She's Just Kitchen Lazy

CJ: [to The Boy] Make sure the dogs have food and water.
TB: I always feed the dogs.
CJ: So? I cook every freakin’ day and you don’t hear me whining.
TB: Yeah, well you’re the only one in the house who knows how to cook.
CJ: Well....That’s not entirely accurate.
TB: Okay. Mom can cook, but she’s lazy.
Laughter

The Warden actually cooked Saturday night, something she doesn’t do too often. Good thing I like to cook, elsewise we’d be hurtin’.

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Earlier in the day (10:00am Saturday) The Warden’s in the shower. I’m escorting the pest control dude around the house. We get into the bathroom area and The Warden calls out from behind the shower room door: “Honey, bring me my dildo.”

That didn’t really happen, but it could have. The Warden and I were driving around looking at houses late Saturday afternoon when I told her the pest control dude had come. She knew, and told me about the dastardly plan she almost perpetrated on me. Bad girl. We got a good laugh out of it.

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Saturday night we watched some boxing and had a few drinks. A friend came over for an hour or so before deciding that getting laid was more important than her good friends, so she left. We had a quiet evening of boxing and a movie afterward. The movie sucked. It was called Paranoia 1.0. I mean, it really sucked. Sucked so bad we didn’t finish watching it.

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Memory Du Jour:
1970 – Exploring the jetties of Redondo Beach’s Kings Harbor. My friend Eric and I would ride our bikes (a 4 mile ride) from Manhattan Beach to Redondo, and spend the day crawling around inside the caves and tunnels the big rocks of the jetties formed. A large rock to the entrance of a particularly expansive tunnel/cave complex had the words “YELLOW HELL” painted on it in large block letters. Eric and went to our favorite (and largest) place one day and encountered a bum who had made the largest single area in the complex his home. He invited us in. We declined and left rather rapidly.

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Quote of the Day:
“If The Flintstones taught us anything, it's that pelicans can be used to mix cement.” – Homer Simpson

Special Saturday Report

I love this

Freakin' Bozo

Ha! You thought this was gonna be a political post or a bitch-fest dincha? :-) Well, you're wrong.

The Familia and I were cleaning up the kitchen last night after my dinner of oregano and garlic pork chops & pasta shells with pesto sauce when the conversation got really, really goofy.

The Boy told us about a baseball teammate they harass because his hair sticks out from underneath his ball cap like Bozo The Clown. Any time the kid walks by, they start doing circus music (The fast part of Cyrus the Great) and walking around like retarded penguins. He demonstrated, much to the glee of The Girl: "God, did you see that? You're such a dork. Do it again. Mom, Dad, watch. God you're stupid. DO IT!!!!"

The Girl had never heard of Bozo or Bozo's Big Top or The Bozo Show, so I enlightened her (and probably The Boy too).

When I was done with the Bozo historical perspective, I talked about an old TV show I grew up with in Phoenix called The Wallace and Ladmo Show (I can’t believe they actually have a web site!). Every kid (and probably some adults) in the Valley of the Sun wanted to get on the W&L Show and win a Ladmo Bag. Needless to say, I never made it on the show. Y, Nay and James probably remember the show. Did any of you get on?

Anyhoo…When I was done, The Warden told about her brush with the local San Antonio kid show called The Captain Gus Show. If you were lucky enough to get on the show, you became a Matey.

The Warden was living in Victoria, Texas with her Pop at the time. It was around 1965. She was but a CO (Correctional Officer) at the time, and eight years old (You Einsteins make sure not to tell her you figured out her age because of me.).

One day while watching the show, her name was pulled from whatever they pulled kids’ names from on the show. She reminisced about how excited she was that her dream of a lifetime had come true, and that she was finally going to be on the Captain Gus show! She'd signed up on a whim at a local toy store.

Tragically, her dreams, hopes and aspirations were shattered when she learned that no one could give her the 2+ hour ride to San Antonio to be on the show. She was devastated, and undoubtedly cried a few tears as only little eight-year-old girls can. We all feigned deep sympathy and gave "awws", "poor little girls" and "that's what's wrong with yous" to her before we started cracking up.

Being the curious type, I rushed over to my trusty computer and looked up “Captain Gus.” I found a web site maintained by Captain Gus’ sidekick, Mortimer. We got to the first Captain Gus photo. The Warden then said, through nearly uncontrollable laughter, “He looks like you.” Nice. Was it the hat and its vaguely similar shape to the Coast Guard Combination cap (the two on the right are similar to mine) I wore in dress uniform? Was it the moustache? You be the judge, and be honest. I can take it:

CAPTAIN GUS

Photos courtesy of Dennis "Mortimer" DuPriest

CARLOS

I just don't see the resemblance. This picture is about 3yrs old, but still...

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ABC news just did a 10 second piece on a snowstorm that “forced two vehicles off the road. Fortunately, no one was hurt.” And that was the story!

Huh? Someone please tell me why.

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Memory Du Jour:
The memory I never had -- Of knowing The Warden when she was a tiny thang:

She ws about 4 in this pic.
I photoshopped it and plan on using
it somehow as a business logo when I
get around to starting it.

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Quote of the Day:
"Computers in the future may weigh no more than 1.5 tons." --Popular Mechanics, forecasting the relentless march of science, 1949

Who Wants to be a Millionaire?!

Eight lucky (?) workers from a Nebraska meat packing plant won that $265M Power Ball lottery the other day. Since they opted to take the lump sum, they’re only getting $15.5M each, take home!

Watching them at the press conference, they strike me as regular folk. My favorite answer to a question was from the woman of the group:

Q: Are you married?
A: [quickly] No. All mine. [as she waves the giant fake check]

I’m not sure I’d want to be a part of such a huge lotto winning. I can only imagine how many ghosts from the past would materialize to haunt me and make my life miserable.

What would you do with $15.5M if you won it? Here’s what I’d do:

---Pay our two cars off.
---Pay for my mother-in-law’s house.
---Pay for my mom’s best friend’s house and pay all her bills.
---Buy my sisters new homes.
---College for my kids & sisters’ kids.
---Send my cousin in Brazil a few thousand.
---Give some $ to another cousin for her pastry shop/bakery (invest some too).
---Do something really nice for Nay for being there for me in 2004.
---Move
---Buy a boat
---Buy a truck
---Buy a house “somewhere else”
---Start my business (which I’m going to start anyway soon and slowly)
---Commandeer Gruene Hall and throw a big party, inviting my friends & family. BBQ would be catered by an awesome BBQ joint in Pflugerville. Music would be local and good. Guests would stay, courtesy of me of course, at one of the local hotels, such as the Gruene Mansion Inn or at any one of the other righteous joints there.

Those are just some of the things that come immediately to mind.

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Memory Du Jour:
Tooling around in a little outboard boat with The Warden when we lived in Sea Isle City, NJ, a beautiful little beach town (back then). Townsend’s Inlet was nice. It was a beautiful day. The Warden was 8 months pregnant with The Boy. We fished, laughed and enjoyed being alive. The Warden took great pleasure in randomly selecting live minnows to liberate.

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Quote of The Day:
"I'm going to spend a lot of time on Social Security. I enjoy it. I enjoy taking on the issue. I guess, it's the mother in me." – G.W. Bush, Washington D.C., April 14, 2005

Mayday, Mayday

Well, I wasn’t going to write about our government’s decision to let Dubai Ports, a company from the United Arab Emirates, run port operations at six major US ports, but I just can’t help myself. So I’ll just ramble on...without proof reading. A quick brain dump, if you will.

My opinion? It’s a horrible, unnecessary, avoidable, risky decision.

This disaster-waiting-to-happen was brought to you by: President Bush, Condoleeza Rice, Alberto Gonzales, Donald Rumsfeld, John Snow, and Michael Chertoff.

Why tempt fate? If 95% (guess) of all terrorists perpetrating violence against our country and its citizens/soldiers are Arab, why permit an Arab company to be in a strategic position in perhaps THE weakest security hole in our national security blanket – our ports?

Even worse...According to multiple sources:
1. The UAE is one of the only countries in the world that recognized the Taliban as a legitimate government. Saudi Arabia and Pakistan were the others, but they’re not on the verge of managing six major US ports.
2. Two of the 9/11 hijackers were from the UAE.
3. The UAE has been a key transfer point of illegal shipments of nuclear material to Iran, North Korea and Libya.
4. UAE banks were used as a transfer point for money destined for 9/11 hijackers.
5. The UAE did not cooperate with the Treasury Department’s attempts to find Osama Bin Laden’s bank accounts.

Let’s say that the President was 100%, double-dog sure that the UAE company would never act in any manner against the citizens or infrastructure of the United States (and there’s no way he can be). What would make him risk losing the confidence of our citizens, from both sides of the political fence, by making a decision that just doesn't feel right.

Our government has more than let us down with regard to port security (and border security) over the years...by a long shot. I am convinced that sub-standard and unacceptable port security will come back and bite us in the ass one day. I can see the knee-jerk reaction now.

If Congress pushes some legislation through to stop this madness, and then overrides a presidential veto, I may just regain a little of my lost faith in our politicians.

I may write a more detailed, less-rambly post later.

Mussed Gro Brane

[Update 2/18/06 12:00pm CST] I neglected to indicate….The news story was actually about a high school that had their IT department block MySpace. The student was making a lame attempt at convincing viewers that it was a good resource that high school students should be allowed to use at school. I think not.

Thursday morning I was Blogging and watching CBS morning news. I was treated to yet another knee-jerk reaction to myspace.com and all the dangers it poses to our youth. (Who, pray tell, is just now realizing the hazards the internet poses to children?)

During the piece, a pimplefacedteeniebopper (a junior or senior) got about 10 seconds of potential fame. Instead of using the moment to shine and impress someone besides mommy and granny, the girl informed the viewing public that the MySpace web site was “a really good resource.”

Riiiggghht. Resource? Resource for what honey? Posers pretending to be celebrities? Hormone-oozing teens? Trailer park MILFs posing in too-revealing attire?

It was a shame. The girl actually looked and sounded somewhat intelligent until the “really good resource” came out of her pie hole.

MySpace really is rife with poo. Don’t believe me? If not, maybe you’ll believe Webmiztris. Check her post about MySpace. Of particular interest is Kevin Federline’s MySpace page. Check it out, then do a little browsing around and come back and tell me I’m wrong about the morning news show brain surgeon to be.

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Willie Nelson released a "gay cowboy song" on Valentine’s Day.

There are already groups, which I haven’t been able to find, that are calling for a ban on one thing or another associated with the song. Maybe a ban on the song ... or a ban on country music...or gay country music...or gay cowboys singing any form of country music...Or gay country musicians sodomizing one another while listening to and singing along with old Conway Twitty 8-tracks. Hell, I don’t know. That’s just what I heard on the news, and I don’t feel inclined to waste more of my time than I already have seeking out these morons who have visions of theocratic control of our country and its people.

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Now from a couple of songs of the moment:

Backdoor Cowboy

Cheney's Got a Gun

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Memories Du Jour:


Going to Cowtown and the Cowtown Rodeo in southern New Jersey with The Warden back in ’86 or ’87 and how both of us though we’d time warped back to Texas or Arizona. Here was a real shit kickin’ gig in fuckin’ New Jersey, complete with a dairy (with excellent ice cream and a fake cow to pose with/on for photos!), flea market, trailer trash, a rodeo, and plenty of horse/cow shit! It was much fun!

Going (also with The Warden) to Brownie’s Lodge on Bargaintown Rd in Linwood, NJ. It was an awesome joint that took us both somewhere other than NJ. On Sundays they had music inside and out with a big concrete dance floor. The bands played country & rock music. The crowd was way diverse – Oldsters, youngsters, us in our mid 20s, bikers, yuppies, etc. Everyone was there to dance, socialize, drink beer and eat burgers, chicken, clams, crabcakes, barbecued brisket, etc., from the outdoor kitchen. Here are the only pictures I could find on the internet about Brownie’s: The Collar Brothers web site. They pics don't do the joint justice. It really was a cool, cool place and, when we were there, we weren’t in Joisy.

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Quote of the Day:
"He was a state sponsor of terror. In other words, the government had declared, you are a state sponsor of terror." —George W. Bush, on Saddam Hussein, Manhattan, Kan., Jan. 23, 2006

A Polack Goes Into a Drugstore....

And goes up to the counter with his box of condoms in preparation for his first sexual encounter. The cashier rings them up and announces that they'll cost $5.50. The Pole responds, "How can it be $5.50? The price tag says $5.00. What's the extra fifty cents for?"

Cashier: "Tax."
Pole: "Ahh....I always wondered how they stayed on.

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Speaking of tacks...

We got our tax return back from the preparer yesterday.
Apparently, the fourteen thousand dollars we paid this year in federal income tax was two thousand dollars less than Uncle Sam needed to keep our country going.

I suppose I should be grateful. I suppose I should have visions of my $16,000 going to support noble and real causes such as these porkbarrell beauties that were budgeted in 2005:

$469,000 for the National Wild Turkey Federation (NWTF)
$335,000 for cranberry/blueberry disease and breeding in New Jersey.
$100,000 added by the House at the request of House appropriator John Peterson (R-Pa.) for the Punxsutawney Weather Discovery Center Museum.
$300,000 for wool research (Mont., Texas, and Wyo.). Wool prices are improving to levels that have not been seen for 8-10 years. The low value of the U.S. dollar has led to an increase in exports, giving the wool industry cause for optimism. Since 1984, $4.6 million has been appropriated for this research.

These are but some of the examples of how my money might be spent next year. And if that weren’t a noble enough list of projects funded by OUR tax dollars, check out the 2005
Oinker Awards.

Source of information: Citizens Against Government Waste

Fucking government fuckers.

Get off your asses and communicate with your representatives.

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Memory Du Jour:
When I was 14 I hijacked my mom’s car to go visit my girlfriend, who lived way out by the White Tank Mountains. I elicited my little sister’s help. (I needed her to help me push the car out the driveway and for moral support.)

My sister and I started the 16 mile drive to my girlfriend’s house at around midnight. After our arrival at the girlfriend’s house, I slinked up to her bedroom window and we talked for a grand total of about 10 minutes.

Our drive home took us through the then thriving metropolis (Not!) of Litchfield Park. My sister and I talked about whatever 14-year-olds and their 12-year-old sisters talk about at the wee, wee hours of the morning while driving their mother’s car without permission. Whatever we were talking about, it was sufficient to distract me from a particular intersection with a four-way stop.

I didn’t realize there was a stop sign until I was about a third of the way through the intersection. I slammed on the brakes (no screeching) and, for some dumb 14-year-old reason, I backed up for a do-over. After making a perfectly legal stop the second time around, I continued through the intersection. Not surprisingly, I was soon panicking at the sight of flashing cop lights in the rear-view mirror.

Cop: Can I see your driver’s license?
Me: Umm. I left it at home.
Cop: How old are you son?
Me: 14.
Cop: Step out of the car please.

My mom got the phone call at about 1:30am: “You must be mistaken, my son is in bed asleep.” I wasn’t.

So Mom had to get a coworker to pick her up and drive her out to Litchfield Park to pick up her kids and her car. I don’t remember much about our first meeting that night, but I do know that I was scared shitless.

My sentence at Juvenile Court was 80 hours of community service. A severe grounding was my sentence at home. I still make myself stay home on some Fridays/Saturdays as part of my sentence...more frequently the older I get.

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Quote of the Day:
If you saw two guys named Hambone and Flippy, which one would you think liked dolphins the most? I'd say Flippy, wouldn't you? You'd be wrong, though. It's Hambone. -- Jack Handey

Deadeye Dick

Up until my friend ~Y~ asked me to write a little on this topic, I hadn’t thought much about that pesky hunting accident involving our Vice President. But ~Y~ got me thinking, and I think we all know that can be a little dangerous.

So anyway, Dick shot his wad on a guy. Wait. That didn't come out right. Shit. That didn't sound right either. Really people; shotgun shells have wads in them. I wasn't being nasty. It's early, and my articulo-meter isn't working right. Want proof? Click here and scroll down to "Construction of a typical shotshell."

Okay...Let's try that again.

So anyway....Cheney blasted a guy, millionaire Harry Whittington, with a poorly executed shot at a covey of quail which had flushed from its cover. Deadeye Dick, an avid hunter and member of the NRA, hit Whittington with a blast from a 28-gauge shotgun at 30 yards. Whittington was apparently walking back from picking up a quail he had just shot a few seconds before.

Yeah, yeah. Accidents happen, I know. But riddle me this:

---Do avid (read experienced) hunters shoot first and then look where they’re shooting? If you’ve ever been quail hunting, you’ll know that a covey of quail flushing from a hidden location can scare the ever livin’ shit out of you, but come on. How can you not see a hunter in an international orange hunting getup at 30 yards in the flatland scrub of South Texas? When you hunt, you're supposed to be aware of your surroundings at all times. This includes where your fellow hunters are and things in the distance that might be affected by your shooting.
---And could you ever imagine that this avid hunter and member of the National Rifle Association would break hunting laws of the state of Texas? That’s right. Deadeye Dick was hunting without the required bird endorsement on his hunting license. ABC News is reporting that the VP is going to pay his $7.00 after the fact? Huh? Why isn’t he being made to pay what I might have to pay? Where’s the equity in enforcement of the law? Here are penalties for violating state fish and wildlife laws:
· be fined (Class C - $25-$500; Class B - $200-$2000; Class A - $500-$4000; State Jail Felony, $1500-$10,000);
· be jailed (Class B and higher offenses);
· face automatic suspension or revocation of licenses for up to 5 years;
· forfeit hunting gear, including firearms, used to commit a violation.
---I wonder too if Dick received state-required hunter safety education certification. If he didn’t, and he most likely didn’t, he’s liable to pay a fine in the neighborhood of $500.

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Memory Du Jour:
I was seven years old when I first went fishing. My mom and a friend took me to the pier in Manhattan Beach, CA where I caught my first fish, a perch, on a bright red salmon egg. Over the years I lost that first fishing pole of mine, but I still have the fishing pole my mom used on that day, and it’s in amazingly good condition for being 36 years old.

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Quote of the Day:
"I'll be glad to talk about ranching, but I haven't seen the movie. I've heard about it. I hope you go — you know — I hope you go back to the ranch and the farm is what I'm about to say." —George W. Bush, after being asked whether he's seen Brokeback Mountain, Manhattan, Kan., Jan. 23, 2006

Spaz

Back spasms, that is.

I fell asleep on the couch Friday night and have been paying for it ever since. The two muscles on either side of my spine are very tight and tensed up, about halfway between my shoulder blades and my waist. I tried heat, a hot bath, and stretching, but none of it worked, so I broke down and took a muscle relaxer. My old friend Cyclobenzaprene will make it alllll beeetttterrr. That and the little glass of Bacardi Gold, straight up of course, will make for a good slumber and squishy muscles. unfortunately, it’ll make my squishy brained in the morning. Nothing too bad, but I’ll be a little slower than I ordinarily am.

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I’ve been watching the Olympics all weekend. I was never much of a winter sports fanatic, unless you count drunk/stoned tubing in an abandoned rock quarry. I do like watching the Olympics a great deal though. What I don’t like is all the cutesy interviewing, profiling and analyzing that goes on in between what everyone is really tuning in to watch – The competition. I think it’s a safe bet that people are tuning into NBC or MSNBC to watch Olympic competition, not to listen to some idiot do a lame-ass, “educational” piece on the luge. I wish I’d had the presence of mind to note the guy’s name and/or play it back on the DVR to record his words forever in my little Blog here.

Right now they’re profiling snowboarder Shaun White, his family, his background and his rise to Olympic prominence. Sure, Mr. White is a good boarder (and skateboarder), but I couldn’t care less to watch his life story on a broadcast that should be showing the competition. And who could possibly care (minus his parents) if the guy has “rubbed elbows with Lindsay Lohan,” as they dutifully reported a minute ago?

To the NBC decision-making simpletons: Dispense with the bullshit. Show competition. If you simply must do the cutesy shit, do it on MSNBC or make it available on your web site. Better yet, start a channel that does nothing but run athlete profiles. You could even do an “Athlete Profiles On Demand” channel. Yeah, do that, and then put a few Nielsen rating boxes in some houses. I’ll betcha a shiny nickel that the ratings will be hovering on ZERO.

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Memory Du Jour:
When I was 5 and 6 years old, we lived in Inglewood, California. Back then it was a nice, quiet, green, pretty neighborhood. It’s not so nice a neighborhood nowadays, but I have a ton of really nice memories of the two houses we lived in there. The 2nd house we lived in had a number of fruit trees in the big back yard. I remember wandering the yard picking apricots, peaches, plums, little sour apples, grapes and some other fruits I can’t recall. How cool it was to sit down in the lush, green grass to eat the smorgasbord of fruit on cool, Southern California days.

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Quote of the Day:
To me, boxing is like a ballet, except there's no music, no choreography, and the dancers hit each other. – Jack Handey

Idle Time

I’ve been idle here for over a week now, and it’s pretty damned perplexing to me that I haven’t found anything worth writing about. Actually, I’ve seen and heard plenty I’d like to write about, I just can’t seem to find the time to sit down and put the fingers to the keyboard.

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Last night The Boy and I watched a few minutes of the Grammy Awards show. The only thing that stood out was how bad Kanye West sucked. I mean this guy really, really sucked. I think I saw him on SNL a few months ago and he really, really sucked there too.

I just don’t get the whole gangsta rap thing or how it can be categorized as music. Some of the lyrics are clever and all that, but most of it’s crap, and very little of it deserves to be categorized as music; not by a long shot.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s some clever rap/hiphop out there that actually sounds like music and has interesting/fun lyrics but, like I said, most of it’s crap.

One of the funniest rapper dudes I’ve heard before is Afroman. The guy’s pretty very crude in some of his songs, but his lyrics/rhymes are very clever. Besides, he’s anti-establishment and doesn’t care much for the recording industry or his fellow rap artists.

One thing I’ve stressed to my kids over the years regarding music is that you can like any music you want, but if you really want to know how talented a particular musician or group is, listen to them live. That is the only way to truly judge a musician. If they sound like talentless, tone-deaf wannabes during a live performance, that’s exactly what they are.

The Boy understands that and has embraced it. The Girl, on the other hand, has some learnin’ to do!

Anyway....I could go on and on about music and how crappy pop music is today, but I need to get ready for work.

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The local news is reporting an overnight stabbing at a “cabaret.” I thought they called them strip clubs, topless clubs or titty bars. Cabaret? Give me a break!

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Memory Du Jour:
In 4th grade I was running across the playground. When I ran by John Johnson, he hit me square in the gut with a white sock full of sand. It knocked the wind out of me and, to this day, I have no idea why he did it. John, I will find you one day; and I will lock you in a little room and make you listen to live recordings of Kanye West until your ears bleed.

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Quote of the Day:
If you are a happy employee does that make you gruntled? -- Jack Handey

Can't We All Talk About Something Else?

At the request of RobinBaby, I’m going to move on to another subject. The topic of the previous post was apparently a little too grody for her. ;-) Grody indeed, but who said fighting the war on boogerterrorists would be an easy job?

I plan to wage war against these terrorists, striking them on their turf (the public restroom), before they strike us at home. If we don’t fight the boogerwar ”over there, we’ll be fighting it in our own back yard (i.e. our bathrooms at home). Stay tuned.

Sorry ~Y~, that’s about as political as I’m going to get today :-( I’m sure my opinion generator will get the best of me again and I’ll post some political stuff, but I just don’t feel it today.

Now, on to Something Else.

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Keeping on track with my luck, I had an encounter with one of our fine country’s many idiots on Thursday. This one was nice enough, but I couldn’t help myself. Here’s a snapshot of the dialogue:

---Thank you for calling_____. This is Bob.
---Hi Bob, This is Carlos. I’m calling to confirm a job.
---Okay. Let me have your home phone.
---Fee-fie-fo. Fee-fie-fo-fo (actually that’s Mike Tyson’s phone number)
---Hold on.
(On hold for about 5 minutes)
---Hello, is someone helping you?
---Yeah, I was holding for Bob
---This is Bob how can I help you.
---This is Carlos. You were checking on something for me.
---What was I checking?
(Pause for effect)
(Exhale for effect)
---(Spoken slowly) Okay. I had a job scheduled with you guys. You were supposed to come out and move some refrigerators. I was calling to confirm the time.
---Oh. So it’s not a delivery.
---No.
---Uhhhh.....Hold on.
---Okay.
(Five more minutes)
(Click. I hang up & call back)
---Thank you for calling...... This is Bob.
---Bob. This is Carlos again. You had me on hold.
---Okay.
---Let try again. I’ll keep it simple so you’ll understand. A contractor we hired to do some work around the house screwed up the refrigerator and had to buy me a new one. You got it so far?
---Uh huh.
---You guys delivered the new fridge last week, but couldn’t hook it up because that same contractor screwed up the installation of the cutoff valve that supplies water to the fridge. The delivery guys left the new guys in the garage. You still following me?
---Yes sir.
---If you look in your system, you’ll see that the work order submitted for my job says you guys are supposed to come back to disconnect the installed fridge and move it into the garage; then you’ll take the new fridge, which is sitting in the garage, and move it into the space left by the fridge you just took out. You’ll then connect the water, make sure it all works, and be on your way. Does all that make sense?
---Yes sir.
---Here’s the short version for ya, just in case: Fridge in the kitchen goes in the garage. Fridge in the garage goes in the kitchen. Simple enough right?
---Yes sir.
---Okay I want to schedule the appointment for as late in the afternoon on Friday as possible.
---I’m sorry sir but we can’t do that.
---Oh really now? And why’s that?
---We’re in New Braunfels and we schedule our work from the farthest point away and work back to New Braunfels.
---So there’s no way you can make this happen?
---No sir.
---Swell. Okay then…let’s schedule the job for Saturday. Can we do it as early as possible?
---We don’t do Saturday’s scheduling until Friday sir.
---I’ll call you Friday Bob.
---Yes sir.
---Thanks.
(click)

I called again yesterday:

---Thank you for calling ____ This is Nick. Can I help you.
---Yeah Nick. I was talking to Bob yesterday. I’m calling to find out the status of a job.
(I gave him the brief rundown)
---Okay. Let me get Dave to help you. Can you hold please?
---Right.
(On hold for a couple of minutes)
---Hello, is someone helping you?
---Yeah Nick, you can. I was holding for Dave.
---Dave’s busy right now.
---You put me on hold five minutes ago to have Dave look into my job status.
---Oh. Hang on. Here he is.

I’ll spare you the rest.
Talk about an incompetent bunch of simpletons fucks.

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Memory Du Jour:
Easter day, 1968 or 1969, Escondido, CA at grandma’s house.
I was 6 or 7. My sister and I woke up to find Easter baskets full of goodies at our bedroom door. We reveled over the chocolates and miniature stuffed chicks and bunnies and other stuff. We spent the rest of the morning coloring Easter eggs. Sometime later in the day, we hit the road for a short trip to Tijuana, (it ain’t pronounced tee-uh-wahnna, it’s teewahnna) Mexico. When Mom, grandma, grandpa, sister and I hit the border checkpoint, the Mexican border guards saw us two kids admiring and eating our beautiful Easter eggs. I don’t remember what was said (I didn’t speak Spanish at the time), but I do remember my mom had a rather enthusiastic discussion with the guard before we had to hand our eggs over to the Federales. We cried. Mom was furious.

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Quote of the Day:
“I’m gonna make the nice Super Bowl that everyone was talking about into the hate Super Bowl.” –Joey Porter, Pittsburgh Steelers, 02 February, 2006

CJ Note: I typed this quote while watching NBC News yesterday morning, so it may be a word or two off, but he did say the SB was going to be one of hate. Joey Porter is just another millionaire punk professional athlete with a big mouth. Shut the fuck up and play football dumbass.

Boogie Man!

I’m going to touch on a subject that’s been bugging (and disturbing) me for some time. How long it’s been bothering me I’m not sure, but I can say it’s been longer than 10 years. Why I’m choosing to write about it here I don’t know. Perhaps I am secretly hoping you have all noticed it, harbor similar disgust for this despicable practice, and yearn to rid our planet of all those who perpetrate this offensive and grotesque act.

There is no real way to transition to the issue at hand, so I’ll just get right to it.

Why is it that some men find a need to pick their noses and mount their nasty green trophies on walls around urinals and toilets in public restrooms? I’m not just talking about restrooms that you’d expect would be nasty and frequented by the dregs of society; this phenomenon can be observed in bathrooms frequented by people from all demographics, social standings and geographic origins.

So the next time you guys (or adventurous girls) have the opportunity to be in a men’s restroom, take a look around and see what you see. I guarantee that the number of bathrooms you find that bear the tracks of the despicable boogerpickerwiper will outnumber those that do not.

Now it’s up to you, my beloved readers (all eight of you!) to tell me that I’m not the only one who’s in a permanent state of disgust over this. Tell me that I’m not losing my mind. Validate that this does happen, and that I’m not the only one who thinks the nasty perpetrators should be severely punished.

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It’s going to cost (the contractor) Fifty fuckin’ bucks to have the movers come do the refrigerator swap (see yesterday’s post). Good thing the contractor’s paying for it.

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My internet connection is horrible this morning. The connection to my wireless router is fine, but beyond the router, the response is horrendous (670ms to ping blogger; 974 for Google).

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Memory du Jour:
My earliest memory is when I was less than two years old. We were in Reno, NV at the Whitney Ranch. I remember sitting in the window “reading” a book. It was sunny outside and the landscape was blanketed in snow. I remember the warm sun on my back.
A quick search this morning reveals that the Whitney Ranch is most likely a housing development now.

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Quote of the Day:
"I would like to live forever, because we should not live forever, because if we were ever supposed to live forever, then we would live forever, but we cannot live forever, which is why I would not live forever." -- Miss Alabama in the 1994 Miss Universe contest
Note: I think I dated this chick’s sister!

Me so Tired

Long day yesterday. Breakfast at The Warden’s cousin’s house, followed by about an hour and a half of slack time at home. Then at 3:00pm we were at a birthday for a nephew who turned 18. We ate and drank beer at a BBQ joint until around 6:00pm, after which we went the nephew’s parents’ house for a while. of the cousin’s houses. We hd some drinks, ate some more, and watched basketball and boxing. The kids went bowling. It was a good day and evening...long, but good. The Boy, The Girl, The Warden and I got back home and to bed around 2:00am. I was up at 5:00am. Damned biological clock.

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Our new refrigerator came today; at 7:55am. You remember...the one that the contractor bought to replace the one his subcontractors fucked up. So The Boy and I emptied the existing fridge, and the delivery guys cleared a path. Unfortunately, the delivery dudes couldn’t turn off the water cutoff that supplies the fridge’s ice machine/water dispenser. Seems the plumber that put in the new one during kitchen remodeling installed it in such a way that the water can’t be turned off. Something to do with the nut underneath the knob. If the nut’s too tight, the knob won’t turn. If the knob is loose enough to turn the knob, water sprays everywhere. I suppose I could've cut the water at the street and relieved the back pressure on the plumbing so they could swap out the water line, but it was early and I wasn't much in the mood to do shit like that. Either way, the fucking cutoff needs to be replaced. Besides, if I can waste just a little more of that contractor's time and money, I'll be okay with it.

At least we have a working fridge.

Update (I started this entry earlier this morning)
I just called Best Buy to find out what has to be done to get the delivery guys out here to do the fridge shuffle again. For some reason, I have to go in to set up the delivery. I’ll betcha a nickel I go in tomorrow and they’ll tell me I could’ve done it on the phone.

Anyway....once the delivery is set up, I’ll call the contractor who will get the plumber out here to replace the cutoff valve. For some damned reason the contractor wants the delivery dudes and the plumber here at the same time. I’m very skeptical that it’ll happen right. Someone won’t show up on time and I’ll end up wasting more of my time on this shit.

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I’m not feeling creative today. I’ve got a busy week ahead of me; so I suppose I better get back to doing nothing. Adios for now. Me tired. Me lie down now.

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Quote of the Day:
"Natural gas is hemispheric. I like to call it hemispheric in nature because it is a product that we can find in our neighborhoods." —George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., Dec. 20, 2000

And now, in Entertainment News

Television networks UPN and The WB, announced yesterday that they’re merging into one channel called The CW. Can you believe it?

Two shitty channels are merging their shitty lineups of shitty programming into one super shitty channel. Some examples:

South Beach
Get this Party Started
Everybody Hates Chris
Love, Inc.
Eve
Cuts
Girlfriends (next episode is “Hot Girl on Girl Action”)
Beauty and the Geek
Living with Fran

And this doesn’t include all the reruns of shitty series!

PAX should’ve got in on this huge fecal merger.

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As you may have heard, Ford is the next automaker to announce massive cuts in the US workforce. 14 plants in the US are being shut down, or “idled” as ABC News reported yesterday morning.

25,000 to 30,000 Ford workers will lose their jobs in the cuts. That’s a hell of a lot of people. Add that to the 30K+ US workers that General Motors laid off a couple of months ago and you get (hang on, I’m cipherin’) one buttload of people out of work. (I can’t wait to hear how the current administration is going to spin that data when the subject of unemployment comes up again.)

The Ford corporate information warriors are giving pathetically scripted press releases rife with corporate mumbo jumbo sufficient to choke even Linda Lovelace.

I wonder if Ford will follow General Motors’ lead and, in a month or so, announce an increase in automobile production in India. Yeah, GM really did that.

And, yeah, that’s pretty sad.

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Our government is at it again. I know I said I wouldn’t get into politics on this site any more, but the trends of our current administration’s actions are really troubling. Not only are they monitoring its citizens’ communications offshore without required warrants, they have been subpoenaing data from internet search engines since last year. MSN and Yahoo have already coughed up the data. Google is fighting it (Good for you Google!).

The Bush administration has the Justice department trying to get this data to defend their Children’s Online Protection Act (COPA), which is being challenged in a Philadelphia court.

In a nutshell COPA is the government’s attempt to help us with parenting. In other words, the administration believes the vast majority of parents aren’t smart or responsible enough to monitor what their kids are doing online. Wait!! Isn’t this the same administration that claims Amurcans are smart and responsible enough to invest their own money in private retirement accounts instead of leaving it in the Social Security system? Yeah, it is the same administration.

Anyway....I’ll concede that there are some pretty stupid people that really do need their pee-pees whacked, but the government is overstepping its bounds in my opinion. Aren’t Republican politicians all about smaller government and personal responsibility? That’s what they say, but this action (and others) is proof that they’re really not.

I’d tell you to Google the Google legal battle as it relates to the Children’s Online Protection Act, but that might subject you to eavesdropping by Big Brother.

Next thing you know, the Government will start raiding private homes just to check and see if we’re breaking any laws, or aiding terrorists, or maybe even exercising our right to free speech.

Okay. No more fucking politics. I promise. Really.

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Quote of the Day:
When you die, if you get a choice between going to regular heaven or pie heaven, choose pie heaven. It might be a trick, but if it's not, mmmmmmm, boy. – Jack Handey

Oral Exploration & Hooters

Okay...I’ll admit I’ve been doing one hell of a lot of blog slacking lately. Actually, I’ve been doing a lot of slacking in general. So sue me!

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Went to the dentist yesterday...again. Got the top half of my mouth juiced up with Novocain this time. While I was reclining, waiting for the juice to spread throughout and numb my face, I was tinkering with my cell phone. I started up Yahoo Instant Messenger and who did I see on line? Kimbo! Being the geek that I am, I massaged messaged her, just to say hi and to see how she was doing. We only exchanged a couple of messages before the hygienist came in to “do me.” It was good to see Kim in good spirits.

Technology amazes me. I work in a field where we deal with some pretty advanced technological concepts, but little things still amaze me. Think about it. I was sitting in a dentist’s chair, exchanging messages with someone in the boonies of New Mexico on a device no bigger than my wallet. Pretty fuckin’ cool if you ask me.

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A few hours shy of exactly a week ago, The Boy and I went out for a new interior door.

We left the house for Lowe’s around noon. On the way, we stopped for gas. I pulled up to the pump. The Boy was fiddling with his Ipod, looking for another play list for our drive.

Before I got out to gas up, a woman walked by the passenger side. First I thought it, then I said it out loud: “Is that woman pregnant or does she just have a weird lookin’ gut?” The boy glanced up but said nothing. As the woman approached the front of the store and prepared to make a ninety-degree turn to the left, I said, “Okay. Look. She’s getting’ ready to turn. Now we’ll find out.” She made her turn. Halfway through the turn I was sure it was an odd-shaped beer gut. Then she completed her change of course and regaled us with a full profile. “Oh my god. Those are her boobs!” I exclaimed. The Boy replied, “That’s disgusting.” And it was. And our eyes suffered greatly.

This woman was wearing a faded pair of those cheap-ass, stretchy denim pants you can probably get four-for-a-dollar at K-Mart. She also had on a raggedy T-shirt, which, under ordinary circumstances, isn’t an issue with me. What was an issue with me was the fact that her mondo-disgusto hooters were hanging down below her waist. I kid you not. They were, without question, the most gruesome, saggy pair of boobs I’d ever seen. And never before had I seen a pair of mammalian protruberances hanging so low from their point of origin. The coup de gras was the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, so her giant milk bags swayed to and fro, striking fear into any man or animal that came within two feet of her.

Why the hell would someone with such large, saggy gazongas walk around in public in a T-shirt, sans brassiere? That’s just plain rude. Don’t get me wrong. I understand how naturally-large hooters, age, and gravity all work together, but really....that was thoroughly unnecessary.

The Boy and I continued to laugh as I pulled away from the pump. And we both involuntarily stole a glance into the store at the woman who was just plopping her boobs on the counter to make her purchase.

Then, I pulled into traffic.

Then, looking in my rear-view mirror, I spied a dunce on a motorcycle swerving and speeding behind me. He veered into the center lane, passed me and pulled in front of me. What an ass, I thought. As is usually the case with idiots in traffic, we ended up waiting at the same stoplight a few short seconds later. Then The Boy started laughing and pointed out that the guy on the motorcycle could barely reach the ground. I looked and laughed. He was balancing his bike on the very tips of his toes. It was good for a laugh and a hearty making-fun-of by me and The Boy.

A couple of minutes later we were at another stoplight. We looked to the right and saw a guy -- actually, an adult man. He was on the grassy shoulder on a bicycle. The bicycle looked similar to this
picture, only it was much dorkier. It had a really goofy banana seat and was very cheesy. What made it funnier was that the guy was wearing a very cheap looking leather jacket and a helmet. He was sitting on the bike, trying to walk it through an area that must’ve been a little too treacherous for this wannabe Knievel. Poor guy. I think he might’ve been just one taco shy of the combination plate.

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Nay...oh Nay...Where are you? We miss you. I’m gonna start posting pictures of you until you come out of hibernation :-)


Lower Lake Pleasant, AZ, 1978 or so.

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Quote of the Day:
"As you can possibly see, I have an injury myself — not here at the hospital, but in combat with a cedar. I eventually won. The cedar gave me a little scratch. As a matter of fact, the Colonel asked if I needed first aid when she first saw me. I was able to avoid any major surgical operations here, but thanks for your compassion, Colonel." —George W. Bush, after visiting with wounded veterans from the Amputee Care Center of Brooke Army Medical Center, San Antonio, Texas, Jan. 1, 2006

Certamente

I was watching an episode (#17) of the Sopranos on HBO on Demand this morning and heard a song that I really liked. Of course none of the music was listed in the credits but I’m pretty good on the ol’ internet, so I started my search and found what I was looking for.

The song was called Certamente (Certainly, pronounced "chertamente") and it’s by an Italian group called Madreblu. I really liked the song and the woman’s voice. I didn't understand a word of the song, but it took me somewhere. I’m not sure where exactly, but it took me somewhere....somewhere nice.

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If you smell something funny, it’s probably the smoke from the friction my two brain cells are generating as they rub together, not unlike grasshopper legs, to generate thought. They go at a steady pace most of the time, speeding up when I have a particularly significant thought or idea. They sped up a little just a minute ago and set off the smoke alarm.

It occurred to me this morning that I really have no guy friends here in town. Don’t get me wrong...I have acquaintances, business associates, and coworkers, but no real friends; no one I’d call up to go fishing, beering (that’s a verb I just made up), watch a game or just to bullshit with.

The Warden jokes about it on occasion. “You don’t have any friends.
And we both laugh.

Maybe I’m just content with my little life, here in my little slice of the world, with my little family. But then again...

Maybe I’m just not a likeable person.
Maybe I have bad breath.
Perhaps it’s B.O.?
Or maybe I’m just really picky about who I choose as friends.

So I pondered the whole friend thing this morning for a few minutes over some coffee and some internet surfing and decided that my breath is fine, I don’t have B.O., and I’m a fairly amiable person. I think I’m just more selective about my friends these days. Then I wondered if I’ve always been selective, and am only now realizing it.

I’ve met nice enough people through my current job but, to tell you the truth, they’re just kind of geeky. Not that I’m the epitome of cool or anything...They’re just a little too square for me if you know what I mean. And we have nothing in common. Come to think of it, 99% of the parents of our kids’ classmates are pretty square...or overly serious and dull. Hmmm....Maybe my perspective’s skewed because I have a small group of very cool friends.

The best friend I have today lives in Dallas. Elliott and I worked together for a few years and became fast friends and bonded like brothers. I haven’t seen him since 2003, though we do talk on the phone and exchange emails every so often. He’s one of those rare “give-you-the-shirt-off-his-back” kind of friends.

When I was working down in Corpus Christi four of us who used to hang out pretty regularly: Me, Jim, Marco & Elliott. We’d hang out at Jim’s place most of the time. He had a detached garage that he called the Two Dog Saloon (He had two dogs that ruled the house). We’d hang out there, drink beer, listen to music, play darts, bitch about work, and just talk general shit like only guys can do. It was fun.

Marco lives here in town with his wife and newborn baby girl. He and his wife stay really busy with their families and friends (they both were born and raised here) so we don’t see them too often.

Two weeks ago Jim, who lives in Maryland, told me that he’s taking a job here in San Antonio. He, his wife and their baby will be moving here this summer. They were here a few months ago and the four of us went out for a few beers and barbecue. We talked about how cool it would be if they moved here. Now they are...and I think it is going to be pretty cool. Neither of them are squares, and they make fine partners for cocktails and barbecues.

All Jim, Marco and I need to do is get Elliott down here and we’ll have the little group together again.

I’m not sure of the aim of this post and, to tell you the truth, I think I’m rambling a bit so I’ll just shut up for now.

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The painter is coming today to do the trim work in the kitchen and to touch up some stuff he missed on the walls. We also have a plumber coming to unclog the main line. Every time our washer drains, it backs up in the sink and in the laundry drain. We had this problem a couple of years ago and thought the last plumber fixed it. Guess not.

Time to get to some chores.

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Quote of the Day:
If I ever went to war, instead of throwing a grenade, I'd throw one of those small pumpkins. Then maybe my enemy would pick up the pumpkin and think about the futility of war. And that would give me the time I need to hit him with a real grenade. – Jack Handey

Things About Me

Three names you go by:
1. Carlos 2. Cj 3. Dad

Three parts of your heritage
1. Mexican 2. Scottish 3. British, English, whatever

Three of your everyday essentials
1. Computer 2. Food 3. Coffee

Three things you’re wearing right now
1. Shorts 2. T-Shirt 3. Socks

Three things you want in a relationship
1. Open communications 2. Lots of fun 3. Torrid, frequent sex ;-)

Two truths and a lie
1. I despise narrow-minded people 2. I’m a morning person 3. I hit the lotto and am moving to Tahiti

Three things about the opposite sex that appeal to you
1. Ability to communicate 2. Gentleness 3. The way they look in tight jeans!

Three of your favorite hobbies
1. Cooking 2. Fishing 3. Sex

Three things you want to do really badly right now
1. Get our house renovations over and done with. 2. Not go to work 3. Go back to school

Three places you want to go
1. Mexico City (again) 2. Jamaica (again) 3. Los Compadres restaurant (in Progresso on the Yucatan peninsula) for their great tacos al pastor

Three things you want to do before you die
1. See my kids get married and have kids. 2. Visit Greece. 3. Enjoy the fruits of my labor by living through more than a few years of retirement.

Three ways that you’re stereotypically a guy:
1. It’s hard to watch TV without the remote in my hand. 2. I’m not very good at cleaning house (I try though). 3. It’s hard not to gawk at a girl with big ol’ breasteses or a way fine ass, especially in tight jeans ;-)

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I had a nickname once upon a time. Nina, an old friend in NJ started calling me Will back in 1985 or so. Why? Because “I will” was a common answer from me any time she gave me a hard time about doing one thing or another. Her kids even started calling me Uncle Will. The last time I visited her in 1995 they were still calling me Uncle Will. I think I’ll write about ol’ Nina in a future blog entry. She was a fuckin’ riot.

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This story kills me!

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Quote of the Day:
"If I'm the president of the United States, I walk right into Union Square, I set up my little presidential podium, and I say, 'Listen, citizens of San Francisco, if you vote against military recruiting, you're not going to get another nickel in federal funds. Fine. You want to be your own country? Go right ahead. And if Al Qaeda comes in here and blows you up, we're not going to do anything about it. We're going to say, look, every other place in America is off limits to you, except San Francisco. You want to blow up the Coit Tower? Go ahead.'" --Bill O'Reilly, November 2005, on San Francisco voting to ban military recruiters from city schools

Note: What the fuck does letting recruiters come to your schools have to do with Al Qaeda? Did you know that the “No Child Left Behind” act mandates that public schools release names, home phone numbers and home addresses of your children to military recruiters? My son’s private school has recruiters visit too. I don’t have a problem with recruiters visiting or serving in the military (I did it for 21yrs after all), but I do have a problem with how deceptively they sugarcoat their pitch. I’d love to have one call or come by here. I’d pretend I wasn’t a retired vet, and let them sling the bullshit until the end. ;-)

A Little Mexican For Robin

No, no no....I didn't go and get rlb a mail-order, horse-hung, south-of-the-border, midget masseur chef to satisfy her every desire. I finally got around to putting together my toritilla soup recipe for her.

Sorry it took so long to get this to you. The ingredients are approximate because I cook this by eye/taste.

3 cloves garlic (add/subtract to taste)
½ an onion, cut into chunks
½ teaspoon of cumin
½ teaspoon of Mexican oregano (regular oregano is fine)
1 can tomato sauce (you can leave this out if you don’t want it tomatoee
1 bunch fresh cilantro
A few chicken breasts
6-10 cups of chicken stock**
Vegetable oil
Small sprig of epazote (no biggie if you can’t find it)
Salt/freshly ground pepper to taste
a couple of avocados
1 chunk of queso fresco
3 limes halved
Corn tortillas

**--Boil the chicken (for stock) and strain
--Roast garlic & onion over a flame until slightly blackened (not cooked), or on a comal/cast iron pan.
--Add the following to the pot of chicken & stock: Onion, Garlic, cumin, oregano, tomato sauce, salt, pepper, epazote, ¼ cup of cilanto leaves (pulled from stems, not chopped).
--Simmer, adjust ingredients to taste.
--Cut about 3 or so corn tortillas into strips about 1” long by ½” wide. Fry them in some oil until golden brown. Drain them on a paper towel.
--Let the whole thing simmer until it’s looking and tasting right to you.
--Add the fried tortilla strips and let them simmer with the soup for 5-10 minutes.
--Cut avocado into ½” squares
--Serve in big bowls.
--Garnish with avocado, fresh cilantro, crumbled queso fresco a squirt of fresh lime juice. Try a little fresh diced onion too...or just a spoon of pico de gallo if you’re feeling frisky!

I think that about covers it. Like I said, I cook mostly by eye/taste so use your judgment and make it how you like it. The ingredients are there for you to have your way with.

Oh, and if you want a nice addition to the garnish, you can slice up some of the corn tortillas into strips about 2” long and about as wide as spaghetti. Fry until crispy, drain, and add the nice little crispy things as garnish with the other stuff. Or you can form and fry them into little bird’s nest looking things and perch them in the middle of the bowl.

I'm a pretty fair typist, but if you see something that doesn't look right, feel free to send me a "hey stupid."

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My trip to the dentist was virtually painless, even the shots of Novocain didn’t hurt. Amazing. They ended up doing my lower face instead of one side of it. I’ve never had my face so numb in all of my life. It was a trip. The face is a little sore this morning, but the pain is perfectly manageable.

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The painter who was spraying texture on the walls in the kitchen (yeah we’re still getting stuff done) left a nice big scratch on the front of our $1,700 stainless steel refrigerator yesterday. I noticed it last night after he left. The thing that kills me about the whole thing is that I left a note on the counter for the contractor on Monday with my rules for this round of construction. I said, exactly (and in bold face): “I want the refrigerator and stove completely covered and protected at the beginning of each workday. They’re brand new and have no damage. I want them uncovered at the end of the work day so we can use them. Needless to say, Mr. Contractor will be buying me a new refrigerator door unless he can repair it to the point that I won’t be able to notice a fucking thing.

While we’re on the note of contractors...When they did the front bathroom, the tile guys cut the holes in the tub tiles (for hot/cold water pipes & knobs) a little too big. So...the escutcheons (plates) don’t completely cover the holes. I brought this up to the contractor who filled the ¼” gaps with some stuff, but it didn’t look right, so I told him so. He replied by, “Well what you need to do is...” I cut him off: “I need to do what?" He got the point. He found a bigger escutcheon to use, but it’s a piece of shit and it’s ugly. It’s a two-piece thing that requires holes to be drilled in the brand new tiles. I told him to hold off....That I’d find a solution. Ya know what my solution’s gonna be? It’ll be a brand new faucet set that Mr. Contractor will be purchasing.

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Quote of the Day:
“Time to kick your ass.” –Me, to a friend when the alarm on my watch went off during a smoke break. –Somewhere in the Caribbean Sea, circa 1994. It was so spontaneous, and the timing was so perfect, that we laughed about it for weeks.

Booty

I was sitting here perusing some blogs this morning when a commercial came on the ol’ tee-vee that really bothered me. It was a commercial for the pain killer/anti-inflamatory Motrin. The jingle was more Gwen Stefani-like than a song. Think “Hollaback Girl.”

Anyway, the lyrics go, in part: “Achin’ back don’t bring me down. Wanna shake my booty all around...Gonna ride this back pain outta town...”

To think that there’s some dumbass up at Stupid Commercial World Headquarters getting paid a six-figure salary to sign off on shit like this. What’s even worse is there’s undoubtedly someone out there in tee-vee-land who has purchased Motrin because of this retarded commercial.

It is one of the lamest commercials I’ve seen in recent memory.

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After three days of no air conditioning at work I’m ready for the weekend. Temps hovered around 85 and it sucked, especially since I work around heat-spewing computers all day. I’ll find out in an hour or so if the workers finished last night as they were supposed to.

Before my weekend begins though, I get to visit the dentist for a little pain and suffering. They’ll be shooting up the left side of my face with Novocain and doing some work. I then go back the following week for more of the same work, only on the other side of my head.

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Quote of the Day:
The face of a child can say it all, especially the mouth part of the face.

New Year, New Me?

I never did New Year resolutions before because I always thought they were stupid. I mean, why the hell should I set a specific date to decide to do (or stop doing) stuff?

This year I decided to break with my tradition of non-resolution. This year I think I have some good things to resolve to do, most of them health related. And this year I have a few blogger friends who might keep me honest :-)

And here, in no specific order, they are:
1. Lower my cholesterol. I’ve been pretty good about taking my medicine, but I need to be better. I should have the results of last week’s blood test by the end of the week.
2. Lower my blood pressure. It was 148/90 last week when I went to the Dr., and that just ain’t good.
3. Lose some freakin’ weight! I don’t expect to be the 165lb youngster I was when I was in my 20s, but I could definitely stand to lose, at a minimum, the weight I’ve gained since I retired from the service. I was maybe a little too joyous about not having to work out, run and eat sensibly. I’ve really put on a lot in the last two years and 8 months since retiring. Give or take 3 or 4 lbs, I’ve gained 35lbs!!! Can you believe that shit? That’s embarrassing. Ten of that has been since I quit smoking in September. The only thing I’ve got going for me is that I carry my weight very well.
4. Not let the little shit get to me. I’m pretty good at handling the big crises, but little things (and I mean little) really get me pissed off, irritated, or whatever.
5. Do my best to continue to enjoy and appreciate my friends and family every day as if it were their (or my) last day on earth.
6. Invest my money wisely for the future.7. Persevere to keep my promise to my mom that I won’t be sad because she’s gone. I try, but it’s still hard.

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Is it just me or has the college bowl game been cheapened to the point of no return? When I think of bowl games, I think of real bowl games: The Rose Bowl, Orange Bowl, Sugar Bowl, Cotton Bowl, Peach Bowl and the Gator Bowl. I even kind of feel a little nostalgic about the Fiesta Bowl despite having had misgivings about it when it was first “invented” in 1971.

One day, someone discovered there was more money to be had in college bowl games. So, “they” invented some new bowls. Still, there was more money to be had, so “they” recruited corporate sponsors, and bowls such as the Fiesta Bowl became the Tostitos Fiesta Bowl.

The other day, while watching ESPN, I realized there are bowls that have no significance, other than corporate. The bowl that brought me that realization was the Meineke Car Care Bowl.

You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. The Meineke Car Care Bowl? Do ya think the North Carolina State and University of South Florida football players are bursting with pride over playing at such a prestigious bowl? “Hey grandma, I’m gonna be playing in a college bowl game!” “Oh honey, I’m so proud of you. Which one?” “The Meineke Car Care Bowl!!” “Loser.”

Here are some other, strictly corporate bowl games:
GMAC Bowl
Champs Sports Bowl
Insight Bowl
MPC Computers Bowl
Emerald (as in nuts) Bowl
Outback Bowl
Capital One Bowl

And, sadly, most of the oldsters have been forever tarnished:
The Orange Bowl is now the FedEx Orange Bowl
The Sugar Bowl is now the Nokia Sugar Bowl
The Cotton Bowl is now the AT&T Cotton Bowl
The Peach Bowl is now the Chick fil-A Peach Bowl
The Gator Bowl is now the Toyota Gator Bowl

The only bowl game not to be soiled by corporate sponsorship is the Rose
Bowl.

I’m not holding out hope on the Rose Bowl though. I imagine one day it’ll acquire its own corporate sponsorship and be dubbed something like:
“The KY Jelly Rose Bowl”
“The I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter Rose Bowl”
“The Vagisil Rose Bowl”
or
“The Flower Bowl” (Because some politically correct, mamby-pamby crybaby complained that roses were receiving preferential treatment and unwarranted/undeserved attention)

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I’m anxiously awaiting the identification, prosecution, and demise of corrupt politicians fingered by crooks Michael Scanlon and Jack Abramoff.

Fuck ‘em all.

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Quote of the Day:
If they ever come up with a swashbuckling School, I think one of the courses should be Laughing, Then Jumping Off Something. --Jack Handey