Sorry about that last post. That wasn't nice. I only partly want to mean it. You know, the part of me that finds nearly everything Reverend Falwell said completely reprehensible.
That part of me wants to see him downstairs. The rest of me is mostly filled with compassion and forgiveness...something I'm sure will totally disgust Jerry.
16 May 2007
15 May 2007
14 May 2007
Elvis Has Entered The Building...
The other day, the wife and boys joined me for lunch at the local cafe. Nothing is particularly amazing about this place, but it generally provides at least a little space for dining in peace. About halfway through our meal, a gentleman enters the cafe and saunters to a bench right next to our table and just sorta sat there waiting for service. There were plenty of tables available, so I'm not sure if we were invading on "his" table or if he just felt the need to be near us. Anyway, this gentleman was none other than the King of Rock and Roll, Elvis! I mean it. He's a downright spittin' image of the King. It was awesome!
The wife was doing her best to force down her food without bursting with laughter and neither boy was even phased by the impersonator. I, however, couldn't resist speaking up. I asked what anybody would ask, "Excuse me, did you used to sell cars?" I thought the wife was going to choke! His reply, in a decidedly un-Elvis-ish voice, "Why, yeah, I did!" At this point, I can see my wife start herding the kids as I'm certain she was ready to leave out of sheer embarrassment, but abruptly stopped when Elvis began a lengthy conversation with us.
See, years ago, I bought a car from Elvis. It turned out to be a total junker, but it served it's intended purpose and lasted nearly 200,000 miles. The paint would fall off in large chunks. The driver's seat was broken on one side, so I always looked like I was cruisin' down the strip instead of just going to work. A friend once told me that he wouldn't follow me, for fear of paint flying off my car and landing on his new truck. I told him not to worry because the paint wouldn't stick to anything!
Anyway, Elvis is doing okay. He's having some trouble these days with his weight, cholesterol, both hips, and one knee. Surprisingly, he only ordered a small side salad for lunch, which he willingly informed us was because he needed to lose weight before having hip surgery.
I'll bet you didn't know that Elvis was an "over-sharer". We learned all sorts of stuff about him (particularly his many ailments), from his job history to details about his marriage. It was all very interesting, but a bit overwhelming. Apparently, he's no longer selling cars, but he's an avid car collector, particularly the Chevy sportscars, Camaro and, of course, the Corvette. I'm not a "car" guy, so I can't remember what his most recent acquisition was, but it sounded cool enough.
On a side note (this is where I venture off to Tangentville), one of my oldest friends used to drive a 'Vette in high school. It was pretty cool for a Chevrolet Chevette.
Anyway, back to Elvis. Over-sharers are good people, but they really ought to learn some discretion before just telling everyone about everything, particularly when they're trying desperately to finish their meals. I have found that pre-teens and the elderly are both devoid of the stop-talking-now filter that the rest of us have.
I should also point out that Elvis is aging just like the rest of us. Not as well as we'd all dreamed about when we were young. But, despite all that, the man is in great spirits and still dons the sequined jump suit for appearances throughout the States. So, suck it up people. If Elvis can still do it...so can you!
The wife was doing her best to force down her food without bursting with laughter and neither boy was even phased by the impersonator. I, however, couldn't resist speaking up. I asked what anybody would ask, "Excuse me, did you used to sell cars?" I thought the wife was going to choke! His reply, in a decidedly un-Elvis-ish voice, "Why, yeah, I did!" At this point, I can see my wife start herding the kids as I'm certain she was ready to leave out of sheer embarrassment, but abruptly stopped when Elvis began a lengthy conversation with us.
See, years ago, I bought a car from Elvis. It turned out to be a total junker, but it served it's intended purpose and lasted nearly 200,000 miles. The paint would fall off in large chunks. The driver's seat was broken on one side, so I always looked like I was cruisin' down the strip instead of just going to work. A friend once told me that he wouldn't follow me, for fear of paint flying off my car and landing on his new truck. I told him not to worry because the paint wouldn't stick to anything!
Anyway, Elvis is doing okay. He's having some trouble these days with his weight, cholesterol, both hips, and one knee. Surprisingly, he only ordered a small side salad for lunch, which he willingly informed us was because he needed to lose weight before having hip surgery.
I'll bet you didn't know that Elvis was an "over-sharer". We learned all sorts of stuff about him (particularly his many ailments), from his job history to details about his marriage. It was all very interesting, but a bit overwhelming. Apparently, he's no longer selling cars, but he's an avid car collector, particularly the Chevy sportscars, Camaro and, of course, the Corvette. I'm not a "car" guy, so I can't remember what his most recent acquisition was, but it sounded cool enough.
On a side note (this is where I venture off to Tangentville), one of my oldest friends used to drive a 'Vette in high school. It was pretty cool for a Chevrolet Chevette.
Anyway, back to Elvis. Over-sharers are good people, but they really ought to learn some discretion before just telling everyone about everything, particularly when they're trying desperately to finish their meals. I have found that pre-teens and the elderly are both devoid of the stop-talking-now filter that the rest of us have.
I should also point out that Elvis is aging just like the rest of us. Not as well as we'd all dreamed about when we were young. But, despite all that, the man is in great spirits and still dons the sequined jump suit for appearances throughout the States. So, suck it up people. If Elvis can still do it...so can you!
12 May 2007
Mix it up to fix it up...
Okay, that was a stupid title. A rhyme? The best I could do was a rhyme? In the old days, before the internet as we know it, before email, and long before blogs, I'd write the story first and then add a headline. It just seemed to make the most sense, given that I didn't always know which direction an article would take me. No sense putting an arbitrary label on something and then letting the boundaries of that keep me fenced in. But now, even a simple email asks for the recipient and then the subject as though that's all I'm going to talk about. I suppose having, "Work, kids, vehicle and commute update, questions about you, and lame joke du jour" might overwhelm my audience just a little. Then again, typing, "V1A_G_RA Ch3AP!" would probably get it tossed into your junk email folder, despite the fact that I'm selling my free sample for cheap!
Anyway, there I go into tangentville again. The title was the best I could do. But, more importantly, I'd like to share with you a little bit about my two dear friends, Natalie and Drew. Okay, they're not my friends at all, but I wish they were. We've never met. I think I've emailed Drew before. They have cashed a few of our checks and sent us wonderful shirts and bags in return before. But, nonetheless, they still are my friends-not-friends. My wife and I can hardly wait to check their nightly additions to their webcomics. Plain and simple, those kids rock!
Visit them at:
www.toothpastefordinner.com
www.nataliedee.com
www.marriedtothesea.com
After you do that, check out their movies. Read their blogs (I truly wish they'd update more). Visit their archives (hint: your boss won't like it if you try to read their entire catalog in one day). If you like reading this, you just might like what they create.
Or. Don't. But keep reading, you just might by the end of this post.
The bride and I have been reading them faithfully for over a year now. But, a few months ago, they started making movies in addition to their comics. They're literally all over YouTube. Interestingly, at first both their movies and comics kinda fell off from my expectations, with only the occasional one being foward-worthy. Actually, I think some of their fans really got on them about it, too. Natalie eventually noted in her blog that diversifying was one way to maintain their creative-edge. You know what? She's absolutely right, and they've clearly taken it to the next level and are better than ever!
What's that mean for you? Simple. Diversify. Write a blog. For the longest time, I sat here reading everyone else's blogs and never writing my own. I was afraid I'd sound dumb. I probably do. But, guess what? Nobody reads this shit anyway. So go do it! I'm serious. Or, go fly a kite (just not in Pakistan). Make movies. Climb mountains. Take a shit in the woods. Do something completely different and see how it makes the rest of you better.
*For a moment, I was starting to sound like those motivational posters. Ugh...
**Contrary to the post...I do NOT have any Viagra for sale. I don't have any Viagra at all. Sorry...
Anyway, there I go into tangentville again. The title was the best I could do. But, more importantly, I'd like to share with you a little bit about my two dear friends, Natalie and Drew. Okay, they're not my friends at all, but I wish they were. We've never met. I think I've emailed Drew before. They have cashed a few of our checks and sent us wonderful shirts and bags in return before. But, nonetheless, they still are my friends-not-friends. My wife and I can hardly wait to check their nightly additions to their webcomics. Plain and simple, those kids rock!
Visit them at:
www.toothpastefordinner.com
www.nataliedee.com
www.marriedtothesea.com
After you do that, check out their movies. Read their blogs (I truly wish they'd update more). Visit their archives (hint: your boss won't like it if you try to read their entire catalog in one day). If you like reading this, you just might like what they create.
Or. Don't. But keep reading, you just might by the end of this post.
The bride and I have been reading them faithfully for over a year now. But, a few months ago, they started making movies in addition to their comics. They're literally all over YouTube. Interestingly, at first both their movies and comics kinda fell off from my expectations, with only the occasional one being foward-worthy. Actually, I think some of their fans really got on them about it, too. Natalie eventually noted in her blog that diversifying was one way to maintain their creative-edge. You know what? She's absolutely right, and they've clearly taken it to the next level and are better than ever!
What's that mean for you? Simple. Diversify. Write a blog. For the longest time, I sat here reading everyone else's blogs and never writing my own. I was afraid I'd sound dumb. I probably do. But, guess what? Nobody reads this shit anyway. So go do it! I'm serious. Or, go fly a kite (just not in Pakistan). Make movies. Climb mountains. Take a shit in the woods. Do something completely different and see how it makes the rest of you better.
*For a moment, I was starting to sound like those motivational posters. Ugh...
**Contrary to the post...I do NOT have any Viagra for sale. I don't have any Viagra at all. Sorry...
Peaches...
...more concisely, "shitty peaches". What are "shitty peaches" you ask? Well, it's not the name of my band, mostly because I don't have a band. But if I did have a band, I would lobby real hard to name us "Shitty Peaches".
But, I digress...shitty peaches are in fact the smell when someone at the office makes a feble effort to mask the scent of their shit with the can of peach-scented spray that's been sitting on the back of the can for the last three years. Shitty peaches is not, I repeat, NOT a good scent by any stretch of the imagination. It's about enough to make me throw up a little in my mouth. (Not sure why I'd want to name a band after something that makes me puke, but that's for another blog entry.)
Here's the deal. Shit smell on its own. Acceptable enough, because it is what it is. Peaches on their own are hands down one of the best aromas in the world. Together...they're a recipe for disaster. Does the stink turn the peaches rotten? I don't know, but it seems like a good theory.
I should add that "shitty peaches" should in no way be confused with "shitty melon burst", mostly because "shitty melon burst" actually sounds like something that could happen...and it doesn't sound pretty.
So, what's the solution you ask? Hang out in the bathroom a little longer. Read the entire golf magazine. Enjoy a good book. Play solitaire on your cell phone. You're on the clock...do whatever the fuck you want. But, please, I'm begging you, don't spray the peaches to cover your stink. It won't work.
**Two blogs about poo (and their accompanying smells) in six blog entries. Damn it. I thought I was above all that, but I guess I'm just like every other man.
But, I digress...shitty peaches are in fact the smell when someone at the office makes a feble effort to mask the scent of their shit with the can of peach-scented spray that's been sitting on the back of the can for the last three years. Shitty peaches is not, I repeat, NOT a good scent by any stretch of the imagination. It's about enough to make me throw up a little in my mouth. (Not sure why I'd want to name a band after something that makes me puke, but that's for another blog entry.)
Here's the deal. Shit smell on its own. Acceptable enough, because it is what it is. Peaches on their own are hands down one of the best aromas in the world. Together...they're a recipe for disaster. Does the stink turn the peaches rotten? I don't know, but it seems like a good theory.
I should add that "shitty peaches" should in no way be confused with "shitty melon burst", mostly because "shitty melon burst" actually sounds like something that could happen...and it doesn't sound pretty.
So, what's the solution you ask? Hang out in the bathroom a little longer. Read the entire golf magazine. Enjoy a good book. Play solitaire on your cell phone. You're on the clock...do whatever the fuck you want. But, please, I'm begging you, don't spray the peaches to cover your stink. It won't work.
**Two blogs about poo (and their accompanying smells) in six blog entries. Damn it. I thought I was above all that, but I guess I'm just like every other man.
Pheremones...
I love "my" time. I sincerely believe that the key to personal happiness begins with being happy with yourself when nobody else is around. Unfortunately, I don't get a lot of time to just be by myself since I work in a cube farm (more of a small "hobby" cube farm) and have a small herd of children and pets at home. But, when I do, I absolutely try to make the most of it.
For example, I subscribe to 2 golf magazines (the big 2...if you're a golfer, you know which ones I'm talking about) and I usually can read a whole issue while sitting on the can. Don't get me wrong, I could easily be done and out of there long before the whole magazine is read, but they're generally a good read and some of the stuff is actually useful.
Except this...
For example, I subscribe to 2 golf magazines (the big 2...if you're a golfer, you know which ones I'm talking about) and I usually can read a whole issue while sitting on the can. Don't get me wrong, I could easily be done and out of there long before the whole magazine is read, but they're generally a good read and some of the stuff is actually useful.
Except this...
This is Dr. Winnifred Cutler of the Athena Institute. They put ads in the "classified section" of the golf magazines. Apparently she discovered the relationship between human pheremones and the interactions between men and women.First of all, and this isn't very nice, but I can see why she had to discover pheremones.
Finally, between this ad (which really should be re-worked to cast their product in a more favorable light) and all the Viagara and sex technique video ads I'm beginning to wonder if there's a direct connection between golf and sexual inadequacy. I'll have the ask the bride if I've been afflicted, but I'm pretty sure I'm okay.
10 May 2007
They should've called the Kite Man...
After reading this, it is quite clear that there is a lot wrong in this world. 11 people are killed at a kite festival? Seriously? WTF? That's unbelievable. Wire kite strings? Glass-coated kite strings? Celebratory gunshots? For a kite festival? Really? Damn.
Apparently the Pakistani government made kite flying illegal after there were a bunch of deaths at the '06 version, only to lift the ban just before the '07 games. They say hindsight is 20/20, but what does foresight equal?
Supposedly there's a movie coming out about the Afghanistan Kite Festivals that is based on the book "Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini (buy it here). The movie is getting quite a lot of rave reviews from those that have pre-viewed it. I guess I'm just going to have to add it to the ol' Netflix queue.
Anyway, I guess what I'm saying is that we (The good ol' US of frickin' A) probably shouldn't be anywhere where they take something as simple as kite flying this seriously.
So, now I have added my two-cents worth on our military presence in pretty much any place in the world. We really, really, REALLY need to bring our kids home. I'll admit that I'm not on the right side of the fence. I'll admit that I have never been in favor of us being in Iraq. But I just gotta say folks, that we're not playing on the same field as the people we're helping/invading/democratizing/whatever. People die at their kite festivals. That's like people getting killed at Westminster or something.
Oh, I'll bet you're wondering about the "Kite Man" from the blog title? Well, if you grew up in the Northwest in the late 70's, you'll definitely remember Pacific Power's "Kite Man" PSA's. I think he was trying to tell us to be more safe with kites, or something, but every time we tried to fly a kite in Portland, there wasn't enough wind or we just plain sucked at kite flying. Anyway, at one point the Kite Man says, "What if your kite wiiiiiiiiiiinds around a power line?" (With the "wind" really drawn out and syrupy.) The kids all scream, "Call the Kite Man!" It was awesome!
The best part of the whole PSA had to be when the Kite Man asks, "What about frogs?" This little girl replies (cue the classic cute little kid voice), "I like frogs." That's probably my first exposure to a non-sequiter, although at the time I had no idea what a "non-sequiter" was.
Here's an idea...we should all go out and fly our kites in honor of our fallen Pakistani brothers and sisters. Only this time, no razor wire. And no guns. And no war.
Apparently the Pakistani government made kite flying illegal after there were a bunch of deaths at the '06 version, only to lift the ban just before the '07 games. They say hindsight is 20/20, but what does foresight equal?
Supposedly there's a movie coming out about the Afghanistan Kite Festivals that is based on the book "Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini (buy it here). The movie is getting quite a lot of rave reviews from those that have pre-viewed it. I guess I'm just going to have to add it to the ol' Netflix queue.
Anyway, I guess what I'm saying is that we (The good ol' US of frickin' A) probably shouldn't be anywhere where they take something as simple as kite flying this seriously.
So, now I have added my two-cents worth on our military presence in pretty much any place in the world. We really, really, REALLY need to bring our kids home. I'll admit that I'm not on the right side of the fence. I'll admit that I have never been in favor of us being in Iraq. But I just gotta say folks, that we're not playing on the same field as the people we're helping/invading/democratizing/whatever. People die at their kite festivals. That's like people getting killed at Westminster or something.
Oh, I'll bet you're wondering about the "Kite Man" from the blog title? Well, if you grew up in the Northwest in the late 70's, you'll definitely remember Pacific Power's "Kite Man" PSA's. I think he was trying to tell us to be more safe with kites, or something, but every time we tried to fly a kite in Portland, there wasn't enough wind or we just plain sucked at kite flying. Anyway, at one point the Kite Man says, "What if your kite wiiiiiiiiiiinds around a power line?" (With the "wind" really drawn out and syrupy.) The kids all scream, "Call the Kite Man!" It was awesome!
The best part of the whole PSA had to be when the Kite Man asks, "What about frogs?" This little girl replies (cue the classic cute little kid voice), "I like frogs." That's probably my first exposure to a non-sequiter, although at the time I had no idea what a "non-sequiter" was.
Here's an idea...we should all go out and fly our kites in honor of our fallen Pakistani brothers and sisters. Only this time, no razor wire. And no guns. And no war.
09 May 2007
Vonage...
Last night I was watching something and this Vonage commercial came on. I've seen it probably dozens of times before, but this was the first time I actually "watched" it. Can I just say that Vonage has chosen the biggest bunch of nerds, geeks, dweebs, gamers, losers and loners to be their "Customer Spokesmodels" I've ever seen. No wonder Vonage is in deep trouble with their finances and legal troubles.
Don't get me wrong, I'm basically nothing more than a cool-nerd at best, but the last thing I'd ever expect is for some company to make me their TV image. The last guy they air on the commercial says something to the effect of, "...people don't even know I'm on VOIP...". Okay, seriously, dude, it's time to step out of the World of Warcraft and join the rest of society. After looking at that guy, does he even need Vonage (or any phone, for that matter)? It's not like anybody other than his mom is calling him.
I'm certain that I'm making all sorts of people mad about this, but when Vonage first came out, I was thinking that it might be kinda cool to have, but clearly the only people interested in getting Vonage now are the types that are already spending way, WAY too much time on their computers.
Here's a tip...if you've got stock in Vonage that's worth anything...sell now.
Don't get me wrong, I'm basically nothing more than a cool-nerd at best, but the last thing I'd ever expect is for some company to make me their TV image. The last guy they air on the commercial says something to the effect of, "...people don't even know I'm on VOIP...". Okay, seriously, dude, it's time to step out of the World of Warcraft and join the rest of society. After looking at that guy, does he even need Vonage (or any phone, for that matter)? It's not like anybody other than his mom is calling him.
I'm certain that I'm making all sorts of people mad about this, but when Vonage first came out, I was thinking that it might be kinda cool to have, but clearly the only people interested in getting Vonage now are the types that are already spending way, WAY too much time on their computers.
Here's a tip...if you've got stock in Vonage that's worth anything...sell now.
Fun Sponging...
I decided I'd better clear the air regarding the "Fun Sponging" title of my blog on the off chance someone legitimately searching for a blog about "sponging" techniques or ideas or whatever, might happen across this thing and wonder where all the good advice is. THIS IS NOT A BLOG ABOUT SPONGING. In fact, the only thing I use sponges for is to clean dishes, so if that's why you're here, I'm sorry to disappoint you. But stay for awhile and maybe, you'll find my musings satisfactorily amusing.
"Fun Sponging" is the act of being a "Fun Sponge" which is defined by UrbanDictionary.com as "Someone who has the ability to walk into a room and literaly soak all of the fun out of it." I should point out that I am, in fact, not a "Fun Sponge" at all (Most would probably describe me as exactly the opposite), but the phrase just cracks me up, so I decided to name my blog after it.
There you have it. Simple enough.
Have an awesome day!
"Fun Sponging" is the act of being a "Fun Sponge" which is defined by UrbanDictionary.com as "Someone who has the ability to walk into a room and literaly soak all of the fun out of it." I should point out that I am, in fact, not a "Fun Sponge" at all (Most would probably describe me as exactly the opposite), but the phrase just cracks me up, so I decided to name my blog after it.
There you have it. Simple enough.
Have an awesome day!
07 May 2007
My Super Power...
So, last night the wife and I discovered my super power. I have the uncanny ability to detect when a fart is a signal that the perpetrator better get their behind directly to the nearest bathroom and take care of business. I realize that most of you probably don't think that this is much of a super power at all, but I can say with great confidence that my ability to sniff out the truth has saved our family from a myriad of natural disasters.
Take the kids, for instance. For all but the baby, they have the ability to choose to use the bathroom when necessary. Unfortunately, they seem to think that pushing the envelope is a worthy goal and all too often wait until it's far, far too late before venturing into the commode. This is where my powers come in handy and fortunately, the kids still listen when I raise my voice. I'm even relatively adept at determining which emissions of the baby's are just him enjoying what has to be one of the most satisfying things a baby can do and when something far more serious is approaching. Many start-the-washing-machine, get-the-baby-in-the-tub and disinfect-the-nursery disasters have been averted by my talents.
I have also recently discovered that I can detect which of my dog's emanations is worthy of a trip outside. I must admit that I did not believe that essence eau dog 2 was possible to decipher when we first rescued her from the streets of the neighboring town, but there definitely is a certain quality to the absolute rankness that is her tail-less ass that leaves little doubt as to what is inevitably following close behind. We also believed that dog 2 would eventually overcome her funk with exposure to a diet devoid of scraps and garbage, but apparently the baby takes great pride in sharing his food with her (which might explain their combined near-toxic levels of gaseousness), but turns out she has doggie IBS. Just my luck...she must be a Cancer like half of us!
Interestingly, I don’t think of myself as a particularly gifted gas-passer (although kid 1 is brilliant at it…just say the word “fart” and it’ll happen), nor do I find my own to be particularly offensive, so I’m not sure why I was given this gift…I guess I’m just lucky.
(*More on dog 2 (and dog 1), kids 1-4, the wife, the job, and other rants and ruminations later.)
Oh, yeah, I nearly forgot. Anybody want a cat or 4?
Take the kids, for instance. For all but the baby, they have the ability to choose to use the bathroom when necessary. Unfortunately, they seem to think that pushing the envelope is a worthy goal and all too often wait until it's far, far too late before venturing into the commode. This is where my powers come in handy and fortunately, the kids still listen when I raise my voice. I'm even relatively adept at determining which emissions of the baby's are just him enjoying what has to be one of the most satisfying things a baby can do and when something far more serious is approaching. Many start-the-washing-machine, get-the-baby-in-the-tub and disinfect-the-nursery disasters have been averted by my talents.
I have also recently discovered that I can detect which of my dog's emanations is worthy of a trip outside. I must admit that I did not believe that essence eau dog 2 was possible to decipher when we first rescued her from the streets of the neighboring town, but there definitely is a certain quality to the absolute rankness that is her tail-less ass that leaves little doubt as to what is inevitably following close behind. We also believed that dog 2 would eventually overcome her funk with exposure to a diet devoid of scraps and garbage, but apparently the baby takes great pride in sharing his food with her (which might explain their combined near-toxic levels of gaseousness), but turns out she has doggie IBS. Just my luck...she must be a Cancer like half of us!
Interestingly, I don’t think of myself as a particularly gifted gas-passer (although kid 1 is brilliant at it…just say the word “fart” and it’ll happen), nor do I find my own to be particularly offensive, so I’m not sure why I was given this gift…I guess I’m just lucky.
(*More on dog 2 (and dog 1), kids 1-4, the wife, the job, and other rants and ruminations later.)
Oh, yeah, I nearly forgot. Anybody want a cat or 4?
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