Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Just another day
So my berfday was good. I ate some steak, got a few presents, and played with G-man. All in all it was a good day, though it was definitely the dawning of a new era. I guess I have felt it the past few berfdays, but it really hit home this year. I am getting old, and the anniversary of my joining this world just doesn't seem so, well...grandiose anymore.
I used to love waking up in the morning on my berfday. I would jump out of bed and bounce, no frolic—yeah I like that— everywhere, all day. The gifts, the attention, I always held that one day close to my heart. The one special day where I was king. I felt untouchable, like I really was somebody important. The past few years this special feeling has wanned. This year that declining trend continued. I'm not complaining (too much), but it just felt like any other day. G-man was the focus of my attention ( I wouldn't have it any other way), among various other boring responsibilities, like waiting for the window guys to show up and finish their job and trying to avoid the mountain of laundry looming in the basement. The bottom line is I just couldn't get into my berfday suit, so to speak.
I don't even want to think about next year. I will turn thirty. I don't feel ready to be thirty. I still feel young. People over thirty can't be trusted. Take my wife...please. Where's my violin.
Anyway, I hate to complain so enough of that whiny foo-fa-rah.
I was thinking of buying myself a nice acoustic guitar for my berfday. I don't want to spend too much money, but I think I can allot a small bit for a new guitar. I gave my old acoustic to my father. He fiddles around (yes, you can fiddle on a guitar) and doesn't have a good guitar of his own. He is constantly borrowing mine so I finally decided to make the old bastard happy. Besides I will get it back when he dies.
Jesus, did I just say that? What kind of son am I?
It made him happy, and I like seeing my folks happy so what the hell, it's only a guitar.
I would love to get a Gibson, but those are a little out of my price range. I could trade in one of my electrics and sell some blood, a kidney, some sperm, my soul and take out a small loan to cover the rest.
Maybe a Taylor will do instead. Then again a Fender is more in my price range. Plus, I have to have a case to house the guitar. That is another hundred dollars. Who knows, I might not even buy one at all. There are bills to pay and diapers to buy.
What a conundrum.
I used to love waking up in the morning on my berfday. I would jump out of bed and bounce, no frolic—yeah I like that— everywhere, all day. The gifts, the attention, I always held that one day close to my heart. The one special day where I was king. I felt untouchable, like I really was somebody important. The past few years this special feeling has wanned. This year that declining trend continued. I'm not complaining (too much), but it just felt like any other day. G-man was the focus of my attention ( I wouldn't have it any other way), among various other boring responsibilities, like waiting for the window guys to show up and finish their job and trying to avoid the mountain of laundry looming in the basement. The bottom line is I just couldn't get into my berfday suit, so to speak.
I don't even want to think about next year. I will turn thirty. I don't feel ready to be thirty. I still feel young. People over thirty can't be trusted. Take my wife...please. Where's my violin.
Anyway, I hate to complain so enough of that whiny foo-fa-rah.
I was thinking of buying myself a nice acoustic guitar for my berfday. I don't want to spend too much money, but I think I can allot a small bit for a new guitar. I gave my old acoustic to my father. He fiddles around (yes, you can fiddle on a guitar) and doesn't have a good guitar of his own. He is constantly borrowing mine so I finally decided to make the old bastard happy. Besides I will get it back when he dies.
Jesus, did I just say that? What kind of son am I?
It made him happy, and I like seeing my folks happy so what the hell, it's only a guitar.
I would love to get a Gibson, but those are a little out of my price range. I could trade in one of my electrics and sell some blood, a kidney, some sperm, my soul and take out a small loan to cover the rest.
Maybe a Taylor will do instead. Then again a Fender is more in my price range. Plus, I have to have a case to house the guitar. That is another hundred dollars. Who knows, I might not even buy one at all. There are bills to pay and diapers to buy.
What a conundrum.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Root Rock Reggae
This was an exciting week. We got new windows, I met a local radio personality, our sewer backed up (see Pixie, I told you it wasn't me), I taught G-man how to high-five, and I made it to the last island on Sims 2: Castaway.
Monday we had all but one of our new windows installed. The large picture window in the living room had a defect or something, so they are waiting for a new one from the factory. I was excited to have the new windows installed but there were a few minor problems and a major one involving a marble sill. They smashed it as they were trying to take out the old window. They replaced it with some kind of polymer-resin sill, that they cut a half-inch to short. We are going to have them replace the new sill with one that actually fits without causing air leaks. Hopefully it will be marble. The installers are going to come back on the Eighteenth (my berfday) to finish the job.
As the windows were being installed, a local radio celebrity knocked at the front door inquiring about the company who was installing our windows. I invited him inside and showed him how they did it and recommended the company to him. He stopped back by this morning and told me that I should receive a fifty dollar gift certificate from the window company for referring him. So I got that going for me. Oh yeah the local radio personality's name is Fred LeFebvre on news talk 1370 WSPD.
For the past two weeks we have had a foul odor in the basement. Pixie pointed it out to me, to which I promptly replied the odor only seemed to appear when she was present. After I woke up with a pounding headache and a lump that looked a lot like her wedding band I investigated. The smell was coming from the utility sink. I removed the covering and saw that there was standing water at the base of the trap. I went to our local hardware store, bought a cheap snake and proceeded to cover myself in foul water whilst trying to unclog the drain. I knew, after a half an hour, that it was a job for a plumber. I just hoped it would not be too expensive. I called a plumber that one of Pixie's students recommended, but he said he couldn't make it out to look at it until next week. I thanked him and called a company named Able Master Sewer. The owner, Fred (not LeFebvre), and I discussed the problem and he told me he had a busy schedule but he could make it over between four and six. I hired him. At four fifty, he called a and said he had a quick job and then he was coming over. He recognized the problem and within an hour he was done. We had roots in our line. A lot of roots in our line. He suggested we clean out the sewer line every two years and then got back in his magic sewer van and flew off to the next job. The guy was great, I would highly recommend him to any of my Toledo readers. I now have a bag of roots in my garage and a pungent odor remaining in my basement. Apparently he might have to come back and flush out our system because the back up was there for a long time (more than two weeks) we just never noticed it before. Our house has a combo system. We don't have a sump pump, it is more like a big loop underneath the house that allows the water from the yard and sewer to go to the main city pipes. Old and outdated, yet I'll never have to replace it, it works beautifully when not clogged.
I showed G-man how to high-five last week. I only showed him how to do it a few times, now I can stick my hand out and say "Give me five." and he does. I swear the kid is a genius. I love my boy. Now if I could just teach him to make money so I can retire.
I made it to the last island on Sims 2 : Castaway. It took me almost two hours Sunday night to get there. Unfortunately the game had a glitch that wouldn't allow me to save. Oh well. I'll try again tonight, maybe.
Monday we had all but one of our new windows installed. The large picture window in the living room had a defect or something, so they are waiting for a new one from the factory. I was excited to have the new windows installed but there were a few minor problems and a major one involving a marble sill. They smashed it as they were trying to take out the old window. They replaced it with some kind of polymer-resin sill, that they cut a half-inch to short. We are going to have them replace the new sill with one that actually fits without causing air leaks. Hopefully it will be marble. The installers are going to come back on the Eighteenth (my berfday) to finish the job.
As the windows were being installed, a local radio celebrity knocked at the front door inquiring about the company who was installing our windows. I invited him inside and showed him how they did it and recommended the company to him. He stopped back by this morning and told me that I should receive a fifty dollar gift certificate from the window company for referring him. So I got that going for me. Oh yeah the local radio personality's name is Fred LeFebvre on news talk 1370 WSPD.
For the past two weeks we have had a foul odor in the basement. Pixie pointed it out to me, to which I promptly replied the odor only seemed to appear when she was present. After I woke up with a pounding headache and a lump that looked a lot like her wedding band I investigated. The smell was coming from the utility sink. I removed the covering and saw that there was standing water at the base of the trap. I went to our local hardware store, bought a cheap snake and proceeded to cover myself in foul water whilst trying to unclog the drain. I knew, after a half an hour, that it was a job for a plumber. I just hoped it would not be too expensive. I called a plumber that one of Pixie's students recommended, but he said he couldn't make it out to look at it until next week. I thanked him and called a company named Able Master Sewer. The owner, Fred (not LeFebvre), and I discussed the problem and he told me he had a busy schedule but he could make it over between four and six. I hired him. At four fifty, he called a and said he had a quick job and then he was coming over. He recognized the problem and within an hour he was done. We had roots in our line. A lot of roots in our line. He suggested we clean out the sewer line every two years and then got back in his magic sewer van and flew off to the next job. The guy was great, I would highly recommend him to any of my Toledo readers. I now have a bag of roots in my garage and a pungent odor remaining in my basement. Apparently he might have to come back and flush out our system because the back up was there for a long time (more than two weeks) we just never noticed it before. Our house has a combo system. We don't have a sump pump, it is more like a big loop underneath the house that allows the water from the yard and sewer to go to the main city pipes. Old and outdated, yet I'll never have to replace it, it works beautifully when not clogged.
I showed G-man how to high-five last week. I only showed him how to do it a few times, now I can stick my hand out and say "Give me five." and he does. I swear the kid is a genius. I love my boy. Now if I could just teach him to make money so I can retire.
I made it to the last island on Sims 2 : Castaway. It took me almost two hours Sunday night to get there. Unfortunately the game had a glitch that wouldn't allow me to save. Oh well. I'll try again tonight, maybe.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Does any body really care about time?
As I promised two of my most avid readers, I am going to talk to you all today about Neo-Capitalism and The Great Potato Famine of Ireland, not to be confused with the Great Potato Fems of Northern Yorkshire or the Grand Potato Heads of Tuberville.
I have very little time to post tonight because...well, because I want to go down to the basement, drink a beer and play my 12-string guitar (which I just got back today, thanks for asking Walt). So, I will keep this brief. After all, brevity is next to breviary (a book of prayers, or psalms, i.e. next to Godliness) and brew ( that worked out nicely) in the Merriam-Webster Pocket Dictionary, which I have read and re-read for tymes know. Okay the end of that last sentence was a joke, albeit a bad one.
So, here we go; an extremely brief look at Neo-Capitalism and the Great Potato Famine of Ireland.
Neo-Capitalism was founded by a large, rugged transvestite named Ralphina in the year of our lord seventeen seventy six. He was fed up with humping piles of shit around for the King and thought that privatizing the humping of said shit would stimulate shit production.
Okay this is when Graham Chapman would come in dressed as a General of the British Royal Army and shut down my blog for being entirely too silly. I can't say I would argue with him. This has got to be one of the worst ideas I have ever had (and oh boy is there a lot of them). I mean really, who wants to read about some boring shit like privatization of government, giving almost complete control back to the people allowing us the chance to finally live a decent, free life?
On second thought I think Von Hayek had a good idea.
Okay, on to the Po-ta-toes, dar-de-dar-de-dar.
The famine was caused by Phytophthora infestans or as us simple folk like to call it, Potato Blight. This caused copious potato crops (the main source of food in Ireland thanks to Britain's fondness for beef— side note this is how the Gin got the name Beefeater) to rot and become worthless— a lot like what happens to people who attend Ohio state. Anyway, the failed crop just exacerbated the problems, both politically and financially, of an already struggling Ireland causing them to lose a large portion of their population. This event is also referred to as the Great Hunger.
Okay, I think I fulfilled my obligations to my curious readers. That is to say that my readers are inquisitive, not necessarily odd, although Pixie is a tad weird. Now that I think of it, so is Mel.
I hope you have all learned something new today. I know I have. I learned that a rushed post, when all I can think about is 12-string guitars and beer, doesn't usually turn out so good.
Oh well.
I have very little time to post tonight because...well, because I want to go down to the basement, drink a beer and play my 12-string guitar (which I just got back today, thanks for asking Walt). So, I will keep this brief. After all, brevity is next to breviary (a book of prayers, or psalms, i.e. next to Godliness) and brew ( that worked out nicely) in the Merriam-Webster Pocket Dictionary, which I have read and re-read for tymes know. Okay the end of that last sentence was a joke, albeit a bad one.
So, here we go; an extremely brief look at Neo-Capitalism and the Great Potato Famine of Ireland.
Neo-Capitalism was founded by a large, rugged transvestite named Ralphina in the year of our lord seventeen seventy six. He was fed up with humping piles of shit around for the King and thought that privatizing the humping of said shit would stimulate shit production.
Okay this is when Graham Chapman would come in dressed as a General of the British Royal Army and shut down my blog for being entirely too silly. I can't say I would argue with him. This has got to be one of the worst ideas I have ever had (and oh boy is there a lot of them). I mean really, who wants to read about some boring shit like privatization of government, giving almost complete control back to the people allowing us the chance to finally live a decent, free life?
On second thought I think Von Hayek had a good idea.
Okay, on to the Po-ta-toes, dar-de-dar-de-dar.
The famine was caused by Phytophthora infestans or as us simple folk like to call it, Potato Blight. This caused copious potato crops (the main source of food in Ireland thanks to Britain's fondness for beef— side note this is how the Gin got the name Beefeater) to rot and become worthless— a lot like what happens to people who attend Ohio state. Anyway, the failed crop just exacerbated the problems, both politically and financially, of an already struggling Ireland causing them to lose a large portion of their population. This event is also referred to as the Great Hunger.
Okay, I think I fulfilled my obligations to my curious readers. That is to say that my readers are inquisitive, not necessarily odd, although Pixie is a tad weird. Now that I think of it, so is Mel.
I hope you have all learned something new today. I know I have. I learned that a rushed post, when all I can think about is 12-string guitars and beer, doesn't usually turn out so good.
Oh well.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Smooth Nut
Last week I broke a nut...I'm going to give everyone a chance to make some funny comment in there head here.
The nut was on the head stock of my twelve string guitar. It happened while I was changing the strings. It was just old and frail. The lower octave A got stuck and when I pulled on it the nut snapped. So I immediately went to the music shop and inquired the resident Luthier about fixing my Fender. He said it would be approximately a fortnight until the guitar was ready. I scoffed and demanded he sell me the necessary parts to properly fix it. He did. I left.
Twenty minutes later I returned, believing the parts person to have improperly filled my order. The nut was slightly too long and too high. I was told— which confirmed my suspicions—that the nut had to be shaved. He recommended a gentle abrasion tool such as a nail file or light sand paper. When I returned home I plugged in my variable speed, limited edition, Fifty Year Anniversary Dremel, loaded up a sand paper bit and went to town. Finally, I got what I thought was close to the original shape of the nut. I re-strung the guitar, cleaned the head, applied a judicious amount of white glue in the inlay and jammed the nut home.
I tuned the guitar and started to play a C7 and noticed that something wasn't right. The action was way too high and my A and B strings were registering in tune but playing sharp on the first fret. I inspected the old nut and determined that I had not taken enough height off the new nut. I then had to loosen every string, gently tap the nut out of its inlay and proceed to sand it down some more. This time I decided to use the metal grinding bit. This bit chewed through the plastic, making short work of the job. I smoothed it off on some sand paper and again went through all the motions of tuning. This time the action was better but not great. The A string was a registering 15 cents sharp at the first fret and the B string near thirty. I tightened the truss rod a quarter turn and let it rest over night.
The next day things were the same. I made more truss rod adjustments but nothing changed. Two days ago I put the Dremel to work again. I loosened and moved the A and B strings aside and carefully sanded down the saddle in the nut so the string would be lower, ergo flatting the string at the first fret. It worked a little. At this point I got scared and decided to not mess up this guitar. I took it back to the music shop and hired them to perform the job I tried to do myself. I got very close, but there are many factors involved in properly achieving near perfect pitch.
I tried to save time and money and ended up spending more of both. On the bright side I don't think that they will have to remove and replace the nut I just put on. But they will have to adjust it, and the truss rod, and possibly put new strings on as well.
Awesome.
The nut was on the head stock of my twelve string guitar. It happened while I was changing the strings. It was just old and frail. The lower octave A got stuck and when I pulled on it the nut snapped. So I immediately went to the music shop and inquired the resident Luthier about fixing my Fender. He said it would be approximately a fortnight until the guitar was ready. I scoffed and demanded he sell me the necessary parts to properly fix it. He did. I left.
Twenty minutes later I returned, believing the parts person to have improperly filled my order. The nut was slightly too long and too high. I was told— which confirmed my suspicions—that the nut had to be shaved. He recommended a gentle abrasion tool such as a nail file or light sand paper. When I returned home I plugged in my variable speed, limited edition, Fifty Year Anniversary Dremel, loaded up a sand paper bit and went to town. Finally, I got what I thought was close to the original shape of the nut. I re-strung the guitar, cleaned the head, applied a judicious amount of white glue in the inlay and jammed the nut home.
I tuned the guitar and started to play a C7 and noticed that something wasn't right. The action was way too high and my A and B strings were registering in tune but playing sharp on the first fret. I inspected the old nut and determined that I had not taken enough height off the new nut. I then had to loosen every string, gently tap the nut out of its inlay and proceed to sand it down some more. This time I decided to use the metal grinding bit. This bit chewed through the plastic, making short work of the job. I smoothed it off on some sand paper and again went through all the motions of tuning. This time the action was better but not great. The A string was a registering 15 cents sharp at the first fret and the B string near thirty. I tightened the truss rod a quarter turn and let it rest over night.
The next day things were the same. I made more truss rod adjustments but nothing changed. Two days ago I put the Dremel to work again. I loosened and moved the A and B strings aside and carefully sanded down the saddle in the nut so the string would be lower, ergo flatting the string at the first fret. It worked a little. At this point I got scared and decided to not mess up this guitar. I took it back to the music shop and hired them to perform the job I tried to do myself. I got very close, but there are many factors involved in properly achieving near perfect pitch.
I tried to save time and money and ended up spending more of both. On the bright side I don't think that they will have to remove and replace the nut I just put on. But they will have to adjust it, and the truss rod, and possibly put new strings on as well.
Awesome.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Hello? How are you? Have you been alright, through all those lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely nights?
I really have nothing to post about, I just feel like I should have something new on my site so that the few readers I have don't forget about me.
Has anyone noticed my new Avatar? Thanks Pixie, for hooking me up. For so long I have had to alter my photographs by superimposing a human head onto my shoulders for fear that people would reject me for having a monkey cranium. No more will I hide in fear of my grotesquely misshapen noggin'. I am beautiful, James Blunt even said so.
In other news, my son likes to click his tongue like a diabetic squirrel hopped up on cough medicine. It really is quite amusing.
I have no idea what the preceding statement is supposed to mean, it sounded funny in my head.
Uhhmmm, can anybody think of something I should post about? Send me your suggestions and I will process them the next time I feel like it. Until then, have a holly jolly mid-week.
Oh by the way, check out this awesome website I found, you are going to love it!
Has anyone noticed my new Avatar? Thanks Pixie, for hooking me up. For so long I have had to alter my photographs by superimposing a human head onto my shoulders for fear that people would reject me for having a monkey cranium. No more will I hide in fear of my grotesquely misshapen noggin'. I am beautiful, James Blunt even said so.
In other news, my son likes to click his tongue like a diabetic squirrel hopped up on cough medicine. It really is quite amusing.
I have no idea what the preceding statement is supposed to mean, it sounded funny in my head.
Uhhmmm, can anybody think of something I should post about? Send me your suggestions and I will process them the next time I feel like it. Until then, have a holly jolly mid-week.
Oh by the way, check out this awesome website I found, you are going to love it!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Turkeys hiding in trees
Little known fact: I can speak turkey. Well really it is a form of Jive Turkey.
Gobblizzo my Nizzo.
Alright I can't really speak turkey. But I do like to eat turkey. Thanksgiving is tomorrow and I am excited. It is my first Thanksgiving as a father. From now on, I am the one who carves the turkey. Unfortunately we are having a Turkey Tenderloin. I didn't know they had tenderloins. Maybe if I spoke their language they could have told me. All the same, I'm going to carve it as if it were a real bird. Mmmm, turkey.
I love food, especially at Thanksgiving. I think my favorite thanksgiving food is pumpkin pie, with lots of whipped cream on top. It's amazing that I am not three hundred pounds. I bet Pixie would love that.
Boy, I am kinda rambling here. I was going to talk about the Native Americans, the pilgrims and the genocide of an entire nation, but I didn't want to offend any Christians out there.
Instead let's talk turkey facts.
Turkeys are not from Turkey as one might suspect. The modern "American" turkey that we all love and enjoy the fourth Thursday of every November is actually from northern Mexico.
Make sure your turkey has a green card.
Turkeys are practical jokers by nature. Their favorite trick is to sneak up on unsuspecting victims and slice their Achilles tendon. Not funny turkeys. Not funny.
I once had a pet turkey, his name was Gravy. I couldn't bear to eat him so I begged Mr. Lincoln to pardon him and then put him in the Turkey Protection Program. That is the true story behind the Presidential Pardoning of Turkey's.
Turkeys love to sleep around. Male Turkeys are called "Toms" or "Pimps". Female Turkeys are called "Hens", "Bitches", or sometimes "Ho's".
Turkeys can and do have heart attacks. Farmers would be wise to feed them cheerios to help lower their cholesterol.
It only takes fifteen months for a turkey to be considered mature. I'm 28 years old and still waiting.
For more fun turkey facts visit the Turkey Zealots of North America, or "Gobblers" as they like to be referred to.
I hope everyone has a great day of Thanks. I would like to end this blog transmission by saying what I am thankful for. I am thankful for my family, boobs, spatulas, origami, guitars, cheese (even the processed kind TF), Industrialization in the eighteenth century, florescent light bulbs, Macintosh computers, Sandra Boynton books, toenail clippers, outer space, inner light, toilet paper, music, the color blue and the letter H.
Gobble-dee-goo.
Over.
Gobblizzo my Nizzo.
Alright I can't really speak turkey. But I do like to eat turkey. Thanksgiving is tomorrow and I am excited. It is my first Thanksgiving as a father. From now on, I am the one who carves the turkey. Unfortunately we are having a Turkey Tenderloin. I didn't know they had tenderloins. Maybe if I spoke their language they could have told me. All the same, I'm going to carve it as if it were a real bird. Mmmm, turkey.
I love food, especially at Thanksgiving. I think my favorite thanksgiving food is pumpkin pie, with lots of whipped cream on top. It's amazing that I am not three hundred pounds. I bet Pixie would love that.
Boy, I am kinda rambling here. I was going to talk about the Native Americans, the pilgrims and the genocide of an entire nation, but I didn't want to offend any Christians out there.
Instead let's talk turkey facts.
Turkeys are not from Turkey as one might suspect. The modern "American" turkey that we all love and enjoy the fourth Thursday of every November is actually from northern Mexico.
Make sure your turkey has a green card.
Turkeys are practical jokers by nature. Their favorite trick is to sneak up on unsuspecting victims and slice their Achilles tendon. Not funny turkeys. Not funny.
I once had a pet turkey, his name was Gravy. I couldn't bear to eat him so I begged Mr. Lincoln to pardon him and then put him in the Turkey Protection Program. That is the true story behind the Presidential Pardoning of Turkey's.
Turkeys love to sleep around. Male Turkeys are called "Toms" or "Pimps". Female Turkeys are called "Hens", "Bitches", or sometimes "Ho's".
Turkeys can and do have heart attacks. Farmers would be wise to feed them cheerios to help lower their cholesterol.
It only takes fifteen months for a turkey to be considered mature. I'm 28 years old and still waiting.
For more fun turkey facts visit the Turkey Zealots of North America, or "Gobblers" as they like to be referred to.
I hope everyone has a great day of Thanks. I would like to end this blog transmission by saying what I am thankful for. I am thankful for my family, boobs, spatulas, origami, guitars, cheese (even the processed kind TF), Industrialization in the eighteenth century, florescent light bulbs, Macintosh computers, Sandra Boynton books, toenail clippers, outer space, inner light, toilet paper, music, the color blue and the letter H.
Gobble-dee-goo.
Over.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Another cheesy post
As any one who knows Pixie and I will tell you, she is the culinary expert of our dynamic duo. She has made over 2,500 meals in our eight years together, all of them good. Well all except one, and that wasn't her fault. That Chicken doesn't count because after she had cooked it we discovered a large tumor-like growth inside. It was gross enough send us to Taco Bell for dinner. That was Krogers fault. We have since forgiven them, since they have the best deals on food in town...and they are only three minutes from our house.
Anyway my point is that I can easily make mindless foods like toast, toast with butter, toast with butter and apple butter (one of my favorite dishes), cold cereal, and instant mashed potatoes. There are very few actual dishes that I have perfected to the point of being edible. One of them is my famous grilled cheese sandwiches.
Over the years I have refined this seemingly unassuming sandwich that at first thought seems so, so bland, but once sampled engorges the taste buds with a euphoric medley of vegetable oil based spreads known as bargain cheeses. My combination of opposing cheese textures, scientifically tested butter to bread ratio, total cook time, and bread selection make this grilled cheese the ultimate in palatable pasteurized pleasure.
And today is your lucky day. I will open the vault within my steely mind and share my secret recipe with you. You can thank me later.
Step 1: Get a loaf of whole grain bread.
Step 1a: Get four pieces of bread out of the bag.
Helpful hint: Extricate the twisty tie to remove the slices of bread. It saves a lot of time in finding a new bag to put the bread in after you have destroyed the original.
Step 2:
Gather your cheeses. My recipe calls for at least three basic kinds of cheese. You may use more then three, but never less. These three basic quasi-cheeses must appear in order to claim this as an authentic JQ grilled cheese sandwich. Those quasi-cheeses are as follows:
American Cheese
They don't have to necessarily be Kroger brand either but I'm looking for endorsements. Also, for some reason the cheaper the product the better the sandwich tastes.
I love the taste of a good deal.
Step 3: Butter the bread and begin the cheesing process. I like to butter two slices and place them, butter-side down, on a non-stick pan. I know there is some controversy over which side of the bread to butter, but I always butter the top. It's just easier.
Step 3a: I use the remaining, unbuttered, slices as a stage for the cheese assembly. American cheese goes first.
Step 3b: Spread the Cream cheese on the American cheese. It is much easier to spread the Cream cheese on the American cheese than on the bread. Trust me.
Step 3c: After the Cream cheese is spread evenly, transfer the cheese assemblage to the bread on the pan. Then add the sharp cheddar. Enough to cover the existing pile of cheesy goodness.
Step 3d: Add a final slice of American cheese. This helps form a cheese pocket when cooked, preventing nasty cheese spillage.
Step 3e: Butter the last piece of bread and apply to the top of the sandwich.
Step 4: Cook over low heat until bread is golden brown on both sides.
Step 5: Plate the sandwich on a paper plate supported by a wicker paper plate basket. This enhances the frugal ambiance established by the cheese selection.
Step 6: Enjoy the tastiest grilled cheese sandwich you have ever made.
I also made some Tabouli several days earlier. The juxtaposing flavors of the sandwich and the salad were exquisite.
Doesn't that look tasty?
So the next time you throw a dinner party you can wow your guests with this amazingly delicious entree. Just make sure you give me credit. I know people who know people who know your friends and they'll tell me. Let's just say I won't be happy and it would be a real shame if you were to find your bread covered in mold.
Hey it happens.
Anyway my point is that I can easily make mindless foods like toast, toast with butter, toast with butter and apple butter (one of my favorite dishes), cold cereal, and instant mashed potatoes. There are very few actual dishes that I have perfected to the point of being edible. One of them is my famous grilled cheese sandwiches.
Over the years I have refined this seemingly unassuming sandwich that at first thought seems so, so bland, but once sampled engorges the taste buds with a euphoric medley of vegetable oil based spreads known as bargain cheeses. My combination of opposing cheese textures, scientifically tested butter to bread ratio, total cook time, and bread selection make this grilled cheese the ultimate in palatable pasteurized pleasure.
And today is your lucky day. I will open the vault within my steely mind and share my secret recipe with you. You can thank me later.
Step 1: Get a loaf of whole grain bread.
Step 1a: Get four pieces of bread out of the bag.
Helpful hint: Extricate the twisty tie to remove the slices of bread. It saves a lot of time in finding a new bag to put the bread in after you have destroyed the original.
Step 2:
Gather your cheeses. My recipe calls for at least three basic kinds of cheese. You may use more then three, but never less. These three basic quasi-cheeses must appear in order to claim this as an authentic JQ grilled cheese sandwich. Those quasi-cheeses are as follows:
Cream Cheese
Sharp Cheddar
American Cheese
They don't have to necessarily be Kroger brand either but I'm looking for endorsements. Also, for some reason the cheaper the product the better the sandwich tastes.I love the taste of a good deal.
Step 3: Butter the bread and begin the cheesing process. I like to butter two slices and place them, butter-side down, on a non-stick pan. I know there is some controversy over which side of the bread to butter, but I always butter the top. It's just easier.
Step 3a: I use the remaining, unbuttered, slices as a stage for the cheese assembly. American cheese goes first.
Step 3b: Spread the Cream cheese on the American cheese. It is much easier to spread the Cream cheese on the American cheese than on the bread. Trust me.
Step 3c: After the Cream cheese is spread evenly, transfer the cheese assemblage to the bread on the pan. Then add the sharp cheddar. Enough to cover the existing pile of cheesy goodness.
Step 3d: Add a final slice of American cheese. This helps form a cheese pocket when cooked, preventing nasty cheese spillage.
Step 3e: Butter the last piece of bread and apply to the top of the sandwich.
Step 4: Cook over low heat until bread is golden brown on both sides.
Step 5: Plate the sandwich on a paper plate supported by a wicker paper plate basket. This enhances the frugal ambiance established by the cheese selection.
Step 6: Enjoy the tastiest grilled cheese sandwich you have ever made.
I also made some Tabouli several days earlier. The juxtaposing flavors of the sandwich and the salad were exquisite.
Doesn't that look tasty?
So the next time you throw a dinner party you can wow your guests with this amazingly delicious entree. Just make sure you give me credit. I know people who know people who know your friends and they'll tell me. Let's just say I won't be happy and it would be a real shame if you were to find your bread covered in mold.
Hey it happens.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
It is too early to think of a title, do it yourself.
It has been a long week for me. I have been working diligently on my novel, trying to stay up with my 1667 words a day. Unfortunately, I took Thursday off from writing to spend time with my pillow (in a purely platonic way…this time). I took Friday and Saturday off as well. Last count I am over five thousand words behind. The only chance I get to really write is after everyone else goes to bed. Usually by that time I am exhausted. Playing with G-man, baby-sitting Pixie, being lazy, it’s all very hard work and I have just been a little overwhelmed by it all. But I won’t give up. I will catch back up and finish what I started. I just need to find the time and motivation to get moving on this project.
I think the stress of wrapping up the season with my company is starting to get to me as well. I have worked for the same small company for, well, all of my twenties. The job isn’t spectacular and I often feel like I am slowly dying inside and wasting my life working for them, but the pay is steady, so why leave? The really nice thing about this job is the fact that I am a landscaper who makes salary. This means that in the winter I can stay home and still collect my pay. Of course, I have to plow every odd time it snows, including Christmas morning. Anyway, the stress of trying of find a new job is creeping over me, and I am handling this situation like I do all other stressful situations, ignoring it. I should have been looking for a new job for a month now, but instead have decided to start a blog, write a novel and spend money that I really shouldn’t.
The stress doesn’t care what I do it will find it’s way to me. Last week I was getting these dizzy spells. Every time I would stand up too fast, or move my head too quickly from side to side I would lose my balance, my vision would blur and I would have to sit down. I handle physical ailments like I handle stress, by ignoring it. Like the time My Brother and I were getting passport photos taken and I had a lump the size of an Osage orange in my throat from an infection. Yeah, I waited for it to go away. It eventually did. I think my balance problem could have been stress, but was more likely an inner ear infection, or a brain tumor. Either way I feel fine now. Once again my ‘wait and see’ philosophy worked. I have not been to see a doctor since I was eighteen, and I hardly ever get sick. Coincidence? Besides, doesn’t everyone have big lumps their armpits?
I know every thing will work out fine, it always does. Until then, I will continue to freak out.
On a more upbeat note, my son has achieved several milestones this week. First he stood up all on his own, like a big boy. Pixie got to cover this since I took our trip to Maumee Bay, so go check out my son standing over at her Temple. I got so excited when I first saw him do it I think I farted a little. Okay, I fart all the time no big deal. But I still was excited. Now I have to learn to put the crib railing back up so he doesn’t fall out for a fifth time.
Second, he got his first tooth! Look out baby biscuits here we come! We have been expecting this tooth for a long time. We thought he was cutting teeth at four months old. Turns out we were just new parents.
I can’t believe how fast he is growing up. Before you know it I will be taking him to see whatever popular and annoying kid show they have at the local convention center. Disney on ice, or Rent or whatever the kids like now a days. I can’t wait.
Okay, back to the novel.
I think the stress of wrapping up the season with my company is starting to get to me as well. I have worked for the same small company for, well, all of my twenties. The job isn’t spectacular and I often feel like I am slowly dying inside and wasting my life working for them, but the pay is steady, so why leave? The really nice thing about this job is the fact that I am a landscaper who makes salary. This means that in the winter I can stay home and still collect my pay. Of course, I have to plow every odd time it snows, including Christmas morning. Anyway, the stress of trying of find a new job is creeping over me, and I am handling this situation like I do all other stressful situations, ignoring it. I should have been looking for a new job for a month now, but instead have decided to start a blog, write a novel and spend money that I really shouldn’t.
The stress doesn’t care what I do it will find it’s way to me. Last week I was getting these dizzy spells. Every time I would stand up too fast, or move my head too quickly from side to side I would lose my balance, my vision would blur and I would have to sit down. I handle physical ailments like I handle stress, by ignoring it. Like the time My Brother and I were getting passport photos taken and I had a lump the size of an Osage orange in my throat from an infection. Yeah, I waited for it to go away. It eventually did. I think my balance problem could have been stress, but was more likely an inner ear infection, or a brain tumor. Either way I feel fine now. Once again my ‘wait and see’ philosophy worked. I have not been to see a doctor since I was eighteen, and I hardly ever get sick. Coincidence? Besides, doesn’t everyone have big lumps their armpits?
I know every thing will work out fine, it always does. Until then, I will continue to freak out.
On a more upbeat note, my son has achieved several milestones this week. First he stood up all on his own, like a big boy. Pixie got to cover this since I took our trip to Maumee Bay, so go check out my son standing over at her Temple. I got so excited when I first saw him do it I think I farted a little. Okay, I fart all the time no big deal. But I still was excited. Now I have to learn to put the crib railing back up so he doesn’t fall out for a fifth time.
Second, he got his first tooth! Look out baby biscuits here we come! We have been expecting this tooth for a long time. We thought he was cutting teeth at four months old. Turns out we were just new parents.
I can’t believe how fast he is growing up. Before you know it I will be taking him to see whatever popular and annoying kid show they have at the local convention center. Disney on ice, or Rent or whatever the kids like now a days. I can’t wait.
Okay, back to the novel.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
I've got blisters on me fingers...
It's Sunday, November 4, 10:24 p.m.
I have approximately 5078 words of my novel done so far.
I only need 2000 more words before I can go to bed.
I should achieve my goal by the time I have to get up and go to work.
The writing is coming easier than I thought.
The story however is not so good.
My question then is, can one polish a turd?
I sure hope so.
I have approximately 5078 words of my novel done so far.
I only need 2000 more words before I can go to bed.
I should achieve my goal by the time I have to get up and go to work.
The writing is coming easier than I thought.
The story however is not so good.
My question then is, can one polish a turd?
I sure hope so.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
What was I thinking?
Today I start the first of thirty grueling days of typing a novel. That's right I decided to be a participant in the NaNoWriMo. 50,000 words in thirty days? No problem. I just wish I would of thought of something to write about before I started.
50,000 words is only 1667 a day and when you break it down like that it doesn't seem so bad.
I know I can make it. If not, hey at least I tried. I was going to try and do the NaBloPoMo as well but decided that would be insane. Maybe next year. Pixie, however, will be joining the ranks of post-everyday bloggers so be sure to check out her site. I know she will have some interesting topics to discuss.
Also, happy All Saints day! This is the day when you dress up like your favorite saint and go door to door saying "Martyr or Barter". If the person chooses martyr then you have to perform a miracle, then let them stone you to death. If they say barter, well, then pick your favorite item in their living room and begin the timeless tradition of haggling over what you'll trade them for the said item. And remember, if their porch light isn't on don't bother knocking.
This was always my favorite holiday when I was a child. I was always Saint Winnoc, the patron saint of whooping cough. Who's your favorite saint?
50,000 words is only 1667 a day and when you break it down like that it doesn't seem so bad.
I know I can make it. If not, hey at least I tried. I was going to try and do the NaBloPoMo as well but decided that would be insane. Maybe next year. Pixie, however, will be joining the ranks of post-everyday bloggers so be sure to check out her site. I know she will have some interesting topics to discuss.
Also, happy All Saints day! This is the day when you dress up like your favorite saint and go door to door saying "Martyr or Barter". If the person chooses martyr then you have to perform a miracle, then let them stone you to death. If they say barter, well, then pick your favorite item in their living room and begin the timeless tradition of haggling over what you'll trade them for the said item. And remember, if their porch light isn't on don't bother knocking.
This was always my favorite holiday when I was a child. I was always Saint Winnoc, the patron saint of whooping cough. Who's your favorite saint?
Monday, October 29, 2007
Scary Stories Part II: The Final Chapter
It was early in the morning the second time I saw the Shadow person.
My mother was calling up the stairs for me to get out of bed. I ignored her, shutting my eyes to try and eek out ten more minutes of whatever important dream I was having. I am almost positive I was awake; the light in the hallway was on; I could hear my sister and brother moving around downstairs getting ready for school.
I looked into the doorway and immediately pulled the covers back over my head. This was the most terrified I had ever been. Fear literally paralyzed me. My breathing was arrested. I had a weird pulsating sensation in my body, like my heart was trying to grab my intestines and make a break for it straight out of my chest cavity.
I saw the thing standing in the doorway. It was silhouetted against the hall light. It seemed to be wearing some sort of robe and had pointed ears, a protruding beak, and glowing, beady little red eyes...that were staring right at me.
I couldn't move.
I prayed that it would just go away.
I don't really remember what happened next, or how I got out of my room. I just remember seeing the thing briefly and cowering under the covers.
I didn't think of it at the time but now that I reflect on the situation I think it wanted me to be aware that it knew I saw it. Not just standing in the doorway but in and throughout the house. Sliding cereal bowls and walking around with invisible feet. As if to say: "Hey buddy, yeah I see you. And you see me. Go ahead and tell someone. See if they believe you. I'll still be here when they cart you off to the looney bin." It never did anything except scare the living hell out of me. But that was twenty years ago and is one of the most vivid memories I own. Even if it wasn't malignant, it still scarred me for life.
Those were, as far as I can recollect, the only times I honestly saw ghosts in that old house. Who knows, they might not have been ghost's. More than likely they were figments of my over active imagination. Perhaps a spot of mustard or an old potato.
There were many odd noises that always echoed through the house. Many eerie feelings that someone was watching you when no one was around. Many shadows and objects glimpsed form the corner of my eye, but never any other situation that offered equal veracity as those two times with the shadow man...thing.
The other thing that stands out in my mind about that old house was the endless nightmares. Every night in that house was torture. Almost every dream involved me either getting chased by some unseen force (or miniature version of King Kong-yes that would be a normal sized gorilla) through the house or watching my family become possessed. I tell you it was freaky.
I wish I could go back to that house and tour the inside one more time. Would I see anything or get any weird being watched feelings?
The house Pixie and I reside at now is not haunted, thank God...at least not any more. But that is another story.
My mother was calling up the stairs for me to get out of bed. I ignored her, shutting my eyes to try and eek out ten more minutes of whatever important dream I was having. I am almost positive I was awake; the light in the hallway was on; I could hear my sister and brother moving around downstairs getting ready for school.
I looked into the doorway and immediately pulled the covers back over my head. This was the most terrified I had ever been. Fear literally paralyzed me. My breathing was arrested. I had a weird pulsating sensation in my body, like my heart was trying to grab my intestines and make a break for it straight out of my chest cavity.
I saw the thing standing in the doorway. It was silhouetted against the hall light. It seemed to be wearing some sort of robe and had pointed ears, a protruding beak, and glowing, beady little red eyes...that were staring right at me.
I couldn't move.
I prayed that it would just go away.
I don't really remember what happened next, or how I got out of my room. I just remember seeing the thing briefly and cowering under the covers.
I didn't think of it at the time but now that I reflect on the situation I think it wanted me to be aware that it knew I saw it. Not just standing in the doorway but in and throughout the house. Sliding cereal bowls and walking around with invisible feet. As if to say: "Hey buddy, yeah I see you. And you see me. Go ahead and tell someone. See if they believe you. I'll still be here when they cart you off to the looney bin." It never did anything except scare the living hell out of me. But that was twenty years ago and is one of the most vivid memories I own. Even if it wasn't malignant, it still scarred me for life.
Those were, as far as I can recollect, the only times I honestly saw ghosts in that old house. Who knows, they might not have been ghost's. More than likely they were figments of my over active imagination. Perhaps a spot of mustard or an old potato.
There were many odd noises that always echoed through the house. Many eerie feelings that someone was watching you when no one was around. Many shadows and objects glimpsed form the corner of my eye, but never any other situation that offered equal veracity as those two times with the shadow man...thing.
The other thing that stands out in my mind about that old house was the endless nightmares. Every night in that house was torture. Almost every dream involved me either getting chased by some unseen force (or miniature version of King Kong-yes that would be a normal sized gorilla) through the house or watching my family become possessed. I tell you it was freaky.
I wish I could go back to that house and tour the inside one more time. Would I see anything or get any weird being watched feelings?
The house Pixie and I reside at now is not haunted, thank God...at least not any more. But that is another story.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Scary Stories Part I
Since Halloween is this coming Wednesday, I decided to tell some scary stories.
These stories are all true and have all happened to me at some point in my life. I would not fabricate these events. The stories are not filled with blood, guts, or gore. What truly makes them scary is that they were real and I have never forgotten about them.
So, turn on your lights and have the phone handy to call your mommy. Here is part I of JQ's Halloween spectacular.
When I was a kid, we lived in a haunted house. It was built in the 1800's in an area that was the site of many battles involving the Indians, French, English and American settlers. The Dudley Massacre, The Battle of Fallen Timbers, Fort Miami, Fort Meigs, they are all within ten minutes of my old house. This may or may not have anything to with my haunted childhood but it sets a nice back drop for a ghost story.
From spectral cats to a shadow person, the house had spooky happenings. One time after school, I was home alone enjoying a bowl of cereal. What kind I can’t remember. Anyway, the bowl of cereal slid about six inches across the table. Not so weird if you think about the unevenness of the floor in that old house. Add a little milk and gravity and you have a sliding bowl. Right? The weird part is that the bowl of cereal slid back to me. With crawling skin and the TV blaring I finished the bowl.
Another time I was exercising, again alone, when I heard footsteps up stairs. I dismissed the noise as one of our cats and continued to pump iron to the classic melodies of ZZ Top. Again I heard the footsteps tromping around upstairs. They seemed to be traveling in circles, spiraling to a central point in the main hallway. Once again, I played the noise off as the cats chasing each other around, and continued to rip my biceps. A few minutes elapsed and there were the footsteps again. This time they were moving from bedroom to bedroom upstairs, almost as if looking for something. I got an eerie feeling and began to suspect that it was not the cats. Just then the footsteps began to head for the stairs. I froze. My heart was pounding. Sweat, not the hot type you get when you exercise, beaded on my arms. The hair on the nape of my neck jolted upright. For some unknown reason I approached the doorway that lead upstairs, the footsteps now stomping at the top landing. As I looked up I remember seeing a shadow of a person(?) pass across the light cresting from the window to the side of the top landing. No person was there. The footsteps continued. Louder and faster they came down the steps, as if they were letting the momentum carry them. I turned and fled outside. I stood in the back yard for what seemed like eons waiting for my parents to come home. I never told them what happened. Although, they did ask why I was outside with nothing but shorts and socks in the middle of October.
This was not the last time I would encounter this shadow person. Later I would meet him...it...whatever face to face.
These stories are all true and have all happened to me at some point in my life. I would not fabricate these events. The stories are not filled with blood, guts, or gore. What truly makes them scary is that they were real and I have never forgotten about them.
So, turn on your lights and have the phone handy to call your mommy. Here is part I of JQ's Halloween spectacular.
When I was a kid, we lived in a haunted house. It was built in the 1800's in an area that was the site of many battles involving the Indians, French, English and American settlers. The Dudley Massacre, The Battle of Fallen Timbers, Fort Miami, Fort Meigs, they are all within ten minutes of my old house. This may or may not have anything to with my haunted childhood but it sets a nice back drop for a ghost story.
From spectral cats to a shadow person, the house had spooky happenings. One time after school, I was home alone enjoying a bowl of cereal. What kind I can’t remember. Anyway, the bowl of cereal slid about six inches across the table. Not so weird if you think about the unevenness of the floor in that old house. Add a little milk and gravity and you have a sliding bowl. Right? The weird part is that the bowl of cereal slid back to me. With crawling skin and the TV blaring I finished the bowl.
Another time I was exercising, again alone, when I heard footsteps up stairs. I dismissed the noise as one of our cats and continued to pump iron to the classic melodies of ZZ Top. Again I heard the footsteps tromping around upstairs. They seemed to be traveling in circles, spiraling to a central point in the main hallway. Once again, I played the noise off as the cats chasing each other around, and continued to rip my biceps. A few minutes elapsed and there were the footsteps again. This time they were moving from bedroom to bedroom upstairs, almost as if looking for something. I got an eerie feeling and began to suspect that it was not the cats. Just then the footsteps began to head for the stairs. I froze. My heart was pounding. Sweat, not the hot type you get when you exercise, beaded on my arms. The hair on the nape of my neck jolted upright. For some unknown reason I approached the doorway that lead upstairs, the footsteps now stomping at the top landing. As I looked up I remember seeing a shadow of a person(?) pass across the light cresting from the window to the side of the top landing. No person was there. The footsteps continued. Louder and faster they came down the steps, as if they were letting the momentum carry them. I turned and fled outside. I stood in the back yard for what seemed like eons waiting for my parents to come home. I never told them what happened. Although, they did ask why I was outside with nothing but shorts and socks in the middle of October.
This was not the last time I would encounter this shadow person. Later I would meet him...it...whatever face to face.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
I love rainy day's
I love rainy days. Except when I have to work. It is no fun building walls, aerating, mulching or otherwise generally maintaining peoples properties when it’s cold, dank and miserable outside. I would rather be: hanging out with the G-man and Pixie; or reading a good book; or playing the drums; or playing the guitar; or playing the bass; or playing the uke; or sleeping. Who the hell likes to work outside when it’s raining? I’ll tell you who: My boss. Either he likes to work in the rain or he is “trying to make money”. Geez, what a jerk.
What do you like to do on a rainy day?
What do you like to do on a rainy day?
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Breakfast with a star
Friday, Pixie and I had the honor of having breakfast with a local celebrity: Jamie Farr.
For those of you not familiar with Mr. Farr's work, allow me to enlighten you. Farr propelled himself into the homes and hearts of Americans with his famed role as Corporal Klinger in the television series M*A*S*H. He gained most of his notoriety as this cross dressing persona, but he has had many great accomplishments in his fifty plus years in show business. He stood side by side with Red Skelton on Red's live T.V program in the fifties. He starred along side Burt Reynolds, Dean Martin, Jackie Chan,and Dom Deluise in "Cannonball Run" I & II and has many other roles in countless projects, both as director and actor, to his credit. He also co-sponsors a famous LPGA tournament in The Glass City every year. Check out his credentials here, here and here.
Alright back to my story.
Pixie got tickets to an OBTA meeting through her work and we got to attend the "Business dress" breakfast with 148 other lucky guests. The combined age in the room must have been close to 8,000. I am not saying that there was a plethora of old people, but there were a few who have known Farr's since the beginning.... of time. Plus, nobody thought it was funny when I showed up in a tropical pattern dress with a Carmen Miranda fruit hat on. Hey, they said "Business Dress" and and since Farr's business is the comedy business, I thought he would get a kick out of it. Apparently he wasn't in a jocund mood that morning because with a nod of his head two burly body guards "escorted" me out of the building. They proceeded to "explain to me" Mr. Farr's distaste for "funny guy's" bothering him with kitschy acts during the most important meal of the day. After I awoke, I discovered Pixie had brought me a change of clothes, kindly leaving it next to my mashed fruit hat.
Back inside, the breakfast was fantastic! If there is one thing I love more than free food is a buffet of free food. I had my fill of french toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, orange juice and more bacon. They had fruit and cold cereal as well, but health food makes me sick so I stuck with the bacon.
Mr. Farr spoke briefly after breakfast. The president of Davis College presented Mr. Farr with an honorary Associates degree in Fashion Merchandise Marketing with a minor in something else equally witty, though I now can't remember what it was. Then we all left the breakfast hall and made our way to the Lucas Room in the grand Hilton Hotel for the OBTA conference. Farr spoke fondly of his past achievements, his rise to fame and his wife's cleavage, making the crowd laugh with every tale. He then had a brief question and answer period. I have to say that I was disappointed he didn't speak on anything remotely related to Business. That, after all, was his obligation as the keynote speaker at a business meeting. Maybe he forgot where he was. But his many humorous stories made up for his dementia.
After the Keynote speech was over we actually got our pictures taken with Mr. Farr. He is an extremely nice gentleman; waiting patiently while everyone groveled at his feet for an autograph and a picture. Pixie and I had one of the lucky student winners from Davis College take a picture of us with Farr. Then as we were walking away, Pixie noticed the picture was blurry, so we turned around shoved the people who had waited patiently behind us out of the way and demanded another picture with Farr. We had her take a third one for good measure. This last one turned out the best.
He was quick witted and for a man his age only had to use the bathroom eight times during the hour long breakfast. I'm impressed. What a time we had listening to his stories about cross dressing, the war, and oh yeah, the stuff he did for M*A*S*H. It was exciting to meet an honest to goodness celebrity from Toledo. One who hasn't married a curious little man and joined a cult.
For those of you not familiar with Mr. Farr's work, allow me to enlighten you. Farr propelled himself into the homes and hearts of Americans with his famed role as Corporal Klinger in the television series M*A*S*H. He gained most of his notoriety as this cross dressing persona, but he has had many great accomplishments in his fifty plus years in show business. He stood side by side with Red Skelton on Red's live T.V program in the fifties. He starred along side Burt Reynolds, Dean Martin, Jackie Chan,and Dom Deluise in "Cannonball Run" I & II and has many other roles in countless projects, both as director and actor, to his credit. He also co-sponsors a famous LPGA tournament in The Glass City every year. Check out his credentials here, here and here.
Alright back to my story.
Pixie got tickets to an OBTA meeting through her work and we got to attend the "Business dress" breakfast with 148 other lucky guests. The combined age in the room must have been close to 8,000. I am not saying that there was a plethora of old people, but there were a few who have known Farr's since the beginning.... of time. Plus, nobody thought it was funny when I showed up in a tropical pattern dress with a Carmen Miranda fruit hat on. Hey, they said "Business Dress" and and since Farr's business is the comedy business, I thought he would get a kick out of it. Apparently he wasn't in a jocund mood that morning because with a nod of his head two burly body guards "escorted" me out of the building. They proceeded to "explain to me" Mr. Farr's distaste for "funny guy's" bothering him with kitschy acts during the most important meal of the day. After I awoke, I discovered Pixie had brought me a change of clothes, kindly leaving it next to my mashed fruit hat.
Back inside, the breakfast was fantastic! If there is one thing I love more than free food is a buffet of free food. I had my fill of french toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, orange juice and more bacon. They had fruit and cold cereal as well, but health food makes me sick so I stuck with the bacon.
Mr. Farr spoke briefly after breakfast. The president of Davis College presented Mr. Farr with an honorary Associates degree in Fashion Merchandise Marketing with a minor in something else equally witty, though I now can't remember what it was. Then we all left the breakfast hall and made our way to the Lucas Room in the grand Hilton Hotel for the OBTA conference. Farr spoke fondly of his past achievements, his rise to fame and his wife's cleavage, making the crowd laugh with every tale. He then had a brief question and answer period. I have to say that I was disappointed he didn't speak on anything remotely related to Business. That, after all, was his obligation as the keynote speaker at a business meeting. Maybe he forgot where he was. But his many humorous stories made up for his dementia.
After the Keynote speech was over we actually got our pictures taken with Mr. Farr. He is an extremely nice gentleman; waiting patiently while everyone groveled at his feet for an autograph and a picture. Pixie and I had one of the lucky student winners from Davis College take a picture of us with Farr. Then as we were walking away, Pixie noticed the picture was blurry, so we turned around shoved the people who had waited patiently behind us out of the way and demanded another picture with Farr. We had her take a third one for good measure. This last one turned out the best.
He was quick witted and for a man his age only had to use the bathroom eight times during the hour long breakfast. I'm impressed. What a time we had listening to his stories about cross dressing, the war, and oh yeah, the stuff he did for M*A*S*H. It was exciting to meet an honest to goodness celebrity from Toledo. One who hasn't married a curious little man and joined a cult.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
?????????????????????????????????????????
I have spent all my free time tonight reading and commenting on other peoples posts and leaving myself no time to think of a post of my own. So here it is. An open post format. Ask me any question you would like. Any question at all and I will answer it for you. No matter how depraved or disgusting or humiliating the question, I will answer it. Whether the question is about me, the future of pork barrels, the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow, whatever. Don't hold back and don't be afraid. This all-knowing, all-seeing, Maharishi is at your service.
I will not however try to guess your weight. What is this, a freaking carnival?
I will not however try to guess your weight. What is this, a freaking carnival?
Friday, October 12, 2007
Random Thoughts for Friday
Did I say Friday? I meant Saturday. I started writing this post seventeen hours ago and just sat back down to finish my rant.
First of all, congratulations to Al Gore on winning the Nobel Peace Prize. Apparently they hand it out if you cash in enough frequent-flyer miles. If you want to talk about global climate change being caused by man, well here is the man doing it. In fact, Bigfoot and Sheryl Crow should start a save the planet tour and call it the "Hey look at me. No really, look at me. I'm saving the planet by using all the resources before you stupid hoi polloi have a chance. So look at me. Please."
Am I the only one who is tired of having these hypocritical elitists' spewing on how the general public should conserve and recycle? I was conserving resources and practicing the three R's long before it became a designer trend. It's called being poor. But not only poor, having a conscience. Now all the sudden some billionaire decides to rouse the ignorant masses by saying the sky is falling and he is a hero?
Don't get me wrong I think that he is passionate about his cause. I admire the guy's gusto. He is trying to do what he thinks is right. Though what his cause exactly is and why he deserves what I thought was an eminent award I have no idea. I mean, how the hell is a fictional movie, based on skewed reality a benefit to humanity? I would further question the Swedes definition of Noble Laureate but I am reminded of Alfred and his gift to humanity. Let's all say it together (like Jimi Walker) "Dyn-O-Mite"!
Is the earth warming, probably. Has it done this before? Yes. Go to the other extreme and we have ice ages. Earth's climate changes. I have another inconvenient truth for you all; the sun is going to explode... in about a billion years. It's terminal. I guess that's our fault for not getting those spots checked.
So far as reactions to winning this once revered prize, this lady has it right.
Second, let me thank Mattel, China and the U.S for trying to kill us all with lead paint. Next time don't be a bunch of pantie-waists, use a lethal dose. Speaking of recalls, is it just the media creating and perpetuating hysteria through these "recall stories" or does no one know how to make a worthwhile product that won't cause cancer or kill us?
I blame the unions. The unions and the imperial capitalist pigs. Unions, imperial capitalist pigs, and Rosie O'Donnell. Yeah, that about covers that.
C, how is it that someone can buy a gun and think that it's a good idea to give it to their disgruntled son. Oh yeah, and junior, I have one word for you, "salad".
When I was younger, we settled each other's hash with a good old fashioned fist-a-cuffs after school; two guys beating the hell out of each other without the permanence of death or life in a psyche ward. I guess I am being a romantic, but those seemed like such simpler times.
Times when the Earth wasn't melting, and Rosie O'Donnell wasn't trying to poison us.
First of all, congratulations to Al Gore on winning the Nobel Peace Prize. Apparently they hand it out if you cash in enough frequent-flyer miles. If you want to talk about global climate change being caused by man, well here is the man doing it. In fact, Bigfoot and Sheryl Crow should start a save the planet tour and call it the "Hey look at me. No really, look at me. I'm saving the planet by using all the resources before you stupid hoi polloi have a chance. So look at me. Please."
Am I the only one who is tired of having these hypocritical elitists' spewing on how the general public should conserve and recycle? I was conserving resources and practicing the three R's long before it became a designer trend. It's called being poor. But not only poor, having a conscience. Now all the sudden some billionaire decides to rouse the ignorant masses by saying the sky is falling and he is a hero?
Don't get me wrong I think that he is passionate about his cause. I admire the guy's gusto. He is trying to do what he thinks is right. Though what his cause exactly is and why he deserves what I thought was an eminent award I have no idea. I mean, how the hell is a fictional movie, based on skewed reality a benefit to humanity? I would further question the Swedes definition of Noble Laureate but I am reminded of Alfred and his gift to humanity. Let's all say it together (like Jimi Walker) "Dyn-O-Mite"!
Is the earth warming, probably. Has it done this before? Yes. Go to the other extreme and we have ice ages. Earth's climate changes. I have another inconvenient truth for you all; the sun is going to explode... in about a billion years. It's terminal. I guess that's our fault for not getting those spots checked.
So far as reactions to winning this once revered prize, this lady has it right.
Second, let me thank Mattel, China and the U.S for trying to kill us all with lead paint. Next time don't be a bunch of pantie-waists, use a lethal dose. Speaking of recalls, is it just the media creating and perpetuating hysteria through these "recall stories" or does no one know how to make a worthwhile product that won't cause cancer or kill us?
I blame the unions. The unions and the imperial capitalist pigs. Unions, imperial capitalist pigs, and Rosie O'Donnell. Yeah, that about covers that.
C, how is it that someone can buy a gun and think that it's a good idea to give it to their disgruntled son. Oh yeah, and junior, I have one word for you, "salad".
When I was younger, we settled each other's hash with a good old fashioned fist-a-cuffs after school; two guys beating the hell out of each other without the permanence of death or life in a psyche ward. I guess I am being a romantic, but those seemed like such simpler times.
Times when the Earth wasn't melting, and Rosie O'Donnell wasn't trying to poison us.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Trash Man
You let me down today. What happened? I thought we had an understanding? We had a symbiotic relationship. I would put my refuse on the curb every Tuesday morning. You would drive by with your buddies and throw the trash into the back of your truck. Everyone was happy.
Remember when I gave you that Wurlitzer Organ? You threw your back out trying to hoist it into the truck. You had to have two people help you load it. Remember how the only note it would make after you smashed it with your compressor was B flat? Those were good times. Why? Why did you forsake me? Was it something I said? Was it the overstuffed bags? The dirty diapers? The body parts?
This morning you only took two-thirds of my garbage. I left you three nice bags, not too heavy but not light enough to insult your manhood. Three perfect little bags. But you only thought two of them were good enough to haul to your magical trash kingdom. The third and smallest of the bags—I called him shorty— was still there when I left for work.
I was going to call you and inquire if you were alright, if maybe you were mad at me, but I decided to let you cool off for a while. You'll come back when you are ready.
Trash man, if you can hear me, I'm sorry. Please come back. We miss you.
Asshole.
Remember when I gave you that Wurlitzer Organ? You threw your back out trying to hoist it into the truck. You had to have two people help you load it. Remember how the only note it would make after you smashed it with your compressor was B flat? Those were good times. Why? Why did you forsake me? Was it something I said? Was it the overstuffed bags? The dirty diapers? The body parts?
This morning you only took two-thirds of my garbage. I left you three nice bags, not too heavy but not light enough to insult your manhood. Three perfect little bags. But you only thought two of them were good enough to haul to your magical trash kingdom. The third and smallest of the bags—I called him shorty— was still there when I left for work.
I was going to call you and inquire if you were alright, if maybe you were mad at me, but I decided to let you cool off for a while. You'll come back when you are ready.
Trash man, if you can hear me, I'm sorry. Please come back. We miss you.
Asshole.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Where’s the mechanically separated beef?
Topps Meats Co. is closing its doors after faithfully serving the New Jersey area for 67 years and supplying its delicious hamburgers nationwide. The reason? 21.7 million pounds of its frozen hamburgers have been linked to strain of E. Coli O157:H7, a potentially deadly bacteria that causes among other things bloody diarrhea (I have been told that it looks and sounds like a half empty bottle of ketchup being squeezed).
The company slaughters cows and forms patties, which are then frozen and shipped to barbeques all around the nation. Maybe I have watched to many Soprano’s episodes, but I ate a Topp’s burger one time and it was really greasy and tasted like Cadillac’s and pinky rings. I’m just saying. Maybe the USDA should have inspected this “meat processing” facility years ago. Perhaps there is a reason—large envelope full of money—that they didn’t, oh well, I am sure there was ten’s of thousands of good reasons.
So before you cook up those last minute autumn burgers on the grill do yourself a favor; inspect the package, then call an attorney.
Also, I would like to extend my condolences to the D’Urso family for having to shut down your factory—fahgettaboutit! I have an envelope for you.
The company slaughters cows and forms patties, which are then frozen and shipped to barbeques all around the nation. Maybe I have watched to many Soprano’s episodes, but I ate a Topp’s burger one time and it was really greasy and tasted like Cadillac’s and pinky rings. I’m just saying. Maybe the USDA should have inspected this “meat processing” facility years ago. Perhaps there is a reason—large envelope full of money—that they didn’t, oh well, I am sure there was ten’s of thousands of good reasons.
So before you cook up those last minute autumn burgers on the grill do yourself a favor; inspect the package, then call an attorney.
Also, I would like to extend my condolences to the D’Urso family for having to shut down your factory—fahgettaboutit! I have an envelope for you.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Goodbye logic, hello America
I will typically tend to stay away from voicing my political views on this blog, but I felt that I should say something about the recent Jessie Macbeth fiasco. First of all shame on you Jesse. Secondly good for you Rush. And lastly, it just goes to show you how warped the media really is that they can run a story that smears someone like Rush, who although a lot of people disagree with him (and I am not a hardcore listener by the way)he does tend to tell the truth among his right-wing rantings. Once again the media and now even our senators are jumping on the "We don't need any facts, just hang someone" mentality. Shame on you all, ignoramuses.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Breathe, Breathe in the air...
It is 6:27 a.m. I have been awake for a half an hour and already have the urge to smoke a cigarette. This urge will continue to plague me all day, constantly in the back of my thoughts. Taunting me with sweet puffs of over five hundred chemicals, most of which cause some disease or ailment. I will be able to hold out until around five o’clock (I hope) and then after that another few hours. This has been going on for twenty-six weeks, or for those interested and informed about as long as the Wee-one has been in my life.
Before he was born I new I would quit. I still have not, but I have greatly reduced the amount I smoke, going from at least a pack a day to at the most five cigarettes a day. Most days I only have one or two, but some days are more trying then others. Everyday I struggle with this demon; rolling and tumbling down the hallway of addiction. It is not that easy.
I refuse to take any kind of drug, patch or gum to aid in my overcoming nicotine. Mostly because I don't have health insurance and that stuff costs a lot of money. But also because in an age where doctors have a pill for every conceivable ailment, addiction and problem I like to thumb my nose at them and at least prove to myself that nobody needs all those drugs to feel better. I will do this on my own, at my pace and with nothing more then my will power. Which is why twenty-six weeks into my “reduced smoking plan” I am still at five or less a day but unable to take (or unwilling) that final step and quit the habit I formed many, many years ago. I have gone a day here and there without smoking, but can't get over that last speed bump.
Every time I feel the urge to have a smoke I take a series of deep breaths and tell myself all the horrible things I am doing to my body when smoking, and all the positive outcomes of quitting. Not to mention my son won’t know I smoked and therefore being in a family that doesn’t smoke will not when he grows up.
The hardest time for me is in the morning with my coffee, while having a beer and while I’m awake. Other than that it is not so bad. It is easiest for me when I am around Pixie and G-man.
One of these days I will quit. Until then I will continue to breathe deeply.
Before he was born I new I would quit. I still have not, but I have greatly reduced the amount I smoke, going from at least a pack a day to at the most five cigarettes a day. Most days I only have one or two, but some days are more trying then others. Everyday I struggle with this demon; rolling and tumbling down the hallway of addiction. It is not that easy.
I refuse to take any kind of drug, patch or gum to aid in my overcoming nicotine. Mostly because I don't have health insurance and that stuff costs a lot of money. But also because in an age where doctors have a pill for every conceivable ailment, addiction and problem I like to thumb my nose at them and at least prove to myself that nobody needs all those drugs to feel better. I will do this on my own, at my pace and with nothing more then my will power. Which is why twenty-six weeks into my “reduced smoking plan” I am still at five or less a day but unable to take (or unwilling) that final step and quit the habit I formed many, many years ago. I have gone a day here and there without smoking, but can't get over that last speed bump.
Every time I feel the urge to have a smoke I take a series of deep breaths and tell myself all the horrible things I am doing to my body when smoking, and all the positive outcomes of quitting. Not to mention my son won’t know I smoked and therefore being in a family that doesn’t smoke will not when he grows up.
The hardest time for me is in the morning with my coffee, while having a beer and while I’m awake. Other than that it is not so bad. It is easiest for me when I am around Pixie and G-man.
One of these days I will quit. Until then I will continue to breathe deeply.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers
“Dope will get you through times of no money better then money will get you through times of no dope.”
—Free Wheelin' Franklin
Ah, the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers.
When I was younger I used to love reading those raunchy, not-for-kids comic strips about three "brothers" out to score a buzz without getting burned. Every Thanksgiving My mother would open her secret vault of naughty comics and allow my brother, sister and I to read the mishaps of these anti-hero's.
Franklin with his no-nonsense approach to catching a buzz, always ordering the other two to secure him some dope.
Fat Freddy, oh Fat Freddy you hapless moron. You are going to indulge yourself to death.
Phineas, the brains of the operation. I remember he rigged a car to become remote controlled. He and Free Wheelin' Franklin stood on the roof top of their apartment building and watched the fuzz chase the car all over the city. Those crazy hippies.
Such fond memories of my childhood.
It now seems that Fab Bros. creator Gilbert Sheldon is putting together a movie called "Grass Roots". The movie will be stop motion with little rubber characters. I can't wait to see this. I will pay the outrageous $9.75 for my ticket, then run around the back of the theatre and let in Pixie. That is saying a lot, since I absolutely refuse to fall victim to Hollywood's black hole movie industry and their crazy belief that I would actually pay that kind of money to see the vomit they try and pass off as entertainment. Maybe I'll just wait for it to come out on DVD, like everything else. Hey at least then I can enjoy the movie in the comfort of my own home.
So check out Sheldon's site and discover the Freakiness today.
Update:I in no way condone the use of illicit drugs, stop animation, or Thanksgiving. This was simply a funny comic strip that I thought was cool. Stay in school and don't do drugs kids.
—Free Wheelin' Franklin
Ah, the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers.
When I was younger I used to love reading those raunchy, not-for-kids comic strips about three "brothers" out to score a buzz without getting burned. Every Thanksgiving My mother would open her secret vault of naughty comics and allow my brother, sister and I to read the mishaps of these anti-hero's.
Franklin with his no-nonsense approach to catching a buzz, always ordering the other two to secure him some dope.
Fat Freddy, oh Fat Freddy you hapless moron. You are going to indulge yourself to death.
Phineas, the brains of the operation. I remember he rigged a car to become remote controlled. He and Free Wheelin' Franklin stood on the roof top of their apartment building and watched the fuzz chase the car all over the city. Those crazy hippies.
Such fond memories of my childhood.
It now seems that Fab Bros. creator Gilbert Sheldon is putting together a movie called "Grass Roots". The movie will be stop motion with little rubber characters. I can't wait to see this. I will pay the outrageous $9.75 for my ticket, then run around the back of the theatre and let in Pixie. That is saying a lot, since I absolutely refuse to fall victim to Hollywood's black hole movie industry and their crazy belief that I would actually pay that kind of money to see the vomit they try and pass off as entertainment. Maybe I'll just wait for it to come out on DVD, like everything else. Hey at least then I can enjoy the movie in the comfort of my own home.
So check out Sheldon's site and discover the Freakiness today.
Update:I in no way condone the use of illicit drugs, stop animation, or Thanksgiving. This was simply a funny comic strip that I thought was cool. Stay in school and don't do drugs kids.
Monday, September 24, 2007
A lazy friday with my Family
Friday, Holly, G-man and I took a trip to Maumee Bay State Park in Oregon Ohio. We had a blast! Rather than just tell you all about our adventure, I decided to use pictures. Don't worry I threw in some captions for all the Brainiacs out there who have to read.
It was late when I posted this and Holly was asleep. Some of the pictures are sideways and I don't know how to rotate them, so if you don't mind rotating your screens counter-clockwise...Thank you.
Gideon, are you ready for a nap?
I am just kidding. We are going to the park!
I love the park Dad!
Okay, are Mom and Gideon ready?
I have always been an intrepid explorer. Just look at the hat!
Ah, look at the trash that inconsiderate patrons leave on the ground.
Oh, look Gideon, an observation tower. Let's go climb it and observe the view.
It seems so far away.
WOW! How did mom get here so fast?
At this point there was a slight run in with a swarm of Bee's, or Wasp's or some type of flying insect with a stinger and an attitude.
When I say run-in, I mean runaway. As in me hot-footing it the hell out of there. Eventually we were fine. I just had to apologize for pushing Gideon at the killer Bee's in order to save myself.
Oh, what do you see Gideon?
A caterpillar.
Now what do you see?
A deer.
Oh, look, a snake. Do you see it?
What is that?
Nice, probably from the girlfriend of the douche that was drinking in the forest.
Here we are in the Nature Building. Who can spot the owl?
Hey Gideon, I wonder how they got all these neat bird's in one place.
Oh well, let's go to the beach.
Aww, Gideon and Mommy. Aren't they cute.
Gideon loves the water!
We splashed the water then...
...we went back to our "tent" to relax before the drive home.
I love being a Dad.
It was late when I posted this and Holly was asleep. Some of the pictures are sideways and I don't know how to rotate them, so if you don't mind rotating your screens counter-clockwise...Thank you.
Gideon, are you ready for a nap?
I am just kidding. We are going to the park!
I love the park Dad!
Okay, are Mom and Gideon ready?
I have always been an intrepid explorer. Just look at the hat!
Ah, look at the trash that inconsiderate patrons leave on the ground.
Oh, look Gideon, an observation tower. Let's go climb it and observe the view.
It seems so far away.
WOW! How did mom get here so fast?
At this point there was a slight run in with a swarm of Bee's, or Wasp's or some type of flying insect with a stinger and an attitude.
When I say run-in, I mean runaway. As in me hot-footing it the hell out of there. Eventually we were fine. I just had to apologize for pushing Gideon at the killer Bee's in order to save myself.
Oh, what do you see Gideon?
A caterpillar.
Now what do you see?
A deer.
Oh, look, a snake. Do you see it?
What is that?
Nice, probably from the girlfriend of the douche that was drinking in the forest.
Here we are in the Nature Building. Who can spot the owl?
Hey Gideon, I wonder how they got all these neat bird's in one place.
Oh well, let's go to the beach.
Aww, Gideon and Mommy. Aren't they cute.
Gideon loves the water!
We splashed the water then...
...we went back to our "tent" to relax before the drive home.
I love being a Dad.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Lend a helping hand
Before this week I had never heard of Lenticular Clouds, but they are quite fascinating. They seem to take unusual round and ribbon shapes. What a spectacular sight to behold—but how are these beautiful dihydrogen monoxide masses formed? What sets them apart from other clouds? Do we have to hate and fear them because they are different? I did a little research and the results were astounding:
Unfortunately these magnificent freaks of suspended vapor are being threatened. It seems that the abundance of cell phone towers throughout the free world has caused the clouds to lose their sense of direction. The clouds have become torpid. They feel they have nothing to left to offer society. But with the help of good people in the Blogging community, not unlike yourself, we can fight to end their suffering and get them the necessary help they so deserve. Please do your part. Visit this site for more information on what you can do to help. Thank you.
I hope you all learned as much as I did. See you tomorrow boys and girls.
- They are almost always found in the sky.
- Occasionally they can be seen at the Kewadin Casinos —where the serenity of nature and the materialistic deviance of Las Vegas elope.
- They have poor eyesight, but excellent hearing. However, they are horrible listeners.
- They startle easily and can be quite aggressive when threatened.
- They migrate thousands of miles each year to mate. After hours of grueling ankle grabbing they cry in the shower and then make the long trek back to their place of birth to lay their eggs.
- They get their majestic shapes and colors from jello molds and food coloring.
Unfortunately these magnificent freaks of suspended vapor are being threatened. It seems that the abundance of cell phone towers throughout the free world has caused the clouds to lose their sense of direction. The clouds have become torpid. They feel they have nothing to left to offer society. But with the help of good people in the Blogging community, not unlike yourself, we can fight to end their suffering and get them the necessary help they so deserve. Please do your part. Visit this site for more information on what you can do to help. Thank you.
I hope you all learned as much as I did. See you tomorrow boys and girls.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Random thought of the day
How many times have you heard the expression, “Your a load that should have been swallowed”?
I hear that all the time.
The person usually saying it is me. I usually say it to random fucktards on the road who have the uncanny ability to be both inconsiderate drivers and mindless asshats simultaneously.
My brother's friend used to say this sometimes. He was a wise man.
I hear that all the time.
The person usually saying it is me. I usually say it to random fucktards on the road who have the uncanny ability to be both inconsiderate drivers and mindless asshats simultaneously.
My brother's friend used to say this sometimes. He was a wise man.
The birthing of a blog
Tuesday, September Eleventh.
The day I lived the dream.
For years I have worked at a job that I cannot stand just to be able to provide for my wife, our life and most important myself. Since the introduction of the Wee-one I have worked even harder to earn and save for items that we need and to have extra scratch just in case of emergencies. I am no slouch when it comes to hard work. I went to school on nights and weekends part-time for years in hopes that one-day I would be able to leave my menial labor job behind and move on to bigger and better things. Make a difference in the world (at least mine anyway—the rest of you are on your own); live out my dream of being an artist, a writer, a lyricist, a guitar player, and a published author. You know, become lazy. These are activities I love to do, but somehow, somewhere along the line I became ensnared in the hustle and bustle of everyday living, lost sight of my dreams and turned my attention towards just plain living for that paycheck. To put it lightly I am miserable. I dread going to work so much that recently I have become depressed and lost both physical and mental energy. In fact I no longer seem to find pleasure in giving Pixie Dutch Ovens— Honey, I'm just going through the motions.
So I know what you are thinking. Why don’t you get a different job? Do what you want to do and relax for a while. The problem is I need the money to sustain our extravagant lifestyle: the order-in pizzas, the Busch beer, the Kroger brand food products. And trying to find time to jump into the game of job searching is more than a little difficult, though I am attempting the arduous task with as much enthusiasm as I can muster—especially in light of recent developments at work.
So today I called in sick and spent the entire morning, afternoon and evening living the dream; spending time with my son.
Hell I even got a minute amount of writing and resume building accomplished. How can I go back to work now? This is what I want to do with my life. Have my sugar momma pay the bills whilst I watch our son and be creative.
Saturday, September 15
I had a very trying day Friday, which ended in me telling my boss that I was done with his shit and his company. All week it seemed that if something could go wrong it did; equipment was faltering and breaking, we got pulled over twice (and by the grace of God that D.O.T Comm Vehicle Inspection cop had a sense of humor), tensions were flaring, and innocent kitten lives were being lost (a long story and one I am still too sore to talk about. Why Mr. Boots? Why!). Not to mention the litany of usual mishaps and embarrassments that plague that company on a diurnal basis.
I got home and had a slight nervous breakdown, tipped a beer for Mr. Boots and began to think about my future.
Sunday, September 16
Sunday evening and I am still not sure what I want to do with my current job or my life. I know I want to write and I know I do not want to go back to work tomorrow, but other than that I have no idea.
Monday, September 17
Stayed home from work and started writing my resume. Got side tracked into reading Blogs.
Decided I wanted to start a Blog in order to have a creative outlet. Finished Resume work, straightened up the house and played Ukulele until Gideon got home.
Tuesday, September 18
Worked on Resume more. Gathered portfolio materials into a cohesive structure. God this is a lot of fricking work, I want to go back to my menial labor job. Had a beer, uh I mean creative juice. Had my second cigarette for the day. Sat down in the office chair. Cracked my knuckles. Stared at the screen for thirty minutes. Wiped the drool off the desktop before it left a stain. I watched Mr. Fabulous’ Vblog and spit beer out of my nose. Where does this guy get his material? Maybe he will write my Blog. After G-man went to sleep I spent three hours picking colors for my side bar and heading. Blogging is so cool.
Wednesday, September 19
I have been at this computer screen for approximately 43 games of Orbitz 8-ball trying to decide what my first post will be about.
The day I lived the dream.
For years I have worked at a job that I cannot stand just to be able to provide for my wife, our life and most important myself. Since the introduction of the Wee-one I have worked even harder to earn and save for items that we need and to have extra scratch just in case of emergencies. I am no slouch when it comes to hard work. I went to school on nights and weekends part-time for years in hopes that one-day I would be able to leave my menial labor job behind and move on to bigger and better things. Make a difference in the world (at least mine anyway—the rest of you are on your own); live out my dream of being an artist, a writer, a lyricist, a guitar player, and a published author. You know, become lazy. These are activities I love to do, but somehow, somewhere along the line I became ensnared in the hustle and bustle of everyday living, lost sight of my dreams and turned my attention towards just plain living for that paycheck. To put it lightly I am miserable. I dread going to work so much that recently I have become depressed and lost both physical and mental energy. In fact I no longer seem to find pleasure in giving Pixie Dutch Ovens— Honey, I'm just going through the motions.
So I know what you are thinking. Why don’t you get a different job? Do what you want to do and relax for a while. The problem is I need the money to sustain our extravagant lifestyle: the order-in pizzas, the Busch beer, the Kroger brand food products. And trying to find time to jump into the game of job searching is more than a little difficult, though I am attempting the arduous task with as much enthusiasm as I can muster—especially in light of recent developments at work.
So today I called in sick and spent the entire morning, afternoon and evening living the dream; spending time with my son.
Hell I even got a minute amount of writing and resume building accomplished. How can I go back to work now? This is what I want to do with my life. Have my sugar momma pay the bills whilst I watch our son and be creative.
Saturday, September 15
I had a very trying day Friday, which ended in me telling my boss that I was done with his shit and his company. All week it seemed that if something could go wrong it did; equipment was faltering and breaking, we got pulled over twice (and by the grace of God that D.O.T Comm Vehicle Inspection cop had a sense of humor), tensions were flaring, and innocent kitten lives were being lost (a long story and one I am still too sore to talk about. Why Mr. Boots? Why!). Not to mention the litany of usual mishaps and embarrassments that plague that company on a diurnal basis.
I got home and had a slight nervous breakdown, tipped a beer for Mr. Boots and began to think about my future.
Sunday, September 16
Sunday evening and I am still not sure what I want to do with my current job or my life. I know I want to write and I know I do not want to go back to work tomorrow, but other than that I have no idea.
Monday, September 17
Stayed home from work and started writing my resume. Got side tracked into reading Blogs.
Decided I wanted to start a Blog in order to have a creative outlet. Finished Resume work, straightened up the house and played Ukulele until Gideon got home.
Tuesday, September 18
Worked on Resume more. Gathered portfolio materials into a cohesive structure. God this is a lot of fricking work, I want to go back to my menial labor job. Had a beer, uh I mean creative juice. Had my second cigarette for the day. Sat down in the office chair. Cracked my knuckles. Stared at the screen for thirty minutes. Wiped the drool off the desktop before it left a stain. I watched Mr. Fabulous’ Vblog and spit beer out of my nose. Where does this guy get his material? Maybe he will write my Blog. After G-man went to sleep I spent three hours picking colors for my side bar and heading. Blogging is so cool.
Wednesday, September 19
I have been at this computer screen for approximately 43 games of Orbitz 8-ball trying to decide what my first post will be about.
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