We had Easter Brunch at our house and had a little Easter Egg Hunt for all the kids that attended. The weather ended up being fantastic! Here are some pictures.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Friday, April 06, 2007
Update on new direction of blog!!!!!
The response to my new format, of long, well thought out posts about the intricacy of my soul has been less than tepid (Note to Naarah, tepid means warm). The people have spoken, or in this case, not spoken. I'm no dummy, I believe in giving the people what they want.... So in that vein, enjoy.
The response to my new format, of long, well thought out posts about the intricacy of my soul has been less than tepid (Note to Naarah, tepid means warm). The people have spoken, or in this case, not spoken. I'm no dummy, I believe in giving the people what they want.... So in that vein, enjoy.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Part Two: Playing in the trenches.
My next foray into the music business was playing in the house band of a two bit dinner theater in the middle of nowhere Montana. The drummer from Vertigo recruited me to play at a place called Calamity Jane’s. We performed three live comedy musical revues a week and I earned a flat rate of $65 bucks a night. For a fifteen year old, $195 a week for six hours of “work” is a pretty good job. The only problem with it is that the three shows were Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night.
We played 60’s and 70’s rock songs to accompany a bevy of small town theater folk as they put on a comedy show. The key to running a successful dinner theater, is to have upbeat music, at least one “wacky” comedy guy, and at least one hot female performer. Calamity Jane’s was better than most dinner theaters because they had managed to find probably the only Black female singer in the state of Montana. Ms. Williams could sing any of the great Motown songs of the sixties perfectly. You will never go broke in Montana charging Good Ole Boy Ranchers money to watch a good looking Black gal sing. Ms. Williams earned enough money to drive a red sports car with a vanity plate that said “SHO NUFF”.
Probably the strangest thing that happened to me while working at Calamity Jane’s happened on extremely busy Friday night. The place was packed with Ranchers and they were a pretty good crowd. The drinks were flowing fairly well, and by the third act, most of those cowpokes were pretty well in the bag. One of the characters in the show was a drunk, he would come on stage tell a few jokes and launch into a rendition of Bottle of Wine. It starts like this:
Bottle of wine,
Fruit of the vine,
When you going to let me get sober?
Anyway, at the end of the song, the actor goes on to tell a few more jokes. At one point, he is telling a story, and as he approaches the punch line, the cowboy sitting right in front of me takes a big swig of his beer. As the actor gives the punch line to the joke, the cowboys spits an entire mouth full of beer all over me, he’s laughing so hard.
I worked this job for the summer but quit to play football once school started. I learned two things about audiences with this job; first, if the audience is drunk enough, they will not notice mistakes, and two, accountants are the worst audience in the world. Never, ever, play for a CPA conference.
The next phase in my evolution into the best bass guitarist that you know encompasses the four years playing in various school sponsored bands. In high school, I played in the pep band, concert band, and the Jazz band. Each of these bands was led by the same music director, who had been my band director since the fifth grade.
Anyone who has ever attended a high school sporting event is familiar with the curse of the Pep Band. High School Pep bands range in competence from excruciatingly crappy to merely sub par. Our pep band was somewhere in the middle.
I was eased into the Pep band due to the fact that one of my older brothers played the bass and was three years ahead of me in school. I basically was forced by my brother to serve as his roadie for the year, hauling his crap around and making sure that all of the equipment was operational. I was able to play during a few football games because my brother on the football team, but basically I sat and listened until the final basketball game of the year.
For the final basketball game of the year, the senior in both basketball and the pep band were “honored”. This basically means that you walked arm and arm with your parents across the court and were introduced to the crowd. My brother decided to participate in the “honor” getting drunk and wearing a full gorilla suit. Due to the difficulty of playing the bass wearing gorilla gloves, I was able to play the entire game by default.
The key to maintaining a merely crappy High School Pep band is song selection. If your school has money, they can do a pretty decent job of purchasing music each year and staying only about 15 to 18 months behind the time. On the other hand, if your school is poor like mine was, you get stuck playing weird disco music from twenty years ago, or you get stuck with bargain basement contemporary tunes. Here is a list of the songs we played:
Hot Stuff (pretty cool disco song)
The Rubber Band Man (so-so disco song)
The Tide is High (Disco masquerading as Reggae, can be cool, but not when we played it)
La Bamba (Horrible)
Conga (Anything by Miami Sound Machine makes me shudder)
Danger Zone (off the Top Gun soundtrack, definitely not one of Kenny Login’s best)
The Final Countdown (The band was Europe. Always distrust popular music sung in English by people who don’t speak English.)
We played those same songs over and over again through the four years I attended school. My brothers played the exact same song in the four years they were in Pep band, and I would bet almost anything that those same songs are still being played at that school.
What I learned from Pep band is that everything that has ever been said about band geeks is true. Playing in a pep band will not get you noticed by girls, it will not get you a record deal, and it will not even impress your mother. If you like playing in Pep band, you probably play dungeons and dragons when you aren’t practicing for Pep band.
My concert band experience was utterly forgettable. When I got into high school, my band director who had looked the other way when I played electric bass suddenly changed his mind and required that I play a “real” concert band instrument. I was forced to take up the trombone.
The dirty little secret about trombone players, is that they grow up to be CPAs. The trombone is a moronic instrument for morons. If you ever want to impress your non musical friends, here is how you play:
Pick up trombone
Blow into mouth piece
Move slide back and forth.
That’s it. That is all you have to do. Trombone players spend the majority of their time arguing amongst themselves about whose spit valve has the largest volume. These are definitely not the guys in the band you want to party with.
After a year of playing trombone I used the excuse of braces to switch over to percussion, specifically the Glockenspiel. Only the top 1% of percussionists can play the Glockenspiel due to the fact that it has notes. Percussionists are people, (typically male), who beat on things with sticks. When they are not beating on percussion instruments with sticks, they beat on each other with sticks. If you take away their sticks, they beat on each other with fists. If you cut off their arms, they would head butt each other.
The percussionists didn’t beat on me with sticks, due to the fact that I had the magical ability to pay notes on the Glockenspiel. The percussionists viewed me as some sort of wizard, and as such they stayed their distance.
My next foray into the music business was playing in the house band of a two bit dinner theater in the middle of nowhere Montana. The drummer from Vertigo recruited me to play at a place called Calamity Jane’s. We performed three live comedy musical revues a week and I earned a flat rate of $65 bucks a night. For a fifteen year old, $195 a week for six hours of “work” is a pretty good job. The only problem with it is that the three shows were Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night.
We played 60’s and 70’s rock songs to accompany a bevy of small town theater folk as they put on a comedy show. The key to running a successful dinner theater, is to have upbeat music, at least one “wacky” comedy guy, and at least one hot female performer. Calamity Jane’s was better than most dinner theaters because they had managed to find probably the only Black female singer in the state of Montana. Ms. Williams could sing any of the great Motown songs of the sixties perfectly. You will never go broke in Montana charging Good Ole Boy Ranchers money to watch a good looking Black gal sing. Ms. Williams earned enough money to drive a red sports car with a vanity plate that said “SHO NUFF”.
Probably the strangest thing that happened to me while working at Calamity Jane’s happened on extremely busy Friday night. The place was packed with Ranchers and they were a pretty good crowd. The drinks were flowing fairly well, and by the third act, most of those cowpokes were pretty well in the bag. One of the characters in the show was a drunk, he would come on stage tell a few jokes and launch into a rendition of Bottle of Wine. It starts like this:
Bottle of wine,
Fruit of the vine,
When you going to let me get sober?
Anyway, at the end of the song, the actor goes on to tell a few more jokes. At one point, he is telling a story, and as he approaches the punch line, the cowboy sitting right in front of me takes a big swig of his beer. As the actor gives the punch line to the joke, the cowboys spits an entire mouth full of beer all over me, he’s laughing so hard.
I worked this job for the summer but quit to play football once school started. I learned two things about audiences with this job; first, if the audience is drunk enough, they will not notice mistakes, and two, accountants are the worst audience in the world. Never, ever, play for a CPA conference.
The next phase in my evolution into the best bass guitarist that you know encompasses the four years playing in various school sponsored bands. In high school, I played in the pep band, concert band, and the Jazz band. Each of these bands was led by the same music director, who had been my band director since the fifth grade.
Anyone who has ever attended a high school sporting event is familiar with the curse of the Pep Band. High School Pep bands range in competence from excruciatingly crappy to merely sub par. Our pep band was somewhere in the middle.
I was eased into the Pep band due to the fact that one of my older brothers played the bass and was three years ahead of me in school. I basically was forced by my brother to serve as his roadie for the year, hauling his crap around and making sure that all of the equipment was operational. I was able to play during a few football games because my brother on the football team, but basically I sat and listened until the final basketball game of the year.
For the final basketball game of the year, the senior in both basketball and the pep band were “honored”. This basically means that you walked arm and arm with your parents across the court and were introduced to the crowd. My brother decided to participate in the “honor” getting drunk and wearing a full gorilla suit. Due to the difficulty of playing the bass wearing gorilla gloves, I was able to play the entire game by default.
The key to maintaining a merely crappy High School Pep band is song selection. If your school has money, they can do a pretty decent job of purchasing music each year and staying only about 15 to 18 months behind the time. On the other hand, if your school is poor like mine was, you get stuck playing weird disco music from twenty years ago, or you get stuck with bargain basement contemporary tunes. Here is a list of the songs we played:
Hot Stuff (pretty cool disco song)
The Rubber Band Man (so-so disco song)
The Tide is High (Disco masquerading as Reggae, can be cool, but not when we played it)
La Bamba (Horrible)
Conga (Anything by Miami Sound Machine makes me shudder)
Danger Zone (off the Top Gun soundtrack, definitely not one of Kenny Login’s best)
The Final Countdown (The band was Europe. Always distrust popular music sung in English by people who don’t speak English.)
We played those same songs over and over again through the four years I attended school. My brothers played the exact same song in the four years they were in Pep band, and I would bet almost anything that those same songs are still being played at that school.
What I learned from Pep band is that everything that has ever been said about band geeks is true. Playing in a pep band will not get you noticed by girls, it will not get you a record deal, and it will not even impress your mother. If you like playing in Pep band, you probably play dungeons and dragons when you aren’t practicing for Pep band.
My concert band experience was utterly forgettable. When I got into high school, my band director who had looked the other way when I played electric bass suddenly changed his mind and required that I play a “real” concert band instrument. I was forced to take up the trombone.
The dirty little secret about trombone players, is that they grow up to be CPAs. The trombone is a moronic instrument for morons. If you ever want to impress your non musical friends, here is how you play:
Pick up trombone
Blow into mouth piece
Move slide back and forth.
That’s it. That is all you have to do. Trombone players spend the majority of their time arguing amongst themselves about whose spit valve has the largest volume. These are definitely not the guys in the band you want to party with.
After a year of playing trombone I used the excuse of braces to switch over to percussion, specifically the Glockenspiel. Only the top 1% of percussionists can play the Glockenspiel due to the fact that it has notes. Percussionists are people, (typically male), who beat on things with sticks. When they are not beating on percussion instruments with sticks, they beat on each other with sticks. If you take away their sticks, they beat on each other with fists. If you cut off their arms, they would head butt each other.
The percussionists didn’t beat on me with sticks, due to the fact that I had the magical ability to pay notes on the Glockenspiel. The percussionists viewed me as some sort of wizard, and as such they stayed their distance.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Why I went college instead of becoming a rock star.
Part 1 How to Rock it even if your voice hasn't changed yet:
I hate to brag, but I’m pretty much the greatest bass guitar player you have ever met. Now, I’m not saying I’m a fancy lass when it comes to playing the bass, I’m a solid, core structure kind of player. I decided long ago not to be “that guy” in the band who tries to wow the audience with his virtuosity on the bass. Great bassists are the opposite of the best children they should be heard but not seen.
I started playing bass when I was ten years old, which means I’ve been playing for twenty three years. Most bass guitar players are failed lead guitarists, and they play the bass like it’s a fat guitar. Not me, I’m the essence of subtle. I learned to play this way as a child playing the electric bass in a middle school concert band. While other kids were playing the clarinet and flute, (quick aside, if your boy comes to you and says he wants to play the clarinet or the flute, hit him with one), I was trying to convince my band director that if electricity had been invented in Bach’s time, he would have wanted an electric bass in his orchestras.
I think the only reason my band director relented and let me play such an unorthodox concert band instrument is because he had a goal of winning state with a high school Jazz band. He made the calculation that in six years, I might be a decent bass player and could anchor a pretty good Jazz band. For a band director in small town Montana, winning state with your Jazz band is pretty much on par with playing Carnegie Hall.
By the time I was in Junior High, I was getting pretty decent on the bass, and joined a three piece punk band called Vertigo. We were about as cool as you could get for a Junior High punk band, we started out practicing in the garage, and quickly began renting out the VFW and Elks club and producing our own shows. We hit pretty quickly on the fact that in Montana, there wasn’t a lot of entertainment options for the demographic now known as “Tweens”.
A typical show would work like this; we would find some Southern California punk band that was touring, convince them to stop in Billings on their way from Missoula to Minneapolis, rent out a club, market the concert, and be the opening band. This always worked great. We would charge $5 at the door, get 500 – 600 kids to attend, pay the club $1000, give the main band $500 and keep the rest. My take was $400 - $500 bucks a night. Over time, we became popular enough to pull in crowds without hiring a headlining band which increased our take.
With experience, our shows began to increase in both longevity, and entertainment value. We looked pretty professional with our home made signage. We had a king sized sheet with a tie died pattern that spiraled into a point in the middle of the sheet. At the very point of the spiral, we silk screened a silhouetted man falling into the spiral. Across the top was written “Vertigo”. The sing was soon followed by T-shirts, and stickers, pretty much anything we could think of to increase our branding and revenue streams.
We reinvested much of our profits on more elaborate shows. We began to rent lighting, and even started to rent smoke machines. It was pretty sweet to turn down the 16 gel lights, kick up the smoke machine, and start playing the opening bars of our original song Polaris (as in the north star, very, very heavy, man). By the time the band began to run out of steam, we were starting to construct our own pyrotechnics in the drummer’s garage.
During the two years I was in the punk band, I only had one groupie. I first noticed her at one of our early shows. She was a short, bull dog faced, Goth. She always sat right in front of me and stared at me for two hours. Sometimes the stage lights would reflect off her dog chain necklace and highlight her powdered porcelain colored skin, bringing to attention the veins she had drawn onto her neck with mascara. It was really creepy.
By the time I got into high school, the members of Vertigo were heading in different directions, the guitarist went on to be a music major I think, while the drummer went on to be a heroin addict. I saw him many years later in Billings, frail, pale, and on his way out. He was a diabetic, so he had to fear of needles.
Next up, the high school years, or how to keep your head when yokels are throwing underwear at you.
Part 1 How to Rock it even if your voice hasn't changed yet:
I hate to brag, but I’m pretty much the greatest bass guitar player you have ever met. Now, I’m not saying I’m a fancy lass when it comes to playing the bass, I’m a solid, core structure kind of player. I decided long ago not to be “that guy” in the band who tries to wow the audience with his virtuosity on the bass. Great bassists are the opposite of the best children they should be heard but not seen.
I started playing bass when I was ten years old, which means I’ve been playing for twenty three years. Most bass guitar players are failed lead guitarists, and they play the bass like it’s a fat guitar. Not me, I’m the essence of subtle. I learned to play this way as a child playing the electric bass in a middle school concert band. While other kids were playing the clarinet and flute, (quick aside, if your boy comes to you and says he wants to play the clarinet or the flute, hit him with one), I was trying to convince my band director that if electricity had been invented in Bach’s time, he would have wanted an electric bass in his orchestras.
I think the only reason my band director relented and let me play such an unorthodox concert band instrument is because he had a goal of winning state with a high school Jazz band. He made the calculation that in six years, I might be a decent bass player and could anchor a pretty good Jazz band. For a band director in small town Montana, winning state with your Jazz band is pretty much on par with playing Carnegie Hall.
By the time I was in Junior High, I was getting pretty decent on the bass, and joined a three piece punk band called Vertigo. We were about as cool as you could get for a Junior High punk band, we started out practicing in the garage, and quickly began renting out the VFW and Elks club and producing our own shows. We hit pretty quickly on the fact that in Montana, there wasn’t a lot of entertainment options for the demographic now known as “Tweens”.
A typical show would work like this; we would find some Southern California punk band that was touring, convince them to stop in Billings on their way from Missoula to Minneapolis, rent out a club, market the concert, and be the opening band. This always worked great. We would charge $5 at the door, get 500 – 600 kids to attend, pay the club $1000, give the main band $500 and keep the rest. My take was $400 - $500 bucks a night. Over time, we became popular enough to pull in crowds without hiring a headlining band which increased our take.
With experience, our shows began to increase in both longevity, and entertainment value. We looked pretty professional with our home made signage. We had a king sized sheet with a tie died pattern that spiraled into a point in the middle of the sheet. At the very point of the spiral, we silk screened a silhouetted man falling into the spiral. Across the top was written “Vertigo”. The sing was soon followed by T-shirts, and stickers, pretty much anything we could think of to increase our branding and revenue streams.
We reinvested much of our profits on more elaborate shows. We began to rent lighting, and even started to rent smoke machines. It was pretty sweet to turn down the 16 gel lights, kick up the smoke machine, and start playing the opening bars of our original song Polaris (as in the north star, very, very heavy, man). By the time the band began to run out of steam, we were starting to construct our own pyrotechnics in the drummer’s garage.
During the two years I was in the punk band, I only had one groupie. I first noticed her at one of our early shows. She was a short, bull dog faced, Goth. She always sat right in front of me and stared at me for two hours. Sometimes the stage lights would reflect off her dog chain necklace and highlight her powdered porcelain colored skin, bringing to attention the veins she had drawn onto her neck with mascara. It was really creepy.
By the time I got into high school, the members of Vertigo were heading in different directions, the guitarist went on to be a music major I think, while the drummer went on to be a heroin addict. I saw him many years later in Billings, frail, pale, and on his way out. He was a diabetic, so he had to fear of needles.
Next up, the high school years, or how to keep your head when yokels are throwing underwear at you.
Monday, March 26, 2007
GG's New Chair!
GG doesn't want you to see how happy she is with her new chair. You wouldn't believe how difficult it is to find a decent chair for a toddler. Most toddler chairs look like someone took Grandma's chair and left it in the dryer too long.
We went to Target yesterday, more to get out of the house than anything else. Walking down the aisles, we spotting this kick butt leather chair that looks pretty similar to my Barcalounger. I called on the customer service phone to see if they had one in the box. The Target guy said the chair on display was the only one they had, so I grabbed it just as a couple of ladies were bending down to pick it up. Eat it suckas! The best part, was that this chair only cost $59.99.
When we got it home, GG immediately sat in it, then stood on it, then attempted to jump from the back of the chair to the couch. The nut loves her new chair. I think I'm going to teach her how to sit on in Mork from Ork style tonight.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
New GG video!
A few months ago, GG figured out that she could control her parents through audible stimulation. The first time she did this, the wife and I attempted to ignore the horrible sound of fingernails on a metal surface. We knew that if GG noticed even a slight twinge in our bodies in response to the sound, that we would be constantly subjected to the whims of a 15 month old.
I'm here to say that it is physically impossible to not react to a sound much like the sound of fingernails on a chalk board. I bet you cringed a little as you read my last sentence. Welcome to our new puppet master.
A few months ago, GG figured out that she could control her parents through audible stimulation. The first time she did this, the wife and I attempted to ignore the horrible sound of fingernails on a metal surface. We knew that if GG noticed even a slight twinge in our bodies in response to the sound, that we would be constantly subjected to the whims of a 15 month old.
I'm here to say that it is physically impossible to not react to a sound much like the sound of fingernails on a chalk board. I bet you cringed a little as you read my last sentence. Welcome to our new puppet master.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
GG Channels the High Plains Drifter.
I'm right in the middle of story boarding my all children cast Western. It is sort of a cross between Bugsy Malone and High Plains Drifter. I figure as long as I'm this far along, I can publicly post photos of some early costume ideas, and not give any idea stealers a chance to beat me to the punch.
The basic story revolves around a crooked town sheriff (Sheriff BlackJohn) who is brutalizing both man and beast. It opens with the bad sheriff forcing cats to entertain unruly ranchers in the local "Cat House". The ranchers are heckling a performer (Lil Miss Pickles) and Sheriff BlackJohn slaps the cat around and pulls her tail.
Into this lawless, God forsaken, flea bitten (literally) town rides a courageous hero to save the day. Using both guile and a strange command of feline affection, the stranger unites the good people of the town for the climatic battle against Sheriff BlackJohn.
Here are some early costume and prop shots.
And no, Ava can't have a part. The rumors are that she is much too temperamental.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
The Columbians are Clown Hunting!
This article tells the tale of two Columbians clowns who were shot down during a circus performance in Cucuta Columbia Monday night. Apparantly a guy just burst into the tent during the performance and started shooting.
This article tells the tale of two Columbians clowns who were shot down during a circus performance in Cucuta Columbia Monday night. Apparantly a guy just burst into the tent during the performance and started shooting.
The local police chief was quoted as saying, "The killings had nothing to do with the show the victims were performing at the time of the incident,". I have to call bullsh*t on this one. How does the police chief know that the clowns' performance did not cause the man to go bonkers?
I've seen plenty of clown performances in my day from the run of the mill 5 year old birthday party clown, to the "Clownin' Around for Jesus" clowns, to the high falutin' French Canadian smarmy clown, and each time I have had a tiny urge to start shooting. As many of you know, I have almost Superhuman self control. (See wife blog) If I get a tiny urge to shoot clowns every time I see them "perform", a lesser man really can't be blamed for acting on his urge. For all I know, Columbian clown performance may quite litererly be the ninth circle of hell.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Who's got more street cred?
Here is a little question for you! Which kid has more street credibility? The one on the left or the one on the right? The one on the left, Ava - blonde, German sounding name, holding a fiesta bag, going out to look for her tiddlie - winks. The one on the right, Double G - brunette, dressed to the nines, with a crazy eyed killar look. You don't know if she is going to say "hi!", or jump off that side table and kill you with her mad Kung Fu.
Look at it another way, if you dropped both kids off in the Ghetto, which one is going to get mugged in like 6 seconds, and which one is going to be rollin' with the homeys? I think we all know the answer....
Here is a little question for you! Which kid has more street credibility? The one on the left or the one on the right? The one on the left, Ava - blonde, German sounding name, holding a fiesta bag, going out to look for her tiddlie - winks. The one on the right, Double G - brunette, dressed to the nines, with a crazy eyed killar look. You don't know if she is going to say "hi!", or jump off that side table and kill you with her mad Kung Fu.
Look at it another way, if you dropped both kids off in the Ghetto, which one is going to get mugged in like 6 seconds, and which one is going to be rollin' with the homeys? I think we all know the answer....
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Her Mother's Daughter.
The kid was infectious yesterday, so I stayed home with her. It wasn't too bad because she was in a better mood, but one incident bears telling. I was busy doing some work when I noticed that the Kid had wandered off and was being relatively quiet. As any parent knows, this sets off large, loud warning bells in your head.
I went to investigate, and at first glance, it looked like the kid was enjoying a Baby Ruth bar. I could see the chocolaty nougat sticking out from between her lips. I said to myself, "hmm, I wonder were she got the candy bar from?" I thought the wife may have had a pregnancy snack fall out of her purse or something. As I got closer, I realized that it wasn't a Baby Ruth. It was a cat turd, and by the looks of it, a pretty fresh one.
As any good Father would, I started for the camera before I stopped myself and extracted said turn from my little angel's mouth. You can be damn well sure that she didn't get cat turd eating from my side of the family.
The kid was infectious yesterday, so I stayed home with her. It wasn't too bad because she was in a better mood, but one incident bears telling. I was busy doing some work when I noticed that the Kid had wandered off and was being relatively quiet. As any parent knows, this sets off large, loud warning bells in your head.
I went to investigate, and at first glance, it looked like the kid was enjoying a Baby Ruth bar. I could see the chocolaty nougat sticking out from between her lips. I said to myself, "hmm, I wonder were she got the candy bar from?" I thought the wife may have had a pregnancy snack fall out of her purse or something. As I got closer, I realized that it wasn't a Baby Ruth. It was a cat turd, and by the looks of it, a pretty fresh one.
As any good Father would, I started for the camera before I stopped myself and extracted said turn from my little angel's mouth. You can be damn well sure that she didn't get cat turd eating from my side of the family.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Friday, January 26, 2007
Two blogs you should check out.
Here are a couple of blogs I recommend. The first is the Secrect Diary of Steve Jobs (Dude, I invented the Friggin IPod. Have you heard of it?) It is a funny ass parody of Steve Jobs. He often talks about how he hypnotizes the government officials who are try to indict him for a stock scam.
The second is in a similar vein, the Secret Diary of Hillary Clinton (YOU DON'T LIKE ME. I DON'T LIKE YOU. SEE? WE'RE PERFECT TOGETHER.) The post where she complains about the girl stalking her (it's Chelsea Clinton) is pure gold.
Here are a couple of blogs I recommend. The first is the Secrect Diary of Steve Jobs (Dude, I invented the Friggin IPod. Have you heard of it?) It is a funny ass parody of Steve Jobs. He often talks about how he hypnotizes the government officials who are try to indict him for a stock scam.
The second is in a similar vein, the Secret Diary of Hillary Clinton (YOU DON'T LIKE ME. I DON'T LIKE YOU. SEE? WE'RE PERFECT TOGETHER.) The post where she complains about the girl stalking her (it's Chelsea Clinton) is pure gold.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Check out the prison garb.
GG spilled a little juice on her pants today and we were out of back up clothes so the daycare put her is prison overalls. It is hard to see it in these pictures, but the words "Property of La Petite Academy" are printed on these overalls. The first picture is a pretty good shot of the kid's buck teeth, and the second shot is titled "The artist at work".
GG spilled a little juice on her pants today and we were out of back up clothes so the daycare put her is prison overalls. It is hard to see it in these pictures, but the words "Property of La Petite Academy" are printed on these overalls. The first picture is a pretty good shot of the kid's buck teeth, and the second shot is titled "The artist at work".
Monday, January 22, 2007
Let us pass a new law.
I don't know if anyone else has noticed this or not, but I am beginning to become gravely concerned with the explosion of celebrity voice over work in commercials. In the old days, celebrities would never lower themselves to appear on television. TV was where movie careers went to die. Orson Wells, at the end of his life a bloated hack, took work in commercials and was always kind of frowned upon by his former colleagues. Mickey Rooney also famously performed in Rainier Beer ads in the late 70's and 80's. Aaron Spelling famously designed a TV show around the concept of bringing on aging former movie stars as guest stars on The Love Boat.
The latest evidence of the dumbing down of celebrities has gone too far in my opinion. All of a sudden, all of the voice over work in commercials is done by movies stars. For instance, Honda now has Kevin Spacey doing the voice over work in their commercials. He states at one point that, "We work hard to bring you the best cars out there." Excuse me Kevin, what exactly did you design in the latest Honda? Did you take a few months off after filming your Bobby Darin epic to create a better ash tray in the Civic? How stupid do you think I am Kevin Spacey?
Commercial voice over work used to be the domain of extremely ugly, obese, buck-toothed, rejects who's Moms had trouble looking at them. My question is, "What the hell are these people doing now that all their jobs have been taken by the "Glory Boys"?" Does Kevin Spacey really need the extra million from Honda?
If the Democrats cared about the ugly people, they would pass a law.
I don't know if anyone else has noticed this or not, but I am beginning to become gravely concerned with the explosion of celebrity voice over work in commercials. In the old days, celebrities would never lower themselves to appear on television. TV was where movie careers went to die. Orson Wells, at the end of his life a bloated hack, took work in commercials and was always kind of frowned upon by his former colleagues. Mickey Rooney also famously performed in Rainier Beer ads in the late 70's and 80's. Aaron Spelling famously designed a TV show around the concept of bringing on aging former movie stars as guest stars on The Love Boat.
The latest evidence of the dumbing down of celebrities has gone too far in my opinion. All of a sudden, all of the voice over work in commercials is done by movies stars. For instance, Honda now has Kevin Spacey doing the voice over work in their commercials. He states at one point that, "We work hard to bring you the best cars out there." Excuse me Kevin, what exactly did you design in the latest Honda? Did you take a few months off after filming your Bobby Darin epic to create a better ash tray in the Civic? How stupid do you think I am Kevin Spacey?
Commercial voice over work used to be the domain of extremely ugly, obese, buck-toothed, rejects who's Moms had trouble looking at them. My question is, "What the hell are these people doing now that all their jobs have been taken by the "Glory Boys"?" Does Kevin Spacey really need the extra million from Honda?
If the Democrats cared about the ugly people, they would pass a law.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
I read sometimes...
At the expense of being made fun of by all of my readers, I must admit, that from time to time, I read books. There, I said it. The wife and I were at a party one time and this guy was making fun of his wife by telling us all the stupid things she did. His final piece of evidence that his wife was a moron consisted of the fact that she read. Not magazines mind you, but this guy's wife actually read books.
I just finished a biography of Mark Twain by Ron Powers. When I was about half way through, I told the wife that the book was boring the hell out of me. It got a little better towards the end, even though I knew what would happen. The interesting tid bit from the book was this quote from Twain about the US occupation of the Philippians in 1900. "But now - why, we have got into a mess, a quagmire from which each fresh step renders the difficulty of extrication immensely greater. I'm sure I wish I could see what we were getting out of it, and all it means to us as a nation." It looks like Mark Twain was the first person to describe a US war as a quagmire!
At the expense of being made fun of by all of my readers, I must admit, that from time to time, I read books. There, I said it. The wife and I were at a party one time and this guy was making fun of his wife by telling us all the stupid things she did. His final piece of evidence that his wife was a moron consisted of the fact that she read. Not magazines mind you, but this guy's wife actually read books.
I just finished a biography of Mark Twain by Ron Powers. When I was about half way through, I told the wife that the book was boring the hell out of me. It got a little better towards the end, even though I knew what would happen. The interesting tid bit from the book was this quote from Twain about the US occupation of the Philippians in 1900. "But now - why, we have got into a mess, a quagmire from which each fresh step renders the difficulty of extrication immensely greater. I'm sure I wish I could see what we were getting out of it, and all it means to us as a nation." It looks like Mark Twain was the first person to describe a US war as a quagmire!
Friday, January 19, 2007
I love the Sammamish Review.
Our local rag is called the Sammamish Review. Many of you probably have similar small community "newspapers", the primary goal of which seems to be to provide a place for Realtors to list their properties and also serve as a place for cranks (like the wife) to complain about the general conditions in our communities and to pick fights with liberal do-gooders who won't be happy till our community is exactly like the California town they left do to increase un-livability.
My favorite part of our local rag is the police blotter section toward the end of the paper. Sammamish is a small bedroom community of Seattle and as such, usually the types of crimes that are reported are property theft or teenager dope fiends. Here are a few of my favorites from the January 17th edition of the Sammamish Review (Note: these are not linked due to the fact that the Sammamish Review is not online).
Bad Haircut
At 6:15 p.m. Dec. 20, police responded to an alleged assault that took place at an in home hair salon in the 3100 block of 214th Place Southeast. The victim, a 66-year old female who runs a salon out of her garage, accused a 50-year-old male of slapping her across the face after she had made fun of him during an appointment. The blow sent her crashing into a vanity and injured her head. The accused, a longtime customer of the stylist, said that the victim accidentally stuck her finger in his ear while she was shampooing his head, which caused him to jump, at the same time knocking the stylist into the vanity. Police noted that the victim had redness and swelling on her head consistent with striking the vanity, but could find no evidence that she had been struck by the customer.
I'm not taking sides on this one, but I kind of have to agree with the male customer. If someone accidentally stick their finger in my ear, the most likely scenario is that person is ending up with their head striking a vanity.
Showdown at the dry cleaners
Two males were arrested on assault charges after a fight erupted at a dry-cleaning business over a damaged dress shirt. A 49-year-old male customer and the 46-year-old owner of the business in the 2800 block of 228th Ave Southeast resorted to fisticuffs Dec. 30 after arguing over a tan dress shirt that the customer alleged had been damaged by the cleaners. A 51-year-old female who works at the business witnessed the altercation and accused the customer of being "out of control." Police noted there were no independent witnesses of the fight.
Once again, I don't want to take sides, but there is no credible person alive who believes that a customer who resorts to fisticuffs is "out of control." I never resort to fisticuffs because my standard operating principal is open fisticuffs. I learned this from Walker Texas Ranger. By employing fisticuffs as my natural state of being, going "out of control" means I have already bitten off your nose and I am moving on to your ears.
Our local rag is called the Sammamish Review. Many of you probably have similar small community "newspapers", the primary goal of which seems to be to provide a place for Realtors to list their properties and also serve as a place for cranks (like the wife) to complain about the general conditions in our communities and to pick fights with liberal do-gooders who won't be happy till our community is exactly like the California town they left do to increase un-livability.
My favorite part of our local rag is the police blotter section toward the end of the paper. Sammamish is a small bedroom community of Seattle and as such, usually the types of crimes that are reported are property theft or teenager dope fiends. Here are a few of my favorites from the January 17th edition of the Sammamish Review (Note: these are not linked due to the fact that the Sammamish Review is not online).
Bad Haircut
At 6:15 p.m. Dec. 20, police responded to an alleged assault that took place at an in home hair salon in the 3100 block of 214th Place Southeast. The victim, a 66-year old female who runs a salon out of her garage, accused a 50-year-old male of slapping her across the face after she had made fun of him during an appointment. The blow sent her crashing into a vanity and injured her head. The accused, a longtime customer of the stylist, said that the victim accidentally stuck her finger in his ear while she was shampooing his head, which caused him to jump, at the same time knocking the stylist into the vanity. Police noted that the victim had redness and swelling on her head consistent with striking the vanity, but could find no evidence that she had been struck by the customer.
I'm not taking sides on this one, but I kind of have to agree with the male customer. If someone accidentally stick their finger in my ear, the most likely scenario is that person is ending up with their head striking a vanity.
Showdown at the dry cleaners
Two males were arrested on assault charges after a fight erupted at a dry-cleaning business over a damaged dress shirt. A 49-year-old male customer and the 46-year-old owner of the business in the 2800 block of 228th Ave Southeast resorted to fisticuffs Dec. 30 after arguing over a tan dress shirt that the customer alleged had been damaged by the cleaners. A 51-year-old female who works at the business witnessed the altercation and accused the customer of being "out of control." Police noted there were no independent witnesses of the fight.
Once again, I don't want to take sides, but there is no credible person alive who believes that a customer who resorts to fisticuffs is "out of control." I never resort to fisticuffs because my standard operating principal is open fisticuffs. I learned this from Walker Texas Ranger. By employing fisticuffs as my natural state of being, going "out of control" means I have already bitten off your nose and I am moving on to your ears.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
One drawback to being a parent...
The biggest drawback to being a parent that I've run into thus far is the sickness, cold, flu, etc. Not my kid's sickness (this is usually kind of plus, cause the kid ends up sleeping alot), but the fact that I catch every damn illness that my kid has about four days after she has it.
I had the kid induced flu last week that caused my pretty face to be disfigured (imagine the mid 90's Mel Gibson flick The Man Without a Face), and now I've got the crappy cough, chills, and general muscle weakness cold. The wife and kid are in Scottsdale for a few days, so I was planning on being all productive this weekend doing all the things that the two of them have been holding me back from. -- Drinking scotch, building the cool modern chair for my rumpus room, installing a new bathroom sink, and designing a new landscaping scheme that invokes both the modern masters and my personal aesthetic. Now because I'm sick, one of those things is going to have to fall off the list.
By the way, I think I've figured out who is infecting the kid with all of these illnesses. The guilty party is this little punk in her day care named Dennis. The last time I picked her up, Dennis was wandering around touching people and I noticed that he had a runny nose. I'm keeping my eye on that punk Dennis, and if this sort of stuff keeps happening, I going to report him to the daycare authorities.
The biggest drawback to being a parent that I've run into thus far is the sickness, cold, flu, etc. Not my kid's sickness (this is usually kind of plus, cause the kid ends up sleeping alot), but the fact that I catch every damn illness that my kid has about four days after she has it.
I had the kid induced flu last week that caused my pretty face to be disfigured (imagine the mid 90's Mel Gibson flick The Man Without a Face), and now I've got the crappy cough, chills, and general muscle weakness cold. The wife and kid are in Scottsdale for a few days, so I was planning on being all productive this weekend doing all the things that the two of them have been holding me back from. -- Drinking scotch, building the cool modern chair for my rumpus room, installing a new bathroom sink, and designing a new landscaping scheme that invokes both the modern masters and my personal aesthetic. Now because I'm sick, one of those things is going to have to fall off the list.
By the way, I think I've figured out who is infecting the kid with all of these illnesses. The guilty party is this little punk in her day care named Dennis. The last time I picked her up, Dennis was wandering around touching people and I noticed that he had a runny nose. I'm keeping my eye on that punk Dennis, and if this sort of stuff keeps happening, I going to report him to the daycare authorities.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
To All American Idol Contestants:
Unless you have three eyes or something, for the love of God, please do NOT identify your self as a crack baby. You do not gain any sympathy from me. As soon as you say, "Hi, my name Da Roche, I am a crack baby." I pretty much stop listening to you. In addition, if you are sixteen years old, you are not a baby, crack not withstanding.
Unless you have three eyes or something, for the love of God, please do NOT identify your self as a crack baby. You do not gain any sympathy from me. As soon as you say, "Hi, my name Da Roche, I am a crack baby." I pretty much stop listening to you. In addition, if you are sixteen years old, you are not a baby, crack not withstanding.
The worm has turned!
Even though it snowed again today, and it is actually snowing right now, I feel like things are beginning to change for the positive. I feel like I am on the cusp of everything coming up Jason. I was able to finally get my hair cut at lunch today. It looks pretty sweet. I went with the Vanilla Ice Fade cause I think that look is just about ready for a come back. The stupid lady cutting my hair tried to talk me out of it. Plew! What the heck does a middle aged Asian lady know about style!
-Word to your Mother!
Even though it snowed again today, and it is actually snowing right now, I feel like things are beginning to change for the positive. I feel like I am on the cusp of everything coming up Jason. I was able to finally get my hair cut at lunch today. It looks pretty sweet. I went with the Vanilla Ice Fade cause I think that look is just about ready for a come back. The stupid lady cutting my hair tried to talk me out of it. Plew! What the heck does a middle aged Asian lady know about style!
-Word to your Mother!
Monday, January 15, 2007
The winter of Calamity...
This has definitely been the kind of winter that tries men's soul. This is a small list of the kind of crap I've had to deal with over the last few months:
1.) The first wind and snow storm of the season which caused one of the trees on my property to crack, lean, and threaten to knock out the power to me and my neighborhood. Tree removal cost me $500 bucks!
2.) The second wind storm knocked down a number of trees and knocked out our power for 8 days. Due to the power outage, I started a small fire in my living room that filled the house up with smoke. You would think that not having power for 1/4 of the month would lead to a lower power bill, but you would be wrong.
3.) I got some sort of strange flu last week that caused me to somehow faint, fall over, and arrest my fall with my head, causing my beautiful face to be messed up. I cut my eye, nose, and chin, and got a sweet black eye.
4.) I have found it impossible to get my hair cut. Every time I attempt to get my hair cut the places are either so crowed, that their is a line out the door or the place is closed entirely.
When I find the Jackass that put the hex on me, I'm going to stick em with my pig sticker. Be warned!
This has definitely been the kind of winter that tries men's soul. This is a small list of the kind of crap I've had to deal with over the last few months:
1.) The first wind and snow storm of the season which caused one of the trees on my property to crack, lean, and threaten to knock out the power to me and my neighborhood. Tree removal cost me $500 bucks!
2.) The second wind storm knocked down a number of trees and knocked out our power for 8 days. Due to the power outage, I started a small fire in my living room that filled the house up with smoke. You would think that not having power for 1/4 of the month would lead to a lower power bill, but you would be wrong.
3.) I got some sort of strange flu last week that caused me to somehow faint, fall over, and arrest my fall with my head, causing my beautiful face to be messed up. I cut my eye, nose, and chin, and got a sweet black eye.
4.) I have found it impossible to get my hair cut. Every time I attempt to get my hair cut the places are either so crowed, that their is a line out the door or the place is closed entirely.
When I find the Jackass that put the hex on me, I'm going to stick em with my pig sticker. Be warned!
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
I saw four Goths on my way to lunch today....
I saw four separate Goths on my way to get lunch today. It kind of makes me feel funny, not scarred or anything, just sort of unsettled. What the heck are four separate people dressed as Goths doing walking around during business hours???
Were they casing the grocery store? I could understand seeing four Goths walking together, but four separate Goths is very strange. I'm thinking that they are a Goth Gang and I think that they are planning to steal all of the gossip magazine at the grocery store. Goths like to spread unhappiness and the best way to do that is to deprive woman of the latest news of Brad and Brittney and what not.
The last Goth I saw was trying to pass as non-Goth. She looked normal but for her strange Goth Boots. These boots were black (of course), and they contained the strangest, sort of shin guard projectiles similar to the kind I wore as a child playing soccer. These strange shin guards had a large white skull and cross bones on them.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Day 7...
"Fleshy-headed mutant! Are you friendly?"
- Space Cadet R.M. McKenzie
"Now way, eh! Radiation has made me an enemy of civilization!"
- The Fleshy-Headed Mutant
We have been out of power for a week now. We spend our time looking for beer... All the bowling alleys were destroyed and the fleshy headed mutants are running amok.
Friday, December 15, 2006
We Survived!
We survived the massive wind storm of aught-six! We had 4 large trees blown over, two of them ended up falling on the power lines and blocking our road in. The neighbors and I cut down one of the trees and cleared a couple more, but there is still a large tree stuck in the power lines but we can drive our small car under it. Once we have power back, (which could be in six or seven days,) I will post pictures. Seacrest out!
We survived the massive wind storm of aught-six! We had 4 large trees blown over, two of them ended up falling on the power lines and blocking our road in. The neighbors and I cut down one of the trees and cleared a couple more, but there is still a large tree stuck in the power lines but we can drive our small car under it. Once we have power back, (which could be in six or seven days,) I will post pictures. Seacrest out!
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Welcome to the 21st Century!
Recently, St. Cloud MN, a city I lived in for 6 years in the mid 90's was declared as one of the 50 worst cities in America. The author of the story said that the population of St. Cloud's only form of entertainment consists of waiting in line at Arby's. Well it looks like the lives of St. Cloud's citizens just got a heck of a lot better. Now they can wait in line at Hooters!
This story recounts the grand opening of Hooters St. Cloud! Warning. If you don't want to see college girls in short shorts wearing nylons, don't follow that link.
Here are a few choice quotes from the story if you don't want your precious sensibilities harmed, "You can be yourself," Candace Blazinski said, telling why she left another themed chain restaurant after two years to work at Hooters. "You get to sing, you get to dance. It's having a ball. It goes by so fast." (Kind of like youth and beauty... shake it while you still can.) Candace also went on to explain that, "the tips are better, not going to lie." When questioned about the famous Hooter's waitressing uniforms, Candace said, "You're covered", but then went on to explain that she works out more and has cut down on drinking beer.
There seems to have been a wee bit of controversy on Wednesday during lunch when female lunch patron Pat Conners who the newspapers quotes as "Curious" criticized the waitresses uniforms by saying, "I feel it does exploit a woman's body, but the waitresses aren't objecting." (spoken like a jealous old ninny!)
It looks like the wife, kid, and I have one more reason to visit St. Cloud more frequently.
Recently, St. Cloud MN, a city I lived in for 6 years in the mid 90's was declared as one of the 50 worst cities in America. The author of the story said that the population of St. Cloud's only form of entertainment consists of waiting in line at Arby's. Well it looks like the lives of St. Cloud's citizens just got a heck of a lot better. Now they can wait in line at Hooters!
This story recounts the grand opening of Hooters St. Cloud! Warning. If you don't want to see college girls in short shorts wearing nylons, don't follow that link.
Here are a few choice quotes from the story if you don't want your precious sensibilities harmed, "You can be yourself," Candace Blazinski said, telling why she left another themed chain restaurant after two years to work at Hooters. "You get to sing, you get to dance. It's having a ball. It goes by so fast." (Kind of like youth and beauty... shake it while you still can.) Candace also went on to explain that, "the tips are better, not going to lie." When questioned about the famous Hooter's waitressing uniforms, Candace said, "You're covered", but then went on to explain that she works out more and has cut down on drinking beer.
There seems to have been a wee bit of controversy on Wednesday during lunch when female lunch patron Pat Conners who the newspapers quotes as "Curious" criticized the waitresses uniforms by saying, "I feel it does exploit a woman's body, but the waitresses aren't objecting." (spoken like a jealous old ninny!)
It looks like the wife, kid, and I have one more reason to visit St. Cloud more frequently.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Friday, November 17, 2006
Hah!
I know many of you had your doubts. It's alright, you can admit it now. I've overheard snippets of conversations from time to time. But Naarah and I actually raised a honest to goodness human being for one whole year! I had my doubts after the first day when Naarah attempted to paint GG's fingernails. I can still hear the Asian nurse yelling at us: "Who paint baby nails!!!???", "Who paint baby nails!!!???" "No paint baby nails! ... ever!" Fair enough, you learn something new every day.
In the beginning, my plan was to defer to Naarah on most things baby. My reasoning was that she was the oldest of four girls and should have had plenty of experience with babies. I was the youngest child in my family and had never changed a diaper in my life. The fingernail painting incident slapped me with cold harsh reality. Anyway, I figure the hard part is over and it just gets progressively easier from here till she's eighteen. Naarah loves montages so here is GG's life in photo!
I know many of you had your doubts. It's alright, you can admit it now. I've overheard snippets of conversations from time to time. But Naarah and I actually raised a honest to goodness human being for one whole year! I had my doubts after the first day when Naarah attempted to paint GG's fingernails. I can still hear the Asian nurse yelling at us: "Who paint baby nails!!!???", "Who paint baby nails!!!???" "No paint baby nails! ... ever!" Fair enough, you learn something new every day.
In the beginning, my plan was to defer to Naarah on most things baby. My reasoning was that she was the oldest of four girls and should have had plenty of experience with babies. I was the youngest child in my family and had never changed a diaper in my life. The fingernail painting incident slapped me with cold harsh reality. Anyway, I figure the hard part is over and it just gets progressively easier from here till she's eighteen. Naarah loves montages so here is GG's life in photo!
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Friday, November 03, 2006
The Cold War gets Hot!
I work in a large nondescript office complex which consists of approximately 12 three story buildings. My company occupies one full building and consists of approximate 500 employees, of which about 300 are men. We have 1 bathroom per floor each of which contains 2 stalls and 2 urinals. Breaking down the numbers, we have on average 100 men sharing each bathroom which makes for pretty crowed conditions during peak "business" times. Peak "business" times, I will define as between 10-11 AM and 2-3 PM Monday through Friday. A typical day for a typical male employee consists of arriving at 8 AM, drinking coffee, let's say 4 cups between 8 and 10, coffee being a diuretic, the stalls fill up pretty quick starting at 10 AM.
The afternoon rush falls between 2 and 3 PM due to the overreliance for sustenance on the unlicensed taco truck that visits our office complex parking lot. The first three months of my employment found me with no end to frustration with always finding the bathrooms in my building occupado. Spending 15 minutes every day searching for a free stall in my building is not my idea of a quality work experience, so I decided to use my God given intelligence that had earned me my job as an Optimization Manager to solve the problem.
It didn't take me long to find a solution, you could almost say the solution found me. I was having a particularly difficult time finding an empty stall one day when I gazed out my cubicle window and noticed the nearly empty office building next door. When ever my company wanted to have an all hands meeting, we would trot across the parking lot the building next door which had 2 unoccupied floors. In fact, there was talk that we may lease one of those floors due to the space constraints we were currently experiencing.
I took the short 30 yard walk that day and that experience changed my life forever. The bathrooms in the building next door were like a small slice of heaven. These bathrooms were always unoccupied, had top tier toilet paper, were complete with fully functioning air fresheners, and had a delightful hand soap that actually seem to not only clean but condition my hands. I had found my Valhalla!
I'm no dummy and I've been schooled in the tragedy of the commons. I knew I had to keep the secret of the great bathrooms to myself. If the word got out, I knew that my bathroom Taj Mahal would be destroyed. It would only take a few of the animals in my building a couple of days to turn the good bathrooms into something resembling a woman's bathroom at a gay club.
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. The signs were all there and I had good run of almost a full year. Some of my coworkers must have noticed me on my daily jaunts next door. There is only a few reasons why a coworker would be walking next door with his copy of National Review tucked under his arm. The experience began to deteriorate over the past few months as word leaked out. I began to notice that used newspapers had begun to accumulate on the floor the bathroom. I should have confronted the cretins responsible when I first noticed people had begun to defile my temple, but hindsight is 20 - 20. I should have told them that if they didn't clean up their act, they would ruin it for all of us. To this day, I almost feel that what happened was fated. The cretins never listen and all good things come to an end.
The beginning of the end began a couple of weeks ago as I went next door during the afternoon bathroom rush. I entered the stall to attend to my business when a couple of minutes later, the bathroom door opened and someone spoke. Now I was raised with a certain level of decorum and as a result of this, I follow a number of hard and fast rules. One of these rules is that you do not speak to a man in a stall. I can imagine certain situations such as natural disasters, or terrorist attacks where this rule can be bent, but on balance I live by this rule. Because of my rule, I did not at first realize that this stranger was speaking to me. But as he repeated the question, "Why do you guys always use this bathroom?" I recovered enough to answer, "Full house next door." This bathroom Nazi apparently was not satisfied by my answer because he began a 5 minute diatribe about how I was illegally trespassing in "his" bathroom. The man had me at a bit of a disadvantage due to my current "position", so he may have won the first battle in the bathroom war.
After this incident, I went back to my building and told of my experience to my fellow male coworkers. It got hot fast, and most of my coworkers vowed not to give in to the bathroom Nazi next door. By early next week, multiple male coworkers had been confronted by the bathroom Nazi and each had similar experiences to mine. The last confrontation involved the bathroom Nazi vowing to put a keypad lock on "his" bathroom door, which I believe led the bathroom Nazi to think that he had won the war. Sure enough, one of my coworker reported the next day that a key pad was being installed.
Anything good is worth fighting for and my coworkers decided that they didn't want to give up the bathroom next door. Six months ago, my company leased the 3rd floor of the building next door. We quickly obtained the bathroom lock combination when the property management company sent it out to tenants in the building. One of my coworkers, Bobby, is a bit of a young punk and he immediately went next door to try out the combination. As Bobby was completing his business, the bathroom Nazi in a fit of rage entered the bathroom and began to pound on the stall door and gesticulate violently. Bobby popped off as he is proned to due, and felt everything was fine as the bathroom Nazi left the room. As Bobby left the bathroom, the bathroom Nazi was waiting for him in the lobby and began to physically confront him.
Bobby was pretty shook up by the incident and described the bathroom Nazi as "crazy, with strange dark eyes that were too close together." We are currently planning our next attack.
I work in a large nondescript office complex which consists of approximately 12 three story buildings. My company occupies one full building and consists of approximate 500 employees, of which about 300 are men. We have 1 bathroom per floor each of which contains 2 stalls and 2 urinals. Breaking down the numbers, we have on average 100 men sharing each bathroom which makes for pretty crowed conditions during peak "business" times. Peak "business" times, I will define as between 10-11 AM and 2-3 PM Monday through Friday. A typical day for a typical male employee consists of arriving at 8 AM, drinking coffee, let's say 4 cups between 8 and 10, coffee being a diuretic, the stalls fill up pretty quick starting at 10 AM.
The afternoon rush falls between 2 and 3 PM due to the overreliance for sustenance on the unlicensed taco truck that visits our office complex parking lot. The first three months of my employment found me with no end to frustration with always finding the bathrooms in my building occupado. Spending 15 minutes every day searching for a free stall in my building is not my idea of a quality work experience, so I decided to use my God given intelligence that had earned me my job as an Optimization Manager to solve the problem.
It didn't take me long to find a solution, you could almost say the solution found me. I was having a particularly difficult time finding an empty stall one day when I gazed out my cubicle window and noticed the nearly empty office building next door. When ever my company wanted to have an all hands meeting, we would trot across the parking lot the building next door which had 2 unoccupied floors. In fact, there was talk that we may lease one of those floors due to the space constraints we were currently experiencing.
I took the short 30 yard walk that day and that experience changed my life forever. The bathrooms in the building next door were like a small slice of heaven. These bathrooms were always unoccupied, had top tier toilet paper, were complete with fully functioning air fresheners, and had a delightful hand soap that actually seem to not only clean but condition my hands. I had found my Valhalla!
I'm no dummy and I've been schooled in the tragedy of the commons. I knew I had to keep the secret of the great bathrooms to myself. If the word got out, I knew that my bathroom Taj Mahal would be destroyed. It would only take a few of the animals in my building a couple of days to turn the good bathrooms into something resembling a woman's bathroom at a gay club.
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. The signs were all there and I had good run of almost a full year. Some of my coworkers must have noticed me on my daily jaunts next door. There is only a few reasons why a coworker would be walking next door with his copy of National Review tucked under his arm. The experience began to deteriorate over the past few months as word leaked out. I began to notice that used newspapers had begun to accumulate on the floor the bathroom. I should have confronted the cretins responsible when I first noticed people had begun to defile my temple, but hindsight is 20 - 20. I should have told them that if they didn't clean up their act, they would ruin it for all of us. To this day, I almost feel that what happened was fated. The cretins never listen and all good things come to an end.
The beginning of the end began a couple of weeks ago as I went next door during the afternoon bathroom rush. I entered the stall to attend to my business when a couple of minutes later, the bathroom door opened and someone spoke. Now I was raised with a certain level of decorum and as a result of this, I follow a number of hard and fast rules. One of these rules is that you do not speak to a man in a stall. I can imagine certain situations such as natural disasters, or terrorist attacks where this rule can be bent, but on balance I live by this rule. Because of my rule, I did not at first realize that this stranger was speaking to me. But as he repeated the question, "Why do you guys always use this bathroom?" I recovered enough to answer, "Full house next door." This bathroom Nazi apparently was not satisfied by my answer because he began a 5 minute diatribe about how I was illegally trespassing in "his" bathroom. The man had me at a bit of a disadvantage due to my current "position", so he may have won the first battle in the bathroom war.
After this incident, I went back to my building and told of my experience to my fellow male coworkers. It got hot fast, and most of my coworkers vowed not to give in to the bathroom Nazi next door. By early next week, multiple male coworkers had been confronted by the bathroom Nazi and each had similar experiences to mine. The last confrontation involved the bathroom Nazi vowing to put a keypad lock on "his" bathroom door, which I believe led the bathroom Nazi to think that he had won the war. Sure enough, one of my coworker reported the next day that a key pad was being installed.
Anything good is worth fighting for and my coworkers decided that they didn't want to give up the bathroom next door. Six months ago, my company leased the 3rd floor of the building next door. We quickly obtained the bathroom lock combination when the property management company sent it out to tenants in the building. One of my coworkers, Bobby, is a bit of a young punk and he immediately went next door to try out the combination. As Bobby was completing his business, the bathroom Nazi in a fit of rage entered the bathroom and began to pound on the stall door and gesticulate violently. Bobby popped off as he is proned to due, and felt everything was fine as the bathroom Nazi left the room. As Bobby left the bathroom, the bathroom Nazi was waiting for him in the lobby and began to physically confront him.
Bobby was pretty shook up by the incident and described the bathroom Nazi as "crazy, with strange dark eyes that were too close together." We are currently planning our next attack.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
11 months old.
GG turns 11 months old today, so here are some recent pictures.
Naarah's friend Jenny got this car for GG a couple of weeks ago. She loves it. When you put her in it, she goes vrooooooom, vrooooom. As you wheel her around, she loves to wave to everyone. Just like the Pope!
GG taking a bath.
GG getting caught trying to call Elmo.
GG sipping some juice.
Daddy Out!
GG turns 11 months old today, so here are some recent pictures.
Naarah's friend Jenny got this car for GG a couple of weeks ago. She loves it. When you put her in it, she goes vrooooooom, vrooooom. As you wheel her around, she loves to wave to everyone. Just like the Pope!
GG taking a bath.
GG getting caught trying to call Elmo.
GG sipping some juice.
Daddy Out!
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Don't F with Hornets
Bruce Lee was one tough son of a gun and he got his start in ShowBiz as the 60's TV super hero sidekick The Green Hornet. One of the most unbelievable episodes of the campy Batman television show pitted Robin the "Boy Wonder" against The Green Hornet. The casting director expected us to "suspend belief" as Robin played by shrimpy Burt Ward beats the heck out of The Green Hornet played by Bruce Lee. Come on... Bruce Lee's Pee is tougher than Burt Ward. In real life, Bruce Lee would have touched Burt Ward with his pinky and Burt would have crapped himself and broken into a thousand pieces.
This past summer I learned to respect the power of the Hornet. The summer of 2006 will always be know to me as the Summer of Hornets. It started innocently enough last June, with my attempt to rebuild a retaining wall that had partially collapsed due to last winter's rains. I was moving cement blocks when all of a sudden, I felt a hot searing pain near my right elbow. When I looked down, I noticed a rather large hornet attached to my arm. I smashed him between my fingers and started to panic.
Little know fact: I'm allergic to bee stings. Yep, just like Macaulay Culkin in "My Girl", one sting from a bee and I'm pushing up daisies.
After getting attacked by one hornet, his buddies began to swarm me and sting my precious calves. By the time I got inside, my wounds were beginning to swell, and I told the wife that she might have to take me to the hospital. I didn't die, so I learned that I'm not also allergic to hornets. My wounds continued to swell over the next few days and I itched like hell.
I took me a few weeks to psychologically recover from my first battle with the hornets but I vowed to exact my revenge.
The next incident in my Summer of Hornets started with me purchasing two cans of Hornet spray. I pinpointed the area of the retaining wall where the Hornets seemed to be hanging out and doused the entire area. I then returned to working on tearing my retaining wall down. After about 45 minutes of work, I got to the area that I sprayed down with the Hornet killer and with a shovel tipped over the top block in the retaining wall. As the block slowly cascaded off of the retaining wall, I saw the nest tucked under the cement block. The only thought that passed through my mind was "I'm F'ed". This thought was quickly replaced by second half of the fight or flight response as hundreds of hornets streamed out of their lair and started biting me.
I made it back into my house in under five seconds, caught my breath and began to survey the damage. As I looked into the mirror, I discovered about 50 hornets on my back. This triggered a second fight or flight response and flight won again. I began to tear off my clothes and ran for the bedroom. I could hear the little bastards buzzing around in the house. These things were super hornets, because later in the day when I gathered up my hornet infested clothes and threw them in the wash, they not only survived a full wash cycle, but they broke my washing machine.
A couple of weeks later, my father in law showed up, and I being the smart guy that I am, asked him to get rid of the little bastards. We suited Dennis up in my ski gear, snow pants, hat, big coat, scarf, etc. He was armed with two bottle of hornet/wasp killer, and went out to do battle. Dennis had so much clothing on, that he looked like the little brother from "A Christmas Story". Naarah, GG, and I watched him squirt the cinder block the nest was built into with the wasp killer. The little bastards were buzzing and dive bombing him pretty good.
When Dennis flipped the cinder block over to get a better shot at the hornet's lair, I thought he was a goner. Hornets stormed out and he made a hasty retreat to my garage. Dennis decided to change his tactics and brought out the big guns, lighter fluid and matches. Five minutes later, all that was left was hundreds of charred hornets. If life was fair, this would be the end of the post, but alas, life's not fair.
A few weeks later, I managed to find a couple of free hours on a Saturday, and decided to clean up the yard and mow the law. I mowed the front and started for the back. Everything was fine, until while I was walking backward, I stepped in a small depression in the ground. I looked down, and my left foot was smack dab in the middle of a hornet's nest. Hornets were buzzing and streaming out of the nest. Before I knew what the heck was going on, there was a searing pain in my ass. If you made it this far through this post, here is your sweet, sweet reward. The money shot:
Friday, September 29, 2006
Hippy = Jackass!
I have long understood the correlation between organic food eating, dirty smelly hippy, natural pathetic lovin' people and jackasses, but this article highlights the phenomenon. Some extremely stupid hippy parents have been feeding their children unpasteurized or "raw" milk, and now those children have come down with e. coli infections.
This follows closely on the heels of the "organic" spinach derived e. coli outbreak that sickened 180 people nationwide. If I have said it once, I've said it a thousand times, "All food is organic! If it was inorganic, you would die!"
The article says that in Washington state, it is legal to sell unpateurized milk, but it is illegal in many other states. Big surprise. My God, this is the 21st century. Do we really want to go back to the days before Louis Pasteur figured out you could heat food, kill many of the bacteria living in that food, and hence prolong the shelf life of that food? I know, Pasteur was a Frenchman. But come on, the hippy-dippy, natural food types love the French.
I often wonder if the people pushing the organic food, "raw"milk, let's not immunize our children and raise them as strict vegans, ever feel guilty when people follow their advice and bad things happen. I used to try to persuade these morons that their germ theory and nutritional theories were unsound, but to them, it is religious dogma. I don't much care when an adult chooses to be a moron and consumes unpasteurized milk. Play Russian Roulette with your dietary consumption, but don't pour this crap down some innocent kids gullet!
The last little gem in this story concerns price. I guarantee that these Jackasses paid significantly more money to purchase this "raw" milk than they would have if they would have purchased run of the mill pasteurized Darigold.
I have long understood the correlation between organic food eating, dirty smelly hippy, natural pathetic lovin' people and jackasses, but this article highlights the phenomenon. Some extremely stupid hippy parents have been feeding their children unpasteurized or "raw" milk, and now those children have come down with e. coli infections.
This follows closely on the heels of the "organic" spinach derived e. coli outbreak that sickened 180 people nationwide. If I have said it once, I've said it a thousand times, "All food is organic! If it was inorganic, you would die!"
The article says that in Washington state, it is legal to sell unpateurized milk, but it is illegal in many other states. Big surprise. My God, this is the 21st century. Do we really want to go back to the days before Louis Pasteur figured out you could heat food, kill many of the bacteria living in that food, and hence prolong the shelf life of that food? I know, Pasteur was a Frenchman. But come on, the hippy-dippy, natural food types love the French.
I often wonder if the people pushing the organic food, "raw"milk, let's not immunize our children and raise them as strict vegans, ever feel guilty when people follow their advice and bad things happen. I used to try to persuade these morons that their germ theory and nutritional theories were unsound, but to them, it is religious dogma. I don't much care when an adult chooses to be a moron and consumes unpasteurized milk. Play Russian Roulette with your dietary consumption, but don't pour this crap down some innocent kids gullet!
The last little gem in this story concerns price. I guarantee that these Jackasses paid significantly more money to purchase this "raw" milk than they would have if they would have purchased run of the mill pasteurized Darigold.
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