the ground. Who knew we were pioneers as years later, Mexicans around the world would soon follow suit with their low riding girlie trucks. There was also the time where I hit this particular "bump" in the road near the Deweese Road bridge with two of the girls I was taking home from school that day. We went airborne, crashing to the ground, skidding dangerously close to the intersection. When we hit the ground, the force of the landing busted loose the overhead lining (which also held up a sweet pair of Kraco speakers) which fell on our heads. Once we realized we weren't going to die and that jumping that hill wasn't such a good idea...we laughed and laughed.One of my favorite times in that truck was when I was a kid and my brother drove me around on a particularly hot summer day. They had just cleaned the ice at Hobart Arena with the Zamboni and they would take the shavings, which was essentially snow, outside to melt in the parking lot. My brother drove up to the new pile of snow and we started covering his truck with it...filled up his bed, covered the hood. Then we drove around town. The looks we got...a snow covered truck in the middle of the summer!I could go on and on about that truck. My biggest regret was that we didn't drive it from the church on our wedding day. It would have been so appropriate and I still kick myself for not doing it.Anyway...back to the movie I was watching...it had an old Ford that looked similar to ours except..well, not purple and in much better shape. So I'm sitting there, enjoying the scenery and seeing that great truck driving around the countryside. The movie had two outdoorsy-looking fellas packing up their camping gear and getting ready to head back to town after a week of hunting and fishing. "This is a pretty cool movie", I thought to myself. Just then, I realized the two outdoorsy-looking guys weren't just a couple of buddies on a hunting trip...they were two cowboys. And they weren't just cowboy buddies...they were more than that. I realized they were more than pals when they were saying goodbye to each other (as I prepared to see that awesome truck drive off again) when they leaned over and made out with each other! They were locking lips like it was going out of style. I realized...I was watching Brokeback Mountain! It was like someone smacked me in the face with a tennis racket! I shot up off the couch...quickly discarded the pink blanket I was snuggled in and frantically searched for the remote. "I gotta change the channel NOW" I screamed. I could feel myself wanting to drink a Zima and get a manicure...Where's that damned remote!...I could feel the movie's influence start to creep into my manliness. Finally, I found the remote and hit the next channel. Thinking I had saved myself and kept my manhood, I feel back into my seat letting out a huge sigh of relief. Quickly composing myself, I very carefully entered in the following numbers in the remote: "3" then "2"...ESPN....ahhhh (unfortunately, we don't have the Playboy channel...the first choice for anyone in this situation). Disaster averted. Manliness prevailed! I felt like rushing out to the barn and working on some machinery and turning some wrenches or rewiring the electrical box in the basement or drinking a beer and talking about chicks. Once I realized that I was once again a man and that I feel no need to be tolerant of everyone..no matter how much they tell me I need to be....I was back to snuggling on the couch...with my pink blanket.
I was flipping through some channels the other night on the television. The wife had taken the kids and they were running around somewhere. It's late and I'm curled up on the couch with clicker in hand looking for anything remotely (ha! a pun) interesting when I come across a scene of an old Ford pickup truck. It looked to be about a 1966 model. How do I know that? Well, my dad received, back in 1966, a new Ford truck to drive while he was working construction. Years later, when that truck was to be retired, he purchased it and kept it for himself. Many years after that, when my older brother turned 16, they fixed it up and painted it, of all things, purple. Renegade Plum to be exact. A high school kid driving a '66 Ford pickup is eye-catching enough...but purple? There were a few years that the old truck sat idle until I reached that glorious age of 16. Dad did some more work on it, getting it looking pretty good again and the rest is history. That truck was legendary! In fact, to this day, people still ask about that truck and if we still have it.This truck was geared so low that I used to put it into first gear and step out of the truck as it rolled along, driving it’s self. I'd often jump into the bed of it while the truck drove through the parking lot. It had the jumpiest front end and if you popped the clutch just right and goosed the gas pedal, you could get it hopping to where the front wheels would come off the ground. Who knew we were pioneers as years later, Mexicans around the world would soon follow suit with their low riding girlie trucks. There was also the time where I hit this particular "bump" in the road near the Deweese Road bridge with two of the girls I was taking home from school that day. We went airborne, crashing to the ground, skidding dangerously close to the intersection. When we hit the ground, the force of the landing busted loose the overhead lining (which also held up a sweet pair of Kraco speakers) which fell on our heads. Once we realized we weren't going to die and that jumping that hill wasn't such a good idea...we laughed and laughed.One of my favorite times in that truck was when I was a kid and my brother drove me around on a particularly hot summer day. They had just cleaned the ice at Hobart Arena with the Zamboni and they would take the shavings, which was essentially snow, outside to melt in the parking lot. My brother drove up to the new pile of snow and we started covering his truck with it...filled up his bed, covered the hood. Then we drove around town. The looks we got...a snow covered truck in the middle of the summer!I could go on and on about that truck. My biggest regret was that we didn't drive it from the church on our wedding day. It would have been so appropriate and I still kick myself for not doing it.Anyway...back to the movie I was watching...it had an old Ford that looked similar to ours except..well, not purple and in much better shape. So I'm sitting there, enjoying the scenery and seeing that great truck driving around the countryside. The movie had two outdoorsy-looking fellas packing up their camping gear and getting ready to head back to town after a week of hunting and fishing. "This is a pretty cool movie", I thought to myself. Just then, I realized the two outdoorsy-looking guys weren't just a couple of buddies on a hunting trip...they were two cowboys. And they weren't just cowboy buddies...they were more than that. I realized they were more than pals when they were saying goodbye to each other (as I prepared to see that awesome truck drive off again) when they leaned over and made out with each other! They were locking lips like it was going out of style. I realized...I was watching Brokeback Mountain! It was like someone smacked me in the face with a tennis racket! I shot up off the couch...quickly discarded the pink blanket I was snuggled in and frantically searched for the remote. "I gotta change the channel NOW" I screamed. I could feel myself wanting to drink a Zima and get a manicure...Where's that damned remote!...I could feel the movie's influence start to creep into my manliness. Finally, I found the remote and hit the next channel. Thinking I had saved myself and kept my manhood, I feel back into my seat letting out a huge sigh of relief. Quickly composing myself, I very carefully entered in the following numbers in the remote: "3" then "2"...ESPN....ahhhh (unfortunately, we don't have the Playboy channel...the first choice for anyone in this situation). Disaster averted. Manliness prevailed! I felt like rushing out to the barn and working on some machinery and turning some wrenches or rewiring the electrical box in the basement or drinking a beer and talking about chicks. Once I realized that I was once again a man and that I feel no need to be tolerant of everyone..no matter how much they tell me I need to be....I was back to snuggling on the couch...with my pink blanket.
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Since we're on the topic of strange moments,A few weeks before Christmas, I was using up some of my vacation days. One day I spent out in the "shop" working on my old tractor. My buddy Gill happened to be off that day too so he came by around noon that day. We did some minor work trying to remove some of the old paint and such. My shop has a television in it (along with a urinal...super sweet, but that's another story) and some old barstools and chairs. Nothing is really on TV at that time of day except for soap operas. I wasn't really paying too much attention until I look up and realize that A) I'm the only one working B) Gill is propped up on a barstool and C) There's a soap opera on. Disgusted, I lowered my head and went back to work. Moments later I look up at the television to see a particularly attractive young lady doing whatever they do on soap operas. She was easy on the eyes for sure.Now, fast forward 20 minutes. You'll look into my shop and now see two grown men sitting around a tractor in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday, not doing a lick of work, staring blankly at the television and being sucked into a soap opera. It's sort of a funny visual I guess.As for soap operas, I have no problem with them. They've been around forever and I'm not typically home to watch them. What I do have a problem with is this...Soap Operas have now invaded primetime television. That's all you hear about. Desperate Housewives was the flavor of the week a year ago. Despite lackluster reviews, stupid storylines (so I hear) and that fact that...well, it's a soap opera, this show is still on television and competing with shows I like to watch! Now, the new thing is Grey's Anatomy. When will it stop? (*side note: this has nothing to do with this person's nationality at all...but the Asian girl on Grey's Anatomy is probably the ugliest person to ever be put on television. I scratch my head every time I see her and think "How in the hell did she get this gig?". She literally gives me the heebie-jeebies) Men, if you are watching either of these two shows on a regular basis...you may have a problem. Don't let them fool you...these shows are Soap Operas, turn the channel. Like my buddy and I watching that show in the barn the other day...it's okay to check it out, but don't tune in regularly.Hey, we've all stuck our tongue on a 9 volt battery before. We've all chewed on foil even though it kills your fillings in your teeth. We've all raped a dozen chickens and butchered a beagle...but we don't do it on a regular schedule. If Burt Reynolds were sitting around a round table making Man Laws, I'm sure he would propose that watching these shows is not acceptable. In any point in my life when I need guidance I remember these four little letters: WWBD. What Would Burt Do? Burt wouldn't watch soap operas, I can tell you that! (please forget the fact that he co-starred in a movie with Sally Fields...that was his tongue-on-the-battery moment)
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Speaking of television, during my daily cleaning of the kitchen and preparing that night's dinner routine as I wait for my oldest daughter to get off the bus, I watch a little Judge Joe Brown in the kitchen. (He's from the streets you know). It's during this time of day that I notice a trend in the commercials they show during this time slot. The commercials are almost always for the following: Cut rate car insurance, debt consolidation, rent to own stores and electric scooters. Apparently the 3:30 pm time slot has a unique viewing demographic. I couldn't help but think that if they took the advice of Judge Joe Brown and, in his words, "Get a J.O.B!" perhaps they wouldn't need an electric scooter to propel their fat asses around. I've spoken about the electric scooter topic before on this site but I continue to be perplexed by the whole concept. It's strange that the commercials for these vehicles show an older gentleman, probably 75+ years old, in a nice pair of slacks and a smart cardigan sweater driving his scooter as he travels with his granddaughter. It's nice when you think of it that way. And I'm sure there are people with various disabilities and ailments that could use a device like this. However, one condition that doesn't warrant one to have the government (i.e. your tax dollars and mine) buy one of these vehicles for you is Excessive Obesity.In an unscientific study I have done, I surmise that I have only seen one person out of 100 using an electric scooter that wasn't a Jabba the Hut clone. In fact, I saw some creature the other day at the local Wal-Mart (which, by the way, has the highest concentration of fat-ass scooter drivers. The highest per capita rate in the country of large-tub-of-goo folks who drive scooters has to be in the Piqua Wal-Mart...that place is a cesspool of filth where virulent disease and pestilence run rampant. This store is loaded with heinous and abhorant miscreants from every corner of the city. Every walk of life can be found there. There are people who look like evolution finally allowed them the ability to walk upright and shed their cro-magnon ways. It's as if they just stepped out of the evolutionary gene pool and forgot to bring a towel as they stumble around, walking with pieholes agape while a slight trickle of slobber oozes out of the side of their mouth. I'm willing to bet that in the Piqua Wal-Mart, there are more "mothers" hitting and/or yelling at their unkempt kids as they load their cart up with 2-litres of Mountain Dew and smokes than anywhere in the world. At the Piqua Wal-Mart I guarantee you that you can find at least ten 1983-1987 model minivans in the parking lot with red tape holding the taillights in, missing one or more hubcaps, or sporting a Nascar sticker or a Calvin and Hobbes peeing on a Ford logo (hey folks, I’m pretty sure the fine people at GM don’t want your glowing endorsement of their automobiles considering your current jacked-up hooptie)…topped off with vanity plates.But I digress. Hey, I'm not the most in-shape guy around. But at least I can get out of my car and walk into the store to buy my family pack of Ho-Ho's and a case of Yoo-Hoo and walk back out. (By the way, I now have to park 4 miles away so you scooter drivers can park up front in the handicapped zone...being disgustingly fat doesn't qualify you for better parking privileges Ms. Struthers) It's a Catch 22 really. One is so fat that he/she can't walk so we provide a motorized cart so they can buy more food while not burning any calories. Plus, we give them a parking spot up front so they don't have to walk so far. It's a real head scratcher.
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I was following a guy the other day who had a big sticker on the back of his automobile that read “G.O.P.: The Grand Oil Party”. Obviously a very lame attempt at trying to blast the Republican party and blaming solely them for the outrageous price of gas. I’m not going to go off on a political slant right now but I had to laugh as I continued to follow this person. The ironic part, and the exclusive reason why I even tell this story, is that this dude was driving a large Chevy 4x4 SUV. As I drove past him and flipped him off, I laughed at the total lack of intelligence of this man to complain about the price of oil while driving a gas guzzling, 12 miles per gallon SUV so he can zip across town to get groceries. I’m willing to bet a paycheck he’s never even dropped it into 4 wheel drive. Again, this is the reason not everyone should be allowed to vote.
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I recently visited the eye doctor for a routine check-up. I like my eye doctor and his entire staff. Good peeps. Anyway, the eye doctor’s office is really a strange place when you think about it. First, you sit in this long, skinny room. It’s like a tunnel and at the end of it is this little eye chart. I’m so far away from this chart at the other end of the room, I’m almost positive I couldn’t read the bottom line with the Hubble telescope. So they sit you in this room, oddly enough, in a chair that resembles a barber’s chair. I feel like I’m about to get a flat-top and talk about golf for 20 minutes. Of course, there is this contraption dangling above you that looks like a combination torture device and the gunsights in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon.In case you don’t know, about 10 years ago I noticed my vision in one eye had suddenly gotten bad. I scheduled an appointment with the optometrist and saw him the very next day. While there, he looked at my eye for about 30 seconds and said “We need to schedule you for immediate surgery in Dayton”. After wiping the crap from my pants, catching my breath, and wondering if I’ll go with the Ronnie Milsap diamond-encrusted rims or the classic Ray Charles shades, I found myself in Dayton at an eye surgeon. To make a long story short, I had a blood vessel in my right eye burst. To stop the bleeding, they had to “laser” (as I make the Dr. Evil air quotes) into my eye to cauterize the leaking vessel. By doing that, they prevented further damage but, essentially, created a blind spot directly in the middle of that eye. So, if I close my good eye and stare at your face while you are rambling on about your kids’ soccer game, please realize that your head looks like a giant black ball of nothingness and I’m not paying attention to you or your incessant chatter.Anyway, back to the eye doctor. I truly think each optometrist takes great pleasure in dilating your pupils. It’s like the guy is in the storage closet of his office, hovering over a boiling kettle as he concocts this near-blinding brew from some potpourri of exotic substances that one can only get from the inner reaches of the Amazon…or your local health food store.As soon as he breaks out that eye dropper and says “lean back please”, I begin to prepare for a day of driving home with those giant face goggles that old people wear and realizing that I will only be seeing fuzzy shapes instead of sharp images (which may be helpful if Grey’s Anatomy might be on. *Side note: Do we really need another “doctor” show? I think not. Here’s the premise of every doctor show…past, present, or future…. There will be conflict between two doctors inevitably ending with the phrase “Dammit! I’m the doctor in charge here!!!” Look it up, it is in every script.Also, there will be the roller coaster journey of the young intern doctor who can’t quite grasp the recent death of the elderly lady in Room #265 whom we had gotten to know through the first 13 minutes of the show. You will see the pensive doctor staring blankly at the wall, with his hands rubbing his brow while wearing bloodstained scrubs.Every doctor show is required by law to show a scene of a patient on a gurney being crashed through two swinging doors while one of the female nurses screams, “I need 50 cc’s of gobbledeegook (insert medical jargon here)”. And we all know what follows the previous sentence, don’t we? Ah yes, the ubiquitous one word term that makes a doctor show truly a doctor show….”STAT!” “I need a scalpel and morphine…STAT!”. If you throw in a “dammit” somewhere in that sentence, then you’ve just locked up another Emmy my friend.)Oh yeah, back to the eye doctor. It’s actually a quite interesting process and one that I’d like to learn more about. But the one part of the whole exam that always makes me laugh is when the doctor slides up really close. Keep in mind, the room is dimly lit and you’re sitting in this barber chair as the doctor takes this hand-held device that he must look through. It reminds me of the instrument they use to look into your ears. So he peers into your eyes, all the while his face is no more than ¾ of an inch away from yours. It’s very uncomfortable … until I think about a comedian I once saw (Brian Regan) do a routine on this very moment. Inside, I start laughing as this guy is still a hair away from making face to face contact. I’m totally still, not wanting to make a false move when my internal giggles actually start to make me smile. You can feel his breathing on you. You can hear his breathing too! Haaaaaaaaahhh, inhale.....haaaaahhh, inhale/nose whistle....haaaaaah.Luckily, he’s so damned close to me that he couldn’t see me smile, but then I start to get the chuckle hops. When you’re trying not to laugh but you can’t stop and your body starts hopping up and down as a day’s worth of laughter is gurgling inside you, trying to erupt like some sort of comedy volcano. At this point, you’re more focused on not laughing than anything else. You are displaying more concentration in trying not to laugh out loud than ever before. Finally, he pulls away and tucks his magic eye-peering instrument back into his pocket. Disaster averted!Thankfully, my vision is still pretty decent and I don’t need reading glasses, yet. I really want glasses for one reason: Upon someone asking me a question, I’ll rip them off my eyes, grasp the frames and stick the part that goes over your ear into my mouth then, with a very serious look on my face, I’ll say “Hmmm, that’s interesting”
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In the past couple of months I've heard some of my favorite "sayings" or phrases. Allow me to present them to you in no particular order:
1) "Anybody can be a go-getter if they don't know what they're going to get." I was talking to a friend at work about a certain coworker and how I heard that he/she was a real go-getter. This quote is great because it was totally made up on the spot and it precisely described the person in question. I wish I had thought of it.
2) My friend Andy said just before the start of this year's Ohio State vs. Michigan game "Win or lose, something will be set on fire tonight in Columbus" Needless to say, the Buckeyes beat UM again and a few old couches burned in the streets. And for all you Michigan fans that want to bring up the Buckeyes putrid smackdown in the National Title game, remember that OSU always kicks your ass.
3) I was at a wedding reception and hardly knew anyone there. People were dancing while I stood on the sidelines "waiting this one out" and guzzling free keg beer. (Which reminds me of my wife's now legendary quote to me about free beer "Just because it's free doesn't mean you have to drink it all") I'm standing there when this one older gentleman goes out to dance with his daughter. He's quite good, as far as dancers go, but he's shaking his leg and swiveling his feet in an odd way. He was practically gliding around the floor as if he was combining the Moonwalk along with the Twist. Next to me stood one of the bride's friends who I have met a few times before. She said to me (in a sweet southern accent, by the way...which makes any spoken word so so so much better...ahhh. She could tell me in that southern drawl, “I’m going to stab your pupils out with a knitting needle” and I’d just melt to the floor)...oh..she said to me, "That guy dances like he's got a couple of bananas strapped to his feet." I nearly peed my pants and choked on my beer.
4) This next quote has, in a few months time, reached epic proportions. I was there when it was uttered and it remains as fresh today as it was that day. Set the scene: Geno's bar for the OSU/Michigan game. Our least favorite announcer, Brent Musberger is calling the game, much to the group's dismay. Later in the game after we have all worked ourselves into a frothy lather, spewing obsenities at the television in protest of horrible officiating, Mr. Musberger says something anti-Buckeye. To which an older gentleman in attendance at Geno's Bar said, in dead seriousness about Brent, "That somfabitch ain't nothin' but a somfabitch". It was classic then and it has grown in stature in the following months.
5) Finally, I read this from Bill Simmons (one of my favorite guys to regularly read on the internet) who was commenting on the Pittsburgh Steelers lackluster attempt to defend their title. He said, "The 2006 Steelers team picture should just be a frozen turd at midfield."Now let me follow this up by saying that this...he could have just as easily put the Bengals or a half a dozen other teams in place of the Steelers, but regardless...that is a funny quote and an even funnier visual. Plus, I hate the Steelers.
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As some of you may know, we lost a member of our family recently. Our dog Zeke passed away. As I begin to really think about what I'm going to say, I end up just sitting here thinking only about him. I'm not sure that what I'm going to say will even begin to convey how important he was to us and I'm even more unsure if I'll do him justice by merely typing whatever pops into my head. Forgive me if I jump around and wander from story to story. I have to say some of the hardest days in my life came this Spring. Zeke started having episodes where he would be lethargic and simply couldn't get up. To spare the details, he was diagnosed to have cancer and internal bleeding. 
We were lucky, in a sense, because we knew he'd be leaving us soon so we could cherish each moment. The Sunday before he died it was a beautiful day outside. We were all outdoors the entire day and were able to play just like any other day. Zeke clearly enjoyed himself, indulging in some of his favorite activities such as chewing rocks and sticks, carrying my socks around in his mouth, and chasing a ball. Zeke always had a knack for finding that one piece of shade and laying in it and this day was no different. If dogs really do smile, then I contend that he had the biggest smile on his face, freshly chewed stick in between his paws, sitting in the shade, watching his people play in the yard. I was able to sneak away to the back field and begin the emotionally painstaking task of digging a hole to bury him when that day would come. I can't describe the emotions of simply finding the shovel and picking the spot...let alone digging the hole. If anything, it was a great time of reflection to think about him and all the joy he has given me. With each thrust of the shovel, a thousand pleasant remembrances of Zeke came to me. Later that week, he had another spell where he couldn't move and we just kinda' knew it was his time. Katy slept on the floor with him that night and I said what I thought would be a final good-bye. I awoke the next day to find him not laying on the floor near my wife, but rather, in the den...out of the way of everyone. He had severely labored breathing and he just wasn't "right". It was as if he was getting out of the way to not bother us.I went to work and got a call about a half an hour later telling me to hurry home. I left work immediately and came home moments after his last breath. We had time to just sit with him and pet him as he lay peacefully on the floor. Our two oldest girls were able to say goodbye. I'm not sure they really understood what had happened...whether or not they really grasped it. Anna was sad but I think a little confused. Sophie simply cried.The next thing was probably one of the most emotional things I've had to do in my life. I picked him up and carried him to the field to place him in the grave I dug just days before. This day was much different than the previous Sunday. This day was cold, rainy and windy.I had pictured what this day would be like for a while as I knew Zeke wouldn't be around forever. My thoughts included a majestic backdrop, perhaps a warm fall evening with some serene surroundings. Obviously, it was far from that but it didn't matter. Looking back on it, it was probably as perfect as it could be because it wasn't really about the surroundings but, rather, just the moment.I placed him in the cold ground and Katy pulled from her pockets a rock, his ball, and a pair of my socks and set them beside him. There was our buddy...a member of our family for the past 12 years. We got him for Christmas in 1995. He and I stayed in the house we would live in while we waited for me to get married and we could all be together. In fact, we even cut our honeymoon short to get home to be with him. We traveled to Colorado after we got married, but after a few days out there, we changed our flight and came home a few days ahead of schedule.He had shared so much of what, looking back, were some of the most noteworthy, important moments in our lives. Moving to a new house, the birth of our three children, he was always important in all of that. He shared in so many happy occasions and yet was always there in times of sadness. He knew when things weren't great and he would always lay his head on your lap as if he understood you needed some company.Most people remember him for his resounding greetings. His Chewbacca-like “growls” and whimpers. If you went away for 5 minutes, you could be sure that when you returned home you would be greeted as if you had been away for months.He was gentle beyond compare. He would lay in the yard and the cats would crawl over him and rub up against him and he just sat there…smiling. Our youngest daughter Ava would stand and crawl over him and one night not too long ago, even climbed on top of him and fell asleep. Zeke just looked up at me with a certain understanding that he realized he shouldn’t move or he’d wake her up. I feel like everyone knew Zekey and pretty sure everyone liked him. After he passed, it was amazing how many cards, phone calls, and 
emails we received from everyone. It was all quite overwhelming but also a true testament to the greatness of that dog. There’s such an emptiness in our house as we adjust to him not being there. For 11 years, I have come home from work and been welcomed by him and now…it’s just quiet. It’s little things…like, recently we made a pizza and as we got to the crust, we remembered he wasn’t there waiting patiently to eat it. It may sound silly but it’s the little moments like that when his absence continues to hang over you.We planted an Oak tree out by his grave and lined it with a few rocks we’ve found around. We had this old rusted metal cutout in the form of a puppy with a big smile, an angelic look and angel wings. Before, it was always just a simple flowerbed trinket to stick in the ground and look cute. Now, it is out near that oak tree and it takes on a whole new meaning and seems like a perfect reminder of our friend that we miss greatly.
We were lucky, in a sense, because we knew he'd be leaving us soon so we could cherish each moment. The Sunday before he died it was a beautiful day outside. We were all outdoors the entire day and were able to play just like any other day. Zeke clearly enjoyed himself, indulging in some of his favorite activities such as chewing rocks and sticks, carrying my socks around in his mouth, and chasing a ball. Zeke always had a knack for finding that one piece of shade and laying in it and this day was no different. If dogs really do smile, then I contend that he had the biggest smile on his face, freshly chewed stick in between his paws, sitting in the shade, watching his people play in the yard. I was able to sneak away to the back field and begin the emotionally painstaking task of digging a hole to bury him when that day would come. I can't describe the emotions of simply finding the shovel and picking the spot...let alone digging the hole. If anything, it was a great time of reflection to think about him and all the joy he has given me. With each thrust of the shovel, a thousand pleasant remembrances of Zeke came to me. Later that week, he had another spell where he couldn't move and we just kinda' knew it was his time. Katy slept on the floor with him that night and I said what I thought would be a final good-bye. I awoke the next day to find him not laying on the floor near my wife, but rather, in the den...out of the way of everyone. He had severely labored breathing and he just wasn't "right". It was as if he was getting out of the way to not bother us.I went to work and got a call about a half an hour later telling me to hurry home. I left work immediately and came home moments after his last breath. We had time to just sit with him and pet him as he lay peacefully on the floor. Our two oldest girls were able to say goodbye. I'm not sure they really understood what had happened...whether or not they really grasped it. Anna was sad but I think a little confused. Sophie simply cried.The next thing was probably one of the most emotional things I've had to do in my life. I picked him up and carried him to the field to place him in the grave I dug just days before. This day was much different than the previous Sunday. This day was cold, rainy and windy.I had pictured what this day would be like for a while as I knew Zeke wouldn't be around forever. My thoughts included a majestic backdrop, perhaps a warm fall evening with some serene surroundings. Obviously, it was far from that but it didn't matter. Looking back on it, it was probably as perfect as it could be because it wasn't really about the surroundings but, rather, just the moment.I placed him in the cold ground and Katy pulled from her pockets a rock, his ball, and a pair of my socks and set them beside him. There was our buddy...a member of our family for the past 12 years. We got him for Christmas in 1995. He and I stayed in the house we would live in while we waited for me to get married and we could all be together. In fact, we even cut our honeymoon short to get home to be with him. We traveled to Colorado after we got married, but after a few days out there, we changed our flight and came home a few days ahead of schedule.He had shared so much of what, looking back, were some of the most noteworthy, important moments in our lives. Moving to a new house, the birth of our three children, he was always important in all of that. He shared in so many happy occasions and yet was always there in times of sadness. He knew when things weren't great and he would always lay his head on your lap as if he understood you needed some company.Most people remember him for his resounding greetings. His Chewbacca-like “growls” and whimpers. If you went away for 5 minutes, you could be sure that when you returned home you would be greeted as if you had been away for months.He was gentle beyond compare. He would lay in the yard and the cats would crawl over him and rub up against him and he just sat there…smiling. Our youngest daughter Ava would stand and crawl over him and one night not too long ago, even climbed on top of him and fell asleep. Zeke just looked up at me with a certain understanding that he realized he shouldn’t move or he’d wake her up. I feel like everyone knew Zekey and pretty sure everyone liked him. After he passed, it was amazing how many cards, phone calls, and 
emails we received from everyone. It was all quite overwhelming but also a true testament to the greatness of that dog. There’s such an emptiness in our house as we adjust to him not being there. For 11 years, I have come home from work and been welcomed by him and now…it’s just quiet. It’s little things…like, recently we made a pizza and as we got to the crust, we remembered he wasn’t there waiting patiently to eat it. It may sound silly but it’s the little moments like that when his absence continues to hang over you.We planted an Oak tree out by his grave and lined it with a few rocks we’ve found around. We had this old rusted metal cutout in the form of a puppy with a big smile, an angelic look and angel wings. Before, it was always just a simple flowerbed trinket to stick in the ground and look cute. Now, it is out near that oak tree and it takes on a whole new meaning and seems like a perfect reminder of our friend that we miss greatly.**********************************
Baseball season is upon us and this brings me great joy. Looking back a month or so, nothing says "warmer weather" to me than hearing Marty Brennaman (the best in baseball ever) broadcasting the games. You know you have a good wife when she enthusiastically points out to you that "Pitchers and catchers report today". That means that spring training is starting and, to our family, it means a break from the cold winter is coming soon.During my normal course of internet surfing, after I check out espn.com, jigglingboobies.com, and redhotlatinamidgets.com, I usually check up on the Cincinnati Reds on reds.com. On that site they had a button to click if you'd like an opportunity to purchase already sold-out Opening Day tickets. Opening Day at Cincinnati is like no other in baseball. For one, the Reds are the only team that always has their first game at home. They used to play the first game every year, but MLB and their lack of honoring tradition and their wanting for more money broadcast a game the day before. Regardless, Opening Day in Cincy is truly an event and tickets sell out in minutes (believe me, I've tried to get them in the past). So I click on that button and sign up. A few days later, I get an email saying that I actually won a chance to buy two tickets. I jumped at the chance.The wife and I left Monday morning to go to the game. As I've said before, it's important to get to any game early. So, for a 1 o'clock game we left around 9 am. I wanted to leave at 7 but wifey wanted no part of that. At the time, it was the best day of 2007 yet...the sun was shining, nary a cloud in the sky and it was warm. We parked and made our way toward Great American Ballpark, passing vendors who were also getting ready for their first day and other fans who were obviously full of glee and anticipation. I was zoned in as I sauntered with purpose toward this sanctuary to the national pastime but something tore me away from my steely-eyed determination. A few blocks over, we saw a small group of people gathering. A large jumbotron television...nice. Some good music blaring...not bad. Several portable toilets...interesting. Then it hit me...a giant Budweiser beer truck. My radar was now locked onto this place a few blocks away, my feet started carrying me left...my wife jogging to catch up. I was on a mission. Here we were in this big parking lot with about a hundred fellow baseball fans, enjoying a cold refreshment and basking in the warm sunshine while a baseball cathedral waited patiently over my shoulder. A few hours later we made our way to the stadium and enjoyed a completely wonderful day and a Reds' win (one of few it seems)
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My latest fascination is with "Bluetooth" technology pertaining to cell phones. For those of you who don't know, Bluetooth refers to a device that can sync up with your cell phone wirelessly. They are about 3-4 inches long and clip over one's ear like some sort of Star-Trekkian contraption. I don't know all of the technical details about them but I do know they can be quite convenient for those who travel and do business...allowing them to be "hands free" and able to keep both hands on the steering wheel...or one hand on the wheel and the other holding their coffee...or one hand holding mascara and the other jotting down notes or fiddling with an abacus while they steer with their knees as the rocket down the freeway at incredible rates of speed.
My only beef with them is people who wear them constantly, thinking it is part of their wardrobe as much, say, as a hat or belt. I love seeing the guy in the supermarket, phone affixed to his ear, ready at the first ring to answer that important phone call from his wife, telling him to not forget a loaf of bread. My favorite is the other day I saw two mouth-breathing sloths at Wal-Mart waddling up to their 1984 van with no hubcaps, red tape over the taillights and plastic over their back window to keep the rain out. They open the door and out rolls 39 empty 2-litre empty bottles of generic soda pop. But the kicker was that both husband and wife were fully equipped with their bluetooth earpieces, ready for that important call. By the looks of them, the only person that would be calling them right next to him/her. What's more, they'll be damned if they're going to actually make their automobile road-worthy and safe by investing money into their only means of transportation...but they'll plop down a couple hundred bucks on this amazing technology so they can walk down the pet food aisle at Wal-Mart looking very important in their space-aged looking headsets.I don't know, I'm probably being too judgmental and don't know the whole story behind these two. I'm sure I didn't have all of the facts before I quietly chuckled at them in my head. Perhaps their role model growing up was Judy, the Time-Life operator and her fancy headset from those commercials of years ago.I guess this all leads back to the root cause of my disdain for cell phones in the first place. I would guess that of 100 phone calls I have received on my cell phone, only a couple of them have been truly “important”. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy someone calling me…which certainly makes me as guilty as those I chastise for being on their phones while they are driving. Actually, I only receive calls from mainly 3 people: My wife, my brother and my dad. A call from anyone else but them reminds me of how I feel about receiving mail: None of it is ever really “good”. I go to the mailbox daily to retrieve the mail (which for some reason, my wife is physically unable to perform this task) and out of 10 pieces of mail, let’s say that 5 of them are specifically addressed for me. Of those 5, three of them will be Bills. Never fun. The other two will likely be from a local car dealer offering me “Huge, cash-back savings and a minimum of $3000 on any trade-in!!!” and the other will be one of those Super Saver/Val-Pak coupon packets. Those are incredibly useful…No thanks, I do not wish to save 10% on carpet cleaning or glass block installation. Sometimes I will get a coupon for a certain percentage off dry cleaning. I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I never have stepped foot inside a dry cleaner’s shop and, god willing, never will have to in my life. Mostly because I don’t own anything that would demand the delicate precision of dry cleaning and I can assure you that I’ll never purchase anything that would require it. By the way, if you can explain the dry cleaning process and why it’s necessary for your blouse, I’ll eat my shorts on the 5 o’clock news. It’s a scam. I’m fairly certain they take your clothes and toss them all into this giant washing machine they have hidden in the back then, when finished, they wrap it up in some thin plastic, hang it up and place a coat check tag on it…and charge you 50 bucks. Suckers!****************************************************
My only beef with them is people who wear them constantly, thinking it is part of their wardrobe as much, say, as a hat or belt. I love seeing the guy in the supermarket, phone affixed to his ear, ready at the first ring to answer that important phone call from his wife, telling him to not forget a loaf of bread. My favorite is the other day I saw two mouth-breathing sloths at Wal-Mart waddling up to their 1984 van with no hubcaps, red tape over the taillights and plastic over their back window to keep the rain out. They open the door and out rolls 39 empty 2-litre empty bottles of generic soda pop. But the kicker was that both husband and wife were fully equipped with their bluetooth earpieces, ready for that important call. By the looks of them, the only person that would be calling them right next to him/her. What's more, they'll be damned if they're going to actually make their automobile road-worthy and safe by investing money into their only means of transportation...but they'll plop down a couple hundred bucks on this amazing technology so they can walk down the pet food aisle at Wal-Mart looking very important in their space-aged looking headsets.I don't know, I'm probably being too judgmental and don't know the whole story behind these two. I'm sure I didn't have all of the facts before I quietly chuckled at them in my head. Perhaps their role model growing up was Judy, the Time-Life operator and her fancy headset from those commercials of years ago.I guess this all leads back to the root cause of my disdain for cell phones in the first place. I would guess that of 100 phone calls I have received on my cell phone, only a couple of them have been truly “important”. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy someone calling me…which certainly makes me as guilty as those I chastise for being on their phones while they are driving. Actually, I only receive calls from mainly 3 people: My wife, my brother and my dad. A call from anyone else but them reminds me of how I feel about receiving mail: None of it is ever really “good”. I go to the mailbox daily to retrieve the mail (which for some reason, my wife is physically unable to perform this task) and out of 10 pieces of mail, let’s say that 5 of them are specifically addressed for me. Of those 5, three of them will be Bills. Never fun. The other two will likely be from a local car dealer offering me “Huge, cash-back savings and a minimum of $3000 on any trade-in!!!” and the other will be one of those Super Saver/Val-Pak coupon packets. Those are incredibly useful…No thanks, I do not wish to save 10% on carpet cleaning or glass block installation. Sometimes I will get a coupon for a certain percentage off dry cleaning. I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I never have stepped foot inside a dry cleaner’s shop and, god willing, never will have to in my life. Mostly because I don’t own anything that would demand the delicate precision of dry cleaning and I can assure you that I’ll never purchase anything that would require it. By the way, if you can explain the dry cleaning process and why it’s necessary for your blouse, I’ll eat my shorts on the 5 o’clock news. It’s a scam. I’m fairly certain they take your clothes and toss them all into this giant washing machine they have hidden in the back then, when finished, they wrap it up in some thin plastic, hang it up and place a coat check tag on it…and charge you 50 bucks. Suckers!****************************************************
My wife and I often talk about certain celebrities that we'd like to "hang out" with. Whether it was going to a movie or restaurant, or drinking a few cold beers with them, or hanging around in the basement dressed in underwear playing X-box for 5 hours straight...just some folks that we think would be pretty cool and/or interesting.
My current top choices are:
Will Ferrell....a comedic genius. He would likely walk around without a shirt on just for a laugh...and I would certainly laugh. I love people that do stupid things just for the sake of making someone laugh.
Kevin James....(from King of Queens) my wife says that I'm a lot like him. I'd like to think that it's not because I'm overweight and have a dead-end job in the material movement field, but because he and I pretty much exist in life the same way and enjoy the same things
Larry Bird...He is Basketball Jesus and quite possibly the greatest "team" player in the last 50 years of sports. Name a better one...you can't! Did I mention that I invited him to my wedding? Seriously, I did. Unfortunately, he probably had something a little more important to do at the time. One of my lifelong dreams is to just shoot hoops with him. I've had dreams about meeting him and shaking his hand. Is that healthy?
Oprah...She's extremely rich, seems pretty nice, not too bad looking, and extremely rich. Did I mention that she's very rich?Owen Wilson...He's a cool dude. I think he'd be fun to just goof around with. My wife probably has him on her list but her reasons are a little different (wink, wink). Apparently, a gigantic, misshaped nose is a good thing. Who knew?
Simon Cowell...9 times out of 10 I can nail what he'll say to someone on American Idol. He and I almost always agree. I like his bluntness.
Jim, Dwight, Michael, Pam from The Office...It's too early to call, but if The Office maintains the same pace it has the first couple of seasons, then I am ready to claim it as the Greatest Show Ever, topping Seinfeld. This show is like a rookie being called up and then going on a blistering hitting streak, knocking in 40 RBIs a week, and hitting a homer every other at bat. This show is that good...genius writing, subtle humor, a few visual gags, and impeccable acting. If you're not watching this show on a regular basis, then I'd like to ask you to leave.
Tiger Woods....the greatest golfer ever (and don't bring up Jack Nicklaus...not even close). I'd like to play golf with him just once at my local course to see how well he'd do.
Conan O’Brien … He always makes me laugh. Plain and simple. He's crazy! Much like Will Ferrell, he does some physical comedy that cracks my ass up. Interestingly enough, when I composed this list, I felt like I was missing some folks. I emailed my wife and asked her for who she thought would be my top choices. Proving that she knows me too well...or that I'm just too damned predictable, she listed all but one person on my list.
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In a world of bad television, I think I’ve discovered the worst of it. The other night, I was flipping through and saw…the Finals of the National Spelling Bee. If you find yourself enthralled by watching pre-pubescent kids spell rarely used words, then you’re part of the problem and not the solution. I thought 50 straight hours of Texas Hold ‘em programming was amazingly dull. Nope! The Spelling Bee takes it.
For some reason, I have no desire to watch a bunch of foreign kids (oh sure, they’re “American” wink wink) stand at a microphone and ask for the origin of the word “Douchebag”.
Moderator: Samir, your word is “douchebag”
Samir: May Samir have da origin of da word?
Moderator: Yes. This word originated when people needed to bag up their douches
Samir: May I have da definition of douchebag, please?
Moderator: Yes. “Samir is a home-schooled douchebag.”
You never see a normal kid named Kevin or Sally enter the event. Usually it’s some Indian kid (dot…not feather) or some socially deviant home-schooled kid who, thanks to his parent’s decision to deny him/her the social interaction that humans so desperately require, nearly poops his pants and eats his own earwax every time he gets around other people.
In a world of bad television, I think I’ve discovered the worst of it. The other night, I was flipping through and saw…the Finals of the National Spelling Bee. If you find yourself enthralled by watching pre-pubescent kids spell rarely used words, then you’re part of the problem and not the solution. I thought 50 straight hours of Texas Hold ‘em programming was amazingly dull. Nope! The Spelling Bee takes it.
For some reason, I have no desire to watch a bunch of foreign kids (oh sure, they’re “American” wink wink) stand at a microphone and ask for the origin of the word “Douchebag”.
Moderator: Samir, your word is “douchebag”
Samir: May Samir have da origin of da word?
Moderator: Yes. This word originated when people needed to bag up their douches
Samir: May I have da definition of douchebag, please?
Moderator: Yes. “Samir is a home-schooled douchebag.”
You never see a normal kid named Kevin or Sally enter the event. Usually it’s some Indian kid (dot…not feather) or some socially deviant home-schooled kid who, thanks to his parent’s decision to deny him/her the social interaction that humans so desperately require, nearly poops his pants and eats his own earwax every time he gets around other people.
