**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!