Wednesday, July 2, 2008


Somebody ought to take this kid up to the roof of a twenty story building and do the same thing to him.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

An Announcement

It's funny the things we remember. Take the entire 13th year of my life. I remember some stuff that happened year, like starting high school and being tormented and bullied by all the beautiful, rich popular kids. But I don't think I remember any specific, word for word utterances spoken by anyone that year except for one. And I'm afraid it's nothing terribly poignant or deep. But I did remember it. Are you ready? Okay, here it is.

No wait. First, let me set the stage. (I mean it is the only quote I remember word for word from that whole year so I think at least a stage should be set.) It was a hot, partly cloudy afternoon. The kind of afternoon a pretty white pony trots up to a handsome blonde boy on holiday and gives him a carrot. I was playing, no hanging out, no playing - I always get so confused when I think about my life at this age. For instance this was about the time I transitioned from playing with my friends, to hangin out. There was a brief window in there of about two and a half months when my friends and I messed around, but not long into this stage something clicked and I finally figured out what Jack meant when he would (constantly!) ask Chrissy if she wanted to mess around. And my buddies and I were definitely not messin around. Mr. Roper was so clueless.

So my friend and I were hangin out. We were doing something athletic, I don't remember what. But we were hot, sweaty, and thirsty. I went into my kitchen to grab a glass of water, and asked my friend if he would like some. And he said, (this is it) "No, I want soda. Water doesn't quench my thirst."

I tried to act like I'd heard it all before, but inside  was reeling. After I gained my composure which know one knew I had lost, I questioned him about his stunningly absurd statement. He went on to do his very best to convince me that it has always been this way with him, that water had never quenched his thirst, and I finally capitulated. I took him at his word. But I remembered. I made a vow to myself that I would never forget his assertion - not a conscious vow mind you - it must have been an unconscious vow because I haven't kept any vows I've ever made before the age of 33.  Nonetheless I obviously kept that vow, because that's the kind of man I am, when I don't know I've made a vow.

So what is the announcement?

To be continued.....(Hint - it pertains to something that is wet, and rhymes with "Prague-law," kind of)

*Editors Note: I am pleased to report, that in the ensuing years this individual, quite on his own, was able to fully and completely reconcile...nay embrace water, and now lives a satisfyingly hydrated and happy life with his family in a Washington D.C. suburb. 

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Gather Family and Freinds - Must See

News from Scotland. Brace yourself. It's like you are right there, in the courtroom while it is happening. It's hard to believe that after all that, it finally came to an end in the hallway. I'm still shaking a little bit.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Yoga - Someone's Got To Say Something

Yoga. I’d never tried Yoga before. Sure I’d watched the Yoga’ers doing their thing in the room with the big window and big balls, while I did a man workout. I watched. And watched. But I never seriously considered condescending to join the people too lazy to get up off the floor and lift something besides their covered yet visibly detailed genitalia.

Well, that is, until I heard a story a few weeks ago on NPR about the Indian Army and their experimentation's with Yoga, and it's ironic side effect of transforming the average Indian into a gen-u-wine bad ass - compared to traditional exercises U.S. military killers engage in like push-ups and lots of free beer from every red blooded bar patron wishing to thank them for their service.  Patriotism and drunkenness have and always will maintain a symbiotic relationship.  I could never say fuck 
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad sober.  Well I could but it just doesn't sound the same, and since I don't drink I refuse to say it.  I sound like a Starbucks employee who voted for Obama so my girlfriend would let me eat chicken once a week.  

By the way, when I refer to the Indian Army, I’m talking about red dot Indians and not American Indians, for those of you unaware that American Indians don’t currently have their own army, God forbid. Their army would be horrible anyways because they talk in an oddly slow, irritating manner and the orders from their superiors would never make it to the front lines in time. Now, as far as the sub-continent Indians go, I'm acutely aware their army couldn’t get much more of a lethal reputation, and I admit when I first imagined how Yoga might help these guys kill people and blow things up, the best I could to was to envision them healing more quickly after retreating, and being able to control their breathing while being brutally beaten with a rifle butt, but that has nothing to do with the price of tea in China. The point is, this report on NPR was exactly what I needed to motivate me to give it a try.  That, and coincidentally on the same day, I was invited by my wife for the first time to actually attend a Yoga class with her, which I thought might score me some points but in the overall scheme of things was merely wishful thinking. She had been a few times, and I had to agree with her I had absolutely noticed some subtle yet subtle changes occur in or on her body or some damn thing.

And so.  After my first Yoga class, here is my ruling. You really owe it to yourself to give it a try. It is a real ground floor opportunity. I should have tried it years ago when it was recommended to me by a real medical doctor, as opposed to the one I see at my favorite Pho' restaurant. My blood pressure was a bit off, on account of dangerous MSG levels saturating my bed sheets, and she recommended I try Yoga, as it had been shown to be effective in the battle against high blood pressure, she said. But she was from India, or Mexico or something, and I just brushed it off as the brand of propaganda and cultural conditioning we all succumb to from time to time. I'm so glad I didn't live in Austria on the early 40's.  Ha. Yeah, she probably grew up in a little village without a drive-through offering a fourth meal.  Hey beautiful almond eyed princess who I suspect makes love better than white woman, I didn’t come to you for your witch doctor wisdom, give me my pills and go have a delicious lunch.  Yoga for my blood pressure.  Please. The pharmaceutical companies have invested a lot of money into research and development and cool pens and briefcases with wheels and lunch bribes for Doctor office staffs. I swear. How subversive. If India wasn’t a friendly, democratic, capitalistic society with a curious open sewage system and a good friend to the United States, I’d be suspicious.

Anyways, the Yoga class was great, even though I probably should have worn longer shorts. I used muscles in my body that , well, I’m not sure that they were really muscles. I could have sworn for about 20 seconds, during some posture called the transvestite dog lotus, I had a tiny vagina which still feels "present" - though I don't know why I even mention this because no one believes me. That last bit of information was indeed just a crass attempt to utilize search engines to direct some of the huge amount of adult traffic to my blog. Though if someone is searching for porn on the web by googling the word vagina, he’s probably no more than eleven and definitely home schooled.

And now, as I'm sure you're wondering...did I become more of elite fighter by attending my first Yoga class? Definitely.  Go ahead.  Kick me in my vagina.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Initiate Launch Sequence

Warning: this could get ugly. I, like so many others, yet somehow unlike the others, have come to realize that I have something extraordinary to offer people who are blessed enough to have internet access. Yes, luckily for you, I have officially become a card carrying member of the self- aggrandizing club of bloggers who blog about nothing. I don’t really want to do this. It feels kind of like having to brush my teeth at midnight instead of going straight to bed after having fallen asleep on the couch. You know the feeling. If you don’t do something enabling you to so obviously and easily avoid bad consequences, you end up hating yourself and taking it out on those you love most.  At least as soon as I find someone who will let me love them.  By not brushing my teeth, an obvious bad consequence would be developing a rotten brown, baked bean teeth smile. I could live with that, rather than having to go to the dentist any more than is absolutely necessary.  Like if I wake up in the middle of the night feeling like I have a mouth full of aluminum foil bubble gum. Dentists and their instruments and weird dentist smells scare me. I'd rather die in one of the SAW films.  I would be a terrible spy. The enemy could get anything out of me by threatening to give me a good teeth cleaning.  Or making me listen to country musi, or white guys listening to gangster rap in the car next to me..  But I digress. I think. I’ve never blogged before.

What I’m trying to get at is that I see this as a necessary task. I am so tired of feeling like a complete idiot (maybe it’s just me) hearing about all of the people making tons of money online soooo easily just being themselves. They are actually making money being themselves, which is just wrong. And I realize the inherent risk here – which of course is by offering up my own unique brand of observations I might be incontestably shunned by humanity, leaving me feeling utterly and uniquely worthless.  So I have nothing to lose in reality. If that happens (God forbid), I will shut the hell up, finally get my CDL license and ride off into the sunset with a load of something and some kind of slightly doctored manifest I think they're called.

I haven’t sold out completely though. I am an infrequent Facebook look at me look at me look at me narcissist.  Yet.  Did you know that approximately 60% of divorces files in the U.S. reference Facebook?  I heard that on Fox News, and since Republicans don't get divorced you liberals need to cool it with the Friend Finder utility.  My self-esteem quite that healthy enough to imagine you care about what I do on a regular basis. I  can’t seem to wrap my head around the whole social networking thing. It’s not that I think we don’t all have a need to express ourselves and feel validated, just not necessarily to thousands or millions of people. If those closest to us in our own lives expressed any real consistent interest in us we’d all be fine, and there would be far fewer completely unnecessary restraining orders.

So, here goes. Drum roll please.
As my first official contribution to your life, I am going to start out real brash, like I just don’t care, and recommend a movie. I realize that by doing this I may lose the rest of you (who sadly are still reading this) because expressing opinions about movies and music tends to make people a wee bit judgmental. For instance, I think people who enjoy country music evolved from retarded monkeys, the rest of us from normal ones. Are there retarded monkeys, you ask? There must be – or must have been. Retarded monkeys whose dogs died and whose retarded monkey mates had cheatin hearts. I apologize to those of you who find the word retarded offensive. Special country music loving monkeys. And by the way, it’s okay/pc to say that because there are no black country music lovers. I checked.  Well there is one but he's retarded.  So please, it’s just a suggestion. And here it is; you should definitely see LARS AND THE REAL GIRL. Why you ask? Well, besides having a message that I thought was uplifting and inspiring (but not that much), I thought it was very memorable and funny. So there. That’s it. No analysis. Just see it. You’re welcome.

Tomorrows Blog will be titled: Yoga - Somebody’s Got to Say Something.  Or maybe I'll never write another word.