Wedge's Rants, Rumblings and Written Refuse

Warning Shot

2011-11-26T23:59:00.000-08:00

Okay, been many a time that I was going to check in here again and write, but then backed off because I knew what I was going to write or wanted to write was nowhere near what I would normally say in front of family and etc.

I don't really have any thought to expel any family secrets here or anything. But I do have thoughts. They are mostly off color, insensitive, and dickish....but they are mine.

What I have been coming to terms with recently is that I have to pretend that my mom does not read what I post here. I love my mom. I want her to be proud of me. However, where I am now in my life and what I want to write about is quite often ....just nothing I would like my mom to know I think about quite honestly. I know. That makes me naive and childish, but I guess this post is fair warning to my Mom....

Dear Mom, I love you. I am a good guy on the inside. I like birds, children, and long walks in the park. I love my family. I also have other thoughts.

Just sayin'.

This is what will end up killing me.

2011-09-11T19:08:00.000-07:00

Here is a picture of my garbage can from a couple weeks ago. Yes, the top of my garbage can is dirty. Keeping my garbage can lid clean enough to eat off from is not a priority in my life. If this disturbs you, feel free not to drop by any time soon. Beyond all that, however, I'm not sure how or who decided that the appropriate place to store a folding chair was to lean it again the garbage can so that use of requisite garbage can necessitates moving the chair.

I could have taken five seconds and put the chair back where it belonged. Yep, I coulda. In addition to making my blood pressure elevate to levels where stepping on seal babies seems like an appropriate course of action, shit like this often makes me curious. Mostly I wanted to know just how long I could leave that chair leaning on that garbage can, before someone else looked at it and realized that, "Oh crap! I forgot I left that there. I will put it back now."

Yeah, that would have been a cool experiment, except I could only put up with it for three days. Yes, apparently I was the only person in my house to throw anything away for three days. Ahem *cough* bullshit* cough, cough. For three days, I would move the chair, throw something away, and then put the chair back on the garbage can. So, not only am I dumbassed enough to do that to myself...to make the multiple incidents of trash disposal an exercise in patience and ridiculousness...but I also let something that would have taken seconds to fix and be done with, become the nucleus of near fission levels of white hot anger over and over again for a span of about 72 hours. Maybe it would have been different if the first time I discovered the chair there, I didn't have two handfuls of eggshells and yolks in my hands. Maybe.

I had to end the experiment after three days when it became apparent that my leaving of the chair on top of the garbage can was not having it's intended result and it was also reducing my lifespan by weeks every time I let the situation raise my ire. Mostly I just wanted whoever put that there to fix it. To me folding chairs on top of garbage cans ranks right up there with storing your banana peel collection on the top step of the basement stairs. Yep, I need to relax and not let stuff like this get to me.

Don't get me wrong. This isn't about whoever left the chair there. It's about how I react to certain minutiae in my life and how I let it fire me up.

Recall petition

2011-06-24T19:29:00.000-07:00

The following is a letter I intend to read at the next board meeting. I haven't been prolific on my blog for a while now and other things have demanded too much of my attention. I am posting it here to the blog even though I know this is something only my local community is interested in, just as a way to get it out to the public that may not be at Monday's board meeting.

Update 06/27/2011: In true English teacher fashion, I read and re-read this to realize how much the first draft was messed up. What is now posted below is what I read at the board meeting tonight. Just has to clean it up.

:::::::::::::

06/24/11

To Whom It May Concern:

My name is Dale Harris. I have been a teacher at Carney for fifteen years. From year one I told myself I hope I am lucky enough to retire from this place because after subbing in many different districts for years, I knew Carney was something special and I wanted to be a part of it.

I have known Linda and Cindy from the very beginning of my Carney teaching. I would like to say we have always agreed on everything, but that is not the case nor should it ever be the case. When you have passionate people who feel passionate about what they do, then disagreements are inevitable.

I have agreed and disagreed with Linda and Cindy more often than you might think over the years, but I have always respected them. Despite the fact that we didn't always see eye to eye, they always let me talk and say my piece and never made me feel like what I had to say was unimportant. In the end, we always worked out our differences as adults and moved on to continue doing our duties the best that we knew how.

That is how it is supposed to work. Adults...with differences...working things out. I never in fifteen years ever felt that either of them has ever lied to me. In recent years, my respect for them has grown even more. I know I, for one, never realized how difficult a job the school board has and I would like to thank all on the school board for their efforts to make Carney-Nadeau Public School a better place. Linda and Cindy should be applauded for their efforts and I feel this recall petition is a travesty of justice on the highest level. If there is duplicity afoot in any of this, it is not on their part.

Dan, I have not had the privilege of knowing for very long. However what I do know impresses me. Who else moves into a new community and runs for the school board almost immediately after relocating? Does that sound like someone who is operating from a selfish standpoint?
To me it sounds like someone who cares about his community enough to try to make a difference. I count it a privilege to call Dan a friend and I think his recall, as with Linda's and Cindy's amounts to nothing more than sour grapes and political machinations emanating from the lowest common denominators.

These board members are to be commended for standing with their convictions. They know that the right thing to do is not always the easy thing. They are suffering publicly for doing what they in their hearts know is best...not for themselves, but for this community. They should be admired for doing the right thing in the face of public adversity. At the very least, they should be left alone to do the job the electorate asked them to do. They have done nothing wrong and I want to voice my support for them. They have earned that respect over years of service and I for one give it to them.

Sincerely,

Dale Harris

Secondary English/Health

Carney-Nadeau Public School

I'm going to stab you.

2011-04-04T10:35:00.000-07:00

Egads! Weight keeps ballooning on me. I am hoping that latest blood test gives me some hope. Just haven't felt very useful lately. I'd say I haven't felt ambitious, but that is an understatement. I think I was one rung above coma status the past couple weeks as far as taking care of things around the house, writing, cleaning, etc. Just been a bad time lately.

Last few days have been slightly better. It really is a chicken or the egg argument with me and my roller coaster life these past years post thyroid diagnosis. Does my thyroid get worse because I quit working out and my diet goes to hell or does my workout regimen, eating regimen go to hell because my thyroid goes to hell which makes those things seem too monumental to take care of?

I just wish that I could actually be on the same level of medication for more than three to six months at a time. I want to be leveled off. Every time I actually feel good, the doc tries to lower my dosage. That always means my energy level gradually declines daily and the whole process is so subtle, that it is usually months before I realize that it might not all just be because I'm being a lazy ass worthless pile of bat guano. Maybe I am actually sick.

Bah! I'll find out today because I'll get the results this afternoon. We'll see I guess.

Update: Yep, thyroid was bogging down again. Should be getting a new prescription in a couple days. Honestly, I had a feeling that was the problem and I found an old bottle of prescription synthroid and had taken my own little self determined dosage for a few days and have begun feeling better already. I won't get the full benefit of the higher dosage for two to three weeks though.

I know they don't want my dosage to be too high because supposedly the more of the shit I take, the harder it is on my kidneys. Well, every time I feel good they lower my medication and I gain 40 lbs. How freaking hard is that on my body to keep bouncing from 230 to 270 and back again annually?

What I need is a good line to an illegal Mexican pharmacy so I can determine my own dosage and just cut these fucking doctors out of the loop.

I have prepared a short screenplay of every six month cycle of my life for the past seven years below. I am thinking they could get both John Goodman and Ray Liotta to both play my part.

Doc: So how do you feel Mr. Harris?

Me: Great! I actually feel rested after I sleep. I have energy to work out again. I don't fall asleep in my chair for 45 minutes after work every day. My immune system seems to be stronger as I'm not sick all the time. My eyes actually create enough of their own moisture for me to wear my contact lenses again. All is well.

Doc: 'looks at chart' I see, but your bloodwork says your prescription is too high.

Me: That's fine, but I have no outward signs of synthroid overdose. I still sleep well at night. I'm not nervous or jittery. I am not anxious or "wired." I have in the past been on too high a dosage and I know what too much synthroid feels like and I have no discernible signs of overdose.

Doc: Really? Well we are going to have to cut your dosage back.

Me: Did you hear a word I said?

Doc: Yes, see...your dosage is too high so I have to cut it back.

Me: But I feel good. I feel good for the first time in years.

Doc: Yeah, well that's beside the point. Your dosage is too high. Let's cut it back.

Me: Every time you cut my dosage back you sentence me to six months of unregulated weight gain, irritability,bags under my eyes, sleep does me no good, my sex drive declines, and even the smallest tasks seem insurmountable to me, which all combines into one big shit depression taco that I get to eat every day.

Doc: So we're going to cut your medication back to....

Me: AAAAAARRRRGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Fast forward to six miserable months and another blood test later....keep in mind...I have been on this same up and down cycle for years....

Doc: So I see your TSH levels are messed up.

Me: Do the words "I told you so" mean anything to you? I gained 34 lbs since I last saw you.

Doc: Have you been taking ALL of your medication?

Me: What I actually say: Yes
(What I really mean: I want to stab you.)

Doc: Because you apparently aren't getting enough.

Me. What I actually say: I told you this was going to happen and you always ask me if I am taking my meds when my thryoid shits out.
(What I really mean: Did you catch the part about 'stabbing you'?)

Doc: You have to make sure you take your medication every day.

Me: What I actually say: I always take my meds. I have done so for seven years. Just admit you were wrong and I was right.

(What I really mean: In the head....I'm going to stab you...in....the....head.)

Doc: So what I'm going to do is prescribe you a higher dose of synthroid.

(What he really means: I am going to give you a brief glimpse of what your life could be like if you were healthy for a few months and then I will lower your prescription and I will rip it all away from you again because what my chart tells me is infinitely more important to me than what you

think, feel, or any of your life experiences while you have been ill for the better part of the last decade.)

Me: What I actually say: I'm going to stab you.

(What I really mean: I'm going to stab you.)

In case you didn't realize it, I'm a teacher.

2011-03-14T14:49:00.000-07:00

At what point was it that teachers became the great satan in this country? People want to talk about how much money we make, how we don't deserve our benefits, that we suck. Very little of this appears to be true.

Let's bust some myths.

Myth: Sucky teachers can't be fired.

Fact: If the administration has done its job correctly, then teachers can be fired like anyone else. Besides, in what other job does one spend four years basically on probation and can be fired without cause during any point of that process? If your school has a bad teacher, then it's because the administration didn't do it's job during the four years of probation.

Myth: Teachers get paid like $1 billion dollars a year.

Fact: Teacher salaries compared to the salaries at other jobs are actually going down.
( http://www.nea.org/home/14052.htm ) In other words, a teacher in the 1950's could buy way more stuff than a teacher can in 2011. Cost of living has gone up at a greater rate than teacher salaries. Did anyone bitch and moan about those elitist rich teachers in the 1950's?

Throw in the idea that it is much harder to become a teacher these days and also much more expensive since we have to continue taking graduate level courses for the rest of our lives. Also, teachers don't get paid as much as other jobs that require a bachelor's degree either. So pretty much, no matter how you slice it, it is hard to ethically purport that the reason teachers become teachers is for the money. Most teachers I know work during the summer to make ends meet, too. Of course, that's probably just to help pay their groundskeepers, nannies, and pool boys right?

Myth: People become teachers because they aren't qualified to do anything else.

Fact: Teaching is basically a five year degree. Unless you think that nothing of value happens at any point in those five years, then I think we can safely assume that most people that become teachers have a reasonable knowledge base and are not totally brain dead. At the very least, they can be taught. That means most of them could very easily have learned a different trade if they had chosen to. I chose to become a teacher mostly because I had no idea that pubic waxing would become a career option in the future. Thanks for dropping the ball on that one for me Mr. Career Counselor guy.

Myth: Public sector workers get paid more than private sector workers.

Fact: It depends on the study. Most of the reputable studies I have seen say that private sector workers still earn more. The study that Karl Rove's silly little boatful of dumbasses keeps spreading was actually comparing public sector workers with jobs that required bachelor's degrees, to what the guy makes that asks you if you "want fries with that." It's all made up.

Of course that doesn't stop Fox News from continuing to use the bullshit numbers given to them by Rove, but we pretty much already knew that most people working for Fox News have the equivalent moral compass of a compulsively lying, serial baby rapist.

Myth: U.S. kids are way stupider than kids from other countries and it's all the teachers' faults.

Fact: I will try to be brief. In a lot of those other countries kids get tracked into vocational schools at an earlier age. When only the kids that show an aptitude for school are taking your test, that skews the numbers quite a bit.

Also, parents in other countries give a shit about education and put more emphasis on the importance of education. Sure a lot of U.S. parents care too, but not like in other countries where teachers are much more respected in the culture. So what do you think has happened to the American school system? Did all the teachers get lazy? Maybe they all became teachers in order to create stupider kids? Unless you believe that teachers were better when they only had to go to college for two years to get a degree instead of the current five, then it is safe to assume the main issue in declining test scores is not that all teachers suck at what they do.

We could look at a myriad of issues to explain poor scores, but the idea that test scores are declining because of poor teaching just doesn't hold water.

So apparently, teachers don't generally stink. They aren't rich. They chose teaching for their profession despite the money and not because of the money. Again I ask, what are people so pissed off at us for?

It's late and I am highly irritated.

2011-02-21T00:39:00.003-08:00

Wedge Harris
The cost of living in a free society is that the top earners need to give back to the lower earners....or run the risk of all the lower earners rising up, bashing your grandma's skull against a brick wall, eating your dog, fisting your wife, and taking all your shit. In past societies, folks have thought that revolution couldn't happen...yeah...how did that work out?
2 seconds ago · · ·
Wedge HarrisJosh Moreau
Someone pissed me off. May want to check out my profile. This whole situation has me a tiddle bit on edge.
15 minutes ago · · · See Friendship
Wedge Harris
Just awesome to see how WI wants a "trickle down" economics guy...I mean that has worked out so well in the past 40 years...oh wait...what? It hasn't? No shit? Really...the Republicans who claim to be fiscally frugal actually have spent vastly more than the Democrats have for the past couple generations? Is this a secret? No? Oh I see...it's just because the Repubs hope we don't fact check.
18 minutes ago · · ·
Wedge Harris
So how much have property taxes increased during Walker’s reign? OWN crunched the numbers and found that Walker’s proposed budgets from 2003 to 2010 raised property taxes about 17%, while he’s increased spending 35%, more than Gov. Jim Doyle did during the same period. What’s more, fees on licenses, permits, fines and forfeitures have increased a whopping 129% during Walker’s tenure.
22 minutes ago · · ·
- Wedge Harris above comment came courtesy of:http://www.expressmilwaukee.com/article-11501-fact-checking-scott-walker.html
  21 minutes ago ·
Wedge Harris
Douchebag alert! Pay careful attention to how he "outsourced" local Wisconsin jobs to a national agency, how he jacked out money to an airport "for free"...something he dissed the current president for...and oh...the last item there on that page in which...well he just fucking lied outright.

Nope...he's got the best interests of the...See More

Fact-Checking Scott Walker
www.expressmilwaukee.com
Milwaukee County Executive Scott Walker has been continuously campaigning for governor for the past six years. So how do his campaign claims live up to the reality of his time in office? Here’s a look at some of his biggest claims: Claim: Walker

25 minutes ago · · · · Share
Wedge Harris
Scott Walker lied to his constituents about the platform he would run on. It's really no more plain and simple than that. One of his biggest supporters...the Wisconsin Law Enforcement have already turned on him because he is a liar.
about an hour ago · · ·
- Adam Damaschke likes this.
- Wedge Harris If you still wish to believe that he is a good man because he wants to cut benefits to a group largely made up of lower middle class (do we even have a middle class in this country?) while giving $117 million in tax breaks to corporations...well then...just go fuck yourself because there isn't anything I can do for you anymore.
  58 minutes ago · · 1 person
  
  Wedge Harris
  Oh wait...you want to cite that study that says public employees earn double what private sector employees do? In general, public sector employees are better educated, and have job requiring more education that private sector jobs. If you...See More
  
  46 minutes ago ·
  
  Wedge Harris If all that above is just too many words for you to read...just go back to the "Scott Walker is a liar." part and you will get the gist of the whole situation.
  41 minutes ago ·
Wedge Harris

Tea Party governor betrays Wisconsin values | Washington Times Communities
communities.washingtontimes.com
Union busting accelerates as states seek to find a scapegoat: the middle class

Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo

2011-01-24T15:50:00.000-08:00

Well that's, a mouthful, eh? I have it. I'm lucky that way. I know BPPV sounds like some really cool new rocket launcher one might find in a Halo game, but really it's just a new sucky medical condition that I somehow found my way into.

Here's the mechanics of it: Why Wedge is Dizzy

I went to bed on Tuesday night feeling fine. I woke up on Wednesday morning, got out of bed and immediately fell face forward into one of the posters on my canopy bed and desperately had to hang on to keep from falling the rest of the way to the floor.

I have had issues with mild dizziness due to blood sugar problems before, so I just waited until the dizziness and nausea passed. As soon as I took another step I fell into my wardrobe off to my right. At this point "What the fuck?" was the most eloquent thing I could think of at 5:00 in the morning after having fallen on two of my first three steps of the day. I worked my way slowly to the bathroom only to realize my bathroom felt like it was bobbing happily up and down aboard the the U.S.S. Holy-Shit-It's-A-Hurricane. Seeing as how my wife absolutely hates it when I pee seven feet up the walls, all over the bathroom mirror, and into her laundry basket like some sort of demented garden sprinkler, I thought my best course of action was to sit down to pee.

Holding on to both sides of the toilet I gradually managed to settle the pendulum sway of the bathroom in my vision. I did my business and got up slowwwwly to head back to the bedroom. When I got there, I thought I must just be experiencing dizziness from some sort of flu-like illness and once I got up and going the symptoms would alleviate.

So, in the spirit of completely disregarding everything that had happened up to that point, I decided to think positively and took one full speed step forward and immediately lost my balance and fell off to the right and onto my bed. If I was going to be wrong, I guess I was happy to be wrong next to my bed because there was no catching myself going down that time.

I lay sprawled on my back clinging with both hands splayed, fingers clutching the mattress and for one maddening instant, I had thought the bed spiraling beneath me was going to buck me off, so I clenched my ass cheeks harder for more grip and barely managed to keep from being thrown off.

Stare at this gif for about an hour and a half and imagine it moving 5X faster and you'll know how I felt. (http://n.sfwgifs.com/gif/vertigo)

Eventually the spinning subsided and after two more unsuccessful and, I'm sure, semi-hilarious attempts to stand back up, I finally called Kim into the room. By now I realize something is really wrong and of course several things go through my mind:

Am I having a heart attack? Nope, no numbness in any upper extremities and I haven't started talking like Marlee Matlin so that means I'm probably not having a stroke either.

Am I drunk? Did I drink last night? Mmm, nope on the latter so I am assuming I am safe from the former.

Am I dreaming? Probably not because I rarely feel like I am going to vomit in my dreams.

Geez, well then the obvious answer is: brain tumor.

Awesome.

Kim helps me to the living room where I sit upright in a chair for a bit. An hour and half later, I am still just as dizzy whenever I move and realize I can't possibly drive to work.

I did my best imitation of a corpse for the rest of the day. Being unbathed, I would imagine the smell wasn't far off either.

I woke up Thursday determined to go to work. It was exam week and I would be damned if some sort of brain malignancy or corpus callosum termites were going to stop me from going to work two days in a row during one of the busiest weeks of the year. I wobbled my way up and down the halls all day, getting done at least a little of what I needed to get done, but by 11 a.m. the woozziness had gone from bad to worst. At noon I called a doctor and he could get me in right away so I ducked out of work an hour early, fully prepared to find out what kind of terminal condition I had achieved.

After only a few tests the doctor informed me of my hugely uncomfortable BPPV problem and followed it up with the news that it was likely to last for three weeks to a month and more than likely recur off and on the rest of my life. I couldn't help but think how awesome it was that I wasn't going to die, but that I was going to spend the next month and occasional random future months of my life wobbling around like a drunken 18 month old. Fucking perfect. I know. Even a non-terminal diagnosis can't make me happy.

Basically, my right inner ear was sending bad signals (not bat signals...that would have been kinda neat) to my brain telling it that I was in motion when I wasn't in motion. The dichotomy between reality and brain perception = vertigo. I asked doc if that's why the left side of my brain felt like someone had been steel wooling it all day. Apparently, the brain will eventually figure out that it is getting bad information from that ear and then it has to kick into overdrive to figure out how it is going to filter out the bad information and reinterpret it based upon the information it is getting from my good ear and my other senses. Hence, the left side of my brain was overheating. That's kinda neat and all, but I really didn't appreciate it at the time because I was death clutching the examination table I was sitting on, because it was trying like a bugger to tip me off.

Doc assigned me some exercises that are supposed to help the acclimation period go faster, but those first few days they were hard to do. Imagine how you felt the moment you got off the spinniest carnival ride you have ever been on. Now imagine feeling like that a 100 or so times a day. It's fatiguing. I don't know how the exercises are supposed to work, but basically they trigger the vertigo in the worst possible way over and over and over again. So, working up the will to do them is not a small task.

Friday, Saturday, and Sunday came and went and progress was slow. I looked sort of like the video below. For the record, I am the black kitten on the right.

Several times each day I reached out grab tables, refrigerator handles, doorknobs etc to keep myself from falling over. By the end of the day Saturday I realized that even if my brain couldn't tell left from right and up from down during the vertigo swarms I could still tell where my frontside, backside, this arm and that arm were. As long as I knew where I was in the room, I could propel myself in the direction that would assure me of the softest landing and cause the least amount of breakage. So although directions in the room around me were messed up when my head spun, my sense of where my body was, was still okay. Say I had my back to the couch. As long as I could tell which side of me my ass was on, I could push myself in the direction of my ass if I felt myself falling and be reasonably confident my ass would hit the targeted couch landing area. I guess that's what they call adaptation.

It is now Tuesday and the difference between how I felt on Monday and how I feel today are huge. Still only at about 65% and too afraid to run, but for the most part I can walk at close to a normal pace and my headache is nowhere near the nuclear levels it had been at the previous five days. It's much easier to do the doc prescribed vertigo inducing, stomach flipflopping exercises now that I already feel a bit better. I even got something accomplished at work today which is more than I can say for Monday in which I basically accomplished not falling and not falling further behind than I already was.

Now I can appreciate it a little bit more that I do not have a brain tumor.

Sometimes cops are really hard to like.

2011-01-15T07:45:00.000-08:00

Here's a brief rundown of last night:

7:30 ish....car breaks down on side of highway by Cedar Hill.

8:00 Brother-in-law gives wife ride home and he assures me that the car is far enough off to the side where we can wait until morning to tow it.

9:00 Police call wanting to know what my car is doing on the side of the highway. I inform them it is broken and we will tow it in the morning. I hang up the phone happy that all is settled.

9:05 Phone rings. Police decide it cannot wait until morning it has to be towed now or it will be impounded and they have already called a local towing company. They ask me where I want it towed. I tell them the destination three times thinking they would probably screw it up so I kept repeating it until I was sure that even a semi-literate monkey could get it right.

Saturday a.m. I wake up, call the towing company to find out where they are based so I can pay them for the tow. During the course of the conversation I find out our car is on the towing company's lot and not at the auto garage. Of course it is still broken so it will need to be towed again to where it was supposed to go in the first place. Of course, I get to pay another towing fee.

Oh that's not all dear readers....that car that had to be towed right at the moment last night according to the cops, ....the same cops who said they had already called the towing company....yeah, the towing guy didn't get the call until midnight. The car was such a danger to society that it sat there an additional three hours after the cops basically threatened to kidnap it to the impound lot if I didn't take care of it A.S.A.P.

So thank to you officers who over reacted and managed to fuck up something my nine year old could have taken care of. I will be thinking of you all week while I eat ramen noodles and macaroni and cheese because 3/4 of my grocery money for the week, just went into a double towing fee.

I understand you have a tough job, but what's with the lies? Get bent Officer Whoeverthefuckyouwere. While you are at it, find some competency or maybe even call me up and apologize for the fact that you screwed up. I don't expect you to reach into your wallet and give me $75 for the second tow even though that's what I would do if I had done this to someone else. An apology would go a long way though.

UPDATE: My family came through and via friends of friends, I got one towing fee taken care of. The other towing fee will be partially covered by my insurance so not only do I not have to eat ramen all week, but I even splurged on a jar of Nutella for my kid. This is what living on the edge looks like kids! Come join me in the fast lane where my greatest joy of the week was baking banana bread and buying a chocolate hazelnut spread. Now just cross your fingers that the car can be fixed and is not a one ton paper weight.

I reiterate: You are a dumbass.

2011-01-14T19:28:00.000-08:00

I am not sure some of you out there get how facebook works. I was once again notified by my boss about something that I said on facebook. On facebook I say things that are PG-13 or R at best and never meant to be seen by children. The below facebook commentary was brought into question:

Steve Lesperance
Do u ever get that icky feelingwhen you buy something you really didn't need?

Amongst a bunch of other random comments offered on that status I said:

Wedge Harris I had such buyer's remorse after purchasing that Thai hooker it was unreal. Might have had something to do with me pissing napalm for weeks afterwards, but still...I know what you mean.

January 3 at 8:17pm · · 1 person

Most folks would understand that what I said was a joke. A joke told by an adult to other adults. For the record, I have never been to Thailand. Heaven forbid that I recognized another human who might suffer from the same nonsensical buyers remorse as I and then try to make him laugh. Sorry about that.

First, know this, I will not spend one second of my life worrying about what some chicken shit anonymous letter says about me. Not now. Not ever. I write this only because I enjoy calling out stupid people. If you want to come talk to me face to face, we can hash out where our disagreement lies and I can regale you with wonderful stories about censorship and free speech and the hypocrisy of trying to tell me that I have to be politically correct even in my off hours.

If you want to send an anonymous letter to my boss about me saying something that amounts to a deer camp joke online while on my own time...then just know you are wasting your time because I do not "friend" students and my privacy settings on facebook only allow my facebook friends to see what I post. If your kid is seeing my online content at fb it is because they are logging in under your account, dumbass. That officially makes you responsible.

So if you are seeing what I type on facebook and printing it out and sending it to my boss, then you must be one of my fb friends and a very mean spirited, duplicitous human being who is guilty of being a far worse example to the youth of our community than I could ever be. For more information on how I feel about that, please feel free to refer to this post: previous post .

Apparently you don't like me. Apparently you don't understand my humor. That's fine. I can think of no worse fate than to be so politically correct that I never offend anyone. That would mean I have no opinions and I feel passionate about nothing in this world. If you don't like me, I'm good with that.

If you are concerned about my behavior at work and in front of kids, I'm sure there are any numbers of ways to get that information from people who know me professionally...but you don't want to know that do you? You just want to rabble rouse. So let's not be friends. Please un-friend me on facebook. Don't worry, I won't get a notice telling me who has unfriended me so your cowardice should not get in the way. We can then enjoy the rest of our separate lives....you content in thinking I am wrong and me knowing you are a fucknut.

Update: Despite much anecdotal evidence that people that weren't my friends on facebook couldn't read what I post, after some testing it appears that they can. I don't think it changes my feelings on the matter one iota. I am allowed to be an adult and have adult conversations and tell adult jokes online. I am not dissing the school. I am not making unprofessional remarks about my colleagues, school board, or parents. I am not advertising my own porn site or advocating drug use. So, despite an error on my part in who can and cannot see what I post, my opinion is still the same. If you don't want your kids reading adult material, it's up to you to monitor their internet habits. It is not up to me keep all my off hour, off duty discussions limited to Sesame Street, string theory, Snuggies, and gardening. Thank you and have a nice day.

By request.

2011-01-11T15:30:00.000-08:00

Since my last post about things I could care less about, someone recently asked me for a post about a few things I do believe in.

You people never learn. If you keep encouraging me, I'll just keep writing this dreck. Amber, you have only yourself to blame for this.

I believe that Daniel and Henrik Sedin should quit cutting their hair and their beards in exactly the same manner. When you are twins and you are six years old and your parents force you to dress alike it is understandable. As two 30 year old professional hockey players it's creepy.

I understand you each love your brother and can admire the fact that family is important to you as you refuse to play for separate teams, but that is where it has to end. In other words, it is okay to love your brother, but it is not okay to "love" your brother. Know what I mean?

You...me...hot tub after the game?

(http://tsn.ca/nhl/story/?id=348949)

I believe that the world will NOT end before 2013. If anyone wants to bet me $1000 that the apocalypse is nigh, feel free to contact me through this blog. I will accept any and all bets.

Well I don't care if it is the apocalypse, that's just rude. (anmlhse.com)

I believe that once your 20-something son builds himself a clubhouse and a skull shrine in the back yard, it is past time to get him professional help.

I know kids are difficult. I know there are a series of challenges inherent in doing one's best to rear them in the right manner. Mom and Pop Loughner, I think this goes beyond finding a Penthouse under his mattress or worrying that he isn't doing his chores. Every single person the media interviews that was not a family member seems to have the same opinion of Loughner. For brevity, I will summarize what all of his classmates, bosses, and acquaintances said about him: "He's crazier than a shithouse rat and he scares me."

You cannot convince me he hadn't done something so over the top weird or frightening before that point, that his parents had no idea his sanity boat was sinking fast. He lived at home! They HAD to catch him waxing hamsters to a stunning shine or taking a sewing needle to the eyes of houseflies or something else that would have rung the crazy alarm before he moved on to mass murder.

At some point it seems something should have been done before he went all full metal jacket on a bunch of innocent people. I know...we'll blame his teachers. Fire all those bastards. Gotta be their fault.

Political aside: Ever notice it's never the democrats that go on shooting sprees? I'm not blaming John Boehner for this one as Loughner was obviously three pancakes short of a full stack, but I will blame Glenn Beck whom is widely regarded as the Pied Piper of the politically insane.

I believe chocolate gets too much credit and butter pecan gets shortchanged in the pantheon of ice cream flavors. Chocolate was okay when I was a kid, but as I have gotten older, I need something for my more sophisticated palate. Chocolate ice cream is pretty one note stuff and is no longer as satisfying to me. I feel an analogy is in order. Chocolate ice cream is a handjob. Butter pecan ice cream is the full on toe curling sex that follows a nice relaxing couple of drinks and a nice firm spanking.

I have suppressed the urge to draw two nipples. I am proud of me.

(http://www.schwans.com/)

I believe that when I retire I want to purchase a large RV and turn it into a mobile saloon. This is pretty rural country and the drinking and driving fines are no joke. Although I have my doubts on how well the fines discourage drinking and driving, I do believe drinking and driving should be discouraged. Taxis are expensive or not available at all in a lot of areas. The solution: have the bar come to your neighborhood where you could walk home afterward. Better yet...if you tip me well, the bar itself will deliver you to your doorstep at the end of the night.

With this one we could even leave the RV on site and let someone else DD you home!


I don't know if this interior would work. Don't we need obligatory neon beer signs, some NASCAR ,shit and the heads of a few carcasses on the walls? I could probably provide the faint urine smell myself.

(Both above images courtesy of: most-expensive.net)

Things I couldn't care less about.

2011-01-06T15:30:00.000-08:00

I am already pre-presuming that just because you are here reading this, doesn't necessarily mean you care about what I don't care about. I will guess that maybe you just are bored and accidentally clicked on this link instead of your Farmville app or something. I just wanted to clarify that I do not exalt myself enough to think that anyone could possibly give a shit about my opinions. I'm just trying to write.

I do not care about LeBron. I don't know him personally. If I were to make a guess, I'm guessing he is a bit of a self-absorbed asshole. It is quite possible that I would be too, if I were a multi-millionaire by the age of 19. BTW, anyone that thinks that big time high school and collegiate athletes do not get paid, should really look into how in the hell LeBron was able to bus himself and his classmates to school in a Hummer every day. Yeah...I know...his Mom bought it for him...whatever. Do me a favor and just assume I'm not as dumb as I look.

If you are not a good friend nor a member of my immediate family, I don't give a shit what your kids or grandkids look like. If I ask for a photo, which I have been known to do, then please show it to me. If not, then do not hand me one, because then I am put in that socially awkward position of having to pretend to care and that makes me feel like I am lying. Oh wait...unless one of them has a pointy tail, scales, and a fifth limb growing from her torso....then please do assume, I would like to see the picture.

I do not care if the seat is down or up or if the toilet paper rolls off the roll from the top or the bottom. Anyone who has spent more than one minute of their life, worrying about either or both of these things can please kill himself now. Go ahead....I'll wait.

There, we got rid of them.

I do not care about HDL or LDL. If I keep my fat intake reasonable and exercise fairly regularly then I will not monitor either of these unless my doctor looks at my bloodwork, faints on the spot, then gets up and calls the Guinness Book of World Records the moment he awakens. I do my best to take care of myself while still having fun and the day I start looking at the lipid profiles of my food is the day I have abandoned the idea of any beauty in the art of living.

I couldn't care less if Oprah has her own network. I still won't listen to her, Phil, Oz or any of the other talking heads. I get it Dr. Phil...I should man up. I get it Dr. Oz....exercise is good for me and I should not sleep with a bacon fat face mask. I get it, Oprah...you love yourself. Anyone who puts herself on every cover of her own magazine could have just a teensy ego problem you think?

I do not care how many band-aids we put on our education system. I no longer care that teachers are blamed for everything from juvenile deliquency to every rolling stop ticket ever issued. Until we admit that our education system is antiquated and no longer meets the needs of our modern society it is going to be a vastly inefficient vehicle for accomplishing anything. Trust me, it isn't because all our teachers suddenly decided to start sucking at their jobs. It all needs to be blown up and we need to start from square one. I could spout on this one forever, but my head is already starting to hurt from exercising rational thought processes so I should move on.

I don't care what alphabet the local specialist put on you, ADD, ADHD, HD, EI, EMI, A.D.I.D.A.S. blah, blah, blah...fucking TRY and I will be your best pal. I missed the memo where every kid tagged with a label in their record suddenly became a member of the sainthood and I could no longer attempt to get them to work hard because they must be regarded as immaculate. I have said it many times, just because he/she has a disability, doesn't mean he/she isn't an asshole. Guess what, regardless of ability, kids like to feel pushed. How else will they ever enjoy a feeling of true accomplishment if someone doesn't push them?

I don't care if doctors went to eight years of university to get certified. You bastards make serious cash....even the ones who suck. The ones I know work about 3.5 days a week and yet very few of them can take the time to truly listen to my situation because in order to see all their patients they cram 50 appointments into a six hour workday. I went to school for five years and I get paid shit, but I get ten weeks off in the summer. That's what I signed up for. That's what I got. Hence, this is me not complaining. So don't give me all the crap about insurance costs, malpractice lawsuits, Obamacare, and sometimes having to accept less money to take care of a Medicare/Medicaid patient. You earned your degree. You earned your right to make a good living. Now shut the fuck up about it and do it.

All out of time for this installment and my ire is getting angrier so I think I'll take a break.

Caption Crap

2011-01-04T16:00:00.000-08:00

All images lovingly borrowed from http://perfectlytimedphotos.com. Lame captions are courtesy of me.

...and this is the picture of the boy who would have been your brother, the day before he was put up for adoption.


Mr. Lion: Godamnit! After a long day's work I want the carcass ready for me when I get back to the den!

Mrs. Lion: Sure , right after you start remembering to put the seat down after you raise your leg!


Hey, I went to a fight and a hockey game broke....oh...oh...what? What the fuck is this? This isn't right. Screw it. I'm only watching Jai Alai from here on out.

After falling on hard times, Mr. Ed got tired of washing windshields and selling oranges for money and pretty soon he just started demanding it.

I think I knew these guys when they used to play hockey.

Do Not Try This At Home...Our Tester is a Trained Idiot.

2010-12-07T15:40:00.000-08:00

Working late on Monday and Tuesday this week. That will put me around 29 hours at work by the end of the night Tuesday and I'm not bummed out by that at all. Wanna know why? I decided to self-medicate my thyroid again ever since I found out that my blood levels were screwed up. That means I have double dosed every other day since I got the blood tests back and I will continue to do so until I feel better again.

Stupid? most would agree with that.
Dangerous? probably a little

Do I feel better the last 48 hours than I have in three months? without a doubt.

Two days in a row I've been able to get up around 5 a.m. and actually get some work done both around the house and for my job. Up until then, I've been struggling to roll my carcass out of the sack by 6:30 no matter how early I went to bed the night before.

So, I'll wait until the heart palpitations start, the shaking begins, the inability to sit still gets too obvious and then I'll cut back on my meds and let things level out again.

I mean, if I felt like crud for three months and gained 25 lbs in that time isn't it fair that I get to feel good for at least a couple weeks before I have to return to baseline?

Makes sense to me.

I'm finally back to the point where my eyes aren't so dried up that I can actually put my contact lenses in again. Caffeine works on me again. I'm not having trouble keeping my eyes open on the drive home from work. Some nagging injuries have suddenly decided to start healing after being...well nagging for a long time. Hell, I'm feeling so good, I might even have enough energy to get on top during sex again soon. That will be a good day let me tell ya!

I'm enjoying this for a few days. So shoot me.

http://www.drugs.com/pro/levothyroxine.html

My Inner Crowd is Going Wild

2010-12-02T15:40:00.000-08:00

Any of you who know me personally know that around last Christmas I engaged in many events of self-torture and happenstances of self-deprivation in a valiant...okay...more like "desperate" effort to lose the extra pounds that I had gained through years of alcohol abuse and overindulgence in all that is bacon. I was fairly successful and lost 50 lbs. Just to help with the imagery, before the diet I looked like Peter Griffin. After the diet I looked more like a young Carol O'Conner. How's that for cross generational mixed mental imagery?

I managed to stay right at my goal weight for about four months. I packed a few pounds on at the end of August due to ten or eleven days of camping food and the excessive hammock time involved in my camping outings. I wasn't too worried at the time, but the intervening three months since then saw me pack on twenty more pounds. So now I have gained back over half of what I lost and I appear to be picking up speed on my way to the Aretha Franklin neighborhood of fatulence.

It finally dawned on me two weeks ago or more that my thyroid may have told me to fuck off again and I need my thyroid medication adjusted so my body can again be convinced to burn calories. Combine that with my apparent desire to poach my liver in vodka once or twice a week and the results aren't pretty.   Anyone who has ever admitted to themselves that their alcohol intake could stand to be trimmed down a little, knows that alcohol is the Navy Seal of addictive substances.   You can consciously monitor it for long periods of time, but as soon as you let your guard down, BAM...you're lying on the floor trying to remember where you are and how it all happened.

And when the medication bonks...it's a sneaky bastard, too. Usually by the time I catch it, the medication level has been twisted for a month or more. It's not like I can wake up on Tuesday...look back at Monday and recognize my medication isn't right. I usually have to say... wake up at the end of November and look back at the previous two months and realize that my naps grew progressively longer, I grew increasingly less efficient at work in tiny increments, and if it gets really bad, I have trouble completing a thought. At it's worst, a few years back, I couldn't complete a sentence because the brain fog was too um...foggy. Yeah...that's why I write. Cuz I'm good with words like that.

I was reared to believe that I am in charge of me. I am in control of my fate and I am to blame for everything that goes wrong and if I want things to change I have to change them. So when the weight starts coming on, I tend to think it is my failure and mine alone. Then when I take measures to get rid of the weight and it doesn't go away, then the depression sets in which makes my judgment even worse.

Now here's the icing on the cake. When my medication levels go south on me, I sleep. A lot. When I'm not sleeping, I should be sleeping. I get nothing done and keeping my eyes open is a near impossible task at times. Wanna guess the one substance I can take that wakes me up? Not coffee. Not soda. Liquor. I don't care about the science behind it. Liquor wakes me up when my underactive thyroid makes me want to sleep 23 hours a day. Seeing as how I been known to have a hmm...lessee...an aficionado's interest in that liquor stuff...yeah...not good. It's sorta like giving an angry, short tempered, gorilla a large club and telling him old people are filled with bananas and then dropping him off at the old folks' home. Next thing you know everyone is dead and there's a pissed off hungry ape staring at you cuz he still wants his bananas. Okay, that metaphor broke down a little by the end there, but you get my point...it can get messy.

Let's recap...thyroid condition...sneaky. Alcohol...sneaky. One tends to give at least the illusion of making the other better. Both tend to make depression worse. Are you starting to figure out the level of awesomeness my battle with this stuff has been for the last decade?

It has taken me years to realize how this condition has affected my body, my mind, and my confidence.

What brings all this up? The doc called me this a.m. and affirmed to me that my medication needs to be upped. Why does that make me happy? Because now I know the last few months haven't been all my fault. I know it wasn't all me and my laziness that made me gain so much weight back. It wasn't 100% me that didn't read to my daughter because I needed a 45 minute nap instead. It wasn't entirely my fault that I've been intending to build my mutt a dog house for two months and still haven't done it. And that's all I need. I need that crack of daylight to be reminded once in a while that I'm not a complete pile of shit so I can get my chin up in the air again and forge ahead.

I start the new dosage of meds when I get home today. Bummer part is, I usually have to take it for a month before I can fully realize the change, but when it does kick in, the weight tends to fall off again. I tend to feel like exercising more. My urge to drink every Friday and Saturday night decreases drastically, too.    I get ten days off for Christmas break and if my meds are helping by then, I can hit the gym 6 or 7 of those days and do a good bit of setting myself to rights again before the New Year.

Cheers!

Beware this Blog post.

2010-11-22T18:43:00.000-08:00

What I am about to show you is dangerous. It's frightening and sortta depressing all at the same time. It's a sight so not-rare-enough that at times it's all I can do to keep myself from climbing the nearest clock tower and spreading some high caliber love amongst the dumbasses that walk amongst us masquerading as useful members of society.

Steel yourselves to witness proof that our gene puddle is getting more and more muddled with dreck.

I took these pics outside Elmer's grocery store in Escanaba this summer. Exhibit #1 shows the classic maneuver used by someone who purposefully takes up two spots to make sure no one will park next to him and accidentally ding the door. Two problems. 1) If you do this and don't take two spots that are on the outlying periphery of the lot, then you are a dickhead. 2) You took up two spots one in front of the other which doesn't make sense. I do the "pull through" all the time so I don't have to back out of spots, but that still only involves taking one spot. This genius takes up two spots one in front of the other. Not enough energy to pull all the way through to the facing spot? Too stupid to realize he overshot the first spot? Maybe he just kept driving until his phone call ended and that just happens to be where the operator at 1-800-Bukkake-Me finally hung up on him.

Exhibit #1: I can't wait to see what happens to me when I hit my mid-life crisis. Will I be the convertible guy or will I be the guy who has candy dishes filled with Viagra in every room of the house?

In Exhibit #2 posted below, we see that the almost-pull-through guy, broke not one, but two of three imaginary planes of the typical angle parking space. How sucky a driver do you have to be in order to do that? We now have to assume he was not simply in a hurry, not simply just distracted, but simply the victim of some of the worst fetal alcohol poisoning that didn't result in complete fetusplosion whilst he was in the womb. I'm not sure how he made it out of his mother's vagina alive, much less how he ever managed to get a license to drive. Nevertheless, I want to assure him that no matter how well he takes care of his little Nissan Roadster, it's moves like this that will always make him a cancre on the ass of humanity.

Exhibit #2: Either neither one of these people can park or I have found evidence to support my theory. My theory is that stupidity has it's own gravitational pull which gradually drew these vehicles closer. This would also explain the large crowds at monster truck rallies.

Here is where it gets scary. Notice the Dodge to the left of FAS boy? He has done the same damn thing. He has forcibly penetrated two thirds of the imaginary walls of angle parking that were created by sweet baby Jesus himself to keep our grocery store parking lots from becoming pure Mad Max style chaos. The amount of such stupidity all gathered into one place is staggering. Those of you afraid of the possible effect of the atom smashing Hadron Collider need to relax. It's the gathering of anti-intelligence such as documented in these pictures, that has a much greater chance of effectively ending life as we know it. At some point the dumbass factor will hit critical mass and rip some sort of hole in the time space continuum by creating a super nova of stupid.

Now if you haven't already noticed the silver Toyota in the background of Exhibit #2, I will point out that he also has broken one of the parking planes and he has left a good two+ feet of the ass end of his truck in the road. For those of you counting, that's parking lines 4, Imbecilic Anarchy 5. I wanted to forgive Toyota-boy for leaving the tail end of his truck hanging out at first because it was pretty obvious that he got there last and was partially inhibited by the Dodge half-hearted-pull-through guy. Then I saw that he was also completely cockeyed in his spot and all my good will vanished like heroin off Lindsay Lohan's coffee table.


Exhibit #3: Mr. Silver Toyota...ninety-seven other open spots, and you choose to park right between Chippy the magical retard and Funderburke "Ponies make me happy!" Pyle. I hope they both smashed your quarter panels.

Singularly, none of these sad excuses for parking are unusual as I am sure both of my faithful readers know. But to do this in triplicate? All of them in spots that are diagonally connected? This is surely a sign of the apocalypse. I couldn't be more sure than if the convertible had a 666 license plate, the Dodge sported a 2012 decal in the back window, and I had personally witnessed Dick Cheney driving the Toyota into that spot. This is it my friends. It's over. I'm surprised I wasn't sucked into some sort of hellish nether dimension ala Poltergeist just from getting close enough take these cell phone pics.

My good fortune in surviving this encounter, allows me to warn all of you. The end is nigh. Make peace with your maker. Hug your wife one last time. Call everyone you love...demand they give you the money they owe you and then use the money so you can go snort blow off the ass of that transgender hooker you've had your eye on because this little Uno game of life is just about done.

Christmas Stories that Never Really Caught On.

2010-11-17T10:37:00.001-08:00

Christmas time is a wonderful time of year for a lot of reasons. Candy, Christmas songs, presents, brotherhood and the wonderful juxtaposition of girls in Santa themed bikinis not the least of those reasons.


I look forward to this every year.

(http://www.isoldelingerie.com/candystripebikiniset-p-151.html)

Plus, there is the wonderful Christmas literature. The stories told and re-told over the generations that just seem to get better and better with the passage of time. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, Twas the Night Before Christmas, A Christmas Carol....legends, classics all. Not everything written about Christmas has made it to legendary status however and some of the classics have received updates and sequels that just never quite matched up with the pantheon of Christmas tales we all know and love.

Here is a short list of a few Christmas stories that never caught on:

Santa Grows a Lesion -
Is it a small wonder if he finally caught something after kissing all those married women under the mistletoe all these years? Does penicillin work on merry old elves? I'm kinda surprised Mrs. Claus hasn't Bobbited him years ago.

Santa's Mommy kissing abilities are so legendary they wrote a song about it for crying out loud! (http://www.ferristech.net/users/matt/archives/2003_11.html)

A Charlie Brown Abortion -
You knew that love/hate thing Charlie and Lucy always displayed was all just foreplay. Foreplay does usually eventually lead to something. Turns out that Charlie couldn't repay Lucy for all those 5¢ psychiatry sessions. Lucy arranged for another way for Charlie to pay her back after Charlie got in over his head (it's me...of course the pun was intended. Don't ask silly questions.)

Antonio Banderas stars in a powerful, heartfelt voiceover portrayal of Charlie Brown's father. In a touching scene between he and Charlie, Banderas quite poignantly says, "Waahwahwah, wah wah wah...wah wah." Tears flowed in the test audiences, but this Peanuts installment never caught on.

Look at that lustful leer!
(http://collectpeanuts.com/wp/figurines/danbury-mint/)

Rudolph Takes a Beatdown -
The don't ask, don't tell policy of all the other reindeer only worked for so long before it all devolved into a tragic and horrific tale of prejudice and cruelty that results in Rudolph being forced out of the reindeer corps when his true relationship with Hermey, the elf, is discovered. Parental Guidance is suggested due to scenes of explicit beastiality and violence. It's too bad because I believe there is a real lesson for the kids about the evil of intolerance in this one.

Okay, but next time I get to be on top!

(http://msmindy.com/rudolph/char_hermey.shtml)

Frosty Runs a Racket -

Frosty goes all Tony Soprano when he discovers there is more than one kind of snow he is an expert in. However his penchant for snorting coke as well as dealing it eventually gets him into trouble. His paranoia that everyone is out to get his hat rivals that of the Lucky Charms leprechaun freaking out about his fucking marshmallows. Of course it was his best friend the rabbit that got Frosty hooked. We should have guessed from the get-go that bunny was wired on something.


A tweaked Frosty shortly before the hallucinations take over.

(http://www.conservativeblogwatch.com/2009/12/02/cbs-sexes-up-frosty-the-snowman/)

I think randomly.

2010-11-12T11:22:00.001-08:00

I haven't written anything I feel comfortable posting publicly lately. That's right. I even do writing I choose to keep to myself. Unlike Alanis Morissette, there are thoughts and events that occur in my life that I do not have to turn into song.

Speaking of which, how would you like to be one of Alanis Morissette's ex-boyfriends? Would you be relieved that she hasn't publicly ridiculed you in song yet or would you be insulted that she hasn't gotten to you yet?

*****

My Pimp Car, ( http://wedgesnotebook.blogspot.com/2010/11/my-pimp-car-is-strong.html ) broke down after only a week. The water pump went kerblooie. I knew I should have gotten that 200 miles or 8 days warranty. I will give the name of the dealership because they did right by us. Halbinsel in Escanaba sold us the car. A water pump is one of those things that can appear to be working fine one minute and go all Hiroshima on your engine's ass the next minute so there is no way they could have known that was going to happen. They covered us for 100% of the repairs. It has been so long since any retail establishment gave me a fair shake I was totally expecting to get hosed on this deal, too.

So anyways, I want to thank Halbinsel in Escanaba for apparently running an honest shop. Times are tough for the Harrises right now and the amount of stress they saved us by doing the right thing was greatly appreciated. I don't want to ruin the surprise, but there may be a gift of the single malt variety headed your way at some point.

That being said, I wont' fall all over myself because it also was the correct long range business decision to make as well. I will be buying many more vehicles in the years to come and now, by default, they get first shot at making me a deal. So, I guess extra credit goes to Halbinsel for not being as shortsighted as the boys down at Riverside in Escanaba. BTW, Riverside...if you are listening...I have purchased five more vehicles since you fucked me on my warranty on my truck and you didn't have a hope in hell of selling me a single one. Keep up the good customer relations boys.

*****

I started my Christmas shopping at the end of October. Thank you, ebay. You have saved countless lives by keeping me from having to deal with the smelly unwashed hordes in the shopping malls. Every year it seemed I was always just one more dumbass cashier, one more whiny kid, one more rude adult, one more price check away from hiding in the food court ball pit with a sniper rifle. Merry Christmas to me.

*****

Thanks to my cohorts at work who talked me down from the ledge a couple times this week. You are good, patient folks.

*****

Of course, thanks to all the veterans this week and every week.

*****

Thanks to you, Diet Mountain Dew. Without you, none of this would be possible.

My pimp car is strong.

2010-11-02T13:46:00.000-07:00

After three weeks of playing phone tag with banks, lien holders, insurance companies, and lawyers (Oh my?)...we finally seem to own a car. It is an ultra-sexy, ultra-hot car with a cool factor rating that makes Einstein's IQ look like a shoe size.

Here you go.

Is it a car or an aphrodisiac?

It's a 2003 Buick LeSabre Limited. It has bells and whistles that I thought only existed on devices in Willy Wonka movies. For example the mirrors automatically adjust when you put it in reverse so you can "better see obstacles in the rear," according to the manual. Plus it has seat heaters, an LCD compass, auto darkening rear view mirror...jacuzzi, porta-potty, and it comes with a full time soda jerk replete with one of those funny paper hats.

Actual view of LeSabre's back seat.

Check out these photos of the dash if the dazzling sexiness of the exterior already hasn't blinded you to all other awesomeness.

I'm trying to trick you. Only one of the two pics above is actually from my car. Can you guess which? That's right. It's the much cooler bottom one. The top one would have looked almost as good as the Buick dash if it had come with some awesome plasticky looking faux wood grain like the dash on the LeSabrator.

But wait...what's that? You want to know is that really a cassette tape deck in the middle of that dash?

Fucking ay right it is.

Why do I have a cassette tape deck, you ask?

Cause I couldn't find a LeSabre that would play eight track tapes, bitches.

We started out looking for something that was fuel efficient and cute like the little Focus was. We looked for a Pontiac Vibe, a Toyota Matrix, a Dodge Caliber, a Malibu Maxx, and a P.T. Cruiser. What do all those have in common aside from the fact that they all sound like names you would find in the credits of a gay porn film? They all have shitty reliability ratings, four cylinder engines, don't get that great a gas mileage despite having an engine with barely enough power to juice a squirrel, and it is near impossible to find one with a manual transmission.

I've had quite enough of the shitty reliability thing thanks to the old Ford Focus which is why we drowned it in the first place. I can handle the four cylinder engine thing...IF it is a stick shift. Those teeny cars we initially looked at are also so light that winter driving requires great care and when you make it worse by taking away the engine braking capacity of a stick shift and put an automatic tranny in it...then I think they are downright dangerous.

So we had to change tactics during the great car hunt. We decided to spend about 33% less money and buy a car we knew would be a little better in the winter. So, in walks the big bad Buick beauty. Every inch of it screams, "Drive me! (carefully). Every line of it screams, "Exxxcitement!" (If you would consider a refrigerator box exciting.) It handles like a dream! (If you have ever dreamed of driving a refrigerator box.) Everything from the seating position to to the sorta-leather seats screams SEX ON ME! (Copyright pending on the term "sorta-leather.")

These seats ...are an orgy launching pad just waiting for clearance from Phallus Central.

It will fit an entire fraternity party in the trunk, and the soda fountain in the back will seat the population of your average Honduran family. The car is big, American, strong, and everything I always wanted in a vehicle minus the disco ball. I'm thinking of putting a pair of truck nutz on it, too because...I mean, why wouldn't I?

Truck nutz...Bush/Cheney bumper sticker. Somehow that doesn't seem like a coincidence to me.

Actually, the Buick was in our price range, has some of the most outstanding safety and reliability ratings of anything I researched, is the color of oatmeal and just about as spicy, too. It does get as good or better mileage than some of those little four cylinder toy cars I mentioned before. Side curtain air bags are a plus, but still not really the first thing the opposite sex notices about one's ride typically. Plus it's so big and overblown it should be heavy enough for winter driving.

The sorta-leather seats are also easy for the soda jerk to clean up when he spills.

Mickey Redmond Drinking Game

2010-10-22T17:23:00.000-07:00

I believe this came from the “Abel to Yzerman” blog from KuklasKorner.com a year or two ago. Everyone sorta chipped in with ideas on the Mickey Redmond Drinking game. I am reposting a version of it here.

Next Red Wing game, take a drink every time you hear Mickey Redmond use one of these phrases. I know one of them isn’t a Redmond-ism, but I think you’ll figure it out.

“Happy” Hudler

Wait ‘til you see this replay!

Holy Jumpin’

Hey Gang!

Holy Mackerel!

That was a bang-bang play

Hold it right there, gang!

That’s the way it’s done boys and girls!

You be the judge.

Katie, bar the door

Datsyukian

There it is!

Lookout!

Oooohh, geez!”

Oh-my-goodness

Taking liberties

Well that’s the new NHL for ya.

He barely touched'em!

In the old days...

He never had a chance on that play.

Bingo Bango

Every time you hear Mick chuckle

Larry Murphy starts a sentence and fails to finish it coherently

Oh Boy

Mick says anything about composite sticks

You could’ve thrown a blanket over ‘em!

Chintzy

UPWP

2010-10-18T15:40:00.000-07:00

A few summers ago I was lucky enough to be accepted into the U.P. writing project. I learned a lot and loved the experience. The main thing I learned was that writing begets more writing. Just like anything else, if one doesn't write, it gets harder to write. If you don't use it, you lose it. I'm full of trite adages. I could keep going, but for your sake I won't.

At any rate, I got to spend several weeks concentrating on writing and I wrote amongst a group of peers. A group of peers who also fancied themselves amateur writers. What was good about that is that I think I held my own with them. At least if I didn't, they didn't tell me. Either way, same effect. I gained a little confidence.

Then came the culminating night. The final UPWP retreat. We all had to write one more piece for the retreat, share it in a small group to know what did or didn't work about it and do with it what we amateur writers do. Sometimes at that point we let the idea go away or sometimes we realize the idea needs to steep in the back of our brains until it is ready for consumption.

I had often gotten some raised eyebrows for the types of things I wrote. Apparently stories about cute cuddly woodland creatures getting their comeuppance ( http://wedgesnotebook.blogspot.com /search?q=children%27s+story ) were mildly amusing to some, but no one really wanted to admit it. I remember always being startled at how shocked some were by what I penned. I mean had these people never read Poe? Never picked up a Stephen King novel? Alfred Hitchcock? What I had been doing...to call it a pale comparison would be an injustice to any of them. My stuff wasn't good enough nor lethal enough to deserve being called a pale comparison.

So I eventually tried to keep my writing as ....what's the opposite of off-color?....I kept my writing as on-color as possible which mystified me a little bit. I mean the one thing I have always wanted to accomplish is to write what I want to write. The UPWP was my first chance to write for adults and not have to fear admonition from a college professor.

So for the final writing, I decided, to let it go a little. I wrote a true recounting of a night at a strip club in the middle of nowhere. The strippers' bus had apparently broken down and the club was stripper free that night. Or I should say the club was professional stripper free. Hilarity ensued, culminating in varied attempts to earn free drinks by dancing ourselves, a frostbitten ball sack (not mine for which I thank the sweet baby Jesus), and an afterbar party where a random four year old walked into a room with porn playing on the television and apparently the only people horrified by that were me and my buddy.

So there were definitely events there that were story worthy, but I knew I had totally missed the mark in writing it.    Far and away it was the worst piece I had written for UPWP. I knew my story was very one dimensional and I was trying to figure out why my voice hadn't come through and why the story didn't work. At all. I mean, not a whit. When I read the story out loud at UPWP, I didn't get any help.

No one told me that perhaps there were two short stories there. No one said I should perhaps write from a different point of view. No one said that the horror of the afterbar porn scenario was just too dark to go hand in hand with all the preceding Animal House type events up to that point of the story...nothing. They were just appalled that I had put these things on paper.

By the end of the evening I was hearing whispers of people being worried that I may have lost my sanity.   I hadn't even known my sanity's leash had been so frayed that people were worried about it becoming lost. Between you and me, I have never lost my sanity. I've just misplaced it from time to time. I almost always find it again right away. Usually under the couch cushion.

What were they all so bothered by? Not every genre is everyone's cup of tea. Were they worried my lost sanity was going to run amok through the retreat? Were they worried it was going to trample over all the other stories brought to the retreat? All those pretty little stories about crunchy autumn leaves and poems about their grandmother's penchant for crosstitch, and touching stories of their daughter's first lost tooth and all of them, all of them, all of them at the mercy of an adult writing for other adults. Infecting everyone with the idea that not all stories are happy. Spreading adult thoughts like rabies throughout every page of every participant?

I was so horrified about adults being so politically-correctly-crippled that either they were either horrified that I had engaged in such hedonistic behavior or they felt that in order to fit in, they had to pretend to be horrified by it. I found the whole gig so unsettling in that I realized I had totally underestimated how people willingly limit their points of view. I had vastly missed the mark in guessing just how much of a wall people had built between their honest selves and society in an effort to convince the world they don't have dark, dirty, inane, shameful, naughty, violent thoughts.   They had covered everything that was interesting about themselves in a hypoallergenic plastic sheen like the covers your weird aunt puts on all her furniture. I knew then it was the time for the UPWP and myself to part ways.

I thank them for their help, but I knew I could no longer be part of it. Perhaps someday again, I can find a writing group to be a part of. A place where if I want to write a story that is a cross between David Sedaris and David Lynch I can do so without being suspected of being Charles Manson with a word processor.

Sometimes, just for fun, I imagine what would have happened if I had introduced myself to the UPWP as a writer of equine erotica. In my mind's eye I see them calling the men in the white coats and having me hauled away so that they could finish their pinots respectfully. They could finish their conversations about the weather; maybe swap a recipe or two and at the end they could all get in their Subarus and drive back home and forget I had ever existed.

Scatterings

2010-10-15T15:40:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure where I'm going with this one. Buckle in. This could be a bumpy ride on the tilt-a-wedge today.

Cross your fingers for me. I found a rotten log in my cabin the other day. None of the other logs around it are compromised so to me it is something that happened that wasn't the fault of poor maintenance. From what little (oh so little) I do understand, it's not too often that an insurance company will cover a rotten log, but since I am only about $4,990 away from being able to afford a $5,000 repair, any well wishes would help.

Returning the loaner car today and picking up my loaner pick-up from a friend. Man, am I gonna drive the shit out of that truck. I won't take a curve, corner, or jump any slower than 35 mph before I return that sonuvabitch. Actually, I will treat the truck rather well. I respect other people's stuff. I just wanted to show people that my sarcasm is equal opportunity and I do it to friends and strangers alike. If I never make fun of you at all, then I probably don't respect you, or I believe the force in you is not strong enough to handle my dark side jibes.

Tonight is the first camp night in several years. I am looking forward to it. Tomorrow I will feel like I swallowed a carcass and probably feel and smell like one, too. It's not often I get together with that crew though and it's one of those nights I don't have to worry about driving home nor worry about how late to stay because my designated driver might want to go home. It's win-win for everyone except for whoever owns the camp because there is a 50/50 shot of at least some of my bodily fluids getting into some part of the camp they aren't supposed to. Nature of the beast. I apologize in advance.

That's all the brain squeezings I've got for you today. Have a good weekend, kids.

So, how has your week been?

2010-10-13T15:37:00.000-07:00

Let me just start with this picture:

That was this past Thursday. We live on top of a hill and the river lives on the bottom of the hill. Apparently the parking brake decided to quit or go into retirement without telling us and this is what happened. Thankfully this pic was taken after my wife got into the car and tried to back it up onto land. Otherwise it would be a little further out into the wet still. It is now the following Wednesday and the insurance company just called to let us know that the car will be considered totaled. Apparently water and all the electronicky gadgets get along like Crisco and rock climbers so it is the insurance company's practice to put floater cars out to pasture.

I would have liked to take pictures of the tow truck taking it out of the river, but I had to chip in and get into the driver's side and steer it as they hauled it out. This just in: river water is cold in October. I could hardly tell which way the tow guys were telling me to turn the wheel because they were laughing so hard.

So now I am caught in limbo. Begging rides home from work from my coworkers who only just two weeks ago stopped bringing me home after my truck was being repaired. I have to wait to coordinate several factors before I lay money down on a new vehicle because I recently went through a pretty rough patch of life that left me in bankruptcy. Whee. No pity. My choices. I did it. No shame. It's just going to add about twenty-leven more steps to the car buying process which was already a process that I thought was akin to having an impacted molar removed through my ear canal.

On Friday, I found a dry rotted log in my log cabin. I was hoping to use my coaching check this coming Spring to rebuild my porch, but instead I will use it to try to keep my house from falling over. What's another year with a cinder block porch anyways? Nobody likes them fancy folk with them there wood porches.

Onto Monday and my daughter insisted on becoming sick...again. Rotten kid. Sure she knows her times tables and thinks I'm the greatest dad who ever owned a Ford Focus-raft, but I had to stay home from work last Mon and Tues to tend to her after taking the previous Thursday off to tend to wet wheels. Kid's cough sounds like someone giving Godzilla the Heimlich. It's downright painful to listen to. Kim took over kid duty for me on Wednesday and we are going to split Thursday so we can both still get some work done while also tending to our spawn. Basically between the kid's two illnesses, and the car thing, I will have burned up almost half my sick days before winter has even set in. Not really what one would call a best-case-scenario.

Now is when it is therapeutic for me to think of a list of my blessings:

The Focus Kneivel did miss wiping out my dog who was chained in the area right through which the car caught about four feet of air before splashing down.

Kid made it to the doctor's today so hopefully she will be back at school by Friday. At least she better or I'm gonna have to punch her in the belly. I mean, hey...if the kid won't get better, it's time to give her some extra motivation. I mean look at her:

That's not even her posing. That's just what she looks like if I don't feed her on time.

Hmmm...where was I? Oh yeah...positives...

Just got word that the payout for the totaled S.S. Focus was higher than I anticipated so that is good.

Um...only two students got caught cheating during the days I was away from school. *sigh*

I did get a partial workout in today which I haven't done in ten days.

Somehow this isn't cheering me up. Perhaps a good night's sleep will do the trick?

Check in with you later folks.

The best defense against an anonymous detractor? ....blogging

2010-10-08T19:43:00.000-07:00

This post is a direct follow up to my last post. This here free bloggity thingy also lets my facebook friends know when I create a new blog post. I am fortunate enough that some of my past students wrote some unbelievable things about me. Most days I try to do my best and most days I'm pretty happy if I can go to bed and say to myself, "Ha, I fooled them again and no one found out I don't really know what the hell I am doing." Apparently, by hook or by crook I'm not a total failure. I re-post these comments from facebook not to brag, but in direct defense of my teaching practices which were called into question and prompted my preceding post. All of these have come from past students. All of them were unsolicited and I did get permission from each before posting.

Aside from trying to prove a point to some naysayers within the community, I really honestly give each of these folks a heartfelt thank you. I never really had a teacher in high school I ever thought enough of to say things like this about. I should be humbled every day already by the idea that parents are trusting me with their children and... these comments...well they serve as a reminder that I should never take my job for granted.

Amber Lynn Spehar

and when/if that person does try to contact you, please give them my name. So I can explain to them why your former students would and do want to remain friends with you after gratuation. So that one of your former students can talk about the first time they sat in your class room and actually had her mind opened up to a thought process she could have never conceived of before having an open and honest discussion with you. You say that you hope you can reach your students and touch their lives, well YES SIR, YES SIR YOU HAVE. I'm sure that there are many other students that would agree with me, I'm sure they have had a different experience with you that had a very similar outcome. You Sir, are a rare and dying breed of Teachers. *starting applause*

*******************************************

Adam Damaschke

A large part of the reason I continued with the early versions of my novel was because you made us write entries in our journals every week in preparation for our Senior paper. It made me write, it gave me a deadline, and your comments, and teachings, helped me develop my story and intimacy with my characters. I don't think even I know exactly how big a part you were in me finishing my first novel and will be as I continue to work on my trilogy and whatever else in the future.

And to whoever complained, get a life. Please. Your children are in capable hands.

*******************************************

Kaitlyn Kirby

Loved the blog, dale. First of all, being able to free-write at any given moment has been a key part of my success at the university level. If I ever had to force my self to sit down and write while hastily pulling things out of my head, I wouldn't have received the scholarships, achievements, or grades that I have thus far. Writing is a critical skill that I don't feel many other teachers have emphasized. So, bravo for seeing the bigger picture and motivating students to attain that finesse. That shows you aren't just pushing students through the system. Second of all, touching on the level of respect, your students,former and current, do hold you in the highest regards. Not many other teachers are willing to give that level of respect to students and allow them the privilege of being treated like adults. I think that plays a large role in the transition of child to adult. I know I personally responded better to that method than other teachers who expected me to never make mistakes. I think the fact that students still like to keep in contact with you speaks VOLUMES of your character. The student-teacher relationships that continue past graduation is what makes Carney so different from other public schools.

*******************************************

Jon Damaschke But in all seriousness, your classes were great. One of my favorite things about them were the journals you assigned us to write in. (I don't remember if it was one class or more than one.) There is nothing better for an antisocial kid, especially in the weird-est time in his life. The opportunity of opening up without the fear of judgement and/or embarrassment made my life a little easier.

Now the only thing left for me to do is say the secret word and watch as my secretly brainwashed Carney grads all rise up in legion to burn and pillage in my name and fetch for me all the neighborhood cats. *sinisterly rubbing hands together*

Muuuuhahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa*cough**hack**ahem*haaaahaaahaahaahahahahahaa!

Ok...where do I start?

2010-10-08T13:13:00.000-07:00

Here’s the deal. One of the first things you learn as a teacher of readin’ and writin’ is to be a good model. Hence when it’s readin’ time...if the story isn’t going to be read aloud in class, a good thing for a teacher to do is read. When it’s writin’ time, a good thing for a teacher to do is write.

Everyone with me on that one?

Good.

Let’s move on.

Every fifth hour M, T, R, F...the first fifteen minutes of seminar are meant for sustained, silent, writing. That means the kids don’t talk. They write. For fifteen minutes. They write about something, they write about nothing...but they write. What they write is their business. This is their one opportunity to write without the almighty red pen swooping down on their stuff and criticizing what they write. They can write in slang, morse code, Swahili or Pig Latin and their content is just that...THEIR content.

The whole idea is that, eventually, maybe some of them will get the idea, “Y’know...that writing stuff isn’t so bad.” Plus, the more you write...the better you tend to get at it. Once a week my students and I get together and share some of the stuff we wrote by reading it aloud. Of course the kids are told, that if they happened to write some thoughts down that are not school appropriate, then be sure to keep that log entry to themselves and do not pick that one to read aloud.

So, I do what a good teacher is supposed to do and model what I want the kids to do at the same time I ask the kids to do it. Even though I often want to check papers, clean my desk, get something ready for later...I put all that aside for 15 minutes and I write....just like I ask my kids to do.

Long ago I quit trying to write with a pencil. My pencil just doesn’t move fast enough to keep up with my thoughts. I compose on a keyboard these days. This year instead of composing on a word document, I have been composing on this here lovely free blog site. The idea being when I don’t write, I tend to stagnate creatively and what better motivation/learning experience to keep writing then to put my writing out there for the public to approve or disprove of. When I am done writing, I click post. Then a little pop-up window asks me if I want to let my facebook friends know I just created a blog post and I click “approve” then I go back to my work life as normal.

Well since my writings tend to be time stamped when they go online, apparently some community members felt the need to complain that some of the things I wrote appeared during school time and that some of it is school inappropriate. I did not post the items to a school related site. I did not tell the kids where they could find my school inappropriate stuff. In admittance of guilt, I have to say I did indeed have those thoughts I wrote about and I had them on school time. Damn me all to hell.

Here’s some facts for whoever is concerned:

1) I do not read the school inappropriate posts aloud in school with my students. Just like many of their thoughts get to stay private in their writing logs, I get to choose which audience gets to see my more PG 13 posts. A school setting is not the appropriate time and place to share those with students.

2) I am a grown ass man. I cuss. I drink. Neither do I make a habit of engaging in while I am at work. Did you think that part of becoming a teacher is that someone took a hot poker and burned out the parts of my brain that had school inappropriate thoughts? For the record, most upper high school students curse more than I do. That’s a fact.

3) I do not friend students on facebook nor on any other social networking site until after they have graduated for many reasons. Society considers them adults at that time and so I feel free to friend them from graduation on and even then, I only do it when they request it. Believe it or not, not all my ex-students want to be my friend on facebook. Go figure.

4) Once I post my thoughts on the internet, if you don’t want your kids to see the content...then it’s up to you to keep them from trying to find my content. By the way, if you think that my blog is the worst place your kid has ever found on the internet, then it is time for you to take a reality check. I am not spouting racist slurs, nor advocating suicide solutions. Last I checked, I am allowed to be funny and provocative on the internet and still be a teacher.

I am aware that some folks might be more comfortable with the idea that I come into school and present for their children the idea that I am a perfect human being. That I do no wrong inside school, nor outside school. That every time a student fucks up, I talk to them from my arrogant place on high and pretend that I have never lied, never messed up, and never made an ass of myself.

Yeah, that doesn’t work for me. I am imperfect and I don’t ever pretend to be anything other than who I am. Of course I take care to be professional at work, but I don’t ever try to put myself on a pedestal higher than the student. Make no doubt, I am in charge and I get the final say, but I think one of the reasons I have so few discipline problems with my students is because I do what I say and I don’t pretend to be who I am not. As some of the kids might say, I try to “be real.”

As a student there was nothing I hated more than a teacher who tried to be holier-than-thou M-F from 8:30-3:30...then I would see him trashed out of his mind night after night and cheating on his wife. From that point on, I didn’t believe a thing that teacher ever told me.

So basically, I tell kids outright that I behave differently in different environments as do we all, but I am still pretty much me. I don’t tell deer camp jokes at funerals and I don’t always say excuse me when I fart in my easy chair when I’m alone in my living room, but I’m still the same guy. I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not, because it’s pretty easy to figure out when someone is full of shit in that department, and once kids figure out you are full of shit...good luck getting them to ever listen to you again.

So I guess, what I am saying is I try to be a good example to kids in and out of school because I like kids and my desire for my pupil-kids is the same as my desire for my biological daughter. If I have an impact on your life, I want it to be a positive one and heaven help me...I want you to have a better life than I have had.

Pretty simple stuff.

I also realize that some folks believe that 8:19-3:25 should always be solely devoted to teaching duties. I agree for the most part, but let it be known that I spend no less than half of my “duty free” lunch periods every week taking care of things for my kids at school. My average time of arrival at school is 7:30 a.m. in the first semester and 7:00 in the second semester. So if folks really want to split hairs about how I spend my time, I guess we can do that.

Maybe from now on I can get to school at 8:15 every morning and leave at 3:35 which is allowable according to my contract. Then I can lock my door at noon hour and ignore everything happening in the building until my “duty hours” begin again.

But I won’t do that. Why? Because I like kids. It means I’m going to show up tomorrow (Saturday) morning to help with the cross country meet. It means I’m going to teach students to the best of my ability even if it means reading “classic” literature over again during summer months. It means if a student wants to make up his test during noon hour or after school, or just wants to chat with me that’s okay, too. It means I will spend fourteen hours here in a single day during the track fundraiser. It means I will go to continuing education classes/meetings/seminars/conferences every year. I will be here for anything Paul asks me to be here for. I will be here for Halloween carnivals, blood drives, and tailgates. I will be behind the counter at basketball games keeping clock and all of it on my own time.

So, to conclude an entry that is far too long and far too boring for most of the regular visitors to my blog, whoever complained to my boss should have come to talk to me first. My email and contact number are on the school website and I do know it's the taxpayers who butter my bread. If you would have spoken to me first, I could have straightened everything out and explained exactly what my philosophies are about and how I do things. We more than likely could have resolved everything amicably. We may have agreed to disagree or we may have become friends. We'll never know, now. Instead, whoever it was decided just to complain to my boss without knowing his or her butt from a hole in the ground on the matter.

Hey, thanks for making my day a little bit shittier. Have a good weekend.

P.S. I am currently at home after using some comp hours while an installer works on my house. I hope it's okay with you that I am posting this on my blog during school hours even though I am at home. I have an idea for you. Try to look for something good our staff does instead of trying to nitpick. It's a lot easier to catch them doing good things if you are willing to look for it. On the other hand...hey..thanks for reading and keeping up to date on my blog!

Forests and Trees

2010-10-05T11:01:00.000-07:00

Every so often I have to remind myself of what is and isn't important in my life. I did some whining last week about running around like a madman trying to make my house look like something humans lived in before my in-laws arrived. I was partially successful except I never did get that fresh sawdust put down in my sleeping pen. A friend of mine sent me a snippet of poem which I have been unable to find in its full version. In brief, it said, your kids are only young once so quit worrying about cleaning so much and spend time with them because soon they will move out, but the dust will always be there.

It was a nice reminder that I sometimes keep losing sight of what is important in life. Sometimes I get so focused on the jobs at hand, that I get nearsighted and forget to enjoy my time with my family. I get so upset and guilty over all the little things I am not accomplishing that I forget to appreciate when I do have a moment on the couch with my wife and daughter. Or better yet, how about I quit worrying about some of those minor jobs and make more time for my family? How about I quit worrying about the dust bunnies...actually they have been there long enough that they have probably mutated into some sort of monstrous fanged dustensteins by now...doh! See there I go again...punishing myself...stop it. Bad, wedge. Bad.

So, I am going to try my best for the rest of this day to stop seeing only the obstacles and try instead to see the path around them...right after I change the sheets on Alanis' bed...no...wait...before that...wait...no, I won't change them at all and instead read a book with her...after she does her homework...which won't be until after cheer practice...then she has to take a shower tonight...and we have to pack our lunches for school tomorrow...and that puts us at about 8:45 p.m....

*sigh* This is going to be even harder than I thought.

DirecTV vs Dishmyass

2010-10-04T10:58:00.000-07:00

Pulled the trigger today. It is October 4th and Fox and Dish Network haven't settled their accounts yet. Seeing as how the Red Wing games are 95% of the reason I even am willing to pay $78 a month for television programming...egads...I get sick to my stomach a little when my brain starts multiplying $78 X 12 months. I guess I don't have much choice. I don't go to bars very often nor have much of a social life and if paying a monthly fee so I can watch hockey for six months a year is a sin, then I hope they serve beer in hell because I'm coming in and I'm thirsty. Now Dish Network has lost their contract with Fox which is the mega corporation that broadcasts my hockey games and I had already told Dish I would be leaving them if I missed a single episode of Sons of Anarchy or a single hockey game. Well looks like I will miss Sons of Anarchy tomorrow night and Terriers on Wednesday night, but I am hoping that I will have DirecTV up and running in time for the Wings first game on October 8.

I was a Dish Network guy for about 12 years or so, but for the last 3 years, every time they have to re-negotiate with one of their major providers they take the negotiations public and try to get me to call Fox or Cinemax or whoever and yell at them. I kinda think my $78 a month should be enough where Dish should do the yelling for me. DirecTV will add about $3 a month to my bill *shudder* but from what I hear, DirecTV is just plain better. Time will tell. Again, if I could even get hockey reliably on radio I wouldn't have much reason to pay for television at all and when I think about how many hookers I could buy in a year if I saved $80 a month...*mmmmm*.....oh wait, sorry...drifted off there for a bit.

So, after being financially fisted for over a decade by Dish Network, I have decided to switch fists. Lets hope that DirecTV doesn't wear a lot of jewelry.

I knew I could do it.

2010-10-01T13:05:00.000-07:00

I knew I could get one more scatological reference into my blog before the end of the week. Freshmen finally forced my hand into a seating chart. I hate seating charts. I teach high school and in my opinion a high school age kid needs to have the minimum amount of self-discipline to be able to sit and work for 30-45 minutes at a crack most....not all, but most of the time. However, once in a while a class comes through that just HAS to have a seating chart.

Yesterday, two of my beloved frosh, decided that they found humor in tossing things out my second floor classroom window. I don't know why we don't have screens. I'm sure it's some sort of code violation, but whatever. I found tossing things out the window hilarious, too. Of course I was about 9 years old at the time and not about to enter drivers' ed like these upstanding examples of citizenship. How's that for a scary thought? Some of these kids are already old enough to start on their learner's permit and will be on the road in a matter of months and yet they still think that writing "boob" upside down on their calculators is the height of comedy.

I digress. I'm a good digresser though. Is "good digresser" an oxymoron?

I had to tell my class that they would be getting a seating chart tomorrow. When they asked why, I told them, "Because throwing pencils out the window and laughing is sorta like monkeys throwing their own poop. Only the monkeys actually find it amusing. Anyone with more intelligence than a monkey just sorta finds it disgusting and annoying."

And that, dear readers, is my third scatological reference in the last seven days. Dingdingfuckingding. Winnah, winnah, chicken dinnah!

One more reason why Michigan sucks testicles.

2010-09-30T11:08:00.000-07:00

Attention please. Attention.

Michigan has not repealed the law making it legal to sell alcohol on Sunday. What they have done is allow small businesses to buy a permit to sell alcohol on Sunday mornings.

This enrages me more than the initial stupid ass law that had no business outside of Pastor Stiffley's personal preferences for being on the books in the first place. There is not a single logical reason for alcohol sales to have ever been suspended on Sunday morning except to make people's lives more difficult and to pacify the Bible contingent. Of course, there was the small chapter of non-religious women who also wanted a blue law on Sundays because they got tired of being used as punching bags by their drunken boyfriends whenever Favre threw an interception, but now Favre is in MN and most women have realized the best way to avoid pummelings is if their men drink at the bar starting a 8 a.m. instead of drinking on the couch in their own living rooms.

All pummelings aside, instead of repealing the law and some senator saying, "What in the cockleberries were we thinking? Sorry about those years of inconvenience forced on you. We have it fixed now."

Do we voters get that? Nope. Instead we get from some politician that I cannot help but picture as being Mayor Quimby saying, "We know it's a dumb law and not only are we going to keep it on the books anyways...we are going to use it to extort money from small businesses in order to fill our coffers. We keep raiding the education fund, but even that pot is getting thin these days so we have to come up another way to legally blackmail the general public. Y'know because $150 parking tickets, and cameras at intersections that will send the cops a pic of you making a rolling stop even though there isn't a car around for miles...well...those things just weren't generating enough revenue anymore. For my next act, I will piss down your back while telling you it is raining."

If the law is no longer useful....get rid of it. Don't tell me I don't have to obey the law if I buy a $160 special permit.

What's next? What other laws can I get away with breaking if I buy a permit?

Say, Mayor Quimby, how much is it for one of those permits that allows me to make a feline salsa out of my neighbor's screaming tomcat?
*****
I could really use a special permit allowing me to shoot folks who don't use their turn signals. Hell, if they sold those, I'd sell my house, live out of my truck, and stockpile those permits.
*****
Aw damn...can I buy a "Smack a ho." permit? Yeah, well see she's not my wife and Favre is in MN now so I figured I'd need a permit this time.
*****
The whole situation is nonsensical at best and basically criminal at worst. FU Michigan.

My kid is an honor student. I is not.

2010-09-28T10:59:00.000-07:00

I can't stand the "My kid is an honor student at FuckMeRunning H.S." type of bumper sticker. To me that's just bragging. You can talk to your kid and be proud of your kid, but to publicly put up signage about how awesome you think your kid is, makes me think you don't have a good grasp on what is important. I wouldn't put up a sign that said, "My kid is captain of the football team/homecoming king/taller than your kid/stronger than your kid/more handsome than your kid."

People generally consider it classless to brag about physical attributes, so why is it any less classless to brag about GPA? It's still bragging. Again, congratulate your kid for her efforts, but don't go printing up t-shirts for the entire family that say your kid had perfect attendance her junior year or stating that she was captain of the debate team because it officially makes you a dumbass. Being humble is a very underrated attribute these days. It's probably why I like those "My kid beat up your honor student" or "My kid impregnated your honor student." bumper stickers. Okay, I've never seen one of those latter decals, but if I had a bumper sticker printing press in my basement, I would seriously consider doing a run of those. Why? Because I am one sick, sarcastic, SOB.

My mental monkey is throwing its own poop.

2010-09-27T10:50:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about whining in this entry. I've been under the weather for about three weeks now and my sprained ankle is taking wayyy too long to heal which seems to indicate my thyroid medication may be bonking again. What does that mean? It means that I get to gain weight even while not eating an excess of calories, my skin dries out, my eyes will no longer tolerate contact lenses, there is no such thing as enough sleep, getting the energy up to work out seems like the equivalent of preparing to climb Mt. Rainier, and none of that even goes into the psychological slamming my mood takes because usually all of that also paves the way to basically constant depression.

So, after felling like ick for the better part of a month, I am starting to get quite legitimately pissy. I think I am hiding it reasonably well at work, but the veneer between what shows and my true state of mind seems to be wearing thin. All that being said, maybe it is Monday and the entire world can just bite my ass anyways.

On the bright side, this is the second post I've done in a week that used a scatological reference to describe something happening in my brain. I'm almost daring myself to come up with another one which I know would just have to be a personal record of some sort.

It's not that I'm a bad person...

2010-09-24T11:07:00.000-07:00

...it's just that there is just sooo much stuff out there that I couldn't give a fuck less about.

Is your homework late? If so...please put it in the trash. Unless the reason it is late is because last night you became a quadraplegic and you haven't yet gotten used to typing with your breath activated stylus then...I don't care. Any other excuse offered better involve some sort of bloodletting or you are wasting my time.

Here's the thing, when I was in high school, if something horrible had happened the night before and I didn't get my work in, then I got a zero on that assignment. However, in some sort of miraculous fashion, in a trend rarely seen today, I always kept my grades as high as possible in case something happened like that.

I believe I had something due the day after my grandfather died and I spent that night with my family instead of reading whatever chapter I was supposed to read. The next day at school the teacher asked, "Mr. Harris...where is your homework?" My response was, "I'm sorry, but I didn't do it." The end. I didn't beg for more time. I just accepted it as something shitty that happened and technically I still COULD have done my homework, but I opted not to as I thought spending time with my family was more important. Guess I figured I'd just have to study harder for the next test to bring my grade back up. Shit happens. Was I supposed to blame the teacher? Blame grandpa for passing away on a school night? Heck, maybe if I had gotten the assignment done a day early instead of wasting my study hall time talking to girls, it wouldn't have been an issue at all?

Not today. Oh heck no. You wouldn't believe the crap I get for making due dates and sticking to them.

..but my pony was sick.

Does your pony usually help you with your homework?

Yes.

I still don't care, now go sit down.

I didn't get it done because my girlfriend and I broke up last night.

Good. Guess you will have more time for your homework in the future. By the way, your girlfriend is today and always has been a whore. Congratulations on finally figuring it out. Now go sit down.

I didn't get it done because I'm in a bad place right now.

YOU'RE in a bad place? You should be on the other side of this desk for a minute listening to the crap coming out of your mouth. Now THAT'S a bad place. Now go sit down.

Can I take the test tomorrow? I didn't get a chance to study because I had a basketball game.

So? I spent two hours at the grocery store, got home and exercised my dog, cleaned up my dog's puke from the living room carpet afterwards, then got online to shuffle money from account to account to minimize my latest bounced check damage, helped my kid with her homework, called the phone company to try to figure out how they screwed up my bill this time, worked on laundry mountain, all while mentally planning out everything I had to do at work today and drinking a liter of vodka. I still got my shit done and I am hungover to boot. Fuck me. I WISH I had gotten to play basketball last night. Now go sit down.

I'm not a bad person. I just wish more people could just accept things and move on. Always needing to find someone at fault for every bad thing that happens just leads to rampant self-pity.

Public Mind Defecation

2010-09-23T10:35:00.000-07:00

Ergh'em...cough...*grunt*...Okay...I force myself...I mean...I write during the first fifteen minutes of seminar period on M,T,R,F every week just as I require my students to do. Often the case is that just random drivel comes out and nothing more ever comes of it, but I sorely need to keep writing in an effort to knock some of the rust from the more poetic parts of my brain.

I've been very good at writing whenever the students write even though sometimes there seems to be so many other more pressing duties to attend to. Too often I just end up writing about my events of the day or writing my todo list for the rest of the week and it really amounts to no more than mindless keyboard rattling.

No insights come. I don't find myself drawing grand parallels between my continuing wars against my personal demons and thus enlightening myself. I haven't yet discovered the plot line behind my first mediocre novel. I would say "my first great novel," but I'm a humble bugger and thus I will settle for "mediocre."

Most days I don't sense any cleansed karma from confessing my sins via the point of a pen or the pixels of a computer screen. I rarely feel like I am any closer to identifying who I really am nor feel any closer to the center of the universe.

But for some reason, I feel less when I not writing regularly. Less how? I don't know exactly, but definitely less. I'm not sure if I have a strong desire to write because I have some sort of inflated idea of my writing gift and would feel bad if I didn't use it or if I have something more like a masochistic authoring OCD.

I haven't yet achieved the level of authorial honesty I truly would like. I think I may not have yet worked up my courage enough for that yet. After all, I do believe that my mom and my sister do still read some of this stuff and some of the poison pen honesty I look up to in other writers may simply cost me more of a price in my dignity and than I am willing to pay.

I think that is why I keep waiting for some sort of fiction plot to pop into my head that just calls on me to write it out. Fiction is safer. I could blame everything on my characters. ("What? No, I have never masturbated in a stall in the college library. But this character I am writing about has.") But when it comes to fiction, once I work through a plot in my head for a few days, I am already bored by it. I simply have much more fun trying to be cynically funny about the real ridiculousness of the human condition than anything else.

So here I sit....again. Trying to kickstart my writing module....again, and hoping that forcing myself to put things out in the public eye will force me to write about something, anything, other than my weekly to do list.

Gag!

2010-09-21T10:39:00.000-07:00

I've been decidedly stagnant recently. I basically had to quit listening to the news because the BP spill was depressing me so much that I was finding myself being really, really down all the time.

Now we are bargaining for a new teaching contract and I'm worried about what will happen the new health care practices kick in. There are only so many times that we can absorb a 6%-15% increase in insurance costs every single year.

The hard thing to deal with in our current contract negotiations is the old boss would have looked at our first offer as being reasonable and signed it on the spot. Now we have a different boss in charge and fair compensation isn't in his vocabulary. Apparently he is more interested in getting a "win." He wants to be able to go back to the school board and say he got us to sign for a minuscule amount when in reality, sometimes a win should just mean seeing that the teachers get a fair (not exorbitant) raise and let life move on.

So that is making it real hard to keep a happy face about things. Our school's fund balance is up around $700,000 k right now or roughly 30% of our budget which is 2 to 3 times higher than what is recommended. Four years ago, our fund equity was at $8,000 and the teachers were asked to sacrifice salary in an effort to help the school build that fund equity back up. So in four years, the fund equity went from $8,000 to $700,000 and we still can't get a raise that will keep up with the cost of living increases.

It's more than ridiculous. In fact we were offered a bigger raise when the fund equity was at $8,000 than we are being offered now when it is approaching 3/4 of a million dollars. That's just insulting. So basically we can't get a cost of living increase when the fund equity is low because we need to build it back up. Then when the fund equity is high, we can't get a decent raise because the new guy has declared the fund equity level to be untouchable. Nice. Oh, not only that, but so far we have a $103,000 excess in this year's budget. Yes, I said excess. So apparently we are going to put that money in the bank, too so next year our fund equity will bloat to about 35% of our total annual budget or 2.5-3.5 times bigger than it is supposed to be.

I understand the need for school boards to be fiscally responsible, but I wish from time to time they would realize that our teaching staff is not asking for the moon. We want compensation that doesn't make us feel like we are being taken advantage of. So we can walk the halls feeling like what we do is appreciated on some level. Being a teacher is a lot like being a cop or a referee. No one notices the job your are doing unless they feel like you screwed up.

All I know is the sooner we get this contract done, the sooner I can quit worrying about it and devote more of my mental energy to my students. It's all just quite depressing.

Hey

2009-08-10T01:41:00.000-07:00

Just a little bulletin to apoloqize to the three of you that actually may read my posts. I hope to come up with more soon. Right now, the tank seems dry. Been diverting everything I have to other avenues. Hang with me.

Monday, May 11, 2009

2009-05-11T10:53:00.000-07:00

My Will Weeps.

My Mind Bails.

My Sanity Leaks.

My Heart Fails.

My Desire Confused.

My Consciousness Tripped.

My Life Diffused.

My Soul Eclipsed.

I’ve dropped my light

lost my way.

My best intentions

gone astray.

I stride the darkened path

to find my design,

but I may

be walking

away.

Red Wings Photoshops

2009-03-03T20:08:00.000-08:00

Kevin Weier created these and was kind enough to send them to me. He gave me permission to post them here and at my other personal pages and also said it was okay for me to include his email. After all, we all like to be recognized for our creativity and talent don't we? I thought these were great. While I'm at it, the best forum for Red Wings chat is over the Detroit News website. Just look for a Wings Talk link. The author of these photoshops can be contacted at: the_winged_truth@yahoo.com if you want to give him an attaboy.

The Noise

2009-02-18T20:02:00.000-08:00

The Noise

How long do we spend in the silence?
Not long.
I wonder what’s in there?
In the gaps between?
If I stay in the silence will I come to an end?
Could I explore there forever?
Is it like space?
Would I float?
I don’t spend enough time there to give the silence more than a cursory glance.
If I don’t look for the silence I never notice it.
It’s blotted out by the noise.

Oh, there’s tons of stuff there in the noise.
The noise has information.
Lots and lots of information.
Market reports, planes crashing, fashion trends, babies born, people dead.
The noise can be hypnotic.
The noise is welcoming.
The noise is a snake charmer.
Dance to its song!

Follow me, says the noise.
Don’t want to know about world news?
Come over here and listen to your favorite band.
Tired of looking at the bad stuff?
Here’s a picture of something cute.
Not feeling sugary?
Well over here is some spice for you.
I’ll always keep you entertained.
I’ll always be with you.
All you have to do is turn me on.
Most of the time you don’t even have to do that.
Just don’t turn me off
And I will keep you distracted.

I love the noise.
It makes me feel full.
It makes me feel useful.
It occupies the wee hours.
It keeps me from unpleasant thoughts.
The noise will always be there for me.
Without the noise I get
Lonely.
Bored.
Restless.
Without the noise there is silence.
Without the noise I feel empty.
But
If I ever stayed in the silence long enough,
I wonder if I might realize,
It was the noise that made me think I was
Full
It made me think I was being
Useful
It made me feel like I wasn’t
Forsaken
I just didn’t have time to realize
It was lying to me.

Don't Own These or You are a Massive Tool

2009-02-13T12:44:00.000-08:00

This post is inspired by the first product you will see on this list. I'm all for creativity and innovation, but there is stuff out there that is stupid to such a colossal scale that I have to wonder just how long humankind has been peeing into it's own gene pool.

I'm pretty sure when I was a kid that when I wasn't running around in my underoos with a blanket tied around my neck pretending to be Superman, that I probably wore my sister's bathrobe backwards out of sheer boredom at some point. I didn't like it then. Now, as an adult with still a smidge of self-respect left, I'm positive I wouldn't like it.

Aren't robes open in the front to allow free movement of the legs? Not only does this design flaw increase this product's ranking on the dumbassometer, but, unlike a robe, it doesn't end above the ankles. It flows down past the feet to the floor. Seeing as how I think this thing is probably sold mainly to the chronically cold elderly, isn't this a lawsuit waiting to happen? I can see hoards of hollow boned elderly shattering hips across our great nation when they get up to grab one of their seventeen cats, and they trip over the hem of this thing. On the other hand, if you've ever been hospitalized and just happen to like the feel of an open backed hospital style gown, then this product may be for you and you can wear it with pride...schmuck.

I'm pretty sure if this thing worked anywhere near as well as the ads and videos claim it did, then they wouldn't have had to give it such a weird name to garner attention. Just like when I originally saw the Bad Frog beer commercials. As soon as I noticed they had to put a frog on the bottle label with it's middle finger raised, I knew the product would suck. Thankfully I was able to satiate my curiosity when a friend handed me a bottle and I didn't have to insult my own intelligence by buying any of that swill myself. It couldn't have tasted any worse if they had brewed it with Lindsay Lohan's venereal drippings.

In the day and age of free internet pornography that is more plentiful than inbreds in West Virginia, is anybody really so desperate for a view of hypoallergenic polyfoam stuffed breasts that they will buy this? Oh, but that's not all young sailors! These are Iboobs. Yes, speakers for your Ipod that you can rest your head on while snoozing away the evening hours listening to the dulcet tones of Zamfir, King of the Pan Flute.

Erm, eh...wow. If you can't manage to walk from your car to the entrance of the multiplex without having to get out of your car in cold weather and put on this inconvenient mockery of a useful product, then you sir are beyond pussywhipped. Either you are too much of a daisy to withstand the cold for the hand-in-hand walk or you are just begging her to take advantage of your incredibly weak personality like the U.S. government took advantage of drunken Indians. One more point, if you make it through your walk in the park and don't have your ass handed to you by every man that still does have a pair, then you were just lucky. Just because you lived through that crazy game of Russian roullette you played that one night you spent too much time in your darkened dorm room listening to Pink Floyd, doesn't mean you should play the game again. Sooner or later your gamble is going to come up craps. If I see you wearing these, I will punch at least one of you in the face and it is quite possible I might have to punch the both of you. I'm not violent by nature, but I cannot tolerate the children seeing wussification on such a craptastic scale. It sets a bad example.

I can see someone owning one of these runny nose egg separators if it was made by their weird Uncle Herman out in his shed where he turned his niece's old easybake oven into a makeshift kiln. The only reason they keep it on the shelf is they are worried that Uncle Herman may react in some sort of violent fashion towards their dog involving a weedwhacker and pungee sticks if he thinks his gift wasn't appreciated. If you don't have a weird Uncle Herman and you own one of these, you are now uber-douche material and far, far more comfortable with bodily fluids and functions than even the most jaded doctor of internal medicine has any right to be.

Well Shut My Mouth!

2009-02-01T13:54:00.000-08:00

Had an absolute blast last night. Met Kim's friends and got along with them both better than fine. I don't know how they got along with me. You'll have to ask them about that.

That Styx concert I didn't care to go to, well, we couldn't get tickets so I wasn't bummed about that. It did create the dilemma of what the hell were Kim and I going to do while her two friends were in the concert hall which was attached to the casino that we had eaten dinner in. Too bad there is no way to turn stale cigarette smoke into a viable energy source cuz I know where there is plenty of it.

Anyways, ten minutes into the concert an ex-student of mine wandered up to me and asked me if I wanted to buy tickets to the show. So for half price I got to see the show with Kim. Somehow not paying full value for tickets made the idea of going to see a band I didn't care all that much about seem more palatable. Wifey had a good time and so did I surprisingly. I may not be totally into Styx, but there is something very cool about seeing people who are a master of their craft perform. A very tight set and let me tell you, those boys can still play even if they are one step from a wheelchair. Tommy Shaw, the lead guitarist and co-vocalist was a pleasure to watch as he really seemed to simply enjoy being there. I've seen some other 80's bands in the new millenium and some of them can come off as looking a little pissy that they aren't still hitting platinum with every thing they do, but these guys seemed to enjoy being there and enjoy each other so it was very good.

After the concert we hooked back up with the friends and commenced to bullshit the night away. It was very cool as I hadn't been out of the house for anything more exciting than grocery shopping in a couple months and it was a most necessary departure from the last few yawns of weekends.

I just felt I needed to post a follow-up to my last post. Now that I look back at it, I do come off and some kind of massive tool. I guess sometimes good times sneak up on you when you least expect it. I really need to keep more of an open mind.

It's nice to get caught by surprise sometimes. This was one of those times. Glad I went instead of going to the fights which I hear were fairly boring anyways. There will be other times for Jeff and I to get together. We are severely overdue for some sort of complete explosion of immaturity the type of which only seems to happen when we get together. I just hope we don't have to wait until summer for it.

Later all.

The River

2009-01-29T10:55:00.000-08:00

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Man, I have bad luck. Not the I-was-born-with-spinabifida-so-bad-I-can’t-tie-my-shoes kind of luck and not the my-father-was-an-abusive-alcoholic-and-I-saw-him-sodomizing-kittens-when-I-was-four-years-old kind of luck either, but bad luck nonetheless.

A month ago Kim asked me to go to a concert with her and her two friends, neither of which I have met. I agreed as I have encouraged her to go out with her friends and now that she was heeding my advice, I figured part of my obligation was to be willing to meet some of these new friends.

Sure, I’ll go to the concert. Who is playing?

Styxx

Styxx, you mean the pretend rockers from the eighties that I couldn’t stand even when they were popular back then? The band whose idea of hard rock is Mr. Roboto?

Yes

Great. Can’t wait. Say honey, where’s the Drano. I’m feeling thirsty suddenly.

This isn’t so bad. I’d rather pluck my eyelashes out one by one with a dirty set of vise grips, but not too bad. I haven’t been out in a long time and just getting out for some drinks even with what will hopefully be a brief concert in between drinking sessions might just still be fun somehow. I have resigned myself to a good time. All is fine right?

Last night my buddy emails. He recently built a bar in his basement. He’s purchasing the UFC. Not A UFC. THE UFC with BJ Penn vs. Georges St. Pierre as the main event. This would be the grand opening to the public of this bar. Cigars, free beer, free fights, lots of cussing and shit-giving by a male only crowd excited with bloodlust. No bitches to worry about wrecking things.

“Ewww, is that a cigar? It stinks.”

So does your pussy, but you don’t hear me complaining.”

It would be one of those nights for the ages. I would wake up hungover with a sore belly from laughing and a sore throat from talking too loud all night. Alas, I gave my word. I am a man of my word. I shall go meet the wife’s friends who I’m sure are fine folks. I shall clap at the appropriate denouements between renditions of “Grand Illusion” and “Come Sail Away” that have simply not withstood the test of time. I will give an obligatory Wooooo! every so often to make it seem like I’m not pooping the party. And I will not think of my friends, at Jeff’s inaugural fight night, laughing, toasting, telling tall tales, and laughing some more. And I’m sure they won’t think of me either. If that last line sounded like I’m jealous. Yeah, well I am.

I have bad luck.

Got No Reason

2009-01-15T19:27:00.000-08:00

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

In today’s newspaper I read about a support group being formed. A support group for short people. Now, as a guy who has been through counseling before, I don’t want to disparage support groups in general. I am a big fan of the therapy of listening and talking, but we’re not talking about the typical dwarf/midget/little person support group. Those people are tragically small and no matter if we call them disabled, disadvantaged, differently abled or whatever, they definitely had to begin their life marathon 100 yards further behind the starting line than the rest of us. The support group I’m talking about is for women 5’ 2” and under and men 5’ 7” and under.

I hope I’m not the only person in the world who asks this.

Really? I mean really?

A group for people that fall under average height? So they can share the trials and tribulations of being short? I’m sure I’ve heard more ridiculous things in my life, but not too many. Apparently this isn’t just a local phenomenon either. They are part of a national organization, NOSSA, which stands for National Organization of Short Statured Adults. Is it just me or does this sound like a MadTV skit?

Don’t people have enough real problems in their lives without being convinced that they have more things to be pissed at fate about? One woman is quoted as saying, “When I go to the grocery store, sometimes I have to ask somebody to get something off the shelf for me.”

WAAAAAAAA! You poor, poor put upon girl you! Not that! You need to go to a support group because sometimes you can’t quite reach the top shelf! Man, that certainly makes those kids starving in Africa, or the homeless freezing to death on the sidewalks look like a bunch of whiny pansies. I mean after all, there was that day you had to ask a clerk or passerby if they could hand you a box of Lipton Cup-a-Soup. How did you get by, lady? I probably would have just ended it all right then. Who can live with humiliation on such an atomic scale?

For the record, I’m short enough to qualify for this group. Right at 5’ 7” I’m tempted to join just because I know there won’t be anyone at the meetings taller than me and I can bully all the little people around. “Oops, my pen rolled under that table. Hey shortcake, mind walking under there and getting that for me? You, yeah you over there…the little one…no…no…the littler one….yeah you, did you know I’ve taken dumps bigger than you?”

I’ve never been a bully. Never had the mindset that making other people feel worse would ever make me feel better. These folks though, if they don’t deserve it then I don’t know who does. Everyone wants to be a victim. Everyone needs someone to feel sorry for them and if no one does…then we’ll make something up. This country is turning into such a nation of wussies, whiners, and attention whores that I just can’t stand it.

That’s it! I’ll form my own group. The Association Against Wussies, Whiners & Whores! The acronym will be AWWW and AWWW will also be our motto. It will be heard everywhere we go. We’ll meet once a month and give each other assignments on how to belittle folks who make up their own tragedies for attention. The first assignment will be to stand outside the short people meetings and mercilessly mock them in the same vein as the old fatherly adage of “What? You’re crying? I’ll give you something to cry about!”

We’ll swipe their keys and hold them up high over their heads and make them jump for them. AWWW, wassa matter….can’t get your keys? AWWW, c’mon…try a little harder.”

We’ll call them humiliatingly inappropriate names.
“Hey Stretch! How you doing Big Guy? Well look at Long Tall Sally over there. What’s up Stilts? AWWW, what…you mad a us fow making fun of ooooo?”

We’ll play Randy Newman’s “Short people” song and point at them and laugh. We’ll all have T-shirts on that say “You must be this tall in order to ride.”

We’ll make fun of them until we end up being scathed on Oprah. We’ll taunt them until they weep. Until their children are even shamed by them. We’ll run ads in the paper to make sure their friends know how inadequate they are because of their shortocity. We’ll basically just make their lives miserable until….well until they actually do have something to cry about.

Game Show Ideas for the Sophomoric and Twisted

2008-11-07T11:00:00.000-08:00

Game Show Ideas for the Sophomoric and Twisted

I’ve always been disappointed in most game shows for not going quite far enough with the exception of the Fear Factor and let’s face it, I’m just not that amused watching people eating spider eggs by the spoonful. So here is my hurriedly concocted roughed out ideas for game shows.

Pick the Bitch
We bring in couples that have been dating a minimum of one year, a selection of their friends, and a few strangers. We reveal to one of member of the couple that the other is cheating on him or her. The person that has been cheated on, then must pick from a lineup of the friends and strangers the one that their significant other has been fooling around with. Every time they miss on a guess the prize money goes down. For fun and added drama, every once in a while we’ll bring in a couple that has been totally faithful to each other. If they figure out that their partner has been completely faithful to them before they get to the pick-the-bitch stage they get all the money.

How classic would that be? Everyone once in a while a couple that was doing perfectly fine and was perfectly faithful to one another would be brought in and invariably one would go through the entire lineup guessing which one her man was cheating with, only to go through the entire lineup and find out that her man, indeed had been faithful, but since she failed at guessing early that he was faithful and went through the entire lineup unsuccessfully guessing who he was sleeping with, the couple gets sent home with no prize money and a delicious feeling of mistrust and betrayal anyways. I predict high ratings for this one.

How Much is That Doggie in the Blender?

We get a gigantic blender and put someone’s beloved pet in it. Every time the contestant incorrectly answers a trivia question the speed on the blender goes up one notch at a time. If the person successfully gets to the end of the questioning stage and their pet is still alive, then one final stage is left. They can keep their prize money and keep their pet alive or they can exchange their prize money for what is in the briefcase, but if they take the briefcase, the blender activates to puree speed. One final, kick in the nuts, would be that there is a 50/50 chance the briefcase contains $100,000 or more dollars in cash or it has some completely useless prize in it like bellybutton lint from Ernest Borgnine or maybe a commemorative teaspoon from some Grand Canyon tourist stop.

Would you Rather Think of the Newlywed game mixed with Fear Factor. The spouse has to decide what her partner would rather have done to them.
“Mrs. Smegma, do you think your husband would rather be caned, forced to eat maggots, or use his testicle to set off a mouse trap?”

Then the husband would get a chance to pick one for the wife and if he deemed that she picked the worst possible trial for him, then he could either take the high road and give her the easy task or go tit for tat. “Mr. Smegma, do you think your wife would rather shred ten pounds of lettuce with a carrot peeler, eat a pint of Haagen Daas, or be urinated on by seven randomly chosen hobos? What’s that? You are picking the hobos? Excellent choice!”

Current Playlist

2008-10-16T10:23:00.000-07:00

How is it I've made it to the ripe age of 38 and this is the first time I've ever actually listened to this song?

The Asshole Song sung by George Jones

Well I was drivin' down I-95 the other night
Somebody nearly cut me right off the road
I decided it wasn't gonna do any good to get mad
So I wrote a song about him instead
It goes like this...

Were you born an asshole?
Or did you work at it your whole life?
Either way it worked out fine
'cause you're an asshole tonight

Yes you're an A S S H O L E...
And don't you try to blame it on me
You deserve all the credit
You're an asshole tonight

You were an asshole yesterday
You're an asshole tonight
And I've got a feelin'
you'll be an asshole the rest of your life

And I was talkin' to your mother
just the other night
I told her I thought you were an asshole
She said, "Yes. I think you're right."

And all your friends are assholes
'cause you've known them your whole life
And somebody told me
you've got an asshole for a wife

Were you born an asshole?
Or did you work at it your whole life?
Either way it worked out fine
'cause you're an aaaass...hole tonight

Slamming

2008-10-14T06:01:00.001-07:00

Well, I don't know. Been a lot of turmoil lately. I'm hoping instead of hitting the floor and getting the wind knocked out of me this time that I can just bounce back up, stronger and with more momentum. Spent a few hours puking yesterday. It wasn't from a cold either. It was from stress. That would be a new one on me. That's about what I need these days. Get an ulcer from dealing with more crap than I should have to. Definitely have to toggle my mindset onto a different setting here. Maybe just start forgetting about the house and put more energy into working out and other activities that allow release before I end up a total mess.

Isn't life just a great adventure? I know most of these last few entries don't make much sense, but sometimes it helps to chuck it all down on "paper" so to speak.

I'll be all right.

That sounded confident didn't it? lol

Right now I just want to work out. That's a good sign. Let's see if I still feel that way after adding another 7 hours to the hour and a half I've already worked.

More mental drippings.

2008-10-07T10:52:00.000-07:00

Just how fucked am I still from all that has gone on? Will I ever know the release of being in an absolutely good place ever again? Will I ever be able to relax and say, “This is as it should be.” Will I ever be able to take a deep breath and exhale slowly, luxuriating in the good thoughts, effortlessly relaxing in a cloud of fulfillment?

Or is all that I have been through just waiting around the corner. Waiting to end me. Waiting to take from me everything I have held dear since I was old enough to know what I wanted out of life? Is the monster under the bed of the unknown just sleeping, waiting for me to relax and smile so he can jump on me. Claw me. Rend me flesh from bone. Tear my insides. Laugh at me as the drips of my shattered reality fall from it’s wet lips and jagged teeth.

I don’t know. Never will know until it is too late. And this time, too late may be fatal.

It’s hard for me to accept that no one has paid for what was done to me. What I have gone through…am going through…someone should have been made to pay. Someone should have to hurt for it. But I have better things to do. And someone will pay…in this life or the next. Not by my hand. I am above it. Because I am above it. I win.

Seminar writing.

2008-09-30T10:53:00.000-07:00

I've been writing four days a week with my seminar students this year. Not much of anything has come out of it yet though. After absolutely slogging through writing anything at all last week, this fell out today. I'd want to hack at it a little more and I'm not sure it "works" but it's the first thing I've written in weeks that felt even a little worthwhile so I thought I would post it.
*******

Filling jars of emotion and putting them on the shelf.
Why do I save them?
Am I going to use them later like canned tomatoes?
Am I being cruel to them?
Caging them like goldfish in a tiny bowl where they swirl round and round never going anywhere or accomplishing anything.
What should I do with these many mixed emotions.
Should I let them have their run?
If I let them free would they hurt anyone?
If I let them free would they stay with me?
Can I choose which emotions to jar and shelve, or does the very fact of doing so
deaden all my emotions a little at a time.
Caging sorrow, caging remorse, caging self-pity, caging grief, caging distrust, caging rage…can I get rid of those and still enjoy the full pith and height of joy, happiness, and love?

Little neatly labeled jars of emotion. Sealed. Dated. Sit on my shelf.

Waiting

Iron Industry Museum Field Trip

2008-07-09T06:51:00.000-07:00

07/09/08

Iron Industry Museum Field Trip

I'm here to absorb
not record.

I'm here to see
not observe.

I'm here to feel
not memorize.

I glance again at the scavenger hunt the professor gave me and crumple it up into my briefcase. We have a very short time here and I'll be damned if I'll use it trying to take notes on minutiae. Who gives a shit about facts and timelines? I'm more interested in the photos on the walls and the life sized cut outs made from the photos that stand all around me. Look at the faces of those men and women. Different backgrounds and customs, but all their faces show a pioneer determination. Those faces...that's where the stories are. The determination runs through them like it's in their blood...red like the ore dust that collects in the very stitchholes of their clothes and the pores of their skin.

I see a display of actual iron ore. I rub one of the ore chunks with my fingers lightly and marvel at how that little bit of contact results in such a mess. The dust is so impossibly fine and trying to rub it away only spreads it more and more.

I stick my whole hand in and rub it back and forth to cover my whole palm and all my fingers in the silky red dust. It feels cool to the touch even here inside the climate controlled museum. My handkerchief doesn't wipe it away. The action only succeeds in pressing the particles deep into the lines and callouses of my hands. The cloth of the handkerchief actually polished the dust to a metallic shine. My hand looks like it's made of red metal.

If I had a larger pile of ore and a shovel I would scoop and scoop until a huge red dust cloud rose around me like blood fog. I'd feel it in my eyes, breathe it into my nose, and taste it in my mouth. I would feel it clinging to my sweating limbs as my muscles ached and labored.

Then I would learn something.

Why?

2008-06-30T11:27:00.001-07:00

--This is another draft of the "Thus Begins the Writing Project" post on June 18th. I like this version much better.

Infiltration

Alone in his room he sits. Feet on the floor. Arm's on the rests. Eyes straight ahead. Breathing shallow. In his room he contemplates. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees the blackness that grease-like seeps in through the crevices of his life. Piling up as it oozes from the niches before it tumbles over under the pressure of the increasing dark pushing in behind it.

The piles grow and cascade, grow and cascade as more and more advances inward. Calmly, in his chair the chill warmth of the blackness slowly pools around him then climbs, enveloping his legs and the legs of his chair. Absorbing the pain of wanting to run away. Growing warmer from the anguish.

Unmoving he is increasingly submerged in the ebony. Thinking his thoughts. Being his nothing. He remains seated. The blackness swallows his lap as the magma flow continues. Urges long gone. Extinguished, denied, or unfulfilled.

It laps the armrests. Licks his fingertips. Morasses of regret of things that have slipped through his hands. Regrets of those left untouched. Eyes open. More blackness, less light. It's inexorable. Unblinking, he sits.

It consumes his abdomen and gnaws its way up his chest. The heartaches. The forlornness. The unpatchable cracks. The cavities. It feeds. It caresses. It comforts in its seductive way. It is legion.

It has found its way around him this amniotic dark. How long before it finds its way into
him? Where it will stay. Where it will live until he dies and when they bury him, his carcass will feed it so it can wait, hibernate, and fester until it finds its next host.

He can no longer tell if the ooze is still rising around him or if he is submerging into it. It laps his chin. He wonders briefly if he should stand. It kisses his lips.

Mystery pt II

2008-06-26T05:51:00.000-07:00

06/22/08

Mystery part II

Okay, so Mystery wasn't here when I got home from the writing institute on Thursday. I figured he either moved on or he went back home. Suddenly on Sunday he was back in the yard. This time he had a collar on him. One of those electric fence collars that are supposed to keep a dog in a yard.

So now what do I do? He obviously doesn't want to be at his real home. He obviously wants to be here. It was one thing to believe this dog had all that matted fur, worms, and was beat up because he had spent an inordinate amount of time wandering in the woods. Now he has a collar. That means he has an owner and probably one nearby.

What owner would let his dog debilitate into the condition this dog was in? Why does this dog choose to be here even if it means fighting his way through an electric fence to get here if he was being treated appropriately at home.

Do I find the owner and ask him if I can have his dog? Do I call the Humane Society?

Questions, questions.

A Children's Story

2008-06-24T07:23:00.000-07:00

--This is one of those quickwrites again. Somehow in ten minutes I had to work a hedgehog, a can coolie, and a....well we'll see if you can figure out the third object I had to include by the time you finish the story.

Buddha the Cute Little Hedgehog

Buddha the cute little hedgehog was not deserving of his namesake. He was crabby and violent and not at all a calm and happy sort of hedgehog. Buddha was never happy. Esmerelda the Eagle would say, “Hi Buddha!” every morning and Buddha would just harrumph. Sammy the Shrew, would say, “Good morning, Buddha.” and Buddha harrumphed. Sally the Squirrel would say, “Good day, Buddha.” and Buddha just harrump, hump, humphed.

Eventually the other animals got tired of Buddha's unmannerly manners and surly sassiness. They all met in Esmerelda's tree for a meeting to decide what to do bout Buddha's bad attitude.

“Maybe he's just hungry? I don't feel very nice when I'm too hungry.” said Sammy.

“Maybe he's not sleeping well? I get crabby when I don't sleep.” said Sally.

“Maybe he's too cold. I hate being cold, too.” said Esmerelda

So they all decided to do what they could do to try to make Buddha happy.

Sammy brought Buddha a meal fit for a king and the next day, Buddha harump, hump, humphed all day long.

The next day Sally brought Buddha some wonderful down she found from an old pillow hoping it would help Buddha get some rest. The next day Buddha harump, hump, humphed all day long.

Esmerelda brought Buddha an old can coolie and pecked out armholes and a neckhole for Buddha so he could wear it like a shirt. The next day Buddha still harump, hump, humphed all day long.

But the next day, came and something wonderful happened. A cute little boy was walking through the woods. His eyes lit up when he saw what he thought was just the cutest little hedgehog he had ever seen. Then the little boy raised his 30-30 rifle and blew the living hell out of Buddha. There was nothing left of Buddha except a few tufts of bloody fur.

When the boy walked away whistling, Sammy, Sally, and Esmerelda came out of hiding and danced around the pieces of Buddha's still warm corpse and proceeded to live happily ever after.

The moral of the story: Just because you are cute, doesn't mean you aren't still a bastard.

Things to do when you are bored.

2008-06-23T13:57:00.000-07:00

06/19/08

Things to do when you are bored:

If you are male, walk through the lingerie department until a salesgirl asks you if you want help. Tell her, “No thank you, just sniffing.” Either that hold up a crotchless pair of anything, tell the salesgirl she is about your mom's size and ask her if she would mind trying them on.

The last hardware store, department store, gift shop that screwed you over on a return or sold you a piece of junk...go in at a random time and just casually walk around moving things from one shelf to another. If you are feeling poetic you can try to work on dramatic juxtaposition of the items. For instance, put a baby basket on a shelf next to the shotgun shells, or put a bra hanging on the same rack as some jumper cables.

Go to a court case, sit way in the back and cough “bullshit” every time some defendant offers an excuse.

Take some light fine wire to the grocery store and subtly wire some of the shopping carts in the cart corral together. Bring a lawn chair and a drink with and umbrella in it and watch the fun.

Walk behind someone in the grocery store and every time they move their cart, make squeaking noises. If that doesn't eventually get them, then follow them and grab all the same items off the shelf that they grab.

Every time you back your cart up go BEEP, BEEP, BEEP really loudly. Go VROOM, VROOM every time you go forward.

Hitchhike on the side of the road. When someone stops just look in the car, say, “Not you.” and wave them on.

Go to a bar and make up drink names one after the other just to perplex the bartender. Can you make me a Squirrelly Nutburton? No? Okay, how about a Crosstown Traffic Jam? No? Okay, then I'll take a Flaming Bag of Ass. The challenge is to continue listing imaginary drink names as long as possible until the bartender catches on and kicks you out.

Walk through a crowded mall and ask random people if they smell smoke. When they say they don't, smile mysteriously and say...Oh, you will, then walk away.

Rinse out a bottle of industrial strength cleanser like Formula 409, fill it with your drink of choice and walk around the Seafood Festival or Art on the Rocks, take a huge swig, shout, “Damn, that'll put hair on your chest.” and offer other strangers a drink.

Seven Year Story

2008-06-18T11:52:00.001-07:00

Here is a first chapter of a collaborative effort between my seven year old daughter and myself. This is a first draft and keep in mind, I'm trying to get my daughter interested in the process of writing so yes, it moves a little quickly and I do allow her to compose 50% of the stuff in here so if you choose to bash this one, just keep in mind, she's seven and I'm very protective. If you feel like bashing, bash some of the swill I've put up here in the last couple years.
--------------------
The bunny
by
Alanis Jean Harris
and
Dale James Harris

Chapter One

One day at a beach there was a girl named, Marissa. She was walking along the shoreline
alone as her brother played in the water, and her parents lay on their beach chairs. She was a little scared walking off by herself, but since she knew she wouldn't go in the water alone, she thought would be okay...she was wrong! The trouble wouldn't come from the water at, but the trouble would come from the woods just up the shore. The woods where she heard the noise.

Walking down the beach, Marrisa kept her eyes on the sand as she looked for pretty rocks in the shallow surf. She almost stepped on a pretty shade of blue rock. She thought it was a blue rock, but she managed to keep from putting her weight down on it. Hovering on one foot she slowly moved her foot to one side and there she saw a robin's egg. She saw a path from a tree straight to the robin's egg. She gently picked the egg up and she saw the nest and put the egg carefully back where it belonged.

She was just lowering herself down from peering into the nest when she heard it. The noise!!! The bushes rattled and out of them popped something she wasn't expecting to see. It was a little bunny. It looked like a lot of other bunnies, but this one was just as blue as the robin's egg she had replaced in the nest. The bunny, sat up on its hind legs and looked Marissa right in the eye. It looked like it had something to say.

Marrisa didn't see it at first, but hanging around the neck of the bunny was a small gold charm. “Hi, blue bunny. Don't be scared. Watcha got there little guy?” Then something very unexpected happened.

The bunny, wiggled it's nose, it's whiskers twitched and the bunny said,”What I've got here, little girl, is a charm. A charmed charm. It lets me talk to humans. I came to talk to you, Marissa.”

“How did you know my name?”

“I was sent by the great hart to fetch you. Follow me.” With those words, the bunny hopped away a few meters, stopped looked back over it's shoulder to see if Marissa would follow and hopped and stopped again waiting for Marissa.

Marissa didn't know what to think. She was scared, but just then she took a step forward. Then another and another she took as a many as she had to till she caught up with the bunny. The bunny went slow enough so Marissa could keep up. It seemed like they went a long way into the woods. Just when Marissa was scared she would never find her way back to the beach, she and the bunny came into a clearing. Standing in the clearing were more animals than Marissa had ever seen outside of the zoo.

There were foxes, bears, more bunnies, countless birds including owls, robins, eagles, pheasants, sparrows, hummingbirds and all sorts of other birds that Marissa had never seen before. In the center of the clearing was a small glassy pond. In the pond floated a wise looking swan, some assorted ducks, and a few ducklings. Around the pond stood yet more animals. Quietly standing in place were badgers, coyotes, skunks, beavers, rodents of all sorts, like field mice, shrews, chipmunks, and moles peeking out of their holes. There were many deer there, too. But the most special deer had yet to make his appearance.

The animals began to divide into two groups, making an opening and then of all things....they began to kneel! The clearing was even more silent than before. Marissa was wondering what in the world was going on. Just as she was about to open her mouth to ask a question, the blue bunny announced, “All hail the great hart!”

From deep in the woods, a majestic looking buck strode forth. He was the biggest buck Marissa had ever seen. He was at least as tall as her dad. He was almost the size of a small horse! On his head, were antlers like any other buck, but not like any other buck, were the colors of those antlers. On the right side of his head, the antlers were a brilliant gold. The antlers on the left side were as red as blood. Striding purposefully over to the blue bunny, the massive deer bent his great head and lifted the charm from the blue bunny's neck with one of the tines of his special horns so he could talk to Marissa.
“Marissa, we have been waiting for you,” his deep voice rolled. He turned his head to the blue bunny. “Good work, (need a name). You have done well.

There is grave trouble afoot, Marissa. We need your help. (end chapter 0ne)

Mystery pt I

2008-06-18T11:48:00.000-07:00

06/15/08

About three weeks ago a dog showed up in my yard. Friendly dog and obviously one that was used to being around people. My dog, Sassy, was in heat so it wasn't unusual for dogs from the neighboring fields to come visit during this time.

The dog is and Australian Sheepdog also called a Koolie. Well, I figured the koolie would be here until Sassy wasn't in heat anymore, but another week went by, Sassy hadn't been in heat for days and the koolie was still here. I wasn't polite to him nor did I feed him. If he belonged to one of the neighbors I didn't want him feeling so welcome here that he never went home. I don't mind dogs in my yard at all. In fact I don't chain up my own dog. That's one of the huge benefits of living in the country in my opinion. But the koolie would get right up close and want attention.

Once when I was lying on the ground dropping my lawn tractor deck he lay down right next to me and put his head on my belly. I would push him away and tell him to cut it out, but he seemed nonplussed about my rudeness. Another time I opened the door to go into the house and he just walked right in like he owned the place.

Keep in mind, it's been three weeks and I haven't fed him nor even been civil him nor even taken a good look at him yet. The other night I had some friends over and I invited the koolie in to get their opinion of what I should do and I took my first good look at the dog. His fur was matted beyond what one would even think a neglectful owner would manage. He had scratches, scabs, and wounds all over his body. Apparently my little koolie friend had been living in the woods for quite some time.

My friends agreed that this was a lost dog and more than likely abandoned as Australian Shepherds are noted for their loyalty and just aren't the type of dog to go wandering off and not come back. Paully was talking about adopting him and I thought, “Perfect, as long as he is out of my yard.”

I then got up and go to the bathroom leaving my friends and what was to be Paully's new koolie at the counter. When I got out of the bathroom there was the koolie lying on the floor by the door. Both of my friends were looking at me and chuckling. Paully backpedaled from her earlier words of adoption and told me it was too late. The koolie had already adopted me.

So here the newly names Mystery lies on the floor with my daughter napping next to her. I'm glad he is here and wondering how I am going to afford getting him fixed and getting him his shots. Loyalty is far to scarce a characteristic in the world for me to go throwing it away. I'll put an ad in the paper on the off chance that whoever lost him wants him back, but I'm not too worried that is going to happen. Mystery found me for a reason. Now let's see where this new path takes us.

WP Pt 3

2008-06-18T11:46:00.000-07:00

05/26/08

Okay it's been over a week since the first class and the only entry into my writing log has been the smoothing out of something that happened in class. I have no creative energy right now it seems. 'too many real world issues to deal with. Whine cry wah blah. So I've finally determined that if I can't wrtie well or can't write creatively, I'm going to start by just writing period.
What comes next is pretty much stream of consciousness pablum.

Wings just scored a goal....uh oh
franzen took a sucker punch in the face. Why do teams have to get dirty like that when they are getting their asses handed to them?

Been a real up and down emotional time lately. The more I know the less I know. House, life, work all out of control right now. I'll get a handle on the work stuff in the coming week. I'll get a handle on the home stuff in the next two weeks. The emotional stuff I've been working on for a year. The more things change in that regard the more confused I get. How come I feel like I get wiser every day in matters of work and in matters of work and self, but iin matters of the heart I just get stupider and stupider?

I feel so much love and so much hate sometimes within split seconds of each other. Maybe even at the same time. I want to die. I want to live. I want to be better. I want to live a “normal” day without being a “normal” person.

I want time to ride. I want time to read. I want energy to think. I should probably quit whining.

Writing Project Flotsam Pt 2

2008-06-18T11:41:00.000-07:00

Warning: I haven't had time to edit or proof most of this writing project stuff. A lot of it is simply journaling, free thought and etc. Maybe I'll feel like painting some of these turds later, but not right now.
-------
06/18/08

Marathon Writing pt 2: Presque Isle

I'm sitting on a rock facing the ore dock as a freighter is slowly making it's way in to unload. To the left of the docks is the Superior Dome. First of all, great name. Isn't there anybody more imaginitive that could come up with a better name. I know it is unofficially called the Yooper Dome, but I'm not sure I like that either.

Damn thing looks like a UFO landed. Does anybody think that is a cool looking building from the outside? It's covered in a gray tarp FFS. It's like that neighbor that is going to put siding on his house in 2001 and in 2008 he still has the Tyvek up.

Left of me are rocks from the lake. I wonder how many years they had to take on their journey for the tides to finally bring them to the beach. Were they already there and the erosion just exposed them to the light?

Right of me are more lake rocks, followed by sand with many gulls flying over the masts of multiple boats in the harbor.

Oh, black smoke is really pumping from the freighter now. They must be throttling something back or they are starting some machinery that helps them get rid of their load. It's trickled back to white smoke now so I'm betting they started some piece of machinery that I can't see. I had a diesel Ford Tempo once used to make black smoke like that when I started it and then as the engine warmed up the smoke would fade to gray and then white then to an invisible exhaust.

I had a lot of fun with that car in high school. The thing got almost forty miles to the gallon long before forty miles to the gallon was hip or cool.

To call it a sluggish car is an understatement though. It was a manually shifted five speed and if you wanted to pass someone you had to slingshot around them. You had to fade way back from the car in front of you, downshift and hammer the accelerator when you anticipated the road in front of you would be clear enough and straight enough to pass. If by the time you were nosing the other guy's bumper and the road ahead turned out not to be clear, you had to fade back and try again next time. It was rusty and red and really physically unappealing. I had two choices in high school. Let the the kids make fun of me for what I drove or embrace the vehicle for the awkward, ungainly, ball of shortcomings it was.

I would pull up to stoplight and rev my engine next to some really hot Mustang or Trans Am and offer to race for pinks. They would look at me and laugh. Only the truly dopey old people or the ones that took themselves too seriously didn't get the joke which only made me think they were the joke. I mean that car might be able to peel out if I threw it in reverse, got it up to 35 then dropped it back into first and that's still a maybe. I tend to think that tactic just would have broken something in the driveline though.

Then when I was asked to drive to a party I would arch my eyebrows and tell people which ones I thought were good enough and which ones didn't deserve to ride in my Tempo. That was usually accompanied by some eyebrow arching and a sarcastic mulling frown.

When I asked a girl out I would often list the Tempo as one of my strengths and reasons why she should date me. “Zee-ro to 55 in about a minute and a half given a good tailwind and a slight downhill slope. You need that kind of excitement,” I would tell the girl. That would get a smile. I lived for the smile from a pretty girl. Lived and died.

Because I endorsed my embarassmentmobile, it became a running joke. Not the bad kind of “I'm ripping on you joke”, but the good kind that everybody was in on with me. Soon the other kids were asking to ride in my car and telling me what a sweet ride I had.

Thus Begins the Writing Project

2008-06-18T11:39:00.000-07:00

The next several posts will come from a writing project I am doing this summer. Enjoy or revile as you will.

Updated 06/19/08

05/26/08

--this is a rehashing of a bud of an idea starting during the first class.

In my chair I sit. In my room I contemplate. Out of the corner of my eye I see the blackness that grease-like seeps out through the crevices of my life, piling up as it oozes from the niches before it tumbles over under the pressure of the increasing dark pushing in behind it. The piles grow and cascade, grow and cascade as more and more finds its way around into my room. Calmly, in my chair the chill warmth of the blackness slowly climbs, enveloping my legs and the legs of my chair. Absorbing the memories of knee surgeries and the pain of wanting to run away.

Unmoving I am increasingly submerged in the ebony. Thinking my thoughts. Being my nothing. I remain seated. The blackness swallows my lap as the magma flow continues. Urges long gone. Extinquished, denied, or fulfilled.

It licks my fingertips resting on the arms of my chair. Morasses of regret of things that have slipped through my hands. Regrets of those left untouched. More blackness, less light. It's inexorable. Unblinking, stil I sit.

It consumes my abdomen and gnaws its way up my chest. The heartaches. The forlornness. The unpatchable cracks. Still it feeds.

It has found its way around me. How long before it finds its way into me where it will stay. Where it will live until I die and when they bury me, my carcass will feed it so it can wait, hibernate, and grow until it finds its next host. I can no longer tell if the ooze is still rising around me or if I am sinking into it. It laps my chin. I wonder if I should stand.

Spending My Time

2008-04-22T09:06:00.000-07:00

As a teacher, one of my favorite classroom rants is on the topic of hurting others for the sake of hurting others.

Once in a while I'll hear someone discussing how a turtle was crossing the road so a student swerved his car off to the side of the road in order to crush the turtle.

This is apparently great entertainment for some. My ensuing classroom rant goes on and on discussing just how warped it is for some people to derive pleasure via the pain of other living creatures whether those creatures happen to be lower mammalian life forms or other human beings.

As usual, some get what I'm talking about and others just give me blank stares as I venture off into the statistics regarding how highly correlated cruelty to animals is with people who beat their spouses or become serial killers and all that good stuff.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a tree hugger. I eat meat. I don't have a problem with hunters or farmers so don't include me in that radical fringe PETA groupthink or anything.

Of course, cruelty to others is not something exclusive to high school students. I've run into plenty of adults who seem to derive pleasure from being cruel to other humans as well. Just simply ignoring the complete lack of moral development someone who calls himself an adult must have in order to find nothing better to do with his time than to try to create pain and havoc in a fellow human's life...that type of thinking is so foreign to me....so unrecognizable as anything that could possibly serve to better one's self...I don't know. I guess it just amazes me.

Why would someone get up in the morning and decide they need to cause an innocent person pain or discomfort? Our time on this earth is so very short and we have so little time to try to achieve higher levels of thinking and achieve some sort of inner peace so we can grow as individuals and grow spiritually. Is it really that hard to recognize that time spent on such petty endeavors that are soley practiced in order to make someone else's life less enjoyable does nothing, but set us back on our moral and emotional development?

I have hurt people in the past. There's no doubt about that. Never intentionally. Not that intent necessarily gives me a pass on the amount of blame I should take for my actions, but unless outrightly attacked by someone else, I honestly cannot remember the last time I tried to inflict any kind of pain on another individual. I don't see the point in doing it. I don't see what I gain from doing it, so I don't do it. I try very hard not to engage in thought processes and actions that do nothing to advance me as an individual, a father, a brother, a son...etc.

I'm nowhere near perfect, but it does occur to me that if more people on this earth spent more time in self-reflection and less time trying to lash out at others for real or perceived wrongs...or, in some cases, because the other has what he wants or, in other cases, for no reason whatsoever...well, this would just be a much better damn place to live wouldn't it?

I just don't know why it is so hard for people to "get" that.

Consoling or Rolling

2008-01-10T12:37:00.000-08:00

Firstly, I would like to thank a random comment from a dear old friend for the title of this entry. In an email last night she told me, "You won't know if you should be consoling me, or rolling on the ground in laughter." Hence the title. I won't name her here, but I want to give her credit so I will mention it in a code so impenetrable, that not even the CIA's best could figure it out. ankthay ouyay, ereShay.

Well the last couple months like the couple before have been eventful. I was reintroduced to the world of dating. Wow, was that soooo very not cool.

At first it was a welcome distraction from what I saw as the sewage of my life. There was not a moment that I could stop feeling bad things and experiencing bad thoughts except when I was out and "aboot" as our Canadian neighbors like to say. You do know that Canada is going to take over the world some day right?

So over the course of the last six months of my life I have doubled the total amount of time I spent in bars over the last decade in an attempt to be social. Yes, I know. You are thinking, "That can't be good for you." Eh, it was either meeting friends and dates in bars or sitting at home trying to dream up new mental scenarios about what my wife and her boyfriend have been doing for the past year or so while I was at home taking care of the kid. I'll tell you what, if we can't waterboard terrorists for information we should seriously consider telling them their wives have been having sex with one of the most disgusting people on the planet...Bill O'Reilly for instance, and then let them go. Just tell them if they want to know the name and address of the offending outside partner, they'll have to come back and tell us where the nukes are or where Osama is located or whatever we want. I think it would work.

Anyhow, I decided to see what a slightly overweight, middle aged, lower middle class, but witty guy like myself would be worth on the open market. The good news is it was more than I thought. The bad part is I wasn't as ready for the market as I thought I was.

After sifting through a couple of the crazies, I did find two fantastic women. When I discovered myself getting cold feet as the relationship grew with the first one I unhesitatingly cut things off in as honest and forthright a manner as I possibly could. I told her I moved to Jamaica. In walks, this second amazing woman. Just as equally beautiful, smart, and competent as the first. Again, I had to cut it off. I did give her my Jamaican address though.

So without going into details, when the first relationship ended I thought, "Man, she's great, but I'm not feeling as intensely about it as she is." So I figured the spark wasn't there and I would just move on before things got serious. After much the same thing happened with the second one, I realized...all together now...It wasn't them. It was me.

I want to slice my veins open with a rusty carrot peeler just for saying that, but it was true. I've known no person who was more of a one woman at a time guy than me. None. I thought I was ready to dance and romance in the rubble of my marriage, but I wasn't and I ended up hurting some perfectly nice, innocent people who simply didn't need my shit.

Now I am in that waiting zone. Don't know if I should move forward. Don't know if I should step back. Don't know if I should start shopping for huts in Jamaica. Just gotta let time slide by and hopefully the answers will come to me. I just hope the answers get to me before the circus midgets do. Freakin' circus midgets...mumble, rumble, rassen, frassen.

P.S. Antidepressants: A counselor friend of mine suggested I get on a mild antidepressant for the short term to get me through the next year or so of agony. She didn't seem to think that the gallon of vodka a week was working for me all that well. I tried xanax for the anxiety attacks I was getting. That worked, but the problem was I liked it too well. I had to get off that stuff before I started sprinkling it on my toast in the morning.

The lexapro had no discernible affects. I was still having far too many dark thoughts. Try to imagine Rosie O'Donnell and Al Franken in the lead roles of the most disgusting porn film you have ever seen and you'll know just how disturbing the images in my head were at that time.

On came the Welbutrin. That seemed good at first. I was getting through my days better without the urge to lick a nine volt battery just to get my mind off things. However, after a while, the mood swings just about ended me. I would either be so deliriously happy, I would break into tears or I would be so inconsolably sad that I would break into tears. Nice. Now I am clean and dealing with shit as it comes the good old fashioned way, with a gallon of vodka a week.

Hey, it was good enough for my forefathers.

Positive, Positive, Positive

2007-11-06T19:50:00.001-08:00

Alright, it seems to have come to my attention that some folks believe I need to start thinking more positively. Fuck them, but in the spirit of putting some things down in the blog:

Went and had a good time on Halloween with my soon to be ex-wife and my kid. Days later it was made even more enjoyable by the chatter of the idiotic masses that thought that meant the ex and I were mending fences. I guess it is too much to ask that we can be civil in the presence of each other for the sake of giving our kid a happy holiday.

I cut my hand to the bone in a stupid kitchen accident. Is there such a thing as a smart kitchen accident? What's positive about that? If the knife had missed the bone, I'm sure it would have gone straight through my hand and out the other side which would have required more than the super glue and athletic tape I did use to patch the hole. Always use the right knife for the job. That's the other positive thing. I didn't hurt myself too badly and I reminded myself of a simple lesson I should have learned when I first moved out of my parent's house.

I'm breathing.

I haven't been hit by a bus...yet.

One of the students I have respected the most over my 12 year teaching career cited me as one of her inspirations to become a teacher. That simple fact will keep me teaching at least until the end of this year after which I may still switch to a less stressful job in which the state know-nothings screw with me less like maybe a state trooper or something. I've also thought about manwhoring, but I figure I'm already past a good portion of my shelf life on that one. That Deadliest Catch show on the Discovery channel has also captured my interest. Another possibility there.

I was recently pulled over by a city cop and NOT ticketed.

I've instituted martial law in my freshman English class and guess what? Only one person did not have their book with them when we did work today. That my friends, is progress.

Instead of going to college I could have chosen to be a pimento stuffer in an olive factory. Narrow miss there.

I had an artist friend at least get a few issue stint drawing for Marvel. From what I've seen, his stuff looks great. He's worked hard for this opportunity. I hope this deals him into even brighter and bigger things in the world of comic art. Personally, I'm still hoping that he will illustrate my graphic porn novel when I finally sit down to write it. It may not be any good, but all the words will be spelled correctly and it may be the only time you see the words "penultimate", "stinkeye," and "yogurt gun" in the same sentence.

Okay time to end this nonsensical blog entry and get my positive ass to bed.

Riding high on the downlow

2007-10-29T08:41:00.000-07:00

Well today is the first day of my new rules for this class of freshmen. There are a lot of good kids in the 9th grade class, but the maturity level is something you would find in a your average 3rd grade room. My old method of pushing the responsibility on to the students to get them to realize that they had to grow up, just wasn't working for this batch which is unfortunate because that is really the easiest way for them to go.

I've had to institute some draconian rules regarding passes and tardies that I haven't ever had to do before. If you knew how much I hate making rules for the sake of having rules then you would know that this is not a decision I made lightly.

The one thing that keeps letting me know I'm on the right path is there are a few students in the room that seem to actually be glad that I'm not putting up with some of the nonsense that was so frequently associated with this class in the past. Those students are really stepping up and doing far better and taking far more pride in their work than I had seen from them at the beginning of the year.

We'll see if that continues or not. I know that a lot of what I wrote is very vague, but I'm not all that comfortable speaking of my students in a public forum. Suffice it to say that I do what I do for the good of the student and not because I like to lord some sort of fictional authority over them.

Oh! Splenda!

2007-10-03T14:05:00.000-07:00

I had to go to an educational conference today. The following is a list of excerpts I jotted down in my notebook to keep myself from going insane. Anyone who has ever been to a conference that is mind numbingly boring ought to be able to identify with a few of the disjointed thoughts that popped into my disjointed head during the proceedings.

The following was penned after I heard a fellow teacher comment when she saw the diet coke cans supplied at the conference had the logo for the artificial sweetener, Splenda, splashed all over the side of the can. A five minute conversation on how surprising that was to all the fat out of shape old teachers ensued that was so achingly moronic that....well just read my notes:

Begin disjointed thoughts list:

I need to stab this pen into my temple. Oh! Splenda! Holy-o-fuck. How long has this shit been available? Since 2005? You don't grocerey shop? Go to convenience stores? You've never seen this shit? How can you not notice a new addition to a product line as ubiquitous as Coke? Oohs and aaahs abounded throughout the whole conversation debating whether they would ever be able to make the switch to the new version of diet coke. When I thought I was done listening to it...it moved into another lengthy conversation on the variety of bagels that exist.
********

I'm about to suffer death by inane insubstanial conversation.
******

Great. Now we are looking at pictures of relatives. So we get to see pictures of people we don't give a shit about being presented by people we don't give a shit about. That makes it "don't give a shit about" squared I believe.
*****

There's got to be a cliff in here. Please let there be a cliff in this room I can hurl myself from.
*****

That overhead computer projector has been on all day long. Nothing has been shown on it. Do they know the bulbs cost $300-500 each?
*****

I no longer want to stab myself in the temple. Instead I want to get shanked in the abdomen and slowly bleed out as my bowels empty into my pants just so my last moments are more pleasurable than listening to these ladies.
*****

If I had lived my entire life as a shut-in and been home schooled by a retarded parrot, I still wouldn't find anything these people are discussing remotely interesting.
*****

Can you feel an aneurysm coming on?
*****

I wonder if I started jerking off if anyone would notice.
*****

Right now I would rather have a yeti give me a prostate exam with his foot while using beach sand for lube than sit here any longer.
*****

This drop ceiling gives me nothing to throw a noose around.
*****

WWCED?
What would Clint Eastwood Do?
*****

Why is she talking to me? I'm going to have to work on my look of utter disdain.
*****

I'm waiting for someone to tell me to stop spitting n my cup. I have a chew in.
"Would you please stop doing that! It's disgusting!"

"I will stop chewing if you work on being a little less fat and disgusting. It's really bothering me. While you're at it, try to work on being less tedious, too. I think that will work for you in the long run."
*****

I'd rather have Dr. Mengele pull my ball hairs out one at a time with fishing pliers than be here. I'll even throw in all the follicles on my taint, just get me out.
*****

I'm going to fake a seizure. No, they'll call an ambulance. Shit. What is plan B?
*****

These new state requirements are as ridiculous as a monkey fucking a jug.
*****

I would rather eat bleu cheese out of Rosie O'Donnell's ass than be here. No, I wouldn't.
*****

If you beat my cerebral cortex with a stocking full of jacks, I couldn't be in more mental distress than I am right now.
*****

I've never wanted to swap places with Steve Irwin until this moment.
*****

If I killed the guy who hosts "Dirty Jobs" what are the odds I'd be hired to replace him?
*****

I would rather have worm infested gorillas pelting me with their feces while I was tied naked to a stake than be here.
*****

I'm walking up the down escalator
*****

I think I just got stupider overhearing that conversation.
*****

This is like trying to fuck with a JATO strapped to your back.
*****

How do you know you're alive?

2007-10-03T13:57:00.000-07:00

I bleed to know I'm alive. Every day my heart beats, by lungs pulse, my limbs move, my brain fires. How come I don't know I'm alive until I bleed? Some days the sun shines. Sometimes I laugh. Most times I don't. Some days my bones ache. Sometimes flexing my muscles feels good. I have just existed every day of my life.

So how come I have to bleed to be alive? Why does it take a bloodletting for me to ponder the hard questions? Why do I have to stand on the apex of the fulcrum, teetering one way or the other before I realize that life and the way I feel is important to me?

I could be what I want or I could just continue. I can risk or exist. What do I need? What do I want? Where do those two things intersect? Do they intersect?

Bleeding doesn't have to leave a scar. Too many choose to let the bleed limit them. It weakens them to the point they are afraid to reach higher. I choose not to do that. When a bone breaks, the process of healing actually makes the bone stronger than before. That's what the bleed will do for me. My base will thicken and expand. I will reach beyond, reach farther than I ever thought I could. I refuse to be otherwise. I don't want to exist. I want to be alive and that is my choice.

I am bone.

Ever Get Your Ass Kicked by a Six Year Old?

2007-10-01T14:41:00.000-07:00

I’ve got nothing too clever planned for this entry, but the important part is I get back to writing at this point so here goes:

Ever get your ass kicked by a six year old? Me neither, but at times like yesterday I was certainly glad that six year olds are physically weaker than adults. I hung my heavy and striking bags last night. The kid was there with me the whole way. After taking some time adjusting things and showing her how to tape her hands, she and I went ten three minute rounds. She hung with me the whole way and then embarrassed me by doing a minute’s worth of jumping jacks between rounds while I was bent over panting and sweating toxins out of my body.

This all evolved after being able to excavate all my ex-wife’s stuff from the basement. And by “stuff” I mean “absolute shitpile.” I now have room for this equipment that I always wanted. See I’m not negative all the time. I’m actually enjoying having a clean house. What’s even better, when I leave the house and it’s clean…when I come back to it…it’s still clean. Really cool stuff and a nice change for me.

I’ll continue to be positive. I need the practice at it. I’ll even thank myspace. Because of myspace, I know what the guy looks like that was bumping uglies with my wife which adds a considerable edge to my basement pummeling sessions. Since I left my heavy bag outside for the duration of my summer regimen, my waterlogged 75 lb bag weighs about 125 right now and it makes this really cool “smwhack” whenever I tag it well. I like to picture blood exploding from a certain nose whenever a cross registers and rattles the floor beam my bag is attached to. Immature? Yeah, but I get some slack due my circumstances don’t I? The bag sessions work better than my xanax anyways.

I’m not much a braggart and I know the old adage about “the bigger they are, the harder they fall” and all that, but I’ve been doing this stuff for years and I can set down on and throw a pretty decent punch if I say so myself. Aside from that, and this runs in the male side of my family…I kinda have what is known as retard strength when I get angry. So sometimes I go to sleep at night imagining what would happen if fuckface and I ever crossed paths. That will never happen. Not much good ever happens to me.

Okay, back to trying to be positive. Oh, regarding the single life. Y’know I’m not the anti-Christ my ex made me believe I was. Apparently there’s room for an educated nice guy that doesn’t look quite as ugly as a bag of hammers in the single world. I’ve even met a couple of women who actually treat me like I may be an enjoyable sort to hang around with. Seems, my ex was the only one treated me like an asshole. So it’s nice to be out from under that and begin building my self-esteem back up.

Anyways, back to the six year old. Check out these pics. I know in that one pic she missed with that straight right, but check out the intensity in her gaze and notice she’s not hitting with the palm side of the fist. She’s got those knuckles squared and ready to remove some offender’s teeth. That punch is a fat lip for some kid that pisses her off in the future. Do you want to face off with her? I thought not. My goal is to train her enough so she can kick the living shit out of any boy she dates. Hope you are ready for her boys. It will be a few years before I have to worry about that, but by then she’ll be prepared.

I WILL meet all of her dates before they go out. Whoa to the first teenager who picks up my daughter and sits in the car in the driveway and honks the horn. If I get enough advance warning of the date, my plan is to be outside with my shirt off splitting wood with my 16 lb moll. If he has the balls to get past the pre-date interview with me, then I guess I’ll let him have a shot taking my kid out.

I love my kid. She’s been through enough pain these past months due to no fault of her own and no fault of mine so I have to admit I’m feeling a little overprotective lately.

It was just a great time yesterday in the basement. The kid and I both hitting those bags at the same time was pure pleasure. I wonder if she was thinking about that fuckface from myspace, too? I know it takes two to tango and that my ex was equally at fault for the indiscretions, but I’ve never been a big fan of hitting women…even the ones who deserve it; so I’ll have to content myself with sickly macabre thoughts of pulling this guy’s limbs off one at a time and eating his still beating heart while it pumps blood down my chest. Ahhhhh, that thought makes me feel warm inside. Like Christmas morning.

2007-09-30T08:45:00.000-07:00

Here's the Deal

2007-09-30T08:04:00.001-07:00

Everything posted below this was originally posted on myspace which I am now avoiding like the plague. Y'see it seems, my wife met some guy on myspace and has been boning him for almost a year now. You can still see her pic on my friends list at myspace in her sports bra with those tight little abs. Yeah, I took that picture. She maintains that little body partially by working as a professional trainer after passing the test that I helped her study for....twice. So after fifteen years of being faithful and trying to help her through her six different kinds of crazy, it all went for naught as she decided she would bone the guy who raped her in high school. Yes, you heard me right. His name is John Scott and you can look him up on myspace, too. My wife's picture will be on his "friends" list, too. The divorce isn't final, but it will be soon enough. You two deserve each other. Have fun.

So, that's the reason for the new digs, the lack of posts and everything else. Now I'm trying to get back into the writing swing. The previous stuff I transferred over in its entirety from myspace except for a rather embarrassing poem I wrote while I was battling depression a few months back due to my marital situation. I declined to repost that. I notice some of the stuff is out of order and not formatted to make it easier to read, but I believe it all is still understandable.

Don't worry about me. I've got lots of friends and family supporting me. My vision gets a little clearer every day and I'm able to see that I was suffering what was basically mental abuse at the hands of my wife for years and I'm now rolling forward. I've lost about 40 lbs recently. I believe they call it the infidelity diet. My workouts have been frequent and I feel physically better than I have in years. I'm off to hang a heavy bag in the basement and work off some bitterness at even having to dicuss my wife's antics, but in the end, I think writing about it and letting the world know what I've been going through could be therapeutic for me and hopefully mildy entertaining for others who may come here, just to have a laugh or two at my expense. That's okay. Later

2007-09-30T07:59:00.001-07:00

Next Post

Hoookay, well that weight of 265ish I mentioned in my last post. Better make that 270. Yay. Avoiding mirrors is getting to be one of my best talents. Despite that, once in a while when I get out of the shower I still slip up and glance to that reflective menace on my left and I am simply amazed at how much my upper body looks like a pile of mashed potatoes with nipples. Mmmm, mmm. That's good eatin'.

Sigh...small steps. With that in mind I'm trying to slowly get my shiftless carcass used to activity again. I'm so far out of shape at this point that I have to get into shape before I can start working out again. The last three weekends I've managed to get a lot of yard work and errand running done. Tonight I even managed to come home after work and do a little gardening...a pasttime I have never liked, but I thought it might get me outside a little bit and provide some activity.

Getting off my ass after dinner is a big deal for me. I've been battling a thyroid condition for a few years now and my routine for most of the last year has involved struggling to remain awake at the wheel long enough to get home feed myself and go to sleep.

"Thyroid condition" Damn I hate that term. I used to constantly belittle those fat housewives who always pushed the blame for their ballooning asses off on a "thyroid condition." I suppose it is poetic justice to a point for me to eventually find out that such a condition really does exist and really does suck big donkey dick. At least now I know I'm not crazy when I kept telling myself that I wasn't eating enough calories to support my body weight all this time. It's nice to be right once in a while.

So the immediate plan is to lose some of body fat through making a few dietary changes and hitting the heavy bag until I get back down to around 255 or so. By then I'll feel a little more like a human being enough to get back into the gym. Right now, all my clothes look like I'm wearing spandex because it's all so tight and uncomfortable. I do notice my mental faculties returning of late, too which is nice. Did you know that a severe thyroid disorder can affect your ability to think in complete sentences? At one point I thought I had finally had that one shot too many of whiskey and had finally fried the brain cells that were responsible for me being able to maintain enough of an attention span to wipe my own ass. I'm only partly joking about that. Nothing like having a handful of dirty toilet paper and having to exercise extreme concentration to remember what you are supposed to do with the paper next.

I'll start posting progress reports regarding my current attempts at getting my shit back together as necessary. I teach high school and in the back of my mind I keep waiting for summer vacation before I kick myself into high gear. I know that's a cop out in and of itself, but like I said, small steps. I work most of the summer, too, but my summer job is considerably less mentally fatiguing and I tend to get to the gym much more in the summer anyways.

Hopefully at some point I'll be able to focus on writing something more entertaining in this blog other than dwelling on this deteriorating slum I call a body.

First Blog Ever

2007-09-30T07:58:00.001-07:00

First blog ever.

Okay, so I started this blog to try to get myself out of this huge funk I'm in and to have a little bit of fun. I've never taken part in a blog before so I figure I don't want to mess up someone else's so I may as well mess up my own.

Suffice it to say that I'm having a hard time getting to where I should be mentally, physically and every other wise. So maybe by making myself vent a little here and there I can somehow figure out what the hell it is I'm doing vs what it is I should be doing.

Right now I imagine my posts will range anywhere from weird dreams I've had to melancholy bottom of the whiskey bottle type melodrama, to posts designed to kick myself in the ass, to vicious rants about the many, many stupid and lazy people I deal with on a daily basis.

I guess let's start with the basics. After several medical problems in the last couple years I think it is safe to say that I'm almost in the worst shape of my life. I'm 5' 6" tall and weigh in the neighborhood of 265. Now that's a lotta drippy, hangy, disgustingness wrapped into one package, but it isn't quite as bad as it seems. I'm not ready for my own Discovery Channel episode yet where they have to knock out a wall and swing me out of my bed with a crane. Not yet anyways. I do have a decent base of muscle underneath all this and I reckon if I got down to 210 or so, I could probably see my abs again. I mean...I'm assuming they are still there somewhere and haven't moved out seeking better quarters yet.

I'm not going to get into the medical conditions or the runs of bad luck or any of that crap that no one wants to hear about just yet. They will probably come out as I go along with this blog anyways. I just don't want to start out with a bunch of whiny "poor me" bullshit. I know things could always be worse. I could lose my job and be re-hired as a suppository inserter for other fat people who can't quite make the reach around to their own anuses (ani?) for example.

Whew. Well, first entry out of the way and I'm out of time. The first entry is the toughest right? We'll find out over the next few weeks

A Shot in the Ass

2007-09-30T07:57:00.000-07:00

A Shot in the Ass

Finally went to the doc after being pushed and prodded by a friend. I gave him a buzz to catch up with what was going on at work because I had missed three consecutive days which is not typical for me in the least. During that time I had coughed up enough clots of semi-solids from my lungs to feed a family of five for a month. I told him I had convinced a local doctor to squeeze me in, in five days. Said friend's reply was delicate, well thought out, and comforting. I believe it went something like, "Dude, you sound like shit. You better get in some place sooner than that! That thing...in your voice....nnnnnnnot goooooood." Up until that point I had thought that I just had a persistent bug...the kind that sticks around for 12-16 weeks. Y'know. Typical spring cold and flu stuff. After that phone call I began wondering what the beginning stages of leprosy were, so I got on the phone and found a doc willing to see me sooner. It meant having to take the next day off work, but I decided maybe I should listen to someone for once.

Things went well at the doc's office with the exception of that scion from Ol' Scratch himself. Most of you might know him by his lay name, the scale. 268 pounds of fighting shape I'm apparently in. That is if you consider the shape of a weeble wobble a fighting shape. I never let the nurse touch the slides on the scale anymore. They usually put the large weight on the 200, then work it up to the next notch...eye me curiously like I might be smuggling lead bird shot in my rectum and then notch it up again and again. I just save them the trouble now.

The doctor had good news for me and assured me that leprosy hadn't been seen in our neck of the woods in quite a while. I'm going to share the name of my doctor with you. I won't share a lot of real names here, but this one is too good to pass up. She is of East Indian descent and her name, I'm not kidding, is Dr. Farah Khan. Do you think her folks did that on purpose? Anyways, after several rattling breaths and coughs from me and several concerned looks from my stethoscope laden anti-semite (just Wikkipedia Farrakhan if you have to...don't be ashamed), I was whisked to X-ray, the blood lab, and back to the doc's office.

She asked if I had been sick for a while. I asked her if three-four months was considered a "while." She favored me with a withering humorless look that I thought only wives could give their husbands and told me aside from my ear infection, sinus infection, and pneumonia, I was fine. (How come she gets to make with the dry humor and I just get cold looks when I try it? It's my insurance paying for my time there. Least she could do is pretend to find me amusing. Damned, anti-semites.) Then I got a laundry list of antibiotics. I get this really cool inhalant antibiotic. I'm trying to think of some cool way to use it to my advantage. Like passing out in the supermarket and having my five year old daughter pretend to freak out while digging my inhaler out of my pocket. She would proabably start laughing and wreck the whole thing though. She's like that. I also get some pills and BONUS, I get not one but two shots....in my ass.

Now, I'm not afraid of needles, but I haven't had to pull my skivvies down in a doctor's office and bend over since I was about five and had to get shots. I took it like a man. I figured, I'm four years from my first prostate exam so I may as well get used to it. I'm still hoping that before then they'll come up with some home kit for prostate exams involving a dental mirror and a back scratcher. Either that or they'll start making prostate exams more home friendly. Y'know how you can't open a workout mag or even sift through your wife's Cosmo without there being some article in there about how either the woman can do her own breast exam or have her "partner" do her breast exam for her? I'm hoping before I get to the big 4-OH, that prostate exams will be more acceptable to perform at home. "Honey, if you loved me you would check this for me. What? No, the leather chaps and the ball gag aren't necessary for the exam, but they do add a little something don't they?"

The shots weren't bad. I was worried for a second about just how far to drop trou. If you don't pull your pants down far enough, then it's makes you feel even more vulnerable when the nurse has to sigh and tell you, "A little more. No, more than that. Please sir, I have other patients and I'm not enjoying this view." On the other hand wouldn't it be embarassing if you pulled your pants down too far and then the nurse was wondering if you were trying to expose her to a rear scrotum view on purpose? I've seen a front view of my scrotum and I'm willing to bet the rear view is less appetizing. Apparently I guessed right as I didn't hear her snickering either then or while I was outside at the payment desk. The important thing is, I'm back on the healing track. I went to work today. I'm still in need of catching up on sleep, but I'm feeling a little better every day. I can't wait to see what goes wrong next.

That Bitch Janice

2007-09-30T07:55:00.000-07:00

That bitch, Janice.

Wow, I can't believe it's been almost three weeks since my last posting. During that time, I've gone through the final two weeks of school and the end of the year paperwork blitz, done a bunch of preparations for bargaining meetings because we are up for contract renewal, and mowed my lawn it feels like about every other damn day, gone to a send off party for my neice whom I believe is going to a hair school, completely avoided the awkwardness of going to any of my students' graduations parties, gone on the end of the school year bender, and finally felt healthy enough for two workouts in a row.

None of any of that is striking any chords with me at the moment, but I had this dream last night with such a combination of images that I can't get it off my mind. So I'm going to write about it.

The dream starts out where I'm walking through my elementary school yard with Janice. Now I do and have known several Janices of various spellings in my life. I currently work with one who helps our teacher's union negotiate. I believe Janice was the name of the first girl I ever held hands with. I currently have a dear friend of the same name although it has been so long since I've seen her, I am starting to wonder if she were ever real or simply an imaginary friend I should have outgrown by now. I'm sure I've had at least one student named Janice in some year or other.

The Janice in my dream was different however. The Janice in my dream was the sister of Tony Soprano. The ultimate self-serving, self-deluding, leetch bitch of all time. Her character is so annoying, cloying, and dastardly brilliant in her own way, that I recently had to turn off the episode of The Sopranos I was viewing because I was having violent thoughts towards my television. I don't know if she reminds me of the negative aspects of women I have encountered over the years or what, but I react to seeing her face on-screen the same way overly sensitve dogs react to a dog whistle. Either whining and hunched down on the carpet or nervously pacing around with a look of what-the-fuck?

Enough back story. Back to the dream. I'm slowly walking on a sunny afternoon across my elementary school yard. I'm a grown man. Sopranos Janice is 1/2 step behind me and close enough our arms brush as they swing. Once in a while I can feel her grabbing for my arm or hand and I ignore her. I vaguely have this feeling of regret. Like I did something bad. Although I can't remember a single word Janice said, I know she is trying to convince me to stay with her. I don't want to. There is some sense of guilt in that. The guilt either stems from the fact that I cheated on someone with her or because I deeply regretted rutting with something as hideous as Janice. I can't tell which, but either way I feel like I am a less respectable man for whatever unknowns I did before the opening sequence of my dream.

I wish Janice would stop clinging to me. I wish she would leave me alone because I feel like I have to or want to go. There are other people around, but their faces are all blurred out like the censored private parts on Asian porn sites. Then the scene switches abruptly. (I kinda think something happened that I no longer remember between these scenes, but I was running too late to write this down this morning when it was so much more clear.) I am now in the foyer of the school standing behind my motorcycle. Janice is still behind me reaching for me. The freedom of the open road surges forward in me in an almost uncontrollable way. Y'know how when you really have to pee and you finally walk into a restroom and it's almost like your bladder knows you are close to release and you really have to fight back that urge to start pissing before you even get your pants undone? Yeah, I know. I'll submit that to the board of bad metaphors myself later, but that's pretty much what it was like.

The promise of freedom almost makes my hands sweat and suddenly I'm tense because I'm so close to being gone that I'm not operating efficiently. Suddenly I see the motorcycle kickstand start to slide out from under it on the smooth stone foyer floor. I reach the bike in time and grab the back end and right it several times, but every time I tip it to allow the kickstand to get under it, the kickstand just slides out again when I lean the bike onto it. Finally, with much fucking around and with Janice's voice still burrowing into my skull behind me, I lean the bike against myself and manage to shuffle close enough to my kickstand to see that there is a nut loose and that is why the kickstand isn't holding. The odd part is, it was more like a bicycle kickstand and not a motorcycle kickstand.

From there I think I put the kickstand up and found something to lean the bike on. All I really know is the sense of the bike leaning on me is now gone at this point. I move farther forward on the bike and notice large hunks of chrome flaked off the forks. The forks also are not realistic to my real bike. Not only have large chunks of chrome fallen off, but the exposed metal beneath is all rusted like a large amount of time had passed since it had started peeling. It is nothing catastrophic to the mechanisms of the bike. I can still run it, but I also realize my nature won't let me run the bike like that for long. I will take the forks off, package them, send them to a chromer, and pay large amounts of money for that service even though I know I don't have the money to pay. Mostly I feel a sense of...here is something that needs fixing, but I don't have a prayer in the world of coming up with the cash to do it. I'm even more dreading the time I have to put into pulling the forks off the bike and sending them out.

That's about it for the dream. Some of the stronger images I'm still aware of in the dream were of the sun as I crossed the playground and again the sun coming through the foyer windows and falling on my bike. The image of that out of place kickstand stays with me as well as that rusty hunk of metal staring at me from under the missing chrome. Strangely, Sopranos Janice's face never appeared in the dream. She was always behind me. I just knew it was her. There has to be something with time going on here. I'm an adult in the dream, but the setting is a place I last set foot on when I was about 11 or 12. The chrome flaked off recently, but the rust underneath required a passage of at least several seasons. Some sort of mid-life crisis kinda dream or what? Is Janice not a woman at all, but all my guilt personified? My bike, even though it is freedom to me, is it also a burden? So is this one of those, "Material things weigh you down." dreams?

Fucked if I know. I'm still left with a sense of wanting to get the hell away. Away from that playground. Away from Janice. Away from the bike's problems even. Maybe I'll have the dream again tonight and I'll have another whack at figuring this one out.

The Idiots That Are

2007-09-30T07:54:00.000-07:00

The Idiots That Are.

I like to think of myself as a relatively easy going guy. I think most of my students would agree. Well in two short weeks of riding with driver education students I've had run ins with two people that really found the button to push on me and I hope they die with festering boils.

The first one was a flag person at a construction zone. The students and I had commented over the course of the week how seriously she took her job. By "job" I mean "herself." She should have become a cop because bullying and self-righteousness was obviously in her blood. Sorry to take a stab at cops there. I have a couple friends who are are great guys and I'm sure they are good cops, but even they would admit that the police force has more than it's share of dickheads and bullies.

Without a chalkboard it's hard to explain what went down in the driver ed van leading up to my moment with the glorified crossing guard, but suffice it to say, she messed up and ended up waving ahead a couple of logging trucks down the lane we were in. The only lane available. Still not a problem except that they were going the opposite way we were. If you want to see a true test of a driver education student's mettle, I think putting them into a possible head-on collision with a fully loaded logging truck might just do the trick.

Avoiding all harm and making every right choice possible, as I cutomarily do, we slipped into a parking lot at the last minute. After the road was safe for right of way traffic, I had the student go back to the highway where we were stopped by McGruff the Crime Dick and her vaunted stop sign. This chick was swell. Really swell. As in swollen. Really swollen. I didn't think an object as round as her could, but she did indeed swagger over to our driver education van. Her first words were, "Do you know why I'm stopping you?"

Ummmm, you thought our van was made of Haagen Daz?

Nope, yer teachin' them wrong.

These weren't the words I wanted to hear after Bluto had just incorrectly directed traffic at a van full of children. I tried the politeness route once. I tried the politeness route twice. Apparently she thought we had tried to cut the corner to avoid the construction zone. Despite the fact that I pointed out she was incorrect and I had three kids in the van to back up my story she insisted I was wrong and that I was terribly lucky she didn't report me. The conversation escalated from there. Ending with a concise and well elocuted, "Kiss my ass!" from me before we drove away. Within 1/2 mile I thought of about a dozen zippier things I could have said to her before we left her talking to herself.

The second incidence occurred when I directed a student into a turning lane in preparation for a left turn. At some point while signaling and pulling into the turning lane the correct way (Good job, Samantha) a red, open top Jeep came screaming the opposite way straight at us. Now the Jeep did signal, but that's about the only thing it did right. It blew into the turning lane at about 15 mph over the speed limit about a ¼ of a mile before it got to us. Just for the record, it didn't have to actually turn left for about another 1/4 of a mile after it eventually passed us. So now, for the second time we are in a lane facing oncoming traffic and let me tell you, this was one upset female driver!!!! Arms flailing, greasy, white wife beater bulging in and out with the pulsations of a midsection that was just a little too big to be referred to as Rubenesque, and a mouth that could have deep throated a fire hydrant sat there heaping curses on us from the Jeep.

If I had been alone I would have just laughed and sat calmly in the turning lane for the barslut to get the fuck out of my way. But, I did have kids in the car who were getting a little freaked out so we signaled, pulled back into traffic, went around the evildoer (That word does feel good. I think I know why George W. uses it all the time.) Said evildoer stared my kids and myself down the entire time we were creeping past. Again, if alone that would have made me laugh harder, but when students are with me, I get protective and again my mouth got the better of me as I informed her through the open window what a fat ugly whorebag she was. I probably shouldn't have done that. If the boyfriend who was in the passenger seat of that Jeep reads this in the near future, I want you to know that I saw you there looking rather sheepish as I'm sure you realized that your girlfriend was in the wrong....oh, and one other thing, RUN! RUN AWAY FAST! I don't care how well she sucks your dick or if she does that thing you like involving baby oil and pork rinds! Get the hell away while you still can.

So what did these incidents have in common that irked me to the point of using inappropriate language around my students? The first thing I can think of is that both of those situations put my kids in danger. The second thing and I think the one that really, really set me off was both of them fucked up and didn't realize they fucked up. In fact, they didn't realize they fucked up so bad that they thought we had fucked up and insisted despite all evidence to the contrary that we were wrong. This is an elite level of ignorance. If you are an intelligent person, don't even try to achieve this level of ignorance. I saw someone try it once and he is now a vegetable. I'll probably never see my little Tweedledee flag person again once her job is finished (Unless I go to the moon. She might still be visible from there.) and I doubt I'll see my blonde haired Jeepslut again, but every time I read or someone speaks the word "ignoramous" I want you to know that I'll think of you two first.

Bout Damn Time

2007-09-30T07:53:00.000-07:00

Bout Damn Time

Wow, time sure flies when you're busier than hell. Glad to say that not all of it has been busy with occupational work and etc. I've knocked about 30 jobs off the "Get done before the end of summer" list in my first week off after driver ed shut down. I also I took in Ozzfest at Alpine Valley this past weekend. The setup at Alpine Valley kinda makes me think about what it would be like to have an ice cream man design bridges or something.

The first fuckamarole was a guard rail set up around the second stage to keep it from getting too crowded close to the band. You had to get there at about 7-8 a.m. to get a special wristband to let you into this privileged area. Not the worst idea in the world except that it was one of the best kept secrets of the show. Keep in mind that this is an all day metal festival that goes on for about 13+ hours and not that many people want to be there for the whole thing. I like metal, but 13+ hours is too much for me in one day. If you weren't allowed inside the guard rail you had to stay back far enough from the band to really damage the concert experience. It didn't help that while I was right near the guard rail, I got to watch the privileged few do calisthenics and play tag like kids because they had so much elbow room in there. I managed to get one row away from the rail and I still ended up watching over half the concert on the big screen. Great. My brother-in-law has a 65 inch flat screen t.v. that I could have enjoyed just as much for a lot less money. Since the special orange arm band thing wasn't publicized, anyone more than four rows outside of Graceland had no idea why they were so far back from the stage and kept surging forward trying to get closer, not knowing there was a guard rail fifteen feet in front of them. Again, great stuff.

The main stage consisted of about oh....four hundred acres of seats before the lawn seating began which meant you could stand right behind the seats and still not be able to recognize individual band members. Of course, if I had just wanted to take out that second mortgage on the house, I could have bought tickets in the seat acreage, but I decided against that course of action. Also, for some reason, they decided not to run the second stage and main stage bands together this time. So instead of people heading back and forth to catch the bands they wanted and socializing when it was time to take a break from the mosh pits and crowd surfing, people just gave up trying to see the stage and lagged way in the back of the crowd. The social atmosphere of this thing was severely retarded as a result of this major feat of planning. Not to mention it also made it harder and harder to see the bands you wanted to see because the crowd wasn't split up between two ends of the fairgrounds.

Those major bitches out of the way, Alpine Valley had two things going for it. A)I never had to wait in line for beer and B)I never had to wait in a line longer than three people for a piss. Other than that, I can only hope that Ozzfest returns to Somerset, WI again in the future because my experience at Somerset will last me a lifetime. My experience at Alpine Valley was okay, but I surely don't see myself ever spending that much time and energy to see a music festival there again. I think next summer I'll have to check out the Fox Valley and the SummerFest they hold there annually.

Ted Koppel and Jesus

2007-09-30T07:52:00.002-07:00

Ted Koppel and Jesus

Okay, I didn't hang on every word of last night's Discovery Channel episodes of The Lost Tomb of Jesus and the follow up, A Critical Look, but it sure seemed to me that the panel that was supposed to be offering an educated critical look at the film seemed more like folks desperately seeking any way to criticize than to actually debunk what was said during the course of the film.

Instead Koppel couldn't get past the use of the dramatizations Jacobovici, the director, used to illustrate the questions raised by the archaeological findings. Koppel hammered Jacobovici over and again for using what is a very common technique in docudramas.

Apparently Koppel thought that Jacobovici was using those little excerpts of Jesus and Mary preaching or hanging laundry to unfairly influence the audience to believe the facts and theories he was presenting during his film. I don't think Koppel could have been more distressed by those dramatizations if they had depicted Jesus sodomizing puppies in the backroom of a Country Kitchen. Of course, the irony of immediately showing Noah's Ark: The True Story immediately after the Koppel criticisms was not lost on me. It is okay for the church to use dramatizations in order to convince folks of whatever they want, but woe be to the journalist who uses dramatizations to support his findings. It was okay for the Noah's ark crew to use dramatizations because they were using them to validate a Biblical story instead of question a Biblical story. In fairness, maybe Koppel would be as equally repelled by the Noah's ark film as he was by The Lost Tomb. Somehow I doubt it.

The other thing Jacobivici was railed on for was the fact that not enough scientific testing was done for his data to be irrefutable. He was chastised for this over and over again despite Jacobovici saying right off the top that he wants more scientific testing to be done and that he wants there to be more open dialogue on the subject. Jacobovici also went out of his way to say that his findings are NOT irrefutable proof that Jesus' body remained on earth and that he popped out a kid with the help of the lovely Mary Magdalene. He iterated that there was enough evidence to warrant continued investigation. That's what he said, but apparently what the opposing panel heard was, "I'm going to tear down your church, shit in the confessional, and eat your children." because they obviously weren't interested in what Jacobovici actually said, they only wanted to pick and tear at him and his work.

Several times, what Jacobovici actually said was ignored so his opponents could continue to rip on him. I don't have a transcript and I only watched the episode once. (I'm poor. Tivo and I are not yet friends.) I seem to remember one of Jacobovici's detractors, let's call him Mr. Stickuphisass, saying something like, I happen to know Dr. Whosisfuksis, and he says that you misrepresented what he said. Jacobovici replied (not an exact quote) "It's an unedited section of tape. Dr. Whosisfucksis said it. It's on tape." Apparently those words meant nothing to the opposing panel which just kept repeating the same inane comment over and over again.

I really could give a crap if Jesus' body went to heaven or if it was sent to a glue factory in east Herzegovina, but if the debates on the topic of Jesus' Tomb are to be continued, I hope the panel of scientists and theologians the church utilizes come off a little better than they did in last night's debate. Even with Koppel's biased mediating, I thought they came off looking petulant instead of presenting viable opposing views that were worthy of further discussion.

Bikers and Easter Carnivals

2007-09-30T07:52:00.001-07:00

Bikers and Easter Carnivals

After a disappointing lack of outrage over my last couple of boob blog entries I figured I'd go other after other prey.

I took my daughter to the local Young Men's Christian Association Easter Carnival Fundraiser this past weekend. Let me tell you, I find most bikers in the bars I frequent during my riding months to be ten times more polite and enjoyable to be around than the flotsam that comes out to frequent these things. Most of the kids that attended the carnival were great. It's the parents of the kids I can't stand for the most part. I've prepared a little comparison list to illustrate my obvious bias. For the ease of posting, I'll use the abbreviation YSF in place of Yuppie Scum Fucktard.

Situation: One of them cuts in front of you.

What they are thinking:
YSF: My kids, my life, my situation is so infinitely more important than your kid, life, and situation that if I can get away with cutting in front of you so that my two boys can enjoy the infinite pleasures of a homemade plywood Plinko board one minute earlier, then I'll do it and I won't even know that what I did was wrong.

Biker: I really didn't see you there. I don't really care that I cut in the beer line in front of you, but if I had seen you there, I'd be just as likely to buy you a beer and shoot the shit for a minute or two in order to be sociable. I didn't cut because I think I'm better than you. I just really like beer.

You'll notice that the biker isn't perfect either, but he has no illusions that his presence on this earth is any more or less important than yours.

Situation: Someone randomly asks, "Do you know where your kid is?"

YSF: I'm not sure. I haven't seen him since I loaded him up with Pez and Mountain Dew. I'm not worried, since he is 78 pounds overweight at the ripe old age of 9 because I let him sit in front of his XBox all day long. I'm sure he won't be that hard to find. Just follow the scent of impending diabetic death and it will lead to him. Please don't talk to me again unless it is really important. I'm busy updating my fantasy Lacrosse league on my blackberry.

Biker: He should be about halfway back from that keg with my beer or he's gonna get a steeltoe up his ass.

Notice again, although not perfect, the biker assigns his kid some responsibility in an effort to mold his offspring into a functional member of society. The task did involve physical activity and consequences to aid in motivation.

Situation: Child is obnoxiously misbehaving.

YSF: For male children, this usually starts and ends with the parent constantly repeating whatever vaguely gay sounding name they gave to their kid while still trying to uphold a conversation. For example: "Calgary, stop that. Calgary. Calgary. Calgary. I don't know why he does this. Calgary. Calgary. He must get it from his mother *giggle*. Calgary, you know Daddy told you that was something you should do in private. Calgary. Calgary. Calgary. Calgary..."

Biker: "What the hell do you think you are doing? Jeeez-esss. Go wash your hands. Bring me back a beer when you are done. Oh, you're not going to do that again are you *arches eyebrow*. "

Notice how efficiently the problem was solved. A real parent doesn't need to raise his voice to get his point across. Especially if enough discipline has been previously administered in the privacy of the home. No repeated threats. No bargaining. It's just done. Again the child is given another beer errand to give him something constructive to do. Idle hands and all that.

Situation: Individual is accosted about why they didn't attend some friend or another's barbecue/birthday party/christening/ass waxing.

YSF: Well, that was the same weekend that I was having my teeth whitened (lie) and having the Escalade waxed and then Richard wasn't feeling well (lie) and little Calgary was being grounded (lie) so it really wasn't good timing. Well I have to get off the phone. Aunt Liza is in rehab again and my call waiting is ringing.(lie finitum)

Biker: Nah, I didn't really feel like going because I was up all night drinking the night before so I just said fucket.

Again, the brevity and honesty of the biker can only be admired. After all, haven't we all done or wanted to do that at some point? I'm not really insulted if someone doesn't come to one of my gatherings. I truly have a "more beer for me" attitude about that sort of thing. It might be a little embarassing if I was throwing the party in their honor and they didn't show, but that hasn't happened to me yet so I won't worry about it.

According to my scorecard, the bikers shut out the fucktards four to oh. So, the next time you are traveling through some town and in need of a beer and burger rest stop, try a biker joint. You'll be glad you did. They'll be glad you did, too because they'll probably spend most of their time laughing at you and pissing on the tires of your Civic. Relax, that means they like you. If they didn't like you, they would piss on the door handles.

RE: Gazongas

2007-09-30T07:49:00.000-07:00

March 12, 2007 - Monday
RE: Gazongas

It seems that a comment was made on my original Gazongas post. I began a reply, but it got too long so I decided to make it another entry unto itself.

Original comment to Gazongas post by kim:
regardless of The Pickle, i bet there are women out there who are smart AND have boobs. and i bet there are women who got boobs b/c THEY wanted them.

our lives don't revolve around men after all.

imagine.

i definately still want a boob job.

My reply to kim:

I should have known you would pipe in on this. I would have been disappointed if you hadn't. What I'm referring to in the rant...notice the name "rant" which gives me some entitlement to use generalizations to make a point otherwise I would have labeled it as a debate topic or legal brief or some such tommyrot...anyways the rant refers to the trend today to seek superficial fixes to what ails us.

Depressed? Go buy some new clothes. Feeling empty? Run down to the local Quik Lube implant place and get an oil change and some new jugs.

Feeling inadequate? How about some new hair or some calf implants or pec implants?

How about we seek inside ourselves for the reasons we don't feel complete, happy, satisfied, proud of ourselves?

If someone never wakes up happy with herself, I don't think a new set of tits is going to help anymore than if she runs out and blows $500 on a shopping spree. It won't help any more than when a fat, middle aged balding man goes out and buys a convertible.

People need to seek inside themselves. Examine lifestyle. Examine honesty. Examine conduct. Examine work ethic. Examine social interaction. Maybe with some powers of self-reflection one can find what is really the source of the problem instead of grabbing for an artificial band-aid approach that only makes someone feel better for a short time.

As for wanting to get a boob job because of a man, the motivation is really beside the point. It's still a topical oinment being applied in order to fix an internal injury.

I would rather see women become more strong and sure of themselves than to continue to feed into the body image delusions being propagated by every magazine and plastic surgery hut in the U.S.

I really hate how every magazine and cosmetic surgery place has put so much money the last decade or two into making people feel like fixing your outside will make you feel better. Take the quick fix. It works! There's nothing wrong with the easy way out! C'mon, everybody's doing it.

It kind of reminds me of the ad campaigns for cigarettes and fast food. There's nothing wrong with our product. Just try it. The quick fix trend is just as dangerous. There is even evidence to show that plastic surgery is addictive just like fast food and nicotine, too.

Wedge's Rants, Rumblings and Written Refuse

Warning Shot

This is what will end up killing me.

Recall petition

I'm going to stab you.

In case you didn't realize it, I'm a teacher.

It's late and I am highly irritated.

Wedge HarrisJosh MoreauSomeone pissed me off. May want to check out my profile. This whole situation has me a tiddle bit on edge.

Wedge HarrisScott Walker lied to his constituents about the platform he would run on. It's really no more plain and simple than that. One of his biggest supporters...the Wisconsin Law Enforcement have already turned on him because he is a liar.

Wedge Harris

Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo

Sometimes cops are really hard to like.

I reiterate: You are a dumbass.

Steve LesperanceDo u ever get that icky feelingwhen you buy something you really didn't need?

By request.

Things I couldn't care less about.

Caption Crap

Do Not Try This At Home...Our Tester is a Trained Idiot.

My Inner Crowd is Going Wild

Beware this Blog post.

Christmas Stories that Never Really Caught On.

I think randomly.

My pimp car is strong.

Mickey Redmond Drinking Game

UPWP

Scatterings

So, how has your week been?

The best defense against an anonymous detractor? ....blogging

Ok...where do I start?

Forests and Trees

DirecTV vs Dishmyass

I knew I could do it.

One more reason why Michigan sucks testicles.

My kid is an honor student. I is not.

My mental monkey is throwing its own poop.

It's not that I'm a bad person...

Public Mind Defecation

Gag!

Hey

Monday, May 11, 2009

Red Wings Photoshops

The Noise

Don't Own These or You are a Massive Tool

Well Shut My Mouth!

The River

Got No Reason

Game Show Ideas for the Sophomoric and Twisted

Current Playlist

Slamming

More mental drippings.

Seminar writing.

Iron Industry Museum Field Trip

Why?

Mystery pt II

A Children's Story

Things to do when you are bored.

Seven Year Story

Mystery pt I

WP Pt 3

Writing Project Flotsam Pt 2

Thus Begins the Writing Project

Spending My Time

Consoling or Rolling

Positive, Positive, Positive

Riding high on the downlow

Oh! Splenda!

How do you know you're alive?

Ever Get Your Ass Kicked by a Six Year Old?

Here's the Deal

Next Post

First Blog Ever

A Shot in the Ass

That Bitch Janice

The Idiots That Are

Bout Damn Time

Ted Koppel and Jesus

Bikers and Easter Carnivals

RE: Gazongas

Wedge HarrisJosh Moreau
Someone pissed me off. May want to check out my profile. This whole situation has me a tiddle bit on edge.

Wedge Harris
Scott Walker lied to his constituents about the platform he would run on. It's really no more plain and simple than that. One of his biggest supporters...the Wisconsin Law Enforcement have already turned on him because he is a liar.

Steve Lesperance
Do u ever get that icky feelingwhen you buy something you really didn't need?