Tarot ..

This is Hierophant... Does it rhyme with sycophant? Or Elephant?

You are The Hierophant

Divine Wisdom. Manifestation. Explanation. Teaching.

All things relating to education, patience, help from superiors.The Hierophant is often considered to be a Guardian Angel.

The Hierophant's purpose is to bring the spiritual down to Earth. Where the High Priestess between her two pillars deals with realms beyond this Earth, the Hierophant (or High Priest) deals with worldly problems. He is well suited to do this because he strives to create harmony and peace in the midst of a crisis. The Hierophant's only problem is that he can be stubborn and hidebound. At his best, he is wise and soothing, at his worst, he is an unbending traditionalist.

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Writers Blo(g)ck

I've got lots of interesting fun stuff to share, however, whenever I sit down to write said interesting fun stuff within this stunningly mediocre blog, I suddenly, have no idea how to begin. So, I don't.

So there.

Weird

The other night, a night like most of my nights, a night, not unlike similar nights that I experience on a consistent basis, a night, which followed a day, that was uneventful and unremarkable in most every sense, except that this night, this totally unexciting, nearly unmentionable night, I was awoken at exactly 3AM. I know that it was 3AM because the thing that caused me to rise from the dead of sleep, to uncoil from the depths of slumber, to bolt from the dark embrace of the queen of dreams, was my cell phone, which also doubles as my method for discerning the correct time. You see, my cell phone rests conveniently on my bedside table, where I may grasp it at any point where the need to know the time overpowers the need to lay, comfy, and unmoving in my comfy and, er, unmoving bed. But this night, this night like most of my nights, a night, not unlike similar nights that I … hmm, this sounds familiar … Anyway, this night, I had no overpowering need to know the time, in fact, I had no overpowering need to do anything as I was fast asleep and, I suspect, enjoying a rousing dream that included the hot mom from the cheesy hit television program ‘Heroes’. I say suspect, as I rarely remember my dreams, however, I’m sure, as an entertaining person, it is safe to assume I was entertaining my subconscious while my body rested for another strenuous day of pounding the dickens out of a computer keyboard with my lithe and limber phalanges. But, I digress. As I was saying, I had no thought of the time, no thought indeed, as, again this is only a suspicion, I had just discovered the trick of inducing the ‘bad girl’ alter ego of the super hot mom from the surprisingly bad, yet good, television program ‘Heroes’, into a game of strip Yahtzee!!, when I was interrupted by a ‘BEEP’. Most of you don’t know this, but I’m a very light sleeper. I’m not sure why this is, but I can guess its due to my desire to be ready for any possibility to ‘fight or flight’ mostly inspired by my extreme distrust of the entire human race. At any rate, I was instantly awake and after a second to determine what exactly caused me to awaken right in the middle of an enticing and alluring disrobing by the way hot and super sexy mom from the ‘why can’t you just get to the point where all the powered people are actually beating up the bad guy’ television show, ‘Heroes’, I turned to my phone and picked it up. Peering at it, the following glowing merrily into my eyes: 3:0007. I thought a second as to why my phone made this particular noise, since, usually, a single ‘BEEP’ is associated with a LOW BATTERY problem. This seemed unlikely as the phone was plugged into the wall and fully charged. My second thought was of the movie ‘The Exorcism of Emily Rose’ and of the scene in which people who are persecuted by demons and devils are awoken at 3AM because, apparently, this is when the hordes of hell get hall passes from Satan and are free to walk the mortal realm and rifle thru our refrigerators. The third thought was, man, I hope I have milk in the morning.

Some Things I Do Not Get

1) Why is Dancing with the Stars covered on ESPN? Listen, Emmit (my girlfriend in college used to call Emmit Smith, Bubba. Amazingly, I thought it was cute and not extremely annoying) Smith may be the NFL’s all time leading rusher, but once you don the puffy shirt, pal, you don’t get to be covered by an all sports channel.
2) Why do people buy big metal scrotums and hang them from the trailer hitch on the back of their trucks? Have you seen this phenomenon? It amazes me that grownups think this is an acceptable car accessory.
3) Why is NBC’s Heroes ‘sweeping the country?’ Seriously, the show is poorly acted, has a cheese factor that is immeasurable, and accept for the hot mom who occasionally ‘goes bad’, has not one single interesting person. Yet, I can’t stop watching it! Speaking of TV, is Boston Legal utterly fascinating or is it just me? Current Top 5 TV programs:
a. Boston Legal
b. Studio 60 (for you, vikk)
c. Scrubs
d. House
e. Smallville
4) How can John Stewart’s fake news cast be more informative than real news? Ok, this on I do get, but I was running out of ‘things I don’t get’… that’s one of the problems with being uber smart.

Scope It!

One of the negatives to me getting older is the extra attention needed to keep my body hale (you may have a different con). The additional time exercising, the additional time recovering from exercising plus the added discomfort from pains, spasms, sprains, tweaks, cramps, dings, jams, bruises, tears, and pulls is far greater than I can recall as a youth (just a few short years ago... no, really). Over the course of my years, I’ve been lucky enough to not have a major surgery nor broken bone, though I have endured countless sprains and the like (tho some would say I’ve fragmented my fair share of sentences). – Quick aside: What do you say to someone you surprise with their hand all the way down the back of their pants? I don’t mean someone just tucking a loose garment back into place or removing a pesky article from the nether regions, no, I’m talking a full on mining operation here; a complete and sordid raking of the entire ass epidermus; a back bending, up to your elbow colon exploration; a, um, well, you get the idea. I felt like I was watching a re-enactment of the infamous ‘hand shake’ in Mall Rats and should offer my expert critique:

Scene: MJ blunders upon office lad in the midst of a strenuous self body cavity search.
Players:
MJ as MJ
Office Lad as Assman
Setup: MJ takes a break from a hard day of sitting and hitting the ‘enter’ key and opens the door to his secure area only to discover Assman deep in the act of ensuring that, yes, there is a beginning to the end of the colon or at least a middle.

MJ: Erk!
Assman: (Frozen in the act of talking on the phone and minutes from needing a smoke) .. as I was saying (trails off as he turns and notices he has an audience)
MJ: Um… God, I hope you’re not doing a play by play!
Assman: (Snatches hand from pants and freezes as a small voice is heard from the phone at his ear)
MJ: If you tell me that there was a phone in your other hand as well, I think I may … No, I actually have no idea how I would react to that news.
Assman: (complete dear in headlights look… voice from phone continues to be heard)
MJ: Listen, I’m just going to go ahead and edge around you very carefully. You will NOT make any sudden moves and once I’m gone, you can continue your search for your gerbil friend, but for the love of all, do it somewhere less conspicuous, man!
Assman: (watches MJ slowly move around him and out of sight … Plunges hand back into pants.)

*I can only assume to that last bit. –

(aside over) In the past few weeks, I’ve been having some lingering issues with my right knee that just haven’t gone away, so, I’m having it scoped tomorrow. Yay, Halloween!

Anyway, I plan on watching the procedure and may very well describe it the next episode of… The Assman Blues!

Snow Storm!

Bloody snow! I don't like snow unless I'm skiing.

Spooky!

I may have mentioned in the past that October is my favorite month; due in part to Halloween and the traditions attached to this much hallowed day. I enjoy reminiscing about the adventures involved in collecting candy door to door and the accompanied excitement that can only truly be appreciated as a youngster, or recalling the times when an especially creative costume garnered appreciative comments and congratulations. In addition to fond memories, All Hallows Eve is perfect for those of us who like a little fright to kick start our adrenaline, you know, things like monsters, ghosts, ghouls, vampires, werewolves and, most frightening of all, the Haunting Ex(1) (shiver).

Which brings me to my chosen subject (awkward segue alert): The Haunting Ex.

The Haunting Ex, while frightening, is less frightening than the more nefarious Stalking Ex(2), yet, more annoying than the appreciated Benefits Ex(3). The annoyance of the Haunting Ex has little to do with the person, in my case, but rather more to do with the feelings attached to said person. A Haunting Ex can be different things to different peeps. My Haunting Ex is a psyche ghost, a mind specter, a subconscious recurrence of the un-undead (or not dead… or maybe even undying-not-undead… I’ll ponder the perfect metaphor later, I think), an unwanted apparition appallingly unapologetic in its unappealing and antagonistic appearances. I imagine the cause of the haunting or the inspiration behind the Haunting Ex differs from person to person, ranging from such cliché cataclysms as ‘the one that got away’ to ‘the one that burst thru my bony ribcage blasting thru my still living torso, her hand like a living bullet like simile, obliterating my beating heart, desecrating my belief in trust, shattering my respect for love, bludgeoning the seal cub of friendship, leaving a fractured, scarred and confused filled mess of a husk in her wake’ (um, you know, hypothetically speaking) to ‘the one that won’t let go’. It just depends on the situation.

Anywho, my haunting takes the form of surprises in dreams of unfulfilled futures or startled memories sprung from the vastness of my deep subconscious (where they should be repressed until forgotten for the love of ALL!! [pant, hiccup]), triggered by some innocuous comment, sentimental song or languishing landmark (yes, landmarks can languish.. I’ve seen it).

My haunting sometimes makes me smile whimsically, but most times makes me frown frightfully or often makes me quiver in a rage so deep, so fierce that the sound of grinding teeth startles me and I blink, blink away the spots from my sight and calm myself with breathing exercises learned from the many and varied Kung Fu films of my youth ( I sometimes think that if the Karate Kid tried that crazy ‘sand da fwl-oh’ on me, I’d stomp the creep so far he'd want me for Swayze's role in the Outsiders .. but, then again, he’d probably get me with that whole ‘pain da fens’ thing). On, more rare occasions, my curiosity will peek, and I’ll do a little cyber stalking and find out what I can about the Haunting Ex ( Idaho, horses, kids, probably in a militia ).

However, no matter what feeling I have after a specific haunt, never do I wish anything but the best for my Haunting Ex.

1. Haunting Ex – From the Greek Hauntingus Expectalutus, meaning, ‘why the hell can’t I just forget!’
2. Stalking Ex – From the Latin Syko Biznach, meaning, ‘For the love of God, NO!!’
3. Benefits Ex – From the Latin Benafacto Sexaloticis, meaning, ‘Hells Yeah!’

Guess what?

The trouble with this time of year is that its very distracting. I mean, as far as posting these blog type thingies. Fall happens to be my favorite time of year, for a variety of reasons: the weather is awesome, football is back (hallelujah), multiple family/friends birthdays, Halloween (most awesome-est of days), new dramedies (Studio 60; discover it and rejoice) etc. All of which make it difficult for me to focus on one particular topic long enough to have a vaguely, or otherwise, coherent thought. Luckily, I have one characteristic that allows me to focus, even during the most distracting of circumstances. Yes, if you guessed narcissism as that specific quality, you guessed correctly. So, on that note, lets talk about me.

Today is my birthday, which makes me a Libra (only the most envied of all signs .. and by envied, I mean dead sexiest). There are lots of Libra’s in my life (dad, daughter, ex-wife, GKL, RB, aunt, haunting exGF, etc) which only reinforces my theory that excellence seeks out excellence (in the examples, there are obvious exceptions).

Also, today, I found out that my old HS is inducting me into the Athletic Hall of Fame (includes such notaries as Aaron Smith, Alex Molden, Bobby Muhammed aka Bobby Thomas, Anthony Roberson, etc) early next year. While the gents that I’ve listed (not to mention those that I haven’t) have gone on to have great athletic careers and/or great success, my own highlights tend to still be limited to my HS days. In other words, I’m like Al Bundy forever boasting about 4 touchdowns in one game, er, without the boasting nor the touchdowns. Not to say that I’m not successful, I mean, I’ve received my Masters degree (and I still say people should refer to me as ‘Master’ much like they call those with doctorate degrees ‘Doctor’), I have beautiful well adjusted(mostly)children, good job, my own home, etc etc. Its just that, athletically, when compared to a Super Bowl champion and an NFL first round draft pick, somehow Gym basketball pick-up All-Star (minus the All-Star) just doesn’t seem to measure up. But, I guess the pickings must be rather slim, so, I’m in! And, you know what, I’m not complaining.

Barbarian Invasions, Redux

A few days ago I told you about my encounter with a couple of guys fighting with big plastic recreations of swords and stuff. Since then, I’ve decided that I blew an opportunity for hilarity of an immeasurable proportion. Today, in the interest of my own amusement, I think I’ll describe the same encounter, however, I’ll add what I should have done and said at the time (this is sort of like when you come up with a witty response to someone’s off chance remark, only its three days later).

Lets see… where to begin…

…. The participants stopped flailing at each other when the shield guy managed to jab the deadly tip of his razor edged plastic sword into the midsection of the twin sword guy (you might assume there was some piercing scream or guttural soul stirring wail when this occurred, but you'd be wrong). They then parted and turned to a third person ( a woman no less, and hardly unattractive no less(er).) - I didn't notice this individual due to my understandable fixation on the titanic struggle - who appeared to be selecting from an assortment of plastic and menacing weapons laid out upon a blanket. We’re talking maces, flails, axes, hatchets, etc. Quite the assortment of Tupperware’s top armament line. I knew then what I had to do. I sprinted forward and proclaimed my presence by shouting ‘HALT! HALT, VILE VILLAINS!’ This, as I suspected, got the attention of the three and they all turned to face me, each with a surprised look. I slowed and stopped, oh, about 8 feet away and stood with my hands on my hips and my head held high.

‘I laugh loudly at your fighting skills’, I said to them quietly. The woman, who was now holding a formidable looking two handed axe, replied firmly, ‘Whah?’

I responded by crossing my arms and assuming what I hoped was a haughty expression, ‘I challenge each of you to a duel, I say mildly’ I yelled at the top of my voice.

This seemed to take them aback, as they each took a step backward. The fellow with the two swords looked at his companions and bravely said, ‘Uh..’

Dramatically putting my right foot forward, returning my hands to my hips, I turned my head - guessing this would present them with a heroic profile - and responded in a loud sott0 voce (maybe ‘faux sotto voce’ would be more appropriate) ‘I am Grendel Duquesne, I proclaim loudly, and I am the ruler of all you see before you.’ They blinked at each other. ‘You are trespassers, I say in a loud whisper’ I add, now shouting again.

The woman then said something under her voice, I could be mistaken, but I’m sure it was ‘freak’. The two guys looked at each other (again, come to think of it, they looked at each other a lot. Do you think they might have a man crush?) and the one with the shield said, ‘Dude, are you for real? And why are you talking like that?’

Looking disinterested, I feigned studying the nails of my left hand and responded by saying ‘Like what, I say puzzlement clearly noted in my voice’. I then turned my back completely to the trio, and turned to look at them over my shoulder and said calmly, ‘Think not to turn aside my ire, I yell brashly, for in this I will not be, um, turned aside’.

At this, the guy with the two swords said ‘Oh Lord! Fine, I’ll fight you. You’re giving me a headache with your double talk and your ridiculous posturing.’

At this I turned to face them once again, smiling grimly (I think it was grimly. At this point, I was having trouble keeping from laughing uproariously) and said in a squeaky cartoonish voice, ‘Fine, I say menacingly, you shall be the first to fall to Grendel Duquesne.’ And then I added, in my normal voice, with an imploring look on my face and both of my hands now raised in front of me as if encouraging a loud and raucous crowd, ‘Do you think yon wench will let me the use of her mighty weapon, I implore softly?’

The woman then tossed me her axe, which I fumbled clownishly until I could count to ten silently in my head, and then, as if I finally got the feel of it, I gripped it in two hands and murmured, loudly enough to be heard, ‘Yes, I say to myself in my head, all shall fall before me with this, this Axe of Evil.’ Then, a little louder I said ‘if only there were another, then, then I would wield the Axe’s of Evil’. And then I laughed, because I couldn’t resist.

By then, the shield guy and the woman had backed away and the guy with the two swords was watching me with a sort of trapped expression on his face.

Then he said, ‘Ok, er, Grendel, here are the rules’. However, he didn’t finish because as he said ‘Grendel’ I had launched myself at him, with the axe raised above my head shouting ‘THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE! THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE’, surprising even myself.

Before I could bash him, though, he sidestepped and whacked me once in the chest with one sword and once in the back with the other. I reacted to this by dropping the axe and flinging myself to the ground. Then I kicked and writhed and thrashed and groaned for a full count of fifteen.

Then I looked up to see the three gathering there stuff and proclaimed ‘To the last, I will grapple with thee.’ Then I coughed and thrashed a bit more. When I looked again, the three were walking away.

So, I got up and ran toward them and threw myself on the ground behind them and thrashed some more and then yelled ‘From hell's heart, I stab at thee. For hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee.’ And then I groaned aloud and stopped moving. I watched the three walk to a car, load there stuff and drive away. Once they were gone, I laughed until my stomach hurt.

Barbarian Invasions

A couple of Saturdays ago, as I was enjoying a beautifully sunny day strolling thru a lovely park, I stumbled across a sight I’ve never seen nor never expected to see. I was so surprised by this sight that I had to stop and blink while my brain slowly digested the visual input of what appeared to be a sword fight. As I paused to contemplate just what I was seeing and couple it with possible explanations for, you know, what the heck is going on here!, I began to notice further details. For example, the two gentlemen who were happily trying to bash each other were not actually using ‘cold steel’ (or even ‘lukewarm steel’). I base this on the fact that instead of the clang-clangity-clanging one would expect from metal bashing metal, the noise coming from the contact of the two ‘weapons’ was more of a thwack-thawackity-thwacking that would, and I’m speculating here, be more closely associated with heavy plastic being smashed against heavy plastic. Well, that and there was no spurting blood and/or gaping wounds that, I’m told, were common during the types of medieval combat that employed heavy sharpened metal instruments of dismemberment (See Excalibur ) (I feel it important to note that this is an assumption as I am no an expert in this matter). As I continued to watch, I couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity (and by absurd, I mean the complete geek-acity of the whole idea – not that there is anything wrong with doing absurdly geeky activities (just because I think its absurd, doesn’t mean you don’t have a right to humiliate yourself in public) for ones amusement) of what I was witnessing. Further, as I finally accepted that what I was viewing was in fact occurring, I noticed that one of the noble gladiators was wielding a fabricated replica of a sword and shield and the other was wielding twin fabricated replicas of swords (think Conan’s big ass sword times two ) in either hand. Additionally, twin sword guy was fighting from a kneeling position, for whatever reason (I can only assume that this was due to some greivous injury suffered when the plastic sword of his opponent thwacked him below the waist at some point during there viscous quarrel). The participants stopped flailing at each other when the shield guy managed to jab the deadly tip of his razor edged plastic sword into the midsection of the twin sword guy (you might assume there was some peircing scream or gutteral soul stirring wail when this occurred, but you'd be wrong). They then parted and turned to a third person ( a woman no less, and hardly unattractive no less) - I didn't notice this individual due to my understandable fixation on the titanic struggle - who appeared to be selecting from an assortment of plastic and menacing weapons laid out upon a blanket. We’re talking maces, flails, axes, hatchets, etc. Quite the assortment of Tupperware’s top armament line. I wanted to stay and watch, however, I was deathly afraid that they would start yelling things, you know, like “THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE!!” or “WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CAHLAH(color)??!” and I just couldn’t risk that, you understand.

I said Punt!

When I first heard about the kicker at UNC (UNC is a little college in an aromatic little town north of Denver) who tried to win the starting job by sabotaging (and by sabotage, I of course mean slash and mutilate) his competition, I thought, ‘well, that’s a kicker for you’. If you’ve ever been part of a football program, you’ll understand the sentiment. I mean, really, only a kicker and, maybe, Tanya Harding would consider it a worthwhile endeavor to bodily assault your main competition instead of, you know, claiming victory in the more conventional manner of, say, actually competing. I understand the alleged assaulter had an accomplice to - and really, if it weren’t so absurd it’d be sinister -

Call Me Grendel!!

While I’ve heard of the epic poem Beowulf, describing the struggles of some barbaric tribesman against, basically, a monstrous brat and his single and monstrous mom, I’d never heard of this story as told from the perspective of the aforementioned monstrous brat, aka, Grendel. So, when I saw this book and read a few pages, I thought I’d give it a go.

So far I’m quite impressed. Don’t be expecting a critique here, as I’m a ‘not a tiny bit interested in writing any kind of in depth critiques’ kind of blogger, however, I will say that Grendel, as portrayed by John Gardner, is becoming one of my all time favorite monster’s.

I mean, what is not to like? He’s cynical, crafty, insane, loves his mommy, hates his mommy, monstrous, laughs at stupidity, hates stupidity, stamps out stupidity, recognizes beauty, hates discrimination, loathes people, and is surprisingly polite (to trees).

In fact, he’s my new role model, well, except for the whole eating people and living with your mother part.

Side note, Matt Wagner also created a literary Grendel, who may be a little less known, but interesting nonetheless.

By Any Other Name

Yesterday I met Aslan.

Aslan Appleman.

As you may have already guessed, Aslan was named after the titular character in the classic fantasy ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’. And if you hadn’t guessed, Aslan was the name of the Lion in the aforementioned classic fantasy, er, ‘The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe’.

Isn’t.

That.

Awesome??!!?

Aslan! The frickin guy is named after the Lion from a book! Sweet!

It got me to thinking, what would be other cool names from books…

‘Yes, my name is Gollem Guiterrez, very nice to meet you.’

‘Buttercup Bing. Yes, my parents do hate me.’

‘Kong Singleton and please, no chuckling.’

Ever hear a person say to another person, you look like a ‘Janice’ or a ‘Paul’ or, you know, a ‘Bruce’ or something?

Do you think people ever say that to Aslan? I mean, he seemed like a very likable fellow, but I’m not sure if he looked like an Aslan. What about poor Buttercup Bing. You gonna tell him that he looks like a Buttercup?

Just a thought.

Set Loose the Cougar!!

Well, back by semi-popular demand, it’s MJ on the bizz-log. Its been 3mos, give or take, and the clamoring has reached and unheard of cricket like level forcing me back from the depths of (similar to a) writer’s block. Course, it was more like a lack of proper motivation, but that is all behind me now. I think, and I say that with some trepidation, that the inspirational story of Ricky Bobby has motivated me like I haven’t been motivated in quite some time. So get ready for some scintillating commentary on tough controversial topics as well as biting social commentary! So, where to begin…

This morning, I had a somewhat entertaining exchange with a co-worker:
The players:
MJ aka MJ
Coworker aka CW

MJ: Good morning, how was your weekend?
CW: Hello. My weekend was nice, thanks. That is a nice top you have on.
MJ: Er..
CW: Oh, do you call them tops?
MJ: No, this is a blouse.
CW: (chuckling) Yeah, sorry, it’s a shirt, I guess right?
MJ: No, it’s a Man-Blouse.
CW: A man-top, maybe?
MJ : A He-Top or Man-Blouse, I think.

I had a good chuckle.

BTW, I’m still looking for some suitably masculine Man-Capri’s, you know, in case you were wondering.

What do you mean he's ugly?

My buddy JB recently returned from a trip to Mexico in which she visited a man. This man was someone whom she had met here in the states while she was taking Spanish classes in order to learn ho to speak Spanish (imagine that).

Whilst on this holiday, JB snapped numerous pictures and she shared these photos with me upon(st) her return. This sharing went a bit like this; JB would pull a photo from the stack in her hand, describe what led up to the photo or/and what/who the photo depicted and then hand it to me for my enjoyment and/or commentary.

As you might expect, a couple of these photos contained the man she went to see. The first time she said ‘This is me and Ricardo’ I looked at it and said, ‘No, that’s you and some guy’. What I was thinking in my head was ‘Wonder who that old guy really is.. he looks a lot like Jack Nicholson; frozen and still evil looking in The Shining’, but I didn’t say that. JB looked at me and smiled and said, ‘What do you mean? That’s me and Ricardo.’

Now, its important to know that JB has a keen sense of humor and I wasn’t entirely sure that she wasn’t joking with me. So, playing it safe, I just nodded my head and said ‘Hand me the next photo, sister.’

So, the next several photos were of fish taken during a scuba excursion. Then, again came the words ‘This is Ricardo and I again’ and I look, and do you want to know what I saw? Well, I’m telling you anyway. It was that same evil looking Nicholson guy. And this is what I thought ‘Wow. I guess that really is the guy she went to see.’ I thought this while carefully keeping my face expressionless. Or so I thought.

What follows is the resulting conversation. (Key People’s Court theme music)

The players:

MJ, as MJ.
MJ’s friend JB as MJ’s friend JB
Evil Frozen Jack Nicholson as JB’s man friend from Mexico

The conversation:

JB : What is that look for?

MJ : What look?

JB : That look you got when you were looking at that picture.

MJ : I don’t know what you are talking about. (Trying to play the dumb guy is a tried and true solution to many a man’s faux pas and is almost always the first ploy taken. . . However, in this case, I was sure I wasn’t making any faces.)

JB : Yes, you do. You made a face when you looked at the picture. What’s wrong?
MJ : Nothing, he looks fine. (Yes, I realized as soon as my mouth opened that I had made a critical blunder. Doh!)

JB : What do you mean he ‘looks fine’? What wrong with the way he looks? (snatching the picture from my hand and inspecting it as if its been corrupted by my touch)

MJ : Nothing! Its just that… I was a little surprised is all.

JB : Surprised by what?

MJ : Well, (taking the photo back for a second glance .. and, yep, Evil Frozen Jack Nicholson is still there) he kind of looks evil. (Yes, I realize that I’m not the smartest guy on the planet, but I tend to tell it like I see it)

JB : (bewildered) Evil? What do you mean evil??

MJ : Dunno, its probably the picture. You know, a lot of people aren’t very photogenic.

JB : You think he’s ugly!!

MJ : What? I never said that! (thinking: I never said that!) Just, let me see the rest of the pictures.

JB : (grumble)


Well, I thought that was the end of it, but it turns out, I was in for it in the next few days…

What's my age again? What's my age again.

Proof that I'm 12 (or younger):

Just the sight of prairie dogs makes me chuckle.
I refuse to eat brussel sprouts (nor spell it correctly, for that matter).
The three stooges are hilarious.
Dick Cheney frightens me.

Proof that I’m a lot older:

The radio in my car is tuned to Jazz, baby.

Proof that I’m 12:

Spontaneously chasing the little bunnies that I encounter while strolling the ‘hood is not out of the question.
Donuts, good. Asparagus, bad.
I, almost without fail, clap my hands gleefully in anticipation of dessert.

Proof that I’m older:

Dick Cheney frightens me.

Proof that I’m 12:

The word ‘boobs’, while pleasing to the ear, makes me blush.
I take great pleasure in winning contests; regardless of the opponent (that includes my 7 year old who hasn’t quite grasped the intricacies of Othello. Can you say undefeated? Yeah!).

Proof that I’m older:

2 words: ‘Naughty Time’ (whoa, I guess in this age that really isn’t the proof it used to be….)

Hey Mo!

Remember when there was a dinosaur called 'Brontosaurus'? Am I the only person who remembers that exihib in the museum? I guess they call it 'Brachiosaur' now.

Anywho, there is this new dinosaur.

What is great about this one is that 'SCIENTIST' believe that this "Dragonking"

"...used their knobby heads to butt other dinosaurs."

That. Is. Awesome. I mean, how long have we waited for the Three Stooges of Dinosaurs? I, personally, am beyond elated! I mean, can you picture this:

Location: The Island from the Original Jurassik Park.

The players: Jeff Goldblum as Chaos Theorist, Dr. Malcom. Laura Dern as Laura Dern. And Sam Neil as the ever annoyed Dr. Grant.

Scene: The trio stumble upon a majestic scene of impossible beauty. Where never before seen dino's interact in the real drama of life, nature and… slapstick?

And ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... Scene!!

Dr. Malcom: I say Laura, the imperfections in your hand seem to have migrated to your face.

Lara Dern: Uh, that isn't in the scri..

Dr. Grant: Shhhh!! Can't you see I've perfected my put out and annoyed look? I'm sure to win an Osc.. Wait, look over there! Do you see them? They are beautiful! Majestic!! Pay no attention to the slightly out of focus and absence from my actual line of sight quality, its secondary.

(Enter a quadruped dino with an oddly flat noggin, intent on feeding on the copious vegetation, oblivious to the somewhat larger biped dino that appears to be stocking it, which in turn is being stalked by what appears to be a Tyrannosauruses Rex wearing a huge and horribly bad toupee.

Suddenly, the first dino turns and head butts the second dino in the gut. The second dino clutches its middle with its poorly equipped for clutching and stubby arms while simultaneously exploding a whuff of air from its gasping jaws; the violent collision causing it to double over, its tail arching up suddenly to smash the Tyrannosaur in the face. The Tyrannosaur roars in shock and anger as its toupee flies up and into the face of a passing Pterodactyl. The Pterodactyl weaves away, erratically, its vision obstructed by the offending head cover. The second dino wheels and recovers enough to face the T-Rex. The T-Rex uses its own poorly formed and stubby arms to vainly reach for its head, in vain, as the tips of its claws reach only to its sizeable teeth. Enraged, and slightly embarrassed, the T-Rex glares at the second dino, while the first wisely seeks shelter behind dino 2. The T-Rex glowers. The T-Rex glares. The T-Rex flexes its mighty jaws, dripping saliva from its razor sharp teeth. It tenses as to spring and suddenly, it strikes, poking dino number two in the eyes with a surprisingly adept finger jab. Dino 2 shrieks and pounds dino number 1 on the head with its club like tail. Dino number 1 ooomps and head butts the T-Rex in the stomach with his oddly flat noggin. This continues for some time. In the distance you hear what appears to be a giant flying reptile colliding with a large stationary object.)

Lara Dern: (giggle)

Dr. Grant: Whah??

Dr. Malcom: Hmm, yes, Chaos Theory predicts this sort of behavior.

hunters bug me

And here’s why.

First, it’s abundantly obvious to, like, EVERYONE, that we are the dominant species on the planet. Does anyone question that? We thrive in just about any environment. Other than disease, we have no natural enemies (outside of our own species) and if you say polar bears I’m gonna hurt you.

There really are two acceptable reasons to hunt:

1) You’re bloody starving and that bunny, while cute and fluffy, is gonna be a sheeshkabob or you’re gonna punch out to the long sleep.
2) The bloody animals are screwing like lemmings and their gonna all die from syphilis unless you cull them out a bit.

Now, I may be talked into a third reason of an insane animal creating havoc and needs to be put down, but even then I think it is dependent on the situation.

So, this guy and his boyfriends grab their high powered rifles, space-cold resilient parkas, self heating boots and hire a local to show them where they can off themselves a big white bear. Just to smile and have a photo op and maybe a big rug and show how ‘superior’ they are to nature. Huh? Why? Dude, I ain’t impressed.

You want to impress me? Here is how I’ll accept your hunting as proof of yer ‘mad nature’ skillz.

1) Get yerself a big knife or spear or make yerself a bow and arrow out of bones, dirt and a rabbit weenie.
2) Walk yerself into the backwoods of isolation where no one can here your sissy screams for help.
3) No, you can’t bring your hi-tech camping gear. Take a flint, ya pansy.
4) Now, whatever you can track down and kill with your limited tools will be the worth of your ‘mad nature’ skillz.

How ya making out with that polar bear now, eh, Tarzan?

And that is why Tarzan is the epitome of ‘mad nature’ skillz. Hey, sure, screwing monkeys may have been a knock on the old Lord of the Apes, but the kid could bring it, right? I mean, he was weaker than, well, everything but Timone and, maybe, Poomba, but that didn’t stop him from maxing out on the old ‘Jungle Cred.’

Tarzan wants a cat. What does Tarzan do? Gets himself a lion. A LION! The bloody King of the Jungle is his pet! Are you kidding me? That is mad skillz, my friend.

Tarzan wants a leisurely ride across the havanna and, you know what? Bro gets himself a real SUV; yah, an elephant.

And if any of those big time jungle cats thought they was ready for the throne, well, Tarzan didn’t have a high powered S&W, my brotha (I saw the Squid and the Whale recently. … Can I just say that, although the Baldwin’s are horrific actors, except for the oldest, they are always good for a chuckle) and he always came out on top! Yep, that’s right. Always. And he didn’t have an elephant gun. No, and no uzi, for the love of Heston. Dude just packed a knife.

You want to impress me, Bwana? Get yourself a knife next time you want to prove yer superiority.

'Scuse me?

A couple of weeks ago my buddy RB came into town from Austin, TX for a conference on African American graduate studies and/or academia (Ok, I'm not a 100% sure on what exactly the conference was about, other than it had to do with AA in post secondary education). I think I may have mentioned his ‘announced’ visit. At any rate, everything worked out and we had a good time, yadda yadda yadda.

On one particular night, we went out to a club for a little, you know, 'clubbin.' This was after RBs conference and he indicated that he’d be with some of the people that he met. So, my new GF and I met RB at this club called Purple Martini where he was with some of his new colleagues. Meeting these new intellectuals was fairly uneventful except for this one gentleman. Follows is the brief exchange:

Conversation: Meeting RBs newly introduced associate.

Players: RB, MJ, RBA (RBs associate)

RB: Hey, MJ, this is RBA. One of the academia I met at the conference.

MJ: Hey, what’s up, man. (Obligatory hand gripping)

RBA: What’s up, black man.

MJ: *Thinking: Did he just say, what’s up, BLACK MAN?

Before I could come up with a follow up or snappy repertoire, RBA was moving away into the crowd. At the time of the meeting, my GF was away in the lavatory. RB looked at me inquiringly, as I must have had a strange look on my face, and I told him what his associate had said to me.

I was a little taken aback by the greeting and RB explained it this way:

“Yeah, he’s a little out there.”

Yes, a little out there. He further explained by saying RBA may be slightly racist. Ok, maybe, but ain't he an african american as well? Is he trying to remind me that I'm one as well?

Uh huh.

Mayhap he felt that I had forgotten the hue of my skin. Or, perhaps something I did or said set his neo-militant mindset off and the greeting was his preemptive warning? I can't be sure because we never re-encountered eachother again. It was a strange way to greet someone you know nothing about and are meeting for the first time. For instance, what if I had responded thusly:

Alternative Conversation: Meeting RBs newly introduced associate.

Players: RB, MJ, RBA (RBs associate)

RB: Hey, MJ, this is RBA. One of the academia I met at the conference.

MJ: Hey, what’s up, man. (Obligatory hand gripping)

RBA: What’s up, black man.

MJ: Where?! WHERE IS THE BLACK MAN? ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?? ARE YOU BLIND? CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I’M A LOVELY SHADE OF CARAMEL???? IF YOU MUST, REFER TO ME IN HUES AND SHADES, KINDLY REFER TO ME AS CARAMEL MAN!! YA STRAGGLY BEARDED BASTICHE!!! So glad to meet you.

Why I may or may not reach 45

Ok, hold onto your hats here, but MEN try to IMPRESS WOMEN.

I know, it’s a shocker. And, as it turns out, that is what these guys are attributing to men not living as long as women. It seems us men type are expending so much energy trying to get some nookie that we are forgetting to breath and/or eat. Or something like that; its all very scientific so I’m just summarizing here.

I think these guys are on to something and here is why:

I fell out of a bus once while trying to be cool enough to impress women.

Yes, a bus. Yes, fell out. Yes, I FELL out of a BUS.

Now, this sort of thing isn’t the same as expending needed energy for living, but it certainly ups the old 'accidental/stupidity' mortality risk.

I’m sure I’ve nearly caromed off of many bridges or nearly driven into on coming traffic simply because I’m trying to focus in on that large breasted woman in my rear view mirror as apposed to, say, clearly stated an agreed upon driving regulations. I just don’t realize that I’ve nearly avoided that near catastrophe because I’m too busy figuring out which fantasy is best with THAT particular big breasted jogger (and, now, I never bellow, hoot, holler, nor leer too openly).*

Basically, what I’m saying is this, guys don’t care if they die as long as they get some action, ya dig? … Hmmm.. is that what I was saying? I don’t really recall what I was talking about as this really hot red hea..….

*Naturally, this sort of behavior has ended now that I am dating a fabulous and funny female femme fatale… fellatio. (Listen, you try to have an ‘F’ alliteration without throwing in that last one. Go, on, just try it. YOU CAN’T DO IT! It just jumps on the end of its own volition!)

Historic milestone!!

My post count has reached 69!!! Wooo Whooo!

Course, I just ruined it.

Get thee behind me, humongo!

So I was going to comment on this 1200lb guy who needs to go have a 'life saving' operation attributed to his 'husky' physique. Only now, I can't find the link. Blast.

So, anyway, how does one get to one thousand two hundred pounds? I mean, maybe 3 bills is average for your typical NFL lineman, but when you start to tip the scales at, say five hundred pounds.. no, no, lets cut the guy some slack and say he didn't notice he was eating, you know, everything within reach, and say that the first six hundred pounds just sort of ‘crept’ up on him. Hey, it can happen. You know, you’re sitting AROUND the house, you might be a little depressed and you, you know, eat Johnny Depp. I mean, it can happen, right? It’s the hat that makes him seem like a nutty bar, really.

So, all of a sudden, you’re at six bills. Ok. Fine. At that point, you just have to lean back, look at your self in the mirror (or your left arm, depending on the size of the building to which the mirror is attached) and say, ‘wow, I may need to lose a pound or two. Getting a little soft in the middle.’ Right? I mean, am I right? You have to take a stand, even if you, you know, cannot stand, and say, ‘enough is enough!! Send the mountain of twinkies away! Dismiss the mounds of Mounds and don’t but me with the ‘almond joy’s got nuts!’ Away I say!’ And roll yourself into a sauna for the love of Simmons!

Not this guy, nooooo, 600 lbs is only half way there! It’s a pittance! It’s only a Yugo, for crying in the night! I’m shooting for a full blown Gremlin here! I guess you could admire a fellow who doesn’t give up halfway to a goal. ‘Twelve hunny is callin an I’ma answerin!!’

I mean, can you imagine how much soap the guys from Fight Club could have made with this guy?

I may have misjudged

The other day I’m sitting in my cube and my buddy SC calls me over. ‘Here’, SC says, ‘Read this email and tell me if you see anything odd.’ So, being as I’ve already been called away from my desk where I had been just on the verge of a monumental breakthrough in the advancement of lazy-ing thru the day, I decide to comply. Here is the email I was reading (partially, at least) with PDF attachment of a brochure:

Hello all! I am sending this brochure to you in hopes that you or someone you know would love the opportunity to golf on the prestigious and private golf course of Pradera in Parker. Only home owners in Pradera and members that pay a minimum of $20K for a membership can golf here. Therefore allowing the great opportunity for anyone that is an avid golfer and loves to try out all the courses in Colorado to get on board... However, the main reason and focus of this tournament, is to donate to the Freedom Foundation. A foundation that is up and coming in the county of Douglas which assists those in need. It will allow funding for many good services the foundation is already active in in this community and will allow the opportunity to reach out to other counties as well... I am a member of the Freedom Foundation and the Blacks on the back of the brochure are personal friends of mine. .......

Attached to the back of the brochure was this picture.



My first thought was ‘Are you kidding me?’ I mean, aside from the grammatical errors and the stunted and awkward speaking, does anything, you know, RACIST like, stand out to you? I mean, is it now ok to, you know, refer to people by the hue of their skin? And why does this family have to be on the BACK of the brochure!??! Why can’t they be on the front? Or the middle? WHAT HAPPENED TO THE DREAM, MAN!! THE DREAM!!

Then, in the midst of my King like (and mostly, melodramatic) rant, I am told this:

‘Dude, that is the name of the family. The Blacks.’

Oh, the irony nearly flattened me.

Why, no it isn’t the LA smog on a CO vacation…

Who smokes like the Marlboro Man, a cloud of noxious fumes always accompanying her, regardless of her final destination?

Who stinks like the burning tar of the Jurassic Period, or so I imagine?

Who smiles at you with a tinge of yellow coating her enamel like a weak and tired gold plating, except, yeah, that ain’t gold?!?

Well, no, it isn’t Shaft; it’s the Uncontrollable Laugher in the next cube over!

You know, she was gone for the first part of this week, and it was quiet and, you know, cancer free and all. This morning rolls around and I’m sitting at my cube working hard, industriously, efficiently, relentlessly and dedicatedly on my blog, when I smell what has to be an escaped imp from the smoky confines of Heck. Is there a fire, I think? Is someone being burned in effigy in the lobby, I wonder? Then I hear a ‘good morning’ and I look up and there is my cube neighbor. ‘Hello’ I manage to choke out, ‘how are you?’ managing to even breath thru the deadly and invisible, but not imperceptible, cloud of ghastly putrescence? I added that last bit in my head.

So now my throat is getting that scratchy irritating feeling, but, thankfully, my nose has surrendered, not nearly as fast as the French, unfortunately, but swiftly enough for me to be mildly thankful that it is deadened to the continued odiferous assault.

I’m thinking about requesting a move…

So, yeah, I get in at 1:30 tomorrow

I few months back my old friend RB, who resides in TX, called and said there was a possibility that he would be coming to CO for a conference. I said great and volunteered my domicile as a lodging option. He said great and would get with me later to confirm as the trip was yet to be approved by management, but as soon as it was he’d let me know so I could plan accordingly.

Last night, at about 10PM MT, I get a call. Its my buddy RB:

MJ: Sup sup!

RB: Not much, man, what up you?

MJ: Chillin, main, chillin.

RB: So, I get in about 1:30 tomorrow.

MJ: Wha? (thinking furiously, trying to figure out what I’m not remembering)

RB: My flight? It arrives at 1:30 tomorrow.

MJ: OH! Your conference trip. I thought you were going to call me?

RB: Yeah, sorry about that. Is it still ok?

MJ: Uhh…(trying to figure out the logistics in my head. You see, I have kids and they tend to complicate/eradicate spur of the moment planning) Yeah, we’ll make it work.

RB: You sure? The approval didn’t come until late last week .. (launches into detailed explanation of approval, but I’m only partially listening as I play out various logistical scenarios)

MJ: I’m sorry, what?

RB: I was saying, are you going to be able to take a late lunch or are you going to leave a key?

MJ: Oh, no, I’ll just give you the combination to my garage door opener…. (the rest is unimportant)

….

So, I have a, not unannounced, but unexpected house guest thru the rest of the week. It should be fine, as RB and I go way back and he’s welcome anytime, but, it will be interesting to see how the logistics compute.

Things my father may or may not know

I was once hit by a car while blindly running across a street. I was 10 or 11 at the time (probably about the same age for most of these). I can still remember rolling up onto the hood of the car and then rolling off into the street. I wasn’t hurt at all, but the lady who hit me jumped out and grabbed me and kept hugging me and crying for what seemed like days. Unfortunately, I wasn’t much into women at that age so I couldn’t properly enjoy her attentions. I do recall that she was kind of cute, in that frenzied, scared to death, and completely shocked sort of way.

When we lived on 14th and Milwaukee, I used to pinch some of the coins you put into that huge glass water cooler bottle and use them to buy sweets at that Asian guy’s convenience store. I couldn’t lift the bloody thing, but since you kept it on the floor, I could sort of tip it over and let the land slide of coins spill out. I would also, occasionally, use this to buy copious amounts of Mountain Dew from the coke machine in the apartment basement. I could really ‘do the dew’ at that age.

I once discovered this huge ‘sugar daddy’ caramel (is it carmel or caramel?) hidden in the kitchen cabinet (I can’t remember where the house was we lived in, but I believe you were dating Willy(sp) at the time). I regularly whittled this down by sneaking bites out of his arms and such and rewrapping him to hide my pilfering. Eventually, before I could finish him, he disappeared. I wonder if you thought we had rats? I was younger then, maybe 5 or 6.

I knew where most of your firearms where hidden and showed them proudly to friends when you weren’t home. As you know, was a fairly intelligent little tyke, so I rarely pointed any of them at, you know, any of them.

My friend Tag (his name was Taggert of all things. Taggert!! Can you even imagine the teasing?), this girl Debi and I once hung out in one of those mini concrete construction tunnels, that used to dot the playgrounds back in the day, and practiced kissing for what seemed like hours, but, since we all know that time passes exponentially slower as a child, was in all probability about 5 minutes.

I punched this kid named Michael in the stomach in the fourth grade because he stole my watch. .. Well, truthfully, I lost it and he found it but refused to give it back. Besides, he hit me first. So I slugged him and he went crying to the teacher the little pansy. I had to stay after school that day while that little bastard got off scott free. The good thing about that was, after that, I got myself a bit of a rep as the ‘don’t mess with him’ guy. I guess when you’re 10 that can be amusing.

I once hit the parrot you gave me, open handed, because the little bastard bit me for no good reason. It flew across the room, or tried to, but since its flight wings were clipped it only did this sad little flutter-splat thing into the wall. Oh, also, sometimes, I would give it boogers and it would eat them! I know, gross.

All the kids in school thought you were, by far, the coolest dad. The one time you came into class with your Denver PD uniform on caused such a stir that they talked about it for weeks afterward. They were, of course, absolutely correct in their assertion. .. You were, and are still, the coolest dad ever.

I discovered your ‘hidden stash’ of educational reading material, and recall vividly being very perplexed by not only why ‘milk’ was coming from that man’s penis, but also what made it ok to be ‘spraying’ it all over that women’s breast?

I liked fire and would often pilfer your matches so I could play with it. Yes, that is what happened to my finger that day, and yes, I did know what happened, but I was far too frightened of telling you I was playing with matches so instead pretended like I had no idea why I had a blister the size of a quarter on my finger.

I liked the way your pipe smelled, during your pipe smoking days, way more than I liked the clouds of cigarette smoke.

Ok, so, bell bottoms were not the best choice of pants to wear to 7th grade in 1983, but it would have been better to hear that from you than from the bastards at school. Yah, I know, I picked them out, but I was 13, what did I know?

They turned my old elementary school (Stevens) into some kind of retro-cool condo-plex. (This school was awesome. It was built using granite slabs and what not. Had a ton of character, well, the building still has character, its just there are garages where my kissing tunnel used to be.)

Just trying to help

I went into the break room just now as a sort of, you know, break and stuff, and noticed the following taped to the front of the Pepsi machine:

“POTENTIALLY OUT OF ORDER… USE AT YOUR OWN RISK ... – SECURITY.”

Potentially out of order? Just how helpful is this sign? If I was a soda drinker, which I’m not, would I consider this sign dissuading enough to bypass my daily dose of 'death water?' Consider smokers for a second. Yes, I know ... gross. They smell like mobile wild fires, they look like your great grand mother only they are, you know, 22, they hack like their name was Buddy Hackett (get it? his name has HACK right in it and, you know, smokers cough AND hack! wow that’s clever), yet they continue to blithely puff away even though there is a warning from General Surgeon telling them its not a good idea ( I bet if General Surgeon threatened them with military action they’d change their tunes).

Anyhow, I got to thinking of other signs that may or may not have been, or possibly could be, effective. I wonder if other signs from this ‘SECURITY’ Samaritan could help in other avenues. For example, what would have happened if we had seen the following pinned to the lapel of our illustrious president prior to the most recent election:

“POTENTIALLY EGOMANIACAL, WARMONGERING, NARCISSISTIC, BUMBLING, AND/OR PROFITEERING … ELECT AT YOUR OWN RISK … - SECURITY. PS, UNINTENTIALLY A VERY AMUSING SPEAKER”

If I had seen the following:

“POTENTIAL PIGEON HAUNTING AND OR HOUNDINGS … PURCHASE AT YOUR OWN RISK … - SECURITY.”

tacked to the ‘for sale’ sign of my house would it have influenced my decision making process? I mean, other than the deceased little bastard in my window well, I had no idea that I would be harangued and harassed by the flying vermin (side note: I’ve decided to escalate my war on these devious little flying menaces this weekend).

What about this,

“POTENTIALLY BITCHY AND OR DEMANDING RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BIG GAME … DATE AT YOUR OWN RISK… - SECURITY.”

when you think you’ve found the best little hottie around with whom to hang? Think that might change your thinking about shagging?

I can’t help but think that prior to Chipotle being placed on my ‘Do NOT Solicit’ list, that the following,

“POTENTIALLY DREAD ILLNESS INDUCING BURRITO … CONSUME AT YOUR OWN RISK … - SECURITY.”

could quite possibly have prevented a horrid night of excruciating stomach pains and explosive bodily emissions.

A few years ago, a friend of mine purchased this incredibly sweet sports car that he in no way could afford; this could have given him pause:

“POTENTIAL TO DINE EXCLUSIVELY UPON RAMAN UPON PURCHASE … SUCCUMB TO SCUMY PRESSURE INDUCING SALESMAN AT YOUR OWN RISK … - SECURITY.”

I tell you, ‘SECURITY’ is missing his calling. Think of all the good he could accomplish in the world.

“POTENTIAL OF HAVING CRAZY BIZNATCH ALL UP IN YOUR GRILL WITH HER BIG ASS BOYFRIEND… TIE DOG TO POLE AT YOUR OWN RISK … - SECURITY.”

Nailed it!!

In what I can only applaud as a testament of persistence and the creative use of carpentry equipment, I give you this(link).

Ok, time for my Austin Powers impersonation.. Ahem..

I’d say he really…. nailed … that … idea … baby.

Wow, he knows how to…. hammer …. it…. Home.

I’d say he gave those doctors … a … piece …. of … his … mind.

Yeah, baby, yeah!!!

Gym rat!!

I'm not a gym rat, per say, but I do like to hit the gym on a fairly regular basis. There are, if you have never been to the gym, several types of people that go as described by my buddy GKL.

The gym, for the uninitiated, is a fascinating place due almost entirely to the people whom attend. I, myself, find that each plays a vital role in the dynamics of the gymnasium.

For example, let us take the ‘grunters’. These gargantuans of groan, giants of gasp, behemoths of bellow, gye-normo-cons of, er, gro-asp-ellow act as the conscious for those of us who may tend to lose focus. They startle us with their sudden explosions of expletives, clankings, boomings, boastings, and beratings. I sometimes find myself, after such an explosion, running to the 2.5 lb dumbbells and squeezing out two or three hard won repetitions in a flurry of guilt and reapplied will power.

The ‘maintainers’, as JKL pointed out, are the sane ones. These are the people that you see all the time and, unlike the ‘grunters’, are not afraid to make eye contact. They offer a soothing familiarity to the gym. When you see them and you think, hey, there is that one guy/gal, and you give them the ‘lip-thrust-head-nod-eye-brow-scrunch’ which is how maintainers recognize each other. It is sort of like the gym equivalent of a ‘Hey, how ya doin?’ without losing the much needed focus for exertions and strenuations (I just made that word up… Feel free to use it as you see fit) on silly greetings and banalities.

Now, JKL’s ‘poser’ category is too broad. It should be split thusly:

‘Displayers’: This is the women/men who come into the gym with little to no coverings. The women tend to be enhanced, scientifically speaking, about the upper torso region and wear a degree of makeup that runs the gambit from copious to subtle. The men tend to focus most of their efforts in the gym to the upper torso region and wear spaghetti strap tanks and have trouble scratching their own behinds. They both walk with their heads turned to the side so as to see their glory reflected in the many, ah, reflective surfaces (reflective surfaces are a necessary furnishing requirement at most gyms) as they walk to and from machinery and drinking supplies. The role of ‘displayers’ for me is that, with some exceptions, they are pleasing to watch. They bounce, swagger, sashay, swish, jiggle, and flaunt their way around the gym in a manner that is quite pleasing at times. Being an aesthetician, I have an eye for these displays of pumped and prepped fleshy parts.

‘Seasonals’: The ‘seasonals’ are the most irritating, if only because they tend to flood the gym and occupy equipment that is otherwise and normally freely available. These are the people that show up because of 1) resolutions, 2) spring is coming, or 3) summer is coming. They are a temporary bunch and they slowly dwindle away after a couple of weeks of what originally was going to be a defining lifestyle change but which turns out to be a whole lot more work than it is worth. One of the good things about the ‘seasonals’ is that them occupying my space lets me focus more on the ‘displayers’ between sets and or exercises... that is until the next startling bellow.

The one really fascinating category I would like to add is:

‘Bored house wife (BHW)’: These are by far the most entertaining. They are part ‘displayer’ and part ‘maintainer’ with a social piece tossed in for good measure. They have wedding rings with rocks the size of a small planet or they don’t wear rings at all. They come in groups, wear very aesthetically pleasing outfits and have bodies that result when you can focus both time and money. They tend to be dedicated to working out, but they also have ample time for socializing. Did I mention the aesthetically pleasing outfits? The ‘BHWs’ are normally very entertaining to speak with during the ‘seasonals’ seasons and they are sometimes distracting enough that the ‘grunters’ best efforts at boomings, clankings, screachings and scroamings (yes, scroamings) tend to fall on unfocused ears.

Types of laughter that make me laugh

Like most people who are, you know, about my age, I've seen Mary Poppins on several occasions. It’s a brilliant show and I'll have to beat you if you disagree (well, not really, as I'm typically against beatings in general, BOCTAOE). At any rate, there is a scene on the DVD in which DVD (Dick VanDyke) talks about how different people laugh and then they end up on the ceiling. No, I’m not sure if that is some kind of symbolism, but I think there is an anti drug message in there somewhere. He mentions the laughing into your hands, gut busting laughs, tittering (good word, tittering. Its story is like a mini comedy, you know? So its one of the few words that just works for what it was built [invented? derived?] to describe. And, believe it or not, it’s also an onomatopoeia. Which sort of explains part of what I wrote in this tangent - I just realized that if you can follow anything at all of what I just wrote, you are, quite frankly, as troubled as I am), hissing, popping, cackling, muffling, snickering, chuckling, et al.

Those are all well and good for, you know, “Mary” and company, but here are the laughs that make me chuckle (yes, you may notice that this word is in the above list, but only because I added it after first writing it here. So, you know… there ya have it):

Inappropriate laughter: On the ‘Simpsons’ the doctor character is a perfect example of this type. I.e., ‘Yes, you have inoperable brain cancer. (hee hee heh)’ I’ve done this before myself. One of the colleges I went too was about 80 miles from my home, consequently, I would drive back home from school fairly often. On one such occasion, as I was driving back to the college, I hit a fairly nasty batch of black ice. (‘black ice’ is the term for ice that you can’t see on the hi-way and not for the hip hop parody of Vanilla Ice, FYI. Though, I must admit, that I haven’t seen a Vanilla Ice parody … most likely due to the fact that the real thing was comical enough) Now, if you’ve never hit a nasty patch of black ice, or even a moderately angry patch of black ice, or, I daresay, I somewhat congenial patch of black ice, I’ll just say it isn’t altogether pleasant…. Or even partly together pleasant, for that matter. I’ll not bore you with the details, but the result of said encounter with black ice was me on the shoulder of the road, looking at a demolished 1976 Pontiac Sunbird (It was a cool car taken from me far too early by the cruel fates) with a trail of destruction behind, including a completely severed and downed street light. All of which, for some reason, struck me as amazingly humorous. In fact, when I called back home to describe for the people there the predicament that I was in, I couldn’t keep from laughing. And I’ll tell you, no one else thought it was the least bit funny and were even, I recall, a little put out by my light heartedness. Go figure.

Uncertain Source laughter: Have you ever spoken with someone who would sort of chuckle after every thing they said? For example, when I was in HS there was this guy who, after every thing he said, would sort of ‘heh, heh’ me and do a weird chicken thing motion with his head and neck. Or maybe it can best be described as a half head bob or something. I found this behavior vastly amusing:

MJ: So, hey, head bobber, what is up? (no, I didn’t really call him that… We laugh at people BEHIND there backs in HS)

MJF: Hi. Heh, heh. (half a head bob chicken motion thingy)

MJ: So, I hear your parents died?

MJF: Yah, it was horrible. They were plucked to death by a flight of angry wild turkeys. Heh, heh. (three-quarter head bob chicken motion thingy)

(I think it’s important to note that the above conversation is completely and totally accurate, as far as I can recall)

While this may seem to be the INAPPROPRIATE laugher guy, it is fact a completely different deal. This guy laughs after every sentence… Like, you know, its punctuation or something, whereas the INAPPROPRIATE laugher just thinks, you know, inappropriate things are funny… The example above may have confused you somewhat.

Uncontrollable Laugher: I sit next to a prime example of this laugher category. Today I overheard the following conversation:

Players:

MG : Manager Guy
CG : Contractor Girl

Conversation:

MG: Nice day out today isn’t it?

CG: Yes, it is. (slight chuckle)

MG: Too bad we can’t be out enjoying it.

CG: Yes, I wore my jeans today, sorry, couldn’t help it. (chuckle)

MG: Yeah, I’m not worried about it.

CG: (Giggle) Yeah, I used to work from home and (guffaw) just work in my pajamas (ha ha ha) but then I got this job (SNORT, snicker)

MG: (Uncomfortable chuckle)

CG: (short burst of loud laughing) I didn’t even want to do ASP (HAHHHAHAHGHAHHHHAH-GAHH GAHH HAH) but it was just going to be for a short period (LAHHHHH HAHHHH AHHHHHH AHHA ARGGHAAHHAHHA).

MG: Little did you know….

CG: (GAAAAAHHHRRRRGLE CAAAACKLE GUFFFAWWW) I had to go (deep breath) (YOOOOOODLE YARRRRGLE CACKLIDIDITY DOO) and buy a new wardrobe (AHHHHHAAAHAHAHHAAHAHAAA).

MG: Uh… (nervous chuckle)

CG: (deep shuddering breath) But, I like it here (small chuckle).

I am dead serious. That is exactly what I heard. Now, this kind of thing usually irritates me to no end, but I discovered that if you don’t really care what the UNCONTROLLABLE laugher is saying, you can really be amused by this sort of thing. I mean, none of what was said was the least bit amusing - even by Chris Rock standards – but this type of laugher has no control over their mirth, as I witness first hand on a nearly daily basis. Can you imagine what it would be like to think that every little thing you say is side splittingly hilarious? I mean, GW doesn’t really count since, you know, I don’t think he knows why people are laughing.

Dead bodies? What dead bodies?

So I was talking on the phone the other day at work... Well, here is a quick replay.

The players:

MJ = MJ
MJF = MJ's friend

The conversation :

MJF: 'So, would you be interested in seeing that Body Works?'

MJ: 'Huh?' (thinking: 'Does she want me to go to a boutique?')

MJF: 'Yeah, Body Works.. that thing at the museum w-'

MJ: (interrupting) 'Oh, the dead body art thing? Yes, I'd go see that.' (relieved that the boutique thing was a mis-enterpretation)

MJF: 'Yes, at the Museum of Natural History. It sounds interesting...'

(At this point, I'm distracted by an email so I'm not quite sure what was said.. but when it was silent on the phone, I knew it was my turn to talk again)

MJ: 'Um, yeah, I'd take my girls to see that(guessing at what was said). They love the museum.'

MJF: 'Well, it might be kind of intense for them, don't you think? (sounding confused by what must have been a sudden topic change)'

MJ: 'Why? (perplexed noises included) Its just dead bodies?'

MJF: 'Yeah, dead bodies. Dead bodies posed in various forms. No skin, you know.'

MJ: 'So, you think that'd be too much, eh?'

MJF: 'Maybe not for the oldest. I dunno. What I really want to know, is how they get the bodies.'

(I have since discovered the answer to that, so don't bother telling me)

MJ: 'Oh, I guess, like, organ donors or something.'

MJF: 'Yeah, probably some bone, er, dono....(fumbling)'

MJ: 'Did you just say boner donors?'

MJF: (laughing sounds)

MJ: 'I'm pretty sure boner donors are part of an entirely different exibit.'

MJF: (sounds continue, I believe I heard a slight choking noise)

MJ: 'I myself am a boner donor, so to speak. You think there is a place I could go and sign up, or what?'

MJF : (laughing extremely hard, not able to speak)

MJ: 'Did you just snort? I love it when people snort when they laugh. That was a good one. Nice and wet.'

MJF: (laughing) 'Please stop, I'm at work.. People ... are staring (between breaths)'

MJ: 'Hey, listen, yer the one that brought up the boner donor thing.. See a lot of art with boner donors, do ya, sister?'

MJF:'I have to go!! (laughing)' - click -


- - BTW, its BODY WORLD.

Attitude; Half Baked Cont...

So, I was saying that I'm a firm believer in attitudes as a major influence on a person's life. I'm pretty sure that was within the last day or so... Yah, well, if not, lets pretend that you know to what I'm referring.

Positivity
The whole positive energy attracts positive energy, isn't scientific so much as anectdotal, however, its been my experience that positive people are generally healthier and definetly more pleasant to be around than the opposite...


Now, I'm bored with this topic.... blah blah.

Funny things I'm too brainwashed to attempt

You know, living in a 'civilized' society does have its down side.

For example, you really cannot do the following no matter how badly you'd like :

1) Its never appropriate to scratch a complete strangers back in a grocery store (or really any place), regardless of the contortions they are making to reach an out-of-the-way itch... Or is it?
2) Its rarely looked upon as polite to run up and 'jiggle' a big person, regardless of the 'bowl full of jelly' resemblance.
3) When dining in a fine establishment (or any establishment, really) those who ask for samples from neighboring tables are looked upon poorly, regardless of how appetizing the may desserts appear.
4) Not a good idea to offer you hand when meeting people you don't know at a urinal; and pointing and chuckling, while subtly humorous, tends to engender a negative reaction.
5) Striking heroic poses in check-out lanes (i.e. arms akimbo, chest thrust out majestically, one eye brow raised impressively, staring as if peering into a grand horizon, that sort of thing) tends to frighten more than amuse.

I've been tempted on quite a few occasions to do all of the above, but have never gone that last step... I will, tho, its just a matter of time....

Portman's Bush

's pick for next budget guru...

What did you think I was talking about?

But, please, don't tap on the glass

So this guy David Blaine wants to live in an aquarium and then break the world record for breath holding. Somewhere in NY so I'm hoping Melissa will run down there and, you know, over feed him and see if he floats belly up like a gold fish.

Apparantly this guy is a magician and has accomplished such feats as living in an ice cube and balancing. Yes, balancing. Maybe you had to be there.

Am I the only one who is underwhelmed?

This reminds me of the time that a hot blond striped her body like a leapord and sat in a cage on the 16th Street mall in Denver a few years ago. Course, since she was hot and naked, she was vastly more enteresting.

Top Five Illusions David Blaine Should Perform

1) Turn himself into a WMD - Course, we'd have to witness the contortions of the Pres. patting himself on the back while screaming "I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU!" while at the same time trying to fabricate a story explaining how its in the Garden Center and not in Bagdad.
2) Stay in a room with Reese Witherspoon for ten days without pointing and screaming 'ALIEN HEAD! ALIEN HEAD! ALIEN HEAD! ALIEN HEAD! ALIEN HEAD!' (On a side note, my friend JM says that she is his top celebrity 'shag you very much.' I was and remain, bewildered)
3) Make half of Kirstie Alley dissapear... Don't worry, there'd still be plenty left over.
4) Convince an audience walking out of a Colin Farrell film that it was in fact Will Ferrell as the star.
5) Dissapear.

Speaking of ...

As a kid reading comics, I had some issues with how some of the super heroes hid who they really were. I mean, can you really not tell Clark Kent is Superman wearing glasses? Really? You can't? C'mon!


Top Four 'See Thru' Alter Egos

1) Clark Kent - Ok, so Superman hides his identity behind a pair (but, not a pear, which would be more interesting) of spectacles and no one can figure out why when the shiznit hits and he's saving, like, the planet and stuff, mild mannered Clark is never around. Nice reporting, pal.
2) Britt Reid - Ok, Britt has an Asian valet that goes with him everywhere. The Green Hornet has a martial arts master always saving his bacon. Hmm, yet, no one can put two and two together? Brother.
3) Diana Prince - Yes, lets hide a six foot amazon behind a really large pair of glasses. Hey, it works for Supes! Oh, this is Wonder Woman for the uninitiated.
4) Robert Bruce Banner - Yeah, a little hard to keep your identity a secret if you're gonna smash entire cities because the guy driving in front of you cut you off (Hulk).

On the flip side, there were these guys who had water tight alibi's.

Top Five Best Hidden Heroes
1) Matt Murdoc - Blind attorney is really Dare Devil, the Man without Fear
2) Dr. Donald Blake - Donald is a little 160 lb guy with a bum leg and a walking stick, but when trouble arises a tap of that stick and now he's a 6'5 250 lb Norse God of Thunder (Thor).
3) Peter Parker - The wall crawler Spiderman is a kid in HS? Whoa.
4) tie Bruce Wayne / Tony Stark - Both rich playboys by day and crime fighting dynamos by night... or maybe they are playboys at night? Batman and Iron Man, respectively

Yeah, you're pretty quiet.

I've never been accused of exuberance, excessive emotional displays, manic behavior, nor illogical or irrational conduct. But of course, there are obvious exceptions (BOCTAOE).

For example:

1) I was quite maniacally violent, but not violet, when I played football.
2) I was stunned and amazed when my children were born.
3) I was devastated when my big brother died.
4) I was thoroughly disgusted with the people who looked to profit from his death.
5) I was dismayed, astonished, crushed and unmade when my best friend and luvah betrayed me.

However, generally speaking, I'm a reserved individual. I don't volunteer my opinion (for the most part), thoughts, or ideas (generally) unless asked and sometimes not even when asked, prodded, grilled, interrogated, queried, polled, interviewed, hit up, worked over, pried, pumped, petitioned, solicited, challenged, quizzed, or questioned.

People ask me all the time, 'Why are you so quiet? Why do you make it so hard to figure you out? Why are you such a mystery? What is so hard about sharing? What gives? What is wrong with you? What the heck are you thinking? What is that on your shirt!?! (Oh, that is from my smooth and tasty morning beverage) Will you tell me what is going on up in that head of yours?'

Well, I'll tell you. ... Well, I would if it were any of your business.

No, seriously... I'd tell you, but I'm practicing being secretive and mysterious so I have experience when I have to establish a secret identity for my super powered persona.

Ok, really, I'm letting you in.. here goes.. . . Oops, sorry, my phone is ringing.

Half baked theories, lunch and such...

Earlier I shared a story about eagles and a blog about free will and pleasure units (PU). I actually had some thoughts related to both of these, um, things, that I was going to share. However, since most of my thoughts on abstracts, like theories, never come to a logical conclusion - I find it difficult to make final judgments on nebulous or unprovable ideas, no matter how sequacious the argument - I thought I'd combine my thoughts on decisions and animal instincts with some other of my disjointed and/or incoherent views, as they relate to human behavior.

How we make decisions?

Self-interest theory
I've thought for the last decade or so that all people are selfish. That any act, regardless of intent, is rooted in self-interest. This is similar to Scott's theory that people make decisions based on the amount of PUs that result from the decision or lack thereof, PUs being a measurement, so to speak, of self-interest. I could state examples (or perceived examples) until you were blue in the face, but there is no way that this theory could be proven, so I do a lot of wheel spinning those times I ponder this possibility.

Animal Instinct
This is a derivative of the self-interest theory that basically says instincts drive most of our decisions. This is similar to those studies that suggest things like sex (etc) are what motivates certain segments of the species. People being rational (for the most part, ex's being the obvious exception) beings are constantly battling instincts that drive us toward actions that may not be entirely rationale. The instinct for procreation being the easiest example and the one most studies use... Or maybe its just those studies on sex that I find interesting enough to recall. .. . Regardless, its a theory that is problematic when moving toward axiom or law.

Free Will

The idea that there is no such thing as free will is fundamentally difficult to accept. Scott's idea that any action we take is not determined by ourselves but by some external influence not religious in nature is, or seems, counter intuitive. I'm not sure if he is debating 'free will' as defined in the dictionary or not, but I imagine he was only using that definition to further prove his point that it doesn't exist. Or maybe he's saying no action is created in a vacuum, meaning, without cause and/or effect. Anywho, here are a couple of my thoughts...

Multiverse
People lots smarter than me have argued that for every decision we make, there exists a universe were a different decision was made and our consciousness would have traveled thru to that universe if we had made that decision (that is a poor and rough paraphrase) or there are multiple identical universes with an MJ (for example) in each that made a different decision, however slight, at some point, and we are all ignorant of the others existence. This sort of thing is big for Sci-Fi writers and has been the basis of many a movie, book or episode of Star Trek. This idea is fun to think about, you know, when one has time to ponder the what if of our pasts.

Fate
I've heard of those that feel that our lives are scripted and nothing we do can change our fated paths. This is popular for people that need to make an excuse for a particular bad turn or as forshadow to a particularly desired outcome, i.e., 'If its fated I'll do/have/own/buy/eat/etc .' Naturally, this is on the opposite spectrum of the free will thinkers, but ironically, I hear it a lot from religious people. I.e., if God wills I'll do/have/own/buy/eat/etc . Now, I don't particularly disagree with these people for having faith, as spirituality is important. However, faith is based on free will, I'd think, and if God outlines and defines are future, doesn't that sort of negate the whole free will thing, ergo negating the need for faith? I suppose one could look at the statement 'If God wills I'll....' and say its faith. Its an interesting theory of mine that I ponder often, perhaps one day I'll reach a conclusion with which I'm comfortable.

Attitude

One of my ideas I'm most sure of but less sure how to communicate is attitude, or how a person's outlook and interaction with others affects his or her life. ... TBC

Todays riveting and hard hitting social commentary

That funny guy Scott Adams blogged the other day about decision making; basically theorizing that people make decisions based only on how many PU (Pleasure Units) they can receive; paraphrasing. He then talks about free will in a later blog, or the lack thereof, postulating that free will does not exist. His example being that science has determined "that people make decisions before the area of the brain responsible for rational thought even gets activated. In other words, you rationalize after the fact while remembering it as if you had made a conscious choice in advance of the action."

Now, I read this after I saw this story about a male bald eagle leaving his mate because another female bald eagle beat her up. Well, technically, he didn't leave the beat upon avian so much as she was taken away by the wildlife rescue people back to their shop for repairs. Then, female eagles being dominant, he was sort of bullied into the sack with the new, more powerful she-hulk eagle.

Now, other than the obvious thought of, how glad you may be that our social society doesn't work like that - I mean, can you imagine? Some super buff chick like China likes you (or your guy) and the next thing you know, you're (or your guy is) her new biznatch. Course, some people may think of that as not a bad deal - this story, along with Scott's hypothesis has me contemplating.....

What should I have for lunch tomorrow?

Things to do in Sun City West

In an attempt to wrap up my fully factual and completely accurate accounting of my long weekend in Sun City west, I will now list observations, commentary and itineraries of said trip:

1) The orange trees in Sun City West fall into three broad categories: 'Juicer', 'Eater' and 'Decorative.' While you can eat a 'Juicer' and juice a 'Eater' its generally considered a bad idea to eat or juice a 'Decorative.'
2) Cocktail hour is actually Cocktail 4 0r 5 hour.
3) These people are rollin. Um, no, not on X. I meant as the euphemism for lots of discretionary income.
4) I saw more after market rims then on a rap video marathon. Which is hysterical to me considering 99% of the people are white.
5) Birthday parties for dogs may seem odd to me, but they are perfectly acceptable forms of entertainment.
6) Breakfast on the patio with freshly picked grapefruit, freshly squeezed orange juice (from freshly picked 'Juicer' oranges), a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, an English muffin with homemade raspberry jam immersed in the sent of spring blossoms is what I call living in the lap of luxury.
7) Golf courses. Lots of Golf courses.
8) My aunt has this little black Schipperke that goes by the misnomer of "Bear." Like most small dogs, it likes the sound of its own voice, which isn't surprising. What is surprising is that the dog also likes money and shoes (yes, its a female. Of course). She will actually go into an open purse looking for cash, I can only assume, so as to buy more shoes.
9) Quick Story: About a week and a half prior to my visit, my aunt had her car stolen. Here's how: She took it to have it serviced at the local Chrysler dealer ( I know. I know. She drives a bloody Chrysler. Its hard for me to take also). She drove up. Let the service guy know she was there. Had him listen to the engine for the elusive noise - that mysteriously disappears when someone is actually listening specifically for it - and then left it in the capable hands of the service people. Two days later she gets a call saying someone drove off with her car. Well, I don't know about you, but that isn't what I expect when I get my car serviced. Anyway, Sunday morning we are enjoying breakfast (see lap of luxury above) and the police call. They found the car. They were investigating a 'disturbance' and the car was on the property (apparently, they run VIN numbers on car at a disturbance just in case. Who knew). They told her she had thirty minutes to drive down to the disturbance and get the car. Can I just say, there are parts of Phoenix that are, um, less than savory? So, blah blah blah, cars back, not in the best of shape, but not as bad as it could have been. We had it towed back to the Chrysler dealer (I was surprised it was open as in CO, dealers can't sell cars on Sunday. I know, its ridiculous) and the GM said that he would make it as good as new and then they could decide to sell it or keep it, with the promise if they chose to get a new car, he'd cut them a great deal. We left that place and headed up the street to the Lexus dealer to scope out the phat rides. Heck, if you're gonna get a new car, I argued, get a real one.
10) You think they don't have pigeons in Sun City West? Think again. The bastiches.

Doctor Who

Oh, I'd say around the early late later early mid to late early late middle earlier early late seventies I watched this English science fiction show called Doctor Who. The good Dr. was a bit of a time traveler, now wudn't ee? And he, and most everyone else, including the aliens, all talked with an English accent. Much like the people in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (the serial, not the movie).

So, anywho, Dr Who, who wasn't played by you know who, but rather who knows who, or better several who knows who's, but not several you know whose.... ya dig?

As I was saying, the seventies were a magical time ... oh, wait, that isn't what I was saying at all...

Doctor Who, a BBC, production, I imagine (hey, listen, you know what, if you want actual facts, you know, ... read or something), was this character who traveled thru time and space in a British Police Box. He had one of those Sony electronic dogs (you know, before you could buy them at Radio Shack) and I believe its name was K9.. Or maybe that was its serial number (again, facts are for, you know, readers and stuff), I was, what, 7 or something? How can you expect me to recall that? So, as I was saying, the really interesting thing about the Doctor was that after being on the show for awhile, if, say, Tom Baker, got tired of being the Doctor, he could quit (aka die) and some new actor would jump in (aka be reborn in a different guise). This was explained away as a particular annoying ability granted the good Doctor by.... Sheesh, again, I don't know, but it was interesting... and annoying, because I really liked Tom Baker as the good Doctor!

Doc would fight these really cheesy giant old fashioned microphone shaped robots, Cybermen, Time Lords and cancellation, and triumph every time. Not only that, but I can perfectly recall the theme music, which is impressive for me. Oh, and his Police Box was called Tarterus, which, if I recall my ancient literature, was the Greek pigeon infested doom that dead villains where relegated. .... Can't be sure on that, tho... Sounds right.

I heard today that this show is still on! How cool is that (trust me, its way cool)? I suppose I should find it on the telly.....

What about my anus?

New Red, Blue Rings Found Around Uranus

Listen, I'm not sure how they find these things out before I do.. Maybe its because I don't have the proper equipment...

Later, at the ...

Ok, before I continue my fully factual and completely accurate accounting of my long weekend, I must first confess that I know that I spelled Pomeranian (sp) wrong just now as well as yesterday. Now, normally, I'm a bit of a stickler when it comes to speling, hoever, somtimes things jus don't work out the weigh you would like so ewe'll have to excus the ocasional mispelled word, now won't you?

So, where was I.... Yes, now its coming back... (Key flashback music. Key flashback effects, and in 3... 2... )

Now, I'm ready for my relaxing weekend. If you've never seen a Dodge Stratus, (AKA Stratta. Shaddup) its not a bad looking car as midsize cars go, so I wasn't completely let down. No, the let down is from realizing that a Skipperkee has more horse power than this fine piece of Chrysler engineering.

So, as I scoot down I-10, wondering if I would have more power if I peddled like the bloody Flintstones, several things occur to me:

1) The weather is extremely nice.
2) Wearing a jacket in CO this time of year is smart, wearing one if AZ is just asking for trouble.
3) The idiots that enjoy driving the interstates in Denver have all come down to enjoy the sunshine right along with me on the Phoenix interstates.
4) Driving across town in Phoenix is similar in scope to driving across Texas. The state. Seriously, could this place BE any further spread out?
5) I've been in the car less than 20 minutes and I've already heard the same song 27 thousand times on the radio.
6) Every time I come to Phoenix, they are widening the hiways. I don't know for sure, but I imagine in a few more years their won't be any place for people to live due to the 60 mile wide roads.

From I-10, I head north on the 101 loop. After several minutes on the 101, I notice a huge structure off to my right. It looks sort of like those huge water processing stations from that 80s tv saga, V. Its humongous. It dawns on me while I'm gaping at it, that this is a football stadium. The people in Phoenix are getting a new dome. For the Cardinals?? Are you kidding me? The flipping Arizona Cardinals are getting a domed stadium? And not just any stadium, this thing is magnificent! Its unbelievable! I found out later that its the site of the SB in 2008. Sheesh. Hope the Cardinals win a game or two up until then.

I take the Grand Avenue exit off the 101 and head NW. This street will get me to Sun City West. Eventually. I mean, Phoenix is unbelievable. You can't get anywhere in this town without packing a days worth of meals to avoid the risk of starvation. Anyhow, I eventually get into Sun City West. For those who have yet to experience Sun City West, let me list some observations:

1) Sun City West is in fact not the west side of Sun City. Sun City is a separate city with no relation to Sun City West other than the same developer got mad bills for building them.
2) The sign that says Surprise! isn't really offering you anything exciting... Its just telling you that there is in fact a city called Surprise.
3) The golf carts you see motoring around and in between the cars on the streets are perfectly legal. In fact, that is how most of the citizens get around. In fact, most houses here have a golf cart sized garage attached to their regularly sized garage.
4) The place is immaculate. Impeccable. The trees are groomed, the yards are manicured, the scenery is pristene, the scent of spring blossoms permeates everything; really, its quite impressive.
5) This guy from Wisconsin is going to hit me with his bloody 40 foot Lincoln and not even feel a bump.
6) The senior citizens in this town are rolling in Escalades with 22 inch chrome wheels straight out of your favorite hip hop video - you know, when not puttering in the customized golf carts.

So, I finally make it to the Aunts. Lets see, from the time I got up at 4:30AM MT to the time I make it to the door, its only been 6 hours.... Not bad for seeming like a lifetime.... TBC

My long weekend

So, I decided to go visit my aunt in Phoenix this past weekend. (She's the sister of my 'second' dad, not my pops. Pop's sister lives out east. I need to visit there soon as well) Its been a pretty hectic last few weeks and I thought a little R&R in the sun would be a welcome opportunity to recharge the ole batteries. So I told my aunt and her roommate that they didn't have to worry about entertaining me, I was just going to sit back and relax on their beautiful patio. They live in Sun City West, a retirement community a little north and a little west of Phoenix.

I left early Friday morning and arrived in AZ at about 9AM local time. ( I skipped thru the security at DIA with minimal mauling and groping, although, I think, the guy with the wand owes me a dinner) Sky Harbor is a fairly decent airport and since I travel way light, I had no problems getting my gear and getting out of the building (Do you remember a time when 'way' wasn't an acceptable adverb? I can only assume such a time exists but, really, that is, like, way too far in the past to think about).

Once outside I looked for the rental car bus (This is the bus that takes you to the place from which you rented your car; fyi). I quickly spotted the bus just as it was leaving the stop and, assuming another would be along forthwith, I ambled out to the spot it had just vacated and prepared to wait. Prepared for a short wait. Fully expecting a wait opposite of long. A wait, when compared to an exceptionally long wait, would be, you know, lacking in the requisite longness of the long wait; ergo hence and thereby thusly consequently-ly declared an anti-long wait; aka a short wait. You dig?

At any rate, and this may come as a complete surprise to you, my wait wasn't at all short. After waiting what must have been 2 or 3 days (later, I discovered that I had, in fact, only waited about 7 or 8 minutes. Apparently, I have to work on my patience. .. But not my patients, as I'm not a doctor and I'm sure any patients I work on would be quite put out when they discovered that, while I did attend school for seven years, it was more due to a lack of study then for the gain thereof) I walked toward the cabby stand to inquire when to expect the next rental bus. The cabby stand is where this airport person lurks and directs unsuspecting indiviuals to an insiduously awaiting taxi. When I arrived in the vicinity of the cabby stand and its nefarious occupant, I was asked if I needed a cab. After giving him my best 'what the heck are you talking about' look I calmy said, 'No, you bleeding idiot, can't you see I'm waiting for the bloody bus to take me to my blue blazing bloody bleeding rental?' Which, for you uneducated and unwashed masses, translates to 'Um, no thanks buddy. I'm just wondering if that rental car bus is ever coming back' in the greater metropolitan Phoenix area.

The cabby nodded sagely. The cabby looked over my shoulder (we were facing one another. In modern civilization the proper way to communicate is via arcane finger wagging, inarticulate shouting and frenzied fist waving, however, since I am taking a vacation, minimal as it may be, I decided that being civilized was asking too much, so we were instead, facing eachother and talking in a nonthreatening manner. I know, its bizzare, but try to restrain your amazement) and said, 'What, that bus?'. To which I turned and said, 'Yes, that one. The one that says 'RENTAL CAR SHUTTLE' in huge letters'. To which he responded, 'you can't ride those on this side, you have to go to the other side of the building. They only drop off on this side.'

Of course. I mean, its so obvious. Why would they pick up anyone on this side of the terminal. This side has all the tell tale signs of a drop off side. The buses, you know, driving by stopping occasionally, opening doors, closing doors. Driving off. I guess the fact that no one was getting off of the buses is what threw me. What was I thinking? I calmly replied to the nice cab pimp, 'What a fargin jagoff flipping blue faced farcical airport you have here, pal' to which he replied, with a fair sized smile, 'why thank you sir, you enjoy your trip.'

Well, I never! Can you imagine? Of all the things you could say to a traveler, that has got to be the single most obnoxious thing ever! So, I smiled in return and ambled back into the terminal and out the other side. And low, a shaft of dazzling light didst descend from the heavens and transfix me in its glare, which is probably why I tripped over that old lady's walker (There seems to be a surplus of older type humans in the greater metropolitan Phoenix area, so it really isn't quite out of the ordinary to stumble over them every once in a while) (Ok, I made that last bit up. The part about tripping over the walker, not the part about the excess old people. We all know I couldn't possibly trip, being a stud and all, but I did boot her tiny little parmaranian nearly across all four lanes of traffic. But that wasn't an accident) .

When I finally made it (I just wanted to touch back with you and let you know that , no, I didn't really fall over a lady's walker nor did I boot her stupid dog across half of Phoenix. You looked a little worried and I just wanted you to know that I was joking. Ha ha) to the proper bus stop, the driver immediately asked me how I was doing while reaching for my bag. (Ah, yes, luggage. Let me give you my quick philosophical treatsy upon luggage: Hate it. Avoid it whenever possible) You see, when flying now a days, you are allowed to bring upon the plane a hankerchief sized bag or briefcase or knapsack or pot of pigs feet. I myself, chose to forgo the pigs feet this trip and instead opted for the small bag. It may be a small bag, but its my bag and I was a little alarmed as to why my bag was the target of said bus driver's reach. So, I said, 'I'd be doing much better if I knew why you were reaching for my bag there, Ralphie boy.' (Ah, the Honeymooners. Can you believe what crap old people used to watch when they were our age?) This of course translated to 'Hello. How are you? Get the fargin flip nickle away from my bloody bag ya crazy bastiche' (Ok, that last part may have been lost in translation as my bag was whipped away from my clutching fingers and gently, almost reverently placed inside the bus on one of those handy luggage racks you see springing up on airport buses now a days. Not sure how that happens, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Did that once and horse breath isn't at all flattering)

Sensing that the strange fellow meant no harm, I followed my bag upon the bus, calmly tossing a 'thankyouverymuch' over my shoulder at the driver. (They sense fear, you know, so you have to stay calm in these situations) Once safely seated, I waited calmly (again, calm is the key here) as several hundred thousand other people with multiple billions and billions of assorted luggage where also neatly packed unto the now minivan seeming vehicle (Again, later, I learned that, no, I wasn't involved in some inner space diminisional shift and that, factually, there were only six people on the bus with no where close to even 30 peices of luggage. Wow. I must really have needed a break).

The RENTAL CAR SHUTTLE was soon on its journey to the mystical land of 'RENTAL CARs'; aka the Naturalized American Disneyland. It used to be that you could get your rental car right at the airport terminal. Of course those days have gone the way of the John Stamos and over the years, the rental cars have moved further and further away from the airport. So, after a quick shuttle ride to Las Vegas, I was ready to enjoy my Phoenix vacation.

Wait, I think I left a part out... Oh, yes, the rental car aquisition. When the bus finally made its way to the rental car center (The Phoenix rental car 'EXTRAVAGANZA' is a huge parking garage with all the major players: Hertz, Dollar, Enterprise, Hooptie Heaven, Avis, etc. Its like going into the terminal of the old Stapleton airport.... Except, ah, they have, you know, like, cars and not DC47s) after an exausting tour of several 'shantie' towns, I was able to safely de-bus - but only after racing the bus driver to my bag in a desperate attempt to not go thru the 'let me do that for you' dance of de-luggage racking my newspaper sized traveling tote - and make my way to the appropriate car rental establishment. Luckily, I was able to battle my way to second in line, consequently saving a day to a day and a half (depending on estimates) of my vacation time not having to be in line.

Once I was called to the counter (You are probably waiting for me to make some crack about the eternity it took for me to get to the counter, aren't you? For your information, not only was I able to read War and Peace but I was also able to successfully invent the perpetual motion machine and a safe and re-usable form of energy. Sadly, what happened next at the counter seemed to have shocked me so completely that the details of these accomplishments have been lost) I smugly handed over my credit card and drivers licence and said 'Yep, I got quite the deal on a car for this little get away, didn't I?' The strange and exotic looking gentleman on the other side of the counter simply smiled and said 'Why, I cannot say for certain my good man, but as soon as I am able to recall your information from our database here I am sure you will find everything to be thoroughly satisfactory' (I'm dead serious).

I nodded happily and waited whilst said exotic looking chap busily punched this button, pulled that lever, twisted that nob, cranked that, er, cranker thingy and blew that whistle (yes, I thought it was a bit much, but, you know, modern technology and all). Finally he said, 'Ah, Mr. Joe, or may I call you Monstrous?'

'Oh, call me MJ', I replied generously.

'Quite right, MJ, quite right. It seems you have the rate for our economy car, which is our smallest vehicle. Can I recommend that you upgrage, MJ?'

'Oh, what is this smallest car to which you speak?'

'Well, MJ, it is our economy class vehicle so it is rather small. Here, let me show you, I happen to have one here in my pocket. You see, it is one of the perks of working here; free rentals. So, you see, you basically stand upon it and by sheer will power alone you are able to convince other drivers that you need assistance and they will take you to your destination. I don't understand why, but most of our customers decide to upgrade'

'First off, no, I don't see. What is that, a matchbox car?'

'Oh, dear no sir! It is in fact our economy car. Several hundred thousand miles to the gallon.'

'Well, Exotic Looking Gentleman, I got a real deal when I reserved your, eh, grasshopper mobile there, eh?'

'Yes, of course, MJ, I see it right here. It appears we were paying you 14 dollars a day to drive this car. My, my, that is a good deal.'

'Yeah, that's what I said. I got a good deal.'

'Yes, of course, MJ, I see it right here. It appears we were paying you 14 dollars a day to drive this car. My, my, that is a good deal.'

(Blank look) 'Um, did you just say that?'

'Excuse me?'

'Hey, listen, don't be trying any of your Exotic Gentleman mojo on me fella, I'm a stud.'

'I'm sorry, did you just say 'I am a stud?''

'Hey, pal, I'm the stud, and don't change the subject. If I upgrade to, whatever is next in line, will I get this good price you seem to like spouting about?'

'Yes, of course, MJ. No, you will not get that deal, however, I can quote you a midsize for roughly a hundred thousand percent more than what we quoted you for the economy sized.'

'Ok, wait. Did you just contradict yourself?'

'Yes, of course, MJ. No, you will not get that deal, however, I can quote you a midsize for roughly three hundred million thousand gajillion percent more than what we quoted you for the economy sized.'

(blink)

(Exotic looking smile)

'Ok, man. First things first. You can call me Mr. Joe. Now, what is this midsize and what do you want me to pay?'

'Yes, of course, emm, er, Mr. Joe. Yes, our midsize is a nice Dodge Strata or Neon for only 5x what we quoted for the economy.'

'Ok, first off, I don't think you quite grasp the subtle intricacies of, you know, math and stuff. But, that aside, that price doesn't make for a very good deal anymore.'

'Yes, of course, Mr. Joe. Would you like our full size, which is a nice Dodge Strata or Neon for only 10x what we quoted for the economy.'

(double blink)

(Exotic smile)

'Listen pal, you have got to stay out of the sun. What you are saying is I could get a Strata for 5x as much or 10x as much?'

'Yes, you've gotten it, haven't you, sir!'

(deep sigh)

(Exotic smile)

'Listen. I'll take the 5x Stratta'

'Jolly good, sir! Well done!'

NOW, I'm ready for my nice relaxing weekend..... TBC