WHAT'S HAPPENING

EDITED UNTIL LATER.

THE TIMES THEY ARE A-CHANGIN'

New time.

New place.

New me.

UNKNOWN

What do you see?
Is it dark?
Is it light?
I don't know.

If it keeps raining, will that levee break?

When does one give up and stop caring?

I found a penny on the ground.
I'd never seen that penny before.
But I hadn't looked.
It was there a long time.
I never gave that penny a chance to shine.
Think I'll put it in my pocket.

This killing floor is hard and cold.
It's supposed to be - so I've been told.
Do I play on? Or is it time to fold?
Am I growing up, or done growing old?

Confusion.

Meandering thoughts across the board.
Emotions all over the place.

Beat up and beat down - a beating regardless.

Chewed up and spit out.
Take another bite.
Repeat.
Relationship bulimia.

What happened to logic and hope?

When you hurt, you're still alive.
I'm still here.
If she gives up, will I?

WHO AM I?

It seems like such a cliched question. Who am I? Yet it's a question I've asked myself recently. And the answer hasn't exactly been all that favorable.

I find myself at a crossroads in life. For the first time in a long time, I face an uncertain future - a future that I don't fully control.

And I'm scared. I'm very scared.

I'm scared of what lies ahead and what could be. How I got to this point really isn't important. What is important is what I do about it now. In the past, when faced with something like this, I basically gave myself two options. One was to run away. The other was to retreat into a corner and hide - which is somewhat similar to running away as well.

Recent events have caused me to examine my own life - who I am, what I want to be, and how I want to be. And I've reached one basic conclusion. I don't like myself. I don't like the person I am. I don't like the way others perceive me. And I don't like the fact that my poor wife has often had to cover for me and make excuses for me. "No, he's fine. He's just shy."

I have faults. I have a lot of them. Is that unusual? Probably not. But some of my faults are big ones, and have far-reaching consequences. Example? A few months ago, my wife was visiting with her brother and their mom. I wasn't around. But I came up in conversation. At one point, my wife mentioned that I am a really funny guy, with a great sense of humor. My brother-in-law then looked at her as if she were retarded. It blew his mind. Why? Because he doesn't know me. Truth be told, I am a funny guy. I do have a great sense of humor. But how many people know that about me? Very few. And whose fault is that? I only need to look in a mirror.

Ready for a bitch session? I've only just begun.

I spent most of my childhood getting picked on. I took a lot of verbal abuse. I was an outcast. I wasn't popular. I had very few friends. And that abuse took its toll on me. I simply recoiled. I chose to not let it bother me. But I didn't retaliate. Instead I just retreated into myself. I clammed up. I rarely spoke. I didn't interact. My self-esteem was shot. And you know what? I have never recovered from that.

Today I am a 36-year-old man. But in so many ways, I'm still a little boy. I have a beautiful wife, two beautiful daughters, and an overall good life. Yet hiding underneath that surface is an immature boy who is still scared of life.

I have no social skills. Frankly, it's a miracle I was ever able to find someone who loved me. Yet I somehow pulled it off. Bless her soul, she's an angel for seeing through all my bullshit, and finding the real me beneath that surface. With her, I let down all my defenses. And she saw the good in me - the good person that I am - the kind, gentle soul that is me. But in doing so, she also saw the bad - the self-esteem issues, the argumentative issues, the stubborness, the selfishness, the air of superiority that I sometimes carry.

I say it again. I have no social skills. So what does that mean? That means when we get together and go to a party or go to a relative's house or something like that, I quite often find myself sitting alone because I don't care to interact a whole lot. Basically, I speak when I'm spoken to, and rarely utter another word otherwise. I look to my wife to be my safety net. I want her by my side. If she's there, she can talk for both of us. She shoulders the load. When she's in another room, I often divert my attention to the TV, or a newspaper. Why? So I don't have to participate in the conversation.

And how does that make me look to other people? I come off as smug and standoffish. Am I that way though? No. I'm just painfully shy and have no self esteem. That may be an explanation. But it is not a good excuse.

So why do I retreat away from the limelight? It's because I'm afraid. I'm afraid I might say somethng stupid. Or I might say something I think is funny, but no one else does. And that fear is powerful. It's so powerful that it overwhelms me, and prevents me from saying a word. It's safe and comfortable in my own little world. It's quiet. But it's safe. And sadly, it's also very lonely.

The ironic thing is that when we leave a situation like that, I feel like shit. I feel like my wife has once again had to shoulder the burden for both of us. Everything falls onto her shoulders. And of course although she may not say anything, deep down I know she resents it. She knows I feel bad about it. On top of her own irritation, she also feels bad for me. It's an endless circle.

Shall I continue? Of course. Let's talk about arguing. I have been argumentative my whole life. It started as a young child with my parents. I always wanted to do things MY WAY. And quite often, I did. And that's why I got into a lot of trouble as a youth. As I grew older, my rebellious nature subsided to some degree. I still often did what I wanted - only I conformed enough not to go outside the limits of the law.

But the arguing remained.

Some would call it debate. Hell, my best friend and I have been arguing since our freshman year in high school. From the long walks home from school, to the modern-day E-mail exchanges of today. Our debates are legendary. But no one ever sees them. It's private between him and I. But at times, they're ruthless and sometimes even mean-spirited. Sadly, when we get together, we sometimes argue then as well. But my friend has a way of pulling back. He's learned to keep the inappropriate nature of our private arguments from the public who sees us. In other words, there's a time and a place for that sort of behavior. But unfortunately, I haven't been smart enough to learn that. Even in a public forum, I need to always be right. And I fight for my opinions. And in the end, I come off looking like a fucking asshole. I come off pompous and smug. I'm a jerk.

Now how could I not have recognized this? I'm a smart guy. Yet I act like an ass in front of people, and then pat myself on the back for being right. And the most ironic thing is, I'm not always right. Yet I argue and argue and argue until the pther person simply gives up or gives in. Either way, I look bad - and rightly so.

Let's move on to manipluation. Another wonderful character trait of mine. Again, going back to my wild childhood days of getting in trouble, I always had a knack of getting other people to do my bidding. In my circle of friends, I often was the leader - dictating what we should do. Yes, I could get people to get in trouble with me - or get them to do something wrong that would benefit me somehow - or something that I would get a kick out of. I sometimes would hang out with complete idiots - probably for that very same reason. They were easily manipulated.

And now, as an adult, I still find ways to do that sometimes. The recipient - my lovely wife. I do things. I plan things - often without her input. Well, that might not be completely fair. I do get her input. But too often it's been the result of arm-twisting. I'll plan something, then tell her about it. And if she complains, I'll start to work on her so that she can see my point of view - which of course I believe is the "right" point of view. And again, I argue. I manipulate. I lay guilt trips. "Well, if you don't want to... I think it's a good idea... But obviously I won't do anything without your ok..." And what happens? She gives in. She succumbs to my wishes. And that is that.

Now how does this make me feel? Honestly, I didn't feel bad at the time. Why? Because I didn't see what I was doing. I didn't see the hurt and disappointment. I was blinded by my own short-sightedness. I see it now. I realize it now. What an asshole I have been. It's always been about me, me, me - never a thought to the feelings of others around me.

The past few weeks have been very eye-opening for me. I've had to look at myself for the first time. And like I said, I don't like what I see. In fact, I hate it. And it makes me incredibly sad to think about what I've become. How did I get this way? And what has it gotten me today?

Well, for one thing, I have very few friends. The one guy I've always considered my best friend seems to want nothing to do with me. We haven't hung out and done anything for 14 months. We still communicate via E-mail sometimes. But that's about it. I've discovered that I also have no support system. And right now, is a time when I need it the most. Yet the only people who have reached out to me (save for my parents) are a guy I haven't laid eyes on in over a dozen years, and a girl who lives five hours (and two states) away. There's no one else right now - no one to put their arm around me to tell me it's going to be ok - no one who can give me a shoulder to cry on - no one to talk to - no one to comfort me. And why is it this way? Because I've refused to let people into my world. I've refused to be social. I have no one to blame but myself.

I have always been a strong-willed person. When I set my mind to do something, it gets done! And no one who knows me will deny that. But now I face another challenge - perhaps the biggest fight of my life. It's been said that a person needs to hit rock bottom before he can pick himself up again. I thought I hit rock bottom 10.5 years ago. I was wrong. I've hit it now. The question becomes, what am I going to do about it?

Do I retreat? Do I hide in a corner? Do I run away? That's been the norm thus far. And don't think that those ideas haven't crossed my mind. Because they have. But what has that gotten me thus far in life? Read above. Does this sound like a healthy existence?

I've signed up to begin therapy. My first appointment is December 26th. I consider it a Christmas present to myself. I certainly need it. I have no doubt that I will once again be diagnosed with depression. I've been there before. I know how it feels. God knows what else the therapist will find wrong with me. But I'm sure there will be more.

But therapy is not the only answer. What else can I do? Well, for starters, I just listed a shitload of things that are wrong with me. And I need to work on those things myself. Regardless of what the future holds, these are things that I need to do for me. I am a good person. I know that. But I have problems. And I can be a better person. It's quite simple really. I have to be. And it all starts with thinking about other people besides myself. This whole "me, me, me" attitude is sickening. I am ashamed of who I've become.

I have to focus on the positive right now - take things one day at a time. I need to be open to new ideas. And I need to cease having the need to always be right. It's not right that I demand to always get my way. That's bullshit! And it's done. I need to focus on being the best husband, best father, and best overall human being that I can be.

I need to grow up. I need to act my age. I need to stop worrying that when I walk into a public place alone, people will look at me funny and laugh at me behind my back. Silly you say? Perhaps. But it's what I feel. It's what I've always felt since I was a teenager. Some feelings simply don't go away.

I need to be social. I need to talk. I need to be funny. I need to speak up. How awful is it that my wife's own family doesn't even really know me? I'm embarrassed and ashamed. I've wrestled with this issue for years. And I've vowed to try and overcome my shyness. Yet it still refuses to go away. Why is it that I can sit in front of a computer screen, and type my most intimate secrets and memories for the entire world to see? Yet when I get face-to-face, I shut down and put up a wall. Well no more. Can I be the life of the party? Maybe I can. Why not? After all, I do have a good sense of humor. Once people see it and respond to it, it will be easier the next time. And pretty soon, it will be like second nature. Even if I'm not the life of the party, I can be a nice, added addition to any conversation. People don't know me. But it's time that they do. A big part of my life depends on it. And you know what? They will like what they see. Because those few who have known me, know I'm a likable guy.

I'm repeating myself. But again, it's not all about me. I need to start giving back. And I've taken some steps to do that. Earlier this week, myself, my wife and our daughters volunteered our time at a nursing home. We helped several of the residents decorate some small Christmas trees for their rooms. And you know what? They enjoyed it. And so did we. It felt good to do something for others - people in need. And tonight I took our daughters back to that nursing home. However, this time, there was no one to supervise us. I was supposed to play some balloon games with them. But when I got there, I was on my own. One of the staff members handed me three balloons, then left me on my own. Umm... help! But you know what, I did it. I blew up those balloons, and the girls and I played with the residents - at least the ones who were receptive to playing. I talked. I was social. I asked what their names were. I introduced them to my girls. And I saw joy - pure, non-phony joy on the faces of those residents who played with us. Ok, there was one grumpy guy who was a stick-in-the-mud. But besides him, we all had a blast. I was reminded of that scene in "Patch Adams" where that elderly woman got to jump into the giant vat of noodles. The look on her face was the look I saw tonight on several of the residents. And as corny as this may sound to say, it was very rewarding. And I'm happy my girls got to take a part in it. Tonight brought several smiles to my face. And that's something that has been missing recently.

I recently signed up and committed myself to six months of volunteer work with my local humane society. I'll be helping animals in need. I'll be walking dogs, cleaning cages, petting cats...

I'm now on a voyage of self discovery. And I'm still very scared. But over the past three or four days, I've also been hopeful. Hope is a beautiful thing.

Is it too little, too late? For some people, perhaps. But it's not too late for me. I'm only 36. And there's a lot more living to do.

**EDITED**

**EDITED**

THE LAST ONE

With this entry, I must bid farewell to my recent blog-a-day endeavor. Perhaps I'll return at some point in the future. Then again, perhaps not. If this is indeed my very last blog entry anywhere... it's been fun. If I inspired others to blog, that's a good thing. Keep writing. You're all great.

SUNDAY

So here I am, back at the blog. Unlike last night, only one of my three fellow blog-a-dayers has gotten his quota in for today. So tonight I'm #2.

I find myself alone, as my wife is at work, and the kids just went to bed. So while I'm watching the Patriots' weekly dismantling of their opponent, I'm having some leftover pizza from this afternoon - one of those new five-meat pizza pies from Papa Murphy's. Lord, it's good too. But man, there's a lot of pizza here! By the way, it's amazing how much mess a two-year-old and a four-year old can make. I've got some cleaning up to do.

So what do I have for a topic? Well, not much actually. Although I do have a little something. It involves Burger King's new ad campaign. It features their creepy mascot - the king. You know him. Look down.



So the new ad campaign features three women who are trying to kill the king. In the first ad, they hire a hitman to "whack the king." In another ad, their chasing the king in a car. And in yet another, they're trying to run over the king with their car.

Now call me crazy, but isn't this sort of ad campaign really inappropriate? Seriously, when did murder-for-hire become an acceptable way to sell false food?

Now don't get me wrong. I really could care less. The ads haven't caused me to lose any sleep. But still, it is what it is. Am I wrong about this?

Oh, and for the record, Burger King has great onion rings!

That's all I got. I need to warm up another piece of pizza.

SATURDAY NIGHT

Well well, here I am. It's 9:30, and every other fellow blogger has filled their quota for the day. Based on the norm, I figured I had at least two more hours before the new entries would begin to filter in. But no, today I'm the last one. Now granted, I did do a quickie earlier today. But that doesn't count. That was just a cool song.

I really don't have much to say today. I have no topic. So perhaps it's diary time. What did I do today?

Well, I woke up around 8:35. Our youngest daughter woke up at that same time. Blame the alarm. It woke us both up - which isn't surprising, since she happened to be in the bed next to me. She wandered in around 6:00, and just stayed.

We went downstairs and found her sister and her mama. We bummed around a bit, then headed to the YMCA. Our oldest daughter was in basketball. My wife and I worked out on the treadmills.

We went home and had lunch. I had two hard-boiled eggs and a cheese sandwich. We then took turns showering - no shared one today. (Sigh) Then she left for work around 2:00. I've been on my own, playing daddy, ever since. She won't be home for another two hours.

Tomorrow we repeat the same performance. However tomorrow also includes a Packer game. Woohoo!

Oh, I spent maybe a half hour chatting (via Yahoo Messenger) with an old high school classmate, Ben Franco. Life is surreal sometimes.

Anyway, that's it for today. Perhaps tomorrow I'll be inspired to have something witty flow from my fingers. But hey, overall, I had a pretty good week - really long posts and such.

Until then, peace!

THE LAST RESORT

I'm hoping this isn't my blog contribution for the day. At this moment in time, I have every intention of coming back later tonight to blog about something else. And most likely, I will.

But until then, I invite you to watch this clip. It's a song by the Eagles. This is a live performance from their 1994 reunion special. The Eagles are one of the greatest groups of all time. They have a countless number of hits. They are one of those bands that I could probably listen to, and enjoy everything they've done. But if I had to choose an all-time favorite song, this would be it.

It's called "The Last Resort," and can be found on their "Hotel California" alubm. Just take a listen. It's a powerful, powerful tune. Just listen and enjoy. It's long, but well worth it.

REPO MAN

After I graduated from college (UWGB - class of 1996) I eventually found a job in Milwaukee. What was my job? I worked for a place called Remco. It was a rent-to-own store, owned by the same people who own Rent-A-Center.

For those of you unfamiliar with this type of business, what it is is a place for people who have no credit or bad credit, to get quality items such as furniture, appliances and electronics.

Rent-to-own stores sort of have a bad reputation in the media and such. Because they feel that they prey on poor people. And I can see their point. Because the prices these stores charge are outrageous. Customers either pay on a weekly or monthly basis, for a period of time - be it six months, 12 months or 18 months. And in the end, the customer will pay roughly double (sometimes more, sometimes less) than what it would cost them brand new at a regular store.

Back in those days, a customer might pay $500.00 for a VCR. Sounds insane! But in all fairness, our customers were people who simply don't have any other means to obtain these things. And in all fairness, a lot of our customers stop paying at some point. And that means that unless they return the item, or we can amicably pick it up, they end up stealing it. And that of course is the reason why the stores' prices are so high. It's a vicious circle.

Not surprisingly, stores like this thrive in the inner city. Inner city folk represent about 95% of the customer base. And my store was on 23rd & North on Milwaukee's north side. And for the record, that is right smack dab in the middle of the hood. Milwaukee's north side is the "bad" side of town. It is where most of the crime occurs.

So picture this. I'm a little reddish-blonde-haird kid from a small white-bread town in Wisconsin. And I suddenly found myself as a collector in the hood. If there was ever someone who looked non-threatening and out of place, it was me! My job was to try and collect the money from our customers who were past due. Ideally, we would call them up and have them come down to the store to pay. But let's face it. Most of our customers didn't have phones. So that means, we had to get in the van and drive to their homes to try and collect. And if we couldn't collect, we had to try and repossess the stuff. Repossession was a last resort. We'd rather have the money. Besides, no one wants to have to carry out a bedroom set. That shit's heavy!

I did that job for close to two years. I had quite a few memorable experiences. I repossessed a refrigerator from a second story apartment, all by myself - with no dolly. I was threatened. I heard occasional gunshots. I saw a fight in the street - where a gun was pulled. I saw panhandlers, hookers, drug users, drug houses, and garbage - lots and lots of garbage in the streets. I also saw that so many people have little or no regard for their environment. So many trash everything around them - their streets, their apartments, their furniture. Seriously, you'd be disgusted at the sight of some of the stuff we repossessed. Some of the homes smelled so bad that you would literally tear up. I mean call me crazy. But when I finish eating a piece of chicken, I throw my bones in the garbage, not on the living room carpet.

So anyway, it wasn't all doom and gloom. I liked my coworkers. And we had an awful lot of fun there. Well, I had this one particular customer who lived in this dark and gloomy apartment complex - just a few blocks from where Jeffrey Dahmer had lived actually. And everytime I went there, it creeped me out. It was a three-story complex with maybe eight apartments on each floor. She lived on the third floor. There were always several lights burnt out in the hallways. So it was darker than it should be. And there were absolutely no windows anywhere, with the excpetion of in the apartments themselves. And to top it off, there was only one door in and out of that place. I often thought to myself that if I was ever going to get killed on that job, it was going to happen in a place like that.

Well, I had a customer in that building. Her name was Nicole. I won't say her last name because it wouldn't be proper. (Trammell) She owed money on a living room set - sofa, big puffy chair, lamps and tables. She had no phone, was never home, and would never respond to the tags I'd leave on her door.

There was one other collector in our store. His name was Dave. I always called him Grumpy Dave because he was a hot-headed asshole. He was basically unpleasant 95% of the time. He had a different approach to the customers than I did. He would yell and scream. I took more of a "kill them with kindness and make them feel guilty" approach. But hey, whatever works. Both Grumpy Dave and I were the two best collectors in our entire market - which included about 13 Milwaukee stores, as well as stores in Fond Du Lac, Sheboygan, Manitowoc and Green Bay. And considering the fact that our store was in the worst neighborhood of all of them, that's quite an accomplishment.

So one day I headed out to Nicole's place again. And this time, Grumpy Dave went with me. Had I been able to get inside her apartment, I would have needed him to help me carry the stuff out of there - assuming she refused to pay. I considered Grumpy Dave a necessary evil most of the time.

Well, a few days earlier, Grumpy Dave had purchased some pepper spray. We weren't allowed to carry anything in terms of protection. But he carried it anyway. And I knew that he was very anxious to try it out.

So we get to Nicole's building and knock on her apartment door. And lo and behold, someone was actually home! Now, by law, if we can get our foot inside the door, and can enter the dwelling, we can legally refuse to leave if we don't have our stuff with us. So that was our goal. We can't force ourselves in though. We have to be allowed in.

On a side note, remind me to someday tell you the story of how I tricked someone into letting me in their apartment to "call my boss to discuss the situation." Boy, was that woman angry when we repossessed a ton of stuff!

Back to the story. Nicole's door is opened by three young women - none of which were Nicole - allegedly. I say allegedly because I had actually never met her before. So we tell them that we're there to pick up the living room set. Of course they refused to let us in. They knew the game. And it ended up being a pissing match between us and them. It resorted into laughing though, because we all knew we had no chance of getting in there. It was just fun and games.

After a few minutes, we knew it was futile to continue. So we walked down the hall to the steps leading down and out of the building. The three women continued to taunt us a bit. And then Grumpy Dave shouted, "Ho, ho, ho!" No, he wasn't giving his best Santa Claus impression. He was referring to the three mdoel citizens as "ho's."

Well, no sooner had we reached the bottom of the stairs, then we heard the sound of multiple footsteps tearing down the hall. As we got outside and got back to the van, the three women shot out of the door, stood on the stoop, and shouted insults to us yet again. One of them threw a beer can. Another one grabbed a broom and waved it at us. Why? Who knows. I was laughing at the scene. And so were they. Then Grumpy Dave poked his head out of the van window (I was driving) and said, "Why don't you come here and wave that broom!"

Oh lord... I knew exactly what was coming next. Not to be showed up, the woman came over to the van. Grumpy Dave grabbed his pepper spray. Once she got close to the window, he opened up and sprayed her in the face. And that girl went down like a rock! What had been fun and games now turned serious. Her friends came to her aid, while Grumpy Dave yelled at me to go. I backed out and headed back to the store. Meanwhile, there were screams of anger trailing behind us as we left.

So we get back to the store. And Grumpy Dave informed our boss what happened. He tried to play it off as a situation where he was merely defending himself. But he's the one who antagonized the woman and invited her to come over to the van. What an asshole!

About an hour later, two cops come to our store. Apparently someone back at Nicole's apartment called to report the incident. Grumpy Dave fully admitted to what he did. The police officers read him the riot act, informing him that it was against the law to use such a weapon, and not report it. Believe it or not, Grumpy Dave got mouthy with the cops - even though they were threatening to arrest him! Eventually he backed down. I think they issued him a citation though.

Before they left, one of the cops informed us that there were about 20-30 relatives of this woman who were back at the apartment complex. And he said they were hopping mad. He warned us that there could be trouble, and that we should be careful. Great!

Grumpy Dave decided that he was going to take the rest of the afternoon off - leaving the rest of us at the store. What a guy! Well, about an hour later, we got another visit. This one was from Mike - our former delivery driver, who had quit about a year earlier. Unbeknownst to us, Mike was the sister of Nicole. And Mike was mad! He burst into the store shouting, "Where's Dave!" Yikes!

Well, Grumpy Dave was gone. Thankfully our store manager was able to calm Mike down and defuse the situation. Had Mike not known us, I shudder to think what could have happened as retribution.

The aftermath of that event is that about a month later, our market manager found out about the incident. And Grumpy Dave was fired. That was a happy day! Also, although my boss told me to to simply stay away from Nicole's place, and not pursue our stuff, we ended up suing her over the property. This was a common practice if the customer had paid less than half of the term of the rental agreement. So a few months after this incident, the sheriff's department went over there, got in, and repossessed the entire living room set.

And there's more. The furniture was in relatively good condition - which was somewhat of a rarity. So it was put back on the floor in order to resell it. And about that time, my now-wife was getting an apartment of her own, and needed some furniture. My boss always had the option to "cash and carry" any item. He could sell it very cheaply, depending on how much money had already been paid on it. In this case, for about $75.00, the store would make a profit. So he sold the couch and chair to her. I helped deliver it. And before long, we would occasioanlly having sex on that couch.

That couch had a colorful history. If only it could talk.

THURSDAY

I must say, after digging out that Metallica song from my Woodstock post, I've listened to it several times. I really like that song!

Today is one of those lost blog days for me. Most of the day came and went with little inspiration. I will say this though. It was a good day - a very good day. I haven't been able to say that in quite awhile.

But enough of that depression. I do have a story to tell. But it will have to wait a day. But my train of thought is this. There was an article on Yahoo this morning that told about how some Santa Claus' in Australia are being asked to say "Ha ha ha" instead of "Ho ho ho," because the word "ho" might be offensive to women.

GIVE ME A FUCKIN' BREAK!

I'm sorry, but Jolly Old St. Nick has been around for centuries. "Hos" have only been around for 10 years or so. So Santa's got dibs!

Ha ha ha - I think I'd punch Santa in the mouth if he said that shit to me. Go ahead Santa, say it! I triple dog dare ya!

But anyway, the "Ho ho ho" reminded me of a personal story of mine from my days as a repo man in Milwaukee's inner city. It's a pretty good story. But you'll have to wait until tomorrow - maybe only 15 hours from now though.

See you on Friday!

UPS AND DOWNS

Unfortunately, that describes my life these days. Don't comment me for details. Because none are forthcoming in this blog. But suffice it to say, there have been some very depressing things as of late.

Speaking of depression, have I ever revealed that I once institutionalized myself back in 1997, after serious thoughts of suicide? Yes indeed. I was also diagnosed with depression at the time. What a downer of a blog topic, huh? But who cares. At least it fills my quota for the day.

I spent three days hospitalized, before they felt I was safe to go out and face the world again - with a handful of pills. Those were strange days indeed. Most peculiar mama. Woah!

And they let me out just in time to attend the funeral of a friend's mother. Want to know what's weird? The night she died, I actually dreamed about her. Note to others - stay away from my dreams!

WOODSTOCK 94

Back in 1994, I was presented an opportunity. I guy I knew who owned and operated a radio station, came into my video store one day and said, "Hey, do you and Meff want to go to Woodstock?" Keep in mind that this was about four days before the event was to take place. Thinking he was joking, I stammered, "Uh... sure." And then he explained.

He was given a contest giveaway by the promoters - who may have been Pepsi. I can't recall. Actually, it may have been something called "Media America." Whatever, it's not important. So anyway, he was told that the promoters had originally offered the giveaway to WAPL out of Appleton. But WAPL turned them down. The catch was that in exchange for the prize, they had to do a shitload of advertising for the promoters. So instead, they gave the contest to the guy I knew - who could care less about having to provide extra advertising.

So after listening to what he told me, I then said, "So... how am I supposed to win this contest?" His reply - "I'll rig it!"

It's nice to know people in high places, huh?

Well, the contest was for two people. There's no one else other than Meff who I would even consider for such an event. So I immediately called him. And he was onboard.

A day or two later, the guy literally did in fact have to rig the contest. I was the "lucky caller" who called in one night. And I stood right next to him as he announced on the air (around midnight) that I had won. It was a small radio station that probably didn't have any listeners that time of night. So he then called the promoters and gave our names and such. Two days later, I received a package by Fedex - two round-trip plane tickets, two tickets to the concert - and two VIP passes that allowed us to go anywhere on the concert site - with the exception of backstage. Cool!

So on Thursday night, I drove down to Meff's. Our plane left Milwaukee at some awful hour like 6:30 in the morning. So we had to be up by 4:00 or so. Meff's dad drove us to the airport. Needless to say, I got to Meff's around 11:30 at night. And between the excitement and showing him the tickets and stuff, we didn't even attempt to go to bed until after 1:00 AM. And then we couldn't sleep at all. We ended up staying up all night. Ugh.

Now, Meff says we flew Midwest. I think he may be mistaken though. My expereince with Midwest is that they have direct flights into Newark. Our flight had a layover in Cleveland - where I paid way too much for a subpar sandwich. But I digress. Neither of us could sleep on the plane. And Meff was in constant pain, as he had forgotten to take some sort of pill that keeps his ears from exploding at high altitudes.

Once we arrived in Newark, we found the promoters. Apparently there were two contest winners from every state. So there was a grand total of 200 people there. We overheard some stories about how other people had won their tickets. One station had a "gross" contest, where the winner had eaten some sort of worm sandwich. Another winner had to bob for apples in a vat of manure. In our case... we knew a guy who rigged the "contest." HEHE. No, we didn't tell them that though.

After sleeping for maybe three minutes on the floor, we were all huddled into two buses for the two-hour drive up to Saugerties, New York - about 10 miles away from where the original Woodstock had taken place 25 years earlier. We got a nice view of New York City, as we headed north up the the New Jersey turnpike.

We arrived at the site somewhere in the early to late afternoon. By this time, Meff and I were tired and miserable. We felt awful from the lack of sleep. We were shuttled off the bus and brought to a special roped-off area where there were 100 red tents lined up. Our tent area was actually about a mile's walk from the actual concert site. So we were away from the mass of humanity of 400,000 people! And the best part was, we had 24-hour security around our tent city. So we could come and go as we please, and not have to worry about our stuff. Woohoo!

We got wristbands. Then we sort of bummed around the area for a bit, before we crashed, grumpy, exhausted and tired, into our sleeping bags. People were talking all night - or so it seemed. And even though we were a mile away from the two stages, we could hear the bands playing. On Friday night, they had a series of local bands playing. We were delirious with overtiredness. Both of us regretted having done this. It literally seemed like hell. But you know what? The next morning, we woke up, and felt fine. It's amazing what 40 hours of no sleep will do to your mind and body.

We decided that it was time to eat. The concerts weren't scheduled to start until around noon. So we walked over to McDonald's. And then we got in line - the longest food line known to man! I shit you not, we waited two hours in line - for McDonald's food! They weren't selling fries. It was only burgers, fish and chicken. Plus, the manager had taken a large piece of construction paper and had covered up the entire neon menu. In its place, he wrote out the few items they were actually selling - and their "new" prices for those days. Needless to say, it was more than double what it should have been. Talk about taking advantage of a captive audience! I felt really sorry for the workers. They were overworked beyond belief.

Eventually we got our food, and found a spot in the parking lot where we could sit and eat. There was a great big wooden privacy fence behond McDonald's. And I kept noticing that people would disappear behind it - then come out on the other side. I was intrigued. I was thinking there was some sort of drug activity going on. So when I was finished eating, I took a look. I walked around some bushes, then damn near literally almost stepped on two girls - who were squatting and peeing. One of them calmly looked up at me and said, "We're here." Indeed they were. I turned around and walked away. When they came back out, I went back in, and peed myself. When in Saugerties...

We went back to our campsite and discovered there was a shuttle bus that would take us to the concert site. Cool! We hopped onboard. The shuttle was supposed to come every 20 minutes or so. But this was the one and only time we ever saw it. The second time we tried to take it, we stood in line for over a half hour. It never came. So from that point on, we always walked. It really wasn't that far anyway.

So we got off the bus onsite. And we were immediately hit with that familiar scent of marijuana hanging in the air. I hadn't smelled it in years. But there's no mistaking it. And after awhile, it felt like you could get buzzed from the secondhand smoke alone.

So there we were, walking around in a giant field. We sort of walked in the direction of the stages. We saw a variety of acts playing at one time or another. But we didn't really settle in and actually watch and enjoy them. But we made a point to try and see Crosby, Stills & Nash. They were playing on the north stage - the main stage for the "big" acts. And then we ventured into the sea of humanity. Little tents set up everywhere - people milling about - no real walking paths. We went in a little ways, then turned around and came back. The whole process took about 90 minutes. We didn't make it very far. But we did see just about the whole set. The crowd went nuts when they were singing their song "Woodstock" and got to the line "By the time we got to Woodstock, we were half a million strong..." Remember, this band played their first professional gig together at the first Woodstock back in 1969.

We ventured back out and sat down to relax on a hill near the south stage. And then the rains came. And it rained, and rained, and rained, and rained. We went back to our tent - for what good it did us. By the time we'd walked that mile, we were soaked. At some point that day, we ventured out once the rain stopped. We discovered that a woman at a nearby house had opened up a hot dog stand in her front yard. At $1.00 per hot dog, it was a much better deal than the McDonald's food. And the wait time was a normal minute or two - as opposed to two hours. From that moment forward, every meal we ate was hot dogs.

In another blog, Meff mentioned the port-a-potty situation. Yes, they had them. However, they apparently didn't have enough. Because they filled to the top by Saturday morning. This wasn't just the port-a-potties in our tent area. No, this was the situation with every port-a-potty in the entire concert area. I read a review of the festival a few weeks later. The review made mention of the place stinking. It did indeed. From that moment on, we simply used them for peeing - if they were used at all. And for the record, neither Meff nor I dropped a deuce the entire time we were there. We simply refused to let it happen. Thankfully, our bodies must have sensed the problematic situation. Because they fully cooperated.

We went back to the concert site that afternoon. And what had once been a nice green field, was now a gray sea of mud. There was no grass left anywhere. The place was a mess. We were immediately approached by a guy in a pickup truck. He was selling shirts and sweatshirts in a shop onsite. He said we could each pick out a free one, if we'd each be willing to carry a box up to his location. Meff and I said sure - as did four or five other people. It seemed easy at first. The boxes weren't that heavy. However, they were large and very awkward, making them extremely difficult to get a good hold of. After two minutes, we realized we were on the boxed equivalent of a death march. This guys's location was quite a ways away. And it may have taken us 15 minutes to get there. The summer heat was beating down on us - no doubt helped by the humidty of the post-rain. So when we finally got there, we were all dripping from sweat. I grabbed the most expensive sweatshirt he had. I earned it!

The mud was thick and gray. At one point, I sunk so far into it that my shoe came off. I had to carefully place my foot back into it, then squirm around to try and get it unstuck. What a weekend...

There was a schedule of performances. Bob Dylan was coming on at 5:00, as I recall. So we got down near the north stage to get ready. I noticed a special fenced-off area, just to the left of the stage. And the people going in there seemed to have the same VIP passes that we had. I said to Meff, "Let's try it." Meff was his usual hesitant self. But he simply got behind me and let me lead the way. And sure shit, that area was for us! We walked right in, and got a killer view of the stage. From that point on, this is where we always went. We found ourselves leaning on a chain-linked fence, getting a nice view of the shows.

Bob was in rare form that night. The usually slurry-voiced folk-singing God sang every lyric as clear as day - and in tune! The highlight was when he sang "Rainy Day Women No. 12 & 35." That song repeatedly features the lyric, "Everybody must get stoned." Now in all fairness, the song means that literally - getting stoned with rocks thrown at you. But I think it's fair to say that when Bob wrote it, he had a double meaning in mind. The audience latched onto that second meaning. And there was plenty of pot-smoking all around.

Each artist was to play roughly 90 minutes. Then the stage would be redone for 30 minutes to prepare for the next act. Nine Inch Nails (who Meff and I had no interest in) were to come on at 7:00, followed by Metallica at 9:00. Aerosmith was supposed to close the show on the north stage on Saturday night. They were scheduled to come on at 11:00. We both wanted to see them. So we left to get some hot dogs, and planned to be back by 11:00.

We headed out around 10:15, and got down to our special VIP area around 10:45. To our surprise, Metallica was still playing. In fact, we learned that their set had just started. I guess Nine Inch Nails must have gone long. So what the hell. I liked a couple of Metallica's songs. So we stayed. And I'm glad we did! Metallica was the highlight of the festival. Those guys fuckin' rocked! The audience was eating it up. They must have gotten a little rowdy too, as every five minutes, members of the "Peace Patrol" (the security) would carry someone out on a stretcher and take them backstage. We were on the other side of the fence, right next to the backstage entrance. So we saw every one of them. I think people just got a little over-moshed. No one looked seriously hurt.

For their last song, Metallica played a song entitled "So What." Neither of us had ever heard of it before. In fact, I've since learned that it wasn't available on any Metallica album in the U.S. at the time. But they performed it live quite often. For those of you unfamiliar with this little ditty, it features lyrics like, "I fucked a sheep. I fucked a goat. I rammed my cock right down its throat. So what!" It's a delightfully vile song. At one point, Meff turned to me and said, "I like this song!" I couldn't agree more! And thanks to the miracle of Youtube, here is the exact performance we saw from that very night. Watch it. It's only three minutes long. It's just fast, hard, rock and roll. And it is a catchy tune too. Tell me you don't enjoy it!



Metallica ended their performance after that song. Then it was time for Aerosmith. About 40 minutes later (about 1:15 in the morning) the boys from Boston came on. And just as they started singing, the rains came again - another downpour. At this point, Meff had had enough. He decided to go back to the tent. I chose to stay. I figured that by the time I walked a mile back, I'd be soaked anyway. So I might as well stay, get soaked, and watch the show. And stay I did. Aerosmith put on a great show as well. And this is where I got one of the most surreal moments of my life. During their encore, they finally played their classic "Dream On." As expected, every lighter in the place went up. And there I was, in the middle of a muddy New York field, at 3:30 in the morning. The sky was dark. There were hardly any lights. Yet the flames of those lighters cast a golden glow over 250,000 people, while the band played on. It was an absolutely incredible sight to see. No photogrpahs could have done it justice. You just had to be there. I'm glad I was.

After the show, I unwedged my feet from the muddy footprints I'd made. I then made it out to the park road, and back out of the site. I then wandered past a few houses on the main street, where I saw kids strewn about, just laying in people's yards, and in some case, laying on the side of the road, sleeping. Again, too surreal. I kept wondering about Meff, as this was the first time we'd been apart the whole time. But alas, he was safe and sound back in the tent. By now the rain had stopped. And I was remarkably dry by the time I went to bed.

On Sunday, I think we went back to the concert site just once. We'd basically had enough. And there were no big acts that we were really interested in. Peter Gabriel would have been nice. But again, we could hear him singing from our tents. So we stayed put. By 7:00 Sunday night, the festival was over, and people began the leaving process. Our bus didn't leave until Monday morning. So we had one more night. The next day, as we were packed and waiting for our bus, another guy pulled up in a truck and tried to sell us some T-shirts. They were probably bootlegs. But hell, they were something like two for $5.00. So I bought two.

I recall nothing about the bus ride back, nor the experience at the Newark Airport. But I do recall our layover in Cleveland. Believe it or not, we ran into two fellow concert-goers. And this couple actually had photographs they'd developed at some one-hour place. That was cool.

I must have been quite a sight when my parents picked me up at the airport. My once-colorful shoes were now dark brown. I hadn't showered, shaved (or shit) in three days. But I was alive. Incidentally, when I got home, I scraped off a bunch of the dried-up mud from my shoes, and put it in a bag. I still have that bag today - my souvenir - genuine Woodstock 94 mud.

I have some pictures from that weekend. They're up at my parents' home. One of these days, I'll retrieve them and post them here. Again, this was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. But would I do it again? Hell yes! (Well, at least back then I would.)

WILL BLOG FOR WOODSTOCK

Well, reading Meff's blog today reminded me of a very interesting memory we shared together - Woodstock '94. Yes, us two schmoes attended that three-day bonanza. And how surreal it all was.

So that clinched it for me. Tomorrow I shall blog about the experience, as best as I can recall it. I'd do it today. But screw that! I already did a decent-sized blog entry today - read the post below this one. And this whole blog-a-day thing sometimes leaves you struggling for topics. Now I got one. And I will appropriately save it for tomorrow.

Hey, I just blogged twice today! I'm such an asshat!

PATRIOTISM

There seems to be a bit of patriotism floating around this blog area. It makes me question my own. Do I have national pride? I do indeed. I don't outwardly show it. But it is there. For years, I've wanted to have a flag on our home. And years ago, we got the flagpole at least. But alas, laziness prevailed - like it often does. The flagpole rests in our garage today.

My late-grandpa fought in two wars - WWII and Korea. He was a commander in the Navy. He never much spoke about his days in the service. But every now and then again, a story or two would emerge. To this day, I regret not probing him for more. because I don't think he had any problem talking about it. He just wasn't a big talker in that regard.

Some things I do recall. I remember him telling me about swimming in the middle of the ocean, while a couple of the other sailors would stand guard and watch for sharks. He also told me that his ship once ran smack dab into a Japanese mine. Fortunately, the mine was a dud. For had it exploded, his ship would have sunk.

My grandpa was in the pacific during WWII. One of his jobs was to pilot the great big ships that would carry troops, tanks and supplies to land. He would drop them off, then head back out for more. Picture the beginning of the film "Saving Private Ryan" to get the idea of his duties. The only difference was he was in the pacific, while the film shows similar actions in France.

He did tell me once that while on patrol on an island somewhere, he accidentally stepped on a dead Japanese soldier. His ship also had to deal with the onslaught of kamikaze pilots. For the record, he said the kamikazes were mostly ineffective, as they could simply shoot them out of the sky (for the most part) before they were able to crash into the Naval vessels.

Lastly, in early August, 1945, my grandpa's ship (among countless others, no doubt) received new orders. They were to proceed to Japan and launch an attack on Tokyo. To this day, I have never heard any news story that told of this plan. But my grandpa insisted it was true. While he wasn't a captain onboard the ship, from what I understand, he worked closely with him. So he was privy to some information that not everyone else was. The assault was expected to be a very tough one. Anyway, they set sail for Japan. However, prior to their arrival, the United States apparently had a different idea. On August 6th, they dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima. Three days later, they dropped another one on Nagasaki. Based on same, the Japanese surrendered, thus ending the war.

And that's about all I know. My grandpa fought in two major wars, and lived to tell about it. I only wish he would have told a little more.

THIS ASSHAT BLOGS ABOUT SURVIVOR CHICKEN

Great title, huh?

It's Sunday morning at 11:11 as I begin this blog entry. I believe it's going to take about 50 minutes to complete it.

Being Sunday, and November in Wisconsin, this means only one thing to most of the population. No, it's not church. It's Packer football. Yes, I am one of the devoted followers. And while I may not eat, drink and breathe everything Green Bay Packers, I am a huge fan. In fact, I'm an owner. Yes, I am one of the shareholders of Green Bay Packers Inc. I own one share. What does that get me? Not much. The stock has no monetary value. It's basically worthless. But it does offer one thing - pride of ownership. Oh, and it also lets me attend the annual shareholders' meeting in July. I went one year. It's very boring. It's all pie charts and revenue information. However, I think I may go again this year. Now that the novelty has worn off, the actual number of people who attend those meetings has dwindled down to maybe 20 or 30. And last year, those lucky folks got a guided tour of Lambeau Field. They also got free ice cream. Yes, myself (and a guest of my choosing) are going this summer.

So anyway, this leads me to Survivor Chicken. What is this you say? Well, several years ago, my wife and I stole a recipe from my dad. We tinkered with it a little bit, and came up with a beauty of a meal. We began a tradition of eating this meal on Thursday nights at 7:00 - when one of our favorite shows (Survivor) starts.

These days, as my wife and I are eating healthier, we haven't followed the tradition. But we're making it today. My parents are coming down today, and will be here by noon - kickoff for Packers Vs. Vikings. It's also the day we're celebrating my dad's birthday. So we thought we'd make our favorite meal.

Here's what it looks like right now.



Here are the tools of the trade.



What exactly is the recipe? Well, you put a little olive oil in the pan, then place the chicken (we prefer all thighs) in it. Then the key ingredient - McCormick's original chicken seasoning. You douse the chicken with it. See below.



Then you just cook it. When it's close to done, you boil some rice on the stove as well. Once the chicken is done, and removed from the pan, you take the boiled rice, and dump it into the chicken pan. Then you mix it up with all the cooked chicken residue. Note, if there's too much grease in the pan, use a baster to remove some of it. You don't want the rice to be swimming. Look down to see it.



Then it's time to eat. Personally, we like to take that chicken seasoning and douse the rice with it as well. And I like to take the chicken skin off, and mix it in with the rice. Yes, I know full well that chicken skin isn't the most healthy thing to eat. But damn! It's ever so tasty! And like I said, we haven't eaten this meal in a long time.

This dish may be the main (non-sexual) reason I will never leave my wife. That and the fact that she's so darn beautiful.

Oh, incidentally, I was bored the other day. So I did an internet search for "survivor chicken." And amazingly, I found this. SURVIVOR CHICKEN Incidentally, his recipe is completely different from ours. But his name origin is exactly the same. Interesting.

Got to go. It's kickoff, and time to eat!

ALL HAIL JJ MANNERS!

And her double entendres.

I think I'm in lust.

And all hail my lovely wife for having no problem with my extra lusting.

SATURDAY

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT!

With those immortal lyrics, the Bay City Rollers took over America in 1976. Hailed by some critics as the next Beatles, they were virtually washed up by 1977. Oh well. At least they left us with one memorable tune - a nice catchy tune. Check it out below. Granted, it's an obvious lip-syncing performance. How can you tell? Well, the lead singer (the drummer) doesn't even have a microphone.



So it's Saturday morning as I type this. My wife is at work. And I'm playing daddy. Our oldest daughter (age 4) starts basketball at the YMCA in about an hour. While she does that, I'll put our youngest (age 2) into their kid care. Then I'll get my workout in. The rest of the morning and afternoon will be reserved for various domestic duties such as washing dishes, doing laundry, and generally cleaning up.

Blogging on the weekend is hard. Why is it so much easier to blog from work? Anyway, perhaps I'll have more later. Until then, here's another Saturday song - some vintage Elton John.

HORNINESS?

What was I thinking yesterday? I know I had something good to talk about. But for some reason, I can't remember what it was. Strange, I can remember vivid events from grade school, 25 years ago. Yet I can't recall a blog topic from less than 24 hours ago.

I must be getting old. Is 36 old? Perhaps it is.

Well, I'll try to tackle it anyway. Of course this subject is somewhat risque. And as at least one of you knows, my mother discovered my class blog a few months ago. But has she ventured over to this one? I don't think so. I've given her strict orders that I absolutely will NOT discuss ANY information listed on that class blog. There are some things that a parent simply should not know. And several of those things are revealed in that blog of mine. There has been an occasion where I revealed something, or remembered something I'd posted, and I'd say to myself, "Oh God, my mom knows THAT too?" Yikes! That is why the blog is off limits for discussion. It's my coping mechanism. It's called denial.

So anyway, horniness. What was I going to say? I don't know. So how about some theories then? I'm 36. According to all the experts, my sexual peak was 19 years ago - a time when I was barely getting any, if at all. No, I didn't have a way with the ladies back then. If you'd have seen me, you'd understand why. I looked like a mess. I was always clean. But I looked "unkept." My hair was ridiculous. But again, it was clean. And had you smelled it, you would have discovered the scent of Pert Plus, or Head & Shoulders - or whatever brand my parents were buying at the time. Ask Tina Short! She used to pet my hair during our senior year. She said it felt like cat hair - nice and smooth. I wasn't "getting any" from Tina either. Not that I wouldn't have minded it though. She was cute - and a lot of fun. My friend Jason was going out with her. He was a lucky guy.

I'm digressing. So anyway, what I was about to say is that I think my personal horny level has peaked over the last few years, and shows no sign of regressing. How is that possible? I don't know. But I'm not complaining. I guess my theory is use it lose it! Keep its usage up, and it will keep coming back for more.

Too much information? Perhaps. But when I'm behind a keyboard, anything goes!

This blog-a-day thing is fun. Now the real test - the weekend. Maybe it's time for some pictures too.

SURVIVOR

Yes, it is Survivor night. The show that ushered in the still-neverending plethora of reality shows is one of my guilty pleasures. My wife is just as guilty. In its now 15th season, I can admit that I've seen every single episode - every one!

Of course it helps that in my office, we have an office pool. I won it once. I've finished second (which gets me nothing) a few times.

Anyway, enough about Survivor. Let's move on. For reasons that will remain unsaid, I had a pretty cool night last night. Everything that I'd hoped for occurred. Ah... nice.

How cryptic!

Life update - I am down 40+ pounds since June 4th. I've been taking my time, doing it right. There's no magic pill or no massive starvation diet. I'm just eating much healthier foods, and exercising everyday. My wife and I have taken to going to the YMCA everyday. I run (more of a fast walk actually) 30 minutes everyday, at a 30-degree incline, at 4MPH. I usually burn off 720 calories in that time. It's a great workout! I sort of dread it. But I feel so good when it's done - like I've accomplished something. And the proof is in the belly - or lack therof.

I have a somewhat deep question to ask. But I'll save it for a later date - if I get myself an audience.

On another note... horniness. On second thought, I'll save that topic for tomorrow.

WRITER'S BLOCK

So I'm sitting here at work. Well, I'm at my place of employment. But at the moment, I'm not really working. I'm blogging.

So it's day two of my own "blog-a-day" thingy that I started five days too late. So sue me. But anyway, I have nothing to write about.

Life is ok these days, could be better.. But things are always looking up. We could use more money. Who couldn't? Oh, here's some news. I am officially a published author! Yes, that's right. An article I wrote a few months back has in fact been published in Midwest Airlines in-flight magazine, "My Midwest." And I got paid a handsome fee for my 1100 words! If you're at all interested, check it out! Follow the link. MY MIDWEST

THE FLINTSTONES

So, I will try to do this story justice. But my wife thinks this is one of those moments in which you just had to be there. We shall see.

Last night we sat down to dinner. We did so in front of the television. Sad? Sure. Whatever. I make no apologies. Anyway, my girls have taken to "The Flintstones." That warms my heart to no end! Anyway, we were watching an episode while we ate.

It was the episode where Fred and Wilma switched jobs for the day. Fred was under the impression that a stay-at-home mom's work isn't "real work." He thought he could pull it off, and considered it a "vacation day." In the meantime, Wilma went to work at the quarry for Fred.

So, Wilma discovers (just as Fred does) that each job is difficult. She keeps screwing up and dropping giant boulders (with the aid of her dinosaur) all over the place, nearly hitting fellow coworkers.

Well, in one scene, Wilma's not so lucky. Fred's boss, Mr. Slate, comes over to find out what's going on. And all of a sudden, Wilma drops a giant boulder right on top of Mr. Slate's head - which forces him into the ground. My wife sees this scene and immediately takes a big breath of shock, while at the same time, lifting her right hand to her chest. Now granted, had this been a real man, on a real construction site, there would have been cause to do that, as the result of the boulder would most likely have caused instant death to the unfortunate recipient.

But this was a cartoon. Mr. Slate calmly slid the boulder out of the way, and climbed out of the hole, no worse for wear.

And I began to laugh. And I continued to laugh. Pretty soon my sides were hurting and I was coughing. My lovely wife, realizing what she had done, also began to laugh. When I was finally able to regain my composure, I put my hand on her shoulder and calmly said, "It's ok. It's just a cartoon. Mr. Slate is going to be fine."

And we both laughed some more.

I hope I did this story justice. It was one of the funniest moments we've shared in a long time!

BRITNEY SPEARS

Ok, let me say off the bat that I can't stand Britney Spears. I've always said that she has two talents - the left one and the right one. For those who can't read through my subtle humor, I am of course referring to her boobs. I don't think she can sing. Her voice sounds metallic. Her music sucks. She comes across as an absolute airhead. She's a train wreck of a person. She appears to be a bad parent. She's been in and out of rehab.

In a nutshell, the girl's a fricken' mess.

Despite the anti-Britney stance I've had for years, I've always been attracted to her physically. I've often commented on how ashamed I've been to have to admit to that. But damn! The girl has always been smoking hot! Who cares what she sounds like. Britney Spears is the reason God created the mute button.

So last night she made her "comeback" at the MTV Video Music Awards. No, I didn't watch it. But this morning, I've seen tons of news reports on how she bombed. According to the reports, she looked fat, out of shape, forgot to lip sync, looked lethargic, and generally appeared uninterested. Word is she broke out in tears after she walked offstage.

If Britney Spears were to disappear and never be heard from again, I'd be just fine with that. Let's face it, her core audience was a bunch of 10-year-old girls. Those girls are all grown up now. No one is going to buy her music anymore. She's done.

But holy crap, they say she's fat and out of shape? Give me a fuckin' break! Sure, maybe she's put on 15-20 pounds. But she still looks great! Plus, she's given birth to two kids! Find me a woman alive who wouldn't want Britney's body (minus the alcohol intake) after having two kids.

The evidence is below. Given the opportunity, I'd be all over that like a cheap suit. Since her star has fallen so far, maybe I've got a chance now. Probably not, but it's nice to dream.

DEAR ABBY

I found this column in Friday's paper. It moved me. So I'm posting it here.


MOTHER LEARNS LATE IN LIFE TO ACCEPT GAY SON AS HE IS

DEAR ABBY: My husband and I raised our two sons and two daughters. One son and both daughters married well. Our other son, "Neil," is gay. He and his partner, "Ron," have been together 15 years, but Neil's father and I never wanted to know Ron because we disapproved of their lifestyle.

When I was 74, my husband died, leaving me in ill health and nearly penniless. No longer able to live alone, I asked my married son and two daughters if I could "visit" each of them for four months a year. (I didn't want to burden any one family, and thought living out of a suitcase would be best for everyone.) All three turned me down. Feeling unwanted, I wanted to die.

When Neil and Ron heard what had happened, they invited me to move across country and live with them. They welcomed me into their home, and even removed a wall between two rooms so I'd have a bedroom with a private bath and sitting room -- although we spend most of our time together.

They also include me in many of their plans. Since I moved in with them, I have traveled more than I have my whole life and seen places I only read about in books. They never mention the fact that they are supporting me, or that I ignored them in the past.

When old friends ask how it feels living with my gay son, I tell them I hope they're lucky enough to have one who will take them in one day. Please continue urging your readers to accept their children as they are. My only regret is that I wasted 15 years. -- GRATEFUL MOM


DEAR GRATEFUL MOM: You are indeed fortunate to have such a loving, generous and forgiving son. Sexual orientation is not a measure of anyone's humanity or worth. Thank you for pointing out how important it is that people respect each other for who they are, not for what we would like them to be.

You could have learned that lesson long ago, had you and your husband contacted Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG) when you first learned that Neil was gay. Among other things, the organization offers support groups and education for parents who need to learn more about gender issues. (The address is 1726 M St. N.W., Suite 400, Washington, D.C. 20036.)

I INVENTED "DROP A DEUCE"

By now we've all heard the line. "I got to drop a deuce." What does it mean? To be blunt, it means that you have to take a shit - pinch a loaf, go poop, drop a load, make dookie... Whatever you wish to call this crude act of nature is fine by me. But everytime I hear the phrase "drop a deuce" I cringe a bit. Why?

Because I invented the phrase.

I can't take full credit for it however. Meff, my partner in grammar-related crime, also had a hand in it. (Not literally. That was Doug Wall. But that's another story. See my other blog for the details.)

Back in the early-1990's, Meff and I began to refer to certain things with our own terms. We would often borrow lines from movies or whatever. For instance, a woman was simply refered to as a "hello." But it wasn't just any hello. You had to say it in a lecherous voice - sort of like Lenny & Squiggy did in Laverne & Shirley. I know what you're asking now. What were men called. Well... we simply referred to them as "pumpernickles." Yes, there is an original for that phrase. But don't ask. I could tell you. But there really is no coherent explanation to it. So why bother.

Ever heard of the word "loud?" Of course. But we didn't use it. Instead, we replaced the short word "loud" with a much longer phrase: "Ranken's mother's fart hole." In other words, if we were to walk into a loud bar or something, we might say, "Wow. It's like Ranken's mother's fart hole in here!"

Again, don't ask. Hell, I'll bet Meff can't even recall where that one came from.

We used the word "khan" for a variety of purposes. But overall, it usually referred to something being affirmative. "Should we get a pizza?" "Mmm... khan!"

I can't even tell you where that one originated.

But anyway, we also used terms to describe our toilet-related bodily functions. We expanded on the classics #1 and #2. For peeing, we simply used the word "solo." So if we had to go to the bathroom, we might say, "I got a solo brewing." If we wanted to state our intentions without using a full sentence, we would just utter the phrase, "solo." But you couldn't just say the word. You had to say it in a low, monotone voice - like Jabba The Hutt did in Return Of The Jedi, when he pointed out Han Solo (Solo!) hanging in his chamber, frozen in carbonite.

As for the act of defecation, I coined the phrase "deuce." Meff immediately approved. I believe the confirmation took place in my parent's TV room in their 9th St. home in Manitowoc, back around 1990 or 1991. Over the years we would often say things like, "I've got a deuce brewing" or I gotta drop a deuce." And then of course there was the dreaded "creamy deuce."

At some point, a year or two later perhaps, both of us were sort of getting into the band Kiss. We'd each purchased the Kiss greatest hits CD, "Double Platinum." One of the songs on the album is called "Deuce." It's from 1974 or something. The last line of the chorus is, "He's worth a deuce." What that means is a mystery to me. But Meff and I surmised that it fit perfectly with our own meaning of the word. You know how people sometimes say things like, "He ain't worth shit!" Well, in the context of the song, the character who was "worth a deuce" was also a hard-working man. Therefore, this guy was "worth shit" - the opposite of "ain't worth shit." Makes sense, huh? Well it did to us!

We used that phrase for years and years. While some of our other bizarre terms may have died off, this particular one stuck.

Then one night in the summer of 2000, my wife and I were watching the very first season of Survivor. There was a contestant named Sean Kenniff. He finished fifth. But a few weeks into the show, he commented into the camera, something to the effect of, "I haven't dropped a deuce since I got here."

I stood up from the couch and screamed! That's my term! I was shocked. I immediately called Meff and told him about it.

Since that time, the term deuce has now found its way into the American language. I still get a bit bothered everytime I hear it. But I guess I should be proud. I gave birth to a new catch phrase! And I give credit where credit is due. Meff contributed as well. Without his approval, there would be no deuce today!

Earlier today, I spent some time exploring the origins of the phrase "deuce" - as it applies to shit. Most of the entries I discovered were found in online urban dictionaries. Most of them were from the early 2000's. However, I did find one earlier reference from November, 1999. But still, that's a good eight or nine years after Meff and I coined the phrase.

I will admit that there could very well be other people out there who may have coined the same phrase on their own. So be it. But that doesn't change the fact that Meff and I also coined the phrase on our own - a phrase that neither of us had ever heard uttered before. And now, 16 or 17 years later, that term is fully engrossed in our pop culture.

So the next time you drop a deuce, I want you to think of me!

What a legacy.

RUBIN & ED

"It's gonna get weird now, isn't it?"

Every once in awhile, you see a film that defies description - a film that makes you shake your head and say, "Who came up with this idea? And how in the hell did they get funding for it?"

And sometimes that film is brilliant!

Last night my wife and I revisited the film "Rubin & Ed." It's from 1991 and stars Crispin Glover and Howard Hesseman.

But let's backtrack a little bit. Back around 1987 or so, the wacky Crispin Glover made one of the strangest appearances ever on Late Night With David Letterman. He appeared intense and stoned. He was supposed to promote his new film, "The River's Edge" - an awesome film by the way! But instead... Well, thanks to the glory of Youtube, check it out for yourself. When Glover nearly kicked Dave in the face with his giant platform shoes, Letterman cut to commercial and ended the interview. A few years later, Glover came back on Letterman's show, and denied ever making this appearance.



Fast forward a few years later. Meff calls me up one day in utter excitement. He'd seen an ad in a video store magazine for a film that's about to be released on video. It starred Crispin Glover. And amazingly, Glover was dressed up in the bizarre costume (funky hair, bell bottom pants and platform shoes) that he'd worn on that infamous Letterman appearance. The plot of the film had something to do with a dead cat. I had to see this film!

So I convinced my boss to pony up the $70.00 to by this obscure title. I put it in upon arrival, and laughed my ass off. Here's the plot.

Ed Tuttle (Howard Hesseman) is a loser in life. He joines some sort of get-rich-quick marketing group that requires him to find a recruit to bring to the next meeting. Eventually he meets Rubin Farr (Crispin Glover) who reluctantly agrees to go along, provided Ed first come over to his apartment to meet his mother - who had taken Rubin's music away and had refused to give it back to him until Rubin made a friend and brought him home for dinner.

Did you follow that?

When Ed arrived to pick him up, Rubin informs him that he can't go because his mother isn't home yet. And Ed has to meet his mother first. So they wait a bit. Ed goes to get some ice out of the freezer, and discovers Rubin's frozen, dead cat Simon inside. Simon had died recently. And Rubin kept him in the freezer until he found the proper place to bury him. Ed offers to take Rubin to bury the cat - but only after they attend the meeting. So Rubin packs Simon in an iced cooler and leaves. But Rubin steals the keys and the car and literally kidnaps Ed. They end up in the desert, where the car conks out.

The rest of the film features the pair wandering through the desert in a vain effort to find the perfect place to bury the cat.

The pair eventually do get out of the desert. And Ed manages to drag Rubin to another meeting. Upon arrival, Rubin delcares himself to be the king of the echo people. (You have to watch it to understand.)

No amount of description can do this film justice. You just have to watch it. If you like quirky comedies, this film is pure genius. It features a neverending supply of quotable lines. "My cat can eat a whole watermelon!"

Oh, and Rubin is adept at flinging his platform shoes off his feet and using them as projectile weapons. I kid you not. Just watch the trailer below.

A few years ago, I was able to obtain a copy of the script, as well as my very own Rubin & Ed T-shirt. I got this stuff from the director himself.

If you want to find this on DVD, don't bother. It's never been released. Although you can order it from the director himself. You can also find bootleg DVD's on the internet. If you want an original VHS tape, they usually sell for around $100.00. I've got two of them myself.

The VHS box.



Rubin & Ed in the desert.



Something I found online.



Rubin declares himself the king of the echo people.



Better yet, watch it here.



Here's the trailer.

OBSERVATIONS

So last night I found myself in my kids' bed, while my lovely wife read a short story - "Rumplestiltsken." Our four-year-old listens intently to anything read to her. While she does that, our two-year-old generally swings like a monkey from the bars of the bed. Oh well.

Anyway, after the story had been read, I said, "Rumplestiltsken - that's an odd name." At that point, our eldest whispered in my ear, "It's a dumb name." That made me laugh.

Speaking of my eldest, last night I was watchng part of the American Idol results show, when she wandered in. She heard the host say the name, "Sanjaya." At that point, she said, "Oh! Vote for Sanjaya!" I'm so proud.

I was recently reminded of William Howard Taft - one of our U.S. Presidents. Do you think his ears are ringing? Anyway, I once climbed on top of his gravestone. I'd bet money none of my readers no another person who has done that! Anyway, if I'm not mistaken, every single past U.S. President has been buried intact. Not one has been cremated. Why is that? Isn't that a bit odd?

Maybe we could cremate George W. Bush right now.

LAUGH OF THE DAY

I must give thanks to my buddy Erin for sending this to me today. I laughed out loud.

SANJAYA

What image does that name bring to you? For those of you who watch American Idol, the answer is clear. Sanjaya is the name of one of the final 12 contestants on this year's show. He is also the weakest singer of the entire group. Sanjaya's name has been all over the news the past few weeks as well. Why?

Well, there's a website called VOTEFORTHEWORST.COM. It encourages people to vote for the worst singer each week. The goal is to simply mess with the contest. Does it work? Well, last year, the website latched onto a guy named Anthony Fedorov. Each week they promoted him, despite the fact that he was clearly the least-talented singer on the show. Fedorov ended up finishing in fourth place.

Well this season the website is back again. And now they have a new ally - Howard Stern. Howard Stern has jumped on the "Vote For Sanjaya" bandwagon. He's asked all of his listeners to follow suit. So how's he doing? In the last two weeks, Sanjaya hasn't even finished in the bottom three of the voting process. One of Stern's listeners even called in to say he had found a way to vote for Sanjaya 14,000 times. He intends to vote for Sanjaya between 50,000 and 100,000 times each week from here on out.

Well, yesterday Howard played various clips from entertainment shows and news shows that talked about the Sanjaya story. Even FOX News had an editorial about it. And across the board, these reporters say they're shocked and disgusted with what Howard is doing. "He's ruining the competition!" "He's making a mockery of the voting process!" "He's compromising the integrity of the show!"

GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK!!!

This is a fucking TV show people! This isn't important business. Whether or not Sanjaya wins will make no impact on the lives of American citizens. All of this amounts to absolutely nothing. Jesus people, get a grip. If Sanjaya wins, I assure you, life will go on. The world will not come to an end.

Some people say that by voting for Sanjaya, they're taking away an opportunity for a singer who is really talented. Wrong! The only way that would happen is if Sanjaya actually won the entire contest. At that point, he'd take away the title from the #2 finisher. But look, if people truly have singing talent, and are worthy of a recording contract, they will get one regardless of where they finish. Besides, finishing #2 has worked out pretty well for the likes of Clay Aiken and Bo Bice.

How does Sanjaya feel about it? He seems to be reveling in the attention. He's having a ball.

I don't vote for anyone. The show isn't important to me. If I'm around, and it's on, I might tune in. But if I miss it, I'm perfectly fine with it. But all that being said, next week, I'm voting for Sanjaya.

SIRIUS

As some of you may know, I've had Sirius Satellite Radio in my car for the past two years. It is really a cool item - like cable for your car! Anyway, since January, 2006, I've become a huge fan of the Howard Stern show. I love it!

Well yesterday, Howard took a call from a listener. The guy said that Sirius has the best customer service on the planet. He told how his radio somehow broke. So he called Sirius. And they sent him a brand new one for free. All he had to do was pay for the shipping.

Well, this past summer, we came back from a vacation. And my Sirius was on the floor of the car. It must have gotten too hot in the car, and the suction cup thingee fell off. Since that time, the Sirius hasn't worked 100%. It'll be fine for several minutes. Then it will suddenly lose the signal - only to have it come back again a few seconds later. It might cut in and out like that continually. Other times it will work with no problems whatsoever.

I replaced the antenna, thinking there was a short in it. That didn't work. Then I noticed that if I squeeze the receiver, the lost signal will suddenly come back. So clearly, there's a short inside of it somewhere. I didn't want to spring for a new one. So I've just been living with it.

Well after hearing that guy on the phone, I called myself. Sure shit, for only $7.95 shipping and handling, they're sending me a brand new receiver, antenna and suction cup thingee!

Sirius fricken' rocks! Their customer service sure beats that of Walmart and Verizon. (See my two previous posts).

WALMART

Inspired by Greg's blog about how much Walmart sucks, reminded me of an incident that happened to me a few years ago.

I was at my local Walmart purchasing season 4 of The Simpsons. While driving in the car, I ripped off the cellophane wrapping. When I got home, I went to add it to the DVD shelf. Oops! I'd already bought it! So now I had two of them. What to do? Simple enough. Just take it back.

Simple my ass!

I explained to the nice (snotty) girl at the service desk that I had bought it by mistake. I made up some sort of story about receiving it as a gift. But the girl wasn't having any of it. Since I'd opened the package, she refused to take it back under any circumstances. So I coyly asked her, "What if the DVD skips or something?" Then she said, "Yes, you could then exchange it."

So I devised a plan.

The next day, I took it back to the service desk. Thankfully a different woman was there. Actually, I had initially walked into the store to check on that first. Anyway, I told her that I'd just bought this, and that one of the DVD's skipped. She told me I could exchange it if I wanted to. I figured I'd get a new one, then return the new one (unopened) at a later date for a store credit.

So I gleefully walked to the electronics section and grabbed a new one. When I got back to the service desk, I was horrified to find that the girl from the day before was there. So I smugly said to her, "Would you believe there actually was a skip?" I think she was disgusted. Then she took the upper hand and handed me the new one - but not before ripping the cellophane off it yet again.

Denied!

Well, I can play this game forever. I decided to take it back the next day, claiming the same problem. At one point I thought I would go into the store at another time, and hide all of the season 4 Simpsons DVD's. If they didn't have a replacement, they'd have to give me a store credit, wouldn't they?

Well, the next day, the snotty girl wasn't working. So I returned the DVD to the woman at the service desk. She had me go get a replacement. And this time, the woman did not take off the cellophane wrapping. Woohoo!

A week later, we drove up to Manitowoc to spend the weekend with my parents. Earlier that day, I called the Walmart in Manitowoc and told them I'd received two Simpsons DVD's for my birthday. I asked if I could bring one of them in and exchange it for a store credit. They said I could, even though it had been purchased from a different Walmart. So that night, I got my store credit.

I won!

Now I had every intention of winning. It was the right thing to do. All I wanted was a store credit to begin with. Target will grant you that, no questions asked. But Walmart acted like a bitch. So I bitch-slapped them right back. Plus they now had to go through the bother of returning two seasons worth of DVD's for the alleged skipping problem.

Oh well. I sleep good at night.

UPDATE - VERIZON

Check out my Verizon post below. There are some updates. They got my letter!

A CHANCE MEETING?

A few weeks back, there was a discussion about soulmates. I think it was on muscular Officer Brad's blog. Anyway, it got me thinking a step firther beyond my thoughts on the prospect of soulmates.

I don't know if I have a question here. But I just have some thoughts. I'd like to know about how people met their spouse. Now granted, there are some people who grew up near their spouse, or went to school with them. It happens all the time. But I'm quite sure that repersents only a small percentage of married couples. I'm assuming that most people meet their future spouse when they were adults - be it in a bar, in college, or whatever.

In my own situation, I met my wife online. It was Saturday, March 28, 1998. It was 7:00 P.M. That night, I had plans to go to a strip joint - "On The Border" in Milwaukee. At 8:00, Meff's roommate (The Frogman) was coming by to pick me up. We were then going to drive to Meff's video store and pick him up.

So anyway, I had just gotten out of the shower and was getting dressed. I decided to go online to check my E-mail. Now at that time, AOL had some sort of "penpal" thing going on - which was more-or-less like a personals section. I had written to women in there, and had met some as well. I decided to check that section again. Now, AOL also would show a little icon next to those people who happened to be online at that exact moment as well. Since I only had an hour, I didn't feel like writing to anyone. But I figured I'd send an instant message to someone who I found interesting - assuming of course that they were online.

Well, I found someone who happened to be online. So I IM'ed her. This woman would later be my wife. But at the moment, I was a random IM to her. We ended up chatting for about 50 minutes. Meanwhile, I still had to get dressed and find something fast to eat. At the end of that 50 minutes, she asked if I wanted to see her picture. Of course I said yes. So she sent it. I liked what I saw. But then I informed her that I had to run, as someone was picking me up in 10 minutes, and I hadn't dressed or eaten yet. She of course took this to mean I was unimpressed with her photo and was brushing her off. I don't remember what she said. But it was dripping with some "yeah right" sarcasm. I told her she was completely off base, and that I really had to go. I also told her I'd E-mail her back that night, when I got home. I think she believed me for the most part, but wasn't 100% convinced.

Anyway, I did E-mail her back at about 2:00 in the morning or so. And the next day we spoke on the phone. She wanted to come over that night. I was too nervous. So I held her off for a week. But she ended up coming over to my apartment on Sunday April 5th. A few months later we were engaged.

My life with her couldn't be any better than it is. But it made me think about the "what ifs." What if I had decided to watch COPS that night, instead of checking my E-mail? What if she hadn't been online when I went online? If either of those things hadn't occurred, where would my life be today? Would I be single? Would I be married to someone else? Would I live in Wisconsin? Would I have gone out with some pyscho chick who would castrate me while I sleep, and feed my privates to her dog? Maybe I would have met my same future wife three months later.

Who knows...

It just seems weird that the events happened as they did. It's like everything had to come together perfectly for it to happen. One deviation, and the course of life would be altered forever. Am I the only one who had a potential "close call?"