No More Mr. Ice Guy

No more No More Mr. Ice Guy

2006-10-11T15:19:00.000-04:00

This is the final farewall post. See you on the other side.

Mr. E Football Ranking - October 10

2006-10-10T08:47:00.000-04:00

What started as a bunch of barroom and backyard discussions is now a reality. Here is my first ever *FL team ranking!

***Football Rankings as of October 10, 2006***
Rank	City	Div	Power Rank	Dom Pctg	Win Pctg
1	Chicago	NN	0.8660	0.958	1.000
2	Indianapolis	AS	0.7348	0.696	1.000
3	Denver	AW	0.6950	0.737	0.750
4	New England	AE	0.6775	0.652	0.800
5	Philadelphia	NE	0.6607	0.727	0.800
6	Atlanta	NS	0.6467	0.684	0.750
7	Baltimore	AN	0.6333	0.667	0.800
8	New Orleans	NS	0.6288	0.609	0.800
9	San Diego	AW	0.6238	0.778	0.750
10	Seattle	NW	0.6191	0.579	0.750
11	Cincinnati	AN	0.6159	0.611	0.750
12	Jacksonville	AS	0.6073	0.652	0.600
13	Minnesota	NN	0.6047	0.640	0.600
14	St. Louis	NW	0.5734	0.500	0.800
15	Carolina	NS	0.5559	0.565	0.600
16	N.Y. Big Guys	NE	0.5511	0.526	0.500
17	Dallas	NE	0.5359	0.625	0.500
18	Kansas City	AW	0.5272	0.556	0.500
19	Buffalo	AE	0.5111	0.560	0.400
20	N.Y. Jest	AE	0.4865	0.480	0.400
21	Washington	NE	0.4283	0.364	0.400
22	Pittsburgh	AN	0.3696	0.444	0.250
23	San Francisco	NW	0.3649	0.370	0.400
24	Arizona	NW	0.3416	0.364	0.200
25	Green Bay	NN	0.3002	0.240	0.200
26	Cleveland	AN	0.2946	0.261	0.200
27	Houston	AS	0.2870	0.250	0.250
28	Tampa Bay	NS	0.2739	0.316	0.000
29	Detroit	NN	0.2441	0.208	0.000
30	Miami	AE	0.2252	0.130	0.200
31	Tennessee	AS	0.2226	0.261	0.000
32	Oakland	AW	0.0999	0.053	0.000

* (Please note, because I do not have the "express written consent" of a certain nation-wide football league, I will not use any real names as of yet.)

I guess it beats being Kenny ...

2006-10-04T22:44:00.000-04:00

This is on the Comedy Central homepage under Games - Brainteasers.

Brainteasers?

Too stupid to not share

2006-10-03T16:28:00.000-04:00

At work we have a temp doing some filing and organizing for us part time. We have a big project right now, and he has gone through all of the folders we had on hand plus 600 more that I bought and brought in. Before scheduling our temp’s next visit, I checked with our admin that handles orders to make sure we would have enough on hand – after all, if he shows up and we don’t have work for him, we pay him for nothing. A few emails later, she had confirmed a delivery date for more folders and set up a date that the temp could return.

“Thanks for your help,” I emailed back. “I want to make sure we don’t get caught by supplies.”

Jerry! Jerry!

2006-09-18T11:48:00.000-04:00

Ever had one of those my-life-would-make-a-good-Jerry-Springer-show days? These past 24 hours have been that way.

And I'm probably the one who will get hit by the chair ...

When Life Gives You Poop …

2006-09-15T16:25:00.000-04:00

My favorite part about watching TV, reading books, listening to music, going to movies, or, if necessary, dealing with real people is catching the occasional one- or two-liners that really stick out – the soundbites of life, if you will. While I tend to drone on and on, I love it when someone can find a way to say a heck of a lot by saying just a little.

This all started with my 11th grade language arts class. Our teacher had us keep a quote book throughout the whole year. I still have mine and I actually intend to set up a favorite quotations site or blog of some sort sometime soon. (Of course this requires some deliberation; one of my old schoolmates posted his quote book online – now whenever you Google the name of one of my other schoolmates, you see fat jokes he and I made about her back in high school.) Often times I log onto imdb.com for the sole purpose of pulling up “memorable quotes”. I will at times have a pen and paper – or better yet, a computer – with me when I watch TV so I can quickly jot down anything cool, poignant, or just plain quirky that is said. This drives Ms N nuts.

Here are a few snippets that come to mind …

“Gentlemen! You can’t fight in here, this is the War Room!”
President Merkin Muffley; Dr. Strangelove

“Anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job.”
Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy

“War doesn’t decide who’s right, only who’s left.”
Bumper sticker

“I’m the President. I don’t have any real power; my job is to draw attention away from it.”
Zaphod Beeblebrox, Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy

“POLITICS! POLITICS!”
Animal, Muppet Treasure Island

“Mongo just pawn in game of life.”
Mongo, Blazing Saddles

“If money can’t buy happiness then I guess I’ll have to rent it.”
This is the Life; Weird Al Yankovic

“Multiculturalism: Going From Bad to Diverse”
P.J. O’Rourke

“Nobody goes there, it’s too crowded.”
Yogi Berra

“Every jumbled pile of person has a thinking part that’s thinking what the part that isn’t thinking isn’t thinking of.”
Where Your Eyes Don’t Go; They Might Be Giants

“Maybe you should try raising kids. Then you can know what it’s like to be woken up at midnight because they want another bottle of Mountain Dew.”
Joy; My Name Is Earl

“I’m so hungry I could eat a vegetable.”
Al Bundy; Married … With Children

“My karma ran over your dogma.”
Not sure

“But I am so God-awfully human; I’ll pick the lock but will not turn the key.”
Looking In; Bad Religion

“Flattery gets you underwear.”
Sarah Dey

“If shit were gold, I’d have the Midas touch.”
Me

“Young girls are like miniature human beings … young boys are pod people from the planet Destructo.”
Dave Barry

“What [our band] lacks in talent, we make up for in volume.”
Dave Barry

“Perhaps he shot himself and then hid the gun.”
Detective; Monty Python’s Flying Circus

“Dead puppies aren’t much fun.”
Dead Puppies; Ogden Edsl

“If I can make just one person happy, that is my reward. The rest goes to the government.”
Victor Borge

“I plan to live forever … or die trying.”
Me

“Usually, when all is said and done, more is said than done.”
Not sure

“When life gives you poop, make poop juice”
Bug-eyed Earl; Red Meat

Ernes-D’oh!

2006-09-02T10:00:00.000-04:00

Hurricane Ernesto landed in the Carolinas yesterday and has now worked its way up the mid-Atlantic states. It’s not a hurricane anymore, of course. Deprived of its warm ocean water fuel, it rapidly deteriorated from hurricane to tropical storm to tropical depression. Eventually it will dwindle down to a single L on the weather map – perhaps with a frowny face if it’s a local morning news weather map. Right now it’s a huge mass of rain clouds and high winds stretching hundreds of miles from Virginia to New England, turning the last vacation weekend of summer into a “what can we do inside” kind of weekend. Flood warnings have been issued for almost every country in that area. Those kids who like to pretend the couch is a boat can actually float around the living room on the couch.

Let’s call it “Tropical Bummer Ernesto.”

So as Ernesto worked its way north from Florida to the Carolinas, my folks were working their way east. They landed in DC around 7, Ernesto just a bit later. This morning, we drive down to meet them.

DC is a good walking city. Not that they have done a lot to make walking easier, mind you. It’s just that traffic is bad, parking is so ludicrous, and cabs are priced for lobbyists with expense accounts. Compared with these alternatives, a brisk walk seems like a wonderful idea. Unless, of course, the path along which you have to walk is flooded.

As you might guess, we’ll be cabbing it a bit. And a family picnic on the National Mall is right out.

Actually, recent weather reports indicate that the weather will be better by the time we get there. We’ll see how it goes. Now if I can just get my son to pack his stuff without too much hassle …

Have a good Labor Day weekend, all you loyal reader(s?)!

A Snowball’s Chance in [Our Apartment]

2006-09-01T08:58:00.000-04:00

Today we mourn the passing of a dearly loved pet hamster, Snowball.

Snowball was a good hamster, escaping only a couple times and never once chewing up the carpet or power cords when free, unlike Spongebob, his black sheep of a brother. And while Snowball was never quite as friendly as the other half of our odd couple of hamsters, he was far tidier – the Jack Lemmon to Spongebob’s Walter Mathau, if you will. Spongebob keeps his home in standard bachelor fashion – food and garbage strewn about haphazardly and such. It was refreshing by comparison to look into Snowball’s cage and see him blissfully asleep, dreaming his little hamster dreams atop his small yet tidy bed of wood chips, curled up in a ball, using his scrotum as a pillow.

Snowball had a good life. While he never made it to his second birthday, in hamster years he was pushing 50 or so. He showed signs of sickness in his final days, but he was so stoic by nature that we never realized the extent. There were no pained cries for help, no frantic actions or signs of distress. He simply passed quietly in his favorite spot, leaving us assuming he was merely asleep.

Until the smell hit, that is. And even then I thought it was a plumbing problem. I was going to call in maintenance to look for a sewage leak, us living on the bottom floor and all.

Snowball was interred in state this morning before work. He is survived by his brother Spongebob, his owner Emily, and probably thousands of other brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces, and nephews out there somewhere. Emily is holding up well, all things considered; her grief being tempered by fond memories of the good times they had together, and perhaps some relief that cage cleaning is off her chore list.

So now, Snowball, as you run eternally on the giant hamster wheel in the sky, we thank you for being part of our family and we wish you well.

Rest In Peace
Snowball
October-ish 2004 – August 30 (perhaps?), 2006

If It Bleeds, It Leads

2006-08-31T09:42:00.000-04:00

I’m not a big fan of the whole “if it bleeds, it leads” approach to “journalism” these days. News outlets shamelessly promote violence and tragedy in an attempt to get you hooked so you will watch their show or read their paper and thus be exposed to all of their advertisements. It’s sick, yet at this point ubiquitous. That being said, there are times when stories of violence do need to take center stage.

Nine different shootings happened in the Philadelphia region last night. Seven of them occurred in the city plus one in the suburbs on the Pennsy side. Camden, the nations poorest and most dangerous city, got in its 9mm worth by having a shooting of its own.

The shootings were scattered and varied – one involving cops, one involving two teenage girls, one where a man was simply found dead.

The shooting getting the most attention was the one in the Fern Rock section of the city. A couple happened across a rape in progress. They tried to stop it; the rapist shot and killed them both. His initial victim is now in stable condition at a local hospital. It’s hard to imagine what she will be going through now. The physical impact of rape is often dwarfed by psychological wounds. It’s hard enough to cope with being violated, this woman also has to cope with the fact that two people died trying to rescue her.

The police have a suspect in custody at this point. I hope enough evidence is found to properly identify the attacker, and I hope he is prosecuted to the fullest extent possible. The man who did this should never be allowed to walk free again.

So with this exceptional night of mayhem and tragedy; with all of these stories unfolding at once, what did Philly.com, the site of Philadelphia’s two major newspapers, pick as its lead story for today’s online edition?

Philanthropist’s legacy: Green space, questions

You Look Nice Today

2006-08-30T14:08:00.000-04:00

I used to think that complimenting someone was a good thing to do. Then I got a job.

OK, so not all compliments are bad. Perking up a friend or family member is good. Certainly when trying to convert a customer’s money to your money, it doesn’t hurt to remind said customer of their more amazing qualities. And in the dating scene, it can be essential. Flattery gets you underwear.

But workplace complements are apparently out.

One of my earlier jobs was in a steel shop. In that type of environment, kind words are in short supply. You show your respect for someone through jovial disrespect. While it seems counter-intuitive, trading good natured insults fosters camaraderie in some circles, especially in male-dominated groups. In such a setting, strength is an admirable attribute; weakness is, well, a weakness. When you hurl an insult, you communicate to the insultee that you know he is a strong enough person to take the jibe and to the group that you are willing to take on a challenge. By taking the insult in stride, the insultee proves that he possesses that strength. Furthermore, by returning the insult, the insultee demonstrates his willingness to match the challenge. The group may acknowledge the exchange by holding up their clubs, spears, blowtorches, or whatever manly implement is used in the setting, and grunting approvingly.

It was nice to get a “good job” from the foreman, but I took much more satisfaction when he’d say, “glad to see you didn’t f- this one up.”

Direct personal praise can reflect weakness, therefore most personal complements are avoided. For the most part, it depends on what is being praised. Acquisitions and accomplishments are one thing, appearances are another. In other words, it is perfectly fine to say “nice belch” or “nice truck;” “nice pants” is right out.

I figured that this would change when I moved into an office job. Office work is gender-neutral; hence the male-female ratio is not as skewed as it was in the steel shop. Plus there’s a lot less spitting. I figured that in a professional environment, all those manners my family tried to instill in me would finally be of use. After all, guys are guys, but women are supposed to be more like human beings.

Boy was I ever wrong. Insults are out, as I had suspected, but so are compliments. They are not good at all. I had this drilled into me the hard way by a female supervisor who didn’t take too kindly to kindness. I never knew that “you look nice today” is an insult (and not a good natured one). It infers that the person does not like nice on other days. Also, positive statements about a person’s physical appearance – especially if that person has a different X:Y chromosome ratio than your own – indicates that you do not respect that person’s personal qualities, which of course indicates objectification, which of course means sexual harassment and hostile work environments and all that other stuff. Slippery slope, I tell you.

Before I met this supervisor, I had always assumed that one sure-fire way to avoid sexism was to take gender out of the equation altogether – you know, treat everybody the same. I guess I was off in some fantasy dream world where reason applies. Silly me.

It was not at all uncommon for a male in that company to be jokingly asked by his coworkers (male and female alike) if he had an interview on a day where he wore a tie into the office. The dress code was relaxed, therefore ties and suits and such were rarities. One day a female coworker came in wearing a suit skirt. We had a positive working relationship, so it seemed awkward saying nothing. I knew I couldn’t tell her that she looked nice, though, so I decided to act the way I would to any of my male coworkers.

“Interview today?” I asked.

The supervisor overheard. I got a talking to.

Apparently, “real world” equality has nothing to do with treating people equally. I was duly informed that a male (if he is feeling particularly daring) might ask a female coworker “did you do something different with your hair?” In general, though, the only way he can show respect for his female coworkers by treating them as if they have no physical existence whatsoever.

This same woman would fawn all over the young guy that they brought in to run our department a few months later.

Alrighty, then.

Fortunately, I have had better luck with managers in the years since (with one notable exception). As for my peers, I think I have been lucky as well. I try to keep a good friendly-yet-professional rapport with all of my coworkers. I tend to remain tight-lipped until I have identified the men and women with whom I can interact in a more relaxed fashion. Even with them, it seems I am hesitant to repeat any of my prior faux pas-es.

I was waiting for the elevator this morning. The doors opened and out walked one of my coworkers. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with a design on it. Our workplace attire is relaxed, but not that relaxed. He nodded hi; I surprised myself with what I said next.

“Interview today?”

Well, Kiss Me Clovers

2006-08-28T14:08:00.000-04:00

I was all set to write about what a wonderful weekend I had … then I drove into work today. There’s nothing quite like a floody Monday to remind you that your weekend is over. Ah, what the heck. The weekend was still a good one.

Friday night I was offered a free ticket to go see the Eagles-Steelers preseason game. Not that I’m a big fan of the Eagles, but I am a fan of football and I love going to games. I have been to something like 15 NFL games in 6 different stadiums and thoroughly enjoyed them all. There’s something about the crowd at a game (and there’s definitely something about the crowd at a game in Philadelphia!). Being preseason, a lot of season ticket holders sold their tickets, meaning there was a lot of black and gold in that stadium. And since the game didn’t count, the belligerence level of the native Eagles fans was toned way down. As a result, there was some good natured banter back and forth amongst the lot of us, and nobody got hauled away in shackles or on a gurney.

Saturday during the day my son and I built a fort out of the couch and dining room chairs which somehow later morphed into a boat. We had a lot of fun together. Unfortunately, he had a problem staying on his best behavior when it was time to get ready to go to the babies’ momma’s house.

Saturday evening Ms N and I headed down to Atlantic City. I’ve mentioned in a prior post that I view casino time as a form of entertainment that you pay for. I plan out ahead of time how much I am willing to pay for an evening, then hope that I don’t lose everything so quickly that I am left with nothing to do. The past few times I have been there I have managed to pretty much even out the wins and losses, so I’ve left the casino with the same amount of money in my pocket as when I’ve gone in, which has been quite nice. This time around I did even better.

At Caesar’s I put $10 into one machine and on the very last spin won $20. At Trump Marina, I popped $20 into a Leprechaun-themed video slot machine, and then played it for almost an hour. When I left, I had a $100. Throughout the whole thing, the little leprechaun, in full brogue, would spurt out kitschy little sayings like “Dublin yer win!” when I’d get the double bonus. My absolute favorite was “Well, kiss me clovers!”

All in all, I left AC with my original money, plus enough to cover dinner and gas. An evening out for free … well, kiss me clovers!

Sunday the kids came back from the ex’s and spent much of the day doing laundry and other things around the house. By the end of the day, they had been outside for some bike riding and got in some TV time, plus they also did five loads of wash (the dryer broke, so I have a lot of clothes hanging around my living room right now), got the hamster cages cleaned, and my daughter’s floor is visible again. Plus they liked the dinner that I [reheated]. (Many thanks to Ms N for preparing the meal in advance!)

So this morning was a bit different. Due to some flooding, it took me an hour to drive the three miles from my house to the babysitter’s, and then I had to loop all the way around Camden to get to Philly instead of driving straight through. But this bad Monday morning was no match for the good weekend; I bounced back into a good mood pretty quickly.

After the car ride, that is. During my drive, “kiss me clovers” quickly turned to “kiss me arse” and I had plenty of suggestions for what the people who engineered the roads could do with their shillelaghs. (Dublin yer impalements!)

Citizen of Procrasti-Nation

2006-08-25T15:46:00.000-04:00

I had a minivan.

Well, technically I still have a minivan - until the guy from the auto salvage company gets here with his wrecker, that is. Since the grammar rules for future-past tense* have yet to be devised, we’ll simply pretend that it has already been hauled away.

The minivan was the first car that I ever truly drove to death. It probably could be revived, but like old Mr. Notlob**, it had no ailment that an expensive repair job could not prolong. When I got the minivan, it already had over 90,000 miles on it. Over the next fifty thousand miles, things fell off, things shorted out, things deteriorated, and, of course, things suffered the wrath that only little children can wreak upon the passenger compartment of an automobile. The engine was showing signs of breakdown and, to make matters worse, I got into a fender bender in New York City.

Duck tape (yes, I’m old-school) worked to put the damaged headlight back into place, but in order to pass my next state vehicle inspection I needed at least $1,500 in repairs to the body and engine. The van would not have been worth $1,500 in good driving condition - now it's not even in legal driving condition. Were I to sell it, I would lose money.

With many, many thanks to my family, I was able to acquire a replacement vehicle. I parked the minivan in an out-of-the-way spot in my apartment complex lot; all that was needed was to clean it out and find some schlep to take it off my hands.

That was a year ago. I just got cleaned it out today.

Citizen of Procrasti-Nation? Heck, I’d be the ambassador, if they’d ever getting around to appointing one.

Today was relatively productive, as far as minivan-related activities go. I have already turned the plates back in to the DMV (or MVS, as it’s known in Jersese), I found the title buried in a stack of papers that I have been putting off going through, I took the five bags of clothing and toy donations that have been sitting in the back of the van all this time to Goodwill, and found someone to take the van as-is. Plus, I cleaned out the miscellaneous stuff (Yes. Ms N, I mean trash – for the most part).

I never throw away any container without first going through it. As a recovering packrat, I know that things of value can be literally anywhere. Of course, that means that I have to do the whole “going through it” part. (The Procrasti-Nation anthem would be playing in the background right now, were we ever to get around to writing it.) Find me a container where I can set a bunch of stuff aside “for later” and I become Mr. Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout***. The minivan became one such container.

The minivan has sat in that one spot for an entire year – a year that included everything from freezing to 100+ degree days. The windows were closed, so it was sealed. This morning I opened the vault … if only I had a camera crew****.

And I was right – there were things of value mixed in with the debris. There were some gift cards, some papers I needed to keep, a cassette tape I have been looking for, and my old passport. One thing I thankfully did not find was a giant mutant venomous spider – or any other bug, for that matter. Either the van was sealed well enough or the bugs were just scared to venture in.

Yet there was another finding that left me befuddled. I keep my bread in the refrigerator because if I don’t it isn’t long before I have a penicillin factory. A year after setting the van aside, I came across a partially eaten hot dog – with bun – in a plastic Wawa container. The hot dog looked like bad jerky, but the bun was still its original shape (including finger indentations and bite marks) and color.

Three thoughts came to mind today. First, I need to stop procrastinating … starting next week. Second, I need to see if Wawa makes those containers in loaf-of-bread size.

And finally, what the hell is in those buns?

* Douglas Adams fans know what I mean
** Remember him, Monty Python fans?
*** For the Shel Silverstein fans out there
****Does Geraldo Rivera have any fans?

The More Things Change ...

2006-08-18T13:53:00.000-04:00

I was reminded again that the lunch truck I used to frequent when I was enrolled at Drexel University is still up and running. Note my usage of the word “enrolled” … “studying” or even “going to school” would really not have been appropriate descriptions of my time at Drexel.

Back then, it was run by a nice Greek couple who would occasionally get help from their kids. Our fraternity chapter adopted the truck as our own and to this day it still remains my fourth most visited professional food preparation facility. The one son enrolled at Drexel the year after I did. He joined our fraternity, too. And, like most of the guys in our group at that time, he did not complete his studies at Drexel. Again, note the use of the word “enrolled.”

Drexel is only two blocks away from where I work, so I decided to head back to my old stomping grounds to see how they were doing.

It was almost surreal; my two block walk turned into a thirteen year trip back in time. The couple is still there – and both look exactly the same as they did back in ’93. They have spruced the truck up some and changed their location, but other than that it was all the same as it was back then. Oh, they have a new TV (you’ve got to love a lunch truck that has a TV outside). The son is now a permanent part of the business and he recognized me almost instantly. While he couldn’t remember my first name, he knew my old nickname (I had to confess I forget their names). The mother didn’t really recognize me, but the father did once I took off my glasses. I am happy to report that all are doing well.

The son and I talked a bit about the old days and the new ones. Right after we were talking about who had how many kids and where everyone was working, he mentioned how interesting it is seeing how all these people have grown up. I turned to the father and asked “is that weird to hear coming from your kid?” He nodded.

My mom talks about how it was only recently that it finally sunk in for her and her cousins that they are now part of the grandparent crowd at our annual family reunions. For so many years they were in the “parent” crowd – the middle generation that brought their kids along and then hoped they didn’t break or set fire to anything while the grown-ups talked. Now most of the children that her generation brought to the reunion are now married (and some divorced) and have kids. My mom’s elders are no longer present in their prior numbers. It’s finally set in … they’re the elders, now.

I had that same type of realization today. When a guy you know as Stay Puff’d reminds you that you’re both grown-ups now, a trip down memory lane quickly turns into a tumble down reality staircase.

Yet as much as the growing up comment stuck out, something he said several minutes prior struck me even more. It was right when I got to the truck – my first visit in over a decade. Stay Puff’d looked up and saw me at the window. You could see the flash of recollection on his face.

“Aren’t you Ogre?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Wow! It’s great to see you again,” he exclaimed. “Bacon, egg, and cheese?”

And now for something completely different

2006-07-25T17:11:00.000-04:00

So, I have been planning on posting all about my recent trip to Alaska - unfortunately I messed up my router a bit and am currently unable to log on to the Internets from home.

Bother.

It's not like I haven't had the time ... I had time o'plenty while waiting 7 hours in Sea-Tac for a delayed flight.

I will post about the trip soon - with pictures! And I'll even use short sentences so Alaska Jen and Ms N won't have any attention span issues.

In the mean time, I thought I'd share some parodies of the Mr. Ed theme song that I thought up today after a discussion with Alaska Jen about a problem person ran off on a Star Wars tangent, only to run off again on a 50's TV-show theme song tangent.

Without further ado:

The Force is the Force, of course, of course.
But you can’t conjure the Force, of course.
Unless, of course,
you run a course
with Yoda on your head.

Or how about:

Divorce is divorce, of course, of course.
And you’ll wind up in the courts, of course,
with some remorse –
and crabs, or worse –
if you bring blondes to bed.

See, Alaska Jen ...

2006-07-16T20:51:00.000-04:00

Ranger Tom had time to read my more recent postings; you have enough time to read them, too.

The Magic of Retrospectacles

2006-07-10T00:09:00.000-04:00

Yes, by donning our retrospectacles, we can now see what I would have written these past few weeks had I actually had the time to write. This is in reverse-chronological order, though, so you might want to scroll down and read up.

Start with the best letter to the editor ever.

Back To Normal

2006-07-05T21:07:00.000-04:00

So, the Don-abee left for the left coast and things are back to normal in New Jersey.

Yeah, right. The government shut down.

Now, normally I’m in favor of the government not working. Read your newspaper sometime, then tell me you want more government.

Didn’t think so.

But the state shut-down in Trenton has put over 80,000 people out of work and shut down the lottery and the casinos. The casinos haven’t shut their doors since they opened them 28 years ago.

The only good that came out of this was the Governor forced the assembly to come into work on July 4. They were facing a shut-down and took the weekend off.

The Gov was elected in November. All of the legislators are up for re-election this fall. Let’s see what happens later this year.

The Chips Are Down

2006-07-04T22:04:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow’s the big gub-ment shutdown in New Jersey. Well, actually it started a few days ago, but even though our state rulers are stupid enough to shut the government down over legislative ineptitude, they are smart enough to keep the vacation-related employees on the job through the long July 4 weekend. So today is the last day that “non-essential” employees are working. This includes the casino commissioners, which are required to be on-site for any gambling to take place in Atlantic City.

The first time Ms. N and I went to AC, she won back everything we put into the machines. Last time, I won back everything we put in. This time, once we got to the casino she headed straight to the slots while the Don-abee and I hit the tables.

Now, when I hit the casinos I am not exactly the guy that Donald Trump holds a special room for. First, we are probably never going back to a Trump casino anytime soon. Second, I am more a Lo-Roller. I do enjoy going to the casinos for entertainment purposes, but I also recognize that they don’t pay for those huge buildings, all those lights, and the high-class call girls by giving all the patrons more money than they came in with. No, most dollars that walk in with customers walk out with the Brinks guys. Gambling is not an investment strategy, it is entertainment.

How much am I willing to spend for entertainment? I’ll pass on most movies if it’s not a matinee. In other words, not much.

They now have penny slots, by the way. They don’t actually take pennies, but if you pop in a ten-spot you get 1,000 credits. You can milk a few bucks for quite a while that way. Oh, and the penny slots are never positioned in any of the nice places of the casinos. They are tucked away in remote corners, hidden amongst the janitors’ mops and mob victims. Play the pennies are you are not hanging out with the beautiful people.

OK, I know what you’re saying. Yes, this means that I am getting amusement by pushing a button and watching wheels spin. But, in my defense, after a good spin lights flash and the machine makes beeping noises. Besides, it beats watching the World Cup.

I did win $50 bucks on one spin on the penny slots once. Naturally, thoughts drift to what it would have been had I been on a quarter slot or even a dollar slot. The answer, of course, is nothing. It happened late in the day. I only had money left because I was playing the cheap-ass penny slots with all the other Lo-Rollers. I think I was the only one there who shaved that morning, and some of those women had serious five-o’clock shadow.

So the Don-abee and I hit the tables, which is a bit of a shock for me. The “cheap-ass” tables have a $10 minimum bet. The game we chose was 4-card poker. It’s one bet to ante, another to play. $20 bucks each, I thought … that’s 2,000 pulls at those machines next to the urinals! But I sucked it in and played a hand.

And won! $20 bucks.

I played a bit more (and won a few more times) until my winnings and the initial $20 was gone, but it was fun.

We hit the boardwalk and grabbed a bite to eat at one of the outdoor eateries. “Eatery” is a bit fancy for this place, but we’ll let it go at that. Funny thing was that the place where we ate was run by middle-easterners while the ice cream shop next door was run by Hispanics. Sitting outside, we were treated to battling sound systems – reggaton from the ice cream store and lots of la-la-la stuff from our place.

We went out to the amusement park pier, hoping to play some ski-ball and/or have a go-cart rematch (minus Chapo). After seeing the quality of both (and some storm clouds to the west), we opted to return to the casinos. However, we did see the best sign ever in a place for family entertainment: “Shooting is fun!” (You’ve seen those Drug Free School Zone signs, right? AC has Gun Free School Zone signs. Oy.)

Back in the casinos, the Don-abee and I hit the video poker. Again, I put in $20 and left with … $20. Plus I won $10 on a special scratch-off because I played a machine for 30 minutes. Again, I won back what I put in.
Too bad we can’t say the same for Ms. N.

Back to Work? Good, I Need the Rest

2006-07-04T00:01:00.000-04:00

Today was the one day of the Don-abee’s trip that I couldn’t take off from work. It’s the first business day of the month and I am an accountant, after all. Month-end close is only superceded in importance by year-end close. Presence is mandatory. At month-end, vacations and personal days are off the table, at year-end you wheel in the iron lung if that’s what it takes. Then again, with all the walking we’ve done lately, it was nice to have a day off my feet.

The Don-abee took the day to explore Philly. He rode in with me, and then headed off with one final request … “Show me where Pat’s Steaks is on the map one last time.”

Afterwards we walked (what else?) down to Chinatown for dinner, then headed back to University City to go see Superman Returns. As far as Superman shows go, this one was pretty good. I mean, Lois sucked, but Kevin Spacey is a great Lex Luthor. So, there were some areas where they took the suspension of disbelief a bit far, but hey, it’s Hollywood.

There was one change that pissed me off, however. Remember how Superman stands for truth, justice, and the American way? Not anymore! The American way was yadda-yadda’d out. Truth, justice, and all that stuff? You nutless pinko bastards in Hollywood, what the hell is wrong with you?

Construction and Destruction

2006-07-03T23:59:00.000-04:00

The Don-abee and I headed up to my ex-brother-in-law’s house to help him get ready for his new arrivals. His wife is on bed-rest because his twin babies are trying to escape from the womb well before their time. As a result, his expected plan of having the nursery ready by September got a bit of a kick. They’ve pretty much given up on the original October due date and are now hoping the kids wait at least until August.

Ebil (get it?) lives on the opposite side of Philly out beyond the suburbs. There’s a lot of farmland, some Amish, and the Limerick nuclear power plant. Oh, and the best Wal-Mart in the area. They’ve got steak. Steak? Wal-Mart? Yeah, it boggles the mind.

Speaking of steak, Ebil repaid us for our help with the nursery by making dinner. It was a veg-free meal – steak, sausage, and chicken. The only non-meat was the bun for the sausage. Now that’s eatin’!

On the way back, we wound up running along the front of a pretty good storm. There were high winds, thunder, lighting, small branches being knocked off trees, and rain so thick that you could blow bubbles in the air. At one point I swear a saw a farmhouse blow by. The storm was blowing through at 40 miles per hour, but because of the angle of the road we were at the front for quite a while. Finally the road turned and we outran the weather. About 10 minutes after we got inside, it blew through my town. This was the Don-abee’s first major East Coast storm. I think he was impressed.

Oh, Now I Get It!

2006-07-02T23:55:00.000-04:00

Just as feeling was starting to return to our feet after Friday’s walking tour, we headed up to Brooklyn for a baseball game on Coney Island. Coney Island is the home of the Cyclone, one of the most famous roller coasters in America. It is also the home of Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs.

Before Brooklyn, though, we had to stop by a Jersey landmark. A bit north of Giants’ Stadium is the town of Lodi, NJ. And right off Route 17 is an otherwise non-descript strip club. Yes, Sopranos fans – the Bada Bing! Ms N is not so much of a patron of the arts as the Don-abee and I, so we didn’t actually go in. But we did get some pictures of the outside of the place.

We headed into Williamsburg to get Ms. N’s cousin Tippy and her boyfriend Chapo. (By the way … one of these people actually goes by the name I’ve used.) Chapo wasn’t there yet, but he said he’d meet us at the game, so we headed down to Coney Island.

Coney Island is not a place you want to drive to, and not just because the subway takes you right there. And it’s not because of traffic, either. Parking sucks ass.

We arrived at the game an hour early; I made it to my seat just before the opening pitch. In the mean time, I almost got rammed by a police car and exchanged obscenities in several languages. We found a lot near the stadium where we could park for $20. I didn’t know how much would be left of my car when we returned, but parking is parking.

Our seats were in the bleachers in right field. The seats were down low and very close to the exit to the concessions, which means throughout the game people were walking in front of us to get food or go pee. Personally, I didn’t have a problem with this. But the folks behind us …

I can’t help but hear this guy behind me drone on and on about the people constantly walking back and forth. “Oh, geez, this is why I watch the game at home on TV.” “What, did these people come to watch the game or eat?” “Are these people ever going to sit the hell down?” “I can’t see the game with all these people walking by.” Finally, the little girl sitting behind us sternly states “Will you stop it Mom, you’re embarrassing us!”

Mom?

(Sorry, Ms. CVW, I may need to steal some nicknames. Horseface and Flat-tits come to mind. Oh wait, never mind – I’ve got one.)

The guy behind us was actually a woman. Seabiscuit was not much of a looker, but what she lacked in attractiveness she more than made up for in offensiveness. And I almost started to feel for the daughter. This was a truly embarrassing mother, after all. Then I heard, “Where’s my freaking teddy bear?”

Oh, this is a family of winners. It was Seabiscuit, Satanna, and Gramps. I couldn’t tell if he was a father, grandfather, or just some old guy they’ve been holding hostage.

Meanwhile, a crazy Cubano was sitting at the end of our row. At exciting moments in the game he’d blow a whistle attached to his key chain. At other times, he’d sing to himself. I think he would have enjoyed the game whether or not the game was actually going on.

In front of us were some genuine baseball fans who were there to, of all things, watch a baseball game. Wierdos.

Next to them were some scout parents. The kids were all sitting together several rows away. These parents, two dads and a den-mother, were sitting down with us just for our amusement, I’m sure. She was the loud one. When she left for a bite to eat (drawing another whinny and neigh from Seabiscuit), the one dad turned to the other and said “So you’re not an alcoholic yet? I figured after being married to Kathy you’d have a problem by now.”

The Don-abee had been to New York before, but only the touristy areas of Manhattan. This was his first time sitting amongst the natives in their natural habitat. Somewhere around the third inning, he leans over and says to me, “Seinfeld makes so much more sense now.”

Seabiscuit still wouldn’t shut up, and her daughter was getting more and more irritated with this. At one point the girl finally lost it. “Mom, if you don’t stop it I’ll kick you! Oh, I am in such a mood right now!” My thoughts immediately turned to my ex.

Ms. N just sat there. “I am in hell now,” she said.

Finally, in the fifth inning, Seabiscuit left on her own. Ms N turned to the Don-abee and apologized profusely on behalf of all New Yorkers. A few minutes later Gramps turned to Satanna and said “we may want to find new seats, just in case she comes back.”

After the game we headed out to the boardwalk. Two things stick out about Coney Island Beach. First, I have never seen so many trash cans on any beach. They were positioned across the sand no further than ten feet apart in any direction. Second, I have never seen so much trash on the sand at any beach. How all these people could spend all day sitting amongst a forest of trash cans and still drop their cans and wrappers on the ground astounds me. And yet there were still families with kids out in the water. Oy.

We hit the go-carts. Tippy and Ms. N stayed safely outside the fence, Chapo, the Don-abee, and I had a race to the death. We all took are cars, then I found out an unpleasant reality – I am too fat for go-carting. I had to take a two-person cart. And, in the nations of the world theme, I had to give up my favorite Germany for China. Why did they make China the fat car?

New Yorkers are amazingly good at go-carts – perhaps because that is what driving is like in the city. We were nicking bumpers like real cabbies, it was great!

Chapo knows somebody everywhere he goes. While we were on the boardwalk, Chapo ran into someone. At the go-carts, Chapo ran into someone. At the other rides, Chapo ran into someone. I find New York amazing because of the sheer quantity of strangers. They may be strange, but Chapo apparently knows them all.

One white-knuckle drive down the BQE later, we dropped off Tippy and Chapo in Williamsburg and headed back to South Jersey. Another long-ass day of vacation.

The Best Government Money Can Buy

2006-07-01T23:50:00.000-04:00

Day Two was the first full day here on the East Coast for the Don-abee. We caught an early train and headed off to Washington, DC. If you are ever visiting DC, I strongly suggest you contact your Congressman before you go. One of the things they’ll do – even without a campaign contribution – is lend you a staff member for a few hours to give you a guided tour of the U. S. Capitol. I live in New Jersey’s first congressional district, home of Representative Rob Andrews, the first Democrat I ever voted for.

We arrived two hours before our scheduled tour time, so we did some sightseeing first. DC is a good walking city – all the more so given that the cabs are priced for lobbyists with expense accounts. We had more time than money, so we walked.

Union Station is just a few blocks from the Capitol, which is right across the street from the Supreme Court and the Library of Congress. On the west side of the Capitol is the Mall which is straddled by the Smithsonian museums down to the Washington Monument. South of the Monument is the Jefferson Memorial; north of it is the White House. Continue down the Mall and you get to the World War II Memorial, the Reflecting Pool, the Vietnam Memorial, the Korean War Memorial, and the Lincoln Memorial. Then comes the Potomac and Arlington.

In those first two hours, we walked past the Court, the Capitol, found some of the Smithsonians we wanted to see later, then to King George III’s castle, and then back to Andrews’ office.

There are 435 Representatives in the House and every one of them gets an office with a window. As such, there are three big buildings next to the Capitol just for them. And while it takes X-rays and a body cavity search to get in to those buildings, once you’re in you’re on your own trying to find the right office. The Don-abee and I got lost and I came as close as ever to becoming a guest of the Capitol Police at that point.

Quick aside: I consider myself to be more libertarian than anything else. I usually side Republican for fiscal reasons, but I see the Religious Right as an affront to the concept of individual liberty and as such can be inclined to support the Democrats in certain cases. At present, I would like to see the tri-fecta broken up; I want at least one house in Congress switch sides in this year’s election. For this to happen, I think the Dems need to entice the moderates who voted Republican in 2004, not cater to the hard left who would never vote Republican if their lives counted on it.

The Don-abee and I were discussing this as we were lost in the sea of House office suites. A guy dressed in a maintenance-type uniform was pushing a cart full of notebooks when we walked past the office of Rep. Murtha of Pennsylvania. He and Sen. John Kerry are at the center of the cut-and-run debate. His stance is very popular on the left, not so much in the center or right.

I turn to the Don-abee and say “Ooh, Murtha. If the Democrats want to take the House this year, that’s someone they need to shut up.” The guy pushing the cart slowed down just a bit and turned, then gave me the stink eye. It was then that I realized that talk of silencing certain politicians is probably not well received in their own office building. While I meant that the party leaders should keep him out of the press, it could easily be thought to mean he should be silenced by less civil means.

I added some quick clarification comments about frightening the moderates away, and he went back to pushing his cart. But I kept wondering when someone in a suit was going to ask us to step this way.

Our staff tour was led by an intern – a young attractive poly-sci major working with Andrews for the summer. I could quickly see that the Don-abee was awestruck – he refused to talk throughout the entire tour. She gave us a great tour and answered every question that we – well, I – had.

After the Capitol, we did the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. We were going to see the American History Museum, but that was closed due to the flooding earlier in the week. We then went to the Natural History Museum to see the Hope Diamond. “I thought it would be bigger than that,” said the Don-abee. I guess you can’t please everyone. The bug zoo at the Natural History Museum smelled like some hard core chemicals had been released. Either a kid threw up on the carpet or something that had to be killed quickly escaped from its cage.

We then walked the memorial circuit, WWII, Vietnam, Korea, and Lincoln. It was atop the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, overlooking the Washington Monument and Mall, staring at the Capitol in all its glory that it all sunk in.

“Fuck it,” I said. “We’ve been walking for eight hours. Let’s take a cab back.”

On the train ride back to Philadelphia, we wound up sharing a table with a former Assistant Secretary of Transportation under the first President Bush. He was originally hired into the Reagan administration by then Vice President-elect Bush. He helped oversee airline deregulation, the sudden turnover of air traffic controllers, and was a voting member of the Amtrak board. It was two hours of very interesting conversation.

Once back in Philly, we picked up Ms N (she had to work that day … ha!) and headed down to South Street for cheesesteaks at Jim’s Steaks.

The Whirlwind Tour

2006-06-30T23:48:00.000-04:00

A different city every day – that was the theme of this visit. But first things always come first. The Don-abee came in Thursday night and, being Philly, the first thing we did is hit Pat’s Steaks for a good ol’ cheesesteak. Yes, the cheesesteak, Philly’s contribution to the culinary and cardio-pulmonary worlds. Steak, cheese, long roll are the basics, fried onions are the only topping common enough to not be ordered by name. You order just by type of cheese and whether onions are on it – a “whiz wit’” has Cheeze Whiz and onions, an “American wit’out” has American cheese and no onions. Other toppings are available – pizza sauce, mushrooms, hot peppers. My personal favorite is a barbecue bacon cheesesteak (wit’out). And as you’re sitting back, all fat and happy, you can hear your arteries clog. Ahhh … but I digress.

So the tour goes as follows: DC on Friday, NYC on Saturday, Amish country on Sunday, Philly on Monday, and Atlantic City on Tuesday. Then the Don-abee finally gets to rest on Wednesday – that’s when he catches a plane back to California.

Location, Location, Location

2006-06-28T23:44:00.000-04:00

My cousin, the Don-abee, is coming to visit. The Don-abee is too much like me for his own good – he’s smart but sometimes lacks focus. He’s a good natured and funny guy, but he got caught up with the wrong girl and it had a lasting effect. Like me, he carries a lot of baggage around in his head. And, since he is neither a jackass nor rich, girls don’t exactly flock to him. (Sorry ladies, but its true.)

The good news is he was able to put himself back on track. He now works a steady job in his chosen field: accounting. (See! Too much like me!) He is turning things around and moving in a much better direction. The bad news is he is not living in the best city for a single guy looking for a possible Ms. Right.

He left the Pacific Northwest and moved to San Francisco.

The city by the bay has many things going for it: wonderful weather, a vibrant economy, plenty to see and do. But it’s also a place where the women are women … but so are a lot of the men. True, even in that other city of brotherly love heterosexuals outnumber homosexuals, but in a place where alternative lifestyles are prevalent to the point of ubiquity, presumptions you make about people you don’t yet know change. There’s nothing unusual about moving to a new city to make a new start – people do it all the time. Cities are where the jobs are – especially in accounting. You presume that a single guy moving to New York is looking for work, a single guy moving to Los Angeles is looking for work and scantily clad women. A single guy moving to San Francisco is also looking for work, but could care less about the scantily clad women.

Jeff Foxworthy talks of things that men only do if they are married or gay; sleeping on a bed with seven pillows and a dust ruffle, for example, or going shopping during the big game. I think my cousin is finding out that moving to San Fran is on that list.

Best Letter to the Editor Ever

2006-06-24T23:40:00.000-04:00

From the May 27 issue of the Economist

“SIR – Please do not ever mention George Bush. And Winston Churchill in the same sentence again, even if you must break all the rules of grammar to do so.
Steve Pettit
California”

First Day Back To The Gym

2006-06-23T15:09:00.000-04:00

Uuuuuuuuuggggghhhhh!!!!!

This is what my arms feel like:

Jello!
Originally uploaded by ef-u.

Turning Japanese

2006-06-22T13:39:00.000-04:00

Gone are the days where overpopulation was the big concern on everybody's mind ... now it's underpopulation (at least within your own country and your own type of people).

It is well documented that birth rates decline as cultures become wealthier and more educated. To a point, this is a positive, but a lifetime birth rate below 2.1 children per woman causes population decline (one to replace the mother, one to replace the father, and .1 to account for premature mortality), which in turn increases the relative burden of the aging population on the members of younger generations.

In Japan, that rate is currently 1.25.

Austrailia had already instituted a birthing bonus, paying women to pop out those youngins; now they are about to raise it significantly. The Japanese have a simpler recommendation to their breeding-age citizens: just do it.

A recent study showed that the Japanese don't turn Japanese often enough - at least not as part of a collective effort. If the people could get funky a bit more often now, in about 20 years there will be an ample workforce to support them. If not, they may regret their decision to keep busy instead of get busy.

The old line about our Navy sailers was they spent 6 days a week sewing their seed and the seventh in church praying for crop failure. The sad commentary about the situation in Japan is the owners of the fertile fields are unhappy with the choice of farmers, and vice versa.

No wonder they make a run for the border

2006-06-21T12:54:00.000-04:00

Tijuana4
Originally uploaded by hockeygrrl75.

This was my absolute favorite part of my one-day trip to Tijuana, Mexico, last summer. This building was just a short walk from the border. Notice the two signs:

Souvenir Shop
Clinica Dental

Yes, it's a combination dental clinic / bric-a-brac broker. You can get a root canal and a painted donkey T-shirt in the same visit – and pay in pesos or dollars.

I can only imagine the haggling that goes on over the price of fillings.

Their Cup Runneth Over

2006-06-19T23:38:00.000-04:00

So after a painful game one, and an even more painful game two, and a split at home, the Edmonton Oilers became only the sixth team in Stanley Cup finals history to force a game 7 after going down 3 games to 1 in the best of seven series. Game 6 was the high point for Edmonton fans, as the Oilers clobbered the 'Canes 4-0 in front of thousands of overjoyed fans.

Three-to-one was featured prominently in the past few games. 27 teams had gone down 3-1, 16 of those teams lost game 5 and six more lost in game 6. Only the 1942 Toronto Maple Leafs came back to win (and in their series, they had actually gone down 3-0 before winning 4 in a row to pull off the ultimate Cup coup).

It was fitting, then, that score at game's end was Carolina 3, Edmonton 1.

For the second finals in a row, Canada's entrant failed to bring the Cup home after losing the seventh game. The past two champions now are Carolina and Tampa Bay - two hockey havens, for sure.

Oh well ... maybe next year.

A Happy Baby’s Daddy Day

2006-06-18T23:20:00.000-04:00

Or babies’ daddy, in my case.

My kids are up visiting my folks, so this was my first Father’s Day without them. Insomuch as their mother likes to take “a day off” on Mother’s Day (because spending an entire night every week with your children can be oh, so tiring), I happen to prefer spending my Father’s Day with them. Last year was one of my best FD’s ever, and I didn’t ask them to do anything for me. I took the day last year to do things for them. We went to New York so Emily could go to the American Girl Store and Alex to We B Toys and, as an added bonus, there was a street fair on Sixth Avenue so we spent several hours checking out booths and just enjoying our day. It was quite the day.

So today the kids are up with my dad and brother. A few weeks back they asked me what I wanted from them for Father’s Day. I told them to make sure that Grandpa had a great Father’s Day. I just got off the phone with them – they said he slept all day. I asked if they woke him, they said no. “Perfect,” I said. “Remind him that you gave him the best Father’s Day present ever!”

Since kids were not an issue for us today, Ms N planned a surprise trip. After church this morning instead of going home, we drove up the world famous New Jersey Turnpike to New York (my second Babies’ Daddy Day up there in a row). This time, though. instead of the American Girl Store, I got to go somewhere a little more masculine.

We went to a Broadway musical!

The show was Spamalot, the updated and made-for-stage version of Monty Python’s Quest for the Holy Grail. It was hilarious. While much of the best original material made it in unscathed, there were several improvements. For example, the mariachi llama intro was replaced by the Finland Fish-Schlapping Dance. They found a way to get the Black Knight scene on stage, we find out that what happens in Camelot, stays in Camelot, the Lady of the Lake (the watery tart who anoints kings by throwing swords at them) is quite the diva, and Lancelot … well, let’s just say they take his character in a whole new direction.

We had a great dinner at Chevy’s, a Mexican restaurant on 8th Avenue, and I was able to ponder some interesting new possibilities for hybrid cars on the ride back. Plus, we had the special privilege of sitting next to two children who reminded me how lucky I am to have the ones I do.

Thank you, Ms N, for a wonderful Father’s Day.

At least it wasn't a baseless decision

2006-06-15T10:05:00.000-04:00

Britain’s Royal Academy, one of the hoity-toitiest hang-outs for the hoity-toity crowd of one of the hoity-toitier countries, made an interesting judgment recently on what constitutes art – at least art worthy to be displayed in such a prestigious setting as Britain’s Royal Academy.

The academy states that “it is accepted that works may not be displayed in the way that the artist might have intended,” but perhaps this time stretched its artistic license. Keep in mind that the modern art scene has its wealthy and elitist patrons, which means its experts can not only mingle in many of the right (well, left) social circles but also pocket some serious coin while they’re at it. One would assume that those responsible for determining what pieces get displayed (not to mention how and where) in a gallery such as the Royal Academy boast substantial credentials and support (perhaps even envy) of their peers. One would also suspect the compensation for those few deemed duly qualified to serve in such a capacity would be commensurate with said qualifications.

I, for one, grant little credence to those credentials. Modern art is a sham, as evidenced here by the Royal Academy and elsewhere through countless actions by the cultural elite. I am reminded of the gallery that lost an entire exhibit because their janitor mistook a pile of garbage for a pile of garbage and threw it away. Just because it’s eccentric doesn’t mean it’s art.

David Hensel submitted to the academy for consideration a sculpture of a head. He also sent a stone plinth upon which the sculpture should be displayed and a bone-shaped piece of wood that would hold the head in place.

During the process in which submissions are judged, the sculpture of the head – the actual piece of artwork and the product of his creative efforts – was rejected. It is currently “safely stored ready to be collected by the artist,” according to a statement by the academy.

Now, I haven’t seen the sculpture and it’s quite possible that it is a piece of crap. That’s not the point of this story.

Despite the rejection, Mr. Hensel still has a piece in the London gallery’s summer exhibition. And perhaps, through the publicity he obtained as a result of the circumstances surrounding its selection, he may gain more recognition (and presumably thus more sales) than he would have if the gallery had done as he had expected.

Have you ever bought the perfect Christmas present for a toddler? You search high and low to find the thing, the kid gleefully unwraps the present, and the parent laboriously frees the toy from the packaging. Then the kid promptly ignores the toy and spends hours playing with the box. This is pretty much what happened to Mr. Hensel.

Mr. Hensel did not send the base in the same container as the sculpture. The people in charge of the summer exhibition – those hoity-toity know-it-alls with the keen artistic eyes – apparently fail to recognize functional relationships. Put these people in charge of a construction site and you’ll be left with a tower of scaffolding but no building.

In contrast to his sculpture, which apparently lacked sufficient artistic merit, they deemed the base meritorious. The base – a pedestal and a stick – was accepted and now is Mr. Hensel’s “artwork” currently on display at the gallery.

Summer Vacation

2006-06-12T14:33:00.000-04:00

My kids just left this morning for their summer vacation - two months with Grandma and Grandpa in Alaska!

I love having my kids around and I am going to miss them dearly ... but man is it nice to have some time like this. They love their time with my folks, they have their own little circle of friends in my parents' neighborhood, and my mom always makes sure they have fun and productive things to do, so I do not have to worry that they're lacking for love, inspiration, or amusement. Summertime boredom, it's not. And unlike their visits to their "as little as I have to keep them to still claim to be an active mother" mom's house, I don't have to worry about what's being said that I don't hear. Meanwhile, I get a chance to recharge. It's win-win.

So while they are having play parties, taking Tae Kwon Do, riding their bikes all day long, and just plain enjoying their youth, I will be catching up on work, fixing things up around the house, fixing things up in my personal life, visiting friends, spending more time with Ms N, and, of course, napping. I may even post more.

Ah, this is nice.

For now.

I give myself until Monday before I'm looking at their empty rooms, unplayed-with toys, and still-made beds, then find myself counting the days until they return.

The day of the darned is upon us

2006-06-06T00:00:00.000-04:00

At long last, it’s here: June 6, 2006 – or, as you’ve probably noticed by now the sixth day of the sixth month of the sixth year. 6/6/6

Today is the day when we find out if Tom’s premonition will come true. Remember, that was written 149 days ago. Today is also the day that many people plan to get married at some of the more morbid wedding chapels in Las Vegas. And The Omen gets released today.

So will this be a day to revel in stupidity, will it be just another day, or are we about to face our final destiny? Will my ex-wife suddenly rule the world? Only time will tell. However, the day is technically mostly over (ask any Aussie and Asian - the Americas follow the rest of the world in this regard) and not much has happened ... yet.

Then again, George Bush, gay marriage, and Mary Kay Latourneau are topping the news right now. Maybe the day of doom is upon us - perhaps it's just more subtle than we think.

So how do we avoid burning in Hell today? Well, according to Weather.com, sunscreen wouldn't hurt. And don't forget your anti-histamine - there's a pollen warning today.

D'oh! Canada

2006-06-05T23:15:00.000-04:00

They just announced that Roloson will not be back this series.

Whoa, Canada!

2006-06-05T23:13:00.000-04:00

I’m watching Game One of the Stanley Cup Finals. Edmonton lead 3-1 after two periods, but now trails 4-3 with 9 minutes remaining in the third period.

Period – schmeriod! These haven’t been periods, they’ve been exclamation points!

This has been one hell of a game. The Carolina Hurricanes and the Edmonton Oilers are two of the fastest teams in this year’s playoffs, and both teams came out skating fast and hitting hard. Oiler defenseman Chris Pronger beat Hurricane goalie Cam Ward on a penalty shot, Carolina killed off a 5-on-3 power play, and the hits! Guys have been slammed into the boards and knocked off their feet throughout the game. The game’s first penalty came on a clipping by the near-side boards. All you saw from the main camera angle was a head and torso in red suddenly fall out of view and two red legs appeared in their place. And now, after leading 3-0, Edmonton is busily trying to regroup after giving up four unanswered goals and the lead.

Oh, yeah! Now it’s tied at 4! What an amazing play by a guy who was airborne when he made his shot!

Oh, crap! Now the Oiler goalie is injured. A three-player pile-up forced him into the net and he can’t walk.

Lord Stanley’s Cup hasn’t been hoisted over a Canadian rink since the Montreal Canadiens bested the Los Angeles Kings in 1993. Only two times since then have the canucks managed to field a team in the finals – the Vancouver Canucks lost game 7 in Madison Square Garden in 1994 and the Calgary Flames lost game 7 to the Tampa Bay Lightning two years ago. This is quite a contrast to the 80’s, when Canadian teams won the cup seven years in a row (five times by Edmonton).

These Oilers look like they can return the Cup to the Great White North. (Besides, the Cup is due back. C’mon, the defending champion is Tampa Bay?!?) They eked into the playoffs with the final spot in the West and then knocked off league-leader Detroit in the first round, then faced a double-dose of California en route to the Western Conference Championship. They are spunky, and definitely hot at the right time.

Shit!

OK, perhaps giving up the game-winning goal with 30 seconds left because the goalie and defenseman bobbled the puck behind the net doesn’t support my statement, but hey, this is just game one.

Anyways, this series looks to be a great one, despite the rally in Raleigh. I’m worried about the injury to Roloson (the goalie), but the Oilers are slick (yeah, I know, boo – hiss). I know the NBA championship is going to have better ratings, but they will not have a single game as good as what we’ve seen tonight.

PolitiCanucks

2006-06-02T15:46:00.000-04:00

Our representatives in DC may be the best politicians that money can buy, but in this era when all public statements are first privately run through the PR people they have lost some of their rhetorical luster over the years.

Thankfully, there's Canada.

Yes, our neighbors to the north (or east, for my Alaskan readers) still have a way with their words. For example, much to his chagrin, former Immigration Minister Joe Volpe, a contender for leadership of the Liberal Party, had to return over C$16,000 (about $15K US) when it was discovered that the contributions came from adolescent children related to the chairman of a drug company.

Had this been Washington, the strongest zinger from the other side may have been some comment about a "culture of corruption." Not Ottawa. Not New Democrat legislator Pat Martin.

"The Liberal Party is like an egg-sucking dog ..." he said, "they dig under the fence to get at that money and they just can't be cured. With an egg-sucking dog, all you can do is put them down."

I like the smell of the wine ...

2006-04-17T08:10:00.000-04:00

My daughter's First Communion is coming up in a few weeks, in the mean time, she has been coming up to the altar for a blessing while I receive my Communion. Given that her big day is nearing, she has become much more attentive to the whole process. "I feel too tall to not be getting the bread," she whispered to me as we were kneeling at the railing.

Yesterday was Easter Sunday, so the entire front of the church was decked out in lillies and other adornments. I also think they used a better vintage blood-of-Christ for the occasion. Anyways, it was a different atmosphere than the normal Communion Sunday.

"I like the smell of the wine," Emily whispered to me after I had taken my swig. She's been debating whether to take the wine or the grape juice when her turn comes up, so I figured she had finally made her choice. What I didn't realize is what she actually had on her mind.

"It smells just like Grandma!"

I'm so vain ...

2006-04-12T15:52:00.000-04:00

I probably think that post was about me.

(No, not the ass-shooting post)

New crime spree a pain in the bum

2006-04-12T09:15:00.000-04:00

http://www.philly.com/mld/philly/14322284.htm

But I drink Dr. Pepper!

2006-04-04T17:03:00.000-04:00

You Are Coke

A true original and classic, you represent the best of everything you can offer. Just the right amount of sweet, just the right amount of energy... you're the life of the party.

Your best soda match: Mountain Dew

Stay away from:Dr Pepper

What Kind of Soda Are You?

More from the Inbox

2006-03-22T13:27:00.000-05:00

This joke was emailed to me recently; thought it worth sharing ...

A man is driving down a deserted stretch of highway when he notices a sign out of the corner of his eye. It reads:

SISTERS OF ST. FRANCIS
HOUSE OF PROSTITUTION
10 MILES

He thinks this is a figment of his imagination and drives on without second thought. Soon he sees another sign which reads:

SISTERS OF ST. FRANCIS
HOUSE OF PROSTITUTION
5 MILES

Suddenly he begins to realize that these signs are for real and drives past a third sign saying:

SISTERS OF ST. FRANCIS
HOUSE OF PROSTITUTION
NEXT RIGHT

His curiosity gets the best of him and he pulls into the drive. On the far side of the parking lot is a stone building with a small sign next to the door reading:

SISTERS OF ST. FRANCIS

He climbs the steps and rings the bell. The door is answered by a nun in a long black habit who asks, "What may we do for you my son?"

He answers, "I saw your signs along the highway and was interested in possibly doing business."

"Very well my son. Please follow me." He is led through many winding passages and is soon quite disoriented. The nun stops at a closed door and tells the man, "Please knock on this door." He does so and another nun in a long habit, holding a tin cup answers the door.

This nun instructs, "Please place $100 in the cup then go through the large wooden door at the end of the hallway." He puts $100 in the cup, eagerly trots down the hall and slips through the door pulling it shut behind him.

The door locks, and he finds himself back in the parking lot facing another sign:

GO IN PEACE.
YOU HAVE JUST BEEN SCREWED BY
THE SISTERS OF ST. FRANCIS.
SERVES YOU RIGHT, YOU SINNER

Thank you, Mr. Meteorologist

2006-03-13T23:09:00.000-05:00

While perusing through the World Baseball Classic information on ESPN.com, I found the following web gem I don't think they meant to make it onto the final page. The write-ups are mostly professional.

Mostly.

Referring to professional baseball in Taiwan (sorry ... Chinese Taipei), they wrote "Most games are played in the evenings because it's hot as holy hell during daylight."

Down with the sickness

2006-03-13T16:08:00.000-05:00

Ow-ah-ah-ah!

The good news is I got an extra day off, making it a four day weekend for me. The bad news is the four day weekend was spent tending to my sick daughter and tending to my sick self.

Ugh. I haven’t been sick like that in a while. I could tell it was going to be bad on Friday morning when I went to store to buy more Children’s Motrin. First, I couldn’t eat. You don’t get a body like mine by not eating; this was a solid indicator that I was coming down with something. When I got to the Acme (for those of you not in the mid-Atlantic region, this is an actual grocery store, not a place for mail-order flying bat suits, strap on rockets, or other gadgets Coyote procured for help tracking down Road Runner), I had to walk past a cupcake display. The mere sight of frosting made my stomach cower inside me. Normally, it would leap out of me and onto the display, snarfing up as much as it could before I finally wrestled it back in place. Not today.

Of course, the geniuses at Acme put the medicine in the same aisle as the pet products. Standing in the medicine aisle long enough to read the labels is enough of a chore when you’re sick; doing it while engulfed by a malodorous cacophony of beef-like, chicken-like, and fish-like flavoring smells is a Herculean task. Why they need to pack in extra flavor for an animal that sniffs anuses and will eat roadkill is beyond me. Don’t get me wrong, I like dogs. It’s just their eating habits can be a bit concerning sometimes. If I had contents in my stomach that morning they would have wound up on the Alpo. Not that any dogs would mind – for them it would be a special dessert.

My fever topped 102 Friday night. I was unable to stay in any one position too long, yet also unable to move into any other positions. At one point I fell asleep on my knees with my face buried in my pillow on the couch. My sick pants don't fit well. Luckily my blinds close.

By Saturday morning I felt fine. Food still wasn’t appealing, but otherwise I felt no ill effects. It was as if I had been in perfect health all along. Generally when I get sick, the final night is the worst as the fever reaches its breaking point. I assumed that I was in the clear. The storm hadn’t blown by, though; I was simply in its eye. Saturday afternoon it hit again and by nightfall I was yearning for a coma once again.

I’m told the meteorological term for a bright sunny warm day that follows two days of nasty winds and torrential downpours is “Monday”. That’s pretty much how it was for me. By Sunday evening my personal storm had blown to sea. I could do normal things again, like walk and watch the Sopranos premiere. Today I was well enough to go back to work. I even ate at lunch. Yet I’m just so worn out right now.

Funny how it works, isn’t it? I just spent the past four days at home doing nothing, and now I feel like I need a weekend to recuperate.

Talk about your alternative energies ...

2006-03-07T12:33:00.000-05:00

Check out this little "nugget" from the Anchorage Daily News ...

Customer Disservice Unappreciation Letter Number Two

2006-03-07T08:40:00.000-05:00

Bad customer service abounds. Here is a letter I just sent off to Sears ...

March 7, 2006

Sears National Customer Relations
3333 Beverly Road
Hoffman Estates, IL 60179

To Whom It May Concern:

I have been a Sears credit card older for many years, but recently opted to cancel the card which I held jointly with my ex-wife since its inception. The actions of your company in general recently have left me befuddled to say the least, but in December you treated me to one of the most inept examples of customer service I have ever encountered. Though miniscule in and of itself, it was definitely the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

In November of 2005, I contacted your customer service center regarding my anticipated balance for December. I had been paying down this account and this was to be the final payment. Since I was making payments three weeks ahead of the due date, my checks were written before your invoices were printed or interest calculated. I explained the situation to your representative and specifically told her that my intent was to remit an amount that would satisfy the account. I was told that if I were to send in $43.00 by December 15, the account would be satisfied.

I did; it wasn’t. The final balance, after interest, was $43.09.

I called your customer service line to see about getting the leftover nine cents removed from the account. This was an immaterial amount, especially considering the hefty finance fees you have levied in the past. Besides, I sent you the amount I was told to send. If the first representative had told me to send $50, I would have. I just wanted this to be done. Alas, your representative informed me that he was unable to credit my account. The nine pennies would have to be remitted, he said.

This was in the midst of the Christmas holiday shopping season. I ventured down to the Sears store at the Moorestown Mall, gave a cashier there thirty-six cents (to account for any additional interest you may have opted to apply to my still open account), and then promptly went other stores in the mall to buy gift items that I could have purchased in your store.

I have been a Sears customer for many years. While your prices haven’t always matched your competition in this area, you have been a convenient place to shop – especially since I had your card. Over the years I have spent thousands of dollars on Sears merchandise including car seats, clothing, toys, photos, tools, and appliances. Additionally, I have spent at least a thousand more on interest and finance fees. Now I get irritated just walking past your store. I can buy equal or better products elsewhere for equal or better prices; it was either loyalty, nostalgia, or perhaps inertia that brought me back into your store. You sacrificed that for nine pieces of copper. I am content with the notion of never buying from Sears again.

Perhaps you can use this example in future customer service training sessions. A better focus on customers may prevent future boneheaded decisions like these. Perhaps you could empower your customer service representatives to make decisions involving a dime or, dare I say, a quarter. I shouldn’t have to remind you how much cascading damage a single act of poor customer service can have. Not only have you sent my dollars into the waiting registers of your competitors, this tale has also made for wonderful water cooler conversation and I have a sneaking suspicion it’ll make its way out into the blogoshpere. It seems to me that the dime you saved cost you much more than that.

According to my final statement you owe me twenty-seven cents. Given the circumstances, I just can’t credit your account. I would like that amount refunded to me.

Sincerely,

Kevin E

Former customer and cardholder

Customer Disservice Unappreciation Letter Number One

2006-03-06T09:40:00.000-05:00

There are times when a company's customer service practices are so ... we'll just say "notable" that they cannot go unaddressed. Here is a copy of my letter to Washington Mutual Bank regarding their recent actions on my Providian credit card.

March 6, 2006

Mr. John Green
Vice President
Washington Mutual
P.O. Box 9177
Pleasanton, CA 94566-9177

Mr. Green:

I am in receipt of your letter dated February 22, 2006, in which you announced your decision to lower my credit line by $440. In the letter, you cite as a primary reason for this adverse action my “serious delinquency in the last year,” and bolster this with “serious delinquency and public record of collection filed” and “proportion of revolving balances to revolving credit limits too high” as additional reasons.

Yes, I do know you didn’t write the letter or even sign it – the printer’s dots are clearly evident in the signature field. But you stuck your name to it, so I am writing back to you.

And yes, I do have negative items on my credit file. I did not come out of my marriage unscarred. I fully understand and agree that the valid items therein are of my doing and make no claim that I made decisions unwittingly. Dimwittedly, perhaps. Yet they were my decisions. I take full responsibility.

The only serious delinquency on my TransUnion credit file that is not old, contested, resolved, or of miniscule amount is yours. The public record of collection was a judgment that specifically includes a note showing that payment was made days after the judgment was issued. My proportion of revolving balances to revolving credit limits is higher than in the past because I’ve been paying off credit cards and closing them. This is, by most of the rational world, considered to be a positive. Obviously you differ.

Ironically, as soon as I significantly paid down my balance on your account as part of my effort to materially lower that ratio, you slashed my limit by 16%, thereby jacking it right back up.

If you would review all of your own records, you would notice that the serious delinquency occurred when your company stopped billing me online. There was an apparent failure in delivery of one bill. Being that I make many monthly payments, I did not notice the absence of your invoice. Your company intentionally stopped billing me online the following month providing no notice through our agreed-upon line of communication. Once I discovered the error, as your records should show, I promptly corrected the issue. Despite the fact that you relentlessly piled on the fees, I paid down the balance as quickly as I could to bring the account back in line.

As penalty against me for the payments I missed after you suddenly stopped billing me in the manner in which you agreed, you not only saddled me with ludicrous late payment and over-limit fees but also slapped me with a ridiculously high interest rate of 30.5%.

Your representative assured me that you would return to billing me online as soon as I brought the balance back in line. I have; you haven’t. She also assured me that with positive payment history, a subsequent periodic account review would likely drop my interest rate from extort down to fleece. I have paid more than the requested minimum payment every month since and made a one-time payment of over eleven hundred dollars this past month. In response, you penalized me again for the same infraction. Your account review process did even not live up to my lowest expectations.

As evidenced by the exorbitant interest and fees I’ve paid during my time as your account-holder, I am obviously a highly profitable investment for you.

In making money available, you are providing a valuable service, for which I have no problem paying fair compensation. Obviously, credit rates link to credit risk and you are entitled to return off your investment. Yet with high risk comes high rewards. Unfortunately, the present market provides you an opportunity to profiteer and you’ve chosen to take every advantage of this situation.

It’s no secret that I fit into the category of account-holders that you can screw over as often as you wish because we do not have the free resources available to simply take our business elsewhere. Your industry has successfully lobbied the pro-corporate Congress to help offset losses you might encounter from an unsympathetic (to you, at least) judge in a bankruptcy hearing. One of your own representatives informed me that you intentionally jack up rates on customers with poor credit scores to a) squeeze as much money out of them before they go into bankruptcy and b) ensure that you have a higher stake in their eventual settlement.

That is quite sad.

I am sorry to have to inform you of this, but despite your and my ex-wife’s best efforts, I am not going into bankruptcy. Quite the contrary, I have started the process of repairing the damage done to my credit during my marriage. And despite your treatment of me as a customer thus far, I can still be persuaded not to jump ship the moment I have an opportunity to pay this card off completely. I have no doubts that you will reap more profits from me by maintaining me as a long-term account holder than you will by trying to squeeze what you can from me now.

I ask you to revisit this decision, as well as the interest rate you are currently applying to my account. I will personally address any items in my credit file you have issue with. My only request is that you not do a hard pull of my credit file. The standard review process provides you all the information you need, a hard pull would make it appear to other companies that I am seeking to expand my debt. I am not asking for an increase, just a reinstatement. I can’t exactly lower my proportion of revolving balances to revolving credit limits if you continue to reduce my limit every time I make a payment.

I look forward to hearing back from you soon.

Kevin E

Cardholder

The Prince of Procrastination Strikes Again!

2006-03-01T16:46:00.000-05:00

Tom mentioned his goal of posting once a day. I've had similar thoughts, but always wind up putting it off for one reason or another. I've got two jobs, two kids, and too much stuff to do at home. Besides, there are no blog deadlines. I can write when I want, and not write when I want. If I made it on here at least once a week, I figured, would be OK.

I just noticed that I haven't even lived up to once a month this year ... I missed February altogether.

Well, for those who see this, thanks for checking in. I'm sure I'll have at least something to write about in March.

Apocalypse Now

2006-01-24T21:00:00.000-05:00

Not only did the Seattle Seahawks actually make it to the Super Bowl, but I managed to file my taxes 83 days early. Yes, even in this year where you've got two extra days to file, I, the Prince of Procrastination (I've been putting off becoming king for some time now), have already sent mine in. There’s still a week left in January, for goodness sake!

Best re-read Revelations, folks. There are just too many signs …

I am an inadvertent asshole.

2006-01-16T23:29:00.000-05:00

I’ve come to that conclusion recently after a painful bit of self-analysis. I never intend to be an asshole. Quite the opposite, in fact -- I specifically try to not be an asshole. Yet in too many cases my reluctance to push too far has led me to stop pushing at all. Naturally this has led to me being pushed around a little (read: a lot). That consequence I’ve been willing to accept. The problem is that my unwillingness to assert myself has cost the people around me. Long story short, I’ve put people around me in compromised situations. Understandably, this has led these people to believe that I am an asshole.

The specific things I do to avoid being an asshole are the things that make me an asshole. Irony?

So now I’ve been thinking about the root causes of my wayward sphincteric tendencies and how they impact the world around me. Why is it that I am so unwilling to assert myself? How many of the things I’ve done because they’re “the right thing to do” have I really done because they’re the easiest thing to do? How would things be different if I were to assert myself?

I have a lot of responsibilities. I am a divorced dad with two kids that live with me in a small apartment. I’ve been a father since I could buy alcohol using my own ID; my daughter was nine when I finally graduated college. I have spent more money than I’ve made, leaving me in a lot of debt. Now I am not trying to set up a “woe is me” mood here by any means. While I’ve had my fair share of willing accomplices, these are all situations I’ve created through my various actions and inactions. I’m just trying to set up where things are right now.

Sometimes (frequently) I feel overwhelmed by my responsibilities. This in turn leads me to feel scatterbrained, and I get into a mental state where I really don’t want to make any choices. A recent discussion along this vein has led me to look into adult ADD. With this simple and clear mission in mind, I hopped on the internet, looked up some ADD sites, and in the process proceeded to look up sports scores, my bank account, a some news articles, ten other mental health links, and a few blogs. Yeah, I’ll consider ADD as a possibility.

I’m also willing to consider obsessive-compulsive disorder. “But wait,” one who knows me might ask, “how can you possibly have OCD? You’re a slob!” Ah, very true. But few people who haven’t seen me prepare an Excel worksheet really know my secret perfectionist tendencies. Remember my scatterbrained / overwhelmed feelings from the last paragraph? (If not, have you considered looking into ADD yourself?) I have very specific ways that I want things done. If I don’t feel I have the time to do things the way I want them done (often the case when I’m feeling overwhelmed and scatterbrained), I will simply push off doing those things until I have the time. I have lots of projects ready to be started throughout my house and office. I am a perfectionist; I’m just not very good at it.

I am also a man of principles. Perhaps not morals or standards, but principles. When the X left I readily took over the bulk of the responsibility for the kids without fighting to ensure that she’d take on her “fair share.” My ultimate concern was not with her or me, it was with my kids. I knew that if I were force her to do very much at that point, she would push back at me in a way that would hurt them. I wanted them to get the most they could. In order to get the most from her for them, I had to cede a lot for myself. Besides, I firmly believe that I provided the better example for them and back then I had the better relationship with them. I knew she’d make a better part-time mom than full-time mom. Furthermore, I simply could not imagine giving my kids up. Prior musings notwithstanding, I have no regrets for letting her off the hook. In keeping the kids and taking on the extra responsibilities that come with being a single dad, I didn’t back down at all. That was perhaps the one time where I truly stood up.

Unfortunately, I think over time I’ve applied this same argument to too many potential conflicts. I finally did something right, and now I am trying to milk that as much as possible by sweeping everything into the same category. Considering what has happened to people I know who came from broken homes, I feel like I’ve spared my kids a lot of pain, concern, and all the problems that go along with watching parents fight by making sure that no fights happened when they were around. Donning my retrospectacles, however, I realize now that they really only didn’t see me fight.

That crashing sound you hear is shattering principles. Referring to Gandhi, I’ve often said that not fighting for the sake of not fighting is just as wrong as fighting just to fight. Yet there I was, getting beaten (verbally) to a pulp and not fighting back. I say I want the most for my kids, but I know I have not been able to be there for them like they need me to be because I am constantly feeling beaten down. I’ve said before I was willing to accept the consequence of getting pushed around a bit in my attempt to not be an asshole. By contrast, I am unwilling to accept others having to suffer for my sake.

I guess I’ve lived up to that last one. Unfortunately, I’ve chosen the “acknowledge” definition of accept, rather than the more appropriate “tolerate” definition. Donning the retrospectacles once again, I see that I’ve put my friends, my family, my kids, Ms N, and others through a lot of suffering. As for why I’ve accepted the circumstances I’ve gotten myself into – often times I’ve simply been too scared of what could go wrong that I’ve forfeited what could go right. I’ve been outright afraid. Ironically, I haven’t been willing to admit this before because – you got it – I’ve been afraid to. I’m too chickenshit to admit that I’m chickenshit.

I finally chose to be an asshole tonight. I made X accept a situation that she really did not want to accept. It scared the shit out of me (and all that was left was a pair of sneakers). I had to call my brother before calling her to get a confidence boost. “You don’t think you can be an asshole, so you’re calling me for advice?” he asked. “Thanks, Kevin.”

He’s told me before that he’s been truly impressed at my ability to persevere through some really crappy situations – my divorce, my marriage, etc. I’m more impressed by his ability to get keep himself out of those situations. I think I’ve achieved mediocrity simply because I’m too afraid to fail. In order to succeed, you need to risk failure. I know that, but I’ve been unwilling to accept that risk, and now I’m reaping the rewards of hesitance. Good things may come to those who wait, but better things are taken by those who don’t.

I’ve been commended for my ability to go with the flow even when times have been tough. Overall I think I have done a good job of keeping setbacks in perspective and I’m proud of my ability to keep on keeping on. But right now I am neither where I want to be nor where I should be. What I’ve been doing thus far is not getting me where I need to go.

I have to change, and that’s truly scary. I have to accept that sometimes it takes being an asshole to avoid being an asshole. (Especially with certain people. The X had the nerve to say I've screwed up her life!) Shudder.

And while it’s sometimes good to go with the flow, if you’re floating down Shit Creek you’ve got to paddle.

If shit were gold, I'd have the Midas touch

2006-01-15T07:51:00.000-05:00

Nostalg-ick

2006-01-09T22:56:00.000-05:00

I was watching VH1 Classic yesterday (since now the 80’s are “classic”), and a Whitesnake video came on. Remember Whitesnake? Remember the chick who did the car hood dance in “Here I Go Again”? That was Tawny Kitaen, Tom Hank’s bride-to-be in Bachelor Party and the only reason to watch Witchboard. Oh, man, was she ever aesthetically pleasing. She even made it worth listening to Whitesnake songs!

It was painful to watch their videos, though, because they kept alternating between sexy shots of her dancing on the car and long-haired crater-face David Coverdale singing the song. She would stare seductively into your eyes, pulling you into the TV with her come-and-make-yours-and-my-dreams-come-true eyes. Her lips beckoned you closer, then she’d twirl slightly so her hair would partially cover her face dance-of-the-seven-veils fashion. The camera would pan back giving you time to soak in her amazingly sexy body. You’d study every inch of her as if she was going to be on the test. You’d just about be at the point of confirming that her legs do indeed go all the way up when WHAM! – she’s no longer on the screen and you’re now staring straight at pachyderm ass. It was traumatic. She was outright Tawnylicious; he looked like Manuel Noreiga in the witness protection program.

So naturally, after seeing this video, I went to the internets to see what kind of tawdry Tawny information I can find. After successfully finding out what her name was (that’s the one part of the test I never studied for), I did a quick Google image search. Twenty years ago she made me want to be a hood ornament in my next life; eleven years ago, as Kevin Sorbo’s wife in the Hercules series, she looked like this. Her 33 years apparently hadn’t been too hard on her thus far. I certainly wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating crackers.

Now I remember hearing about the Cleveland Indians pitcher who was beat up by his wife a few years back. What I didn’t realize is that it was her! Tawny kicked his ass, he pressed charges, and she wound up in jail. Granted, press shots and mug shots are two different things altogether, but could it be this bad? Oh, the humanity.

---

Being a fan of the classics as I am, I’ve had VH1C on more often lately. Those were the days. Remember Nelson? Apparently Google doesn’t. A search for pictures of that band brought up Nelson from the Simpsons, Nelson Mandella, Willie Nelson, and Nelson & Napoleon. It took a bit longer to find this gem. How about Twisted Sister? (My former co-worker went to high school with Dee Snyder; she said he was kind of a dork.)

They showed the Kiss video “Heaven’s on Fire”, one of the band’s videos sans makeup. Removing the makeup was a good move. It’s hard enough to exude toughness when you’re wearing black leather with silver sequins, but to have a drummer who looks like an S&M kitty-cat … it’s just too much.

But who am I to say? They had millions of dollars and no shortage of hot women who were willing to bend over backwards to spend time with them (bending over backwards, no doubt). I certainly can’t say the same for myself – about the money or the women.

The biggest problem with Kiss is that Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley just don’t look right together. Gene genuinely looks tough - just the type of guy you’d rather not run into, especially if you happened to be in a dark alley. Paul looks like an aerobics instructor. The fact that he was wearing hit pink gloves in one of their videos did not help. It’s Gene Simmons and Richard Simmons … with leather & lace Hello Kitty on percussion.

It’s the end of the world as we know it?

2006-01-09T14:10:00.000-05:00

2006 brings the next likely day for the world to come to an end. The first Tuesday in June this year is the sixth day of the sixth month of the sixth year (of this millennium, at least) – 6/6/6 on the Gregorian calendar.

OK, so the end-of-the-world folks missed it with Y2K (although I did find a carton of milk that expired January 1900 six years ago), and then again with Y2K1, which of course is the true start of the second millennium. I seem to recall that the Nostradamusites thought August 19, 2000 was going to be the big day. Three days in a 366-day span in which the ol’ ball was due to topple out of orbit, and here the Earth is still spinning away.

Atheists will scoff at the numerologists and argue that there was nothing unique about January 1, 2000 or January 1, 2001, nor will there be anything unique about June 6. Those dates are more or less arbitrary. Some Gregorian way back when happened to pick the tenth day after the winter solstice as the day on which the new year was to begin and we’ve stuck with it ever since. We’re not all in agreement as to what date it is, anyways. According to the Jews, 2006 ended 3,760 years ago. The Chinese are up in the 5000’s as well. Various religious types have their own views of when the party will be over.

But there is some fun attached to the notion of 6/6/6. Word is that the peninsula town of Hel, Poland, is seeing a flood of bookings from vacationers for that day. And our friend Tom has an interesting story that pertains to that day.

I guess technically the world has to come to an end some day. After all, nothing is truly infinite. So it may be that we have 21 weeks left; if so, at least it happens after the three-day Memorial Day weekend. Or, we may have 21,000 weeks left. Nobody really knows. Barring supernatural intervention, the sun is supposed to explode in a few million years anyways. That will pretty much mark the end of world as we know it.

I just assumed it was Number 2

2006-01-05T16:40:00.000-05:00

I work for a tax preparation company. Every paid preparer of tax returns are required by law to put his/her name and identification number on the return he/she is being paid to prepare. You can either get a PTIN (Preparer’s Taxpayer Identification Number) or you put your social security number directly onto the return (not always a happy option when preparing returns for people you don’t know personally, which happens frequently when you work for a tax preparation company).

Last month, while updating my personnel file, my manager asked me if I had a pooh number. I looked at him like he had two heads. A pooh number? What the hell is a pooh number? My kid has a pooh number – it’s 2 and it means he’ll be in the bathroom longer than just a minute. The manager then restated it as PTIN and we went from there.

I forgot about the pooh number until I got my PTIN from the IRS this week. The first three digits are P – zero - zero.

Ah … POO. That explains it.

Inbox humor

2006-01-05T08:35:00.000-05:00

Two Yankee men were driving through Texas when they got pulled over by a State Trooper. The cop walked up and tapped on the window with his nightstick. The driver rolled down the window and WHACK, the cop smacked him in the head with his nightstick.

"What the hell was that for?" the driver asked.

"You're in Texas, son," the trooper answered. "When we pull you over in Texas, you better have your license ready by the time we get to your car."

"I'm sorry, officer," the driver said, "I'm not from around here."

The trooper runs a check on the guy's license--he's clean and gives the guy his license back. The trooper then walks around to the passenger side and taps on the window. The passenger rolls down the window and WHACK, the trooper smacks him on the head with the nightstick.

"What'd you do that for?" the passenger demands.

"Just making your wish come true," replied the trooper.

"Making what wish come true?" the passenger asked.

"Because I know your type," the trooper says, "two miles down the road you're gonna turn to your buddy and say, 'I wish that asshole would've tried that shit with me!' "

Letters to the Predator

2005-12-30T17:27:00.000-05:00

Very funny article about the new Roboraptor, and the inspired job done by the packaging people.

I wrote the following back to Beth Bragg, the author. I highly recommend her work.

Not to boast or anything, but I got my son’s Roboraptor open in less than twenty minutes without a) destroying it, b) shooting it or anything else, c) burning it or the house down, d) shooting my eye out (I loved your Christmas Story reference, by the way), or even e) (to steal another reference from the same movie) weaving a tapestry of obscenities that will forever remain floating over the Delaware River.

Granted, I did pour myself an extra round of good tidings later that evening to wipe away the lingering thoughts of what I might stuff down the stockings of those involved in the packaging.

That school in Michigan may provide an interesting solution to a much broader problem. The Homeland Security folks say they are concerned about hazardous materials getting into the wrong hands. Perhaps we could send the packaging folks out to do their dastardly deeds on the existing stockpiles. What, with the packing tape and twist ties and such, even if the bad guys did get their hands on the remaining Soviet arsenal, they couldn’t do anything with it. Unless, that is, one of the packaging folks adds a “Try Me” button.

On second thought, I’m not sure I want the twist ties getting into the hands of the terrorists …

Yes, I am a dork.

2005-12-18T17:36:00.000-05:00

I may not have cracked Da Vinci's code, but I did find a crack in the U.S. Code. The gubment posts the listing of federal laws online. In the course of some research, I found an error.

In Title 15, Chapter 41, Subchapter I, Part B, Section 1635, Subsection B (as amended on January 19, 2004), they spell obligor "boliger."

Tsk, tsk, tsk ... you'd think at this point we should have the best government money could buy.

Side effects may include polka-dotted dinosaurs

2005-12-14T14:16:00.000-05:00

I was checking out the documentation that came with my perscription. I love this part:

"Psychic derangements may appear when [this drug is] used, ranging from euphoria, insomnia, mood swings, personality changes, and severe depression, to frank psychotic manifestations. Also, existing emotional instability or psychotic tendencies may be aggrevated by [this drug]."

Great. I may be stuck awake all night, but at least I can have a happy yet sad chat with Elvis.

And I love their sense of severity. Among the specific potential adverse reactions, they list, in order: fluid retention, congestive heart failure in susceptible patients, and potassium loss. In other words, I may retain water, I may wind up with bleeding lungs, and I probably ought to eat an extra banana.

Oh, and my menstral cycle may be disrupted.

Funny sh*t

2005-12-07T13:15:00.000-05:00

(I'm stealing this post from my friend Ed. He wrote this on our fantasy football league's bulletin board:)

Scatalogical Observation of the Day

I have a linebacker on my team named Lofa Tatupu. I'm sorry, but to me, Lofa Tatupu sounds like something you'd nickname a baby's bowel movement. "Oh, you naughty little girl... look at that Lofa Tatupu you just made."

Great Lines from MXC

2005-12-01T21:18:00.000-05:00

Spike TV has a great Japanese game show called MXC, or Most Extreme Elimination Challenge. (I'm not sure what happened to the E.) Contestants try (usually unsuccessfully) various challenges and if (when) they fail, they wind up falling into mud puddles or water hazzards or a pit of flour. Since it's all in Japanese, the show is re-written and American actors provide voice-overs. The dialogue is changed entirely, but that doesn't matter. First, the Japanese jokes might not fly as well in English. Second, it's just darned funny the way they've assembled it.

Basically, the contestants do crazy competitions like the Colassal Dominos of Doom, and the commentators give the play-by-play. So without further ado, here are some fun one-liners from the show last night:

I just wanted to use the Bible for monetary gain. You know, like Mel Gibson or Pat Robertson.

That's Johnny Bukakione - he's always surrounded by a small circle of friends.

We're going to need a deeper shallow grave. She's huge.

She's the inventor of the Pray Station II, the game consol that only works if you face it east. It's feature game is Martyr-dumb and Dumber.

I've heard he's whacked more men than Richard Simmons.

And straight from witness protection program is Steve Cardu ... er, Smith.

I can tell you from my experience as a successful network executive, there are only two important things - a nice severance package and a hot trophy wife.

He tries a Sodomite Skip, but he can't stick it.

He's an executive for the Home Shoplifting Network. If you call in the next five minutes you'll get a five-finger discount.

It's like that cable show where gay people force you to redecorate.

That's Ginger Caverns. She works for the adult family channel: T&A Kids.

She wouldn't look that bad in a wet burka contest.

It's a new show where I redecorate closet gay celebrities homes: While You Were Outed!

Godfather of the munchkin mafia

2005-11-29T23:13:00.000-05:00

As a father of two, I have made several trips to that rockin’ rat’s pizza paradise, Charles E. Cheese’s. Today, we went again. As luck would have it, Alex’s school had a fund-raiser there tonight. The wascally wodent dazzled them at an assembly, then they were given stickers and a quick brainwashing and sent off to assault us parents with an endless barrage of “We want to go to Chuck E. Cheese! We want to go to Chuck E. Cheese! We want to go to Chuck E. Cheese! We want to go to Chuck E. Cheese! We want to go to Chuck E. Cheese!” (then repeated several times)

Emily was more than happy to go, as she has been saving her ticket receipts since shortly after conception. Now don’t get me wrong, little plastic lizards or sticker strips can be charming and all, but she realized a while back that the nicer prizes cost more than the number of tickets you can score in a single visit. Every time she goes, shes uses her tokens to score tickets, gets her receipt, and then skips the redemption booth (which sounds like something the Catholics could use to get people back) altogether. 40 tickets here, 50 there, and suddenly she winds up with 629 (oh, and lots of extra tokens).

Now, let me throw in a little aside here. There are times when, as a parent, you feel that certain lessons have to be taught. When your kid shows that they are ready to learn something, you go with it. Cleaning rooms, keeping organized, being punctual … (I’ll get to those eventually). In this case, Emily was on to something with the notion of saving. My dad instinct kicked in, and I decided that I was going to foster and encourage this.

Emily’s been saving, and today she wanted to cash in. She set her sights on a 1000 ticket prize – a spinning lighted disco ball. We ordered our food and some tokens, and then found a table. I got into Don Provolone mode, dishing out tokens and pizza slices and collecting tickets like a godfather collecting tributes and distributing favors, just without the pinky ring. Alex was all about the ticket collecting today as well, and before Emily had rustled up her first 90 tickets he already had a 100. Noting her goal – and his want of having the disco ball around, I mediated a deal that neither could refuse. Alex would sell Emily his tickets; she would agree to lend him the ball on occasion. With that, they were off.

By night’s end, they got their tickets and got the disco ball and were both very happy … until they had to live up to their end of the bargain I struck with them before we left. At least the disco ball provided interesting lighting for hamster-cage cleaning.

So afterwards, I got to thinking about my day. I got the kids to cooperate, have fun, learn a lesson about sharing and saving, and clean up the cages. All that was good. Then I realized that at 4.5 tickets per token and 5.33 tokens per dollar, that stupid disco ball cost me $41.67. Also, we spent two and a half hours at Charles E. Cheese’s. It was a very unrelaxing evening with 50 screaming kids and bad pizza. Earlier in the day I had to go to court and get a root canal (two separate errands – I didn’t get a root canal in the courtroom) (although that creates an interesting visual ... “Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? If so, say, ‘Aaaaah.’”).

I took the day off from work today. Now I’m left feeling like I need a day off.

Balti-less

2005-11-25T19:13:00.001-05:00

The city of Baltimore, Maryland, is in the news today. The Museum of Oddities is scheduled to close this year. They cite lack of funding, but I think part of the problem is that they picked the wrong city in which to open this particular attraction. After all, why pay to see oddities in a museum when you have oddities of this caliber available for free?

Law and disorder

2005-11-25T18:43:00.000-05:00

Ripped from the headlines ...

All this chase was missing was a white Bronco ... and notice what the guy was wearing?

I truly doubt the judge can impose a sentence any worse than what this guy has already been through.

They've been building a case against this guy one little plastic brick at a time.

Talk about your commuting headaches ...

2005-11-25T18:39:00.000-05:00

I've blamed my commute for many a headache in my time, but it's never been quite this bad for me.

Poetry Corner

2005-11-15T16:08:00.000-05:00

Aiden, Alaska Jen's son, just turned 6 months old and is now ready to tackle some of the more complicated foods ... like mush. The weaning process can be difficult for both mother and baby (although it's much easier at six months than six years), and Alaska Jen did confess to some difficulty.

In the past I have turned one of her issues into a haiku. This time she asked me not to do that.

So, without further ado, here is the weaning limerick:

Weaning baby, said Jen, off the breast
Gives the girls a much needed rest.
But they hurt such like hell
That I just might as well
Staple cantaloupes onto my chest.

So her real line was "safety pin", but that doesn't fit well.

Happy Birthday Ms N!

2005-11-15T00:28:00.000-05:00

Just think ... some day this just might be us:

(By which I mean that through the many, many years ahead we might always find ways to make each other happy; not that you might somehow turn into an old wrinkled waspy woman.)

(And don't take anything from the guy being on his knees - it's a gesture!)

I love you. Thank you for this wonderful year we've had, and thank you for the wonderful years we will have.

Happy Birthday

And congratulations on the Big Three-Eh!

Poor Philly Phans ...

2005-10-31T08:41:00.000-05:00

The two biggest news items in the Philly area right now are the 49-21 bitch-slappin' the Denver Broncos put on the Eagles yesterday and the SEPTA strike, which has shut down bus, trolley, and subway routes throughout the city.

Mike, my not-so-subtle co-worker was lamenting this morning. "Poor Eagles fans," he said, "now they don't even have a bus to jump in front of."

I told Ms N to get lost ...

2005-10-21T09:28:00.000-04:00

Or, how to get lost, as it were. She had directions to the MVS (Jersey's version of the DMV) that didn't sound right, so I gave her revised directions. She followed mine, then called me to report that she had no idea where she was.

Turns out the directions I had were to the former MVS location. They moved since last time I was there.

Sorry, Ms N.

I've bought her flowers for "no reason" before. Well, there are reasons ... they just haven't always happened yet.

Crappy Morning

2005-10-13T15:50:00.000-04:00

I live in a bottom floor apartment. Last night, when I was just finally getting to sleep, I heard vacuous gurgling noises from my bathroom. Figuring it was just a portal to the deeper reaches of Hell opening up in my toilet, I decided to leave it be. I mean, I was rather tired at that point, and the armies of darkness generally don’t make much of a mess. They even lock the door behind them when they leave to go terrorize the countryside. Plus I had my fan on, so I’d still be cool despite the venting from the infernal fires burning in the netherworld.

I woke up (late) this morning and went into the bathroom as usual. Last night’s noises were not on the tip of my mind until I rounded the corner. While there was not a cavernous entryway to the realms of eternal damnation, there was a bathtub filled with water and gunk that I’m rather sure I didn’t put in there. I looked in the toilet and water level was rather high.

Oh goody – sewage backup. Mental note: don’t flush.

It turns out that somebody probably flushed something (paper towel, grapefruit, puppy, whatever) that they shouldn’t have. The items made it down to my level and started heading towards the main pipe out to the sewer, but didn’t make it all the way. Since it made it past my outlet pipes and since I am at the lowest level, all the water that couldn’t drain down came back up through my pipes. Nobody on the upper floors even knew there was a problem.

I hung around until the maintenance guy cleared things through. Everything finally did go down. Now I just need to build up enough resolve to actually use the tub again. I’ve had mildew before and I could live with that, but somehow this one seems different. I’m thinking it may take lots and lots of bleach (sorry, Ms N). After all, this was disgusting enough to keep the armies of darkness at bay.

Going Postal

2005-10-12T15:18:00.000-04:00

On the same day that Ms N had her postal story, I was treated to one of my own. I went to the post office in my building to get a postage-paid envelope. I asked the lady at the counter how much it would cost to mail 7 sheets of paper. She wasn't sure. I asked her if she could take seven sheets of paper off her desk and put them on the scale with the envelope. "But you're going to fold them," she says.

Oh yeah, I forgot to factor in the weight of the folds!

White Trash, old world style

2005-09-30T11:38:00.000-04:00

You just can't allow some people to have money.

See you in Toledo

2005-09-30T10:43:00.000-04:00

Penn Jillette had some great things to say about the naughtiest of all words in the English language. This word (~~junior senator from New York~~) is apparently uttered frequently in his movie The Aristocrats, which Ms N and I will be seeing tonight.

“You know the word," Penn states ...

"It’s the word you say and everybody gets sexually harassed."

"A hostile work environment in one word."

"It’s the word adults call ‘the C-word’ in front of other adults.”

People who should consider name changes

2005-09-29T09:44:00.000-04:00

I think some people really ought to consider name changes if they plan on going into certain professions. Some quirky names are actually good for customer relations. I know of a proctologist, for example, named Dr. Peiken (pronounced peekin'). While he didn't seem to notice the irony, I'm sure at least a few patients at least got a giggle while he was peekin' around.

But some names just ought to be changed. This dawned on me while I was looking for a new dentist. I logged on to the Delta registry for my area and up popped a list with names and addresses of various providers. Close to the top of the list was a guy with a really unfortunate name, given his line of work. I hate to say it, but the name is enough to make me scratch him off the list. I know it's not fair. For all I know, he's a really good dentist. But the name ...

I just don’t really like the idea of “Dr. Dickey” poking around in my mouth.

I'm coming to save you, Martha!

2005-09-26T16:01:00.000-04:00

Ms N and Alaska Jen were recently discussing Martha Stewart's new Apprentice show - mainly how much it sucked. Specifically disappointing was the big moment of rejection. Donald Trump has his down. He brings the sheep into the ~~slaughterhouse~~ - er, board room - and berates them for several minutes. Then, depending on his mood, he picks either the poutiest or the most belligerent, then looks them straight on, and says in a clear, solid voice those famous words: "You're Fired." He even does that hand movement - firm, solid, manly-but-swashbuckling. There is no question that he is The Man and he is in charge.

Martha writes a rejection letter. That must be how they take people down in the Big House.

What Martha needs is a good catch-phrase. Something clear, concise, easily repeatable - something that gets the point across that she is The Man.

Well, Martha, I am here to bail you out because that is what I do best - unless it requires posting cash bail ... screw that!

Next time you write your letter - when you key in the words with command strokes and do the firm hand movement putting the letter in the mailbox - close out with your own catch-phrase.

"You are not a Good Thing."

And Another Thing ...

2005-09-26T02:01:00.000-04:00

Don’t damn me
When I speak a piece of mind,
‘Cause silence isn’t golden
When I’m keeping it inside.
– Guns N’ Roses

Today is my day to be pissed off at everybody.

I’m pissed off at the eco-freaks I have to listen to who insist that man needs to give up the products of modern technology and return to nature. Guess what, we did that before and it didn’t work to well. Without the products of our collective ingenuity, we got wet, cold, and eaten by bears. There was no communing involved. Early man did not love nature – early man recognized that nature was trying to kill him. Why do you think every undeveloped culture in history spent so much time trying to appease the gods and spirits and such? We are supposed to venerate Native Americans for their recognition of spirits in every deer, flower, tree, and rock because of their supposed reverence for Mother Earth. Reverence, my ass! They were trying to keep the bitch from killing them in their sleep as she is wont to do.

Every 40-year-old who says we ought to cast aside the trappings of civilization and go live in the woods needs to have his head examined. Were it not for the trappings of civilization – medicine, mining, manufacturing, agriculture, commerce, transportation, etc. – you would be dead before your 35th birthday. You want to commune with nature? Good, start by fertilizing some trees. Here’s a shovel. You may be five years late, but you can still go bury yourself in the forest and fulfill your natural duty. Want out of your current job? No problem. Mother Nature is constantly trying to fill many entry level positions in her great restaurant, the Food Chain.

Before you go in the woods, make sure you leave your clothes, shoes, watch, compass, pre-made foodstuffs, tent, canteen, sleeping bag, portable stove, pots, pans, dishes, cups, bowls, communications equipment, and any other product of the Gaia-rapists behind. Those are bad. But bring some polio – that’s 100% natural! And I guess you can bring the shovel.

Oh yeah, if we’re all to go back to nature, we’ll also need our teenage girls to start popping our children left and right (not that some aren’t doing that already). We’ll need to start having lots and lots of kids to replenish those who are lost to disease, starvation, exposure, tigers, and such. We’ll have to start the girls at it early because natural women are so darned prone to death during childbirth. We can pick all the medicinal herbs and berries we want, but once a baby decides to come out butt first, you need to find a new momma. But at least we’ll be in harmony with Mother Earth!

I’m pissed at people who support Darwinian views on evolution and socialist policies at the same time. Predators, disease, accidents, and starvation are all part of natural selection. Natural Selection is neither pretty nor compassionate, nor is it humane. Quite the contrary, it’s brutal as hell. Survival of the fittest does not provide a pleasant alternative for the unfit. Not too many creatures in the jungle die of old age. Yet, as the Darwinians are quick to point out, this is a good thing. Thinning out the herd means that only the strongest survive long enough to pass on their genes to future generations. Allowing the weak to prosper and reproduce weakens the gene pool and puts the entire species at risk. Take wolves away from the caribou herd and soon the herd is crowded, underfed, and disease-ridden. Reintroduce the wolves and the slow, weak, and sick caribou become lunch. Their faster, stronger, and healthier cousins remain to produce fast, strong, healthy descendants. Plus the undergrowth grows back, meaning the remaining herd can eat, too.

So if we are to accept that we exist now because of billions of years of evolution – that we are the legacy of the fittest who survived – then we have to acknowledge that we are putting humanity at risk by allowing those who can’t make it on their own to reproduce. We care in direct conflict with the laws of nature. By feeding the hungry, nursing the sick, funding the poor, and supporting those with limited physical or mental capacities, we tax the healthy and dilute the gene pool. To be in harmony with Mother Earth we need to toss aside the sick and undesirable. She will make sure that have a role to fulfill. That’s why scavengers evolved, remember? Besides, by allowing these people to live, we have to intrude upon the environment more and more.

Speaking of evolution, how is it that the same group of people who claim that a little bird on an island off the coast of South America evolved an extended and hooking beak just so it could reach a particular type of seed wedged into a tree which, were it not for that particular type of bird pecking in that far, would have no way of spreading it’s seed and thus would die off, have a hard time accepting the idea of intelligent design? Evolution is coincidental, creation is purposeful. If any “intent” is being carried out then there must be some intender. No species can decide to grow hooves on its own, let alone a crooked beak. Besides, it would take thousands of generations. How would the tree make it that long without the crooked-beaked bird?

If natural selection is what is driving all of life on earth, apparently mankind has been selected. We are just part of the biomass, remember. We came up from the algae like everything else. Well, except for the algae. Unless we were created and placed on this planet, we are part of the planet. We are the current product of those billions of years of evolution. We are “natural.” Which means what we do is natural. Beavers aren’t evil for drowning moles when they build their dams. Tigers aren’t evil for taking down antelope (granted, they’re not exactly praised by the antelope). Sheep aren’t evil for stripping grass off fields. Pine trees aren’t evil for raising the level of acidity in the soil around them, thus poisoning the soil for other plants. My girlfriend’s guppy-like fish aren’t evil for eating the eggs of her catfish-like fish off the side of the tank. Sharks – well, perhaps they are evil, I’m just not going to tell them that in person. The point is life forms use what resources they have available and what traits they come with to attempt to thrive. And if they thrive, they can sprout, bear, lay, or otherwise produce offspring which will in turn attempt to thrive. This is the evolution engine running at full throttle.

So what traits have we? What are our resources? We certainly don’t have claws, armor, above-average speed, fur (except Mediterranean men), quills, that great of a digestive system (have you seen what dogs can eat without croaking?), a relatively weak immune system (they drink out of toilets, too), fangs, poisonous glands, blubber, fins, wings, gills, or any number of other natural defenses, yet we routinely eat lots of things that do. A human is, comparatively speaking, a fragile physical specimen. But we have significant cranial capacity. And sometimes we even use it.

It is in the nature of Man to think. And, once Man has thought, Man acts. Man builds, Man creates, Man adjusts, Man adapts, Man learns. Man puts things into order. Actually, Woman puts things in order while Man is sitting on his fat ass watching the game, but that’s beside the point. Man has survived because Man has changed his environment so that it is survivable. That’s what Man was designed to do (or what he coincidentally evolved into, if you prefer), and that’s what Man does. That is why Man has thrived – why Man has become the dominant being on the planet. Man is a part of nature, and Man has simply done what comes naturally.

If you support Darwinism, then Man is simply acting out his role. If weaker species die off because of Man’s actions, those species were obviously not strong enough to survive in a world with Man. Species come and go. How many rare and unique species have gone extinct throughout history because they only survived in coastal areas hit by tsunamis? How many species went extinct because a bird carrying some bacteria from a different part of the continent pooped while flying overhead? How many were simply too tasty for some other creature to resist? Or blown to smithereens by volcanoes? When the big comet hit that wiped out the dinosaurs, what came of the little rat-like hairy beings that survived? And with Man changing the environment to suit his needs, what other future species are getting the chance to take over once Man finally falls?

On the other hand, if we were created, then some religion out there is most likely correct. The religious fall into one of a few categories. Christians, Jews, and Muslims believe that God put Man on earth to rule it. Read Genesis, and then grab a steak. No sense in keeping that cow from performing his God-given role. Most polytheistic religions believe that Man is here to dominate unless the gods intervene. Hindus and Buddhists believe that the world is just imaginary, so it doesn’t matter. And the earth-spirit-harmony folks? Well, I think I’ve already covered them – with the shovel.

In other words, if you are religious, Man rules. If you are not religious, Man rules. If you are married, Man spends his time in the garage not getting sex.

Speaking of the religious, I’m pissed off at ultra-wealthy Christians who don’t want to contribute to the betterment of all parts of society. If you are Christian, odds are you’ve heard of this guy named Jesus who lived in the Middle East about 2000 years ago. Granted, he was Jewish, as were some other guys – Mathew, Mark, Luke, John – but he had a few pieces of advice worth listening too. Jesus was not too keen on some people hoarding food while others around them starved. Jesus was big on giving to the poor. He didn’t seem to think that money would help in Heaven. And Jesus told people to pay taxes (“Give unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s, give unto God that which is God’s.). Holy Son of Mary – Jesus was a Democrat! Oh wait, no, Jesus wasn’t keen on abortion and He advocated the reading of the Torah in classroom settings. Granted, He did have that whole “blessed-are-the-meek” thing. Perhaps He’d make an OK youth soccer coach.

So does the big J-C not want us to be rich? Are we supposed to be poor? Is the guy who pesters me for change when I head to the subway really the chosen one? No, he’s not very meek. How much does He think I should have? Obviously not everything I can get. In fact, He wants me to give a lot of that back.

So let’s see … unfettered capitalism runs along the same lines as Darwinism, which runs in direct conflict with religion which tends to advocate socialist principles. Yet atheists are more likely to advocate socialism. (Or is it the socialists advocating atheism?) Meanwhile, the religious right advocates capitalism and Christianity. At least the Ayn Rand folks are consistent. They feel that the only valid system is hands-off capitalism and there is no god. Everyone else is in conflict with themselves.

On a similar topic, but less religious, there is a legitimate reason why the wealthy ought to pay taxes. Yes, many wealthy people worked hard to put themselves into the positions they were in when opportunity came knocking. But you need a market of buyers in order to sell. And it’s the low-end buyers who account for a lot of movement of both dollars and products. Poor people don’t save much and don’t travel abroad very often, thus any dollar received by a poor person that gets spent legally goes back into the economy. You need the money to move. People buying means people selling, which means people advertising and lending and building and growing and employing and earning. Yes, it’s true that taxation moves money from those who attain success to those who don’t. However, commerce returns that money (and more) back to the wealthy. Granted, people should work for their money, but the money has to get there somehow. Consider it an investment in your future earnings.

Speaking of the poor and the wealthy, there is a vast difference between the work ethic and system of values between the two groups, and that thinking helps account for the growing divide. People with means tend to teach their children to view the world differently than those without, and it has an effect. A lot has to do with self-empowerment. When you look at the world as a place that has opportunities for success, often you will find said opportunities. When you view the world as a place where you can never succeed, odds are you won’t succeed. And, since success is harder than failure, which frame of mind do you think manifests itself in reality quicker?

The people who find a way out of poverty do not view the world the same as their neighbors. These are the people who insist that if they continue to apply themselves they will find some way to make things work. These are the kids who do their homework instead of playing PlayStation. These are the kids who put up with the other kids on the corner calling them all sorts of unpleasant names because they actually try to learn something. Yet flash forward ten or fifteen years. The kid who did his homework is now earning a real paycheck. Do the street rats congratulate him? Hell no. He sold out. He forgot where he came from. They are keeping it real. Then again, they are jobless and up in arms because “nobody gave them a chance to succeed.” Perhaps you didn’t find success because you weren’t looking for it.

I’m pissed at the Democrats for encouraging racism, sexism, class warfare, victimization, and poverty. By creating a huge welfare state, by removing the concept of individual achievement from schoolchildren and replacing it with a the-world-owes-me sense of entitlement, by putting people into groups instead of considering the merits of each individual, by putting blame for failure on society or the evil nasty corporations instead of the individuals who fail, and by teaching people that they are incapable of succeeding without a big government to feed them, clothe them, protect them, and provide for them, the Democrats have done a great job of producing a spineless, mindless, careless, reckless mob of unmotivated underachievers whose passions lie not in what they can do for themselves but instead in what others must do for them.

Success comes from seizing the opportunities you get and capitalizing upon them – but you won’t hear that from the Dems. In their view, success comes from being born rich, white, and with a penis. If you don’t meet those three criteria, they don’t think you’ll succeed – unless you vote for them, that is. Democrats – including their female representatives in high positions – preach that no woman can succeed in this country without big government there to keep the evil men in check. Democrats – including their black and Hispanic representatives in high positions – preach that no black or Hispanic person can succeed in this country without big government there to keep the evil white folks in check. The Democrats have a big government plan for everything except helping individuals seize opportunities and capitalizing upon them. But people who do that know that it is not big government that provides success, so they won’t vote Democrat. Democrats need people to feel like victims or else they get no support.

Want to keep a group of people down? Convince them that it’s OK to be unemployed – sitting on the street corner jobless because nobody else is giving them a chance to succeed – because the government will give them money, a place to live, and TVs. Convince them it’s OK to ignore their children because it’s the government’s responsibility to feed and educate them. Raising kids sucks up a tremendous amount of resources – encourage their teenagers and young adults to have lots and lots of sex, but don’t insist that the young fathers play important roles in their children’s lives. Promote cultural icons that advocate lying, cheating, stealing, robbing, and murdering, thereby encouraging to lie, cheat, steal, rob, and murder. Jail time isn’t shameful, it’s a sign that you’ve taken on The Man and you’re not going to let him hold you down. Convince them they are victims of forces beyond their control. And then, if you really, truly want to keep a group of people down, convince them that individual achievement is impossible because of who they are and that they need you to protect them. Democrats owe their existence to votes from people who they would shield their children from.

Democrats create dependency on big government. And look what happened to the citizens of New Orleans who were dependant on that big government to keep them safe. One thing about the war on poverty, it has a lot of victims. So does the war on drugs. Oh, and now there’s a war on pornography?

Republicans piss me off, too. The Republican Revolution was supposed to end big government, but the Republicans have been growing it larger and larger ever since they got in power. The whole point was to get the government out of the lives of the individuals, but instead they’ve intruded more and more. The individual has the right and freedom to make his own choices, yet TV and radio have to be controlled because people choose to listen to sex talk and fart jokes. Violence is allowed – encouraged even – but pop out a boob and look what happens! Republicans claim that unelected judges are more dangerous to America than bomb-toting terrorists, yet they plunge the government into dependency to China, of all countries, and let unelected lobbyists plunder the treasury. Our allies against the Axis of Evil include countries that gave countries in the AOE “nucular” secrets. Our allies in the war to establish democracy in the Middle East include countries that work to squander efforts to establish democracy in the Middle East. Our President says we’re fighting against religious fundamentalism, then relies on the support of religious fundamentalists to keep himself in office. It’s amazing how often catastrophes happen when the ruling party depends on catastrophes to keep in charge.

Let’s get this straight, people. It doesn’t take a village to raise a child, it takes caring and responsible parents. They may not do it alone, but they are ultimately responsible for mustering the resources to keep the kid fed and clothed, and they are responsible for instilling moral direction. It doesn’t take a union to keep a quality job, it takes quality performance. It doesn’t take big government to keep you alive, but it does take a small yet effective government to help you thrive. The strength of this country lies in its economy. The government needs to protect and preserve the free market, then let individuals step up and succeed. Laws designed to keep fraud out of the market need to be enforced, laws set up to force one group of people to accept the morals of another group need to be repealed. Everybody is entitled to their own misguided opinion. The deal goes like this, I grant you the right to your faith and you grant me the right to mine. We may not agree, but we respect each other. And if we respect? Well, most of those things that have pissed me off today go away.

I'll still be pissed that the Giants lost. Damn!

Frodo Failed ...

2005-09-22T20:08:00.000-04:00

Bush got the ring.

- bumper sticker Jeff saw recently

Purple X-ing

2005-09-20T12:04:00.000-04:00

My ex-brother-in-law and I have started up purple-states.com, a new blog in which we will carry on a discussion (or perhaps competing monologues) of various topical political and social issues. We both lean conservative (one more than the other, as you'll soon see), but our aim is to have others from all sorts of political orientations join in the ~~fray~~, er, conversation. With active participation comes a rich debate - and perhaps the occasional conversion - which is to the benefit of all involved.

Feel free to check it out. And don't pundit-hate, participate!

My "m o r t g a g e" is up for renewal?

2005-09-19T11:00:00.000-04:00

Um, yeah. That's another email I'm not opening any time soon.

"Please contact us through our site. We will contact you soon thereafter." First, they'll contact me through my bank. Then through credit card companies. Then through an auto dealer or two. Finally through Equinox.

The only advantage to having crappy credit is that no identity thief can get much from me.

Great! I may be a "Winer"

2005-09-15T22:50:00.000-04:00

Oh yeah ... that's an email I'm going to open!

Witty little Tucker, ain't he?

2005-09-15T22:27:00.000-04:00

"He's alienated the nine fiscal conservatives left in this country."

Tucker Carlson, the one conservative Ms N thinks is cute, on the President's $200 billion plan to revitalize the Gulf Coast.

Get your own damned blog name!

2005-09-14T23:32:00.000-04:00

I just Googled my blog name, and came up with this:

http://gristmill.grist.org/story/2005/4/15/124056/029

How do they find him but not me? Should I feel jilted? I beat him into the blogospere by a full six months - do I get credit for that?

Thanks for admiting it, Rich Eisen

2005-09-14T22:53:00.000-04:00

Perhaps the worst commercial to come out lately is the idiotic commercial for Diet Pepsi where the New England Patriots draft a football-playing vending machine. Rich Eisen, former ESPN commentator and now lead commentator for the NFL Network, has a cameo where he announces the pick. "Diet Pepsi machine?"

Jeff Garlin, from the show Curb Your Enthusiasm, was a guest on Rich's show on Wednesday. Jeff had a lead spot in a commercial for DirecTV that aired this summer. In it, he sings "I have a Sunday Ticket" to the tune of the song "I have the Golden Ticket" from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. It turns into a full musical number where he is joined by neighbors, the cable guy, Peyton Manning, and Dick Butkis.

Corny, yes. But catchy. And it's been out for a few months. I'm whistling the song now.

Clearly, both men are willing to humiliate themselves for money. Jeff just did it in a way that was, oh, shall we say "amusing"? Musical numbers aren't normally considered manly, but Manning and Butkis were there, too. And the cable guy. Jeff gets a pass.

Diet Pepsi got their money's worth - Rich went all the way. I get embarrassed watching Rich's commercial.

So what does Rich say when interviewing Jeff?

At least people have something in their head to replace the Sunday Ticket song.

We won't call him an ass today

2005-09-14T22:22:00.000-04:00

Roger Clemens gets major props for pitching on Wednesday despite the fact that his mother died that morning.

Roger pitched 6 1/3 innings, giving up 5 hits and one run (earned) against wild-card challenger Florida. He walked two and struck out four, getting 19 outs against 25 batters. All in all it was one heck of an outing. And he was not pitching against my fantasy team.

Roger, I'm not a big fan of yours, but today you get my respect and my condolences.

One thing about Bush ...

2005-09-14T14:45:00.000-04:00

... he never misses and opportunity to miss an opportunity.

- this may be a quote by someone else, I just heard it from my ex-brother-in-law (or brother-outlaw, if you will. My ex's brother - whatever you call that.)

Full Scale Charlie Foxtrot

2005-09-13T14:01:00.000-04:00

I am so happy with the producers of Monday Night Football right now. They always do a little sketch or promo before the intro to the show. Last year they took a lot of heat for having a towel-clad desperate housewife undo her wrappings to show T. "Terrell Owens" O. her goodies prior to an Eagles game. The usual gang of family values folks protested the promo and ABC promised to investigate and yadda, yadda, yadda. Long story short, we’re not allowed to enjoy our entertainment anymore.

So as the season opener opens, in comes the promo for the Eagles/Falcons game. The setting is the air traffic control booth at Atlanta’s airport. One controller, looking at his radar screen, starts going nuts saying that Falcon-7 (Michael Vick) has appeared on his radar screen and is moving exceptionally fast. Another controller pipes up saying that Eagle-5 (Donavan McNabb) is approaching as well. General panic ensues as they determine that the two are on a collision course. Then the supervisor says, “We’ve got a full scale Charlie Foxtrot here!”

I think at that moment, in bars, barracks, and homes all across the country, snickers were heard from anyone who’s had military experience. It was a joke everyone else – especially the family values gang – was not supposed to get.

As you know, many letters sound the same – especially over the phone or radio or just a lot of background noise. It is often hard to tell whether someone says C, P, B, D, E, G or whatnot. The military uses words – Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, etc. – to avoid this type of confusion. Remember Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin from back in the Cold War days? That just meant it was the third checkpoint. It connected East and West Berlin through the wall. Checkpoints Alpha and Bravo were at the border between East and West Germany and the outer border between East Germany and West Berlin, respectively.

The military has a phrase to describe a moment when lots of things are going horrifically wrong all at once. In mixed company, one would call it a Charlie Foxtrot. Just amongst the soldiers, though, it’s a Cluster Fu … well, I don’t want to upset the family values gang.

First Week of Football

2005-09-13T12:09:00.000-04:00

Ah, what an interesting first week of football. Of utmost importance, los Gigantes de Nueva York beat the Arizona Cardinals 42-19. Six touchdowns! Eli Manning threw two (although he also threw two interceptions, which is why I'm glad he was on my fantasy team's bench).

Speaking of fantasy football, my Abalama Slammers scored the third-highest point total of the week in my league. Unfortunately, I was playing against the highest scoring team, so I am 0-1. Next week I play a team that also lost. This would normally be good, except the team belongs to one Ms N. Even if I win, I lose. Oh well, it should make for some interesting game-watching.

Back to the real game. Last night Jeremiah Trotter and Kevin Mathis got themselves eject from the game for getting into a fight. Ejections happen periodically during games. What made this different was this occured 35 minutes before the game! Oh, it made for some interesting pre-game commentary.

And for some other interesting commentary, Javon Walker of the Packers - a guy who was holding out from training camp in order to negotiate a better contract - suffered a season-ending injury in the third quarter of the first game. Much was made in the NFL during the off-season about Walker's holdout. Brett Favre broke the normal players' code of silence about other players' contract issues and spoke out against the way Javon was handling things. Superagent and slimemeister Drew Rosenhaus drew lots of attention for his negotiations involving Javon, as well as Eagle's wide receiver T. "Terrell Owens" O. and others. In the end, Javon declared that he was coming back to camp and was going to let his performance on the field prove to the Packers what he was really worth. Let's see ... he played 3/64ths of a season and made $500K+ ...

Actually, I feel for Javon. First - OW! Second, he is due a payday. However, in the world of football you do not renegotiate contracts until the final year. Next year the Pack would either trade him or pay him without hesitation. But this year - there's just too much time left on that existing deal. Now he runs the risk of getting himself cut at the end of the season simply because he hired a rat to represent him. And, if cut, he faces a much lower payday coming of an injury of this sort. He wanted to show himself the workhorse - now he's a mule.

It dawned on me that my favorite type of drama occurs in the world of sports. There is always something happening somewhere and between ESPN, Comcast Sportsnet, 610 WIP, the ol' watering hole, and the internets, there is always a place to go to get every different angle of the story. In a movie or book you get what the author gives you. In regular life, drama is attached with so many awful side-effects. But sports drama is different. It is fluid, yet static; close to home but safely removed. What fun.

Dairy Haiku

2005-09-08T16:06:00.000-04:00

My soy milk mocha
Has a vegetably aftertaste.
I miss my lattes.

From Alaska Jen. Her son Aiden, who is still on the ti ... I mean nursing, has a milk allergy

Ode to the NFL

2005-09-08T15:53:00.000-04:00

- to the tune of The Lion Sleeps Tonight by the Nylons

Ou-weem-ou-way
Ou-weem-ou-way
...

In New England, Gilette Stadium, the season starts tonight.
The Patriots against the Raiders, the season starts tonight.

In Foxboro, peaceful Foxboro, the season starts tonight.
On the network, at nine o'clock, the season starts tonight.

Hush, the children. Shut up the children. The season starts tonight.
And the Missis, send her out shopping. The season starts tonight.

Oooooowweeeeeeee-weeee-ah-yuma
Oh, pack those chips away
Oooooowweeeeeeee-weeee-ah-yuma
Yeah pack those beers away

The first question is "Are you taking this test"

2005-08-02T08:32:00.000-04:00

Pre-game intensity

2005-07-20T23:07:00.000-04:00

"If my momma comes out on the field, hit her, too!"

Linebacker Carlos Emmons getting the New York Giants defense hyped up before a game.

Beam him up, God

2005-07-20T15:45:00.000-04:00

The Starship Enterprise lost one of her most beloved crew members yesterday. Scotty (otherwise known as James Doohan) passed away. He was 85 and suffered from pneumonia and Alzheimer's disease.

Damn it, Jim, he gave it all he could.

So long, Scotty.

You can't spell New York without "Fuck You"

2005-07-17T10:08:00.000-04:00

Ms N and I took a trip to the City yesterday. We started with a little trip down to the Village for walking and such, then we picked up some cupcakes and went to her uncle's house in Brooklyn for barbecue chicken.

Note: Magnolia cupcakes are the best cupcakes in the entire world. There is a line to get into the store - it's worth the wait. Before you go in, it's easy to make fun of the fact that they have a guy manning the door. I mean, come on, he's a bouncer for a cupcake shop. But once you've eaten one of their products, you understand. It's confectionary crack.

After dinner with family and a dessert during which a knife fight almost broke out (those are addictive cupcakes), we went back into Manhatten for a nice, romantic walk through Battery Park and a ride on the Staten Island Ferry.

For those of you who don't know about it, the SIF runs from the southern tip of Manhatten out past Governor's Island, Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty, floating corpses of former people who ticked off the mafia, and the Verizano Bridge. Once you get to Staten Island, they give you a few minutes to get off the ferry and onto the next ferry back to Manhatten. The view approaching Manhatten is unbelievable. It's an amazing experience to share with your sweetie arm-in-arm.

Well, most nights. Last night we got hosed.

We arrived at the Manhatten terminal at 9:40 - just as a ferry was pulling out. The security guy at the gate said the next ferry was leaving at 10:30. Fortunately there were a lot of empty seats in the terminal, so we sat it out. The guy said that once we got to Staten Island we'd have about five minutes to get off the ferry and then go through the gate to get back on.

10:45 rolled around and they were finally ready to leave Manhatten. We got on the ferry out and, since it was late, decided to sit in a bench instead of taking in the full view. After all, the best view is coming in, not going out.

Of course, since there are always people who make the ride round-trip, they coordinate the ferries so that if one arrives late, the other waits.

Sorry. I had to throw in a joke there. This is New York. Our ferry arrived 15 minutes late. They held the return ferry 10 minutes late so it was loading up while we were pulling in. Just as we were stepping off our boat, the horn blew on the other one. It pulled out right as we got there. They claim that the horn is blown to alert other boats in the harbor that the ferry is pulling out. Bullfrog. That horn is there to say "fuck you, pendejos!" to all the people disembarking from the incoming ferry.

So, we grabbed $15 worth of snacks (I though ballparks were overpriced!) and hung out for an hour in the Staten Island terminal.

Keep in mind, it's now approaching midnight. I happen to think that the view of New York from the harbor is worth such a wait, so I wasn't worried at this point about the delay, even though I knew it would mean a crappy ride home - what, with the fighting off sleep and all. I was going to get that ride in with Ms N. It was worth the investment.

Oh, yeah, I forgot. I was in New York.

The midnight ferry is the short bus of the Staten Island Ferry System. It has no observation deck. If you want to see the city, you have to stand in a small section on the lower level in the very front, which was already jam packed by the time we found it. No view.

We finally left Manhatten around 1:00. Despite the best effort of two Red Bulls, I was still fighting off sleep by the time I got to my Turnpike exit.

Ms N, I had a wonderful time with you. I love you very, very much.

Managers of the Staten Island Ferry: no cupcakes for you. Bastards.

Oh yeah, the boy drinks Sprite

2005-07-14T09:49:00.000-04:00

My kids are visiting my parents in Alaska for the next few weeks. I sent my daughter an email wishing her a wonderful time and all. In it, I also did the obligatory Dad thing and went over a few of the rules, but I figured I’d throw in a chuckle at the end so it didn’t seem like I was just lecturing. Leave it to a child, however, to provide a bigger chuckle in return.

Amidst the well-wishings, I wrote:

Don't forget that you still have to mind your manners. No arguing with your brother. And don't try to get him to laugh milk out of his nose, either.

To which Emily replied:

Dad, Alex doesn’t drink milk, so you don’t need to worry about milk coming out.

A very Monday-esque Monday

2005-07-11T11:40:00.000-04:00

It's not yet noon and I am placing my third trouble ticket in with the help desk.

Thank you, Ms N, for such a wonderful weekend. Were it not for the amazing high I am on after spending all that time down in Baltimore with you today would really suck.

Putting Iraq into perspective

2005-07-06T00:48:00.000-04:00

I got one of those emails that gets circled around. Normally, I give little credence to what is said in those emails - what, with no confirmable source and all - but this one stuck with me. I decided to do some independent research and, lo and behold, there is some validity to what it said.

According to the FBI, Washington DC is getting safer. As recently as 2000, there were 1,508 violent crimes per 100,000 residents. However, during the first Clinton administration that rate was almost twice as high - up to 2,922 violent crimes per 100,000 residents.

According to the Pentagon, as of this weekend there were 13,190 US casualties (killed or wounded) in Iraq. We have averaged roughly 160,000 US troops in Iraq since April, 2003 - two and a quarter years. That means we have about 360,000 man-years recorded by our servicemen and women in country. This works out to a violent crime rate of 3,664 per 100,000. This is 25% more dangerous than our nation's capitol was just a decade ago.

Keep in mind, Washington, DC, like many other US cities, has many areas in which the crime rate is significantly lower. This means that it has many neighborhoods where the rate is much, much higher. Keep in mind that our troops on the ground in Iraq are in the most dangerous parts all the time. Also, casualty counts include accidents, which means that some of these soldiers might have been wounded or killed in training back home had the war not occurred.

We had a war, followed up by an occupation in Terror-Central. Every Tom, Dick, and Achmed who has a bone to pick with Uncle "Great Satan" Sam is strapping on a boom-vest or rigging up a roadside greeting. The terrorists, unfortunately, have answered our Commander in Chief's encouraging call to "bring it on" and our troops, unfortunately, have had to bear the brunt of it. Yet this "quagmire," as some of the leftists I frequently read in the New York Times like to call Iraq, is actually no more dangerous to our troops than many parts of the United States are (or have been recently) to the people who live there.

When you factor in crimes against tourists or visitors, the rates go up even more. In other words, statistically speaking, for the three hours one night this year that I, suburbanite minivan-driving accountant that I was, did tax work in Camden, I was in as much danger as any one of our troops in Iraq. This is the same for any student of Penn, Drexel, NYU, John Hopkins, UCLA, or any number of big-city universities across the country who wanders a few blocks off campus. When my fraternity did service projects in West Philly, North Philly, and other places we were armed with mops and scrub brushes. The Woman on the Verge, who has a confessions blog on blogger, lived by herself in one of those neighborhoods. Ms N grew up in another place that was not much safer than Baghdad.

The critics are more than happy to point out that the US Army is recruiting heavily from the poor and uneducated, which means that the already less fortunate are more likely to be the ones in harm's way. The irony is that there are a number of soldiers in Iraq right now who are actually safer there than their family members back home. Philadelphia, Washington, New York, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Detroit, Houston, San Francisco, Dallas, Miami, and Chicago are amongst the US cities that have areas that are more dangerous to their residents that Iraq is to our soldiers.

I think that our invasion of Iraq - remember, Sodom Insane had everybody, including the Democrats, France, Germany, and Iraqis convinced that he had weapons of mass destruction stashed away somewhere - was justifiable. I have no problem that we are there. I do have a problem with the way things were handled. Crummy Rummy was just on TV this weekend saying that the low troop count was a result of the generals on the ground saying they didn't want any more soldiers, yet he overlooked the fact that he and Shrub got rid of the generals who contended that there should be more troops. I think that the effort to win hearts and minds was overlooked and underfunded and that, more than anything else, has led to the increase in terrorist attacks against our troops. The people in charge ignored those who had thought out probable outcomes to our actions, and as a result many of the unfortunate predictions came true. That has increased the costs of the invasion in terms of dollars and lives. Were our government a corporation, the CEO and several top executives would have been fired over these mistakes - mainly because of the drop in the stock price.

Yet the dangers caused by Georgie the Kid and Dopey Don (my apologies to Congressman Don Young, who has held this nickname for much of his time representing Alaska in the House), not to mention the Big Dick, are matched by the dangers caused by the media whores and blogophiles who like to stretch the truth to get ratings or readers. 3,664 per 100,000. That means that for every 100 men and women we send over for a year, 96 come back unscathed. High schools across the country yearn for numbers that good.

I'm more in need of a Prayer for Owing Money ...

2005-07-05T11:02:00.000-04:00

You're A Prayer for Owen Meany!

by John Irving

Despite humble and perhaps literally small beginnings, you inspire faith in almost everyone you know. You are an agent of higher powers, and you manifest this fact in mysterious and loud ways. A sense of destiny pervades your every waking moment, and you prepare with great detail for destiny fulfilled. When you speak, IT SOUNDS LIKE THIS!

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Stat Stuff

2005-06-29T16:44:00.000-04:00

I was checking out some Census figures and saw an interesting statistic. According to the 2000 Census, women outnumbered men in the United States by 5.3 million. This means that there are approximately 96 men for every 100 women. Yet for every 100 girls below the age of 5, there were almost 105 boys. The number hovers around 105 all the way up into the mid-teens, and then starts to decline. The descent continues through all the remaining years.

By 25, one of the 105 guys will have succumbed to the “hey, y’all … watch this” factor. Somewhere in their late twenties – and after a couple beers, no doubt – two more guys will have gone out with some sort of bang, as will three in their early thirties.

Below 35 there are 2.8 million more men than women. 51.5% of the men in this country today are under that age; 52.3% of women are over it. For every 100 late-thirty something women, 99 guys remain. And one of those guys won’t make it over the hill.

And then we guys start going out with a pang … a chest pang, that is.

One guy drops in his early forties, one more in his late forties, one more early fifties. Three more will assume room temperature in their late fifties. At this point, we’ve gone from 5 extra guys per 100 women to six fewer. By the late sixties, there are only 86 guys left, 16 of whom won’t wake up from their naps over the next decade.

World War II starts to have an impact on the octogenarians. The Beach Boys sang about “two girls for every boy” – well, that’s how it is once you get into your eighties. Of course, by that time it doesn’t really matter.

So what does this say? We guys are obviously doing more to extending the life of the Social Security trust fund (payments cease when you do). One could argue that this shows that women have more endurance than men. On the flip side, one could also argue that dealing with women is more difficult than dealing with men. (Notice how the male fatalities start ratcheting up around marriage age? Look at the mortality spike at the age of “the change”!)

We are either weaker, more stressed, or simply disposable. Or it could be that we are less stubborn – instead of sticking around after the party’s over, we leave when it’s time to go. That 5.3 million gender differential mentioned above completely accounted for in the septuagenarian-and-above crowd – there are 10 million 70+ men and 15.4 million women. At some point the kids are more interested in the inheritance than the tales of how we accumulated it, anyways.

When does that point come? Depends.

Little bastard got out again

2005-06-26T09:28:00.000-04:00

This time the hamster made it all the way from the living room into Emily's room. He went back to the place he used to go after escaping - under her bookshelf. I thought that was a nice nestalgic touch on his part. The recovery process was made all the more interesting because there is now a TV on the shelf (which dropped).

I need to find a way to seal off the front door to the cage. The little rat - I mean cute, cuddly hamster - can force the door open. He tries to escape any time that his food bowl is empty (which is often, because as a hamster his natural inclination is to take any food he finds and bury it in his nest. We fill the bowl, he empties it into his sleeping area. Half his food gets thrown away when we clean his cage).

At least this time the kids didn't panic when they realized he was gone. We're getting much better at this. I just hope we don't get too much more practice.

The not-so-great escape

2005-06-22T11:33:00.000-04:00

After getting the kids pottied and started on their breakfast this morning, I headed off to the bathroom to begin my transfiguration from sleepy ogre to something resembling a regular white-collar human being. Suddenly there were panicked calls from the living room. “Daaad!”

“What?” I growled. The transformation had not yet begun.

“Spongebob’s gone!”

The hamster managed to muscle his way out of his cage at some point during the night. Since I actually collapsed for the evening in my bed instead of the couch, I didn’t hear the door snap open. I grabbed the flashlight and started checking out the places that a hamster might find appealing – underneath the rolling shelf-drawer-thingy that his cage sits atop, under the rolling computer cart, under the rolling cart that doubles as an end-table (I have a lot of mobile furniture), under the little tables in the corner of the dining room, under everything in the kitchen – stove, fridge, rolling microwave stand, etc., and behind the couch. All that searching yielded nothing. I found dust bunnies, but no hamster.

Ironically, just Saturday Ms N helped the kids clean up the area around the hamster cage. I had two bins – one overflowing with stuff for charity and another overflowing with stuff for Alex’s room – against that wall. The clear floor looks a heck of a lot nicer, but the endless supply of nooks and crannies amidst the chaotic pile of crap provided places to hide. It might have narrowed our search area had the mess still been there. Then again, before we could look anywhere else, we would have had to pull everything out of those bins without squashing Spongebob. I guess there are pros and cons. The overriding pro is that the living room looks so much better. Thank you again, Ms N.

Anyways, I set Emily to work on putting peanut butter inside the two hamster balls. The search was going to have to stop – we’ve got work and the kids have their last day of school. Eventually he would come searching for food, and the coated ball would hopefully occupy him for a while, or at least keep him centered around one spot until we returned home.

Just as I was about to resume my morning transformation, I noticed a spot of yellow. My couch and loveseat are on adjacent walls. The living room isn’t that big, so the two pieces of furniture touch. The corner behind them is effectively cut off. I have a bookshelf and a lamp back there, plus we frequently keep a blanket of Alex’s in that corner. Spongebob was sitting on the bottom shelf partially hidden from view because of the blanket.

I put the one peanut-butter-ball near him. He promptly ignored it. I moved the blanket enough to put the other ball on the other side of the shelf. This freaked him out, and he squeezed his way around the first ball to try to escape. I put the second ball right out in front of the corner where the couch and loveseat meet. I then moved the blanket. This steered him through the tiny gap between the seats and right to the ball. I scooped him up and returned him to his cage, which he seemed quite happy to see again. By the time I showered and finished up the deogrefication process, he was fast asleep.

The best Father's Day ever!

2005-06-20T11:30:00.000-04:00

This was hands-down the best Father’s Day I have ever had.

My weekend started with a trip down to Baltimore after work on Friday to see Ms N. We dined at Ruths Chris Steakhouse on the inner harbor. Man, can they cook a steak! After dinner we walked along the harbor, sat by the water, and visited a few shops. We finally adjourned to Ms N’s place for the evening where I demonstrated my undying love for her by breaking her bedroom ceiling fan. What am I if not a romantic?

Saturday morning was beautiful. The windows were open and the fan was clunking lightly overhead. The temperature was perfect – not hot enough to sweat, not cold enough to have to find covers in which to bury my feet. It was just a wonderful morning to lie together.

We went to breakfast at one of the few places Ms N will miss when she leaves Maryland, and then we went to a nearby mall for a while to go shopping for bras and make-up. I apparently need an oil-free base if I truly want that Covergirl look. That and I may want to shave the goatee.

We missed the train I was supposed to catch in order to get the kids on time, so we drove up to Jersey. As luck would have it, X called to say that I she would keep the kids a bit longer, so that gave us time to do stuff once we got back up here. I got the kids after dinner and the four of us went back to my place. My kids are OK cleaners for everyone but me – probably in large part because I suck so horrendously at it – and my apartment generally reflects our collective lack of harmony. Ms N – Martita Estewart that she is – helped Alex and Emily go through the piles of stuff that they had in the living room (and me with my piles everywhere else). The place looks wonderful. Thank you, Ms N. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Ms N left for Maryland at the kids’ bedtime. They have taken a liking to her, which is so very nice for me to see.

Sunday was Father’s Day. My day. My day to reap the rewards of another year where I successfully avoided hospitalizing the kids with food poisoning from my cooking, got them to school on time almost every day, kept them clothed – usually in clothes that didn’t clash, and kept them content enough that I got no calls from the school psychiatrist. For one day a year, the focus is on me. It’s my choice what we do. Just about every other day of the year the focus is on them – now it’s my turn.

Yet the only thing I wanted to do on my day was watch them enjoy themselves. That is hands-down the best part of being a dad.

We got up early and took the train up to New York City. First we took Emily to the American Girl Store. She had Angela, her American Girl doll, dressed for a day of shopping (including sensible shoes). Alex brought along Croak, his plastic glow-in-the-dark cockroach. We took Angela to the boutique so she could get her hair done. Alex kept showing Croak to all the sales ladies. Andrea, the (doll) hair-stylist who was doing Angela’s new doo, offered to make a bow for Croak, too. Alex agreed, so long as it could also be used as a leash. Afterwards, as we were going through aisle and aisle of doll paraphernalia, Alex was perfectly behaved. The store is not geared around those of us with Y chromosomes in any way, shape, or form. The men’s room is in the farthest possible nook they could find. It is all-girl. There is nothing in the entire building that could possibly amuse a boy. Yet walking Croak kept him amused and occupied.

After escaping estrogen-central we started walking towards Toy Square. Most other people mistakenly refer to this place as “Times” Square, but ever since Toys R’ Us chose it for their flagship store – complete with Ferris wheel and gigantic animatronic dinosaur – Alex has used this more appropriate name. Every trip to NYC has to involve at least one visit.

On our way there, however, we discovered that they had Sixth Avenue closed off for a street fair. We decided to spend some time at the fair. We walked from 47th – the street we were on originally – up to 52nd, then turned around and went all the way down to 42nd, the end of the fair. In the mean time, we acquired a poncho for Emily, a wooden snake for Alex, and family pictures for me. Emily got to play some traditional African drums, albeit not in the traditional African fashion. We finally made it to Toy Square, where Alex picked up a shark.

Walking from Toy Square back to Penn Station, Emily’s feet began to feel the full effect of all we had done. With the exception of the 20 minutes we spend eating lunch, we had walked from 10:00 to 3:00 – from Penn Station to 49th & Fifth to 52nd & Sixth to Times Square and back. “Dad,” she said around 38th Street, “my feet are going to fall off.”

“Don’t worry, Ems,” I replied. “Pretty soon we’ll be on the train. Then you’ll have an hour and a half to rest your stumps.”

Alex conked out on the train ride home surrounded by his cockroach, snake, and shark. Emily was engrossed in her American Girl magazine. I spent the ride knowing that despite the hard times that have come my way, I am an incredibly lucky man.

Thank you, Ms N, for being there. I love you.

More P.J.

2005-06-17T15:59:00.000-04:00

On Government:

"When buying and selling are controlled by legislation, the first things to be bought and sold are legislators."

"A little government and a little luck are necessary in life, but only a fool trusts either of them."

"Politicians are interested in people. Not that this is a virtue. Fleas are interested in dogs."

"The mystery of government is not how Washington works but how to make it stop."

"The Democrats are the party that says government will make you smarter, taller, richer, and remove the crabgrass on your lawn. The Republicans are the party that says government doesn't work and then they get elected and prove it."

"Every government is a parliament of whores. The trouble is, in a democracy, the whores are us."

And on other things, like the war in Iraq:

"No, it turns out Saddam Hussein didn't have weapons of mass destruction. And how crazy does that make Saddam? All he had to do was tell Hans Blix, 'Look anywhere you want. Look under the bed. Look beneath the couch. Look behind the toilet tank in the third presidential palace on the left, but keep your mitts off my copies of Maxim.' And Saddam could have gone on dictatoring away until Donald Rumsfeld gets elected head of the World Council of Churches. But no . . ."

Moby Dick:

"There’s not a woman in the book, the plot hinges on unkindness to animals, and the black characters mostly drown by Chapter 29."

Reproduction:

"Humans are the only animals that have children on purpose with the exception of guppies, who like to eat theirs."

And fidelity:

"Never be unfaithful to a lover, except with your wife."