Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Getting Ugly on the Snuggie

Give me a minute...please...I just shot milk out of my nose from laughing so hard at my NEW favorite (BUY THIS BECAUSE YOU ARE DUMBER THAN THE MASSES) commercial. The amazing super soft luxurious fleece hands-free SNUGGY that is one light saber away from being inducted into the Star Wars costume hall of fame.

I know you hate it when the blanket is just not long enough for both your hands and your swollen feet and perhaps there truly isn't an answer to the times when you need to use your hands while you sit on your lazy ass and watch the repeat episodes of the Ginzu knives/Steambuddy/Fix-a-chip/Abtwister hour.

EVER JUST TRY putting your hands back in the blanket after you use them? I'm sure together we can find alternative solutions before we have to digress to wearing roman attire before we retire.

Does your body lose that much heat for the brief second you answer the phone under your grandma's favorite afghan? Do you truly need a RUBY RED gown made from the SHAMWOW material that cleans my car every weekend to ensure your the most stylish person NEVER?

Now, I'm a huge fan of Carol Burnett's Scarlett O'Hare and her innovative tailoring of velvet curtains into a dress within 30 seconds for Harvey Korman's Rhett Butler "WENT WITH THE WIND" circa 1978 ,but even they couldn't stop laughing during that scene because of the absurdity.

If I ever come to your house and you are wearing a one piece anything...Let's just call it what it is....A house closed.

Now please realize this ONE SIZE FITS MOST has its pitfalls. You may have a slot for your cold hands to down your Sudafed mixer, but after sitting on that corduroy couch drinking diet soda and iced tea since you awoke at 11am, you will have to get up as there is NOT an extra hole for you to relieve yourself (that is an extra $19.99). Don't forget to brush the cheese doodles off both your trailer trash tuxedo and your hands before you even get the bathroom or your new HUMAN TENT will will forever leave a bulls-eye for the family pets curiosity.

Now I do apologize if you belong to Heaven's Gate UFO cult and you are wearing Nike running shoes under that monochromatic apparel to prepare you for that infomercial in the sky known as the HOME SHOPPING NETWORK. But next time you think you found a reason to not get dressed like the rest of the world, rent the Ben Hur classic and watch what the lions did to the idiots in their SNUGGIES.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

I'm Listening, But Can't Hear a Word You Said

I do watch too much TV. I think of it like a traffic accident. I just can't look away because I feel I will miss the epitome of a 10-car pile up right in front of my eyes.

Need one more gift before the holiday? Need that little something something to truly cap off a festive season? Look no further than this amazing plastic (faux metal) box with ToysRus headphones. The LISTENUP SOUND amplifier is the cure for all who truly need to hear who hates them today.

That's right, hold this inconspicuous 1988 beeper/pager up to the world to bring in that mysterious ambient noise that you haven't been able to decipher from all the normal garbage we hear daily for a full comprehension of the moment's waste of oxygen.

I don't know about you. But do I truly want to hold this up (CHEST HIGH AND POINTED AT THE SOURCE OF AUDIO) to hear my neighbors complain about my dog's bathroom habits or how I haven't raked leaves since April?

Do I want to spend my bonus money on the ability to hear all that I have been ignoring my whole life? I don't think so. There is a reason I wait until I hear people repeat their request three times. I'm a man and I have this hope they will forget what they actually need me to do again before asking a fourth time. I perhaps see the need to bring it to church, but I might accidentally have my iPod plugged into it..HEY.... I'm JUST SAYING.

The most exciting part of this device to me is the fact that if I ever saw someone wearing this technological wonder of one AAA battery with a belt clip, I would silently mouth the Gettysburg address, laughing intermittently, to cause such paranoia and panic in this pseudo spy of the eavesdrop world, they would turn the volume up soo high, they will actually hear Arctic wolves howl for the dinner before they hear me say with complete clarity, "I just read that those devices cause incontinence in three of out four users and I just heard my neighbor has one."

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Park for your Car, not your Ego

No. You didn't just do what I think you did. What possessed you to think that your car is "all that". I'm watching you. I shaking my head hoping you just started driving yesterday. Better yet, tell me that a bug crawled up your leg and you avoided crashing by parking and swatting insects simultaneously.

OH, I recognized you now, you are the same guy who takes up a seat and a half on a plane while never removing his elbow from the middle armrest for 4 straight hours.

Yes YOU. I don't ever forget an act of selflessness. It is hard to forget someone when their whole life they have been the ones cutting in front of us in lunch lines at school, in concert lines and I know later in life you will be cutting in front of us for social security checks because the Ultimate Fighting Championship is on Pay Per View in an hour.

But this parking scheme episode where no one will be able to park within 100 ft of you is beyond an acceptable act of etiquette. Please tell me again why you have one suction cup on your windshield for your EACH of your satellite radio, GPS, radar detector, hands-free speaker, and one for your 2003 version of a Palm Pilot.

It epitomizes your life. From now on, the rest of us in your world will try to make your life comfortable in your own pathetic way.

When you sit at a restaurant, we'll give you an extra table for your ego so we don't scratch our lives with yours while we laugh at your V-neck sweater vest that was last worn during a Star Trek Convention.

When you walk in our offices, we'll give you an extra chair just for your stupidity to have a solid base not to overtake its counter of your ignorance and bad taste in cologne. What is the scent you are wearing.... "NIGHT PASTURE"?

When you drive on your road, we'll give you one extra lane to ensure your bad taste in vehicles don't stink up the interstate and our choice of transportation as we check off your air freshener as road kill afterthought.

When you stand in line for the bathroom, we'll give you an extra stall so you can have room to grow....and hope you understand concepts of overcompensating for your shortcomings.

But in the end it will all work out. As when you pass away from your diluted, customized, sugar coated world, we will also provide you an pimped out coffin with an armrest and two burial plots parked diagonal for your eternity filled abyss world of emptiness. Oh wait, that is just your car that was converted instead of recycled into next year landfill.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Life Rules by Hollywood's Finest

Saw a clip from Brad Pitt and Kate Blanchett about their parenting experiences from a recent interview on Oprah.

Can someone explain to celebrities they are not the first people in the Earth's history to ever have a child? Last time I checked, the number is closer to 1 gazillion just in the past few centuries. I mean even children in West Virgina have had children in the past few hundred years and they aren't sharing the fact that it was the best thing since they TRIED having a baby.

Brad, "You wouldn't believe it. My kids are soo funny and very smart. I'm also impervious to poo, snot, vomit etc..If you ever get a chance to have one, please do."

REALLY? You mean the rest of the universe has never met a child under the age of 10? No one, whether you are a parent or not, has any clue having a child will CHANGE your life and give you a new purpose in life.

I need Tristan/Achilles the non-committal explorer/warrior telling me that children take up time, are an amazing part of life and can create noises that are hard to define.

Hey, Mr. Jolie, can you also explain to us what it feels like to win anything in life or receive a present from a stranger.

How am I suppose to know if I awake in the morning when an alarm goes off unless Brad tells me it works that way.

Oh pray tell Mr. Tyler Durden. Please, please share with me what I should look forward to when I actually ever go to a birthday party for a child. Do they truly get a year older. I are an amazing human being sharing the fact that having a child is the best thing to ever happen to you. I was going to guess agreeing to do Ocean's 45 would be your choice, but that would just be too obvious.

Kate, "We all get old with each second, we need to appreciate our lives with them each moment." Kate, Kate, Kate, You have played a Queen in movies so often you think that we are all your loyal subjects. You are cute, but I don't need anyone telling me that each second the world goes by we get older.

I now know where to go to figure out life before I experience it. We dont need to read, listen or view life ourselves. Who needs parents when you have Hollywood's finest provide us with the rules of the world.

I wasn't going to write this post, but Brad and Kate have shared with me that sharing your thoughts with your friends, makes you a better communicator.

Kate you are soo right. I feel years older just watching that video clip of you and Brad that has now taken 10 minutes of my life I will never get back. Make that 11, I just wrote about it.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Can you STOP hearing me now?

Enough. Turn it off. Right now young lady. Yes you who has pimped out her black phone with a pink case and sparkles...Yes you too, dude with the 'tude. You are all sitting together quietly, socializing and I'm assuming that means you know each other.

So turn off the cell and the text messaging at least for the small moments you are here and pretend your mouths actually work without a silicone and aluminum candy bar up against your cheek.

One hour. Try it...Last one who gives in and touches their phone, I'll give an iTunes gift card with Leona Lewis loaded on it while she sings up to 3 octaves of no words just for the sake of noise.

Two seconds later.

BZZZZ.. wow, that wasn't even close. You all lost and it wasn't even a text message or ring tone that wore you down. It was the oven's buzzer telling you that your ThreeForALL appetizers are ready.

Excuse me? Did you really just tell me to TEXT OFF?

Now that is a fine way to speak to your elders who actually appreciate that texting is valuable when you CAN'T speak directly to someone or when you know they will get the message later-Not when they are sitting inches across from you toasting the new episode of Gossip Girl.

Dr. Martin Cooper, inventor of the cellphone, wasn't dreaming he would create such a social abyss back in 1973. He just thought it was cool to order pizza from the road before he got home from work.

The first text message ever sent was "Merry Christmas" back in 1985...but of course J. Audestad who sent it used "xmas" to shorten his effort before his manager came in to catch him texting on the job.

I may not understand the value of texting to someone sitting right across from me. But understand this, I can blog, tweet, post, txt, play music, video, send & read emails like the Tasmanian Devil on Red Bull, but I also don't use it to overcompensate the fact I still like people. Maybe not YOU five kids sitting there dissing your parents. But to the most part, I still want to have a conversation with humans that doesn't include:

"wot up?" Translation: "Good evening, how was your day? Anything interesting you wish to share?"

"nada WRUUT" Translation: "thank you for asking. My day was absent of any particular details worth sharing but what are you considering for an evening of activities tonight?"

I lv txtng, but i so mis wrds n thghts with eyes and voices tht flow wit it. GTG.. My apitzr z getn cld

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Elevator Etiquette Redux

Elevator Protocol. Someone needs to stand up for it. It might as well be you and I as you are right there in front of me ignoring me.

Gahead, pretend I’m not here. That’s right. look away, look at your feet and your hands that you have known since birth.

Don’t even ask me to push your floor's button just because I’m already pushing mine, that would be interacting with a human being without invitation. Spend that effort to push it yourself. You know your body's limitations more than anyone.

Honestly, it isn't going to add to my Todo list by pressing TWO buttons instead of ONE. It is the least I can do. I get bored easily.

Maybe some constructive advice. If we share a short elevator trip, 2-3 floors, work up a "Have a nice day" and a smile to add a courteous touch to both of our lives.

Long trip, anything over five floors, "A quick hello, smile and a nice weather conversation ending with the proverbial 'have a nice day' would make me happy."

Now that you got me started, Why in the world are you taking the elevator up only ONE flight in the first place. No.. NO. I'm sorry but we need to talk. We have at least 15 more seconds before you make your escape to a floor you could have arrived at 5 minutes ago if you walked.

I'm sure you have your reason to extend your day by waiting for an elevator and stopping the rest of us from getting to the real destinations that are above and beyond the 40 extra steps it would take to get you to put one foot in front of the other.

Let's see, you have a bunion problem? No, have vertigo? No. um..OH I get just want to test out your claustrophobia resilience on the rest of us as we all have to back up to allow you and your Samsonite-sized, fake Prada bag to fit in this canister of altitude adjustment.

If I didn't have this big sandwich, chips and drink in my hand, I'd be taking the stairs well, maybe not but I'd wait for the next elevator and share my lunch with them.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Let's go to the video tape

Tell me again why you are protecting your store's most valuable assets with a security camera/image that can't determine if the suspect is actually a person or a goat. Last time I checked, even my cell phone's video capabilities can identify and clarify a person from 100 ft. to convict them of shoplifting.

Today, there are cameras that can be either a stand alone device or connected to basic computers that are visually comparable to HDTV for under a few hundred dollars.
Why do I turn on the news and see less than a shadow of a person hit an elderly person, rob a 7/11 or steal election signs from yards from an image that has more distortion than a Zapruder film clip of a Paris Hilton night out.

What are the authorities suppose to do with this pin-hole camera view of the crime scene?

OFFICER, "What did your security system capture on the suspect?"

STORE MANAGER, "uh...he is a person....and he I mean she..I mean he is wearing clothes..and he walks with two legs...and....they left with um..stuff. lots of stuff."

OFFICER, "Any distinctive marks that we can gather from the video?"

STORE MANAGER, "Yes..definitely, He was wearing a dark sweatshirt and some other clothes. OH OH..wait..I can also see that he likes to wear hoods...DOES that help officer?"

I have some great advice for anyone who has one of these security cameras propped up in the top corner of their store, lobby or warehouse. Don't even turn it on. Save a few bucks on electricity and buy a sign instead that says (We have attack dogs on site)

You have a better chance identifying the elusive Jack the Ripper from over a century ago than you do using this grainy, .0456 megapixel camera to help keep someone from stealing your Swedish Fish from the candy aisle.
"Quick, look, the suspect smiled. Oh wait, nevermind....that was just the low bat warning light."

Monday, November 3, 2008

Just Review this blog on the days you don't Read

You HAVE to be kidding me! Driving out of the Lincoln Tunnel into the city and to see a Verizon billboard that has as much logic as building a tunnel under 4 billion gallons of water to get to an island.

A PAY-AS-YOU-GO plan is great for the 8 people on the planet who only use their cell phone in emergencies. But seeing in all its magnificent glory in a slogan that says, "JUST PAY ON THE DAYS YOU USE IT" high above my metropolis mix of 8,274,527 people who never, ever remove their cell phones from their ears just seems like a waste of billboard space.

When is the last time you ever DIDN'T use your cell phone? Maybe 2001 when you left it in the wash with your Starbucks gift card?

I'll save you time for the the next billboards in the area. Don't worry about compensating me for my ideas. I promise you its completely MY pleasure.

For Weight Watchers plan, "Only get fat on the days you eat".

For Health Insurance, "Just pay on the days you aren't feeling well".

For a college fund, "Only pay for the tuition if you kid gets a job after that doesn't include asking if they want fries with the order".

For iTunes, "Only pay for the song if it wasn't sampled, copied, repetitive, sung by John Mayer or has la la la in it".

For Poland Spring, "Pay only for the water if you can't get the same wet liquid out of your tap at home"

For the airline industry, "Pay for only the flights you actually reach your destination."

For Verizon's next million dollar idea, "How about I pay triple for the days I don't use my phone?"

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Tailored Made for Misery

OUCH. I mean...OUCH. I was fitted for a Tuxedo and I NOW know where Sadists go when they get old. My tailor looks like the sweetest elderly lady you could ever meet. She never stops saying thank you and repeatedly says OK to anything you ask regarding dry cleaning or clothes. But take a chance and ask her to take in a pair of pants and a jacket and you open the floodgates of her past life as the Pain Minister of Acupuncture .

I'm thinking a few minutes of a tug here, a fold there and a quick mark of a wax pencil with a safety pin and I'm done..outta here and off to pick up dinner.

There is a reason I don't gamble as I couldn't have been farther off and I will never, REPEAT NEVER, let this 4 ft. frame of a woman fool me again with her sweet smile. I walked out to the parking lot with the confidence knowing that my prostate is normal, I do bleed red each time I'm poked and my voice can rise two octaves with the right amount of pressure.

I forgot to ask her if she takes health care insurance because I haven't had that thorough of a physical since I played high school football.

Getting changed behind a 3 Ft. louvre screen that has as much privacy as a Swiss Spa, didn't help comfort my doubt of her tape measure prowess. She's screaming numbers out to her assistant who I never saw. (scary thought in itself). "35...... 35.5...No...35" she screams out in two different cadences.

Where am I? Is this a tailor behind me or is Tom Brady getting ready to hike a football from between my legs?

Sorry, you lost all my confidence in your statement of "NO PAIN, TWO MINUTES promise", when I asked about how all this could be done today.

So I surely don't believe you when you tell me the pin needs to break the skin to ensure a proper fit. "No lady, I'm NOT tensing up...You just happen to "grab" me to help yourself off the ground and I haven't been used like that without someone buying me at least a drink AND dinner."

I truly couldn't tell you if the tuxedo is going to fit me. But I promise my new "best friend" with a pin cushion knows more about my body shape, size, measurement and BMI than any HoMedic's scale on the market.

I walked away in complete denial, not knowing if I should be ashamed or thankful I didn't ask to have her for a second date.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Colors of the Road

Someone cooler than me in this world needs to step up. I know there are millions of you out there, and explain to us non-bikers, why your helmet, jacket, pants, gloves and boots all have to be color coordinated with your motorcycle. A cobalt blue or hot lime bike is cool as it flies by my four-wheel version of transportation but seeing you pass by with 95% of matching accessories wrapped around your body like a cheerleader on steroids kinda weirds me out.

Last time I checked there wasn't a military bike brigade looking for your muffin top body to join other Honda or Kawasaki motorcycles leading the local parade with community colors and flags of Benetton.

I get the fact you want to perhaps compliment your bike with a personal rendition of identifying with your mode of transport over the rest of the world. But I think matching your fluorescent wheel guards with your underwear sticking out like (Joe the Plumber) goes too far in your support for your brotherhood of bikers.

At least Harley riders seem to know that every bike goes with black leather. These modern stylish dudes and dudettes driving a Ninja 250 with their front V-fork matching their V-neck leather jacket and rear sock adjustable pre-load matching low riding boot cut pants will surely add to the stability of the improved chassis with diamond-type frame to match your own Square diamond-type frame.

As they say, It's a Biker thing and I wouldn't understand.

True, because from my view behind you, that little Ninja might feel like a big bike in its newly engineered 249cc parallel-Twin motor and it might match your powder blue Power Ranger gloves, but you just MIGHT be trying to overcompensate for something that I hope doesn't match anything with a cobalt blue or screaming lime green hue.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Musical Chairs

I understand freedom of expression. Music wouldn't be entertaining if it were all the same genre, sound or compilation of rhythms. But I decided to create my own rules anyway.

Rule #1. Please don't rhyme words or make up words just for the sake of rhyming.

"Me and LorenzO
sitting in my Benz-O"

I could say anything O
just to pretend I have talent O


"Had a brother at Khe Sahn fighting off the Viet Cong.
They're still there he's all gone.
He had a woman he loved in Saigon."

Bruce, have written thousands of songs...gotta have a dictionary somewhere in your house. Where does those three words express rhyme to you?


"What the deal playboy, just rest your soul.
Got these ladies on the rock now you know how we go.
Got the whole world on lock down you know how we flow."

Jay-Z.... different words, not one actually rhymes. I mean, you had three chances to find one word that matches. Even with the Internet you can find a word that rhymes with anything else except "orange".

Rule # 2. Please don't repeat the same verse more times than a human breathes in an hour. Catchy or not, if you hear that verse for two straight's not a song, it's a death march.

"Blinded by the light.
Revved up like a Deuce.
Another runner in the night
[repeat until you die a slow long painful demise]

If I wanted to hear that verse again, I'd hit repeat on my iPod.

or my new LEAST favorite of John Mayer.

His verse, "Say what you need to say...say what you need to say" [He repeats it no less than 36 times in 2 minutes.]

JOHN... Say what you mean to say..and STOP saying it.

Rule #3. Don't sample a great song from 10 years ago and then tell me you are an artist. There is a reason that people like your updated version....because the best part is what you stole in the first place.

Ok I'm done venting
I'm through chanting
I'm just saying less
to get it off my chest

and I just said what I needed to say in less time than it took John to clear his throat.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Open Sesame

I'm not a child (physically anyway). I just want to open a simple package. A package that has been around since before zip lock bags zipped, before tie wraps had ties and before Tupperware was ..well...tupper?

I need help. I need to call my grandma or someone who grew up with these simple treats of pleasure before electricity and ask them, "HOW DO YOU OPEN a graham cracker package without crushing the cracker?"

What happened in this century that banned the resealable or reusable packaging on this Graham Cracker product? Even today's cereal boxes have slowly, but methodically changed their RIP TIL IT BUSTS bags to more consumer friendly, peel, and fold back for freshness techniques.

I was desperate. I called CRIS ANGEL, the illusionist of the month from Mind Freak and he told me that he had a better chance to be invited to Houdini's return to earth than to open the cellophane packaging on this Nabisco staple without incident.

But I'm persistent and relentless. I can't sleep now until I solve this quandary so I wrote to NASA and requested two rocket scientists to prove that this separation of package to product could be accomplished without creating crumb cake crust.

Their response was disappointing. Other than asking me to NEVER contact them again or be prosecuted in federal court, they told me that if it WAS possible, they would have a budget from congress to work on this enigma of the food world.

So, I'm at a loss. I'm craving. I'm hungry and I don't want to brush the crumbs off my shirt ONE MORE SECOND. I just want to peel away the inner folds of Honey Graham harmony and snap a square to dip in my milk..

....and then.....surprisingly, I discovered a trick. It might not work for all of you....but my friends, it filled the void.

I reached down deep into my solution filled mind and decided to have an OREO.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Closed Caption for Yesterday's News

We've all been there. Busy loud public place with big screen TV's within an eye shot of your seat or perhaps you are home and having a hard time hearing the audio on your own TV. Capitalizing on the Closed Caption (CC) on the bottom of the screen is a perfect solution to ignore the rest of the world and still get your media fix.

But we seem to settle for this mediocre technology as cutting edge. This was designed to help the hearing impaired, right? But I know I'd be insulted if I was hearing impaired and the CC assumed I can't read faster than 5 words per minute (wpm). Why am I watching a story on a dying manatee on way to Florida, but reading about Palin's campaign snafu? (um...that didn't come out right)

I see the 5-day forecast is up on CNN this morning but the (cc) is telling me the Dodgers and Phillies have no love lost between each other in the NLCS. Can someone speed this scrolling version of INFORMATION KARAOKE up to at least a 4th grade reading level?

I can ignore the misspellings of hard to pronounce proper nouns. It is a machine, not an interpreter. Gee, I thought it was Sen. Joe Bitemen for a little while too until I saw his name in print. Yes, Lithuania does sound like Robin Meade has a lisp, but when she is talking about a fuzzy fruit and I'm reading about last night's talk show banter on George Bush, I get a little confused. CC is supposed to assist the comprehension of the story, not cause apprehension.

Let's settle for the opposite, shall we? Have the words scroll one news story in advance so we can decide if we want to stay and watch about a father and son in West Virgina rescued from a river or ignore it all together knowing in advance from the CC they were trying to see if a toilet seat would work as a rescue ring.

It's all about choice, options and decisions on TV and I don't want to see a headline that says, "The world to end at 7:30 today" to only see a Dancing with Stars Promo for 8:00 on my screen. I deserve a better way to die. Don't you?

Friday, October 10, 2008

Procrastinating the Inevitable

I truly was going to write this blog months ago. I was. I had it in my head. I had it outlined in thoughts and clear in scope. But I just had something more important to write about. I think it was how there should be etiquette in elevators. Or perhaps it was the blog about pretending not to see me so you didn't have to wait and hold the door. I'll get it out. I just truly wanted to write about the art of procrastinating..and I will get to it as soon as I finish my train of thought about my miserable experience at the doctor's office yesterday. I digress.

Let's just get it out of the way..NO more waiting, excuses or filler blog posts. I mean if procrastination was so bad, why do we wait four years for the Olympics? Sleep is the aphrodisiac of procrastination. Eating only prolongs the task of completing something on your ToDo list and working is the ultimate procrastination before retiring.

I know you are expecting me to finish by saying life is only a procrastination of death, but even the most cynical of people know life is really a procrastination of events until the new fall season of TV starts.

I'm just venting that delaying your tasks might have an advantage. The garage, basement and yard would never get clean in March if you didn't have taxes due in April. You wouldn't even have a credit rating if you paid everything on-time, every time in cash without getting five letters from a bill collector. What value is that unless you live in Intercourse, PA. (Amish joke...for you civilized folks)

They say never put off until tomorrow what you can do today. Who said this? George Custer? He would have had 1500 soldiers support him if he procrastinated JUST one more day.

Napoleon? If he held off trying to invade the right side of Europe until he conquered the left side of the world, he might have been named for a Continent instead of just a air filled puff pastry.

Michelangelo? If he would have finished the Sistine Chapel without procrastinating, He would have completed one wall in a month and said, "Hey Pope! Call RENT-A-HUSBAND, If you want three years of my life on a scaffold, go talk to my union rep."

I say, never finish today what you can delay to hope someone else tries to complete for you tomorrow.

It's all about pacing yourself and procrastinating this morning just prevented me from ........... .......... ..........

Go ahead, finish my blog for me. I need to do my taxes, complete my holiday shopping and save for retiring before breakfast.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Room without a View

What is YOUR self-storage rental unit telling you? We all need an additional, externally located deluxe closet for your high school mementos or an expensive option to finally be able to park your vehicle in that place called a two-car garage?

No. No silly wabbits, storage is for kids. This over sized drive thru coffin with air is telling you that if you haven't used or open a few cardboard boxes in this millennium then life is blatantly screaming you don't need to spend $99.99 a month to keep your child's first sippy cup in air conditioned, carpeted, temperature controlled filing cabinets next to your USED college textbooks that YOU STILL haven't opened. (Remember that one C- you got sophomore year in Women's Studies?)

The only thing overtaking the country's landscape in both urban and suburbia more than these shoe boxes with padlocks are Dunkin' Donuts and Starbucks. But at least they offer coffee that you never store more than 24 hours or until the next rest stop.

These (UStore it, StopnStore, Lackland, Pods, PackRat) self storage business cases were based on the fact that most Americans think of the number of possessions as their wealth, instead of the quality of their health.

I'm a sentimental, collectible, archivist as well. But I do try consolidating my memories into a 4 x 4 ft. area of my basement for photos, family heirlooms and

Yeah, laugh now, but you never know when that article from a 1989 woodworking magazine will come in handy as I finally build that amazing tree house that will use up all that lumber and rope sitting in my basement behind the furnace.

Solution of the day: Use your digital camera to photograph all the stuff you think you want to keep. After showing it to your family and friends and hearing them laugh at your 6th grade choir recital program photo or your collectible shot glasses from New Mexico...I think you will find it much easier to use that recycling bin now that you placed your poorly recorded VHS tapes of Luke and Laura's wedding on General Hospital for sale on eBay.

Monday, October 6, 2008

The New Math

It must seem that my life is spent in a line. As I run my errands throughout the week or weekend, I realize I spend wasteful amounts of time behind lines of people that just seem to believe no one watches them. To my chagrin or lack of something to do with more value, I seem to be the one who notices.

Quick lesson: When it says 10 items or less for THAT particular cashier's line. It simply means that. There is no interpretation of the law, no need to appeal, argue or gather names for a petition. It is 10 or less. If you got 11, go ahead, I'm a nice guy.

However, if you try to sneak in 19, Can I call the Handy Helper security number? Can we check your shopping IQ? It didn't say to round DOWN to the nearest 10, nor did it say to use a number that can be divisible by 10, let alone a number that can be lumped into sets. Your dozen eggs do count for one item. But your 15 individually wrapped fruits and veggies combined with the 9 wrapped deli packages do not count as ONE food group in this line mister.

I'd have more respect if you went in with 9 and got back in the same line with 9 more. At least then I would think you aren't assuming the rest of us didn't pass the 8th grade.

Yeah, yeah, we are ALL in a hurry. We all have something to do before the weekend ends. We all have something we won't be able to finish because we are stuck in this line that is supposedly an express check out. It's ok, the world does revolve around you. What else would explain your ability to cheerfully grab 7 other items, while in line, that could feed the Brady Bunch for two months when you were just gonna grab a "few things that you forgot".

The merchant gods must have been watching as the line next to you opened up for me and all your fruits and vegetables needed a price check from my favorite Cashier, so you will be here until Daylight Savings changes or until you can write, "I will not count 9 cases of Red Bull as one item 100 times, I will not count 9 cases of......"

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Coed Moment of a lifetime

As I mature and start to enjoy the little things in life, I have found any opportunity to spend a few minutes relaxing in a dry or wet sauna room after a work out cleanses my mind as much as my body.

So getting a moment, while traveling to Switzerland, to self-contemplate in a wet sauna in Basel I enthusiastically disrobed and walked into my temporary utopia to discover to my dismay that most European countries traditionally share these steamy rooms of meditation with both sexes.

Before you start thinking this is a preamble to a bad Playboy forum article, realize that I walked in on two women that were probably NOT supermodels during the early '80's. Like a deer in headlights I thought I misinterpreted the sign on the door and stepped out to look for the familiar male/female signs. When I realized IT IS WHAT IT IS, I fought the urge to be a modest American and re-entered the sauna grabbing a seat in the corner facing the door like a scorned child (NOTE: I so wish I would have grabbed a larger towel to wrap myself in.

These soft spoken Eastern European women never paused their heated conversation as I smiled with paranoia knowing I couldn't comprehend their language. They were either laughing at my bashful actions or contemplating why I haven't dropped my towel like it was some unwritten law punishable by death.

Let's be realistic, its extremely hard to relax in a steam room when your constantly flexing and sucking in your stomach for 10 straight minutes. I could have been the fittest person in the room, but that doesn't help white terry cloth hand towel create a confidence builder, let alone a body builder.

I did my required time as I wasn't going to give in to my better judgement and stood off the wooden bench to accidentally catch my towel on my size 13 feet and created a moment that only YOUTUBE and TMZ paparazzi could have made worse.

As I grabbed my dish rag and exited the most heated room I've ever experienced, I overheard the two ladies giggling, "он имеет большие ноги" which I am going to guess or hope translates to "He has big feet".

However, I should have been thankful that it wasn't a COLD sauna room or I would have been making George Costanza excuses in seven languages for the next 10 minutes.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Don't blog a gift horse in the mouth

Sitting in airport lounge that offers free drinks, snacks, wireless access and quiet comfort. I am enjoying it more because I don't usually qualify for the benefit. Then, low and behold, I sit at the bar and have my complimentary drink while a few badly matching outfitted travelers walk up next to me and grab scores of snacks out of this Stanley Cub Fruit Bowl of bliss. It is like they just suffered a national disaster and the RED CROSS finally airlifted water and grain to ease the mobs.

It's a granola bar people. Take one and go sit in your complimentary chair on your complimentary time and appreciate the little things in life. If you grab one more Little Debbies before we take off, we are going to have to check all our carry-on bags to balance out your greedy pillaging of the system. If someone offers you a pack of gum, do you take the pack or grab a stick and return the rest? When you go out to dinner and are completely full, do you ask for one more basket of bread, rolls or crackers to take it home in your Samsonite purse?

Perhaps I'm overreacting and you just happen to be the one who goes to a friend's house for a dinner party and brings a six pack but drinks a case? Or brings a bottle of wine but has your own royal size gimlet that keeps your glass filled higher than my SUV gas tank.

They just announced my flight and I would love to write some more complimentary comments about this experience, but if I don't take at least one of these stale, 6 month old granola bars for the flight, I JUST won't feel like I got my money's worth out of my trip. Anyone got a pack of gum?

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Time to Watch Curb Appeal

Whoa...Hold on just a moment. I have to stop and see that again. Just drove by your modest 1br home with a one car garage and was caught off guard by the fact your yard has enough objects and accessories to qualify for a Strip Mall.

If you aren't holding a garage sale, explain to me why you have enough junk (I mean personal items of interest) on your front lawn to qualify for two days on HSN (Home Shopping Network..Like I really had to spell that for you)

Let's be kind and say your small abode is worth $350,000. Now lets add up the 45 ft. boat, 35 ft. camper, the Belgian block driveway and retaining wall, the two ATVs, three motorcycles, a heated pool that IS your backyard (Serious, you can actually use the gas grill shelf next to the sliding door as a diving board), chain link FRONT fence, a dog house, cat house, bird house, outhouse, pool house (which is the old dog house) to come up with a conservative estimate of $900,000.

You must REALLY love that home to have more money invested in CostCo toys and yard ornaments than in the equity of your house itself.

I know, a 1/32th of an acre just doesn't hold as much junk as it did 20 years ago.

Do you come home and reflect on the fact that if you sold even 30% of your yard's value you could bail out the Mortgage Companies and leave the government out of it?

Do you ever think for a moment that Going Green doesn't count if your 150 solar outdoor yard lights took up the allotted space for grass, trees and flowers. Of course not, because you gotta love gravel landscaping next to faux bright red mulch as much as I do.

Now on the bright side, I'm sure you are going to have fond memories of being able to walk outside your paneling walled bedroom and REV up the first thing that has a dip stick. But when you can't figure out how come your credit cards unlimited limit gets limited by forgetting the minimum payment since 2003, just take out that pimped out Gokart that is one muffler short of street legal and run down to the bank to open a new line of credit.

By the time you navigate around your six cars (five that actually aren't on blocks) and find a bank to welcome you, the H&G channel will be back at your house preparing for the Before Shot of the new SHOW, "Neighbors Don't Let Neighbors Drive, Barbecue, Mow Lawns or Purchase Pink Flamingos Drunk".

Monday, September 22, 2008

Acting the Wrong Way on the Right-A-way

No..Please, it's ok. Take your time. As a human being and licensed driver, I of course will slow down as I see you beginning to cross the street in the middle of rush hour without acknowledging danger or the assumption I DON'T want to hit you.

I mean, You aren't disabled, overweight, old or have an emergency. I get it. You just need to cross the street. I understand WHY...As we ALL need to get to the other side.

But have some sense of urgency for my sake. Act like you see my 1/2 ton piece of steel and leather coming at your self indulgent smirk.

I have no problem giving you the right-a-way even when you don't wait for an intersection. But give a little back, my tortoise with a trench coat friend. Give me a wave of acknowledgement, a tiny shuffle of a step faster, something to show me you actually appreciate the fact that I could have made you a hood ornament before 9am.

I do understand. You are too proud to actually make some valiant effort to hurry yourself for anyone but yourself. You are important and to have anyone this side of your embarrassing family tree see that your effort into getting across one lane equals the 200m time of Gold Medalist Usain Bolt is unacceptable.

I'll just stop my life and watch you casually pace yourself and imagine that the next time I see your Flasher Wannabe outfit on a street, I'm going to still let you pass but perhaps skim that puddle next to you testing your waterproofed deep double stitched, buckled J. Peterman Knock off.

(Yes. Referencing Seinfeld episodes just makes me less cynical)

Thursday, September 18, 2008

It's All In a Name

Standing in line at a store with a first time mother and her precocious 4-year-old. Is there a reason some parents feel the need to share their child's ENTIRE name EACH AND EVERY TIME they address them?

The child knows his name, you have been saying it 100 times a day since you forced his dad to sign the birth certificate for your choice while you were recovering from your epidural.

I'm confused as usual, you can't actually think the rest of the world cares that you are that proud of your spawn's name.

"TIMOTHY JAMES...OH TIMOTHY JAMES you are such a smart boy."

...Lady, He just burped. My dog can do that in his sleep.

"TIMOTHY at the lady. TIMOTHY JAMES...Look how friendly you are." wasn't a smile..that was telling you that you better have bought extra pampers.

"TIMOTHY JAMES...Is that a new tooth coming in your mouth? TIMOTHY JAMES you are becoming such a big boy."

....Oh its a big tooth alright and I doubt you are going to be proud of his first name when the kids at daycare see that bicuspid coming through the door before TIMOTHY TOO---I mean JAMES does.

(yes, a little mean. but you haven't seen this tooth)

I know she is thrilled to have a strapping young boy who doesn't have a choice but to be dragged to every store she goes to as she promotes his name, heritage and IQ to the tri-county area in hopes of him running for office one day.

But if I hear TIMOTHY JAMES being called out for another inadvertent, minuscule task that every 4-year old SHOULD be able to do. I'm going to start addressing my shopping cart in front of me to scare the tooth right out of TIMOTHY JAMES.

"OH SHOPPING roll soo well....OH SHOPPING CART...your capacity to hold water, bread and milk is astounding....OH SHOPPING that a new wheel you have coming out of your axis?"

Its amazing how fast the mother and TIMOTHY JAMES leave and move to another checkout line. OH TIMOTHY JAMES' need one more kid so you just start yelling.

"Hey. YOU TWO. stop talking and quit hitting your sister".

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

A little Ink on getting Inked

Sorry. I don't get it.

Personally, I like tattoos. I think anyone who chooses artistic expression has the right to do it any way they see fit. They can be meaningful, charming and stylish.

However, I'm not into permanent marks on my body but that is because I change my mind too often to make that type of commitment.

But....If you are a blond hair, blue eyed suburban teenager, why have you chose "Asian Calligraphy" as your expression instead of something that reflects you for who you are, ..Like pertinent shopping terms. (BOGO, I'm a one-day SALE pro or I love coupons)

What is it? The year of the Clueless?

I know for a fact if I asked you to emulate your tattoo on a piece of paper you couldn't replicate, let alone recognize it.

Let's visualize together for a moment. You are sitting at the Ink shop with thousands of choices from everything from the name of your prom date who won't call you back to a dainty butterfly that you could subtly locate on your lower ankle and instead you accidentally choose the Chinese symbol for Coca Cola thinking it gives you a purpose.

You think you have the symbol for "prosperity" written on your back. But little do you know it says, "prostitution" when you raise your hand too high.

You think you are showing originality and conveying a non-conformist attitude, yet the symbol has been copied so much that FEDEXKinkos has a template in the self serve area.

You think by adding three Chinese symbols, you have added creative beauty to your pale, milky skin, yet after 20 years of aging and sunbathing, those characters, which are a precise art, will have a complete Kangxi Dictionary compiling the 47,035 symbols spread across your back.

The funny part is the average Chinese person only needs to know 5,000 symbols to read most of the language...I guarantee you can't repeat five.

When and where in your Midwestern upbringing watching Law and Order SUV were you influenced by Far Eastern cultures?

The next time you decide to add culture to your self, try reading or learning a foreign language first. Because if you did, you would realize your tattoo you thought said, "wonderful goddess" mistakenly reads, "thoughtless wonder".

But as long as you can show it off to your friends and are just waiting for a text message from your prom date anyway.

Friday, September 12, 2008

No Pain No Gain

Hi. Yes YOU. The one who isn't sweating after 20 minutes of riding a bike. Perhaps I can shed some light on the issue of you still haven't lost that college 20 you gained since 1993.

I know no one loves to exercise. We deal, adapt and enjoy the benefits, but we don't love it like we love chocolate or sleep.

But I was behind you on a treadmill and saw your attempt at fitness on the lifecycle and I just have to comment.

First of all, If you bring a cup of coffee and a newspaper to workout, you have already disrupted the fitness gods, they will not be on your side when you get on the scale later today. I know, TRUST ME.

Second, to actually benefit from working out, your heart rate needs to be a higher number than your waist size. Not trying to be mean, only helpful, (wink) but if you continue at that record pace of 3 mph so you don't spill your latte grande you might actually gain 5 lbs before you decide you are spent for the day. Seriously, you almost look as if you are going backwards.

Third, Yes, your iPod will get tangled in your pedals if you stick it in your short's pocket REPEATEDLY not learning from the the first dozen times it falls on the ground and you blurt out, "Oh NO, AGAIN?"

I know I shouldn't shrug my shoulders and sigh out loud when I address this with you but what is with that SUNDAY TIMES on your lap while you look as if you are churning butter at an AMISH farm with your legs? What are you trying to accomplish other than increasing your SUDOKU puzzle muscles? You can't be doing the CROSSWORDS as you answered the FIVE letter word for late night meal as "TGIF's"

I'm sorry. The towel? What is that for? um...its to wipe the spills from your latte off of the heartbeat monitor so it can show the next person that they have a heart.

Cause after writing this, I supposedly lost my right to express mine.

If exercise was supposed to be fun, it would be called binging.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Style for Sale

I swear it's Déjà vu all over again as I passed Real Estate signs this weekend. I must have missed the lesson in life where people from the same occupation all need to resemble each other.

Every For Sale sign in my neighborhood, whether its a global company or a local firm, they all must hire the same men and women. In their self promoting photos, where else do you see the same hairstyle, over exaggerated smiles and make-up on a Real Estate sign (....and that is just the men).

PS. Knot's Landing/Dynasty called, they want their shoulder pads back.

Some one in the real estate industry needs to stand up and say, I'm not a conformist and I'm going to wear a non-matching pant suit without accessories that has a picture that makes me look like I'm running for Miss Congeniality.

Do they spend all their commission on hair spray and eye shadow? Do they go to the same Beauty Salon and ask for the ReMAXCOLDWELLWEICHERT shampoo and cut?

Drive by any open house and the local Stepford wives and husbands will gratefully greet you at the front door with either Old Spice aftershave or Liz Taylor's Purple Diamond perfume stifling the air as they open their Encyclopedia Britannica size Filofax (um...ever hear of a PDA?)

Now to me, it's all good except the fact when I think I'm stuck in traffic thinking it was an accident and instead find out my delayed journey is the result of LYNN MARIE JOHNSON's "OPEN HOUSE" signs she is placing on the highway median every 1/4 miles with her pointy pumps still on. This is when I start to pray for higher interest rates.

I guarantee in her past life, she was either a Dental Assistant or Teacher's Aide but that 3% commission was getting too small to allow her to afford nude stockings.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Thanking You for Thanking Me

I don't care that you had to give up your precious tanning time to come work at FOOD&STOP-RITE from the brutal hours of 6-8 pm. I truly don't want to hear about your boyfriend calling you on your cellphone because you didn't answer his text to remind you to bring home more Ball Park Franks and Mountain Dew. I'm the one impatiently waiting to check out in the only non-express, no-cash, no candy, no children aisle because I literally have 13 items. I just would like a little courtesy and a thank you when I'm done. That's it...You don't even have to mean it.

When I was your age, we had to check out groceries without conveyor belts, bar codes and digital scales FOR 10 MILES, UP HILL, BOTH WAYS IN THE SNOW.

But no matter how rough we thought we had it, we did manage a smile, a thank you and even a "how ya doin'?'" for good measure.

If you are going to work in the service industry, you can get away with being lazy, inept and unreliable...but to not be polite and considerate to the patrons is just unacceptable.

I just spent over $150 in whole wheat grains, vegetables and fruits and you can't even say, "thank you for shopping with us" as I carry the plastic bags I asked you to NOT use as I walk out the door.

I'm the one who lifted the over-sized dog food bag on the belt for you to scan so you didn't have to move, bend or breathe hard from your throne of existence. I'm the one who ran to get you a price check on the potatoes because you can't read your produce list, or any multiple syllable words for that matter. NOTE: It's Whole Grain, not HOLEGREEN

I only ask that when the next person in line asks you to verify a price on McCormick Condiments, you don't respond on the intercom to the world, "Can I get a price check on McCondoms?"

I wouldn't even mind so much except the irony is as I walked away, I for some reason thanked YOU and said, "Have a nice day."

Friday, August 29, 2008

Flashes of Brilliance

Hmmmmph. Whether you were watching the DNC convention with 80,000 people or the Yankee game with 55,000, you would have seen an amazing view of stadium flashes, clicks and anxious people taking photos of the moment that will last a lifetime.

The fireworks effect of seeing all these smart, loyal fans flashing across your TV screen at the moment a candidate arrives or a batter hits his record home run resonates through the TV screen as the rest of us watch or sit by passively wondering the same thing:


Seriously, I know you think this life is all about you. But a flash is good for 8-12 feet MAX, not a quarter mile to light up A-Rod's dimples. It's good to shoot the hot dog guy as he hands you back zero change, but it's not going to lighten the stadium shadows just for you. Just not gonna happen.

Try keeping your hand still and shooting it without flash and perhaps with all the other "intelligent" people in the stands flashing at the same time, They will light your subject for you.

Can I state that any clearer? Your flash is not going to light up a stadium, gymnasium, field, or your child's ballet recital while you hang over the balcony and yell, "One more honey, I'm waiting for the flash to recharge."

Next time you sit near me and start taking flash photography aimed at center fielder who is farther away than your next record SAT score, perhaps I'll ask if you want me to take one of you with him in the background. Because with your AMAZING camera and a Cashew size flashbulb embedded in it, I'm sure I'll get one of you and Johnny Damon that you will want to frame in your bedroom next to your CHIA PET.

"I'm sorry, you're asking what is that shiny spot behind you in the picture?...Why its all your 1000's of friends who took the same photography class in Middle School. Next time, shall I get them in the shot too, because I'm sure you are the only one in the world who has a SUPER FLASH".

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Roughing it on Broadway

I'm confused. I mean more than usual. I'm trying to pass your SUV on steroids and see it has more accessories than an Imelda Marcos walk in closet. It’s a vehicle, not testing facility for the Discovery Channel.

Tell me, are you going camping or did you just get done looting the Sports Authority?

From bikes to kayaks to tents and duffel bags. From GPS and iPods to Bluetooth headsets to Satellite radios. What ever happened to roughing it without a Four Seasons Hotel room key?

What does SUV mean to you? Stuff Until Vomit.

The irony is I guarantee you aren’t traveling farther than to the first road that doesn’t have a traffic light. I can see you unpacking in front of a Rain Forest Café because you saw a tree that didn’t have a bike rack near it.

Dude, save the thousands of dollars you spent buying items that said “titanium”, “halogen lit” or “aerodynamically infused technology” and buy a plane ticket to Wyoming where no matter what town you land in, you will already be roughing it 10x more than what I see you stuffed into your Swiss Army Knife with wheels.

Wouldn’t it make you feel better just to buy an Xbox360 with a First Person survival game. I’m sure your muscles would appreciate the fact that you aren’t trying to prove to the world that you and survivalist Lance Armstrong only have ONE thing in common-YOUR yellow wristbands.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

It's a Numbers Game

What’s your number?

Quick, other than your home number, recite the next five numbers listed in your cell phone.

NO, NO, not the speed dial number 1-9. We are talking 10 digits my friend. Ten numbers that are forever forgettable unless you are Rain Man. Cell phones have given us 24/7 access to our friends and loved ones. But it has done permanent damage to our chances of ever winning on a game, I like to call, Cell Phone Go Fish… “um..does your number have any 3’s?”

Pop Quiz: You are on vacation without your phone charger as your cell just went dead. Call your voicemail from a pay phone to see if you missed an important call. (’s that Time Machine looking booth behind the liquor store takes that scarce monetary coins called quarters)

Can’t remember the number? Perhaps you should try your sister in Seattle? I know that it has a 7 in it. How’s your daughter’s cell phone number coming? Any clue?

Just what I thought.

We have become slaves to our own digital demise. With a combination of everyone having home, office and cell numbers to remember, we trust our silicone friend with every important digit instead of even trying to contemplate a short term memory of the numbers.

You can’t walk past five people in public without two of them holding a phone to their ear. The other three are texting the other two to return their text so they can call their friends to text the message they received yesterday from the VM that was part of the picture message that never got forwarded to the mobile IM message that was emailed to their mobile address, while it simultaneously updated on their Facebook account during the download of a new ringer from Beyonce as they text vote their opinion to who should be the next American Idol.

Ahh. But I digress as usual.

I have solved the problem. I just print out all the numbers on a lined piece of paper that has letters to organize by name.

Um. why is called an address book, but mine is really really small and I only use it when my cell phone is dead without a charger.

Does anyone have the number for Dominos?

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

If Only You Could Eat This Ticket

I’m in a long line at convenience store. I just want to buy a newspaper and a bottle of water. Didn’t realize QuikChek changed its name to SloMoChek as an aspiring elderly Marlboro Man with his three adolescent children is in front of me in the only open register buying lottery tickets.

Visualize Dennis Hopper without a bath, unmatched sandals or Speed Stick. I’m more concerned that he is NOT interrupting my few minutes of life by buying milk, bread or even a Twinkie for his tax write-off dependents.

He is stealing my precious earth’s oxygen by spending his morning and an entire new crisp $100 bill on lottery tickets.

Keep in mind, he wasn’t considering only buying 10 or 20 tickets and spend the rest of necessities. He was animate about using (what it looked like) his monthly salary on pink and white slips of papers with his favorite numbers on them.

“Boxed, straight, match these birth dates, anniversary dates and my third wife’s (accidental) death certificate date”. Someone needs to educate him that there isn’t a number 65 month or a number 45 day on any calendar since 2500 B.C.

I stood behind him (actually a few feet back for safety and sterility purposes), not knowing to laugh at the event or cry as I watched the counter clerk, repeatedly asked him to clarify the numbers for the next 15 minutes. I’m not a big gambler, but if I have a choice of fruit and veggies over the 1,000,000,000 to 1 odds of winning anything but a gift basket with more lottery tickets in it, I think I got that decision down pat.

Can we please have a law against anyone spending more than 5x their life savings under their mattress on anything but food, shelter and HBO?

Isn’t there a 1 800 Don’t be Stupid hotline for those who put their family’s care behind their need to stay up to 10 p.m. and watch a local woman who patterned her dress style on Sex in the City from Season One screaming the number of the white ping pong ball that pops up in front of her. Boy, I’m so much more in awe of Vanna White than I was yesterday.

The saddest fact is that even if he ever wins this life changing score of millions. There is no sign or confidence that any of the winnings would go anywhere other than on the next dog race, horse track or political candidate who wants to legalize body odor as a new energy source.

I did get my paper and my water. I sat in my car, opened the lifestyle section and saw a man from Arkansas who won $10 million yesterday. His biggest revelation, “I can’t wait to get back to WalMart as I have a deep fryer on Lay-a-Way.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Searching For All The Answers

It's before 5 a.m, so pardon the thought process. With that being said, even at this ungodly hour, if you search for something specific in the year 2008, you would think it would be relatively easy to find it on the world's biggest search network.

When I search for New World Tragedy, I don't want to see the recent Paris and Lindsay fight with Lauren and one of the Simpson sisters (I think the one without the nose job)

When I search for Meaning of Life, I shouldn't see McCain and Obama banner ads float by my result index. “The Meaning of their ad budget that we are funding with political donations maybe. Life? I don’t think so.

When I search for History of Economics, I shouldn’t have pages of Michael Phelps’ new endorsement deals. (But it does make me want to clean my pool)

When I search for stars, I never..I mean NEVER have to see a link of any American Idol contestant, Justin Timberlake or a Jonas Brother. (Asteroid maybe, but star, please)

When I search for used cars, I shouldn’t have to see any “Pimp My Ride” wannabe with candy apple paint and a fondue kitchen in the back seat and 7 LCD screens embedded in the Corinthian leather.

When I search for top news, I shouldn’t be linked to TMZ, Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood. Seriously after watching that for 3 straight hours a night, it gets old..Trust me.

When I search for me, I shouldn’t get some college kid with same name who loves to YouTube himself playing Quarters with Lime Vodka. I mean, no one had video cameras when I went to school…I don’t think.

When I search in the search, I should find the phrase, “Maybe you should have paid more attention in school, and you wouldn’t have to ask these questions today”.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Smile, You're on TV

Am I the only one who looks at the Women's Olympic gymnastic team and sees nothing but misery?

Count the smiles you see throughout the weeks in Beijing and you will only see ONE...when the Gold Medal is awarded. The rest of the time, no matter the angle, the score or whether they reached the height requirement to go on the Big Kid rides at Disney Asia, you will never see them happy.

I don't care how much you can stick your bum out after a routine routine or that you ignore the fact you wake up with a wedgie each day. Is the 10 years or more of your life listening to the Soup Nazi coach scream "No food for you" truly worth that chance to travel to China? They say it costs over $150,000 or more to train an Olympic athlete. Last time I checked you can get a first class ticket and stay in Beijing for 6 months for about $15,000 and smile hourly.

Each story you read about the dedication of these mini girls, you hear about it was always their mother's or father's dream to raise an Olympic champion. How about dreaming that your daughter can choose their own dream, eat a Wendy's Baconator sandwich once a month so they smile more than once every four years. My Cynical Soup Nazi says, "NO more Daughter's for you".

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Saving Face on Facebook

Who are you kidding with the cropped version of your photo at a wedding from last spring's social season.

This is Facebook, not DeFacebook. Remember, when we can only see half a shoulder, 3/4 of your hair and part of your chin is missing, we know its more that just a HE/SHE now missing from your life's picture. Perhaps you have a few more issues that can't be removed by a cutting board.

Pulease, you have to have at least one decent picture that doesn't have an EX-someone or other in the frame. If you have to, go back 10 years. We would rather see you high school prom picture than your scorned version of MTV NEXT. I'm trying to figure out what you are trying to prove. Perhaps that you have to share with your social networking universe that you have separated this person from your life including any emulsion, digital or Polaroid you ever taken together.

Actually, it shows that you think this is the (only) hottest shot of you at the best time of your life. Do you want this un-friendly ghost from image's past to know that you haven't felt any more beautiful than when you were still together?

If you can't post a new pic of JUST you or at least you and your best friends binge drinking to forget the fact this digitally cut out individual still is part of your Friend's list, cancel your account and go back to AOL groups.

Ever hear of PHOTOSHOP? Fade, dissolve or add a new love to your over exposed life with a touch of a button-ANYTHING but this kindergarten scissor effect of you trying to keep that one fun night with your EX alive when that dress...THAT dress just wasn't all that anyway.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Stressed Out Over Stress Test

I guess when you hit a certain age, you can't even bend over without having to get a physical or stress test first. Either that, or there is an arcade game in every doctor's office that doesn't take change, only co-pays. I found out the hard way and $40.00 in quarters later.

I had my first stress test this morning. Nurse asks me, "How you feeling today?" Let's see, you are shaving my chest with a Dry Bic Razor, sticking a cold wet (for lack of a better term) pastie on 8 different spots on my body and preparing me to get on a treadmill that was last serviced during the Spanish Inquisition with a tackle box with wires attached to my hip with most of my clothes off. "Um..I'm just ducky, thanks for asking."

Watching the heart monitor while I WAIT and wait for the doctor...SEE back issue blog

The monitor says I'm actually living for the moment at 45 beats per minute (bpm). Isn't that closer to unconscious than awake? As I think of the net results before I even step a foot on the treadmill, I watch my stress anxiety take the bpm's up all the way to 75 and I'm not even standing yet.

Cardiologist comes in and tells me to start walking slowly. (What? after sitting here waiting for 45 minutes, you want me to crawl on this rubber hamster wheel without stretching? Isn't that grounds for malpractice?)

I courageously say, "Crank it up doc, You told me to Fast before showing up and I need to eat something before my stomach sets off a need for a G.I. test."

Did I mention his lab assistant is taking my blood pressure every other minute. (HELLO, if you want me to finish this micro marathon sometime this morning, don't ask me to take my hand off the safety rail for 20 second intervals so you can squeeze my armpit and cause my arm to go limp)

After 10 more minutes, they elevate the treadmill to the Mt. Fuji setting and the assistant "accidentally" hits the 18 mph on the dial. At that moment I swear if they don't give me a Gold Medal just for surviving this race of life, I'm going to protest to the AMA and demand a new judge. --WHAT? too much Summer Olympics in my life this week?

I finish, I live, I scream (silently of course) as she rips my new hairless circles off my (NOW) pasty white skin and they tell me I'm fine until next year.

I dress, I jump in my car, open a energy bar I had just for this purpose and it has melted against the wrapper so I'm sucking the chocolate out of cellophane. Someone take my stress setting now, as I wouldn't even pass the WalMart employee exam. Plus, I hear the "Say Welcome in the first three seconds of observing a customer" section is a bear".

Monday, August 11, 2008

Tradition Smadition

Gotta love Major League Baseball. If you are not sure why it is appealing, but find yourself watching it as much as I do-Here could be the appeal. Where else in the world do they force 65-year old men/managers to wear a children's baseball uniform? They are supposedly the leaders of the free world of the Diamond, not a homeless dude who chose a second hand Little League uniform over a camouflage WWII uniform at a flea market.

Do you need to wear that fine blend of stripes, elastic and butt enhancing material to pick your nose on TV, (oh wait, that is just a sign to steal second base) spit tobacco/gum in the dugout or kick dirt and yell obscenities to another overweight, elder gentleman who is wearing a similar tight poly nit black umpire uniform. I haven't quite comprehended the value of wearing the knickers past the age of 12.

Is this why we enjoy America's Favorite Past time? Or is it the fact we only have 24 hours in a day and most of today's games take up 1/4 of it. I think of baseball like the sport version of a soap opera. I could miss three weeks worth of episodes and when I return, the same plot line hasn't changed. You would return to see the same pitcher struggling to get an out while the same all-star slugger is in a hitting slump since May (Going 0-38 should mean you owe the fans $23 million).

If there is any sport that needs to be digitally recorded to be played back without all the filler its baseball. You could watch an entire game with your DVR in about 23 seconds. But then you would miss all those shots of Wilford Brimley separating the sunflower seeds from his mouth to hit the pitching coach's butt from 12 feet out.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Don't Mettle with the Five Rings of Sportsmanship

There is a reason the Olympics only come every four years. (correct that)-two years, but four for each season.

It takes at least that long for the Media to come up with life stories for every athlete. Is there one participant that didn't go through hardship of a great great grandparent who died recently or one who has a hangnail just before the Games end? Is there one without a sibling suffering from inoperable stubbornness, one who didn't suffer an economic injustice of having to pay for their own gas or a severe case of acne growing up in an disadvantaged environment?

It's the Olympics, not Survivor-Beijing. Win the Gold and get your face on the cover of a Wheaties box and a guest shot on The Tonight Show.

Lose, and end up stuffing your face with Froot Loops and watching old shows of the Wide World of Sports with you starring in the Agony of Defeat.

It's not that hard to enjoy the Games of the Olympiad. It's just hard waiting 7.5 hours to see one actual event after watching All-American and native Texan Tommy Brown's life be drawn out on the T.V. screen only to watch him come in of 8.

Friday, August 8, 2008


Years ago it started with a small peacock and three letters in the lower right corner. An almost nonchalantly array of hiding nothing of importance.

But each year the TV networks get bolder and more intrusive adding to their graphics and stats while the actual show becomes only a thumbnail of existence.

When I'm watching a football game, I do want to see the score and the down/yds to go. But you don't have to use up a Manhattan billboard of the actual screen to prove your point.

When I'm catching the Headline News, I don't need to see stocks, weather, the time in Paraguay, a Paris Hilton sightings recap and product placement ads all framing the postage stamp image of the story I'm trying to watch. One graphic at a time would be sufficient.

When I'm watching a suspenseful or drama movie on cable, I don't want to see a person poke their head in superimposed from another show on the same network acting like they are part of the plot line. (Note to network honchos: Seeing Holly Hunter wearing a sundress to promote her show as I am waiting to see if Detective Sipowitz is going to go off the wagon or smack his partner doesn't make me add to my Tivo schedule anytime soon.)

I might as well listen to the radio, for as little as I actually SEE on my big screen TV anymore. I blame MTV (do I sound like anyone's father yet?). I knew when they started that irritating technique of the shaking camera, adding a short micro second bursts of an image, can't see a face for more than a speed of light moment, we were going down a slippery slope of digressing the initial technology of creating TV in the first place.

(NOTE for educational purposes: If you divide a still image into a collection of small colored dots (pixels), your brain will reassemble the dots into a meaningful image-the definition of how a TV works)

My brain has enough issues trying to see if Lauren from the Hills and Kim Kardashian are ever going to combine forces and defeat the Style Villains of LA than to decipher a half dozen additional graphics, stats and scrolling messages that have invaded my own grey matter.

Instead of adding to our brain freeze, let's create a channel of only long visual camera takes, conversations that last more than a text message and plot lines that have a beginning, middle and climax. The only graphic I want to see is the title of the show flash in front of me and a quick "THE END" so I know I can flip to SportsCenter.

If I need more information, I'll just click the Google function on my cell phone screen. My only issue is my phone is too small and I wish they would remove the images and show all the cool graphics and stats available scrolling by my phone network. Wink

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Can I Sell a Vowell

After the Evening News and Jeopardy happens to land one of the most challenging shows on TV. Forget knowing (in question format of course) which century did the aggressors challenge the economic development of the Spanish Inquisition by the accused heretics who brought general population before the tribunal and given no chance to confess their heresy against the Church before they were publicly killed or sentenced to a life in prison.

(um. Alec, what is the 5th Century?)

The Wheel Of Fortune provides the utmost skill and knowledge I have ever witnessed last night in between Vanna and Pat sharing a pair of wax lips with each other to add humor fill for the 30 minute show of intellectual brain fodder. With a majority of the following puzzle (AN INVENTOR) on the board solved


and only vowels left, a contestant actually bought a vowel to bring her colossal winnings from $200 down to $100. But the bigger issue was, YOU GUESSED IT, she bought a "R".

I truly love this country and its diversity, its entertaining value of game shows that turn into the car wrecks where we just can't drive by and ignore the victims.

Perhaps as "Jeopardy" and "Who Wants To Be a Millionaire" have written entry tests for their contestants, I think Wheel of Fortune and Deal or No Deal should as well.

Sample 1st question: "Do you know Pat and Vanna's last name? (100% accuracy will be recorded). "Can you name Britney and her Jamie Lynn Spears' children and their age? (98% accuracy). "Can you name at least two states and one country not including Arkansas and America?" "OK. you are right, that is a trick question" One more, "If you spin a wheel clockwise will it tell time?"

I would laugh along with this show more often if I didn't recognize these are the same people who think the moon actually gets closer and bigger as it nears the horizon and that the sun revolves around the earth (OK know some you had to think about if you knew that or not as well. Just making sure you are paying attention (go to Google if you doubt me).

This fall's new game show should play with audience's mind. How's this for a idea:

Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

Um, Pat. I'd like to buy a biran, a herat and some corague becusae three is no plcae lkie hmoe

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Running on Empty

Ran in a local 5K last night. Hold on.. Just a minute.

Ok. I'm still trying catching my breath 12 hours later.

5K=3.2 miles of nature, peace, exhilarating stimulation for the entire body and an incredible amount of pain and suffering. Sorry, but there is a reason that New Balance uses the slogan HATE/love to RUN.

It is a great sense of accomplishment when you actual finish the race, but so is completing the Sunday NY Times crossword and my body doesn't hurt when I do that unless I'm bench pressing the circulars in between Ups and Downs word hints.

When did they start allowing children to run in adult races? I wouldn't mind it if they weren't discussing "Gossip Girl" and the "Teen Choice Awards" as they pass my ASSpiring quest for finishing the race still living.

Then there is the tortoise and the hare syndrome. The running wannabes who take off in a full sprint only to be passed by me trucking along at a steady pace of molasses just trying to remember how to breathe. (Is it inhale first, exhale second or vice versa?)

I would have finished in under a day in a half, but they also allow motivated obsessed parents with running strollers on the course. I actually ran more like a 10K trying to pass Wyoma and Grady with their Double Wide pack of babies on a path with no emergency pull off lane. Yep, up hill I'm shooting by them as they curse the fact they didn't use birth control, and downhill, I see them whizz by me like an XGames HalfPipe exhibition.

Next up is a Duathalon (bike/run combo) I thought I would punish myself to sit behind spandex and florescent UGLY extra tight shirts to motivate me to design a new race--STROLLER DERBY sponsored by extra baggy pull ups and fluorescent BabyGap shirts.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

I Need a Little Off the Top

At a strip mall and stuck between a QuikChek, a Chinese Restaurant and a "WE BUY GOLD FOR CASH" store was one of the thousands of America's favorite hair salons. Little did I know why they call them "strip" malls until now. Only cheap hair salons can come up with names that rival Go-Go Bars for self-pundits.

From THE PRIME CUT, to THE CUT ABOVE. From HAIR PORT to SOPHISTICUTS' HEAD CLIP JOINT. The names themselves should make you avoid getting your hair cut here unless you have lice or want lice. (Either way you lose and they win a customer)

I challenge anyone to walk into any of these fine slice of American Pie and trust the fact you will walk away with anything but a Power Mullet or a 80's Hair Band Perm. Take note: Have you looked at what style these "beauticians" themselves have opted for? Realize they haven't had a new style magazine in the waiting room table since Charlie's Angels "the TV show", not the movie, aired in 1976, but YOU are going to trust them with the one part of your body you can't hide at school or work?

From hair color that even the Mother Nature rejected to flips, curls, comb-overs and shags that put serious doubt that the US has ever evolved since the Cold War. I'm not even going to comment on the advice provided in these modern day Coiffures that double as a nail specialist institution. "No, No, honey even if you're 75, you should have your hair still down to your lower back." "Oh girlfriend, its a lovely shade of Red, don't even worry about what your boyfriend Ned thinks." or my personal favorite, "I feel the urge to emulasatalate (no clue) and simulcast Victoria Beckham and Katie Holmes with one wave of my magic scissors. You are so gonna love it Honey."

The good news is that for $9.95, I can get a shampoo, cut and advice on how to avoid toenail infections all within one store away from selling my gold tooth.