Last night I was invited for dinner at Amy and Adam's. Amy made a great salad and a chicken and rice dish out of the church cookbook that was the very definition of comfort food. And as importantly, I didn't have to cook it, or clean up after it for the first time since Sunday morning. Fending for myself when I have become accustomed to Emily doing a lot of the cooking gets old soon. Especially when I am only cooking for myself. Em and I are great audiences for each others' cooking and without the adulatory conversation, a good meal just seems like a good meal.
Long story short, Em comes home today. She will want me to cook since she has been on the road all week and will want "home cookin'". I want to get in the Vette and enjoy what promises to be a wonderful hot and sunny evening and go grab a burger and some ice cream. I'll let you know how it turns out.
(Edit: This plan has been approved as presented and so the motion carries! Take that, Congress! That's how we get it done in our house.)
____________________________________________________________
As I mentioned, Em is coming home today. I need to clean this crap-shack up. Well, not really. I kept up on the dishes, but I need to make the bed. I left laundry in the drier, so that's back on in a vain attempt at removing wrinkles.
I like to come home to a clean house. I could spend all day cleaning and Em wouldn't notice if it was clean or dirty. So, I guess I won't put a lot of effort into it. It is a work day, after all.
____________________________________________________________
Skylar, our Niece is coming for the week tomorrow. Em and I were planning on taking her to Michigan's adventure on Sunday, but I have to go to the powerboat races sponsored by my company and be a salesman this weekend.
So, since I am working the weekend, I won't feel too bad about taking Wednesday off to go to the amusement park.
____________________________________________________________
Warren Zevon themed Facebook status week comes to an end today with the ubiquitous "Werewolves of London".
You can be forgiven if you don't know anything of his songs except for 'Werewolves', but if you know who Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt, Bruce Springsteen and Bob Dylan are, then you know many more of his songs than you think you do.
Zevon died in September of 2003 from Mesothelioma after years of hard living and avoiding doctors. Doctors were a great fear of his and a consistent theme in his songs throughout his career. He was 53 years young when he succumbed. Like Michael Jackson and Amy Winehouse you really couldn't imagine Zevon living to ripe old age. He said to David Letterman (a long-time promoter and 'friend' of Zevon's music), that he lived like Jim Morrison (of the Doors) but for 30 years longer. It seems like while the rest of us mourn only having Warren Zevon for such a short time, he was pretty impressed he made it that long.
As a song writer, Zevon was odd and unconventional. He studied with Igor Stravinsky as a youth and so his songs often have a modern discordant feel to them, much like Stravinsky's groundbreaking work; which, like Zevon's could not be considered approachable by any measure. Warren Zevon was an amazing pianist. Some of his songs never became hits because of their complexities, length and feel that they were more like symphonettes. His odd lyrics and subject matter didn't help any as far as mass appeal is concerned.
Even the lyrics to 'Werewolves' have a hidden sardonic meaning. The werewolves of London being the finely dressed young men he encountered while living in Spain who were always on the prowl for older wealthy women to suckle off. That dark meaning behind the obtuse lyric is belied by the good natured music over top.
This most 'poppy' song of his was helped along by Mick Fleetwood and John MacVie of supergroup Fleetwood Mac, adding the pumping bass line and barely controlled drum line underneath Zevon's bouncy piano vamp. It is said that the song was flat and simply not working in the studio with session musicians when Zevon heard his friends from Fleetwood Mac were recording across town. They were summoned and stepped into the breach. The result is the infectious pop groove that is still fresh 35 years on.
So, why Zevon week? It isn't the anniversary of his death or anything. I just sometimes get in a mood. This was my mood this week. And while Warren Zevon was not a great man by my definition of greatness, he certainly was a great talent and a fascinating enigma.
Warren's last track on his last album, recorded while he was in the final stages of his disease beseeches us to "Keep me in your heart for awhile..."
You don't have to worry about that, Warren. You've got a permanent spot in mine.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
The Culinary Exploits of a Temporary Bachelor Day Two Continued
Ok, so I can't spell. But that's fine because I have a number of other very marketable skills. I can cook and clean and do the wash. I can fix a car. I can do some carpentry and electrical. So, you are all either too nice to point out I have been misspelling bachelor, or you are all quietly sniggering away at my expense.
Regardless, today is a study in contrast. I have gotten so much done the morning has been a flury of activity. Almost a week's worth in one short morning. I am feeling much more positive about life in general since I have cleared up some things with a friend and colleague and the weather is so nice I opened the windows. I can hear the birds and the breeze and the kids and the sirens and the cars between the fits of sneezing and blowing of my nose.
I guess you take the good with the bad.
Regardless, today is a study in contrast. I have gotten so much done the morning has been a flury of activity. Almost a week's worth in one short morning. I am feeling much more positive about life in general since I have cleared up some things with a friend and colleague and the weather is so nice I opened the windows. I can hear the birds and the breeze and the kids and the sirens and the cars between the fits of sneezing and blowing of my nose.
I guess you take the good with the bad.
With all this contrast from yesterday, I felt from a culinary standpoint, I should do the same. Here is lunch:
I Admit, it is the same lunch I have had now three days in a row, so my basic premise of this being a contrast simply doesn't hold water. Let's call it poetic license and pretend for the sake of my angle that I have been eating bacon and mayonnaise sandwiches for lunch.
Classic Grilled Chicken Salad:
Fresh Romain Lettuce
Favorite Cheese(s)
Fresh Tomato (roma is best)
Fresh Onion (red is best)
Grilled chicken breast
Homemade croutons
Favorite dressing
Simple. Elegant. Delicious. Filling.
For this one, I did not have a roma tomato or red onion, so a beefsteak and a Vidalia substituted. Therefore I used three cheeses just to keep things healthy. I cubed a mild and a sharp cheddar and a mozzarella.
Since I don't like white onions and cheddar cheese with vinaigrette, I used ranch; because I wanted to keep it healthy and low calorie.
I grilled the Chicken on Saturday and have been using it daily in the salads. Emily makes the croutons. simply cube french bread and drizzle with olive oil and bake until about 1/2 way a crouton in an oven. Let's say at 350 because I don't really know. Put them in a sealed container to keep out moisture. Before using, simply pop in the toaster oven or oven oven and finish the croutonization process. Voila! Now, I admit, I can't not season things, so if I were making the croutons, I would sprinkle my favorite herbs on before the initial croutonization process, then the oil and herbs would soak in flavoring the bread during the final croutonization. Can you tell I am just looking for excuses to egregiously use the word croutonization?
For once, I used all the lettuce before throwing it all away. None too soon as I have lunch engagements for the rest of the week. I left just enough for tonight's gourmet burger redux! Mmmmmm, burger redux...
Bon Appetite!
I Admit, it is the same lunch I have had now three days in a row, so my basic premise of this being a contrast simply doesn't hold water. Let's call it poetic license and pretend for the sake of my angle that I have been eating bacon and mayonnaise sandwiches for lunch.
Classic Grilled Chicken Salad:
Fresh Romain Lettuce
Favorite Cheese(s)
Fresh Tomato (roma is best)
Fresh Onion (red is best)
Grilled chicken breast
Homemade croutons
Favorite dressing
Simple. Elegant. Delicious. Filling.
For this one, I did not have a roma tomato or red onion, so a beefsteak and a Vidalia substituted. Therefore I used three cheeses just to keep things healthy. I cubed a mild and a sharp cheddar and a mozzarella.
Since I don't like white onions and cheddar cheese with vinaigrette, I used ranch; because I wanted to keep it healthy and low calorie.
I grilled the Chicken on Saturday and have been using it daily in the salads. Emily makes the croutons. simply cube french bread and drizzle with olive oil and bake until about 1/2 way a crouton in an oven. Let's say at 350 because I don't really know. Put them in a sealed container to keep out moisture. Before using, simply pop in the toaster oven or oven oven and finish the croutonization process. Voila! Now, I admit, I can't not season things, so if I were making the croutons, I would sprinkle my favorite herbs on before the initial croutonization process, then the oil and herbs would soak in flavoring the bread during the final croutonization. Can you tell I am just looking for excuses to egregiously use the word croutonization?
For once, I used all the lettuce before throwing it all away. None too soon as I have lunch engagements for the rest of the week. I left just enough for tonight's gourmet burger redux! Mmmmmm, burger redux...
Bon Appetite!
The Culinary Exploits of a Temporary Bachelor Day Two
For dinner, I decided to head to Meijer after work. It was about 5:30. I parked the Vette out in the back forty as careless and lazy people always congregate at the front of the lot leaving us conscientious entrepreneurial go-getters at the back. At least that's the theory. In practice, the store was very busy and therefore the normal delineation was not there.
Apparently the cart boys were on strike. Or they were being derelict in their duties. I did smell the faint wafting of marijuana smoke from somewhere off in the distance. Perhaps they were having a meeting at the back of the building.
I did my duty and grabbed five carts, nested them and brought them to the store. I saw 600-1000 people pass by errant carts in the lot only to grab one at the front of the store. As if those had been refurbished or washed or were otherwise better in some way than the carts they just passed.
I went about my shopping with the smug security that I was a far better person than any of them. It's good to like yourself.
Ground beef, fancy buns, Pickles, bottle of scotch. This is how a man shops. Too bad the automotive section was all the way on the other side of the store otherwise some sort of chassis grease and a pine tree air freshener may have been involved, too.
I chose the wrong line. I always do. But there was a lady behind me in her power chair so I unloaded her basket onto the belt for her while we chatted. I wondered if all the people around me appreciated the order of magnitude I was better than they. I smiled to myself.
Editor's note: If you haven't figured out I am being incredibly sarcastic and facetious about being superior, you don't know me at all.
Home after, (no kidding), waiting in line for 32 minutes. My ground beef was already brown and my cheap scotch now fine, rare and aged. Time to get to work.
Homemade Honest-to-goodness best Cheesburger, Ever:
With 80/20 ground beef mix the following to taste:
1/4 Stick Melted Butter
Worcestershire Sauce
Salt
Pepper
Garlic Powder
Onion Powder
Paprika
Dill
Chipotle Chile Powder
Mustard Powder
Grated Parmesian Cheese
Make patties the size you want (1/2 to 1/3 pound for me). Stick patties thoroughly with a coffee stirrer to help them cook evenly and not get all rounded and bunched up. this is key with a bigger patty so it isn't burned at the end and raw in the middle.
Preheat grill to high temp (I shoot for 500 degrees F). Dust one side of patty with garlic powder, salt and Parmesian cheese. Put that side down on the hot grill. Allow to cook for 6-7 minutes top up with high heat on.
Look at sides of meet to determine level of done-ness. Once the patty is about 70% of the way cooked through, dust the remaining side of the patty and flip. THIS IS YOUR ONLY FLIP! You can test for if they are ready by checking if they slide easily on the grill grate, or if there is resistance. Resistance means the crust on the outside of the burger is not fully formed. Leave it for another minute. If your burger is done and doesn't have a crust, you didn't trust me on the hot grill and you must now pay for your mistake. The 500 degrees is key to the finish you desire.
Cook on the second side for 1-5 minutes depending on how you want the burger (medium rare - well). I like a medium well burger which puts it at 160-165 degrees in the center.
Drizzle small amount of melted butter on bun and grill to liking. Add whatever condiments you want (if you're so inclined to ruin your food with catsup) and enjoy. I used whatever cheese I am in the mood for or have (in this case American 'Cheese'), Mayo, Lettuce, Tomato, Onion and Yellow Mustard.
I also grilled zucchini and squash with salt pepper and olive oil and had the aforementioned pickle.
For a more European flare, Try melting goat cheese or whole milk mozzarella over the patty on the grill and serve with sliced Black Olives, Radicchio, Red Onion and Tomato.
To you, it is just a burger, or if you are terminally uncool or British a 'Hamburger Sandwhich'. To me, it is the singularly most versatile food on the planet, each one an opportunity for artistry and invention.
Bon Appetite!
Apparently the cart boys were on strike. Or they were being derelict in their duties. I did smell the faint wafting of marijuana smoke from somewhere off in the distance. Perhaps they were having a meeting at the back of the building.
I did my duty and grabbed five carts, nested them and brought them to the store. I saw 600-1000 people pass by errant carts in the lot only to grab one at the front of the store. As if those had been refurbished or washed or were otherwise better in some way than the carts they just passed.
I went about my shopping with the smug security that I was a far better person than any of them. It's good to like yourself.
Ground beef, fancy buns, Pickles, bottle of scotch. This is how a man shops. Too bad the automotive section was all the way on the other side of the store otherwise some sort of chassis grease and a pine tree air freshener may have been involved, too.
I chose the wrong line. I always do. But there was a lady behind me in her power chair so I unloaded her basket onto the belt for her while we chatted. I wondered if all the people around me appreciated the order of magnitude I was better than they. I smiled to myself.
Editor's note: If you haven't figured out I am being incredibly sarcastic and facetious about being superior, you don't know me at all.
Home after, (no kidding), waiting in line for 32 minutes. My ground beef was already brown and my cheap scotch now fine, rare and aged. Time to get to work.
Homemade Honest-to-goodness best Cheesburger, Ever:
With 80/20 ground beef mix the following to taste:
1/4 Stick Melted Butter
Worcestershire Sauce
Salt
Pepper
Garlic Powder
Onion Powder
Paprika
Dill
Chipotle Chile Powder
Mustard Powder
Grated Parmesian Cheese
Make patties the size you want (1/2 to 1/3 pound for me). Stick patties thoroughly with a coffee stirrer to help them cook evenly and not get all rounded and bunched up. this is key with a bigger patty so it isn't burned at the end and raw in the middle.
Preheat grill to high temp (I shoot for 500 degrees F). Dust one side of patty with garlic powder, salt and Parmesian cheese. Put that side down on the hot grill. Allow to cook for 6-7 minutes top up with high heat on.
Look at sides of meet to determine level of done-ness. Once the patty is about 70% of the way cooked through, dust the remaining side of the patty and flip. THIS IS YOUR ONLY FLIP! You can test for if they are ready by checking if they slide easily on the grill grate, or if there is resistance. Resistance means the crust on the outside of the burger is not fully formed. Leave it for another minute. If your burger is done and doesn't have a crust, you didn't trust me on the hot grill and you must now pay for your mistake. The 500 degrees is key to the finish you desire.
Cook on the second side for 1-5 minutes depending on how you want the burger (medium rare - well). I like a medium well burger which puts it at 160-165 degrees in the center.
Drizzle small amount of melted butter on bun and grill to liking. Add whatever condiments you want (if you're so inclined to ruin your food with catsup) and enjoy. I used whatever cheese I am in the mood for or have (in this case American 'Cheese'), Mayo, Lettuce, Tomato, Onion and Yellow Mustard.
I also grilled zucchini and squash with salt pepper and olive oil and had the aforementioned pickle.
For a more European flare, Try melting goat cheese or whole milk mozzarella over the patty on the grill and serve with sliced Black Olives, Radicchio, Red Onion and Tomato.
To you, it is just a burger, or if you are terminally uncool or British a 'Hamburger Sandwhich'. To me, it is the singularly most versatile food on the planet, each one an opportunity for artistry and invention.
Bon Appetite!
Monday, July 25, 2011
The Culinary Exploits of a Temporary Bachelor Day One
Art was a grandfather figure of mine growing up. His kind, intelligent and long-suffering wife, Donna was on the fore of all that was healthy and sustainable. I believe she was celebrating the first Earth Day and celebrated every one since.
Art was therefore a healthy eater by proxy. Soy this, Tofu that. I learned the word 'organic' eating a meal around their dinner table. I told you in a past blentry of my explosive exploits with Donna's homemade bran muffins.
The minute he could get free, though, it was all cheeseburgers and ice cream for Art. I was often his excuse for these forays into illicit eating; and I couldn't have been happier.
I am a lot like Art. Pleasingly plump and a healthy eater, so long as anyone is watching. A popular post of mine in the past entitled "On Being a Fat Ass" introduces that I don't so much slip off the health wagon when Em is out of town and I jump off and launch a rocket propelled grenade at it and watch the rubble burn.
This week, I am a bachelor. So, since I have nothing else to write about, I will recount the finer points of my culinary inequities of the week.
Day 1
It started off well. After pulling weeds and mowing the lawn in the high heat and humidity, I didn't want anything heavy. Lunch was a large salad of a bed of romaine, organic tomato, grilled chicken breast, mozzarella and homemade croutons all drizzled with homemade vinaigrette.
Not a thing wrong with that. It was divine. Truly I was pleased to be eating it.
Regrettably, the regression began almost immediately thereafter with dinner.
I didn't want to go back outside, having showered, since it is so humid. I pulled out the Foreman Grill and plopped on 3 Italian smoked sausages. Into the toaster with the buns while I grated the sharp cheddar and chopped the fresh white onion. All topped off with deli dark mustard it did not suck. They were gone so fast, even I couldn't believe it. Em would not approve.
I also watched it in my chair, in front of the TV which was playing Family Guy which is forbidden in this house. Mmmmmmmm, forbidden meal!
This morning, the dawning of day two has not been better. I took a potato and hashed it and browned it with some onion and another smoked sausage. Then I scrambled some eggs and threw it all in an oversize bowl and topped it with cheese. Well, not cheese, American cheese slices.
It was, in a word, inedible. Simply awful in its greasy saltiness and caloric density. And a fresh hot cup of coffee was not the perfect compliment to it at all. The mess I left behind in the frying pan resembles an industrial disaster on a grand scale. The house smells of diner. The fork is now stuck to the bowl out of which I ate the splendidly amalgamated goo.
Now that I look back, (all of five minutes), it wasn't bad at all. In fact, it was amazing. I think I'll have it again for lunch!
No! Must fight the dark powers within. Must eat green salad! Actually, that sounds good, too. and if I have a salad for lunch, I can make burgers for dinner and not feel bad! Maybe I'll even walk to the store to get my burger fixins!
Who am I kidding? I don't want to carry back two pounds of ground beef and a six pack of beer all that way. It will get all warm and heavy. I know! To make up for a lack of a walk, I will grill up some squash and zucchini and have a summer version of veggie fries! Yum!
Wow, two servings of veggies in one day. Maybe I'm not a lost cause after all.
Bon Apetite!
Art was therefore a healthy eater by proxy. Soy this, Tofu that. I learned the word 'organic' eating a meal around their dinner table. I told you in a past blentry of my explosive exploits with Donna's homemade bran muffins.
The minute he could get free, though, it was all cheeseburgers and ice cream for Art. I was often his excuse for these forays into illicit eating; and I couldn't have been happier.
I am a lot like Art. Pleasingly plump and a healthy eater, so long as anyone is watching. A popular post of mine in the past entitled "On Being a Fat Ass" introduces that I don't so much slip off the health wagon when Em is out of town and I jump off and launch a rocket propelled grenade at it and watch the rubble burn.
This week, I am a bachelor. So, since I have nothing else to write about, I will recount the finer points of my culinary inequities of the week.
Day 1
It started off well. After pulling weeds and mowing the lawn in the high heat and humidity, I didn't want anything heavy. Lunch was a large salad of a bed of romaine, organic tomato, grilled chicken breast, mozzarella and homemade croutons all drizzled with homemade vinaigrette.
Not a thing wrong with that. It was divine. Truly I was pleased to be eating it.
Regrettably, the regression began almost immediately thereafter with dinner.
I didn't want to go back outside, having showered, since it is so humid. I pulled out the Foreman Grill and plopped on 3 Italian smoked sausages. Into the toaster with the buns while I grated the sharp cheddar and chopped the fresh white onion. All topped off with deli dark mustard it did not suck. They were gone so fast, even I couldn't believe it. Em would not approve.
I also watched it in my chair, in front of the TV which was playing Family Guy which is forbidden in this house. Mmmmmmmm, forbidden meal!
This morning, the dawning of day two has not been better. I took a potato and hashed it and browned it with some onion and another smoked sausage. Then I scrambled some eggs and threw it all in an oversize bowl and topped it with cheese. Well, not cheese, American cheese slices.
It was, in a word, inedible. Simply awful in its greasy saltiness and caloric density. And a fresh hot cup of coffee was not the perfect compliment to it at all. The mess I left behind in the frying pan resembles an industrial disaster on a grand scale. The house smells of diner. The fork is now stuck to the bowl out of which I ate the splendidly amalgamated goo.
Now that I look back, (all of five minutes), it wasn't bad at all. In fact, it was amazing. I think I'll have it again for lunch!
No! Must fight the dark powers within. Must eat green salad! Actually, that sounds good, too. and if I have a salad for lunch, I can make burgers for dinner and not feel bad! Maybe I'll even walk to the store to get my burger fixins!
Who am I kidding? I don't want to carry back two pounds of ground beef and a six pack of beer all that way. It will get all warm and heavy. I know! To make up for a lack of a walk, I will grill up some squash and zucchini and have a summer version of veggie fries! Yum!
Wow, two servings of veggies in one day. Maybe I'm not a lost cause after all.
Bon Apetite!
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Grandiose Ruminations Accepts Post as Ambassador to the World!
Latvia, India, Malaysia, Singapore, Ukraine, Russia, Australia, Germany, Holland, Norway, Iran - These are some of the countries listed in my stats of people who read this blog. This means that sadly, people in many foreign countries may be looking to this blog as a representation of the life of an average American.
Perhaps it is even being used in classroom instruction. I imagine that class would be called "How Not to Write English." That's apt.
I humbly attempt here to set the record straight. I am not an average American. I am far more intelligent than most Americans. I do not subscribe to fringe thinking and I try very hard not to use the words 'always' and 'never' in casual conversation.
In short, unlike most Americans I am palpably aware of my practical perfection and I am happy to boast about it. For too long, America has been a taciturn country filled with modest introverts afraid to show their patriotism! I am out to say I love me, and the USA... in that order. Hey, USA, don't feel too bad. Second place is pretty good. I mean, you take the silver medal. That will get you a picture on a Wheaties box!
I wonder if the stats are junk. Why in the world, when there is so much worthwhile content out there on the interwebs would someone get off the train at my little whistlestop? What could I possibly be writing of any kind of interest to people in such exotic places as Latvia and and Malaysia? Am I somehow linked to a porn site? Apparently, there is more than one thing people do on the internet. Truly though, I am a hundred kinds of curious about how you found this space.
If the stats are not junk and there really have been two check ins from Australia and Ukraine and one from Russia in the last 24 hours, I would love to know a little more about you. I understand that I am the one on display, here and anonymity is one of the great rights of participation on the world wide web; so if you decline, that is acceptable.
But I am curious. Do you have a blog? What is it? Can I link to it? My readers are very intelligent, (clearly... they're my readers!) and may really enjoy your perspective. Not all Americans are xenophobic fat NASCAR fans who live in tin shacks and drive pickup trucks. Maybe we can create a bridge that can foster peace and understanding across cultures!
For all I know, my blog is being read by students in a jihad training camp and my words are fueling the fire of hatred. Gosh, I hope not. This global ambassadorship is a lot of responsibility.
I checked a little more deeply, (drilled down as we like to say in the male dominated corporate world), into the stats in an attempt to draw some conclusions.
The most looked at post I have posted in the history of the blog was my rumination on the death of Osama bin Laden and the way in which my country men and women handled it - in a word, poorly. This may be where I picked up some of the Eastern countries if somehow my little blog came up in a search. If so, I hope I made it clear that we are not all death crazed adrenalin junkies here in the states.
I have gone to great pains to avoid politics in general on this blog, so I find it a little ironic that the one post I can remember that was specifically about a current event in the news is my most read post.
After that, as if to prove my theory that the whole world is manic-depressive, my post on the first Harry Potter Part 7 is the next most popular post. No doubt due to perverts googling Emma Watson and coming across my treatise. This proves that people can read with one hand.
Another "famous" post is that of my hyperbolic phone conversation with a telemarketer. A conversation that existed completely in my head, but was just enough surreal for people to take to.
Whomever you are, wherever you are from, I am glad you stop by. Come back anytime. Friend me on Facebook, or send me some cash. You know, whatever. Some days are funnier than others. Some insights more insightful. Some ruminations particularly grandiose. But the fact you read at all makes me very, very happy.
Perhaps it is even being used in classroom instruction. I imagine that class would be called "How Not to Write English." That's apt.
I humbly attempt here to set the record straight. I am not an average American. I am far more intelligent than most Americans. I do not subscribe to fringe thinking and I try very hard not to use the words 'always' and 'never' in casual conversation.
In short, unlike most Americans I am palpably aware of my practical perfection and I am happy to boast about it. For too long, America has been a taciturn country filled with modest introverts afraid to show their patriotism! I am out to say I love me, and the USA... in that order. Hey, USA, don't feel too bad. Second place is pretty good. I mean, you take the silver medal. That will get you a picture on a Wheaties box!
I wonder if the stats are junk. Why in the world, when there is so much worthwhile content out there on the interwebs would someone get off the train at my little whistlestop? What could I possibly be writing of any kind of interest to people in such exotic places as Latvia and and Malaysia? Am I somehow linked to a porn site? Apparently, there is more than one thing people do on the internet. Truly though, I am a hundred kinds of curious about how you found this space.
If the stats are not junk and there really have been two check ins from Australia and Ukraine and one from Russia in the last 24 hours, I would love to know a little more about you. I understand that I am the one on display, here and anonymity is one of the great rights of participation on the world wide web; so if you decline, that is acceptable.
But I am curious. Do you have a blog? What is it? Can I link to it? My readers are very intelligent, (clearly... they're my readers!) and may really enjoy your perspective. Not all Americans are xenophobic fat NASCAR fans who live in tin shacks and drive pickup trucks. Maybe we can create a bridge that can foster peace and understanding across cultures!
For all I know, my blog is being read by students in a jihad training camp and my words are fueling the fire of hatred. Gosh, I hope not. This global ambassadorship is a lot of responsibility.
I checked a little more deeply, (drilled down as we like to say in the male dominated corporate world), into the stats in an attempt to draw some conclusions.
The most looked at post I have posted in the history of the blog was my rumination on the death of Osama bin Laden and the way in which my country men and women handled it - in a word, poorly. This may be where I picked up some of the Eastern countries if somehow my little blog came up in a search. If so, I hope I made it clear that we are not all death crazed adrenalin junkies here in the states.
I have gone to great pains to avoid politics in general on this blog, so I find it a little ironic that the one post I can remember that was specifically about a current event in the news is my most read post.
After that, as if to prove my theory that the whole world is manic-depressive, my post on the first Harry Potter Part 7 is the next most popular post. No doubt due to perverts googling Emma Watson and coming across my treatise. This proves that people can read with one hand.
Another "famous" post is that of my hyperbolic phone conversation with a telemarketer. A conversation that existed completely in my head, but was just enough surreal for people to take to.
Whomever you are, wherever you are from, I am glad you stop by. Come back anytime. Friend me on Facebook, or send me some cash. You know, whatever. Some days are funnier than others. Some insights more insightful. Some ruminations particularly grandiose. But the fact you read at all makes me very, very happy.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Meijering
Meijering. For those of you who aren't from Michigan or one of the other adjacent Great Lakes states, you can't know what all that word means. Meijer is a store- the inventors of the superstore concept, actually. We here in the great hot north have turned the name of the store itself into a verb... 'let's go Meijering'. So at Meijer, we go Meijering. Anything can be found there; and anything usually will be found there whether you wanted to find it or not.
I went to refill my script. Easy in, easy out. Keep your head down, don't look, don't shop, don't get sidetracked by the sea of humanity or the loud shelf talkers beckoning you to spend money for new, improved, more, closeout or other single word exhortation to spend.
I was a line of one at the pharmacy. the fat man shuffled in my general direction with all the signs of a real go-getter. Sneer? Check. Averted eye contact? Check. This guy was a pro. It takes one to know one.
"Name", was all he said and I immediately gave him points for combining the greeting, salutation, small-talk and request for the necessary information in one simple word. I liked this guy. He was also fat and bald and looked to be mostly of ill-temper. Perhaps one of my long-lost twins. At least a reasonable doppelganger. Maybe he felt since we were in all the same clubs he could dispense with the niceties.
Knowing this guy was gonna be cheesed off in a second because my scripts are always on the bottom batten of the rack, forcing him to bend at the waste or maybe possibly even the knees, I smiled to him behind his back as he did the shuffle step so often associated with the elderly and ambulatory mentally ill. I switched my attention to the ratty woman in the ratty truck at the drive-up window. Even through the thick bullet-proof glass I could hear the rattle and smell the exhaust of her well worn mule of a green Chevy.
Another pharmacy worker hit the microphone and said, "Sorry for the wait, the methadone is what's taking so long, we'll be done soon."
That explained a lot. And it also made me formulate a philosophical question in my now swimming head. How long will she wait for the methadone? Too long. Get it? Nah, I didn't think so. I hope she waited to dose up until she got home, or back to the home as it were.
I violated my rule by stopping by lawn and garden to succumb to the siren song of products advertising miraculous lawns without the need to bend over, pull weeds, water all the time, or do anything else that resembles actual lawn maintenance. I have this creeping broad leaf weed that I kill and it just keeps popping up somewhere else. It needs to die.
But, no purchases today, having not fully absorbed the shock of buying Em's contacts and my 90 day prescription of happy pills. Expensive day. And here I was feeling good about things. Maybe I'll take an extra pill. Siezure smiezure.
Out to the parking lot the skinny mother of approximately 2,000 kids, (all of whom were darting in the parking lot like they were popcorn kernels exploding in all different directions), was shouting orders in Spanglish. To the eldest, "Mira, ves ayer y grab him, eh?!" At which the eldest ran at full force and tackled his younger brother to the ground in the middle of the parking lot driving aisle. It was wet and greasy. Tantrums ensued as the tackler grabbed the tackled by the wrist and began dragging his quarry toward the car.
The mother reacted a little slowly, I thought, as I shook my head and let out an involuntary and audible 'Jesus Christ', which may have sounded like a blaspheme, but was actually meant to be a quick prayer. For whom, I wasn't sure. Might have been for me.
I made it home to hear Donovan's 'Atlantis' on the radio. Here is a brilliant guy. A song that is some weird talking and then one repetitive chorus that goes on for 8 minutes. Of course I waited in the car burning precious gas and running the a/c to listen. It's how I do.
Meijering. To those of you who have experienced Wal*Mart, you may think you understand. But you don't. It is a world unto itself that bills itself as the place to find anything; the problem is, you usually do.
I went to refill my script. Easy in, easy out. Keep your head down, don't look, don't shop, don't get sidetracked by the sea of humanity or the loud shelf talkers beckoning you to spend money for new, improved, more, closeout or other single word exhortation to spend.
I was a line of one at the pharmacy. the fat man shuffled in my general direction with all the signs of a real go-getter. Sneer? Check. Averted eye contact? Check. This guy was a pro. It takes one to know one.
"Name", was all he said and I immediately gave him points for combining the greeting, salutation, small-talk and request for the necessary information in one simple word. I liked this guy. He was also fat and bald and looked to be mostly of ill-temper. Perhaps one of my long-lost twins. At least a reasonable doppelganger. Maybe he felt since we were in all the same clubs he could dispense with the niceties.
Knowing this guy was gonna be cheesed off in a second because my scripts are always on the bottom batten of the rack, forcing him to bend at the waste or maybe possibly even the knees, I smiled to him behind his back as he did the shuffle step so often associated with the elderly and ambulatory mentally ill. I switched my attention to the ratty woman in the ratty truck at the drive-up window. Even through the thick bullet-proof glass I could hear the rattle and smell the exhaust of her well worn mule of a green Chevy.
Another pharmacy worker hit the microphone and said, "Sorry for the wait, the methadone is what's taking so long, we'll be done soon."
That explained a lot. And it also made me formulate a philosophical question in my now swimming head. How long will she wait for the methadone? Too long. Get it? Nah, I didn't think so. I hope she waited to dose up until she got home, or back to the home as it were.
I violated my rule by stopping by lawn and garden to succumb to the siren song of products advertising miraculous lawns without the need to bend over, pull weeds, water all the time, or do anything else that resembles actual lawn maintenance. I have this creeping broad leaf weed that I kill and it just keeps popping up somewhere else. It needs to die.
But, no purchases today, having not fully absorbed the shock of buying Em's contacts and my 90 day prescription of happy pills. Expensive day. And here I was feeling good about things. Maybe I'll take an extra pill. Siezure smiezure.
Out to the parking lot the skinny mother of approximately 2,000 kids, (all of whom were darting in the parking lot like they were popcorn kernels exploding in all different directions), was shouting orders in Spanglish. To the eldest, "Mira, ves ayer y grab him, eh?!" At which the eldest ran at full force and tackled his younger brother to the ground in the middle of the parking lot driving aisle. It was wet and greasy. Tantrums ensued as the tackler grabbed the tackled by the wrist and began dragging his quarry toward the car.
The mother reacted a little slowly, I thought, as I shook my head and let out an involuntary and audible 'Jesus Christ', which may have sounded like a blaspheme, but was actually meant to be a quick prayer. For whom, I wasn't sure. Might have been for me.
I made it home to hear Donovan's 'Atlantis' on the radio. Here is a brilliant guy. A song that is some weird talking and then one repetitive chorus that goes on for 8 minutes. Of course I waited in the car burning precious gas and running the a/c to listen. It's how I do.
Meijering. To those of you who have experienced Wal*Mart, you may think you understand. But you don't. It is a world unto itself that bills itself as the place to find anything; the problem is, you usually do.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Who's Playing?
The baseball game networking event was fun and fortuitous, or at least potentially so. It was set up as a true mixer with a good ratio of people trying to sell and needing to be sold. I got to talk to people I needed to, or at least talk to people who can get me to the people I need to get to.
Sometimes it's like pealing back the layers of an onion to get what you want. What you want isn't always forthcoming, either. It can be a slow and tedious process. Last night, was neither.
It was also hot. There was nowhere to go to escape the heat. I and my enclave went up to the upper deck and stood under the giant cantilevered canopy they have up there. That caught the breeze and worked out nicely. Until they fired up the grills. I felt badly for the staff, a couple of whom really looked like they were on the verge of stroking out. All these fair haired dutchies baking in the sun... it isn't natural.
at least the food was good, the beer flowed and we got there early enough to beat the parking people, so it was even free to park. I spent zero dollars. Well, not true. 3 Beers, 3 dollars in tips. Still, that's only three more than zero.
My friend and fellow youth leader Kim Hamilton facebooked me letting me know she was working first aid at the game, so I got to see her and hang out for a bit in the air conditioning. Kim is a customer of our company, so it was reasonable at a work event to go thank an existing customer. And it was the first time we had seen each other in months! Too long, we decided so lunch is forthcoming.
It could have been the Whitecaps against the Packers for all I knew as I did not watch one pitch of the game. There was so much humanity there I found far more interesting, like the rotund woman in vintage hippie tie die whose face was so red she looked like a firework flitting about on the porch. Not a lot of people talked to her. Not surprising when you dress like an explosion.
Then there was the contingency from a local private school engineering staff that must not get out much, for after only a couple beers they went from quiet Dutch people to sunburned F-bomb dropping lady-leering sports fans. It was a palpable regression and very fun to watch them go from Amish to asshole in 2 beers.
All in all, it was the most fun I have had at an event in a long while and I am glad I braved the heat. It reaffirmed my great and abiding love for the game of baseball. Wait, that's not right at all. I still hate it with the passion of a thousand hot suns and think it should be avoided by all people always. Yes, that's it. That feels right. But, I admit to liking the park atmosphere and I can see why people would want to go there.
It's too bad all those people sweating bullets on the field didn't realize they'd be far better off sitting down with us and having a beer and a brat and some clever conversation. That's where the party is and I doubt that most of us would have realized the game had stopped. Come to think of it, I'm not really sure I realized it began in the first place.
Sometimes it's like pealing back the layers of an onion to get what you want. What you want isn't always forthcoming, either. It can be a slow and tedious process. Last night, was neither.
It was also hot. There was nowhere to go to escape the heat. I and my enclave went up to the upper deck and stood under the giant cantilevered canopy they have up there. That caught the breeze and worked out nicely. Until they fired up the grills. I felt badly for the staff, a couple of whom really looked like they were on the verge of stroking out. All these fair haired dutchies baking in the sun... it isn't natural.
at least the food was good, the beer flowed and we got there early enough to beat the parking people, so it was even free to park. I spent zero dollars. Well, not true. 3 Beers, 3 dollars in tips. Still, that's only three more than zero.
My friend and fellow youth leader Kim Hamilton facebooked me letting me know she was working first aid at the game, so I got to see her and hang out for a bit in the air conditioning. Kim is a customer of our company, so it was reasonable at a work event to go thank an existing customer. And it was the first time we had seen each other in months! Too long, we decided so lunch is forthcoming.
It could have been the Whitecaps against the Packers for all I knew as I did not watch one pitch of the game. There was so much humanity there I found far more interesting, like the rotund woman in vintage hippie tie die whose face was so red she looked like a firework flitting about on the porch. Not a lot of people talked to her. Not surprising when you dress like an explosion.
Then there was the contingency from a local private school engineering staff that must not get out much, for after only a couple beers they went from quiet Dutch people to sunburned F-bomb dropping lady-leering sports fans. It was a palpable regression and very fun to watch them go from Amish to asshole in 2 beers.
All in all, it was the most fun I have had at an event in a long while and I am glad I braved the heat. It reaffirmed my great and abiding love for the game of baseball. Wait, that's not right at all. I still hate it with the passion of a thousand hot suns and think it should be avoided by all people always. Yes, that's it. That feels right. But, I admit to liking the park atmosphere and I can see why people would want to go there.
It's too bad all those people sweating bullets on the field didn't realize they'd be far better off sitting down with us and having a beer and a brat and some clever conversation. That's where the party is and I doubt that most of us would have realized the game had stopped. Come to think of it, I'm not really sure I realized it began in the first place.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
A Big Post
I have been working on a presentation for my networking group for a month or so now. It hasn't consumed my time by any means, but these are all entrepreneurial people who are all pretty sharp, so I knew my normal 'go in and wing it' strategy wouldn't cut it.
So, I had the obligatory power point, but it was just general. I wanted to get the point across that more than anything else, if these folks sent business my way, or gave me their business, they would be satisfied.
It was peppered with humor like almost everything I do. I think the reaction was good and I hope I made the impression that I intended to make. It was a good beginning to a long day and a nice palate cleanser to a pretty rough night.
I was really rattled by something and had to work extra hard to keep it together for the presentation, (which by the way has the potential to lead to some considerable lucre).
We begin Tuesday night-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, aside from having perhaps the worst title of any movie, ever, was amazingly good. It was a fitting finish to a movie series that got steadily better with age, much like the books upon which they were based. We saw it in IMAX in 3D. I can go without the 3D part, honestly. I don't know how to watch a 3D movie... my eyes don't know where to go.
There was one part where Chandra and I admitted we couldn't watch because of motion sickness. She is 8 months pregnant. I have no excuse. Overall though, the performances, story telling, and everything were top notch. What an amazing mind Ms. Rolling has. My hat off to you, Madam. I am in awe as are millions of others in all languages. You created and archetype and we love you for it.
It was after the movie when I got a rebuke from someone about yesterday's blog that I can't get past. And I have tried to get past it. The more I try, the less I am able to. I am miffed beyond belief. It lead to me redacting a portion of my post yesterday at the request of a certain individual on the grounds they disagreed with me and didn't like what they read.
I was compelled to remove that section, because I was also made to feel that something very dear to me would be taken away if I did not comply.
Well, friends and dear readers, my own mother, who is 69 years old, raised in the old south, strictly Catholic and very traditional has never even daned to ask me to remove or reword a blog post. And I know for a fact that some of the things I have written have made her die a little inside. But she has supported me for who I am, as has my ever loving wife and my true friends.
For the sake of respect, I shall not go into detail about a private matter in a public forum such as this. I have said too much already. I will, however reestablish the rules of this blog, which are mine to make and edit and follow or break since this space is mine and mine alone. I have no sponsors, I make no money and I have no one to please and no particular audience in mind when I write what I write. Often I write what I write without knowing what I write until it comes out of my head and on to the page in front of me. In short, believe it or not, I am often as surprised as you at what I learn about myself in the process.
The Rules
I am glad you are here, but I want to remind you with all genuine enthusiasm that there is a little X on the upper right of your screen, (windows users) and a little red dot on the upper left, (for those of you with a positively skewed world view and the discretionary income for a Mac). That is the "get me outta here" button. And if at any time you don't like what you see, hit the button. Nothing bad will happen. My feelings will not be hurt and you don't ever have to come back.
If you are reading something here you don't understand, I encourage you to look it up. If you want brain cheese and are looking for some sort of bumper sticker wisdom from a happy-go-lucky fat fun guy like you have seen in every John Hughes movie, you may not get it. Sometimes I am serious, but even when I am funny, I am always honest. If you don't like it, hit the button.
If you read something you don't like- whether it is my premise, or my opinion, the way I say it or the words I use to describe it, I encourage you to use the button.
If you are too young or immature or too old fashioned or too anything to enjoy or identify with what you are reading here, (and I believe thoroughly you are the best judge of that), button.
It's really simple... really! There are many facets to people. I don't know why I have found it therapeutic to put my inner-most self out here for anyone to read. It is antithetical, really. It is a really horrible thought and if I spend a lot of time thinking about it, it makes me gag a little that my life is sort of out there.
But, it keeps me honest. Because otherwise, it is too easy for me to fake my way through each interaction in my life. And for a long time I lived exactly that way. Each situation carefully crafted and managed for benefit of never having to reveal a me that I couldn't live with.
And I had no faith, did not make a place for God in my life, wasn't a good husband a good friend or the person that I or God (as I understand it now), wanted me to be. So, by putting myself "all in" for anyone to see, I am forced to be authentic. That includes all I am... including the parts that may be other people would choose to hide.
Thank you for reading. If I know you personally, thank you for investing your time in me as a person; a person who may fail you sometimes, but will never stop trying. Thank you for your friendship, support, love and comments positive or otherwise. Thank you for agreeing, or disagreeing and challenging me or supporting me.
However, if you come here expecting to be able to witness the carnage of a train wreck, or come here to judge me, then hit the button. I need this space. I need these words. I need this expression. I don't need you to add to my already considerable level of insecurity. Your participation is not now, nor has it ever been perfunctory. Enjoy your life. Leave mine alone.
So, I had the obligatory power point, but it was just general. I wanted to get the point across that more than anything else, if these folks sent business my way, or gave me their business, they would be satisfied.
It was peppered with humor like almost everything I do. I think the reaction was good and I hope I made the impression that I intended to make. It was a good beginning to a long day and a nice palate cleanser to a pretty rough night.
I was really rattled by something and had to work extra hard to keep it together for the presentation, (which by the way has the potential to lead to some considerable lucre).
We begin Tuesday night-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, aside from having perhaps the worst title of any movie, ever, was amazingly good. It was a fitting finish to a movie series that got steadily better with age, much like the books upon which they were based. We saw it in IMAX in 3D. I can go without the 3D part, honestly. I don't know how to watch a 3D movie... my eyes don't know where to go.
There was one part where Chandra and I admitted we couldn't watch because of motion sickness. She is 8 months pregnant. I have no excuse. Overall though, the performances, story telling, and everything were top notch. What an amazing mind Ms. Rolling has. My hat off to you, Madam. I am in awe as are millions of others in all languages. You created and archetype and we love you for it.
It was after the movie when I got a rebuke from someone about yesterday's blog that I can't get past. And I have tried to get past it. The more I try, the less I am able to. I am miffed beyond belief. It lead to me redacting a portion of my post yesterday at the request of a certain individual on the grounds they disagreed with me and didn't like what they read.
I was compelled to remove that section, because I was also made to feel that something very dear to me would be taken away if I did not comply.
Well, friends and dear readers, my own mother, who is 69 years old, raised in the old south, strictly Catholic and very traditional has never even daned to ask me to remove or reword a blog post. And I know for a fact that some of the things I have written have made her die a little inside. But she has supported me for who I am, as has my ever loving wife and my true friends.
For the sake of respect, I shall not go into detail about a private matter in a public forum such as this. I have said too much already. I will, however reestablish the rules of this blog, which are mine to make and edit and follow or break since this space is mine and mine alone. I have no sponsors, I make no money and I have no one to please and no particular audience in mind when I write what I write. Often I write what I write without knowing what I write until it comes out of my head and on to the page in front of me. In short, believe it or not, I am often as surprised as you at what I learn about myself in the process.
The Rules
I am glad you are here, but I want to remind you with all genuine enthusiasm that there is a little X on the upper right of your screen, (windows users) and a little red dot on the upper left, (for those of you with a positively skewed world view and the discretionary income for a Mac). That is the "get me outta here" button. And if at any time you don't like what you see, hit the button. Nothing bad will happen. My feelings will not be hurt and you don't ever have to come back.
If you are reading something here you don't understand, I encourage you to look it up. If you want brain cheese and are looking for some sort of bumper sticker wisdom from a happy-go-lucky fat fun guy like you have seen in every John Hughes movie, you may not get it. Sometimes I am serious, but even when I am funny, I am always honest. If you don't like it, hit the button.
If you read something you don't like- whether it is my premise, or my opinion, the way I say it or the words I use to describe it, I encourage you to use the button.
If you are too young or immature or too old fashioned or too anything to enjoy or identify with what you are reading here, (and I believe thoroughly you are the best judge of that), button.
It's really simple... really! There are many facets to people. I don't know why I have found it therapeutic to put my inner-most self out here for anyone to read. It is antithetical, really. It is a really horrible thought and if I spend a lot of time thinking about it, it makes me gag a little that my life is sort of out there.
But, it keeps me honest. Because otherwise, it is too easy for me to fake my way through each interaction in my life. And for a long time I lived exactly that way. Each situation carefully crafted and managed for benefit of never having to reveal a me that I couldn't live with.
And I had no faith, did not make a place for God in my life, wasn't a good husband a good friend or the person that I or God (as I understand it now), wanted me to be. So, by putting myself "all in" for anyone to see, I am forced to be authentic. That includes all I am... including the parts that may be other people would choose to hide.
Thank you for reading. If I know you personally, thank you for investing your time in me as a person; a person who may fail you sometimes, but will never stop trying. Thank you for your friendship, support, love and comments positive or otherwise. Thank you for agreeing, or disagreeing and challenging me or supporting me.
However, if you come here expecting to be able to witness the carnage of a train wreck, or come here to judge me, then hit the button. I need this space. I need these words. I need this expression. I don't need you to add to my already considerable level of insecurity. Your participation is not now, nor has it ever been perfunctory. Enjoy your life. Leave mine alone.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Tuesday Afternoon Miscellani
Never Was a Cornflake...
Right now, Tori Amos is crooning "Smells Like Teen Spirit" into my headphones and I am suddenly depressed. If there is anyone who can take an angsty diatribe like "Teen Spirit" and make it more depressing, it's Amos.
Don't get me wrong, I like her. I saw her in concert. We dubbed her drummer "The hardest working band member in all of music." It was a good show.
My friend, Dave has a great line which is funny in a awful sort of way (which is the best kind of way), "We get it, you were raped...." he says of her songs. He, too, is a fan. I like my chanteuses very much, but it is amazing how she just made me want to take a nap from being pretty cheery in two minutes-thirty seconds.
_____________________________________________________________
What is Your Superpower?
Mine is the ability to grow ear hair long enough for braids in mere seconds. I have the biggest, baldest head in the western hemisphere, but can't keep my ears exfoliated for the life of me. This is how I know God has a sense of humor. what the hell can you do with super ear hair?
_____________________________________________________________
Embarrassing Behavior
Edited for Content
_____________________________________________________________
Palate Cleanser
We just saved $600.00 a year or so by switching over insurance. I have been looking for a long time. A family friend works for our current provider, thus insuring awesome service and a friendly relationship.
Over the years, I have gotten a lot of quotes, but none were cheaper or better. And none had Pam.
However, by dint of the fact my parents both served our country, I am eligible for USAA, which is like Geico was before it went totally open. Geico, incidentally is Government Employees Insurance Company for those of you not aware of that. IT used to be just for them, until a decade or so ago when it became clear they needed to go broad or die. Geico never could save me that nebulous 15%, (15% of what, a ham sandwich?), but USAA sure did and for better coverage. I saved a lot on the insurance for the Corvette, which now clocks in at less than $200. For the year. Let that soak in parents of teens.
So, to you, Pam. I still think you are the best. I am glad you said we could still be friends. Thanks for your five years of great service!
Right now, Tori Amos is crooning "Smells Like Teen Spirit" into my headphones and I am suddenly depressed. If there is anyone who can take an angsty diatribe like "Teen Spirit" and make it more depressing, it's Amos.
Don't get me wrong, I like her. I saw her in concert. We dubbed her drummer "The hardest working band member in all of music." It was a good show.
My friend, Dave has a great line which is funny in a awful sort of way (which is the best kind of way), "We get it, you were raped...." he says of her songs. He, too, is a fan. I like my chanteuses very much, but it is amazing how she just made me want to take a nap from being pretty cheery in two minutes-thirty seconds.
_____________________________________________________________
What is Your Superpower?
Mine is the ability to grow ear hair long enough for braids in mere seconds. I have the biggest, baldest head in the western hemisphere, but can't keep my ears exfoliated for the life of me. This is how I know God has a sense of humor. what the hell can you do with super ear hair?
_____________________________________________________________
Embarrassing Behavior
Edited for Content
_____________________________________________________________
Palate Cleanser
We just saved $600.00 a year or so by switching over insurance. I have been looking for a long time. A family friend works for our current provider, thus insuring awesome service and a friendly relationship.
Over the years, I have gotten a lot of quotes, but none were cheaper or better. And none had Pam.
However, by dint of the fact my parents both served our country, I am eligible for USAA, which is like Geico was before it went totally open. Geico, incidentally is Government Employees Insurance Company for those of you not aware of that. IT used to be just for them, until a decade or so ago when it became clear they needed to go broad or die. Geico never could save me that nebulous 15%, (15% of what, a ham sandwich?), but USAA sure did and for better coverage. I saved a lot on the insurance for the Corvette, which now clocks in at less than $200. For the year. Let that soak in parents of teens.
So, to you, Pam. I still think you are the best. I am glad you said we could still be friends. Thanks for your five years of great service!
Monday, July 18, 2011
Monday Morning Miscellani
There is not a time in life where people will not cause you to have to wait for them. Regardless of your station, wealth or otherwise, someone will always be in a position to make you wait.
I hate waiting. If I had to wait 24 hours in line for a guaranteed million bucks in cash, I would pass. No, my time is not worth that much money. I just hate waiting.
_____________________________________________________________
I got so many things I want to write about but can't on the grounds they either betray a trust or will be read by the people they are about. I am cursed by the very thing I wanted all along; an audience.
I always wondered what it was like for a stand-up to lampoon his family if his family was in the audience. There was a case a few years back where a mother-in-law sued her daughter-in-law, a comedienne, for being mean.
Most of the things I would write you would recognize as hyperbole. Hopefully, you would also realize that I was intentionally over blowing that balloon in order to create a "pop". But, sometimes if it hits a little too close to home, that pop hurts.
Now, well into my 30's, I have started to care. Curses. I am getting soft.
____________________________________________________________
This promises to be a busy week. Today meetings and appointments then dinner with friends. Tomorrow work and then Harry Potter with friends. Wednesday I am giving a presentation at my networking group. I can't wait. I have been working on it for awhile. It will get some good laughs.
I pause here a moment... it is more important to me the presentation gets good laughs than it is to say, get me more business. What does that tell you? Hmmmmmm.
Back to it. After the Wednesday morning presentation is an afternoon baseball game/networking event. I hate baseball and I don't much care for networking.
I pause here a moment... aren't I a saleman? And I don't like networking? What should that tell me? Hmmmmmmmm.
Actually, I think it will be fun and there are a lot of people I need to know who are going to be there. So, I go into this with open eyes, open ears, an outstretched hand and the biggest phony smile you have ever seen!
Thursday and Friday are as yet unwritten, but if recent history is any indication they will end up being my busiest days. Then Em leaves for her work camp. I'll be a bachelor.
____________________________________________________________
I have been eschewing responsibility for the sake of having fun, lately. It has been wonderful, but the house ain't gonna keep itself standing upright if I neglect it. So, while Em is gone, I was thinking about slipping the keys to the 'Vette and my credit and debit card into her purse so I couldn't do any damage while she is gone. Then I would have to focus on things around the house.
My parents are so responsible and so fastidious and all I wanna do is blow stuff off and go party. Where did that come from?
Thank God we don't have kids, we'd be in the papers.
____________________________________________________________
Dinner with "new" friends tonight. Not new friends, actually, but friends we haven't really seen socially outside of our big group. Can't wait. New friends at a new restaurant with a 1/2 off coupon! It tickles all the ribs at once.
____________________________________________________________
Potter Potter everywhere- Goodbye, Harry and friends. You had me at Hagrid and never let go. I shall miss you, like so many others. But the good news is, we are going to see you on Imax in 3D with children! I loved Christmas as a kid. Getting presents was almost more than I could take. But, I realize as an adult, the real fun is watching the kids have fun. Tomorrow at Potter will be like watching kids at Christmas.
____________________________________________________________
That's all, folks!
I hate waiting. If I had to wait 24 hours in line for a guaranteed million bucks in cash, I would pass. No, my time is not worth that much money. I just hate waiting.
_____________________________________________________________
I got so many things I want to write about but can't on the grounds they either betray a trust or will be read by the people they are about. I am cursed by the very thing I wanted all along; an audience.
I always wondered what it was like for a stand-up to lampoon his family if his family was in the audience. There was a case a few years back where a mother-in-law sued her daughter-in-law, a comedienne, for being mean.
Most of the things I would write you would recognize as hyperbole. Hopefully, you would also realize that I was intentionally over blowing that balloon in order to create a "pop". But, sometimes if it hits a little too close to home, that pop hurts.
Now, well into my 30's, I have started to care. Curses. I am getting soft.
____________________________________________________________
This promises to be a busy week. Today meetings and appointments then dinner with friends. Tomorrow work and then Harry Potter with friends. Wednesday I am giving a presentation at my networking group. I can't wait. I have been working on it for awhile. It will get some good laughs.
I pause here a moment... it is more important to me the presentation gets good laughs than it is to say, get me more business. What does that tell you? Hmmmmmm.
Back to it. After the Wednesday morning presentation is an afternoon baseball game/networking event. I hate baseball and I don't much care for networking.
I pause here a moment... aren't I a saleman? And I don't like networking? What should that tell me? Hmmmmmmmm.
Actually, I think it will be fun and there are a lot of people I need to know who are going to be there. So, I go into this with open eyes, open ears, an outstretched hand and the biggest phony smile you have ever seen!
Thursday and Friday are as yet unwritten, but if recent history is any indication they will end up being my busiest days. Then Em leaves for her work camp. I'll be a bachelor.
____________________________________________________________
I have been eschewing responsibility for the sake of having fun, lately. It has been wonderful, but the house ain't gonna keep itself standing upright if I neglect it. So, while Em is gone, I was thinking about slipping the keys to the 'Vette and my credit and debit card into her purse so I couldn't do any damage while she is gone. Then I would have to focus on things around the house.
My parents are so responsible and so fastidious and all I wanna do is blow stuff off and go party. Where did that come from?
Thank God we don't have kids, we'd be in the papers.
____________________________________________________________
Dinner with "new" friends tonight. Not new friends, actually, but friends we haven't really seen socially outside of our big group. Can't wait. New friends at a new restaurant with a 1/2 off coupon! It tickles all the ribs at once.
____________________________________________________________
Potter Potter everywhere- Goodbye, Harry and friends. You had me at Hagrid and never let go. I shall miss you, like so many others. But the good news is, we are going to see you on Imax in 3D with children! I loved Christmas as a kid. Getting presents was almost more than I could take. But, I realize as an adult, the real fun is watching the kids have fun. Tomorrow at Potter will be like watching kids at Christmas.
____________________________________________________________
That's all, folks!
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Beat to Quarters...
I couldn't catch a decent night sleep these days if I was equipped with a decent night sleep catcher in a town full of sleep. Up early, down late. My least favorite combination. It leaves not enough "me" time.
This morning, it is my fault that I am up at 6:00 and not 7:00 because after all it is I who is responsible to check the time on the alarm rather than just turn it on. I needed to be up by 6:00 yesterday.
I set my alarm as a worst case scenario, because I don't usually sleep all the way to the alarm. I put it in my head what time I want to get up and then I get up. Today was a surprise. There is no going back for me once the alarm goes off. I was up.
Atticus had been pestering me for a couple hours anyhow, wanting me to put him out. As soon as he hears the first bird chirp, he wants to go. Since it was cool last night for the first time in awhile, we slept with the windows open rather than having the air on. The knock on effect was Atticus could hear the birds that much earlier.
He becomes rather relentless. Even after being pushed off the bed, he just pops right back up. It's like a game to him. Felix was the same way, bless his dead heart. In his case, though it was because he wanted food. Now. Always. Food. He could have lived in a bird house at the zoo and never once even looked up. He would have starved to death before he thought to eat a bird.
Atticus plucks them out of the sky with regularity. I have thought about trying to discourage or correct this behavior, but then I remembered he's a cat. It's what he does. I tried to come up with a punchy little memorable piece of front porch wisdom on that, but I just this second had my first sip of coffee, so I'm not all here.
In fact, I just remember this blentry is about sleep, or lack thereof, not cats and dead birds or dead cats and birds or whatever it is I just wrote. Sorry for wasting your time being off-topic. I shall immediately commence wasting your time back on topic.
Summer is hard for me to sleep because it is light up until 10 o'clock and early at 5. Maybe I have farmer's blood, I just am typically tied to the sun, whatever the sun is doing. Don't get me wrong, I am not pining for the days to recede in autumn's pernicious grasp that leads to dreaded winter. I do truly wish I could live in endless summer but I love my wife and my wife loves "seasons", so it is a fact of life for me.
As I sip my coffee and go over my day in the background while I spill my guts out onto the blog, I remember we have dentist appointments this morning at a new dentist. Yeah! And then I get to go back down to the Southwest corner of the state for the nth time in a few days. I have gotten out of the habit of driving 300 miles a day. It is an easy habit to break.
So, I am glad I had this extra hour. I could write a nonsensical blog post, drink a sip of coffee, listen to Atticus scratch to get back in (because he thinks every time he leaves and comes back the food fairy visited which only happens twice a day in reality, but if I remember my Pavlov that's enough to reinforce the behavior) only so I can show him the food bowl is empty so he can immediately scratch to get back out.
What is that they say? Dogs have masters and cats have staff? Oh, and... check your alarm, dummy.
This morning, it is my fault that I am up at 6:00 and not 7:00 because after all it is I who is responsible to check the time on the alarm rather than just turn it on. I needed to be up by 6:00 yesterday.
I set my alarm as a worst case scenario, because I don't usually sleep all the way to the alarm. I put it in my head what time I want to get up and then I get up. Today was a surprise. There is no going back for me once the alarm goes off. I was up.
Atticus had been pestering me for a couple hours anyhow, wanting me to put him out. As soon as he hears the first bird chirp, he wants to go. Since it was cool last night for the first time in awhile, we slept with the windows open rather than having the air on. The knock on effect was Atticus could hear the birds that much earlier.
He becomes rather relentless. Even after being pushed off the bed, he just pops right back up. It's like a game to him. Felix was the same way, bless his dead heart. In his case, though it was because he wanted food. Now. Always. Food. He could have lived in a bird house at the zoo and never once even looked up. He would have starved to death before he thought to eat a bird.
Atticus plucks them out of the sky with regularity. I have thought about trying to discourage or correct this behavior, but then I remembered he's a cat. It's what he does. I tried to come up with a punchy little memorable piece of front porch wisdom on that, but I just this second had my first sip of coffee, so I'm not all here.
In fact, I just remember this blentry is about sleep, or lack thereof, not cats and dead birds or dead cats and birds or whatever it is I just wrote. Sorry for wasting your time being off-topic. I shall immediately commence wasting your time back on topic.
Summer is hard for me to sleep because it is light up until 10 o'clock and early at 5. Maybe I have farmer's blood, I just am typically tied to the sun, whatever the sun is doing. Don't get me wrong, I am not pining for the days to recede in autumn's pernicious grasp that leads to dreaded winter. I do truly wish I could live in endless summer but I love my wife and my wife loves "seasons", so it is a fact of life for me.
As I sip my coffee and go over my day in the background while I spill my guts out onto the blog, I remember we have dentist appointments this morning at a new dentist. Yeah! And then I get to go back down to the Southwest corner of the state for the nth time in a few days. I have gotten out of the habit of driving 300 miles a day. It is an easy habit to break.
So, I am glad I had this extra hour. I could write a nonsensical blog post, drink a sip of coffee, listen to Atticus scratch to get back in (because he thinks every time he leaves and comes back the food fairy visited which only happens twice a day in reality, but if I remember my Pavlov that's enough to reinforce the behavior) only so I can show him the food bowl is empty so he can immediately scratch to get back out.
What is that they say? Dogs have masters and cats have staff? Oh, and... check your alarm, dummy.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The Deep End of Shallow Communication
I have a friend who shall remain nameless who does not like to talk on the phone. I am OK with this, as I don't love it either and we both get plenty enough of it during the commission of our jobs. Lately, my friend has needed a listening ear which is also fine as I make it known to one and all that it is of lasting importance to me that my friends are well-supported in their endeavors. Therefore I must do my part.
With my friend, it seems as though texting is the default method of communication these days. Texting is fine, but you don't propose, break up with, share important news like births and deaths over text. At least I don't put so much weight on text. Perhaps I am a little behind the times. But to me, texting is perfect for "Romaine on sale... 2?"
But our conversations have been significantly more heady that that. I find myself trying to condense my responses, which are always thoughtful and never just throw-aways, down to 160 characters.
I admit, (and you will no doubt have no problem believing me), that sometimes only 2 or 3 rapid fire texts will do. When I was in high school, we sometimes had to form 500 word essays in class and that seemed like slow hell. Now I find myself daily whipping out thousands of words in service to various different personal and professional pursuits; 500 words seems like a luxury.
I already feel inadequate to the task of my end of the conversations my friend and I have been having, because the topic tends toward the emotional and spiritual realm, which is difficult enough to discuss, let alone with limited space.
And then there is my spelling, which is poor. My friend is of far superior intelligence to me and I find myself obsessing over the technical quality of the message rather than being heartfelt and sincere. I mean, I am heartfelt and sincere, just maybe not in my normally loquacious way. No, I did not spell loquacious correctly the first time, in case you were wondering.
Perhaps I should take the challenge. I mean, better to have a long conversation over 1000 texts than to have no conversation at all. I am humbled to be in a position to advise and assist a person of such great intelligence and ability. I am further humbled that the format in which we have chosen to communicate is forcing me to think carefully about everything I say to craft the essential message with the greatest possible efficiency.
Dale Carnegie said something to the effect of 'speak only enough to ensure people leave you wanting more'. Shakespeare was more poetic when he said, "Brevity is the soul of wit."
So to my good friend, if you are reading, here are 156 characters for you:
I love you. He loves you. No matter where you go and what you try, you are not alone. Seek what you want to find and be thankful for all you have been given.
With my friend, it seems as though texting is the default method of communication these days. Texting is fine, but you don't propose, break up with, share important news like births and deaths over text. At least I don't put so much weight on text. Perhaps I am a little behind the times. But to me, texting is perfect for "Romaine on sale... 2?"
But our conversations have been significantly more heady that that. I find myself trying to condense my responses, which are always thoughtful and never just throw-aways, down to 160 characters.
I admit, (and you will no doubt have no problem believing me), that sometimes only 2 or 3 rapid fire texts will do. When I was in high school, we sometimes had to form 500 word essays in class and that seemed like slow hell. Now I find myself daily whipping out thousands of words in service to various different personal and professional pursuits; 500 words seems like a luxury.
I already feel inadequate to the task of my end of the conversations my friend and I have been having, because the topic tends toward the emotional and spiritual realm, which is difficult enough to discuss, let alone with limited space.
And then there is my spelling, which is poor. My friend is of far superior intelligence to me and I find myself obsessing over the technical quality of the message rather than being heartfelt and sincere. I mean, I am heartfelt and sincere, just maybe not in my normally loquacious way. No, I did not spell loquacious correctly the first time, in case you were wondering.
Perhaps I should take the challenge. I mean, better to have a long conversation over 1000 texts than to have no conversation at all. I am humbled to be in a position to advise and assist a person of such great intelligence and ability. I am further humbled that the format in which we have chosen to communicate is forcing me to think carefully about everything I say to craft the essential message with the greatest possible efficiency.
Dale Carnegie said something to the effect of 'speak only enough to ensure people leave you wanting more'. Shakespeare was more poetic when he said, "Brevity is the soul of wit."
So to my good friend, if you are reading, here are 156 characters for you:
I love you. He loves you. No matter where you go and what you try, you are not alone. Seek what you want to find and be thankful for all you have been given.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
The All Wandering Eye
Guys have a wandering eye. There is no doubt about that. I think women do, too - it usually has to do with shoes. Women tend to only notice other guys when they're in a group of women. For some reason, that seems to make it acceptable. A group of ladies going into the ahem, ladies club is cute and fun.
Guys, wanderers by nature, are pretty bad individually. Put a group of them together and the whole world is an, ahem, gentlemens club. If ogling was a crime, the jailers would all have to be women, because all the men would be in jail. Forever. I will allow for a brief pause here since I know of at least a couple regular readers who would like to savor that thought.
I have a wandering eye. I can't not look at a dog. I love looking at dogs; sometimes the people walking the dogs aren't too bad to look at, either. I have a wandering eye for food, having a hard time hiding my epicurean lust when passing a windowed restaurant or worse, an outdoor cafe. I wonder if you get a refund when a random stranger drools on your entree?
Mostly though, I have a wandering eye for cars. Summer is really hard for me because even though Bruce, my Corvette has been in my life for 21 years, I still wonder what it would be like to be with other cars that I see. Poor, long suffering Bruce sits in my dank garage getting less attention than she deserves and I am out looking at the delights of the business-like but classy Porsches and dainty little British numbers like MGs and Triumphs with their smaller engines and subtle curves the equivalent of the girl next door wearing a sundress. Of course, the cars are more likely to drop their tops.
Meanwhile my mean motored curvy love sits waiting quietly in the garage bathed in her petroleum perfume; looking for all the world like a world weary cougar just a little past her prime, but still formidable. I should have called her Maggy May, like the Rod Stewart song where he tries to wrest himself from the grips of his older lover.
Some cars you own, other cars you lust after. A hot Latin number would be the thing, but I don't think I am man enough to keep a Ferrari or Alpha Romeo happy for too long. Well, maybe a Spyder Veloce or Giulietta, the cute younger sisters in Alpha's lineup. But then I wouldn't really be happy, would I? I would just be one step closer to the hot big sister. The thought of trying to tame a snarling Lamborgini actually puts fear into my heart. Like sleeping with a woman because you are afraid of what she would do if you tried to deny her. A Lambo is not owned, it owns you.
Life for a guy with a wandering eye is so difficult. I will look at anything, even if it lower quality than what I already have at home. So help me I even found myself looking at Opel GTs online the other day. Probably because I had a brief fling with one as a teen and I have fond innocent memories of that car. But forsaking a Corvette for an Opel GT would be a lot like forsaking your rich well-connected wife to take up with the maid... and that is just stupid.
The good news is I can't be unfaithful to old Bruce. I don't have the money. But that doesn't really bode well for a relationship, does it? Who looks at their significant other and says to themselves "You're fine for now, but watch out if I win the lotto!"
Would it be so bad if I didn't get rid of Bruce and just brought home another girl... I mean car? Wow! All the bad behavior I am prone to with automobiles I deplore in people! "Oh, Bruce, I drive her hard but it's you I really love!"
I'm a slime. There is really no other way to solve this problem. I must drive Bruce today to rekindle that romance and remember her nuances and why I fell in love in the first place. Maybe we'll have a nice meal together and cruise the country roads for a bit. I will park her back in the deep, dark garage and glance furtively back over my shoulder to appreciate her curves one more time in the dying light where her flaws are hidden - allowing for her once resplendent beauty to come to the fore. Then to feel my heart beat as I realize that I could love no one, I mean no car, more than she.
Guys, wanderers by nature, are pretty bad individually. Put a group of them together and the whole world is an, ahem, gentlemens club. If ogling was a crime, the jailers would all have to be women, because all the men would be in jail. Forever. I will allow for a brief pause here since I know of at least a couple regular readers who would like to savor that thought.
I have a wandering eye. I can't not look at a dog. I love looking at dogs; sometimes the people walking the dogs aren't too bad to look at, either. I have a wandering eye for food, having a hard time hiding my epicurean lust when passing a windowed restaurant or worse, an outdoor cafe. I wonder if you get a refund when a random stranger drools on your entree?
Mostly though, I have a wandering eye for cars. Summer is really hard for me because even though Bruce, my Corvette has been in my life for 21 years, I still wonder what it would be like to be with other cars that I see. Poor, long suffering Bruce sits in my dank garage getting less attention than she deserves and I am out looking at the delights of the business-like but classy Porsches and dainty little British numbers like MGs and Triumphs with their smaller engines and subtle curves the equivalent of the girl next door wearing a sundress. Of course, the cars are more likely to drop their tops.
Meanwhile my mean motored curvy love sits waiting quietly in the garage bathed in her petroleum perfume; looking for all the world like a world weary cougar just a little past her prime, but still formidable. I should have called her Maggy May, like the Rod Stewart song where he tries to wrest himself from the grips of his older lover.
Some cars you own, other cars you lust after. A hot Latin number would be the thing, but I don't think I am man enough to keep a Ferrari or Alpha Romeo happy for too long. Well, maybe a Spyder Veloce or Giulietta, the cute younger sisters in Alpha's lineup. But then I wouldn't really be happy, would I? I would just be one step closer to the hot big sister. The thought of trying to tame a snarling Lamborgini actually puts fear into my heart. Like sleeping with a woman because you are afraid of what she would do if you tried to deny her. A Lambo is not owned, it owns you.
Life for a guy with a wandering eye is so difficult. I will look at anything, even if it lower quality than what I already have at home. So help me I even found myself looking at Opel GTs online the other day. Probably because I had a brief fling with one as a teen and I have fond innocent memories of that car. But forsaking a Corvette for an Opel GT would be a lot like forsaking your rich well-connected wife to take up with the maid... and that is just stupid.
The good news is I can't be unfaithful to old Bruce. I don't have the money. But that doesn't really bode well for a relationship, does it? Who looks at their significant other and says to themselves "You're fine for now, but watch out if I win the lotto!"
Would it be so bad if I didn't get rid of Bruce and just brought home another girl... I mean car? Wow! All the bad behavior I am prone to with automobiles I deplore in people! "Oh, Bruce, I drive her hard but it's you I really love!"
I'm a slime. There is really no other way to solve this problem. I must drive Bruce today to rekindle that romance and remember her nuances and why I fell in love in the first place. Maybe we'll have a nice meal together and cruise the country roads for a bit. I will park her back in the deep, dark garage and glance furtively back over my shoulder to appreciate her curves one more time in the dying light where her flaws are hidden - allowing for her once resplendent beauty to come to the fore. Then to feel my heart beat as I realize that I could love no one, I mean no car, more than she.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Yes, I saw Bigfoot
While today my mind is as open as a Nebraska field, I was once a very black and white person. It was on/off, yes/no, good/bad all the way. Why bother with minutiae or evidence? The world is an easy place when you just make snap judgments and move on. It's how the Republican party became so popular.
I preface this blentry this way because I am about to admit that I saw Bigfoot... or something. Whatever I saw wasn't anything I had ever seen - for real or on TV. The year was 1992 and I was in love with a girl named Bridget Casey. This becomes important later in the story so file that for now. I was a manager at Burger King, because, you know, I didn't apparently want friends or a social life. It was 4 something in the morning. I was on my way to work. I was driving fast. When recounting the story later, I would say I was driving fast because I was running late. This is not entirely true; I just drove really fast in those days. in fact, I was a greasy haired, foul-mouthed, chain-smoking, sports car driving teenage boy. Mothers, lock up your daughters.
Back to it. I am a bit bleary eyed driving somewhere between 60 and 100 miles-per-hour and that is when I saw "it". Bigfoot, or what I am calling Bigfoot for lack of more appropriate taxonomy was running next to my car on his two hind legs. He was silvery colored in the glow of my headlights. His fur was long and covered his body. He was no unlike Chubakka, the Wookie.
Did I mention I was driving at some speed? And has it sunken in yet that he or it was running next to my car? As in keeping up with my car. At some speed.
Good, glad we are on the same page here. Bigfoot then somersaulted onto the hood of my car. He was on the passenger side when I saw him initially, running on the right shoulder of the road. He vaulted over the hood to the driver side and disappeared as soon as he appeared.
Not only did I see Bigfoot, but I watched him do his T.J. Hooker impression at 4 something in the morning near 52nd and Breton in Kentwood, Michigan.
Go back and read the first paragraph where I foreshadowed my own indignant disbelief. You won't miss anything. I'll wait to finish until you get back.
You didn't do it, did you? No, you didn't because that would have been silly. But not nearly as silly as seeing Bigfoot, or Chubakka or whatever it was I saw. While the years have eroded the immense rush of emotions I felt at the time, I remember the unbridled abandon with which I happily told everyone I came across at work what had just happened.
Me at the drive-through speaker: "Thanks for choosing Burger King, I saw Bigfoot, pull to the second window and I'll tell you all about it..."
People thought I was crazy already. I was, after all, the greasy haired, foul-mouthed, chain-smoking, sports car driving young buck who was not without energy and a way with words. I am sure the energy that I have crafted over the years to work in my advantage was at that point simply energy. I don't recall being especially fun to be around.
And now, to add to being unpleasant, I was certifiable. Great combo. I had a lot going for me.
Work couldn't get by fast enough and when 3:30 came, I was off like a prom dress, retracing my route. I guess I was hoping to Bigfoot would come back for an encore. No such luck, of course.
Now, Bridget Casey and I were never boyfriend and girlfriend. She had a boyfriend and I had no shortage of girlfriends at any given time. This because I had a job, a car and money to spend on dating. I was a good choice by default but I was not "choice".
Bridget and I went to camp together a few weeks hence and pined for each other. I called her the second I got home from work.
Me: "I have something very important to tell you. I need you to listen to me, because I feel kinda weird about it and I need you to tell me you believe me."
BC: "I have to talk to you but I think you are going to think I am crazy."
Me: "Fine, yes, but me first. This is big, I promise."
BC: "It isn't as big as what I have to say- Unless you saw Bigfoot last night..."
Utter. Silence.
Me: "Dammit, Bridge... you aren't going to believe me now. That's what I was going to tell you!"
We began to recount our stories in full confessional form. No detail was spared. It was cathartic. And comforting, since she was not any crazier than you would expect a girl who would have me as a friend to be. And I didn't feel so crazy, either.
She and her sister MaryBeth were out kinda stalking a guy that MaryBeth liked. they lived out in the country and they were on a rural road. It was dark, approaching midnight when Bigfoot simply ambled out in front of MaryBeth's maroon Pontiac Grad Prix. It regarded them, and just kept ambling.
The girls were scared and high-tailed it out of there. I would have, too. In fact I did just a few hours and about 10 miles away. Now, 10 miles is a lot of distance to walk in four hours, but if you go back and re-read up top somewhere, I told you this thing could run like, 60 MPH.
Bridget's physical description of Bigfoot was identical to mine. She went first, remember so she had no knowledge of what my experience had been.
I know what you're thinking. I was being lampooned. But Bridget was unknown to anyone I talked to that day up to that point. We were "super-secret" friends if you catch my drift. Since her parents didn't like me so much, (I was after all a greasy haired, foul mouthed, chain-smoking, sports car driving maniac- I wouldn't have liked me much, either), and she had a boyfriend. There were only a few people who knew of her existence... people who went to camp with us a few weeks earlier. I had not seen or told any of them.
So, that's the implausible but utterly true story of how I, the greasy haired, foul mouthed, chain-smoking, sports car driving maniac saw Bigfoot the same night as Bridget and MaryBeth Casey; two church-going girls of unstained pedigree and utmost honesty, I assure you.
I didn't see Bridget again. Almost ever, until the next summer we were on the same bus trip to Denver. She saw me and gave me a great big hug. She told me she loved me and we did not speak the rest of the trip, nor ever again. I guess when you've been through something like that, you've go nowhere to go. I have never seen Bigfoot since, either, but I no longer scoff at those who say they have.
I preface this blentry this way because I am about to admit that I saw Bigfoot... or something. Whatever I saw wasn't anything I had ever seen - for real or on TV. The year was 1992 and I was in love with a girl named Bridget Casey. This becomes important later in the story so file that for now. I was a manager at Burger King, because, you know, I didn't apparently want friends or a social life. It was 4 something in the morning. I was on my way to work. I was driving fast. When recounting the story later, I would say I was driving fast because I was running late. This is not entirely true; I just drove really fast in those days. in fact, I was a greasy haired, foul-mouthed, chain-smoking, sports car driving teenage boy. Mothers, lock up your daughters.
Back to it. I am a bit bleary eyed driving somewhere between 60 and 100 miles-per-hour and that is when I saw "it". Bigfoot, or what I am calling Bigfoot for lack of more appropriate taxonomy was running next to my car on his two hind legs. He was silvery colored in the glow of my headlights. His fur was long and covered his body. He was no unlike Chubakka, the Wookie.
Did I mention I was driving at some speed? And has it sunken in yet that he or it was running next to my car? As in keeping up with my car. At some speed.
Good, glad we are on the same page here. Bigfoot then somersaulted onto the hood of my car. He was on the passenger side when I saw him initially, running on the right shoulder of the road. He vaulted over the hood to the driver side and disappeared as soon as he appeared.
Not only did I see Bigfoot, but I watched him do his T.J. Hooker impression at 4 something in the morning near 52nd and Breton in Kentwood, Michigan.
Go back and read the first paragraph where I foreshadowed my own indignant disbelief. You won't miss anything. I'll wait to finish until you get back.
You didn't do it, did you? No, you didn't because that would have been silly. But not nearly as silly as seeing Bigfoot, or Chubakka or whatever it was I saw. While the years have eroded the immense rush of emotions I felt at the time, I remember the unbridled abandon with which I happily told everyone I came across at work what had just happened.
Me at the drive-through speaker: "Thanks for choosing Burger King, I saw Bigfoot, pull to the second window and I'll tell you all about it..."
People thought I was crazy already. I was, after all, the greasy haired, foul-mouthed, chain-smoking, sports car driving young buck who was not without energy and a way with words. I am sure the energy that I have crafted over the years to work in my advantage was at that point simply energy. I don't recall being especially fun to be around.
And now, to add to being unpleasant, I was certifiable. Great combo. I had a lot going for me.
Work couldn't get by fast enough and when 3:30 came, I was off like a prom dress, retracing my route. I guess I was hoping to Bigfoot would come back for an encore. No such luck, of course.
Now, Bridget Casey and I were never boyfriend and girlfriend. She had a boyfriend and I had no shortage of girlfriends at any given time. This because I had a job, a car and money to spend on dating. I was a good choice by default but I was not "choice".
Bridget and I went to camp together a few weeks hence and pined for each other. I called her the second I got home from work.
Me: "I have something very important to tell you. I need you to listen to me, because I feel kinda weird about it and I need you to tell me you believe me."
BC: "I have to talk to you but I think you are going to think I am crazy."
Me: "Fine, yes, but me first. This is big, I promise."
BC: "It isn't as big as what I have to say- Unless you saw Bigfoot last night..."
Utter. Silence.
Me: "Dammit, Bridge... you aren't going to believe me now. That's what I was going to tell you!"
We began to recount our stories in full confessional form. No detail was spared. It was cathartic. And comforting, since she was not any crazier than you would expect a girl who would have me as a friend to be. And I didn't feel so crazy, either.
She and her sister MaryBeth were out kinda stalking a guy that MaryBeth liked. they lived out in the country and they were on a rural road. It was dark, approaching midnight when Bigfoot simply ambled out in front of MaryBeth's maroon Pontiac Grad Prix. It regarded them, and just kept ambling.
The girls were scared and high-tailed it out of there. I would have, too. In fact I did just a few hours and about 10 miles away. Now, 10 miles is a lot of distance to walk in four hours, but if you go back and re-read up top somewhere, I told you this thing could run like, 60 MPH.
Bridget's physical description of Bigfoot was identical to mine. She went first, remember so she had no knowledge of what my experience had been.
I know what you're thinking. I was being lampooned. But Bridget was unknown to anyone I talked to that day up to that point. We were "super-secret" friends if you catch my drift. Since her parents didn't like me so much, (I was after all a greasy haired, foul mouthed, chain-smoking, sports car driving maniac- I wouldn't have liked me much, either), and she had a boyfriend. There were only a few people who knew of her existence... people who went to camp with us a few weeks earlier. I had not seen or told any of them.
So, that's the implausible but utterly true story of how I, the greasy haired, foul mouthed, chain-smoking, sports car driving maniac saw Bigfoot the same night as Bridget and MaryBeth Casey; two church-going girls of unstained pedigree and utmost honesty, I assure you.
I didn't see Bridget again. Almost ever, until the next summer we were on the same bus trip to Denver. She saw me and gave me a great big hug. She told me she loved me and we did not speak the rest of the trip, nor ever again. I guess when you've been through something like that, you've go nowhere to go. I have never seen Bigfoot since, either, but I no longer scoff at those who say they have.
Theme Songs
I thought for sure I had blogged about theme songs before. I went back to look over previous blentries only to find most of them so laughably bad that I couldn't go on. Why you people read this crap I'll never know. Why I write it is a whole other round of therapy.
Theme songs, as in personal theme songs. My life is set to the soundtrack of the music in my head. There is always music in my head. If you were here talking to me right now in an otherwise silent room, you would hear your voice and I would hear your voice set to music.
If you are saying something that is profound, maybe it is a big classical piece or deep cut track from some prog rock stadium band. If you are being funny, maybe it's a little funk or some good old Rock and Roll. Warren Zevon goes well with funny. If you are being stupid, I hear "Baby Elephant Walk" or the march of the elephants. When I am determined, Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King" or Wagner's "Ride of the Valkeries" are two good ones. Sometimes, Bill Cosby's take on the "Green Hornet" theme sneaks it. That always makes me laugh. When I am walking really fast and in a hurry, I hear the "fast" music from Mario Brothers. That usually makes me laugh, too.
And so it goes.
But personal theme songs are different. They are what you hear when you think of yourself. I have had many over the years. "Africa" by Toto was the first; not because it was apropos of anything. I just liked the song.
Then it was "New Life" by Everclear because it was almost like it was written about my situation at the time. I don't go around talking about personal theme songs, because people are already sure I am weird enough. Many years after the fact that song came on when Greg and I were in the car and it hit him like a ton of bricks... "Oh my God!", he said "That was you!"
After that it was "Time" by Pink Floyd. With a lyric like "wasting away, the moments that make up the dog days; fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way; kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown; waiting for someone or something to show you the way".
It was my theme song because it represented how I felt about life, if not being quite accurate in reality.
I don't have a theme song currently. Maybe if I were going literal as I have done with prior theme songs, Kenny Loggins "I'm Alright" or Billy Joel's "My Life" would be good choices. "The Dog Days are Over" by Florence and the Machine is a good choice, too. I wrote about that song in a previous blentry.
There's a sweet little ditty called "Ooogum Boogum" that I have always liked. Please follow the link if you don't know it. It isn't a theme song contender as such, but it makes me happy.
I also like this song. It also makes me happy. It is called "Sydney(I'll Come Runnin')" It is what a good pop song should be. Maybe it's not what a theme song should be, but I like it none-the-less.
I guess it's easier to have a theme song when things aren't going so well. It is really the times that we are in pain that seem to bring out the tortured artist in us all. I know when I am in a funk I can't stop writing. I imagine it's the same for song writers. The opposite is often true when life is humming along.
Oddly, maybe we don't need theme songs when life is good. I don't know. I don't know why it is easier for me to put down thoughts on paper when I am angry or discontented. I guess maybe it's because I developed my humor as a defense mechanism against that adversity. No adversity, no humor.
I think there are innumerable examples of this in professional entertainment. Can you imagine Jimmi Hendrix all dried out and singing folk songs? Nope. How about Mamma Cass on TV hawking packaged dinners for Jenny Craig. Perish the thought.
I don't put myself in the pantheon of these genius savants, I use them only as an example. What would the raven hath quoted if Poe was happy-go-lucky? I am sorry for the tortured souls, but I appreciate the sharing of the great things that come out of that adversity.
And now, back to theme songs. Adversity or not, what is yours?
Theme songs, as in personal theme songs. My life is set to the soundtrack of the music in my head. There is always music in my head. If you were here talking to me right now in an otherwise silent room, you would hear your voice and I would hear your voice set to music.
If you are saying something that is profound, maybe it is a big classical piece or deep cut track from some prog rock stadium band. If you are being funny, maybe it's a little funk or some good old Rock and Roll. Warren Zevon goes well with funny. If you are being stupid, I hear "Baby Elephant Walk" or the march of the elephants. When I am determined, Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King" or Wagner's "Ride of the Valkeries" are two good ones. Sometimes, Bill Cosby's take on the "Green Hornet" theme sneaks it. That always makes me laugh. When I am walking really fast and in a hurry, I hear the "fast" music from Mario Brothers. That usually makes me laugh, too.
And so it goes.
But personal theme songs are different. They are what you hear when you think of yourself. I have had many over the years. "Africa" by Toto was the first; not because it was apropos of anything. I just liked the song.
Then it was "New Life" by Everclear because it was almost like it was written about my situation at the time. I don't go around talking about personal theme songs, because people are already sure I am weird enough. Many years after the fact that song came on when Greg and I were in the car and it hit him like a ton of bricks... "Oh my God!", he said "That was you!"
After that it was "Time" by Pink Floyd. With a lyric like "wasting away, the moments that make up the dog days; fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way; kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown; waiting for someone or something to show you the way".
It was my theme song because it represented how I felt about life, if not being quite accurate in reality.
I don't have a theme song currently. Maybe if I were going literal as I have done with prior theme songs, Kenny Loggins "I'm Alright" or Billy Joel's "My Life" would be good choices. "The Dog Days are Over" by Florence and the Machine is a good choice, too. I wrote about that song in a previous blentry.
There's a sweet little ditty called "Ooogum Boogum" that I have always liked. Please follow the link if you don't know it. It isn't a theme song contender as such, but it makes me happy.
I also like this song. It also makes me happy. It is called "Sydney(I'll Come Runnin')" It is what a good pop song should be. Maybe it's not what a theme song should be, but I like it none-the-less.
I guess it's easier to have a theme song when things aren't going so well. It is really the times that we are in pain that seem to bring out the tortured artist in us all. I know when I am in a funk I can't stop writing. I imagine it's the same for song writers. The opposite is often true when life is humming along.
Oddly, maybe we don't need theme songs when life is good. I don't know. I don't know why it is easier for me to put down thoughts on paper when I am angry or discontented. I guess maybe it's because I developed my humor as a defense mechanism against that adversity. No adversity, no humor.
I think there are innumerable examples of this in professional entertainment. Can you imagine Jimmi Hendrix all dried out and singing folk songs? Nope. How about Mamma Cass on TV hawking packaged dinners for Jenny Craig. Perish the thought.
I don't put myself in the pantheon of these genius savants, I use them only as an example. What would the raven hath quoted if Poe was happy-go-lucky? I am sorry for the tortured souls, but I appreciate the sharing of the great things that come out of that adversity.
And now, back to theme songs. Adversity or not, what is yours?
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Please Direct Your Attention To Mr. Ebert
For today, please direct your attention to Mr. Roger Ebert's excellent blog.
There is nothing more to say.
There is nothing more to say.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
A Window to My Thoughts
Things On My Mind
I have always had a fantasy that at any given moment, there are groups of people hanging out together in secret locations to discuss their similarities and differences and to pat each other on the back or boast about their prowess.
I always envisioned a dark house where all the burglers and thieves went to at the end of the stealing day to play show and tell about the things they took. "Wow, look over here, Vance... Charlie hit the mother lode!"
Similarly, I figure famous people have a super-secret mutual admiration society where they get together. The Church of Scientology and the Friar's Club notwithstanding, I wonder what this mystical place would be like. It has to be different from the not-so-secret gathering spots where we are allowed to see glimpses of the celebs in the wild, like some sort of zoo. So, I am not talking about the Playboy mansions, or the night clubs or the awards parties. I wanna know where they all go to talk shop and light cigars with the hair of the virgin Haitian boys and girls who serve them,.
I want to know if Bruce Springsteen and Elvis Costello ever host an obtuse poetry slam attended by David Byrne and Brian Eno. I want to know if Jewel and Alannis Morisette have ever had a kick boxing matched refereed by Sarah McLaughlin.
I wanna know if the Proclaimers are openly hostile to Mumford and Sons for basically stealing their act and doing it so, so much better. Do actors and actresses try to out-act one another? Does Elizabeth Hurley still get sweaty palms when Dame Helen Mirren walks in the room? Do they have numbers based on fame, wealth, status or simply in the order they got there? Can you be kicked out of the club one you are in? I can't imagine Todd Bridges is still allowed, though certainly he was, once. How does it stay secret? After all, these people are second only to politicians at the bottom of the "I can keep a secret" pile.
Now, you wonder why I can't sleep at night.
_____________________________________________________________
Speaking of Politicians
Mitt Romney's mouth got him into more trouble this past weekend when he made a self-contradictory statement about Obama and the economy. What's more, the statement also contradicted previous statements he has made on the same topic.
I am not a fan of Romney for this very reason. He is the epitome of the political double-talker who has made himself a career candidate by shopping various messages around to various events and audiences hoping to resonate with everone, (except of course those damn dirty democrats).
At the end of the day, he comes out saying nothing. It is the main reason for his wash out during the last election cycle. I for one am tired of being lied to. Here is the absolute truth. One person, one party, one administration does not have the ability to put us into, or get us out of a situation like the one we are in right now. The makeup of the government assures it.
In fact, (by which I mean 'in my opinion' which is fact if I say so), the deadly combination of low-level plebian administrators colluding with crooked CEOs has a much more direct and immediate effect over the economy than any presidential administration does. Read here if you are interested on how I have come to that conclusion.
But the politicians, (not just Romney if that makes you feel better or worse), all want you to believe that their opponent is the cause of all ill and that only they have the one brilliant idea that will save the world from disaster. Why we didn't buy Romney's message before I don't know. Perhaps Obama was a better liar. I do believe he is also at present a victim of his own inflated hubris. That isn't because he is a democrat, or a black man or from the cracked Illinois political machine. It is because the higher the rhetoric got, the more enthusiastic the audience got. And now that audience who allowed itself to get so pumped up with "Yes We Can!" has a hangover upon the realization that St. Barack is but a man like the rest of us.
The same would have been true for a President Romney, and for all of them, with the possible exception of Ron Paul who is also a crackpot. But he's my kind of crackpot.
So the stump speech is nothing more or less than political Mad Libs:
I, (Candidate's Name), have what it takes to (fix/eliminate/legislate/transfigure) the whole of the entire world! I believe the (federal government/state government/local constabulitary) should have (more/less/all/no) power and you as citizens of (name the place where you are now) (have the responsibility to/have the right to) a better more prosperous world!
We have to fix the problems (caused by/made worse by) my (opponent/the other party)! Only if we stand united as (republicans/democrats) can we reverse the scourge of the (overreaching/tyrranical) opposition. Only we can (shrink government to make it more effective/increase the role and oversight of the government) to make this happen!
We all have one goal! That is (eliminate the debt/balance the budget/make sacrifies/allow gay people to marry/press forward for equality/eliminate taxes/tax the hell out of rich bitches/tax poor people/eliminate services/increase services/fight for prayer in school/eliminate God from the vocabulary/mandate weekly rainbows for the treatment of depression/raise the debt ceiling/bail out the corporations and banks/allow people to fail/buy back bad motgages/increase interest rates to slow inflation/lower interest ragtes to spur growth/bring back Gummy Bears-Smurfs hour)! It is just that simple!
The country is (broke/broken). Now, more than ever, we need to make (the tough choices/a stand) (for/against) (well meaning/poorly executed/wrong headed/necessary) government regulations, brought on by (years of my opponent's mismanagement/my predecessor/republicans/democrats/wacky libertarians).
Thank you, (God/Allah/Buddha/Other) (bless you/offer you shalom/give you peace/bestow wisdom upon you/grant you three wishes) and may (he/she/it/they) bless the United States of America!
I have always had a fantasy that at any given moment, there are groups of people hanging out together in secret locations to discuss their similarities and differences and to pat each other on the back or boast about their prowess.
I always envisioned a dark house where all the burglers and thieves went to at the end of the stealing day to play show and tell about the things they took. "Wow, look over here, Vance... Charlie hit the mother lode!"
Similarly, I figure famous people have a super-secret mutual admiration society where they get together. The Church of Scientology and the Friar's Club notwithstanding, I wonder what this mystical place would be like. It has to be different from the not-so-secret gathering spots where we are allowed to see glimpses of the celebs in the wild, like some sort of zoo. So, I am not talking about the Playboy mansions, or the night clubs or the awards parties. I wanna know where they all go to talk shop and light cigars with the hair of the virgin Haitian boys and girls who serve them,.
I want to know if Bruce Springsteen and Elvis Costello ever host an obtuse poetry slam attended by David Byrne and Brian Eno. I want to know if Jewel and Alannis Morisette have ever had a kick boxing matched refereed by Sarah McLaughlin.
I wanna know if the Proclaimers are openly hostile to Mumford and Sons for basically stealing their act and doing it so, so much better. Do actors and actresses try to out-act one another? Does Elizabeth Hurley still get sweaty palms when Dame Helen Mirren walks in the room? Do they have numbers based on fame, wealth, status or simply in the order they got there? Can you be kicked out of the club one you are in? I can't imagine Todd Bridges is still allowed, though certainly he was, once. How does it stay secret? After all, these people are second only to politicians at the bottom of the "I can keep a secret" pile.
Now, you wonder why I can't sleep at night.
_____________________________________________________________
Speaking of Politicians
Mitt Romney's mouth got him into more trouble this past weekend when he made a self-contradictory statement about Obama and the economy. What's more, the statement also contradicted previous statements he has made on the same topic.
I am not a fan of Romney for this very reason. He is the epitome of the political double-talker who has made himself a career candidate by shopping various messages around to various events and audiences hoping to resonate with everone, (except of course those damn dirty democrats).
At the end of the day, he comes out saying nothing. It is the main reason for his wash out during the last election cycle. I for one am tired of being lied to. Here is the absolute truth. One person, one party, one administration does not have the ability to put us into, or get us out of a situation like the one we are in right now. The makeup of the government assures it.
In fact, (by which I mean 'in my opinion' which is fact if I say so), the deadly combination of low-level plebian administrators colluding with crooked CEOs has a much more direct and immediate effect over the economy than any presidential administration does. Read here if you are interested on how I have come to that conclusion.
But the politicians, (not just Romney if that makes you feel better or worse), all want you to believe that their opponent is the cause of all ill and that only they have the one brilliant idea that will save the world from disaster. Why we didn't buy Romney's message before I don't know. Perhaps Obama was a better liar. I do believe he is also at present a victim of his own inflated hubris. That isn't because he is a democrat, or a black man or from the cracked Illinois political machine. It is because the higher the rhetoric got, the more enthusiastic the audience got. And now that audience who allowed itself to get so pumped up with "Yes We Can!" has a hangover upon the realization that St. Barack is but a man like the rest of us.
The same would have been true for a President Romney, and for all of them, with the possible exception of Ron Paul who is also a crackpot. But he's my kind of crackpot.
So the stump speech is nothing more or less than political Mad Libs:
I, (Candidate's Name), have what it takes to (fix/eliminate/legislate/transfigure) the whole of the entire world! I believe the (federal government/state government/local constabulitary) should have (more/less/all/no) power and you as citizens of (name the place where you are now) (have the responsibility to/have the right to) a better more prosperous world!
We have to fix the problems (caused by/made worse by) my (opponent/the other party)! Only if we stand united as (republicans/democrats) can we reverse the scourge of the (overreaching/tyrranical) opposition. Only we can (shrink government to make it more effective/increase the role and oversight of the government) to make this happen!
We all have one goal! That is (eliminate the debt/balance the budget/make sacrifies/allow gay people to marry/press forward for equality/eliminate taxes/tax the hell out of rich bitches/tax poor people/eliminate services/increase services/fight for prayer in school/eliminate God from the vocabulary/mandate weekly rainbows for the treatment of depression/raise the debt ceiling/bail out the corporations and banks/allow people to fail/buy back bad motgages/increase interest rates to slow inflation/lower interest ragtes to spur growth/bring back Gummy Bears-Smurfs hour)! It is just that simple!
The country is (broke/broken). Now, more than ever, we need to make (the tough choices/a stand) (for/against) (well meaning/poorly executed/wrong headed/necessary) government regulations, brought on by (years of my opponent's mismanagement/my predecessor/republicans/democrats/wacky libertarians).
Thank you, (God/Allah/Buddha/Other) (bless you/offer you shalom/give you peace/bestow wisdom upon you/grant you three wishes) and may (he/she/it/they) bless the United States of America!
Monday, July 4, 2011
Pop Goes the World
Jamming all we could into the back of the Corvette, we were off on a sunny July 3rd to South Haven to go see the best fireworks show in west Michigan according to a website that for all we know was written by the same people who produce the show.
Whatever, that wasn't important. I mapped a leisurely route avoiding freeways so we could enjoy the increasingly rural scenery as we wended west and south toward our destination without undue stress on the 32 year old car. We took the GPS, but I had written the detailed instructions to Em could guide us turn by turn. This would require interaction and communication rather than simply following the machine.
We made it without incident, a bit sun baked on the outboard sides of our bodies. We were hungry when we rolled into the mass bit of chaos that defines the many lake shore communities of our fair state. There were as many Illinois license plates as Michigan, South Haven being a haven for the residents of Chicago. I won't at this point launch too far into a diatribe on my hatred for Illinois drivers... let's just say they could screw up a traffic jam. There was one incident in particular that I will not get into that reinforced my viewpoint to the extreme.
So, while in traffic, we had plenty of time to look at the 98% of people who should never wear bikinis. Too skinny or too fat, we decided it is a small population indeed that should be allowed to wear so little. If the internet has taught us anything it is that just because you are willing to walk around without clothes on doesn't mean you should.
We ate at a place called The Thirsty Perch. It was very good. Dessert was unnecessary but we did it anyway.
We trundled off in the direction of the masses who were shuffling like so many zombies who were all strangely equipped for the beach. We had no idea where we were going, but managed to make it there anyhow. We staked our claim and began to settle in when two men indicated there were going to be many kids there in a moment.
He seemed to indicate that he had claim to the acre of property surrounding him. Given his size, if the rest of his family were anything like him, he would need all that acre. My response was, well, we are only two people, so we'll be right here... and we love kids.
The time was 7:38 pm. It was 2 hours 52 minutes to show. And 2 hours 52 minutes of reinforcement of all my prejudices and stereotypes and hatred of people in general. Emily and I had eschewed both chairs, (which we left in the car because we didn't want to carry them), and entertainment such as magazines. She brought mad-libs, but left the pen in the car. We were left to ourselves in the neutral ground between the two fattest and most annoying families in all of Michigan.
We did not know we would be judging a competition of which was worse between two overweight, under smart and ironically seemingly well-moneyed families. It was hell.
The family in back, the ones who warned us of their impending descent on the grounds staged a farting contest. There was also a 20 minute non-stop run of "yo-mamma" jokes, all of which were wholly inappropriate for the age of the children in tow; and a seemingly never-ending round of "would you rather" questions, each dumber than the last. They dropped seemingly thousands of dollars on glowing plastic gew-gaws and never, ever did shut up, even during the show.
The fat family in front of us never stopped eating. The one girl was so under dressed that I saw more of her than I ever needed to. Since moving was not one of her talents, it wasn't just a flash, it was a freeze frame. Like a train wreck, I couldn't help but watch. This family had the audacity to make fun of other people for their looks and actions, to the point of taking pictures of them and openly mocking them, which prompted Em to ask me if I thought they knew what they looked like.
We were supremely annoyed. It was a long three hours. Two families bellied up to either side of us. at one point we caught eyes with one who were clearly over it, too. I just said "Three hours!" They told us we were hard core and being South Haven residents seemed apologetic. They were very nice and for the first time in hours, we felt like humanity wasn't doomed.
That's when the other family who was to the right of us all lit up their cigarettes. All of them. All at once. I got shitty at this point, because I am still struggling with my sinus event and smoke is not on the list of treatments. I found it rude and annoying and so outdated. Who smokes anymore?
The show started right on time and it was awesome. The last three hours of strain had melted away as we saw elements that were new to both Em and me. It was a half hour long, which for me is plenty. It ebbed and crested throughout, staying interesting. There were some volleys that were quite simply breathtaking. It was a great show.
We made it back to the car and out of South Haven without incident. We took the expressways home and made it in an hour. Half the time it took to get there. The car ran flawlessly.
I had a night cap and went to bed and slept soundly.
All in all, aside from the worrisome condition of decorum in American culture, it was a very nice day in the very nice city of South Haven. Have a happy Independence day, everyone! God Bless!
Whatever, that wasn't important. I mapped a leisurely route avoiding freeways so we could enjoy the increasingly rural scenery as we wended west and south toward our destination without undue stress on the 32 year old car. We took the GPS, but I had written the detailed instructions to Em could guide us turn by turn. This would require interaction and communication rather than simply following the machine.
We made it without incident, a bit sun baked on the outboard sides of our bodies. We were hungry when we rolled into the mass bit of chaos that defines the many lake shore communities of our fair state. There were as many Illinois license plates as Michigan, South Haven being a haven for the residents of Chicago. I won't at this point launch too far into a diatribe on my hatred for Illinois drivers... let's just say they could screw up a traffic jam. There was one incident in particular that I will not get into that reinforced my viewpoint to the extreme.
So, while in traffic, we had plenty of time to look at the 98% of people who should never wear bikinis. Too skinny or too fat, we decided it is a small population indeed that should be allowed to wear so little. If the internet has taught us anything it is that just because you are willing to walk around without clothes on doesn't mean you should.
We ate at a place called The Thirsty Perch. It was very good. Dessert was unnecessary but we did it anyway.
We trundled off in the direction of the masses who were shuffling like so many zombies who were all strangely equipped for the beach. We had no idea where we were going, but managed to make it there anyhow. We staked our claim and began to settle in when two men indicated there were going to be many kids there in a moment.
He seemed to indicate that he had claim to the acre of property surrounding him. Given his size, if the rest of his family were anything like him, he would need all that acre. My response was, well, we are only two people, so we'll be right here... and we love kids.
The time was 7:38 pm. It was 2 hours 52 minutes to show. And 2 hours 52 minutes of reinforcement of all my prejudices and stereotypes and hatred of people in general. Emily and I had eschewed both chairs, (which we left in the car because we didn't want to carry them), and entertainment such as magazines. She brought mad-libs, but left the pen in the car. We were left to ourselves in the neutral ground between the two fattest and most annoying families in all of Michigan.
We did not know we would be judging a competition of which was worse between two overweight, under smart and ironically seemingly well-moneyed families. It was hell.
The family in back, the ones who warned us of their impending descent on the grounds staged a farting contest. There was also a 20 minute non-stop run of "yo-mamma" jokes, all of which were wholly inappropriate for the age of the children in tow; and a seemingly never-ending round of "would you rather" questions, each dumber than the last. They dropped seemingly thousands of dollars on glowing plastic gew-gaws and never, ever did shut up, even during the show.
The fat family in front of us never stopped eating. The one girl was so under dressed that I saw more of her than I ever needed to. Since moving was not one of her talents, it wasn't just a flash, it was a freeze frame. Like a train wreck, I couldn't help but watch. This family had the audacity to make fun of other people for their looks and actions, to the point of taking pictures of them and openly mocking them, which prompted Em to ask me if I thought they knew what they looked like.
We were supremely annoyed. It was a long three hours. Two families bellied up to either side of us. at one point we caught eyes with one who were clearly over it, too. I just said "Three hours!" They told us we were hard core and being South Haven residents seemed apologetic. They were very nice and for the first time in hours, we felt like humanity wasn't doomed.
That's when the other family who was to the right of us all lit up their cigarettes. All of them. All at once. I got shitty at this point, because I am still struggling with my sinus event and smoke is not on the list of treatments. I found it rude and annoying and so outdated. Who smokes anymore?
The show started right on time and it was awesome. The last three hours of strain had melted away as we saw elements that were new to both Em and me. It was a half hour long, which for me is plenty. It ebbed and crested throughout, staying interesting. There were some volleys that were quite simply breathtaking. It was a great show.
We made it back to the car and out of South Haven without incident. We took the expressways home and made it in an hour. Half the time it took to get there. The car ran flawlessly.
I had a night cap and went to bed and slept soundly.
All in all, aside from the worrisome condition of decorum in American culture, it was a very nice day in the very nice city of South Haven. Have a happy Independence day, everyone! God Bless!
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