Holy Shit

Do you ever have one of those moments where two separate and seemingly benign events merge in your head, creating a juxtaposition that makes the world a little bit clearer? I had one of these moments yesterday as an outcome of the most unlikely of daily chores--- a dirty diaper.
For those of you that are in the process of snacking and are members of the Too Much Bodily Information Society (my old crew), I’ll sanitize this version and only say that my boy Q had a blowout. For the most part, blowouts are not that uncommon of events, but they still leave me in a state of shock when they turn up. Being an old pro at this daddy gig, I do my fatherly chore of ½ cleaning and ½ calf roping with the minimal level of swearing, while mixing in my rendition of Elmo’s world.

As we returned to the living room, I found my corner of the couch and Q returned to playing with his “Life in the Manger- Baby Jesus Action Figure Set”. As my head tipped back and I watched my boys replicate battle between the Wise Men and some random Smurf figures (yes, we add a few new adoring figures to compliment the set) my mind was flooded with some new Christmas questions:

Did Baby Jesus have monster blowouts that made Joseph look to the heavens in bewilderment?

Since Jesus was born long before Pampers, what did they use as diapers in 0 HN and what long term damage did these occurrences’ cause?(Speaking of which, what is the proper calendar reference for the time Jesus had taking the human form? It’s no longer B.C and not yet A.D. In the absence of an answer, I’ll just call it HN- Here Now).

Was a monster blowout the origin for the phrase JESUS CHRIST!!!!!?
This expression is quickly followed by the question—What is your mother feeding you?

Did Jesus ever get in trouble at family gathering for horseplay (camel play?) with his cousin John the Baptist?

Was it impossible to get the family together for holiday gatherings since John’s family was Baptist and celebrated Christmas, while Jesus’ family was Jewish and observed Hanukah?

Did Jesus ever feel resentful that only got presents once a year- Birthday and Christmas on the same day? I think this might have been overshadowed by the fact that his biological father sent him to be beaten, dragged through street while being ridiculed and then nailed to a large wooden structure?

Did Mary ever have to have the following conversation when dealing with Jesus’ and his toddler siblings James or Jude?

"Push, Me” announces little James
“Who pushed you son? Asks his concerned mother.
“Jesus” replies a crying sibling.
“Jesus, what have I told you about doing unto others?”
“He took my sandal” Jesus explains.
“Come on son, you are the Prince of Peace. Stop shoving your brothers”

In retrospect, maybe these thoughts brought out more questions than revelations. I do feel a new bond with Joseph, as a member of some Dad’s Club. According to the tale, Jesus took the human form for his 33 years, so I guess the real moral to the story is that child rearing is difficult whether you are raising the Messiah or your own brood. In the end, everyone has to deal with some degree of Shit!

WHAT DID I MISS?

Where the Hell have you been?

Ok, Ok. I’ll admit that I’ve most likely violated some level of implied pact between writer and reader. In said relationship, I agree to write things that are humorous and in general don’t suck, while you dear reader are morally obligated to faithfully read each essay with a sense of amusement while withholding any comment about my many typographical errors.

Over the past few months I’ve frequently heard the question, “Why aren’t you writing?” This is a fair question and I’ve attempted to answer it myself. From time to time I’ve even found myself checking this site myself, hoping to see something new posted. I too feel a little twinge of disappointment when I have to see the same old Mother’s Day Card Post. (It doesn’t escape me that this is totally irrational behavior since I am the sole contributor to this site, yet it has happened multiple times). On the surface, I wasn’t writing anything fresh. But there was a deeper subconscious reason that I came to realize my lack of writing.

The real reason I haven’t been posting……….. I didn’t want to die!!!!!!!

I read an article a few months ago about technology Bloggers who were keeling over dead from the continuous stress of posting. Not from mainlining heroin or eating too much of that delicious port wine cheese spread….from blogging. I lay in bed at night wondering:

Can Blogs Kill?

I’d heard that Woodie’s guitar killed fascists and the pen was mightier than the sword, but were blogs a loaded gun pointed at a writers head? What have I gotten myself into?

As the winter weather broke into spring, I closed my laptop and decided to refill the place in my head where good writing originates. Since then, I’ve been spending my free time either reading and studying, trying to see things from a different perspective. For the first three quarters of my life, I’ve measured years on a rolling calendar of August to June. The few summer months in between were used to slow down and look around (sage advice borrowed from Mr. Ferris Bueller), take a swim and read about whatever interested me for that day. My calendar is now synced with Corporate America, which runs on a calendar of budget cycle to budget cycle without a break for individual discovery. This summer, I’m trying to relive that summer of investigation.

Then a few days ago, I heard a news report about an 108 year old blogger. Like the previous bloggers, she had also assumed room temperature. Making it to 108 made me wonder if blogging was the death sentence that I earlier suspected. Up to this point I’d never heard of Ms. Olive or her site. With no previous frame of reference I’m left to wonder if her long life was a by product of her dedicated blogging, her strong genetic constitution, or maybe the fact that she was writing geriatric erotica while maintaining a diet high in vegemite. Whatever her secret to a long life was, she made it to 108 and I began looking for the right time to revive the WhiteBoard.

Just as my search began for a sign, the universe complied.

For my money, there is no better spectator entertainment than human acts of vanity gone wrong…..well, other than police car chases broadcast live from a news helicopter.

My sole purpose for watching pageants, award shows or high school plays is to see someone trip and fall down. It is not that I wish life altering harm to anyone; I just want to see how they are going to react when the unexpected happens. I take full responsibility for this deviant joy and fully expect the karma of the universe to extract revenge at some point in my life. This is why I try to be very mindful of being in front of large groups. In my heart I know someone, somewhere is silently wishing “Fall, Fall, Fall”. Judge if you wish, but what is your reaction when you see this? (If you are using a reader, you have to visit the site for full effect)








I got you universe----I’m getting back to it.

OPEN NOTE TO HOLLYWOOD:

If there were some way to combine police chases and people falling, I would be hooked. I don’t think I’m the only one. I believe there is an untapped demographic of reality/trauma based viewer that is willing to invest more of their leisure time given the right opportunity. And by the way, if there is any way you could sprinkle in trivia questions or those little factoid bubbles from VH-1’s Pop Up Video, I might never leave the house again.

The Perfect Card

I'm always ready for a good quest. By quest I mean any expiditon that doesn't involve extended time (read--more than 15 mintues) inside a major retail establishment, require me to speak with more than 3 people in a 12 hour peroid of time, or any activity that might require shaving or a tie. Yeah, I love a good quest.

This week, I decided to put Hallmark’s reputation to the test and to see if they really did have a greeting card for any occasion. With Mother’s day around the corner, I was in search of the perfect card to say “ To my wife--in spite of it almost killing you (literally) twice, thanks for the two great boys and have a Happy Mother’s Day”. I figured there must be one or two card options with colorful, non-cartoon options, out there for just this type of circumstance.

As I was reading though the available cards, I was distracted by the message printed on a light coral green card displayed in the Mother’s Day Card section. “To My Dad’s Wife, Thanks for Making Dad so Happy”. It took a minute for my mind to digest this statement. I needed a minute to analyze the situation,“If it’s Dad’s wife, wouldn’t that be their Mom…ah, step-mom…oh, step-mom that is not highly regarded…ah ha, welcome to reality”.

I was then distracted by one of the boys or some shiny object inside the store, so I failed to look inside the card to see the rest of the greeting. Ever since then, I’ve been creating my own insert to the card. Here are a few of the possible options:

To My Dad’s Wife, Thanks for Making Dad so Happy…..

… I’m still not going to call you Mom.

… It’s still creepy that your 10 years younger than me.

… FYI, a bikini top is not acceptable to wear to a 5 year-old’s birthday party (did you notice the absence of a pool).

… But please stop telling people we look alike.

… Although I still think you are a gold digging bitch.

I never did find the card for my wife that I was looking for, so I instead opted to focus on a more traditional card to express my love while apologizing for wrecking cars. It’s always harder around the holidays to be on the fringe of the general population.

Happy Mother’s Day to everyone who played the role of human incubation machine.

Back and Refreshed??

I have a very clear memory of being 9 years old and wondering if I would always have to vacation with my parents or if I would someday take a trip on my own. At the age of 9, I had financial standing, no ability to venture beyond the limited distances available to my BMX, and no idea where the roads lead beyond my town. As I sat in our southbound van, I tried to understand how grown ups knew where to go, what to do, and questioned whether I would someday be able to travel independent of them.

As I grew older, I found a source of income and discovered where the roads lead…..to adulthood. I can officially say that I’ve completed my first vacation where I served as one of the “Adults”. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve traveled a lot since turning 18, but the trips were never as structured or choreographed as the family vacation, where I’m playing the role of the Dad. Trips to this point consisted of a duffle bag of random clothes, a search for a truck stop when hungry, and filling a day of napping, reading and drinking a beer or two. Oh, how the agenda has changed.

On this trip, I was able to spend quality time with the family and show the boys the ocean as I had planned. We were also able to see the sunset on the beach a few times and I witnessed my first shooting star while sitting outside watching the stars come on in the sky. My little Q slowly discovered that I was correct in my warning not to eat the sand, but not until he had his second handful. My objective of reading multiple books was reduced to my week long attempt to finish one Rolling Stone Magazine in between the coming and going of events.

Deep down, I wanted to use this hiatus as a time to listen to what the universe was trying to tell me. I was able to do this and the message that I heard was “NEVER BUY A MINI-VAN”. That’s right, the universe and some higher power is anti Mini-Vans. The great Mini-Van debate has been raging in our house for some time now. We decided to test drive the idea (see what I did there?) and see how family mobile would work while on vacation. Captaining the Mini-Vessel was OK up to the point that I crashed the damn thing while trying to make a right hand turn on Tampa’s illogical, non-liner street system. (Side note: Never utter the phrase “I’m the greatest driver ever”, because you too could end up getting a ticket within 12 minutes. The universe does have a since of humor).

The damage was limited to the front section of the bright red chick magnet, so a little glue + amateur car repair on the front light allowed us to drive the dream machine home. It’s looked like something out of “Pimp my Ride” in an alternate reality where masking tape is the new chrome. I guess if I’m truly listening to the Universe, it also doesn’t want me to own a Lexus—since that is what I hit.

As I drove home in the wee hours of the morning, the vacation turned into a weeklong blur of feedings, changing, baths, and the other normal events of life that don’t go away just because you are sleeping on someone else’s sheets. What stood out were the little moments of ice cream cone runs after dinner, sitting outside under a blanket in the dark, the phrase “there is sand on my toe” uttered 100 times by a little mouth, and the enduring knowledge that these car seats are headed for a Jeep.

It’s time to start resting for the next vacation.

Spring Break

Prompted from a lunch conversation over Gyros, this little blog is quickly approaching it’s 6-month anniversary and ready to celebrate it’s 1300 hits. I’ve been thinking about the appropriate way to celebrate this occurrence and I’ve decided to take the New Years Eve approach—small noise maker followed by some much needed sleep.

I’m taking a mini-sabbatical for the next few weeks to read a few books, teach the kids about sand, and show them the ocean in person. Also, I want to collect my thoughts and see what builds up in my head. I have an illogical optimism about these types of grand results.



When I opened up my Time Magazine to find 100 of the most likely candidates for the PERSON OF THE YEAR award, I was a little shocked not to find my picture. Not that I’ve done anything globally noteworthy, but it would be nice to be nominated. This is the same type of surprise that I experience each year as I’m watching the NBA draft and I’m not selected. I’ve got good floor awareness, I can defend the back door cut, and the Knicks can’t get any worse. I could help.

Anyway, I’m taking a little break from the world of online publishing. If you haven’t already subscribed with and RSS Reader or via Email, now is a good time so you don’t miss anything in early May.

PEACE!!!!!

ps—TIME is taking nominations for new candidates.

Believe in Magic

Today I have a previously unpublished essay entitled HOUSE OF MAGIC posted on Indie Ink. The essay is a flushed out idea based on an earlier Thought Nugget. Stop over and take a look. Hope you enjoy.

Can I Follow You?

One of my roles of being a good husband is to spend family time each week while American Idol is broadcast. As my sons dance with the people on TV and my wife provides her color commentary of each contestant (the female version of what happens when I’m watching Poker), I sit and watch marginally talented contestants sing classic songs based on their 90 second interpretations.

I’m not distressed by the amateur talent show quality of the event, but at the reaction of the audience that loses its mind for each performance, as if it really were the Beatles returning from the dead. These Idol fans will cheer for anyone, regardless of their talent level.

The compelling aspect that American Idol is missing is the authenticity of Showtime at the Apollo. Here is a show where a lack of talent will get a contestant booed off stage before they finish their act. The contestants know this coming into the event, so a marginal performance isn’t attempted. Eight Time Grammy Winner Lauren Hill was booed off the stage at age 13 during an amateur night performance. There was nothing polite about it, but the event is grounded in realism. (This reaction to performance followed Lauren Hill later in her life, when Bishop’s walk out during a performance at the Vatican because of editorial content, not her performing ability).

The practice of idolatry is a risky proposition. This behavior can be downright dangerous if you choice to idolize anyone that is still living. Yet, popular culture is rooted in the elevation of individual to mythic proportions, only to await the documentation of their Icarucs like fall back to reality when their true self doesn’t match the public perception that is created. As a safety precaution, the practice of idol worship should be abandoned as a step in the maturation process from childhood to adult—similar to the belief in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Social Security or The saving grace of Organized Religion.

The other show that I can’t stop watching is the Moment of Truth, where a contestant is enticed to reveal embarrassing and potentially damaging information in front of loved ones for opportunity to win easy money. The show works because it tears down the unspoken believe of goodness that one person has for their spouse. Relationships work not just because of the things we know about our partners, but also those things that we believe to be true. We want to believe that they are honest, trust worthy and think we look good when we are rolling through the house in our sweat pants and uncombed heads. This show destroys the façade that we are always idolized by our family, just because they are a member of our family.

I too know that I too am susceptible to Idol worship, so I shy aware from meeting those people that I might put on a platform. This caution started when I was when I was in elementary school and saw Huckleberry Hound holding his Huckleberry Head while smoking a cigarette at King’s Island. The seeds questioning authenticity were planted. These seeds matured with an epiphany while at church. I was in the church gym on a weekday and heard something in the sanctuary. When I investigated, I saw the Preacher practicing his sermon for Sunday—- a verbatim delivery of what I would hear Sunday. Up to this point, I didn’t realize that church was a production, just like any other stage show with actors that played a part. Sunday mornings were never the same after that week. The pageantry and spirituality of church melted away and the operational machine of a performance was now visible, like a fog burning off to show the city on the horizon.

So it began-- my fear that the people I look up to in some manner are indeed human and could really be assholes in real life. I decided in most cases, it was better not to know the real person. What would happen if I met Coach K and he had a tremendous case of body odor that created a sensory memory that surfaced every time they were on TV? What if I accepted an outstanding offer to meet Mike Ness (front man for Social Distortion) before a show and as I enter his dressing room I found him watching Fox News, with Genesis playing in the background, as he is getting a cucumber detox face peel?

This is not to disapprovingly characterize those with life altering BO or anyone who likes wrinkle free skin (but you do need to check yourself if you are listening to Fox News or Genesis) they just don’t fit into my vision of what my Idols are about. I’m sure it’s similar to the shock experienced by legions of Anne Rice’s Goth followers when she revealed that she became a born again Christian and no longer subscribed to the world of vampires. But in my world, I want my aging Punk Icons to be a little cantankerous and not in search of a good skin treatment.

Adventures of a Lost Boy

I assumed the fetal position when I returned home from my first workout in six years. I quietly thought to myself, “Honestly, I use to be in shape. I have photographic evidence to prove it”. As I lay very still, I scanned my mind for the time in my life when working out was a staple of my daily routine. This was a long ago time when I was a card carrying member of the Peter Pan Society, where I refused to leave the halls of the closest academic institution that would have me. Since entering the “Real World”, I’ve allowed time to my muscles to enter a stage of atrophy, as I divided my days between a mix of office cubes and non-descript conference rooms—keeping time to the Tic-Tock Crock.

As the weather starts to break, I decided that it’s time to begin my delayed New Year’s Resolution. The first step in this physiological transformation is the reintroduction of physical exertion into my daily life as a planned activity. During the hibernating months of winter, I am comfortable living under the delusion that playing basketball once a week is adequate fitness (this delusion also allows me to believe that I can still compete in a game of hoops with guys younger than me). However, my current physical condition is not reflective of the term “in shape” so, it’s time to begin the springtime metamorphous.

Much like Peter’s return to Neverland, my return to the gym was different than I remembered. The contrast from my days of working out on a college campus in between classes and the world of suburbia took some adjustment.

Rules of the New World-

#1 Good Morning Captain Hook- You have to win the internal debate to get out of bed when the alarm clock goes off. It’s early, it’s cold and every muscle is still asleep. Step One- Feet on the floor. My optimal time of day is late morning, about 10:17 am. If you want to really get the most out of me, you should schedule this time. Unfortunately, the only time that is available in my schedule is 5:30-7:00 am, so I’m forced to rise with those people that have paper routes. This small accomplishment of being vertical will set the tone for the day. Get up, get out, get moving.

#2 Think Big Picture- The first day that I reached the fitness center, I caught myself circling the lot looking for a space closer to the door. If you’re going to get up and go work out, eliminating extra steps to the door is counterproductive. I became hard to rationalize looking for a closer space when I was paying to wake up early and travel to a place where I was going to simulate walking on a stationary devise. (The only exception to this rule is rain—there is never a reason to be wet in the rain) I was a little shocked that I wasn’t the only car in the parking lot, which leads me to #3.

#3 The 80 year old crowd dominates the morning- When you work out early, there are old people everywhere. I thought old people needed their sleep. Is this why they are eating dinner early in the evening? I half expected to see Steve Guttenburg leading a water aerobic class for his fellow Cocoon cast mates. When the bars close at 2:30 am, is this when the old timers come out to play? It’s not entirely awful working out with the older crowd, since they tend to stay on the machines and leave the free weight area for me to be alone. But there are dangers.

#4 I was crop dusted by an old woman- I was sitting on a flat bench, resting between sets, when an grey haired woman in a purple jump suit wandered away from the world of circuit machines and into my world of free weights. Instead of picking any other part of the vacant area, she chose to use the bench next to me to perform her tricep kick-backs. As I resumed my chest presses, I’m suddenly engulfed in the distinct odor of decay. Only two possibilities came to mind; either she is rotting before my eyes or this old bag just farted on me. I cut my set short and returned the weight to the rack as I wondered, “What’s happened to the respect of the elderly these days”?

#5- Coming to terms with your limits- It’s a daily battle between my ego and mind’s reality while working out. Questions like these arise: Is it more disgraceful to struggle while bench pressing 125 lbs or dropping 200 lbs on your chest and cracking your sternum? Should I sacrifice the form while performing bicep curls with the 30 lbs weights or use the small, purple plastic coated 15 lbs. dumbbells. My mind keeps arguing, “We used this weight the last time we worked out”, but idealism doesn’t make the weight move.

#6- Emphasis on Diet- The sudden expenditure of stored calories caused my body to seek replenishment in the tastiest manner possible. With each additional set, thoughts of Philly Cheese Steak or Fresh Glazed Doughnuts fill my mind. It’s critical to resist the urge to stop on the way home for a meal. Each food item must be equated to a workout event. Small French fry= 200 sit ups. I’ve also found that a diet of late night pizza and beer doesn’t enable successful workouts as it did in college. I now need to take some form of Protein supplement to repair my sore muscles or the top part of my hair will never be clean again.

After a few weeks in, the process of transformation is getting better and the incremental results serve as motivation for continued advancement. My expectations have shifted from the days of running with the other Lost Boys and finding constant adventures, to improving my overall health and impressing my darling “Wendy”.

Note to Myself next August

Hombre (that's what I call myself),

I hope all is well with you and the family. Being as we are the same person, I’m sure you are a little unhinged by the fact that the temperature is hovering around 94 degrees on a daily basis. I can picture you mumbling to yourself about your certainty that the pavement is melting, while wondering how you ever purchased a vehicle without air conditioning. At a moment like this, I hope to provide a little perspective.

Remember back to early March when a seemingly nice weekend was altered by the delivery of 12-14 inches of snow? That’s right, the weekend where you had to shovel the drive-way multiple times while the wind blew snow down the neck of your jacket. Snow might sound romantic in the heat of the summer, but rarely does it fall casually to the ground in big flakes and melt the following morning as your ready to leave the house. In reality, snow is delivered from the heavens as if you’re inside a snow globe being shaken by a hyperactive 3 year old.

No matter how hot it is, you don’t have to shovel sunshine. The sun will go down at the end of the day, the temperature will fall as you drink a beer on the deck and you can start again tomorrow. This pile of snow in our driveway is not going anywhere. Take my advice, cheer up and enjoy some time in the climate controlled environment of your basement.

WINTER SUCKS!!!!!

Peace Out,

The good looking guy in the mirror.


PS. If you’re going to drink all the Bloody Mary Mix, replenish the supply. It's deflating to run out when you are a shut-in.

Can you cough up a lung?

The cloud of sickness has finally receded from the corners of my head. I spent the majority of last week in a haze created by a cocktail of sinus tablets, cold and flu liquids and any losange that claimed to shorten the life cycle of any known virus. I hate being sick and I’m a terrible patient. I tend to walk around the house moaning, which makes be feel a little better but doesn’t do much for my homes inhabitants.

I had every intention of writing last week, but my view of the events around me must have been distorted by my medication.. Here is what I worked through last week:

Castro has resigned the Cuban Presidency so he can star in Latin version of MTV’s “Run’s House”. As long as I can remember, I’ve seen images of Castro in his Army Green Military suit that he adorns day in and day out. Now there is an announcement that he is retired and ever network carries footage of Fidel lounging in his red Adidas track suit (honestly, with a beard that stlyish, that could be me in 50 years). My mind swirled with the possibilities. Has Castro been rocking a pair of shell toe 3 stripe kicks with his military outfit all these years? When the US ends this silly trade embargo with Cuba, will Steven Tyler break down the symbolic wall with his microphone stand only to find Castro and Rick Rubin kicking back? I’m not sure when this new show will premier, but I look forward to Fidel’s sitting in a bathtub, chomping on a cigar, sending a text message to Elián Gonzalez with the weeks highlights—I love a good reality show.

It’s possible I hooked up with Hilary Clinton. This is a possibility that I can’t defiantly deny with any certainty, but I'm definitely getting the wrath of a scorned woman. For the last week, Hilary has been calling my house every other day and she sounds PISSED OFF. For the most part, I’ve been too weak to rush around the house to answer the phone, so I voicemail do it’s thing. Repeatedly, I would hear the faint screeching of Hilary’s voice coming from the other room, as she left a 3-4 minute message. I’m not sure where this interaction took place, but I know she has been criss-crossing Ohio and NyQuil puts my head in such a fuzz that I can’t account for all my time last week. To put some closure to this matter-- Hilary, whatever happened, whatever I promised, I’m sorry and didn’t mean it (just like your position on Free Trade).

The US Military destroyed a falling satellite with a missile, possibly with Bruce Willis as commander. I was shocked to find out that Bruce Willis was capable of producing a hit, but I’m more concerned with the thousands of pieces of falling debris that are on their way to Earth. The news reports attempted to project a reassuring tone, stating that the shrapnel chunks were less than the size of a football. A softball meets that size criteria and I don’t want a softball hitting anywhere around me at the speed of a gravity. There is no prediction as to the location of these pieces of metal, but the hope is that most will fall into the ocean. As I sucked on a Halls drop I thought, “It would suck if you were going out to sea on a cruise, decided to lay out on the deck for a little winter tan, only to be struck by a sharp piece of metal falling out of the sky”. Hey NASA, can I at least get a date range for falling metal so I’ll know if I should keep the top on my Jeep? It would be nice to plan for the days when these items will be re-entering the atmosphere, so that I can make sure the thin canvas top will be available to provide a little resistance as I’m assaulted from the heavens?

At last, I’m happy to report that I’m feeling much better and my dependency on gel caps is gone. I can once again return to my station in life.

Open Note to Cube Dwellers

I’m disturbed by co-workers that have framed Star Wars & Star Trek posters in their cubes. In my mind, framed posters translate to rooms at home dedicated to action figures, most likely arranged to recreate a scene from the movie, which leads to full size costumes in the closet and role play games with their significant other (assuming they’ve convenience someone else to get naked with them).

I get the appeal. I’ve seen the movies, I enjoyed them……….when I was 12. Princess Leah was hot and who doesn’t want to manipulate others with their mind. But growing up means putting aside childhood delusions: The Force, The Easter Bunny, Social Security.

Attention Cube Dwellers “Keep your freaky fetishes at home. It’s impossible to take anything you are saying seriously when I have to stare at Luke Skywalker talking to a 900 year old green dwarf or read a list of the Top 10 Things You Learned Watching Star Trek”. As a general rule of thumb, if you are in the process of making a living, keep your freak flag at half mast. Attend conventions during your vacations, name your kids Aniken or Kirk, just please, keep this crap out of the office so I can go about my boring ass day without the confirmation that I’m working with adult sized bed-wetters.

4 Things I Don’t Understand

1. Do I have a magic refrigerator? I bought a 12 pack of Miller Lite months ago. By my estimation, I’ve finished this 12 pack at least twice. How can you drink a beer twice you ask? This is tough to do if you don’t posses a magic refrigerator like me. I’ve consumed or given the final Miller Lite away at least 3 times over the last two weeks, but I opened the door this evening to retrieve my trusty tub of humus, and sitting next to grapes was another Miller Lite. This feature wasn’t listed on the manufacture’s specs when we purchased the unit, or I would have been sure to buy the model that made Newcastle.

2. Why were Fergie and Carrie Underwood wearing a ring on the Grammy Awards that looked as if they won the Superbowl? Does Eli have some explaining to do?

3. Are the Grammy’s or Strip Clubs a better representative of popular music? I consider myself in plugged into today’s new music. I know the saga of Amy Whinehouse and all nominees for song and album of the year. This confidence was challenged when I found myself at a clear shoe fashion show a few weeks ago and had no idea what half the songs played during the exhibition. I was there with a youngster who was able to fill in the gaps of our game “Who the hell is this”. (The other indicator that I was the old guy in the club was my degree of fascination with the sound system and light show than the girls on stage). But as I sit and watch the Grammy’s, I know these bands. I know these songs. I would feel better about my pop culture IQ if I didn’t remember that the Grammy’s gave the best hard rock album to Jethro Tull instead of Metallica. Strip Clubs or Grammy’s—what’s the barometer.

4. What is it about John Lennon’s voice that can lower my blood pressure by 50 points?

Quench My Thirst

I was sitting with my son last week, on a hard plastic table inside Sam’s club, awaiting the end of the checkout process. These idle times in life present little life lesson that I should pass along from father to son. His understanding of the world around him is evolving very quickly, so I try not to overload him with everything I want to teach him at the moment it flashes into my head. This form of self restraint causes me to keep a mental list of the things I need to teach him in the future. Addition to the list Item # 2018— When presented the option, the perfect beverage is always a Large Suicide, no Diet.

My head began to spin as I watched two high school kids purchase cups for the fountain drink and then proceed to the drink dispenser and only select Sierra Mist. “Just Sierra Mist”, I thought, “What’s happened to the creativity of today’s youth”? Does this lack of inventiveness stem from their repressive upbringing in a household that imposed a single beverage selection for consumption or is it their elders fault for their ignorance to the wonders of a flavor combination that is created with a Suicide Drink?

As we left the store, I began to crave a sugary drink that is now foreign to my sugar free world. Sugar and hyperactivity is for the young. I no longer have the enough energy to maintain the sugar high for 12 straight hours before the inevitable crash. My mind began to fill with the drinks of my youth and I present to you the definitive list of Soda Beverages:

Top 5 Ranking: Schweeepes Ginger Ale, Orange Crush, Squirt, Cherry 7-Up, & Dr. Pepper.

It’s not only sodas that have consumed my thoughts of late. Six years ago, my addictive personality discovered the wonder that is a Bloody Mary. I was in the ‘Ville for the weekend and felt a degree of shame as I ordered a beer at 11 am. Instead I decided to try an American Tailgate classic as my early morning beverage. My first drink provided a full bodied beverage with the perfect mix of spice, flavor and enough sodium to preserve my intestines for the remainder of the winter.

How can you not love a beverage that is garnished with a small side salad? I’ve had Bloody Mary’s with Celery stalks, olives, lemons, limes and once a dill pickle. At Mike Ditka’s in Chicago, they serve a Bloody “Mike” with a shrimp skewer that should be classified as an appetizer. I use to sample Bloody Mary’s wherever I went, rating each place on a comparable basis to the Eggplant Parmesan Scale. This experimenting stopped when I ventured into foreign lands and tried Toronto’s version—The Bloody Caesar. I was introduced to some repulsive red liquid called Clamato juice, which must be Canadian for “Tomatoes marinated with smelly feet”.

Even though my thoughts are filled with exotic beverages, I return to the reality that is my day to day intake. My consumption of Bloody Marys has subsided and have been replaced with a daily can of V-8 to address my tomato based habit (removing the liters of empty Vodka bottles from my recycling bin). So, I’ll settle for some reduced calorie (read flavor) Cola and save up my sugar credits for shots of Black Haus in the spring on the back porch.

January Thought Nuggets

The finger is better, so I’ll attempt to catch up with a mind cleansing edition of random nuggets.

When I heard about the passing of Gordon Hinckley, head of the Church of Latter Day Saints, I was stuck with a pang of nostalgia. I remembered back to days when I was little and wished there were Latter Day Saints in my neighborhood that I could join. The appeal of this religious group wasn’t grounded in their approach to eternal life (for me and all my ancestors), instead their marketing campaign spoke to me about a better way of life. Initially, I would receive this colorful stamps in the mail (these were actually junk mail, but I always felt entitled to something since I got the mail) that I could use in my various childhood games of Army General or smaller version of Mr. Wizard. Then while watching TV, I saw what it meant to be a Latter Day Saint—Ice Cream and smiles. I always remember the commercials with old people and young people laughing and smiling, often eating an ice cream cone while playing outside with their dog. This commercial spoke to the areas of my life that defined my pursuits of happiness, so I wanted to join this magical organization. As I grew older, I learned that this imagery was just a façade and ice cream was a gateway drug into a life of Mormonism. So my search for happiness shifted to more obtainable pursuits. Not because I’m not opposed to Mormons, just “isms”.

All this talk about last weeks Fed Rate cut and whether or not there is a need to stimulate the economy got me thinking--Can you over stimulate the economy? What does an over stimulated economy look like? I would love to see an economic condition that mimics the hyperactive ramblings of Katlin from SNL. Shouldn’t we strive for this level of energy and enthusiasm on Wall Street? As an ancillary benefit, we would get to see a conversation between Katlin and Jim Cramer from Mad Money discussing the Financial Service Sector and the impact that the Euro is having in the Asian markets.

I’m willing to take a shift on Brittany suicide watch. This saga can’t end and I’m willing to do my part to make sure no premature harm abridges this story. The nation needs its resident crazy celeb to give Meredith Vera something to contribute on the Today Show. Who needs writers when there is an unscripted mental health outbreaks on CNN? Brittany, Dr. Phil is lacing your dogs’ clothes with a mind altering drug. It’s a trap. If something were to happen to Brittany, I think one of the Olsen Twins moves to the top of the list of Craziest Celeb.

Please, someone make me the winner of a trip for 4 to Bora Bora? Honestly, what’s better than taking 12 steps from your bed and being immerged in crystal clear water? A forecast of falling ice is not appealing.

As an act of mercy, all banana flavored candy needs to be removed from the general candy population. Nothing squash to the spirit of a sugar dependent cube dweller, then walking up to a reliable candy dish on a co-workers desk, only to find the bottom filled with only Banana Laffy Taffy. I’ve had it. Sell the banana stuff in specialty shops and AARP magazines, catering to people with diminished taste buds. VIVA la FLAVOR!!!

Write Something Dammit

Update-- My finger is not broken, instead fractured. I can once again return to some of my normal activity and must stop whining around the house. Why is my finger fractured? It is either because I'm too stubborn to realize that I shouldn't be engaging in basketball games with guys in their 20s or that the subtle art of the bounce pass is a lost art and dislocated phalanges are cool.

Anyways, I went to the hand specialist yesterday and he said that I have to tape my fingers but could “Play tomorrow if I needed to”. I can understand that sitting across from me could confuse a medical professional that I’m a physical specimen that is crucial to every pick up basketball game, but I told him that I would be taking the next two weeks off.

The biggest relief was the doctor telling me he wasn’t going to have to re-brake or re-set the fracture. I envisioned a scene out of Misery that ended with me weeping as I left the doctor’s office. The rational side of my brain tried to make the case that medicine has advanced to a level where this type of procedure would be quick and painless, but the side that houses pain could not be swayed from the ugly torture that is a Physical Therapist.

I will now attempt to get back to typing using capital letters and the letters on the left side of the keyboard. New stuff coming from me soon.

Happy Belated B-Day Dr. King

Since college, I’ve made it a yearly practice to re-read Letter from Birmingham Jail on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. day. If you’ve never read it, or haven’t read it in a while, I encourage you to take 30 minutes and read the words of a man who was incarcerated after a peaceful protest and used his time alone to answer the criticism of his fellow ministers.

Dr. King’s manner of patience, civility and reasoning with logic amazes me each time I read this piece. I have always identified more with Malcolm X’s response to the segregation of the 1960’s and the establishment of separate but equal way of life. The duality between Malcolm X and Dr. King fascinates me. Each of these men worked at the opposite end of the spectrum to resolve to the same problem. Dr. King took a top down approach, working at a macro level with the leaders of the establishment to create change from the outside in. Malcolm worked at a micro level to create on a sense of Nationalism, where rights weren’t derived, but instead assumed through economic freedom. Each approach helped to expand the conversation, encouraging others to join in the remedy, and enable the next generation to stand on their shoulders for a greater achievement.

I often wonder what these transformational leaders would say about the issues of discrimination and how it’s manifesting itself today. Would they see same prejudice mindset enclosed in new wrapping (The Jena Six, Proposed Immigration Policies or Civil Unions vs. “Marriage”) or would they see progress being made (a nationally viable Presidential candidate of color, minority ownership in across corporate America) as the fruits of their labor decades ago continue to blossom?

Stand and Introduce Yourself.

Hi, I’m Mark and I’m an addict.

Addict might be to strong a word, since the need for a compulsion that leads to withdrawals hasn't presented itself, but there is definitely a compelling desire that consumes my thoughts. I would classify myself as a book enthusiast if I didn’t buy two books this afternoon and still have to stop at the library on the way home from work to get a book I had on reserve. Does this make me an addict? I enjoy reading books, talking about books, reading about people talking about new books, the thrill of walking into a book store and seeing the new releases, and the ecstasy when walking into a library with the knowing I can take anyone home that I wish. I could spend hours getting lost in the stacks of paper and stitched binding, looking at new subjects or new authors located in isles. I love the way a new hardback’s spine cracks when I open the cover, the way a new paper back smells as I flip the pages, the level of anticipation that builds on page one, and the despair of parting as I finish the last page. I think the act of smelling books entitles me for some sort of aid.

This could be classified as some developmental delay. My backlog of purchased books is hovering close to 20, but I can’t stop the search for the next good read. Inevitably, something sparks my interest and I’m off to investigate. Just like a shinning object and a kid with short attention span (another condition that I'm afflicted with). Those 20 books will most likely keep me busy until mid summer; yet, I will not be able to rest until I spend the $50 in Barnes and Noble gift cards.

I need help!!!!

One More Time

My “Scissor…” essay will be Friday’s feature on INDIE BLOGGER. You can stop by and take a look with a sense of “Hey, I know that guy” and check out some of the other writers frequenting this site.

JUST JAM THE SCISSORS IN MY EAR

I’m surrounded with a sense of Déjà vu. American Gladiators are on every Monday night, Knight Ridder premiers next week and Rambo will soon be in the theaters. Pop culture is a cyclical phenomena that must follow a rotation of I love the 80’s on VH-1. In the short term, I need to know if mullets or rat tails are coming back into style soon, because I desperately need a hair cut and I’m reluctant to schedule an appointment.

What is the source of my hesitancy? I just want my haircut, not an experience!

Marketing has taken over the world of shearing. Gone are the days of a simple haircut, with a wash and style … welcome to the world of experience based sculpting. Long ago men and women would stop by the local barber shop or beauty salon for a quick trim and style. The barber would provide a little informative conversation while he would sharpen his straight razor on a leather strap and apply a dab of warm shaving cream to the back of your neck. If you had to wait behind a few other patrons when you arrived, there was a checker board and a magazine to pass the time. I have no idea what the hell women did, but the word permanent was used. Fast forward to present day, when I need a haircut I must select a location and its corresponding theme.

Here are the options before me:

1. New Century Barber Shop- The new century combines ESPN based sports viewing on a personal flat screen TV with hair cutting. The sports world dominates every other chamber of my life, I don’t want my hair cut by a guy in a jersey would has watched SportsCenter for the 8th time today. I remember college and the diminishing mental implications of watching Sports Center more than 3 times in a row.

2. Night Club Cutters-- I can go to a stylist that that has its own liqueur license and will provide alcoholic beverages while I’m getting trimmed. As a general rule of thumb….Loose hair floating in my beverage is not appealing idea. In theory, alcohol makes every experience trendier, but anyone operating cutting shears, scissors or open blades near my head should be 100% sober.

3. The Salon- I believe this is the evolution of the beauty shop, but men and women are permitted. You can tell a salon by windows are blacked out, there is a mirrored ball spinning in the air as the sound of techno music creates a rhythm for the stylist to keep time with their gum. There are guy and girls getting their hair and nails done in a high energy, uni-sex environment.

4. The $ 9 chain whackers- Located in every strip mall across America, recent beautician graduates are getting some time in their chair at a discounted price where an appointment is never necessary. Every time I come out of these places my hair is shaped on my head like a missile silo. During one cut, the lady cutting my hair accidentally shaved a line in the back of my hair and failed to mention it during the cut, so that she could have corrected it. During the inspection when they hand you the mirror and spin you around to see the back, I noticed the line and asked about it. She replied “That’s a blond area of your hair”. This was a great surprise considering I’ve always had black hair.

5. The Old Timer-- There is an old time barber in my home town that I could go to for a cut if I wanted a scaled down experience. The problem with the local ol’ time barber is that whatever style I tell him, his brain translates that into “FLAT TOP”.

Where is the compromise between a decent hair cut without all the fluff? If my head was shaped less like a relief map of the NorthEast, I would think about going bald. With the options in front of me, this might just become a mohawk summer--sucka.

Ban Together

The newest member of our bearded bunch is buckling under the social pressure. David Letterman is sporting an award winning beard, but plans to shave it on Monday's show. The Book of Beards clearly states that the winter beard can not be shaved until the weather is regularly over 50 degrees for the high and 32 for the low.

Don't do it Dave!!!

Bored @ work on Friday

Ponder this:

• Sign of aging--Stopping for coffee on the way to work has replaced the joy of stopping for a 12 pack of beer on the way home from work?

• What are the odds in Vegas that Kevin Ferderline is the father of the latest Spears pregnancy?

• Wasting Time for a Good Cause- GOOGLE IMAGE Google has created a game that helps to identify the random images on the web. They match you up with some random person and then you are each shown an unidentified image. You guess until your answer matches and the tag is then attached to the picture. To make this worthwhile, they attach a score to your effort so your competitive energies can flourish.

• Wasting Time for a Great Cause- Where does a desire to waste some time at work, while helping feed the hungry and increase your vocabulary converge? FREE RICE This site provides 20 grains of rice for every word that you get correct. It also gives you a rating of your verbal ability. A few 100 grains of rice per day can feed an adult. I can rationalize this activity as a better investment of wasted time than 5 games of solitaire.