The Möndäy Rëpört ~ Since October 11th, 2004

HAPEE HAWLIDAZE 2011

2011-12-06T18:01:00.000-08:00

Hullo,

Itz mee raydeeo ugin. Wile I mae bee geteeng ohldur I kan stil rite. So I askd feedr if I cude du this ugin. Hee sed yes beecuz hee sed hee didn’t hav tyme tu gow tu cosco and mayk card pikchurez and wee didunt goh eneeware eneeway.

Ime dooeng prity gude. How ar u? gude to heer it.

I no I am nohn fore chayseeng swirz and barkeeng at katz, but I must sae that ime starteeng tu feele mi ayj uh bit. I now just luke at skwirlz and tel them tu leev. And wutz with this coled rayn? Foregit that. Eye’ll pupe in the hows.

Feedr hazunt dun much. Hee keepz sayeeng how much hee luvs hiz dee vee ar. Hee keepz maykeeng beere and tellz hiz frenz heez prity gude. Hee stil playz hiz gitar butt nott az much az hee uzed tu. I donet mind thu gitar that duzunt hav thu wyre in it butt thu wun that duz iz lawd and hurtz mi eerz. Hee awlsew keepz tokeeng uhbowt sum buke heez goweeng tu rite. Heez bin tawkeeng uhbowt that wun fore uhwyle now. Heez bin smileeng uhlawt thu pasd fu weekz awlso. I downt no uhbowt wut butt it betr not bee uhbowt that gurl hoo kut my tow nalez.

Feedrz dad did sumtheeng cawld reetyred this yeer. I downt no wut that meenz so thatz awl uhbowt that.

Feedr towld mee tu tell yu hee haz sum yeerlee recumendashuns fore thu yeer…

Muzik –
Wilco: Thu Hole Luv
The Jaehox: Mawkeengburd Tyme

Muveez (dee vee dee)-
Lyfe in uh Dae
Krayzee, stoopid, luv

Teevee-
Rayzeeng Hope (on fox)
Wokeeng Ded (on Ay Em Cee)
Kumune ittee (on En Bee Cee)
Cee Bee Ess Sundae Morneeng (Cee Bee Ess) its happee nuze.

Ok, eenuff uv that.

So, thatz awl I got. Wee howp u ar dooeeng gude. We ar. Hapee Hawlidae uv yor choys.

Pawz and likz,

Raydeeo and feedr

The Developmental Stages of the Average Americans View of The State of America

2011-10-04T08:01:00.000-07:00

Rage Against The Machine Meter = Low, Medium/Low, Medium, Medium/High, or High

Ages Birth – 12: You’re oblivious to anything beyond your nose. It’s all about the world meeting your needs, and your needs alone. Should anything you want be withheld, you scream and shit your pants until said demands are met. Your days are spent immersed in a world of Dinosaurs, Barbie, and Star Wars.
RAM Level: Medium/High

Ages 13 – 18: Your thoughts and beliefs are now a combination of your own selfishness combined with 12 years of brainwashing from your parents, such as political, religious, and American Idol views, although you clearly have no understanding what your views actually mean. Adults know nothing, and if the world ran the way kids felt it should, there would be no problems.
RAM Level: Medium/High

Ages 19 – 29: You’re now learning critical thinking. You watch the news. You are reading books that don’t have pictures and are about things that have actually happened. And some of you have gone to college. The older generations are to blame for every problem in the world. You are the most informed person on the planet, however this overwhelming load of information is much like a person who has been blind for life and has suddenly gained their vision. You don’t know how to process all this new knowledge, thus are generally wrong about everything… you just don’t know it yet.
RAM Level: High

Ages 30 – 39: You’re now several years into your career and have an income. You’re paying substantial taxes, and working with people much older and wiser than you. You begin to have the realization that maybe you were wrong on a few things, but not ready to admit it publicly. You’re motivated and will make somebody a lot of money.
RAM Level: Medium/Low

Ages 40 – 65: You’ve had this job for quite a while now. Your routine is set. Weekends are the best part of your life. All of the sudden the stock market means something to you. The staff at Home Depot know you on a first name basis. You’re in a period of enlightenment where the older you get, the more you realize you know nothing. You’ve suddenly lost all touch with anything anybody under the age of 35 thinks, feels, or believes. It’s all about the countdown to your retirement without going postal at your job.
RAM Level: Low

Ages 66 – 79: You made it. And now these damn kids are trying to take away your Social Security and Medicaid. You’ve now moved into survival mode. Why not? You paid for your Social Security and deserve every penny of it even it will bankrupt the country. The younger generation is to blame for all the problems in the world. Screw those kids! Nobody gave you anything, so why should you give them anything? Completely fed up with the world, you buy a motor home and move to a land where everybody just like you congregates.
RAM Level: High

Ages 80 – Death: You’re oblivious to anything beyond your nose. It’s all about the world meeting your needs, and your needs alone. Should anything you want be withheld, you scream and shit your pants until said demands are met. Your days are spent immersed in a world of Depends, Canasta, and screaming at the nurse because your kids left you in this God forsaken retirement center.
RAM Level: Medium/High

My Own 20

2011-09-30T14:13:00.000-07:00

My first serious interests in music took hold in the early 80’s. I had been raised on a mix of AM radio, which back then was Gordon Lightfoot, James Taylor, and Carol King. Throw in a mix of my mom’s album collection that consisted of Barbara Streisand, Elvis Presley, Willie Nelson, and ABBA. I had a small stack of 45’s that was made up of top 40 hits of the late 70’s and very early 80’s. My dad’s influence was mostly the old stuff from the 50’s, although he really never had a taste for Elvis. I remember watching my dad always being affected by the Blues and early Jazz as well. He liked rhythm. And in 1976, my parents took me to my first concert, Elvis himself. I don’t think my dad really wanted to be there, nor did I. But my mom was ecstatic, as were all the other screaming women in the Memorial Coliseum that night. All I remember of the evening was a tiny glitter dot moving back and forth and hearing loud music with the occasional, “uh huh huh huh… thank you very much.” And I don’t mean that with any hint of cliché.

By 1980, Judas Priest was on the rise. My brother was a rocker… Priest, Iron Maiden, Scorpions, Ted Nugent, etc. My oldest sister was into New Wave… B-52’s, Blondie, DEVO, Boomtown Rats, etc. One day my brother and I were at a record store with my mom. She told us we could each pick out an album. My brother grabbed AC/DC’s newest, Back in Black. I chose Chipmunk Punk. We went home and I quickly realized I had chosen poorly after first listen. Shortly after that I gave my brother Priest’s British Steel for his birthday. And that was the album that locked it all in for me. I would spend the next ten years fixated on Euro and L.A. Metal. I went to the shows. My brother took me to my first Metal show when Judas Priest toured for Screaming for Vengaence. I wore the T-shirts. I had shaggy-ish hair. I listened to Metal day in and day out. If you didn’t listen to Metal, you didn’t matter to me. And when I turned sixteen years old I received my first guitar, eventually mastering the power chord.

The first half of the 80’s was one of the highest points in the history of Rock for me. But… and I didn’t know this until many years later… the second half of the 80’s were nearly ridiculous. Flooded with coat tail bands, excessive hair, male models posing as rock stars, and just really bad music… Metal was dead… except… one brief hope… Guns ‘N Roses. GNR pumped a little bit of life back into a dying genre. I, by chance, had met them as they were my sister’s downstairs neighbors at her apartment in L.A. during March of 1986. I would have forgotten about them until, a few months later, I stumbled upon a cassette of their initial EP at the local record store where I spent my lunch hours during high school. I bought the tape and was bored by it pretty quick. But then about a year later they released the masterpiece. Appetite For Destruction brought a level of anger and aggression into Rock that had been forgotten. Metal had gone happy and pretty. We were getting to the point where the very music our parents despised was now being heard in car commercials. GNR gave us hope again. Our parents hated it and that was a good thing. But then GNR released the Use Your Illusion albums and my hopes quickly faded with their over production, pianos, and epic videos. And GNR vanished as quickly as they blew up my speakers.

My best friend at the time had left for college in Tacoma/Seattle right after high school. He was majoring in a music business program in Tacoma and began an internship at a recording studio in Seattle. He started dropping names of these unknown bands to me. His musical tastes changed. His guitar playing was changing. He discovered Jane’s Addiction and our mutual passion for Metal came to an end. I couldn’t grasp onto Jane’s yet. My mind wasn’t ready. I stayed at home for my first couple years of college. My thought process was still on hold.

One Christmas break he had come home. It was New Years Eve and he told me, “We need to go to Satyricon tonight. There’s a band playing I think you’ll love.” Satryicon was a Punk/Underground music club that was Portland’s equivalent to New York’s CBGB’s. I was afraid of it. My brother and youngest sister practically lived there. And at that time in their lives, that told me it was a drug den. I was brought up under the shelter of the suburbs. Yes, I went to Metal shows, but always at the Coliseum where the aisles were lined with security guards. I always felt safe… aside from the one night I saw Motley Crue open for Ozzy Osbourne. A much older drunk guy in front of me threw his beer on me without provocation, just because he could. He challenged me to fight. I was, maybe, 15 or 16. He was probably 21. Yeah, a real tough guy. I held my ground, and his friends calmed him down. That was the most danger I had ever encountered at a show.

I was very hesitant to accept this invitation to go to the Satyricon. I didn’t want to hang out in a smoky place with all those junkies. I asked him who the band was. “Nirvana. They’re a Seattle band. I think they could be huge some day. There’s a lot of buzz about them and they’re pretty popular in Seattle. I think you’ll like them.” At this point it was 1989. My friends’ tastes were different. He was submerged in the world of drugs. He was listening to things that weren’t on the radio or MTV. And I didn’t want to deal with the crowd I was afraid of at the Satyricon.

“No, let’s just go hang out somewhere.” My friend was clearly bummed out.

Not much later my friend kept dropping names like Mother Love Bone, Screaming Trees, Mudhoney, and Soundgarden. You need to remember… there was no Internet. I couldn’t look these bands up. I couldn’t go to iTunes or YouTube to check them out. But, these mysterious new band names kept coming my way by word of mouth. Every once in a while he would give me a cassette that was a tape of a tape of a tape of a demo by this band or that band. It was fuzzy and distorted. It wasn’t Punk. It wasn’t Metal. My ears didn’t comprehend what was going on.

I remember my sisters, at this point, having a conversation about the show they had gone to recently. They were now in love with a singer named Chris Cornell. And “he had the best voice” they had ever heard.

During this time, my brother had just put together a band with a group of his friends, all local Metal survivors. But they instinctually knew something new needed to happen. They all grew up on Metal and a slice of Punk. And they were all Portlanders. They weren’t quite tapped in to what was happening a three hour drive north. Yet, Six Feet Underground was formed. I had never heard anything like it. It sounded like the greatest aural assault ever assembled. The bass and drums could crush a tank. The guitars would terrify the strongest of men. And the voice absolutely destroyed anyone who had ever grabbed a microphone before him. Yet, this was short lived due to their own deficits in life. Had they stuck around, I am convinced this little essay would be more about them than what is to come.

Mother Love Bone. Mother Love Bone. Mother Love Bone.

This name kept coming from my friend’s mouth. One day I was reading an interview with Nikki Sixx in Circus or Hit Parader magazine. He was asked about the future of Rock and Roll. “Mother Love Bone,” was his answer. Hmm? Perhaps my friend was on to something. Sixx went on to describe this new incredible sound coming out of the northwest. And then one day I received word. Mother Love Bone was gone. Their singer, Andrew Wood, had just overdosed just days prior to the release of their debut release. But, I was encouraged to pick up their CD anyway. I did. And it didn’t leave my CD player for weeks.

At this point my Ratt and Dokken CD’s became completely irrelevant. I then had the thought that if this MLB CD was this good, what would a Jane’s Addiction CD have to offer. My thoughts on music began to change. I then scoured all the local music magazines for any information on this new tide of music. The word “Grunge” was building steam.

At this point I was now in Eugene, scooting my way through college. I had even more exposure to new bands due to the diverse pool of new friends who came from all over from all sorts of backgrounds. I was in the middle of the college music scene. I then read about a couple of the guys from MLB were putting something new together. They were called Mookie Blaylock. They were also working on a tribute to their friend, the deceased Andrew Wood.

I was walking home from class one day and passed a small tavern that had live music from time to time. I saw a flyer in the window. Mookie Blaylock was coming to play there the upcoming weekend. As soon as I got back to my house I began telling my friends and begging them to come and see this with me. “I have home work. I’m going out of town. I’m tired. There’s a party.” I got a solid vote of “No”. My own insecurities would not allow me to go by myself. The night of the show I sat in my house, sad and desperate. I knew something big was happening just blocks away and I was missing it. The next morning I woke up and the white brick wall across the street from me had been spray painted… “Mookie Blaylock”.

Shortly after that I caught a blurb in a magazine about Mookie who was now calling themselves Pearl Jam. They talked about the struggle of trying to get their name out there, so they would resort to spray painting it every where after they played shows. They also mentioned they would be going into the studio soon. I waited patiently.

Shortly after, my neighbor turned me on to Alice in Chains. I immediately called my Seattle friend and asked him about them. He told me they were a band that used to be poppy Hair Metal, but had changed their sound as things in Seattle were taking off. At this point my friend had worked with or met a lot of these bands as they had recorded demo stuff at the recording studio he worked at. He was also going to all the shows.

Then it happened. Pearl Jam released Ten. Just prior, the MLB/Wood tribute had been released by Temple of the Dog, a supergroup comprised of Pearl Jam and Soundgarden members… and our introduction to Eddie Vedder. I had been listening to Temple over and over, the same way I had devoured MLB’s Apple. But now was the time for Ten.

From there the whole Seattle sound had put the rest of my CD collection into a state of amnesia. Metal had become the Island of Forgotten Toys. I became very aware of the back and forth between Pearl Jam and Nirvana. It seemed you were either in one camp or the other. I was with Pearl Jam. I had all the Nirvana CD’s. I liked them. But I wasn’t connecting with them. There was a level of anger and dirt I wasn’t grasping. I didn’t feel like I would ever want to hang with Curt Cobain the way I thought I could be friends with the guys in Pearl Jam. I understood PJ’s songs better. They meant more to me. There was more depth in them for me.

I was having a conversation with my Seattle friend and I made the statement, “I think Pearl Jam is our generation’s Led Zeppelin.” This was our time.

“No.” He denied me my belief on this. “No, it will end. Just like everything good in music ends. They don’t have the depth of the classic stuff.”

I tried to argue back, but by this point he had become quite bitter in life and wouldn’t allow himself to enjoy things anymore. Everything was bad. “Oh,” I thought to myself. It’s that Seattle thing. All these bands sounded like. But for whatever reason, PJ had attached to my core. I understood their negativity, but I also sensed hope or promise in their songs. And their frustration seemed real. Nirvana didn’t seem to have any hope. It had too much of a sense of whining in it. And that irritated me. Most of these bands sounded very down, but the music was fantastic.

It seemed to become a struggle to see PJ live living in Portland. I eventually caught them opening up for Neil Young. They had lived up to everything I had thought and hoped about them.

At this time I followed their every move for the first three or four albums, but began to lose my understanding of them in their attempt to de-rock star themselves. I began to wonder if my friend was right. I figured the break up would be right around the corner.

Two decades later I just sat and watched the Pearl Jam Twenty documentary. I saw all that footage of the early days. I watched the evolution through the behind the scenes clips. And it hit me… I was right. While PJ conducted the deliberate struggle to avoid the limelight for years, they were still in control. A year or so ago they had released a new album that showed they could still put out a radio friendly hit, they were smiling, and they, now, all looked grown up. They survived. And everything they accomplished twenty years ago was still relevant. Pearl Jam were… are… my Led Zeppelin.

And then I was sad. I was all “grown up” in my 40’s. I felt sad for today’s kids, the college students. What did they have? Who was rocking their world? There was nothing. They would not have musical memories like this. Music right now is dead. It had been dead for some time. There was nothing new. Foo Fighters are big, but they have been around. While it’s great music, it’s not new or groundbreaking. There was no new big thing. Absolutely nothing to be excited about. Twenty years from now what flood of fantastic Rock and Roll memories will these kids have? Nickelback?

Things I Wish I Wrote and Thought

2011-09-26T08:01:00.000-07:00

I want to post this simply for my own archives, so I always know where to find this. And you might just like it too.

David Foster Wallace-Kenyon's 2005 Commencement Speech-

"(If anybody feels like perspiring [cough], I'd advise you to go ahead, because I'm sure going to. In fact I'm gonna [mumbles while pulling up his gown and taking out a handkerchief from his pocket].) Greetings ["parents"?] and congratulations to Kenyon's graduating class of 2005. There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says "Morning, boys. How's the water?" And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes "What the hell is water?"

This is a standard requirement of US commencement speeches, the deployment of didactic little parable-ish stories. The story ["thing"] turns out to be one of the better, less bullshitty conventions of the genre, but if you're worried that I plan to present myself here as the wise, older fish explaining what water is to you younger fish, please don't be. I am not the wise old fish. The point of the fish story is merely that the most obvious, important realities are often the ones that are hardest to see and talk about. Stated as an English sentence, of course, this is just a banal platitude, but the fact is that in the day to day trenches of adult existence, banal platitudes can have a life or death importance, or so I wish to suggest to you on this dry and lovely morning.

Of course the main requirement of speeches like this is that I'm supposed to talk about your liberal arts education's meaning, to try to explain why the degree you are about to receive has actual human value instead of just a material payoff. So let's talk about the single most pervasive cliché in the commencement speech genre, which is that a liberal arts education is not so much about filling you up with knowledge as it is about "teaching you how to think". If you're like me as a student, you've never liked hearing this, and you tend to feel a bit insulted by the claim that you needed anybody to teach you how to think, since the fact that you even got admitted to a college this good seems like proof that you already know how to think. But I'm going to posit to you that the liberal arts cliché turns out not to be insulting at all, because the really significant education in thinking that we're supposed to get in a place like this isn't really about the capacity to think, but rather about the choice of what to think about. If your total freedom of choice regarding what to think about seems too obvious to waste time discussing, I'd ask you to think about fish and water, and to bracket for just a few minutes your scepticism about the value of the totally obvious.

Here's another didactic little story. There are these two guys sitting together in a bar in the remote Alaskan wilderness. One of the guys is religious, the other is an atheist, and the two are arguing about the existence of God with that special intensity that comes after about the fourth beer. And the atheist says: "Look, it's not like I don't have actual reasons for not believing in God. It's not like I haven't ever experimented with the whole God and prayer thing. Just last month I got caught away from the camp in that terrible blizzard, and I was totally lost and I couldn't see a thing, and it was 50 below, and so I tried it: I fell to my knees in the snow and cried out 'Oh, God, if there is a God, I'm lost in this blizzard, and I'm gonna die if you don't help me.'" And now, in the bar, the religious guy looks at the atheist all puzzled. "Well then you must believe now," he says, "After all, here you are, alive." The atheist just rolls his eyes. "No, man, all that was was a couple Eskimos happened to come wandering by and showed me the way back to camp."

It's easy to run this story through kind of a standard liberal arts analysis: the exact same experience can mean two totally different things to two different people, given those people's two different belief templates and two different ways of constructing meaning from experience. Because we prize tolerance and diversity of belief, nowhere in our liberal arts analysis do we want to claim that one guy's interpretation is true and the other guy's is false or bad. Which is fine, except we also never end up talking about just where these individual templates and beliefs come from. Meaning, where they come from INSIDE the two guys. As if a person's most basic orientation toward the world, and the meaning of his experience were somehow just hard-wired, like height or shoe-size; or automatically absorbed from the culture, like language. As if how we construct meaning were not actually a matter of personal, intentional choice. Plus, there's the whole matter of arrogance. The nonreligious guy is so totally certain in his dismissal of the possibility that the passing Eskimos had anything to do with his prayer for help. True, there are plenty of religious people who seem arrogant and certain of their own interpretations, too. They're probably even more repulsive than atheists, at least to most of us. But religious dogmatists' problem is exactly the same as the story's unbeliever: blind certainty, a close-mindedness that amounts to an imprisonment so total that the prisoner doesn't even know he's locked up.

The point here is that I think this is one part of what teaching me how to think is really supposed to mean. To be just a little less arrogant. To have just a little critical awareness about myself and my certainties. Because a huge percentage of the stuff that I tend to be automatically certain of is, it turns out, totally wrong and deluded. I have learned this the hard way, as I predict you graduates will, too.

Here is just one example of the total wrongness of something I tend to be automatically sure of: everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute centre of the universe; the realest, most vivid and important person in existence. We rarely think about this sort of natural, basic self-centredness because it's so socially repulsive. But it's pretty much the same for all of us. It is our default setting, hard-wired into our boards at birth. Think about it: there is no experience you have had that you are not the absolute centre of. The world as you experience it is there in front of YOU or behind YOU, to the left or right of YOU, on YOUR TV or YOUR monitor. And so on. Other people's thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you somehow, but your own are so immediate, urgent, real.

Please don't worry that I'm getting ready to lecture you about compassion or other-directedness or all the so-called virtues. This is not a matter of virtue. It's a matter of my choosing to do the work of somehow altering or getting free of my natural, hard-wired default setting which is to be deeply and literally self-centered and to see and interpret everything through this lens of self. People who can adjust their natural default setting this way are often described as being "well-adjusted", which I suggest to you is not an accidental term.

Given the triumphant academic setting here, an obvious question is how much of this work of adjusting our default setting involves actual knowledge or intellect. This question gets very tricky. Probably the most dangerous thing about an academic education--least in my own case--is that it enables my tendency to over-intellectualise stuff, to get lost in abstract argument inside my head, instead of simply paying attention to what is going on right in front of me, paying attention to what is going on inside me.

As I'm sure you guys know by now, it is extremely difficult to stay alert and attentive, instead of getting hypnotised by the constant monologue inside your own head (may be happening right now). Twenty years after my own graduation, I have come gradually to understand that the liberal arts cliché about teaching you how to think is actually shorthand for a much deeper, more serious idea: learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be totally hosed. Think of the old cliché about "the mind being an excellent servant but a terrible master".

This, like many clichés, so lame and unexciting on the surface, actually expresses a great and terrible truth. It is not the least bit coincidental that adults who commit suicide with firearms almost always shoot themselves in: the head. They shoot the terrible master. And the truth is that most of these suicides are actually dead long before they pull the trigger.

And I submit that this is what the real, no bullshit value of your liberal arts education is supposed to be about: how to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone day in and day out. That may sound like hyperbole, or abstract nonsense. Let's get concrete. The plain fact is that you graduating seniors do not yet have any clue what "day in day out" really means. There happen to be whole, large parts of adult American life that nobody talks about in commencement speeches. One such part involves boredom, routine and petty frustration. The parents and older folks here will know all too well what I'm talking about.

By way of example, let's say it's an average adult day, and you get up in the morning, go to your challenging, white-collar, college-graduate job, and you work hard for eight or ten hours, and at the end of the day you're tired and somewhat stressed and all you want is to go home and have a good supper and maybe unwind for an hour, and then hit the sack early because, of course, you have to get up the next day and do it all again. But then you remember there's no food at home. You haven't had time to shop this week because of your challenging job, and so now after work you have to get in your car and drive to the supermarket. It's the end of the work day and the traffic is apt to be: very bad. So getting to the store takes way longer than it should, and when you finally get there, the supermarket is very crowded, because of course it's the time of day when all the other people with jobs also try to squeeze in some grocery shopping. And the store is hideously lit and infused with soul-killing muzak or corporate pop and it's pretty much the last place you want to be but you can't just get in and quickly out; you have to wander all over the huge, over-lit store's confusing aisles to find the stuff you want and you have to manoeuvre your junky cart through all these other tired, hurried people with carts (et cetera, et cetera, cutting stuff out because this is a long ceremony) and eventually you get all your supper supplies, except now it turns out there aren't enough check-out lanes open even though it's the end-of-the-day rush. So the checkout line is incredibly long, which is stupid and infuriating. But you can't take your frustration out on the frantic lady working the register, who is overworked at a job whose daily tedium and meaninglessness surpasses the imagination of any of us here at a prestigious college.

But anyway, you finally get to the checkout line's front, and you pay for your food, and you get told to "Have a nice day" in a voice that is the absolute voice of death. Then you have to take your creepy, flimsy, plastic bags of groceries in your cart with the one crazy wheel that pulls maddeningly to the left, all the way out through the crowded, bumpy, littery parking lot, and then you have to drive all the way home through slow, heavy, SUV-intensive, rush-hour traffic, et cetera et cetera.

Everyone here has done this, of course. But it hasn't yet been part of you graduates' actual life routine, day after week after month after year.

But it will be. And many more dreary, annoying, seemingly meaningless routines besides. But that is not the point. The point is that petty, frustrating crap like this is exactly where the work of choosing is gonna come in. Because the traffic jams and crowded aisles and long checkout lines give me time to think, and if I don't make a conscious decision about how to think and what to pay attention to, I'm gonna be pissed and miserable every time I have to shop. Because my natural default setting is the certainty that situations like this are really all about me. About MY hungriness and MY fatigue and MY desire to just get home, and it's going to seem for all the world like everybody else is just in my way. And who are all these people in my way? And look at how repulsive most of them are, and how stupid and cow-like and dead-eyed and nonhuman they seem in the checkout line, or at how annoying and rude it is that people are talking loudly on cell phones in the middle of the line. And look at how deeply and personally unfair this is.

Or, of course, if I'm in a more socially conscious liberal arts form of my default setting, I can spend time in the end-of-the-day traffic being disgusted about all the huge, stupid, lane-blocking SUV's and Hummers and V-12 pickup trucks, burning their wasteful, selfish, 40-gallon tanks of gas, and I can dwell on the fact that the patriotic or religious bumper-stickers always seem to be on the biggest, most disgustingly selfish vehicles, driven by the ugliest [responding here to loud applause] (this is an example of how NOT to think, though) most disgustingly selfish vehicles, driven by the ugliest, most inconsiderate and aggressive drivers. And I can think about how our children's children will despise us for wasting all the future's fuel, and probably screwing up the climate, and how spoiled and stupid and selfish and disgusting we all are, and how modern consumer society just sucks, and so forth and so on.

You get the idea.

If I choose to think this way in a store and on the freeway, fine. Lots of us do. Except thinking this way tends to be so easy and automatic that it doesn't have to be a choice. It is my natural default setting. It's the automatic way that I experience the boring, frustrating, crowded parts of adult life when I'm operating on the automatic, unconscious belief that I am the centre of the world, and that my immediate needs and feelings are what should determine the world's priorities.

The thing is that, of course, there are totally different ways to think about these kinds of situations. In this traffic, all these vehicles stopped and idling in my way, it's not impossible that some of these people in SUV's have been in horrible auto accidents in the past, and now find driving so terrifying that their therapist has all but ordered them to get a huge, heavy SUV so they can feel safe enough to drive. Or that the Hummer that just cut me off is maybe being driven by a father whose little child is hurt or sick in the seat next to him, and he's trying to get this kid to the hospital, and he's in a bigger, more legitimate hurry than I am: it is actually I who am in HIS way.

Or I can choose to force myself to consider the likelihood that everyone else in the supermarket's checkout line is just as bored and frustrated as I am, and that some of these people probably have harder, more tedious and painful lives than I do.

Again, please don't think that I'm giving you moral advice, or that I'm saying you are supposed to think this way, or that anyone expects you to just automatically do it. Because it's hard. It takes will and effort, and if you are like me, some days you won't be able to do it, or you just flat out won't want to.

But most days, if you're aware enough to give yourself a choice, you can choose to look differently at this fat, dead-eyed, over-made-up lady who just screamed at her kid in the checkout line. Maybe she's not usually like this. Maybe she's been up three straight nights holding the hand of a husband who is dying of bone cancer. Or maybe this very lady is the low-wage clerk at the motor vehicle department, who just yesterday helped your spouse resolve a horrific, infuriating, red-tape problem through some small act of bureaucratic kindness. Of course, none of this is likely, but it's also not impossible. It just depends what you want to consider. If you're automatically sure that you know what reality is, and you are operating on your default setting, then you, like me, probably won't consider possibilities that aren't annoying and miserable. But if you really learn how to pay attention, then you will know there are other options. It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down.

Not that that mystical stuff is necessarily true. The only thing that's capital-T True is that you get to decide how you're gonna try to see it.

This, I submit, is the freedom of a real education, of learning how to be well-adjusted. You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn't. You get to decide what to worship.

Because here's something else that's weird but true: in the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship--be it JC or Allah, be it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or some inviolable set of ethical principles--is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It's the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It's been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness.

Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. But the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they're evil or sinful, it's that they're unconscious. They are default settings.

They're the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that's what you're doing.

And the so-called real world will not discourage you from operating on your default settings, because the so-called real world of men and money and power hums merrily along in a pool of fear and anger and frustration and craving and worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom all to be lords of our tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the centre of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talk about much in the great outside world of wanting and achieving.... The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day.

That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.

I know that this stuff probably doesn't sound fun and breezy or grandly inspirational the way a commencement speech is supposed to sound. What it is, as far as I can see, is the capital-T Truth, with a whole lot of rhetorical niceties stripped away. You are, of course, free to think of it whatever you wish. But please don't just dismiss it as just some finger-wagging Dr Laura sermon. None of this stuff is really about morality or religion or dogma or big fancy questions of life after death.

The capital-T Truth is about life BEFORE death.

It is about the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:

"This is water."

"This is water."

It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult world day in and day out. Which means yet another grand cliché turns out to be true: your education really IS the job of a lifetime. And it commences: now.

I wish you way more than luck."

Worthy of 27

2011-07-31T10:06:00.000-07:00

While she became a household name, Amy Winehouse wasn't exactly known for the depth of her musical catalogue. With two releases, and only one that could be considered a success, Amy wasn't exactly at living legend status at the time of her death. But don't tell the media that as they have rushed to push her into the "27 Club", musical artists that all died at the age of 27. These artists include Curt Cobain, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, and Jimi Hendrix.

Now go back, think about those artists, the depth of their musical output, and how it effected the musical universe. Then go back and think about what Amy did. Yes, she was horribly talented. Back to Black was an outstanding release. But that is all she gave before it ended. The impact of Nirvana's Nevermind on the music landscape was historical. What Jimi Hendrix did with the electric guitar is still looked at by every youngster the first time they plug in. Watch any season of American Idol to find the two or three young females who are still trying to kill Me And Bobby McGee. And what front man isn't still stealing moves from Morrison.

And while all these artists generally have the one big album that broke them out of obscurity, they went on to give us more. Winehouse gave us Back To Black. That's it. One big CD. Did it change the course of music? Not even close. Amy didn't start the Stax/Motown resurrection. She certainly led it, but she didn't invent it.

Again... I liked Amy's music. I'm sad she gave in to addiction before giving us more gifts. But, I'm also tired of the media looking for anything to make a story rather than just calling it as it was... the early death of somebody with promise. The 27 Club made good on their promise.

More Fun With Phone Notes To Self

2011-06-26T19:13:00.000-07:00

4/12/2011 7:36 PM - Bitch, I know you can eat a pickle.

4/16/2011 9:27 PM - Just asked, "Do you know where there's a lesbian bar around here?"

4/30/2011 8:36 PM - Watching two people in obvious love and all I want is that, except I know one of us would eventually destroy it. (what, you think I'm always just silly?)

5/20/2011 8:56 PM - Arby's food should not be eaten in public.

6/7/2011 5:07 PM Ask mom to make asspads.

6/10/2011 8:09 PM - Rickissippi

6/17/2011 6:53 PM - Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was.

6/17/2011 6:53 PM - Always go with your gut.

6/17/2011 6:56 PM - No, I won't wear a poncho. Who wears a poncho?

6/25/2011 4:00 PM - It was fun but I'm glad I'm done.

The Real Thing

2011-04-30T22:12:00.000-07:00

I sat at the red light with my usual mindless rotation of thought. Through my rear view mirror, I saw a clunker of a car approach. It was your typical heap... the kind of car that might make one think that the person driving has very little. I watched as the driver, a man, and his passenger, a woman, slowly crept up to my bumper. It became clear to me that this was a couple. And then it became even more clear that it was something more than that.

I watched the woman hold the man's left arm to her head as it draped over her shoulder. I could see that she was clearly out of her seat as she sat closer to the man than the seat's comfortably allowed. They exchanged several glances. She kissed his cheek. He kissed hers. He leaned over and kissed her below the ear and held his head there. She leaned to his left hand still hanging over her shoulder. She kissed it and then just left her lips on his hand, as if his hand held the key to his soul.

When the car approached, my first thought was this was a man who had very little based on the bare condition of his car. As I watched he and his partner I quickly realized this man had far more than all that I had. He had the bare minimum that the world could give, but he also had everything.

The Nerve

2011-04-20T08:05:00.000-07:00

I went out with my friend Rebecca and one of her friends last night. We sat down at our table at the restaurant. And let me just say this... while I know I am pretty gutless when it comes to being bold with the ladies, but on the other hand, at least I'm not one of those guys who just bombard women and talk to them with entitled expectations. So, we sit down and right off the bat this guy comes to the table, "Hey ladies." He looks at me, "Hi." I just glare back at him.

"Can I get you anything to start," he asks. Are you kidding me? That's about the most ballsy introduction I've ever heard. Sure guy, and they'll just be lifting their shirts up for you too. But, I think the girls felt a little flattered and asked for beers. Ok, so first the guy is just all over them, but now they're going to try and score some free drinks off this guy? I figure I'll challenge the guy a bit and I tell him to bring me one too. He knows not to push it, so he just smiles and says he'll be right back. What a player.

The girls and I start looking over the menu. The guy returns in a minute or so with our beers. "Here you go." Damn, this guy is just fearless. "Hey, can I get you something to eat?" What? Is this guy just Mr. Money and he'll just feed his way into these girls' panties? But before you know it, the girls start telling him what they want. I really thought I knew these girls, or at least Rebecca. But all of the sudden it's like I'm in a Girls Gone Wild Video. Not to be outdone, I tell the guy to bring ME a cheeseburger. He rolls with it. I guess he figures he'll look like an ass if he tries to ignore me.

Before any of us can finish our beers the guy comes back again. "Can I get you all some more beers?" At this point I'm almost ready to stand up and say something, and if not to the guy, to the girls for being such floozies. But I keep my calm. Rebecca tells him to bring us another round, and HE DOES. Now listen, I know Rebecca is happily married and her friend is in a committed relationship. This is why I don't date. If my girlfriend or wife ever acted like this toward another guy, it would be over. But it seems they all act like this. They can't be trusted.

The guy comes back with more beers, but now he's acting all cool as he just drops them off and wanders off to another table where he's putting on the same act, but this time with guys. I guess he's bi or something.

A bit later the food arrives. I tell the guy, "Hope you can afford all this." He throws out a fake laugh to impress the girls. We start eating, but before we can even get four bites in the guy comes back and asks how we are doing. Give it a rest dude! They aren't going home with you.

We finish our food and, get this... the guy walks over and asks if he can get us anything else. "Oh, I know what you want you dirty son of a bitch," I think to myself. The girls sort of tone it down now. "Oh, no. I think we're ready to go home." The guy finally seems to get the message that they just aren't in to him. So what does he do? He walks back and throws down a piece of paper telling us to pay him. Now that is bold. I've never seen a guy get rejected and throw that one back. This guy's got balls.

What do the girls do? They pay the guy money. Do they have ANY self esteem? They look at me and ask how much I'm putting in. What? Let me get this straight... you ladies let some guy horn in on you... reject him after he buys you drinks and food... and I have to cover part of this? Seeing as how Rebecca drove, I figured I wouldn't argue with her, so I threw some money on the table. What a night.

The Awful Feed

2011-04-14T08:26:00.001-07:00

Every year a different work team from my department is responsible for fundraising and organizing the Christm... er, Holiday Party for our department. It's often a battle to see who can raise the most money with fundraising and can throw the most elaborate party. The battle for "Oos and Ahs". This year our support staff unit is in charge. They've come up with some pretty clever fundraising tactics. But... they have come up with one event that has forced me back into a life of covert tactics. I am Jason Bourne... James Bond... Maxwell Smart.

For $5 you can have all you can eat waffles. Now, I like waffles, but my stomach doesn't. Throw me a pancake, whip up some French toast, or butter up a sweet croissant with jam and I'm one happy kid. But shove a couple waffles in my stomach and watch me agonize. Taste good. Feels bad.

I intentionally came to work early this morning so I could slip through the back door before they were set up. The bulk of us arrive at 8:00 a.m. I broke in at 7:30... and there they were... waiting. Our breakroom is pretty much the first thing you walk by when you enter the building through the back door. The pack of support staff were standing there waiting for all of us, irons hot. "Waffles?"

They're so nice and I want to be supportive, but my response was short and simple, "Oh no, my name is Sean, but thank you," and slithered to my office a mere 15 feet away from the breakroom. I was lucky. Their supervisor had yet to arrive. These folk were aggressive, but they did not have the power.

Now I was trapped. I ate my banana. I sipped from my water bottle, but I needed more. I waited until 8:00, called my co-worker, and suggested we go for a hot chocolate. She took my offer, but now I needed to get to her office. I could hear my co-workers being picked off, one by one, as they entered through the door. I could hear them gasp for air as the support staff water boarded them with waffles and syrup. I opened my door and peaked around the corner. It was clear. I walked the opposite direction at double speed. I didn't look back as I heard the back door open behind me, and the haunting, "Waffles?" SNAG! "Gasp!"

The layout of our building looks like a giant pound sign with one additional hall in the middle.

I worked my way over to the middle hallway, grabbed my co-worker, and we made our way to Starbucks. We made our order and came back in through the side door. I worked my way down to the back hallway which gave me a direct view into the breakroom from a distance. Those poor people. My co-workers were shackled to the tables as the support staff shoveled the waffles into their mouths, and then squirt syrup over their faces. At this point the support staff supervisor had made it to the feeding. She stood in the hallway intersection and ordered people into the breakroom. You had no choice. Say no, and feel the wrath. I took an immediate turn back into the middle hallway. I would have to work my way back the same way I had come.

I stuck my head around the corner to see if the hallway was clear. It was. I turned the corner, walking light as to not make a sound. I could hear the supervisor coming back to the intersection. I ducked into the state office copy room and held my back tight against the wall. I heard the back door open and another victim dragged in against their will. The hallway was clear again. I rushed to the House Arrest office, and dove in as the supervisor made her way back to the intersection. I was one door away from my office. I leaned out into the hallway, just enough for my left eye to see what was happening. The supervisor opened the back door, stuck her head out, looked left, looked right, came back inside and shouted out, "there's more coming, get ready!" She popped back into the breakroom for a moment. This might be my last chance.

With full speed, and little care for damaged property, I jumped into the hallway, took a few steps, and fell into my office. I quickly turned and shut my door as quietly as possible. I could hear the back door open, followed by a series of screams. I couldn't save them. I couldn't even warn those who knew not what awaited them. I could only listen to the feeding. Our office would never be the same.

Like all things terrifying, the feeding eventually came to an end. The cries from syrup drizzled chins slowly came to a hush. The breakroom emptied. It was safe again. I slowly opened my door and listened. The horror had died. I cautiously walked out into the hallway. I made my way down the center hall where the majority of my co-workers held office. I looked into each office as I made my way down the hall. The story was the same in every office. Bodies hunched over their keyboards. Arms were hung down with hands nearly touching the floor. Some would attempt to raise their hand as if signaling for help. I could do nothing for them. Some still had syrup surrounding their upper lips. They're tongues curling around the upper lip in one last attempt to taste the sweet nectar of Mrs. Butterworth.

These people would be worthless for hours. If the Chinese were to attack, now would be the time. I, however, was safe. I had survived... the Waffle Apocalypse.

More Thoughts From My Phone's Notes

2011-04-10T18:27:00.000-07:00

2/20/2011 - The big dumb swede goes to cuban family dinner (movie idea I had after spending an evening in a house full of Spanish speaking Cubans and watching Rick launch an entire pan full of beans, rice, and pork on the floor)

(That same night) - Garlic lemon and salt for cuban meat (had to make sure I remembered the hostess' cooking secret)

3/12/2011 - Rick's a scaredy fuck tart. (I apologize for the harsh language, but he was that night)

3/15/2011 - Find an AA group to do marathons with so you can get all their drink tickets at the end of the race.

3/15/2011 - With my bag and my dog and my car (i broke into a mad rap with these lyrics at a beer tasting festival in regards to a somebody I used to know. It became a big hit... nn-t, nn-t, nn-t...)

3/16/2011 - No more theramin (came to my mind during the opening band during a DEVO concert. The band took the cowbell concept to a whole new level with the theramin)

3/18/2011 - Bump the junk (no idea)

3/25/2011 - Anonymous Friend: She's drinking tequila. She'll have her hands down your pants.
Me: Huh uh, I have a belt on.

3/25/2011 - Texting is like women on their periods. You can go weeks without anything and then you use up all your minutes in one night. ( I honestly have no idea where this came from and what it means)

4/8/2011 - Ricky gotta sippy cup. (in regards to the little glasses served at Horse Brass)

(Later that night) - Me (to Rick): How is it you know who every single hot young actress that nobody has ever heard of is?
Rick: I have cable.

4/9/2011 - (Overheard from a lady at the table next to me) It smells like frozen child care.

(Later that night at a concert) - Why are their conductors? Why not just have somebody from the Ramones just yell out, "1-2-3-4!" and let them play?

4/10/2011 - Purple fleece grey hat blonde (After going to my friends' kids' football game this morning and spotting a nice looking, single woman who I didn't have the guts to go speak to, but thought I'd post some ad on Craigslist Missed Connections)

Conan The Hygienist

2011-03-09T13:47:00.000-08:00

I've been going to the same dentist office since I was six or seven years old, most likely longer than any person actually working in the office. I had a great dentist for years, as well as a great hygienist. She was gentle and careful, which is much appreciated. She retired within the last couple of years. Her replacement is nice enough, but I do believe she was, at one time, a bullfighter.

I arrived ten minutes early. I usually run a few funny lines through my head as I know I am always going to get drilled (no pun intended) for not flossing enough. I'm a bleeder. My failure to floss isn't because I don't want to. I don't floss because I forget. I have a roll of floss sitting on the shelf on the bathroom mirror, which is directly in my face. I have another roll in the top drawer of my desk at work. But for whatever reason, I just can't get it into the routine. I do floss when I remember. Thus, knowing the hygienist is going to give me crap about my flossing, I just try to keep it light with a few zingers to come back with. One time my old hygienist was working on me and I could hear the hygienist in the next room ask her patient, "Have you been flossing?" He responded with a series of distracting responses. I whispered to my hygienist, "He didn't floss either." She burst into laughter.

My hygienist, who I will refer to as Conan, as in the Barbarian, not the late night talk show host, calls me in and preps me. Shades on, towel thing tied around my neck, and stretched out on the fun chair. Conan grabs her ice pick and goes to work. I can taste the blood within the third poke. "Still not flossing," she says with an air of "You're going to pay for this" in her tone. It was the tone that told me to not even try to throw a funny quip her way. I looked up with her hunched over me. "What was that smell, " I thought to myself. I then realized she did not pull her mask over her entire face. She left her nose exposed, thus was breathing directly into my open mouth... and she had a little booger right on the edge of her nose.

What the Hell? She's supposed to have the mask over her mouth and nose! What if she was intentionally trying to spread her zombie affliction upon me? And with her vengeful tone, all I could assume was she was out to get me.

I began attempting to time my breath with hers so I would inhale as she was inhaling as to avoid her stale breath and any toxins that were drifting from her nose, and then would repel her breath with mine on the exhale. She stabbed her way through my mouth. With every suction of the hose, I could see a swirl of red. My blood. Gone. Gone forever. It looked like one of those whaling ships where they process the whale body. Just a massive puddle of blood. She wrapped up the scraping and I could tell my gums were bloody and swollen. She then did the polishing.

Throughout both procedures I watched the little booger flicker back and forth as she took air in and blew air out through her nose. I had visions of the little booger breaking free and going directly into my mouth. Somehow, this never happened.

By the end of the polishing I could feel the pain that would linger throughout the day. I swear Conan had a slight smile on her face. She then explained it was time to measure my gums and teeth. This was new to me. She pulled out an even sharper fighting utensil. Another hygienist came in to record numbers. Conan would jab my gum line and give out a number. Anything over three was going to get me in trouble. I had a number of fours.

Afterward she explained all those fours were bad because my gums were swollen. I argued back to her (in my imagination). Of course they're swollen. She just conducted an autopsy on my mouth.

The dentist came in to take a look and earned his 90% of the day's income with his three second viewing of my mouth. All was well. I had survived the stabbing. Men have gone to prison for lesser assaults.

Messin' With Notepad

2011-02-19T11:36:00.000-08:00

From time to time I use my phone's Notepad function to jot down a thought I have or something I encountered when I'm out and about. I usually forget about it and every now and then will go back to check on what I put in there. 90% I have no idea what it meant. Today is one of those days, but I have decided I am going to write this stuff down here as it might mean something to somebody. Here we go.

2/12/2011 - Well bedazzle my jeans and frost my tips... I like Big Al's.

2/11/11 - Those douchebags with loud voices that just dominate a room and they about it as they talk about Cabo and their Corvette
*I actually noted this one down while at the Lompoc, sipping on a beer as I waited for Rick. There was some guy who just would not shut up and he could be heard in Reno.*

1/22/11 - The thing movie idea... movie tracks an ugly ass doll as it gets passed around the city through the course of the night.
*Bad idea*

1/14/11 - There's a guy who looks like Cornelius (Planet of the Apes) drinking beer across from me.

1/1/11 - Why do club security guys look so sad?

1/1/11 - Ospirg & marathon weirdos in the Pearl.

12/17/10 - How do batteries work?

12/8/10 - Little bugs flying around when the sun comes out after a cold downpour.

12/4/10 - Bald dudes always the first to hit on single women at a party.

12/4/10 - Want to clear the room with one blast (fart, not bomb). Want to leaves as soon as I walked in.

12/3/10 - "That's what I tell my people." Ricky P.

11/19/10 - Attention gaseous dude... candle lighters do not have the same effect as matches when you've dumped one off in a public terlet.

9/26/10 - Tomoatoes, peaches, and corn song.

9/10/10 - She's not single, but she's not happy. Less than lovers but more than friends. *another song idea I suppose*

8-28-10 - Drunk guy texting pics of ugly girls he thinks are hot.

8/27/10 - Don't get club time. Band says they start at 9:00, they always go on at 10:00.

8/27/10 - Bathrooms without mirrors.
*I believe this was in reference to a bathroom that either had NO mirrors at all, or was the place that had full length mirrors right in front of you as you peed*

Who Has What?

2011-01-14T06:58:00.000-08:00

A local talk radio guy that I'm usually in much agreement with made a statement regarding those freaks with Westboro Baptist Ministries who preach the whole "God Hates Fags" thing and go and disrupt funerals of anybody they don't feel was worthy of life. In regards to the nine year old girl that was shot down and murdered in Tucson this past weekend, the holy rollers planned to attend her funeral and create a scene as the girl's family tried to lay her to rest. There was talk that the group was going to be banned. It was then said by the talk radio guy that while he despises the actions of the Jesus freaks that he was concerned about banning their free speech, which I'm sure many flag waving Americans would agree with. But let me pose this question... Does a family not have a right to bury their loved one(s) in peace? I have a very sneaking suspicion that when our forefathers developed our "rights" that they figured society wouldn't be chiseled down so far that nutjobs like these would exist, nor would the rights they developed be designed to defend such idiocy.

The concept of "rights" is abused and twisted every day in our courtrooms and life in general. I hear smokers who are slowly being corralled away from the public complain by screaming out, "I have the right to smoke wherever I want!" But I counter that with, "What about my right to breathe clean air?" People want their rights regardless of how it impacts others. I don't know if this is an isolated issue in America or not, but I think it is one of the things that really makes us unpopular amongst our international peers. People are so full of entitlements because of "their rights".

"I have a right to raise my family however I want." No you don't. You have a responsibility to raise them safely and to provide them with the best life you can.

"I have a right to say whatever I want to whoever I want!" My only response is that I should then have the right to hit you in the face as hard as I want if you are screaming at me, insulting me, or disrupting my life with your words.

With rights comes responsibility. I think that thought has somehow been left behind and it's a shame is wasn't worded that way when we were handed down our "rights" written in a world 200 years ago when people had no clue how ridiculous American society would become.

A Response To Palin

2011-01-12T17:06:00.001-08:00

I just read Sarah Palin's "don't blame me" speech. I have a pretty big issue with this. With her own words, along with quoting Ronald Reagan, she states-

"President Reagan said, “We must reject the idea that every time a law’s broken, society is guilty rather than the lawbreaker. It is time to restore the American precept that each individual is accountable for his actions.” Acts of monstrous criminality stand on their own. They begin and end with the criminals who commit them, not collectively with all the citizens of a state, not with those who listen to talk radio, not with maps of swing districts used by both sides of the aisle, not with law-abiding citizens who respectfully exercise their First Amendment rights at campaign rallies, not with those who proudly voted in the last election."

Really?

Charles Manson never actually killed anybody himself yet sits in prison for conspiracy to commit murder. I can't say for certain, but I'm pretty sure Adolf Hitler carried out his attempt to eliminate an entire race of people by telling others to kill them, yet he is thought of as the most evil being in the history of the world. So if old Chuck and Adolf would have just said, "Hey, I didn't kill anybody myself," all will be fine? Hell no! (And no, I'm not comparing Sarah Palin to Manson and Hitler. I'm comparing her stupid ass reasoning.)

There is an ethical/moral responsibility when you suggest to others to take action against someone and somebody does just that, especially when you are a person of influence. As sad as it is for me to say this, there are Americans who actually are influenced by Sarah Palin.

My question to Sarah Palin is this... if your actions, words, suggestions, or directives to your followers had nothing to do with influencing the violence that took place in Tucson, why did you take down the website with the map containing the targets? If you were not in the wrong, why are you hiding it?

And... How dare she abuse the memory of 9/11 in an attempt to defend herself with a 9/11 reference. That is nothing but pathetic as she utilizes overly abused political heart string tugs.

To think that she believes she is worthy of leading this country repulses me.

Mind Breaking

2011-01-05T20:23:00.001-08:00

Greater Loss of Gains

2010-12-28T22:48:00.000-08:00

The Album to 8-Track to Cassette to CD to Digital Download.

The Film to VHS to Laserdisc to DVD to Digital Download.

The Story Telling to Books to Digital Download.

The Painting to Film to Digital Print.

The Conversation to Letters to Phone Calls to E-Mail to Texting.

Plastics? Not anymore. The future? Is not seen, felt, and will not sit on your shelf for use. The future will get smaller and smaller. Album covers? No more. Movie posters? No more. The back of a book cover? No more. A Kodachrome print? No more. Social interaction? I have hope, but so much doubt. Plastics? No. You got it all wrong Mr. McGuire. The future is not plastics. It's made up of little tiny circuits and wires. So tiny most of us don't even know what they look like, yet they will hold everything. And when I say everything... I'm scared to mean everything.

A Couple Giggles Worth Noting

2010-12-27T06:38:00.001-08:00

I know that Alzheimer's disease is nothing to laugh at, but sometimes you just have to laugh at things. While spending time with my family on Christmas Eve I received a text from a friend who was at his in-laws for the evening. The father in-law, sadly, has been stricken with Alzheimer's. Apparently the whole family was sitting around the table playing a game that involved drawing numbers. Somebody called out the number five. The table went silent except for the sounds of somebody aggressively chewing. They looked over toward the father who was busy chomping away at what used to be the number five.

Yesterday I went to lunch with my parents. I saw that mom needed to blow her nose as she had a bat sleeping in the bat cave. For whatever reason I didn't mention it to her right away. Finally, our food came. My big bowl of Pho looked great. I added all the sauces and veggies to make it perfect. I figured I should let mom know about her nose. She grabbed a napkin and gave a mighty blow, releasing the little booger. It bounced off the napkin back to her upper lip, and it then shot out into the open. It arced across the table and landed right into my Pho. I let out a little noise of disgust and disbelief. Mom began laughing not quite sure what had just happened, but by the look on my face knew something funny had just gone down. Upon my confirmation of the Greg Louganis like entry into my soup mom completely lost it. She laughed so hard I thought her head was going to pop off. Once the table regained control of itself I went into debate with dad who could not understand why I did not want to finish my bowl of Boo Gie Pho. My biggest concern was how to explain to the waiter why I did not want to finish my bowl of Pho. It had nothing to do with the cook, but I also didn't want to further embarrass my mom. I suggested we just go to the counter to pay to avoid any further issue with the booger.

Later that evening I was in the bedding aisles at Target seeking out the perfect sheets for my new bed. I passed an aisle and saw a young man in his twenties speaking to what looked like his girlfriend. The young man was holding a packaged set of bedding when I heard the following come from his mouth, "I used to have these until my dad took them away from me because he said they smelled like tongue." It began to boggle my mind, but I then decided to just let it go as there was no way my brain could ever make sense of that comment.

2010 Tops

2010-12-16T12:44:00.000-08:00

These are a few of my favorite things. No arguing required. It's just opinion. And hey, it's not like I've seen every movie or heard every album. This is just what I know.

MUSIC:

She & Him - Volume 2 ~ Portland guy M Ward teams up with Zooey Deschanel (yes, the actress) for some simple pleasantries.

Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings - I Learned The Hard Way ~ More old school funk and soul. It doesn't get any better than this, I'm talking to you everybody in Billboards top 100.

Gogol Bordello - Trans-Continental Hustle ~ I'm somewhat convinced that this Gypsy Punk outfit cannot put out anything bad.

The New Pornographers - Together ~ These days, nobody pulls off Pop Rock more consistently than these guys and gals.

Band of Horses - Infinite Arms ~ Even if everything other than the single Laredo sounded like my dog cleaning himself, this album would still be on this list. But they don't.

John Mellencamp - No Better Than This ~ I've never been a huge fan of Cougarmellon, but this release leaves me in awe.

MOVIES:

Toy Story 3 - Yes, it's as good as 1 and 2. Who knew?

She's Out Of My League - Maybe I just related to this one too much.

Greenberg - Ben Stiller going a whole new direction... that works.

Hot Tub Time Machine - Nothing made me laugh more this year.

Kick Ass - Yes, it is.

Harry Brown - A feel good movie where an old guy kills a bunch of punk kids.

Babies - Look, I don't even have kids and I liked this movie.

The Karate Kid - Yeah, I said it.

Winnebago Man - Best documentary of the year about an old angry guy.

Jackass 3D - My guilty pleasure. However, less penis next time please.

TELEVISION:

Raising Hope - From the creators of My Name Is Earl.

Community - Some of the most thought out story lines.

The Walking Dead - Zombies done right.

The Office - I don't know if this will ever go bad.

30 Rock - Sometimes you just have to think to get it.

Mike & Molly - Fat love.

Rules Of Engagement - Perhaps more consistent laughs than anything else on tv.

Conan - He's back and he's still king of late night.

South Park - It never gets old.

Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations - Sure, he's getting older and more sophisticated, but he still has the best job in America.

CBS News Sunday Morning - The only news telling you about the good stuff.

The Daily Show - The only show telling the truth.

Whale Wars - I will watch anything that promotes interfering with savages.

Louie - FINALLY! Truth in a sitcom.

BEER: My list of what to drink if it's ever on tap. (Not including the super limited high end stuff)

Deschutes - Black Butte Porter ~ The best Porter on the market.

Deschutes - Jubelale ~ The best standard winter seasonal available. And 2010 is their best year yet.

Bridgeport - Hop Czar - A great Imperial IPA from one of Portland's first.

Rogue - Dead Guy Ale ~ Their flagship beer.

Double Mountain - Kolsch ~ Simply fantastic. My favorite beer to drink in the summer.

Lagunitas - Brown Shugga' ~ Their winter release. Good things come from accidents.

Lagunitas - Little Sumpin' Wild, Little Sumpin' Sumpin', and Undercover Investigator Shut Down ~ Any of these are fantastic, in the bottle or on tap.

New Old Lompoc - Centennial IPA ~ Sure C-Note is fantastic, but I recently discovered their basic IPA is top notch.

Widmer - Deadlift IPA ~ Another Imperial IPA that knocks my socks off.

Ninkasi - Tricerahops Double IPA ~ Perhaps my favorite beer of all time.

BREWERIES: Where I spend most of my time

Hopworks Urban Brewery (HUB) - Great environment, nice staff, decent food, and consistently good beers.

The New Old Lompoc - Basically my second home.

Rogue Distillery & Public House - The food is as good as the beer and the beer is outstanding.

Deschutes Brewery - Their seasonals are off the charts delicious. The food is good enough to be considered fancy. And the room is gorgeous.

Columbia River Brewing Company - My new friends. Can't wait to see where this place goes. One of Portland's newest.

Holiday Letter 2010

2010-12-14T12:18:00.000-08:00

Holiday Letter 2010

Hullo-

Wuns uhgin I hav cunvinsd feedr tu let me rite this yeerz hawliday ledr. Az alwayez it tuke sum cunvinseeng butt hee finelee sed yes. Butt hee sed ownly if I uhgree tu lern how tu uze the ledr kombinashun uv “t” and “h”. So, now I no how tu spel “the” and uthr werds lyke that.

Aneewayz, 2010 wuz uh gude yeer fore mee. Skwirl wer evreewair. I skaird lotz uv kiteez hu tride tu wok on mi grasss. I went tu the beech uh cupl uv tymes. Butt I kan awlso tel that I am geteeng owldr. I slip uhlot wen I tri tu run fast on the slipree flore. I coff. And wen I luke at the shynee wol I can see awl theez grae harez on mi fays.

Ive startd uh nu hobbee and folloe feedr arownd evreeware, evun wen heez in the showr. I just stand thare and stair at him wile hee getz awl wet. Hee opinz the plastic and sez, “wut?” I just stair. Ive awlso bin diggeeng uhlot this yeer. It may have bin a rekord yeer for holez.

This haz awlso bin uh yeer fore mee getteeng yeld at uhlot. I donet no wi butt I luv tu pee on the frij. Won nite I awlso jumpd up awn feedrz bed wile hee wuz sleepeeng. Wen I nu hee wuz uhsleep I jumpd down and peed on hiz dore. Hee woke up and reelee yeld at mee uhlot. Wutz hiz problim? So now I alwaze hav uh caje arownd mee win feedr leevs or sleepz. He awlso putz a medal skreene awn the cowch cuz I lurnd how tu dig stufeeng owt uv uh kushun and wont stop deweeng it. Itz lyke snow day!

If aneewon tokz tu feedr pleez remind him that mi favrit thang iz haveeng mi fays rubbed. LUV IT.

Feedr seemz tu bee deweeng prity gude. He keepz makeeng stuf kawld beere. Hee uzed tu dreenk it awl the tyme and now hee makez it. Hee awlso playz this big pees uv wude with medal streengs on it. Itz reel noyzee. Thare havnt bin anee uv thowz prity feedrz arownd the hows much this yeer. I lyke them. Thay pet mee uhlot and feedr seemz tu lyke them tu. I wundr wutz up with that?

Feedr haz had frenz ovr. Won uv the prity wonz evun kame and stade with us fore uh wile. Shee brot uh litl prity won with hur. Thare namez wur anjee and elluh. Thay were reel fun. Rik comez ovr uhlot. Ive nevr seen sumbudee whu woblz az much az him. Won nite feedr had uh hole bunch uv peepl over. Thare wer uhlot of prity wonz. Thay drank litl beerez and tokd abowt it awl nite.

Uzr than that feedr duznt du much. Hee keepz rambleeng awn and awn abowt riting but duznt seeme tu git awf hiz buttt and du it.

O, I shude menshun ime now on faysbuke. I rite on thare uhlot. Sae hi and lyke me! Yu kan fined mee at…

http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/pages/Radio/161035633922196

Hapee hawlidaze,

Raydeeo

& Sean

The Killer Of All

2010-11-09T18:29:00.000-08:00

As a child I was quite the serial killer. While most people didn't know about it, it is surprising at how many people did and never stopped me. I killed daily. I took multiple lives every day. It was easy. I'd just lift up the planter, and with one swipe of the hand, hundreds of lives would perish in seconds. I was public enemy number one in the world of bugs. I killed any and all creatures with six or eight legs, and those slimy critters such as worms, snails, and slugs.

I killed for years. You can wrap up every casualty from the Civil War, WWI, WWII, Vietnam, Korea, Iraq, and Afghanistan and wouldn't even come close to the number of lives I've taken.

But one night, not so long ago, I was sitting on the couch and noticed a small fruit fly had fallen into my beer. It was still moving. I stuck my finger into the beer and pulled the little fly out. I held it up to my face for a better look and watched as the fly began to rub it's legs across its wings, in an attempt to dry them out. The fly then flapped its wings, drying them out even more. The front legs began wiping its face. I watched this for several minutes. The fly then jumped up and down a bit as if taking a few practice take offs.

I don't know what came over me at this point. In any other situation that fly would have not even had remains left after one swipe of my hand against the floor. But this time, I slowly stood up, walked to my sliding glass door, and opened the door. I stuck my hand out and gave a quick blow to the fly. The fly released its clutches from my hand and was gone. I sat back on the couch and thought back on all the bugs I had destroyed in my life. I then looked at my dog and thought of how horrified I would be to see my dog perish the same way all those bugs had died. I felt guilty.

From the corner of my eye I saw a spider making its way across my floor. I got up off the couch and went over to the spider. With one step, I squished that spider. Those damn spiders get in your bed and suck your blood. Not on my watch.

What's Your Problem

2010-11-09T18:15:00.001-08:00

As history has shown, I'm what's known as a chickenshit when it comes to talking to and asking out women I'm attracted to. I've never been able to explain why I have been afflicted with this deficit, but I think I have finally, at least, figured out the core of this issue.

Let's just be totally honest for a moment... when you are asking a woman out for a date, you are essentially saying, "Hi, I think you're attractive and would like for you to spend some time with me doing pretty much anything with the hope that by the end of the night you will have sex with me. I understand that it might not happen tonight, but it will at least lead up to some sexual activity within the third or fourth date and I'm willing to wait that long." That's it. It can't be denied. No man has ever approached a woman to ask her out simply for her company without any wanting of the sex. My theory does not apply to established friendships, but again... most of those even started with a physical attraction that just dragged out into a friendship. I have no problem with that. I'm talking about that first time you have to ask a woman out. And that just kills me.

I can't do it. I feel like as my mouth is moving and the words are flowing... who am I kidding... as the words are stumbling out of my mouth, I know they are thinking, "Hmm? This guy wants to have sex with me at some point." And right here one of three answers will pop into her head. 1. She will tell herself no way and set you free. 2. She will tell herself, "I'll go out with him, get a free dinner or movie out of it, but I will NEVER have sex with him." Or 3. "I'll go out with him, have some fun, and he has a decent shot at having sex with me." Ok, wait... I just thought of a fourth. "He's so stupid. He could nail me right now without having to shell out a penny," but those girls are girls that you either don't want to touch with a ten foot pole, or you're wealthy and/or have Brad Pitt looks.

I'm fairly convinced I draw answer 1 or 2 at least 80% of the time. I'm not complaining because I've actually developed some friendships out of this, but I'm just saying. The whole process is just embarrassing. So... how do you, meaning I, get over this? How do I ask a woman out without this thought burning into my thought process as I'm trying to speak to her? Is it possible?

In My Not So Humble Opinion...

2010-10-25T17:45:00.000-07:00

Voting GOP this election is a bit like being ass raped by your step-dad for several years, then moving to your uncle's to avoid the ass raping, but then after a few months you're still feeling bad about the ass raping and your step-dad swears he won't do it again, so you go back to live with ass raping step-dad.

Apology

2010-10-16T12:26:00.001-07:00

Sorry Monday Report. You've been neglected. The powers of Facebook and the short, quippy posts have stolen my attention from you. I once treated you well, and now you're a stray dog. You always treated me well and someday I may return. It just won't be today. It's me... not you.

So Now What?

2010-10-16T12:25:00.001-07:00

I was going to, but decided it would be best not to. I'll just leave it be.

One Might Think

2010-09-08T21:40:00.001-07:00

Austin has its City Limits. Chicago has its Lolapalooza. Seattle has its Bumbershoot. And so on. Slowly... very slowly... Portland now has Musicfest NW. Tens of dozens of bands, some well known and other perhaps just formed that week, will converge on the Portland music clubs for a long weekend. Hipsters, critics, teens looking for any reason to flood places where kids were once banned, and that one guy who knew every band before they were famous will be bouncing back and forth between clubs attempting to catch every single band they want to see, who all just happen to be scheduled at the same time at clubs fifteen blocks away from each other.

I consider myself a music geek, but one with the knowledge that I am nowhere close to any die hard. Think of me as a lake amongst oceans when it comes to the depth of knowledge some have crammed into their heads. There was a time when I could have probably explained what type of bass strings Ian Hill used when recording Judas Priest's "Hell Bent For Leather." But now I couldn't even tell you who plays bass for Judas Priest... unless of course it is still Ian Hill.

But... I have made my one attempt in life to spend an evening playing music venue pinball in my own pursuit to catch the bands I wanted to hear, see, or experience depending on what it is you do when you attend a gig, concert, or show depending on what rank you pull with a band, artist, or group at Musicfest NW. I even had the golden clad VIP wristband that was to guarantee you instant entry into any venue you chose.

And how did it go? I didn't get into one club. Every single venue I went to was filled to capacity like a freshly opened tin of pickled herring. I spent an evening standing in lines listening from the sidewalk as my artist of choice executed their set list. I would show the door guy my wristband, my VIP WRISTBAND! He would, without even making contact, say, "You need to stand in line. We're full."

"But I'm VIP. How long do I need to wait?"

"Dunno."

Being human brings a component in life that some of us have learned to control and others have allowed ourselves to surrender to... abuse. I know if I eat the El Jefe sauce at Fire on the Mountain my sphincter will be flaming red the following morning, yet I eat it. I know if I answer my work phone when I see the caller ID showing the number of my most annoying client that will bombard me with stupid questions, yet I answer it. I know if I ignore mowing my lawn for one more day the rains will come and my lawn will become a tropical rain forest, yet I ignore it. But... I have learned my lesson with this. I am not going anywhere close to downtown Portland this weekend. I will not go see Smashing Pumpkins at a club the size of my grade school gymnasium. I will not go see Portland's next band that is going to be bigger than Jesus in the next six months after their show at the Crystal Ballroom. I'm not doing it. Because I know that if I even try, I will stand in lines... all night. I don't even have VIP this year. What chance do I stand?

My past experience with Musicfest NW was, perhaps, one of the worst music experiences of my life, reaching levels of frustration that I know are unhealthy for me. So have fun those of you who will brave the weather, the crowds, the drunks, and the vomit. I hope you see the next big thing. I hope it works well for you. I... will be bowling.

Without Title

2010-09-06T15:31:00.000-07:00

I am literally forcing myself to write something here. It's become that bad. I just have nothing to say anymore... at least nothing that consists of more characters than a Facebook posting will allow.

Politically... it's just dead out there. Sure, I could bitch about that louse Palin already campaigning as if she has a brain or a plan and criticizing Obama when she couldn't even finish her commitment as governor, or the fact that her family is a Jerry Springer episode. While I'll never support the Republican platform, I do wish that they would at least attempt to nominate somebody who can DO the job whether it's what I agree with or not. Bush Jr. already taught us that sticking any ruhtard in office just doesn't work. Why do it again?

Work... nothing new. The majority of people are dirt bags, not co-workers but the public in general. They continue to outbreed those who make an effort to do the right things in life, and I still get to work with their kids. As the tax base shrinks, the reality that my department will be hit with lay offs increases. What I don't hear about is that other tax financed programs seem to just keep rolling along. People who smoke two packs of cigarettes and drink a half case of beer a day can still get food stamps and free housing with no problem. Drug addicts still don't have to take a pee test before collecting any of their free stuff either. I'll refrain from any comments on the morale at my place of employment. Let's just say that those on board the Titanic had a more pleasurable cruise.

The social life... it's all the usual. A new place here, a new place there, and then fall back to the familiar when the options seem limited. I'm several months into my quest to perfect the art of brewing beer at home, and all I can ask myself is why did I wait so long? If you like beer, you should be on board. Any questions, get a hold of me. It's easy. My social circle remains small, and as it expands it also contracts.

Musically... Rick just picked up tickets to Gogol Bordello. Yes, I'm psyched. There's several other shows I'd like to see as well (Michael Franti), but I have this new fire in my belly to never give Ticketmaster or Ticketswest another dime of my money. Service fees on the GB tickets ran almost $15 per ticket. Paul Allen can die. He can die a long and painful death for all I care. The service fees now cost more than the ticket prices cost when I was in high school. And for what? The computer to process the order and shoot me a ticket? As for anything else worth listening to that isn't Wilco, I'd have to say you need to be listening to the new collaboration with John Mellencamp and T Bone Burnett. Pure genius. And I'm amped to hear the meeting of Neil Young and Daniel Lanois.

Movies... Same goes as above. For the price of one movie ticket at a Regal Cinema theater, I can go to a small pub theater and see the movie, have a beer or two, and get a slice of decent pizza. Between the pub theaters and Netflix, the movie theater industry can bite me. So, with that in mind, it makes it difficult to really recommend anything as any movie I have seen is already second run and/or on DVD, thus you've probably already seen it or decided you are not going to see it.

Radio's still kicking. He went in for a check up and the vet didn't believe me that he's twelve years old. She was guessing four or five. He's still a neurotic nut.

I recently obtained a brand new tv, which has been pretty outstanding. The old one had some issues and thanks to an extended warranty, and the fact that they no longer made parts for my old tv, they were obligated to give me a new one free of charge. And seeing as how television technology advances daily, this one is far superior to the old one.

It's been a quiet summer. I've contemplated throwing some of my traditional parties and have pretty much postponed all that. I'm just not feeling it. I have been checking out a few new places in town to eat and drink, but when it comes down to it I pretty much follow the same options... Lompoc, Rogue, Deschutes, Buffalo Gap, Delta Cafe, Amnesia, Prost!, Old Market Pub, Lucky Lab, and the food carts (with Big Ass Sandwiches and PB&J Grilled being my two faves at the moment).

Roller Derby is off season at the moment, aside from a few bouts here and there. I've seriously neglected my yard this summer, as well as conducting any upgrades to the house or yard, although I've collected stacks of magazine clippings of numerous ideas I'd like to pursue with the place.

Do you see what I'm saying? It's just sort of blah right now. It's not bad, it's not great. It just is. And that's alright for now.

What to look forward to... As I said, Gogol Bordello is coming to town. The new tv season is almost upon us, not that I anticipate anything new that will rock my world. Anjie is coming out for a visit in October for a bit, and visits from long distance friends always make me happy. Fall is nearly here, and that's my favorite time of year. The winter ales are just around the corner to top it all off.

All I can say right now is that I am greatly disappointed with how difficult it can be to get anybody to go bowling. It seems I go bowling about once every five years. Why? Nobody ever wants to go. It's the perfect thing to do when you are 42, out of shape, love beer, and enjoy laughing until it hurts. Haven't seen me in a while? Wanna get me out? Invite me to go bowling. And I always have a standing offer to teach people how to homebrew. Call my people. We'll have lunch.

An E-Mail From My Dad

2010-07-25T18:34:00.000-07:00

I have never been able to subscribe to any form of organized religion. The following post is a perfect example why. To those who do believe in this stuff, glad it's working for you... but it doesn't work for me. And this is why (and this isn't just about the first testament, as both have severe issues such as these)...

"In her radio show, Dr Laura Schlesinger said that, as an observant

Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22, and cannot be condoned under any circumstance.

The following response is an open letter to Dr. Laura, penned by a US resident, which was posted
on the Internet. It's funny, as well as informative:

Dear Dr. Laura:

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination ... End of debate.

I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some other elements of God's Laws and how to follow them.

1. Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighbouring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15: 19-24. The problem is how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

4. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odour for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbours. They claim the odour is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

5. I have a neighbour who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it?

6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination, Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Are there 'degrees' of abomination?

7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some
wiggle-room here?

8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?

9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev.19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester
blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively and thus enjoy considerable expertise in such matters, so I'm confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.
Your adoring fan,
James M. Kauffman, Ed.D. Professor Emeritus, Dept. Of Curriculum,
Instruction, and Special Education University of Virginia
PS. It would be a damn shame if we couldn't own a Canadian "

We Have Nothing To Beer But Beer Itself

2010-07-24T13:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday marked my annual pilgrimage to the 2010 Oregon Brewer's Festival. It's really sort of like Christmas for me, well ok, almost Christmas. The Holiday Ale Festival is my real Christmas, but this one is great, too. It just happens to be the largest outdoor beer festival in America. I had printed out the list of beers scheduled to be on tap this year. I highlighted the ones I really wanted to check out. I will not drink beers that I can get on tap in Portland. I won't try anything I can regularly find in a bottle, unless they're pouring a limited edition version. So, after all my prep... I left my list at home. No worries. I had most of it in my head.

We arrived shortly after 2:00. My tactic is to get there early in order to avoid what turns into a big college party, complete with Jersey Shore girls, guys with their baseball hats on backwards, both barely old enough to legally drink. I go when the real beer lovers go... when it's about the beer and not about who can drink the most the fastest without vomiting.

One valuable tactic I learned this year was to always wear one of my Oregon Ducks shirts. I found that you just might score a full pour on one token (normally 1/3 full pour for one token or a full glass for four tokens) if you find an alumni pouring. The other tactic is to always find someone of the opposite sex pouring. You flirt with them a little or just be really nice and well mannered and you just might find the beer pass the tasting line. If I walk up to any guy pouring, odds are that pour will not go past the line, including foam.

So what did I try? Ok, what didn't I try. The advantage of going to something like this is you can have a sip or two of just about everything as the odds are pretty good that most beers will be covered amongst the group. It's all about sharing. I have to admit this year was the year that was about surprises as many new or relatively unknown breweries knocked some of their brews out of the park while some of the industry standards failed in their experimentations. But I don't hold anything against them. Better to keep exploring the realms of hops, malt, yeast, and barley concoctions than to drink the same crap over and over. With failure comes knowledge. From knowledge comes success.

Here's a list of what I tried. I will only note what I consider to be exceptional or didn't quite make it. Anything else mentioned was good and needs no additional comments.

10 Barrel Brewing's India Summer Ale
Anderson Valley Brewing's Summer Solstice Cerveza Crema (one of my all time favorites, and this is where my Duck shirt paid off)
Ballast Point's Big Eye IPA
Blue Frog Grog's Red Frog Ale
Boulder Beer's Kinda Blue (smelled better than it tasted - Blueberry)
Buckbean Brewing's Orange Blossom Ale
Caldera's Hibiscus Ginger Beer (blecht!)
Cascade's Summer Gose (not a big fan of the sours)
Cascade Lake's 20"
Deschutes' Fresh Squeezed IPA (the one I was waiting for = epic fail, but Deschutes has nothing to prove with me)
Dogfish Head's India Brown Ale (one of this year's favorites)
Double Mountain's Vaporizer
Fearless Brewing's Fearless Scottish Ale
Fort George's Vortex IPA
Full Sail's Ltd 03
Golden Valley's Festival Kolsch
Goose Island's Sofie (again, no sours please. I should have known)
Great Divide's Hoss (Good stuff)
Great Northern's Wheatfish
Green Flash's Le Freak
Hopworks' Organic Rise Up Red
Laht Neppur's Strawberry Cream Ale (too much like Frankenberries)
Laughing Dog's Dogzilla (great India Black Ale)
Laurelwood's Organic Deranger Imperial Red
MacTarnahan's Lip Stinger Farmhouse Ale
Mad River's Jamaica Red Ale
Marin Brewing's Blueberry Ale (too blue)
Maui Brewing's CoCoNut Porter ( I would love this on some Vanilla Ice Cream)
Mt. Shasta's Mountain High IPA
Ninkasi's Maiden The Shade (YES!)
Riverport's Brewing's Bedrock Bock
Sierra Nevada's Tumbler Autumn Brown
Southern Oregon's Woodshed Red
Sprecher Brewing's Mai Bock
Stone Brewing's Stone IPA
Terminal Gravity Hop-Double IPA
Three Creeks Brewing's Creekside Kolsch
Three Skulls Brewing's Hop The Plank IPA
Upright Brewing's Reggae Junkie Gruit
Vertigo Brewing's Razz Wheat
Widmer Brother's Captain Shaddock IPA

And believe me... I know I'm probably forgetting a couple IPAs and Reds. But it was another great year. And who knows... I may just run back down tomorrow for the last day. Why not?

Post Wiener Dog

2010-07-18T14:58:00.000-07:00

Wiener dog has left. Radio has sprung to life. He is outside chasing squirrels. All is as it should be.

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.17

2010-07-18T14:30:00.000-07:00

This is the final entry as Carrie should be here any minute. Wiener dog has been sound asleep... until I got up to type this. Wiener dog is standing in the doorway staring at me... ready to tear my throat out. I'm quite sure.

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.16

2010-07-18T13:22:00.000-07:00

Wiener dog is apparently not a fan of XBox and guitars. Good to know for future wiener dog encounters.

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.15

2010-07-18T13:20:00.000-07:00

Wiener dog appears to enjoy going outside now. I haven't mowed my lawn, so wiener dog isn't much taller. It appears that wiener dog is tracking something as she keeps staring into the sky with a pose that seems as if she's ready to strike at any moment. The silent wiener dog stalks it's wiener dog prey.

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.14

2010-07-18T13:18:00.000-07:00

Wiener dog has survived my sister and nephew coming over for breakfast. She even got a piece of left over sausage. Don't tell Carrie. At the moment she is surveying the floor for any dropped food. She appears to like buttered toast as well. Carrie will be here soon for wiener dog. If I were to tell her, I'd be she could hardly wait.

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.13

2010-07-18T11:10:00.000-07:00

I just received a text that Carrie is on her way back from Bend. I have elected to not tell wiener dog as she is currently calm. I have discovered she has taken to pooping behind my couch. Does she not realize she can't blame this on Radio as he cannot fit behind the couch?

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.12

2010-07-18T10:41:00.001-07:00

Wiener dog has seemed to settle a bit. She has taken great interest in me cooking sausage. Coincidence?

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.11

2010-07-18T08:17:00.000-07:00

It seems wiener dog hates it when I sit in my office. If I go to the living room and sit, she is fine. As I sit back here and type she runs back, looks at me, whines, rolls on her back, jumps up, and then runs back out to the living room and barks at the piano. Radio is still looking at me with "WTF" eyes.

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.10

2010-07-18T06:17:00.000-07:00

Wiener dogs don't sleep in. Wiener dog began whining around 5:45 from her crate next to my bed. I was going to let her sleep on my bed, but my mattress is pretty high up in case she jumped, and I also know that when dogs are on unfamiliar turf they have been known to just pee on the bed. I've taken wiener dog outside twice now since I realized my sleep time is over with. I decided to put her leash on for familiarity. All of the sudden she was a different dog. Her tail was wagging, she was running in circles, but then it became very obvious... routine. I could tell when the collar went on that meant treat time. She looked up at me waiting for the "click click" and a treat. But... Carrie didn't leave me any of her regular treats, and she wasn't accepting the long dried stick things. All I have are the big chicken jerky treats for Radio. I offered her a piece of that and she responded with mild interest. What does wiener dog want?

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.9

2010-07-17T23:26:00.003-07:00

Wiener dog is in her crate and sitting next to my bed. She lets out little whiney bursts. I have a feeling she will want to sleep on my bed. How do I explain this to Radio?

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.8

2010-07-17T22:13:00.001-07:00

The nap has worn off. "Cheek cheek cheek cheek cheek" across the floor... back and forth.

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.7

2010-07-17T21:52:00.000-07:00

The wiener dog still paces from time to time, but for the most part has found ease in Radio's bed, which is slightly 13 times larger than wiener dog, itself. I'm pretty sure she has peed outside, but it's hard to tell as she is so short to the ground. Rick came over and wiener dog seemed much more comfortable with him. It must be his feminine ways. Radio is at a loss. He has no idea why everything is now shared.

Wiener dog ate most it's food and is still gnawing on a marrow bone rougly two thirds the size of wiener dog.

Wiener dog is still looking at me with distrust and hate. I wonder if the howling will pick back up when I go to bed.

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.6

2010-07-17T14:21:00.001-07:00

Wiener dog has started to quiet down. She even let me pick her up once without growling at me. I know she wants on the couch as Radio and I sit there, but she's having a hard time letting me pick her up to put her on it. So, she sits on Radio's bed and stares at me. Wiener dog is loosening up.

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.5

2010-07-17T13:12:00.000-07:00

After hours of running from corner to corner, room to room, and door to door... the wiener dog has peed. Not being able to get mad as the stress is understandable, I now have to explain to Radio that I will still get mad at him if he tried this.

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.4

2010-07-17T12:37:00.000-07:00

My dog Radio is staring at me. I don't know what he wants, but its a look of, "why?"

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.3

2010-07-17T12:35:00.000-07:00

Realizing that this may be a long term situation (in dog time), the wiener dog has begun coming in closer, accepting my hand to pet her, and even took a piece of food which she had been rejecting earlier. From time to time she howls out to the wild wiener dogs of the forest, she can no doubt sense...

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.2

2010-07-17T12:02:00.000-07:00

Somehow this ankle high dog has just discovered how to pull her bag of food off my dining room table, yet does not have the ability to jump on to the couch by herself. How does this work?

The Wiener Dog Chronicles Pt.1

2010-07-17T11:46:00.000-07:00

I've always been a big dog guy, not that I had many growing up. We had big dogs once in a while, but it was mostly small mutts, Lhasa Apso's, a Basset Hound, and such. But there was the St. Bernard, a Golden Retriever, and a German Shepard who all had short lived stays for one reason or another. I don't have a dislike of small dogs, I just prefer them to be at least knee high.

There seems to be a trend lately of women and toy dogs... Chihuahuas, Dachshunds, little Terriers, and critters like that. They are kept in little purses and some live lives where their feet never touch the ground. One day my friend Carrie announces that she is getting a wiener dog. I immediately begin making the Paris Hilton jokes, which she quickly denies will be the case. Since Carrie has acquired Sydney, that little dog has had very little affection for me, often snarling, snapping, and barking at me in her little tiny dog voice and her little tiny dog teeth.

Recently Carrie asked if I would watch Sydney for a night while she goes to Bend. If anybody knows me, they know I will always watch a pet. It's just a given. Just minutes ago Carrie dropped Sydney off and has left, leaving the little wiener dog in a panic. I figured this must be documented. My one day with a vicious wiener dog. Since the door closed and Carrie drove off Sydney has begun the frantic pacing... running from the front door to behind the couch to Radio's bed and then to her crate, all the while whining, groaning, and occasionally barking. From time to time she walks closer to me than usual, drops to her belly, and let's out a belly groan. From her crate she runs to the door and it starts all over again. I've made multiple attempts to calm her down by sitting on the couch... the floor... and even moving to different rooms to give her space. As I sit typing I hear Radio's familiar stride with his paws going across the laminate floor, "kuh chee kuh chee," and they I hear Sydney, "cheecheecheecheecheechcheecheechee."

And as I sit hear writing, she has begun howling like a stretched out, dwarfed coyote who is calling out to the siren of an ambulance.

My guess is the wiener dog will settle down.

Death From Above

2010-06-26T17:01:00.000-07:00

This flying Terminator just flew into my house and began buzzing my head. I grabbed my electrified fly swatter and went to battle. This creature took a total of 12 solid zaps before it finally gave up. That is a quarter sitting next to it. And seconds after I took this picture, the beast sprung back to life, took another pass at my head, and flew out the door. This should count as a brush with death.

Filling In The Gap

2010-06-01T08:17:00.000-07:00

Some might say I was actually born into the bar business. My parents met while my dad owned his first bar, The Green Spot. I was born shortly thereafter. In the immediate following years he also owned The Local Gentry and Gassy Jack's. In 1973 my parents purchased a small neighborhood corner tavern. In 1974 The Buffalo Gap was open. Named after a small town just miles away from my dad's birthplace in the Black Hills of South Dakota, The Buffalo Gap was destined to become a fixture in Portland's tavern culture. While many in Portland's bar and restaurant world will always think of the Buffalo Gap and my dad as one in the same, it's important to note that my mom was the silent partner who was my dad's iron forged backbone, allowing him to accomplish what he did over the years.

I clearly remember those special mornings when dad would take me in before opening hours. I would search the booth seats for loose change. I would pilfer from the plastic containers loaded with pepperoni sticks and beer sausage. I would guzzle all the RC Cola my stomach could hold. Dad would give me quarters for the pinball machines and to play pool. And when nobody was looking, I would touch the boobies on the naked lady statue.

I remember the night the Buffalo Gap burned. I remember the company parties on Labor Day. I remember many of the wacky people that worked for my dad. I remember all the remodels that took place. I remember dad bringing home my requested custom sandwich for dinner, loaded with corned beef and pastrami, cheddar and swiss cheese, a few veggies here and there, and packed into an onion roll.

Many people don't even remember what the original Buffalo Gap looked liked. The bar faced the door. The lower section downstairs was once booths and had a colorful painting of cowboys that covered the wall. What is now the pool room was once law offices. The upstairs was once an apartment that was home to my Uncle Dave. There were no stairs inside. The only way to get to the upstairs was via the stairs in the Biergarten.

Eventually, the Buffalo Gap became my first place of employment. I washed dishes, bussed tables, and sliced every meat, cheese, and vegetable known to mankind. I cleaned the fryers, the air vents, the floor, the toilet post customer vomit, and would literally run to the grocery store several blocks away if we ran out of Half & Half. I saw my first boobs in that kitchen. I heard jokes that none of my classmates could even comprehend. I worked amongst the dead... the dead who had lived more than I ever would. My brother Troy and I wreaked havoc in that kitchen... from egg throwing contests to developing our ninja skills at throwing sliced Swiss cheese to stuffing our cheeks full of peanut butter pie. And yes, Troy even stole the bread delivery truck.

I eventually made it to cook status. I learned how to blacken any slab of meat. I learned how to bread and saute. I battered fish and onion rings. I layered pizza after pizza. But I could never learn to make a good soup.

I eventually made it out to the floor where I learned the art of waiting tables. I learned to I.D. the older ladies if you wanted a good tip, and to never return to the kitchen empty handed.

In time, I headed off to college and that was the end of my life in the restaurant business. The concept of me taking over some day came and went within both my head and my dad's. The problem was that we could never be on the same page on the same day.

What was once that small neighborhood corner tavern is now a complete restaurant serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner with live music, two bars pouring beer, liquor, and wine (but not necessarily in that order), and a legacy that most bar owners in Portland could only dream of.

As of today, my parents are retired. The torch has been passed as of 12:01 this morning. A young bartender who worked his way up from the beginning has been handed the keys and much faith. After thirty six years the Buffalo Gap is being guided by new blood. I want to congratulate both my parents for the years of hard work and the success it brought them. I want to wish Troy Itami all the luck in the world in his new endeavour as bar owner.

I want to thank The Buffalo Gap for more memories than one can imagine.

English vs Englush

2010-05-25T08:13:00.000-07:00

A friend recently pointed out that you can switch your language on a Facebook account to Pirate. I, of course, had to check it out. While I looked at the variety of language choices, I noticed there was English (UK) and English (US). This of course brought the movie Idiocracy to mind. Was there a noticeable difference between the two English versions? Not really, but I couldn't help but wonder just how many years away are we from Englush (US). Trailer Park speak is quickly becoming the norm in America. We are now at a point where some people truly believe George Bush was a great speaker, and that Sarah Palin and her efforts to sound like the common "man" by dropping the last consonant of nearly every word was acceptable for a potential world leader.

So, just what would Facebook version Englush 1.0 look like? The infamous Wall may become the Wull or just simply Writey Thingy. Photos might become Pix. Info will simply be known as Stuff. Peeps as Friends? I foresee a new function called Aks where you can set up questionnaires to your Peeps. Could a Poke actually become a Hook Up? Will Facebook be simply known as Talkin'.com?

Please! If you have kids... set the example. Quit talkin' like a moron. And when your kids try to speak Stupidnese, jump on their shit. Slang will always have it's place in our culture, but there's a concept called "time and place". It's not meant as a lifestyle. This isn't a cultural thing. It's a lazy thing.

In Regards To The Final Episode Of Lost

2010-05-24T06:46:00.000-07:00

All in all, I believe the last episode of Sanford and Son revealed more answers than last night's finale of Lost. I know... there are the hardcores who can probably shed some theory on the final answer. Yeah, I get it. They were dead, sort of, kinda, in a way... but they sure seemed like the most active dead people I've ever seen. Does that make them zombies?

Did I just get bamboozled by a rip off of the Sixth Sense? And what happened to the black guy and his kid? Why weren't they inside the church? Where was the French chick? What about that damn dog? Was he just waiting for Jack to die so he could gnaw on his femur? Sawyer and Kate were on the plane out with the Asian guy who senses dead people, as well as the pilot and the Latino guy who was a couple hundred years old, yet I only saw Kate and Sawyer in the church. What happened to everybody else? And if the Asian guy could sense dead people, why didn't he know they were all dead? Could he only communicate with deaderer people? What was up with the polar bear?

When a show like Lost comes on the air and consumes so much of the area of the brain designated to speculation, do they not owe it to the viewer to tie up ALL the loose ends? This was a complete rip off. This is the very reason I refuse to watch the Sopranos. It's my understanding that Sopranos was another series that sucks you in, holds on to you for years, and then ends with no ending. Why would I waste my time on that? These people need to take a lesson from folks who wrote great finales like M*A*S*H and Six Feet Under. These writers knew how to end something. I would have felt more complete had I watched Donald Trump hire Bret Michaels on Celebrity Apprentice last night.

Ok, I'll calm down now. I have a sense of relief knowing in just 13 hours I will be able to sit down and watch the series finale of 24. This cannot fail. Their are no mysteries to solve. We know the answers. Its just a matter of watching Jack kill everybody who ever went against him this season.

Oh..... wait just one damn minute... Jack Bauer? Jack Shepherd? Two Jacks??? Two series finales??? Is this a conspiracy? If Jack's been dead all along I'm going to lose my mind.

Ted Nugent Is A Dick

2010-05-23T12:49:00.000-07:00

I recently had a short and mild exchange with somebody on Facebook about Ted Nugent. The debate came from somebody that I consider an idiot. He writes like he's in second grade and then expects people to take him seriously and buy his product. But I digress. The topic was political, and this Bozo suggested that Ted Nugent would make a great leader because he's a true American and has some sort of bravery beyond the common man and woman.

My response simply stated that Ted Nugent is a hot air bag and a raging coward. Ted Nugent sits in trees, shoots animals with a bow and arrow, and then remains in the tree until the animal bleeds to death... which can be a long and painful process. I have absolutely no issue with those who hunt as long as what they hunt and kill is used for the purposes of eating. I also believe that if you're going to hunt you use a weapon that humanely kills the target quickly. Believe me... the meat will taste the same. But Ted Nugent has a gigantic ego to feed as he sits in the tree ensuring he wouldn't have a face to face encounter with that animal.

I suggest Ted grab a knife and go toe to toe to see who the real dominant creature is. But Ted's a chicken shit, so this won't happen.

And then I began to take issue with referring to Ted as some sort of great American. What makes a great American? Hanging an American flag made in China? Spouting things off like, "we should nuke those towel heads"? To my knowledge Ted never served his country. I find that people who never served their country and then suggest we send our troops to war should shut their mouths. Who are you to suggest anything about war when you were too cowardly to go yourself. I never served my country. Why? War scares the holy crap out of me, thus I throw nothing but respect to the people who do step forward to do it, whether I believe in the immediate cause or not.

Then the person I exchanged values with suggested I say this to Ted's face, as if I'd be in some sort of immediate danger for doing so. Ted's in his 60's now and all I've ever seen Ted do is bark. I seriously doubt the man has much bite. I've seen Ted live and heard his words between songs first hand. I've seen and read interviews with him. My interpretations of his words wreak of racism and elitism, and packed full of Bushism rhetoric.

Believe me, I'd have no issue standing in front of Ted Nugent. He can spew his propaganda all he likes. Hell, I'd even let him do it from a tree.

The Dissection Of A Stupid Song

2010-05-23T12:26:00.000-07:00

I would consider myself a decent guitar player and musical composer. My one area that has always been weak is my ability as a lyricist. I'm far too literal. I get symbolism, but I think I took one too many technical writing classes during my education. I truly believe it soured my creativity when it came to writing lyrics and poetry.

I was driving home the other day and Sammy Hagar's "I Can't Drive 55" came on. I sat and listened, and for the first time really examined what he was singing about. In the end I was angry. How did he get away with writing such a stupid song, lyrically? I thought it time to sit down and really examine this song. So here we go...

"One foot on the brake, and one on the gas, hey!"

Ok first off... that's so bad for your brakes. My dad would chew you out for that one. And talk about terrible gas mileage.

"Well, there's too much traffic, I can't pass, no!
So I tried my best illegal move
A big black and white come and crushed my groove again!"

I have to say you're pretty damn lucky that cop got you before I did. Road rage wasn't a term when you wrote this song. Nowadays you'd get shot for that crap.

"Go on & write me up for 125
Post my face, wanted dead or alive
Take my license n' all that jive"

At 125 mph you'd go to jail. There'd be no ticket. Jive? Nobody has said "jive" since the 70's. You'd think for somebody that can drive so fast you'd catch up with the times.

"I can't drive (pause) 55!
Oh no. Uh."

Out of context, this could mean many things. Perhaps you're driving a VW Bus. They can't get to 55 mph unless going downhill.

"So I signed my name on number 24, hey!
Yeah the judge said, "Boy, just one more
I'm gonna throw your ass in the city joint"
Looked me in the eye, said, "You get my point?"
I said "Yeah!, Oh yea!" "

This has all sorts of problems. What the Hell is "number 24"? Is that an L.A. thing? I seriously doubt you'd go to a city joint. It's more likely you'd spend time in the county jail. So, obviously, this song is not written from experience. Are you trying to sound tough? And when addressing a Judge, any response that was "Yeah!, Oh yea!" would probably get you a contempt of court charge if the judge is already that pissed at you. It's "yes your honor," or "yes judge."

"When I drive that slow, you know it's hard to steer."

Might I suggest driver's education?

"And I can't get my car out of second gear."

Transmission problems and you want to recklessly exceed the speed limit? I'm all for you going to lock up.

"What used to take two hours now takes all day.
Huh - It took me 16 hours to get to L.A.!"

This could mean anything. If it takes you 16 hours to get to L.A. from Seattle, I'd say you're driving like an idiot. If it's from San Diego, then it's about time California's Department of Transportation add a few lanes to I-5.

Sammy... I'd give you a D- for this project. It's poorly thought out, and just full of issues with context. I need more details. There's far too much room for interpretation. You're not Pink Floyd.

It Was 30 Years Ago Today

2010-05-18T08:47:00.001-07:00

I awoke earlier than usual for a Sunday morning. We were going fishing. My uncle Steve, friend Jeff, Dad, and I headed out to the small lake. If my memory serves me, it was in Scappoose. We rode in the old Jeep with the row boat tied to the top. The sky was pure blue. We loaded the boat in the still water, grabbed our fishing gear, and headed out to the middle of the lake.

The water looked like a mirror of the sky above. The air was motionless as we kept reeling in the salamanders that tried to steal our bait.

Some time just after 8:30 a.m. something happened. That air that had been so quiet, the sky that had been so clear, and the water that had been so still... changed. A wind picked up and grew stronger and stronger. The sky darkened with clouds rolling in as if it were the apocalypse. The water's surface began to white cap. Something was very wrong. As our boat was blown around the lake, we decided to row back and get out of there.

We loaded everything up and headed to home. The radio in the Jeep had not worked in some time, so we still had no idea what was going on. This was 1980. Cell phones were the size of phone books and exclusively for the rich.

As we drove down our street, Mom was standing outside the house. We pulled in and asked what was going on. "Mt. St. Helens erupted!" And that was that.

We gathered the family and headed out to Brush Prairie, a small town just south of the mountain. My sister was dating a guy who's grandma lived out there. We parked along a quiet back road. The volcano and it's massive plume stood right in front of us. We could see the electrical storms inside the plume. We could hear the rumbling. We sat for hours as we watched Pacific Northwest history in progress.

I remember Steve and I out in the street throwing the football when the first ash began to fall in Portland, covering everything as if it had snowed. Again, my memory is foggy, but I don't remember the ash falling until a day or two later. I collected two bottles worth and still have them to this very day.

Just for some perspective, that photo up top was taken by one of my parents. There was no telephoto lens. That's just how close we were.

I Should Have Pursued Advertising And Product Development

2010-05-01T08:19:00.001-07:00

From my good friend Lisa, who I actually get to see on Monday...

http://www.cracked.com/article_18494_15-unintentionally-perverted-toys-children.html

It's No Big Deal

2010-04-28T11:54:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid I saw Star Wars 15 times at Westgate Theater. It was like going to church for me. One of the things I remember about that movie was Han Solo and Chewbacca jumping into the cockpit area of the Millenium Falcon and pushing a million buttons as they took off and flew around. I always wondered what all those lights and buttons were. Now that I've been a driver for roughly 24 years, my slide from Neverland has taken hold as I realize Han and Chewie were probably just adjusting the temperature controls, spritzing the windshield to clean it, adjusting their automatic seats, finding a good radio station, adjusting their power mirrors, and resetting their odometer as they were most likely tracking mileage for reimbursement. My sails have lost all air.

It Was A Dark And Stormy...

2010-04-26T17:46:00.000-07:00

Day. I had just returned to my county car after meeting with one of my kids at the high school. My co-worker was still inside interrogating her kid. I sat in the car. My mind was blank as I looked around the parking lot. A few feet away, I noticed the car that was facing me. Something was moving inside the car, but I couldn't quite make it out.

Was a small child left alone in the car? Was it a dog? I couldn't quite tell. I watched for a couple minutes. Suddenly with a quick turn, I saw a face. It was a teenage girl. But what was she doing. She looked around, but didn't see me. She disappeared under the dash board. Seconds later her head popped back up, and then down, and then up, and then down. Her head movement became faster and faster.

"What the Hell is going on over there," I thought to myself. Her head would pop up periodically to look around and then go back down, and up, and down. After a couple minutes of this she straddled the driver's seat. I thought maybe she was looking for something lost in the car. And then I saw another pair of hands rise up and grab her, pulling her toward the seat. It was at this moment I realized she was screwing whoever it was that belonged to those hands as her ass began bouncing up and down against the seat.

I got on my cell phone and called inside to the school, requesting campus security. A woman's voice answered. "Is this security," I asked?

"No, they're busy, but how can I help you?"

"Well, I'm from the Juvenile Department, and I'm sitting out in your parking lot. It appears I've discovered a couple of your students having sex in a car out here. You might want to get a campus monitor out here." I gave a description of where I was and what car they were in. I sat and monitored the situation for a bit.

A few minutes later, her head popped up as it had been doing throughout the situation. She spotted me. She quickly dropped down below the dash board. I could see her slide off of her victim. They both sat motionless. Then, her head peered just above the dashboard. I pretended to be talking on my phone and looking away. Her head would dip back down, and his would pop up. Then both their heads went down. My co-worker hopped into the car.

"Ok, don't look up. Just keep doing what you're doing, but when you do look up, take a look at the car parked in front of us. They were just totally doing it. Campus security is on the way out." We both sat there and pretended that we were making phone calls. The two heads popped up and down to see if we had left yet.

There was a knock on their window as a security team member came to end the situation. I finally got a look at the young man with his hoodie pulled over his head. The girl looked a bit mortified. The monitor directed the girl out of the car and seemed to signal for the young man to leave the campus. We backed up as the girl got out of the car. I passed the security guard and gave her a smile and a wink. One less child would be conceived this day. My job here was done.

Why I Love South Park

2010-03-25T11:55:00.000-07:00

From last night's episode...

The Poop That Took a Pee

Chapter 1:

Douglas had to poop, his butt was all stinky because he had to poop so badly. There was a gross woman named Rebecca who was sunbathing all naked and she was fat. Douglas walked up to her and said, "I need to poop". "Okay, Rebecca replied, "I like poop". Douglas squatted down over the fat sunbathing lady and went poop. The poop sat there on Rebecca's boobs, looking like a weiner.

"Why are we here?", Douglas cried as poop came out his weiner in a long thin strip, it was weiner-poop, which is the grossest poop of all.

The peepee got on the woman's leg and she screamed, pooping out her boobs.

And so when the pee got mixed with the poop it smelled like a butt.

And the poop and the pee lived happily ever after.

Explanation Please

2010-03-10T06:58:00.001-08:00

I was watching the news this past weekend and they did a piece on Sean Penn's efforts in helping the Haitians. Penn was working alongside the military in dispensing food, shelter equipment, and medical supplies. I noticed several of the soldiers he was working with were Airborne Rangers.

So here's my question... Army Rangers are one of the most elite trained soldiers we have. Why do we have the National Guard over in the middle east conducting the bulk of our combat and our highly elite trained soldiers standing in Haiti handing out supplies? Is this our way of saying we don't really want to win the war?

I remember when I was a kid seeing those adds for the guard... "Just one weekend a month and one month a year." Now they are in major combat and have been for years. I'm sure the National Guard are fine soldiers, but I thought the Guard was developed more for handling domestic issues... natural disasters, riots, and blowing shit up at the beach. And how would you feel if you were a Ranger who spent months of intense training in order to better serve your country and now you're stuck handing out port-potties?

Our military at it's finest. If there's a logical explanation I'm all for listening.

Take That Portland Hater

2010-03-09T22:37:00.000-08:00

Over the years, from a series of E-mails, and a trail of conversations... I have assessed my cousin Dwight, a Portland native, does in fact appear to hate Portland. Sure, the guy has travelled well, lived around the country, and seen plenty... but every argument he throws my way is just drivel as heard on a short bus.

Today, Dwight forwards me an article about Portland being the "unhappiest" city in the country. This is based on selected "statistics" compiled from other "sources". And everything will be in "quotes".

The first category that added to this assumption is Portland ranks number one in rates of depression. Maybe it is. Or... maybe Portland is equipped with better than average treatment for mental health, thus allowing the depressed to access services... resulting in more accurate reported cases of depression.

Secondly, Oregon rates number 12 in suicide. Go figure? I'm the first to admit that this city is full of eccentric, wacky, and unusual people. As observed in an episode of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservation, Chuck Palahniuk stated that during the migration to the west coast, Portland collected an array of the odd due to it being a more isolated location, and as time moved forward Portland remained the cheapest option compared to Seattle and anywhere in California. The odd generally don't find themselves living in the upper socioeconomic brackets. So, maybe we do have a lot of jumpers.

The article states we rank 24th in crime rates. Again, I will revert back to the first category. Having worked in the law enforcement field for nearly twenty years, I can say with great confidence that Portlanders tend to report more crime. This might be because we, in fact, have more productive law enforcement that leaves citizens with stronger faith that if they report it, something might actually happen.

Next... Divorce. Apparently Portland ranks fourth in the nation for divorce rate. I'm confused here. Aside from the initial process, I would think this would actually bring a smile to the fractured couple's faces. Sure, it can impact the child, but if Portland's number four divorce rate is, for example, 60%, I would feel fairly safe in saying the bottom ten probably aren't much more off... maybe 50-59% as the national average, last time I looked, floated at 50%. So, it's safe to say everybody has a high divorce rate.

They actually factored in Portland's average days with clouds. Ok, I know some people claim seasonal affective disorder as something legitimate. But what would make you more unhappy... clouds or skin cancer? I'll take the beautiful textures of a cloudy sky, over the terrifying textures of melanoma any day.

And finally, Portland's unemployment rate. At the time of this study it was 7.8%. That's peanuts compared to what it is now. Last I heard, we had an unemployment rate that floated between the second and third worst in the country. Again... it's because more people are actually reporting their unemployment. Why? Because our benefits are pretty decent and our system of claiming unemployment works. I can remember back to when Carol was claiming her unemployment in Arizona. The monthly payment wasn't worth the government issued debit card she used to access her money. And I remember her complaints of hanging on the phone for extensive periods of time, being transferred here and there, only sometimes speaking to a human. And then waiting in lines at the unemployment office to try and get things figured out, only to be told they weren't allowed to speak to a real person. So, are we really higher than everybody else, or are we just more efficient at getting money to our unfortunate, thus boosting the claim rates?

If Portland is so bad, why do we almost always place somewhere in the top 10 of most Best Of lists? I don't need to cite them all here. If you live in Portland you know. And the only reason our highways are more congested than ever is because we can't stop people from moving here. Excellent food. Perfect beers. Great coffee. Outstanding wines. Easy mass transit. Dog friendly. Bicycle friendly. Never ending oddities. A top rated music scene. And we're pretty nice people. I'll take Portland over Seattle, L.A., San Fran, Vegas, NYC, or anywhere else I've visited in a heartbeat.

We're an hour from an internationally ranked coast line, a few hours from the high desert, an hour from the mountains (those little things they call mountains in the midwest are bicycle jumps compared to our mountain ranges), a short drive to the Columbia Gorge, surrounded by rivers and lakes, and if you need the congestion of a big city you can drive three hours north to suck on Seattle's fumes.

Dwight, Dwight, Dwight... you've been gone too long. You missed what happened here. You've missed out as Portland has become one of the greatest cities around. I've been to many of the great American cities. Other than some incredible pizza in Chicago, amazing catfish in Seattle, or the unreal energy of New Orleans... Nothing compares.

One Thing Leads To Another

2010-03-09T12:05:00.000-08:00

I don't even know where to begin. So, I'll go back to the very beginning. This past Thursday I meet Arturo at the Lompoc for a beer. We then head to Bastas to meet Melody for Happy Hour... escargot, calamari, risotto, blah blah blah. The three of us then head up to Scooter McQuades for a beer. From there we head to the Crystal Ballroom for MarchFourth Marching Band's seventh anniversary celebration. The show was fantastic. I returned home somewhere around 1:00 a.m.

On Friday I head out to meet Rick at Tony's new bar, Sinott's Lil Cooperstown over on NE Halsey. We hang there for a bit and then head downtown to meet Helen at the Big Ass Sandwich food cart. Their website was a bit confusing on the hours, thus they were closed when we got there. So, after a short debate we sucked it up and went to Kell's for some food. From there we meandered over to Dante's to catch my brother playing with Dry County Crooks, along with Kleveland and I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House's reunion show. Lulu, John, Kelly, and Mike all showed up to join us. The music was great. People began to filter out, eventually leaving Rick, Lulu, John, and I. The four of us then made our way over to Voodoo Doughnut where I splurged on a Bacon Maple Bar and bought to glazed doughnuts for a couple of homeless kids with a hungry looking dog. Again, home around 1:00 a.m.

Saturday comes around and I find myself under my sink for a few hours installing a new garbage disposal and re-plumbing the double sink. A couple of trips to Lowe's and back, and I'm done. I then proceed to clean out my Tiki Lounge and get it "party ready". In the process I discover that our big snow and freeze this past winter claimed my 7-Up bottle. This was the commemorative bottle from 1977 when the Portland Trailblazers won the NBA title. I had that bottle since 1977 and it was actually worth some coin. But, the temperature went down, and the bottle burst. Later that night I met up with Rick at Rogue. Lindsey eventually joined us, and once again I found myself driving home after midnight.

I woke up Sunday morning and jumped right on the mowing the lawn and pruning some essential vegetation. I then pick up Carrie and we head to Kelli and Ken's for their annual Oscar Party along with Tara and Tim. I'm proud to say that after many years I finally won the prediction contest after a tie with Tara, but thanks to seeing more nominated films that her, I won the tie breaker. Finally, home before midnight.

I now look at my calendar and realize there is no slowing down. I contemplated checking out Supersuckers this Thursday, but realize I need a break. Carrie is teetering on whether we will do a beer tasting this Saturday. I have Roller Derby Saturday night, and then meeting an old friend and her family on Sunday. The following weekend is no different, as there is a Dragonflies reunion show with Kleveland at the Hawthorne Theater that Friday, and the Paperboys at Jimmy Mak's that Saturday.

I still have more pruning. My lawn will surely need to be mowed again by then. My blinds need to be dusted, and windows to wash. My garage needs cleaning. And and and!!! Throw a regular job on top of all this and I'm just wiped out. I shouldn't complain though. All this means... all this really means is that I have many great friends and live in a city that offers more than I can handle. I'll take it.

Busted!

2010-03-05T07:01:00.000-08:00

Chris Calvert and I have been working on our first batch of home brew. The other night Chris and his boy, Luke, came over as we transferred the beer into the secondary fermentor. We set Luke up with XBox, pizza, and Empire Strikes Back.

The next day, Luke goes to school and is given an assignment to draw a picture and tell a story of what he did the night before.

Paraphrasing... "Me and my dad, Chris, went to my dad's friends named Sean. I played video games and ate pizza while my dad and Sean made beer." Above the story was a picture of two stick figures standing around a giant jug of beer.

Luke's teacher hands Chris the picture and says, "You may not want to put this one on the fridge."

BS! I say that sucker goes up for life!

Capitalism - Communism In Sheeps Clothing

2010-03-03T07:04:00.000-08:00

I've been making my mortgage payment via a bi-weekly program for many years now with the same program. Twice a month the company deducts money from my bank account, and then sends a check to my mortgage company. As is usually the case, Citibank went and purchased my mortgage from my original mortgage company. On Friday, February 26th (the last business day of the month) I receive a letter in the mail from Citibank stating I did not make my February payment. I call Citibank. I wait on hold for roughly 15 minutes, the phone clicks as if to direct me to an operator, and the line disconnects. I call again, wait on hold for 20 minutes, and speak to a Citibank representative. The rep tells me they never received a payment and the matter will be reported to the credit bureau if they do not receive payment by the end of the month... in two days on a Sunday. I explain my situation and he tells me to call my bi-weekly program.

I call the bi-weekly program and am put on hold for about a minute. The rep looks over everything and states they made the payment, sent it in on January 25th, and have a tracking number to prove Citibank received it, and even opened it on February 2nd. The rep keeps me on the phone and calls Citibank to discuss the matter with them. The Citibank guy explains the payment never came in even though bi-weekly guy gives him the tracking number info. I chirp up and confront Citibank guy explaining to him that Citibank is at fault her for mishandling my money and both myself and bi-weekly guy have to information to prove that. Citibank tells us to fax the information to their investigators, but if they can't find the money by the first of March, my credit report is getting dinged. If they resolve the matter after the first they'll erase the credit ding.

Now... we all know that once your credit report has been dinged, your fault or not, it is always noted on the report, whether it is "erased" or not.

Here's what really gets me... isn't Citibank one of the sons of bitches who cried to our government for bail out money because they did such shitty business practices? Then they took that bail out money and gave bonuses to their CEO's for doing such a good job? To all you people who believe Capitalism is the American way... you're IDIOTS! I don't care how much I love you or know you... Capitalism is bullshit and you're STUPID for supporting it. It does nothing for the average American citizen. George Bush and Barack Obama will support the bank over you any day of the week.

The Tops

2010-02-28T09:17:00.000-08:00

Some of you know I manage a little guide to the city of Portland. It's not all about the foo foo trendy places, but more about the hole in the wall eateries, the weirder fun things about Portland, and places to go to not see and be seen, although I do like to see. What I don't do there is rank places. It's basically places and things I like. But what I do get a lot of is, "what's your favorite this and that," questions. So, I thought I'd devote some time here for a few of my favorite things.

I'm keeping it boiled down to the Top 3 in each category, and it is in order. Some topics may be difficult to find the three best, while others could be tough decisions to leave anything out. So, just because it isn't on there doesn't mean it's not good. Also note that these are subject to change during any conversation I may have with you.

If you want to know more about them, either go to my guide or Google it.

Pizza
1. Flying Pie Pizzeria (Get the Sausage and Garlic Seasoning)
2. Blind Onion (Excellent Meats and Crust)
3. Apizza Scholls (It's just deliciously different)

Cheeseburger
1. Buffalo Gap (I also advise the Chili Burger)
2. Rogue Brewery (Mmm... Kobe Beef)
3. Castagna (It's fancy, but worth it)

Beer (Brewery)
1. Rogue Brewery (Where Beer snobs drink)
2. New Old Lompoc (Great patio, beers, and the C-Note rules)
3. Hopworks Urban Brewery (It's always crowded for a reason)

Beer (To Drink At)
1. Green Dragon (So much to choose from, and it changes almost daily)
2. Belmont Station (A beer store and a place to drink)
3. Deschutes Brewery (Legendary beers in a gorgeous place to drink)

Asian Food
1. Typhoon (Drunken Noodles)
2. Vivi's (Great Pho)
3. Syun Japanese Kitchen & Sake Bar (Voted tops in the USA for a reason)

Fries
1. Michael's (Crispy on the outside, soft on the inside)
2. Potato Champion Food Cart (It's really more about the dipping sauce)
3. New Old Lompoc (The softer type with crispy ends)

Desserts
1. St. Cupcake (I prefer the Carrot Cake Cupcake)
2. Voodoo Doughnut (It's not always about being best)
3. Cupcake Jones (Nothing wrong with having the second best cupcake in town)

Sandwiches
1. Bunk (Damn!)
2. Goose Hollow (The best Reuben in town)
3. Pacific Way Cafe (Sure you have to drive to the beach but it's worth it)

Latin
1. Pambiche (I prefer the Oxtail, but it's all good)
2. San Felipe (Killer Fish Tacos)
3. Salvador Molly's (A little Caribbean, a little Mexican)

Hotdog/Sausage
1. Edelweiss Sausage & Delicatessen (Big and Tasty)
2. Otto's Sausage Kitchen (Try the Jalapeno Mustard)
3. Nick's Famous Coney Island (A Portland classic)

Breakfast
1. The Buffalo Gap (Chicken Fried Steak)
2. Gravy (Spendy, but oddly worth it)
3. Pine State Biscuit (The Reggie Deluxe)

Nachos
1. The Buffalo Gap (A mile high with all the fixins, but I recommend the Chili Nachos)
2. Nacho Mama's (As big as your car)
3. Oaks Bottom Brewery (Totchos... Tots instead of Chips)

British/Irish
1. Rose & Thistle (Scottish)
2. Horse Brass (English)
3. County Cork (Irish)

German
1. Prost! (Nothing but German Bier on tap)
2. Widmer Gasthaus (They make great beer, why not food?)
3. Edelweiss Sausage & Delicatessen (Es ist ausgezeichnet)

Fish & Chips
1. The Buffalo Gap (I like mine with Tots)
2. Rose & Thistle (Scottish Plank Style Cod)
3. Horse Brass (I think it's the dark walls)

Live Music
1. Dante's (Harder Faster)
2. Mississippi Studios (More Organic Acoustic Stuff)
3. Doug Fir (A real talent crap shoot)

Movie Theater
1. Academy Theater (Nice Seats, Good Beer Selection, & Flying Pie Pizza)
2. Laurelhurst Theater (Good Movie Selection, Good Beer & Pizza)
3. Living Room Theater (Fancy Foods, Comfy Seats, All Digital)

Place To Eat Somewhere Else
1. Kingfish Cafe (Seattle - Southern)
2. Clemente's Fresh Seafood & Market (Astoria)
3. Pegasus Pizza (Eugene - The BBQ Chicken is a must)

Other
Cannon's Rib Express (BBQ)
A Roadside Attraction (Patio)
The Alibi Restaurant & Lounge (Tiki Bar & Karaoke)
Original Hotcake & Steak House (Hangover Prevention)
Old Wive's Tale (Soup)
Mad Greek Deli (Gyros)
Du's Grill (Bento)
Skyline Tavern (Best View)
Ground Kontrol (Arcade)
Rose City Rollers Roller Derby (Local Sports)
Secret Aardvark Hot Sauce (Local Product)
Velveteria (Velvet Painting Museum)
Holiday Ale Festival (Annual Celebration)
The Buffalo Gap (Chili)
Food Carts (For your late night munchies)

Another Quickie

2010-02-21T08:04:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the neglect here, but I've been pretty busy the past few weeks. So, to sum it all up...
(In no particular order)

Getmortified.com at the Mission Theater = Hilarity
A night at the beach = Relaxing
Filing taxes = Suck
Dry County Crooks for Fat Tuesday = Killer band, crappy club
Researching and development of new podcasting project = Totally stoked!!!
Co-writing a book with Michelle = More work than I thought
Home Brewing = Lots of research, supply gathering, but it will all be worth it
Massive ongoing computer issues = Bill Gates & Steve Jobs can suck it
Hanging at Hopworks, Prost!, New Old Lompoc, & Green Dragon = Mmm, Beer
BBQ Tofu Pie @ Wiffies Fried Pies = Mmm, Pie
Avatar in 3D = Pretty damn cool
Bad Movie Night = Laughs, good food, and good friends
Super Bowl Party = Great game, bad year for commercials
Bad Date Stories @ Bagdad Theater = Genius hilarity

And coming up... With the emergence of the sun this past weekend, that can only mean YARDWORK!!! As well as just getting the house and yard ready for the warmer weather.

I don't think things will be letting up as many of the things listed above are ongoing and time consuming. For as much as a time suck as it is, what I like about Facebook is I can throw out mini-blogs and not have to worry about anything, but I do miss spending time on here. How does life get so busy? On top of all my personal time things, there's that damn 40 hours we're all forced to put in at that other place. Talk about a serious time suck.

Of Course

2010-01-27T07:00:00.000-08:00

There are those who can buy a car, drive it for fifteen years, and they will never get a scratch, a dent, and always have a perfect windshield. I buy a car and within one week, some mouth breathing piece of crap will throw their car door into it in a parking lot, walk away, and never say a thing. Two days later a rock will hit the windshield and crack it.

If I buy a shirt, within one week I will drop the stainiest of staining food on it. If I buy shoes, some guy will accidentally drop his bottle of dye right on the shoes. I can go on and on. My point is, there is a force in this universe that has stated I am not to own or possess anything that won't be damaged. You may think this is paranoid thinking, but I ran it by my mom and she said the exact same thing, thus this is hereditary. The God of Breaking Shit has somehow taken an interest in us.

I'm not being unappreciative as I have plenty. But, I can take you through my home and if you point out anything that is considered nice or new, I can point out how and when it became damaged.

Last week I was driving my parents to the movies. I had two very large cracks running through my windshield. My parents immediately started in, "You need to fix this, wha wha wha wha, hazard, wha wha wha wha, now..." I tell them that as soon as I fix it, a new rock will immediately hit my windshield and crack it again. They respond with, "Wha wha wha wha."

This past Saturday I take my car in and get the windshield replaced. Monday night I peel the tape off one day later than they say just to make sure it's all airtight. Yesterday as I'm driving down the road I think to myself, "Hmm, what's that weird thing in the air?" Just then, that weird thing flies right into my windshield and leaves a night little crater.

Up yours God of Breaking Shit! And up yours to all you SUV and truck drivers who drive around with pointless mudflaps on your back tires. You guys drive around F'ing up everybody's cars without consequence. I can't talk on my cell phone in my car, but you guys can drive like reckless asses cracking people's windshields?

Could You Be The One To Tell Them?

2010-01-24T12:09:00.001-08:00

There are those who believe...

If their home catches on fire firefighters should come to their house, put out the fire, and your and my tax dollars should pay for it.

If a prowler is breaking into their home police officers should rush to the scene to protect them and their family, and your and my tax dollars should pay for it.

They should be able to send their children to public school, and your and my tax dollars should pay for it.

If their child suffers from a mental disability that causes them to become a burden on society through committing crimes and requiring assisted living, your and my tax dollars should pay for it.

And I agree with them.

But... if you or I should fall victim to catastrophic injury or disease and we could not find employment that would provide us with medical coverage, or our minimum wage job does not pay enough for you or I to afford medical coverage while trying to put a roof over our head, feed and clothe our children, and pay our utilities... well, then you and I will most likely suffer or die because that person who wants all those other life essentials paid for by you and I... doesn't want to pay for you or I to live the same quality of life as them. Yet, ask one of these people to go to the hospital and tell the dying patient, "I'm sorry, I just feel I need a nicer car this year, so you'll just have to go." They'll decline. They won't have the courage to say it to the dying's face. But they'll love that tax refund.

A few people who live in this country control the medicines, the technology, the money, and the politicians who decide what to do with our money and assets. They make decisions on a daily basis that allow thousands and millions to die unnecessary deaths each year, even though they have the power to allow those people to live. These are the people who believe ten billion dollars isn't enough to live on. They need twenty billion, and if they don't get their extra ten billion they make bigger cuts allowing even more to die. Their pharmaceutical companies must thrive. Their insurance companies must thrive. And you and I can die to make that happen.

America is now a laughing stock amongst the world. We have more power than any other country. We have the ability to allow every citizen access to the best health care in the world. Yet only a small percentage of Americans are allowed this "luxury".

The politicians you and I elected will scare you into thinking that taking care of your fellow man will lead to a Communist dictatorship. It's un-American... America... a country that was founded on Christian morals and beliefs. Christianity... a movement that began with one man who wanted to spread the word of love, compassion, and forgiveness. But now we are told it is un-American to love and be compassionate to those who suffer. If every modern nation is providing their people with health care and more, how is it we're in the right? Is everybody else wrong? That's hard to imagine seeing as how most of these countries now outrank America in standard of living, quality of education, and quality of health care. America is no longer number one. We're not even close. The only category America maintains top status is how to kill another human being, whether it is through air strikes in another land, or merely here in our own backyards where we murder one another each year more than anyone else.

How dare my government ask me to pay an extra $20 a year in taxes to save the lives of who knows how many. That $20 needs to go toward the development of the next high tech piece of technology that can kill one hundred more people per missile strike than the current high tech piece of technology. That's how Jesus would have wanted it. How dare my government provide me with a pill that could save my life for just pennies and dimes when a pharmaceutical company can charge $100 for that same pill.

Don't look to the Republicans. Don't look to the Democrats. Don't look to the other parties we can barely see. These people are owned. If you write them you will receive a form letter thanking you for your concerns, and some closing comment hoping you will provide your support to them in the next election. This letter was most likely stuffed into an envelope by some intern hoping to someday be the next senator, so they too can have their homes paid for by a pharmaceutical company who has paid them off to write bills that will further disintegrate the middle class.

Where's the answer? I don't know. Politely asking for something from a man who would gladly stomp on your head for the dollar in your back pocket doesn't seem to work. It became abundantly clear to me in the 2000 election process that "We The People" means nothing. We the people voted for one man, yet through an outdated, non-democratic process that was dripping with scandal we received another. Then four years later watched the same electoral process repeat itself, this time under the veil of fear mongering. How can I trust this system to raise this country to a place where I can look you in the eye and say I'm proud of my country. I'm proud of the decisions that are being made for it's people. I'm proud that we have taken care of our own, and can now focus on taking care of the rest of the people who suffer ten times what we suffer on a daily basis.

I don't know if this can happen because... there are people who believe... people who believe the more you and I suffer... the better it is for their lifestyle.

A Shout Out

2010-01-22T07:00:00.001-08:00

I have visuals of what a literal shout out would look like and it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. It's intended as a good thing, but if somebody walked up to me and shouted out into my face I would probably punch them in the nose, as well as a few other places if they persisted. As is the case with most jargon that evolves into pop culture norms, we have to look at the roots. People tend to forget that most popular sayings in America generally are adopted from African American culture. When asked how she was doing, I have actually witnessed an upperclass woman in her 70's respond with, "Ah'ight."

So, at this moment I would like to give a shout out to TMR reader Rob D. Thanks for reading...

If You Believe In This Stuff

2010-01-21T12:42:00.000-08:00

A friend just forwarded me these. I included Capricorn because I was really only about 20 minutes away from being one. For those of you who know me... Yes? No? I know it's all general stuff, but I've always had fun with it. I've added my own input as well.

SAGITTARIUS - The Promiscuous One
Spontaneous (SURE). High appeal. Rare to find (I WANT TO KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS). Great when found. Loves being in long relationships (YES). So much love to give. A loner most of the time (NOT MOST BUT I HAVE MY NEEDS). Loses patience easily and will not take crap (AGREED). If in a bad mood stay FAR away (I WON'T BIT THOUGH). Gets offended easily and remembers the offense forever (I'VE HEARD THIS ABOUT ME). Loves deeply but at times will not show it, feels it is a sign of weakness (DISAGREE). Has many fears but will not show it (WRONG). VERY private person (WRONG). Defends loved ones with all their abilities (TO THE DEATH). Can be childish often (HOPE SO). Not one to mess with. Very pretty (WTF?). Very romantic (COME TO ME). Nice to everyone they meet (NOT). Their Love is one of a kind. Silly, fun and sweet. Have own unique appeal (UNIQUE IS A GOOD WORD FOR ME). Most caring person you will ever meet! Amazing in bed.. (HOT CHA CHA CHA)!!! Not the kind of person you want to mess with- you might end up crying (I HAVE THE POWER BUT RARELY USE IT).

CAPRICORN - The Passionate Lover
Love to bust (BUST WHAT?). Nice. Sassy (YUP). Intelligent. Sexy (GRRRR). Grouchy at times and annoying to some (I'D TAKE THAT BET). Lazy and love to take it easy. But when they find a job or something they like to do they put their all into it (YES). Proud, understanding and sweet. Irresistible. Loves being in long relationships (WE COVERED THIS ONE). Great talker (SOMEBODY SHUT ME UP). Always gets what he or she wants (THAT ONLY WORKED WITH MOM WHEN I WAS A KID). Cool. Loves to win against other signs especially Gemini's in sports (IT'S WHY I DIDN'T PLAY SPORTS). Likes to cook but would rather go out to eat at good restaurants (I'D RATHER COOK). Extremely fun. Loves to joke. Smart.

Making Sense Of It All

2010-01-21T07:09:00.000-08:00

***Warning - This entry will be discussing poop. If you don't like that, stop reading now. You have been warned***

I guess I don't understand our bodies and the whole eating thing. If we eat something and it's delicious going in, why wouldn't it be delicious going out? I know if it's hot and spicy going in, it's hot and spicy going out. It's amazing what our body can do to a plate of food in just over 12 hours. For the most part, everything looks the same coming out. It may have different textures and consistencies, but most of the time it's brown and like soft clay. Sure, sometimes it's green or blackish. Sometimes it floats and sometimes it sinks. And sometimes it's just very runny.

I guess my favorite concept is one night I can eat a dish of greens and the next morning they're browns.

I'm sorry. I just had to get all this off my chest. It just didn't seem appropriate for a Facebook posting. And at least I didn't include pictures on this one.

A Request

2010-01-16T09:40:00.000-08:00

My friend Michelle and I are in the process of writing a book on parties, sort of the do's and don'ts with a lot of helpful information on how to throw the best parties ever. We are looking for your help, as we don't want to miss any factors. Please take a moment and participate in this survey to help us out.
Thanks...
SURVEY

My Newest Thought

2010-01-15T06:55:00.001-08:00

The bad guys are just good guys who had their feelings hurt.

Stupid Shirt

2010-01-15T06:28:00.001-08:00

As the temperatures fluctuate back and forth, so does my bodies ability to acclimate. A while ago when we were dipping into nearly zero degrees, the forties actually seemed somewhat balmy. Now that we bounce between the low and high forties, it comes across as rather chilly. And for whatever reason, I've been feeling a little colder than usual. When I wake up in the middle of the night, the house feels ten degrees cooler than usual. I check the thermostat and it's the same that it's always been. I thought I'd try something different and actually sleep with a shirt on.

Historically, I can't do this. I get the feeling I do a lot of moving while I sleep. And with this movement comes the entanglement of cotton around my neck. For whatever reason, I thought last night would be different. As I dressed down to go to bed, I left the black T-shirt on.

Somewhere around 2:00 a.m. I woke with the shirt wrapped up around my chest, my arms nearly pinned and the sleeves were wound tightly around my biceps. Once again, I was held captive by my black T-shirt.

I have no vivid memories of ever wearing pajamas, but I know I did. More than likely there would have been some character from Star Wars on them, but I really can't remember. But... I grew up in a home with two parents who were very... liberal.... in how they dealt with nudity. Seeing my parents naked was a nearly every day thing. I didn't think anything of it as a kid. It's just how it was.

My dad has never been one to be self conscious... he loved to crap with the door open. This was, of course, in the bathroom sitting mere feet away from the dining room table. His excuse was that he wanted to be part of the conversation. So, for breakfast it was Captain Crunch, orange juice, and the sounds of explosive diarrhea. When it came time to do yard work, there was dad in the front yard wearing nothing but jogging shorts. A cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other... a neighbor's delight.

Along with this thinking process, dad also slept naked. My guess is that should the house catch fire in the night and the family had to flee to the streets for safety, being naked for all our good neighbors to see just wouldn't be an issue for him.

Eventually as I grew older this would all catch up to me for one traumatizing moment. As I opened my door to start a new day, I heard mom screaming in the kitchen. Being a groggy teenager, it took a moment to realize what this was all about, but eventually it all registered.

"FIRE! Fire!" From our stairway I could see mom standing in front of the stove as the glow of flames bounced off the surroundings. Yes, the stove was on fire. But without delay, dad was there with fire extinguisher in hand shooting flame retardant materials all over the stove. I looked at my dad with great awe. His quick reactions. His ability to stay calm. His perfect execution of battling those flames. His... complete nakedness. There he was... my dad... butt naked, fire extinguisher in hand.... fighting a fire. This image has always stuck with me.

My point? I, like most kids, attempted to follow in my dad's footsteps and eventually began sleeping in my own nakedness. It's very comfortable. It feels like riding in a car without a seat belt. There's just so much freedom. But another sensation that comes with riding in a car without a seat belt is the lack of security. I began to wonder just how I would deal with the night that my house caught fire and I had to run into the streets naked. I didn't have what dad had. Somewhere along the line, I picked up mom's humility. Something needed to change, or my testing of this eventual night would strike just to shame me.

The solution? Apparently I am fine with the idea of running into the front yard in my underwear. I'm pretty sure that should this event ever take place, I will pay for it dearly. But who knows. Perhaps another part of my father will emerge in a moment such as this. It could be the the rebirth of the naked firefighter.

Why?

2010-01-13T06:47:00.000-08:00

A man can drive down the street, unravel a pack of cigarettes, dig to pull one cigarette out, grab an incendiary device, ignite a combustible item in his hand, continue to drive for the next fifteen minutes with said combustible item occupying one of his hands, and then toss said combustible item out the window when he is finished with it... but... I am not allowed to hold a cell phone to my head and talk while driving? Oh... I get it.

As I drive to work each morning I, unfortunately, have a drive time that coincides with the school buses, and no matte which path I take to work, the buses are there. Fine. I rode the school buses. But here's what I don't get... when I was a kid the bus stops were spread so far apart you couldn't see the kids at another stop. Now, and this is literal not figurative, the buses are doing front door pick up and drop off service, and are stopping ever two or three houses. Make these damn kids walk! And I don't want to hear any parents scream about them not wanting their kids getting abducted or attacked. If you care so much about your kid, walk with them and watch them until they get on and get off the bus.

And finally... Jay Leno. If you can't pull in the ratings at 10:00, don't be a whiny bitch and want your old job back. Life isn't supposed to work like that. You had the Tonight Show. You left. You failed. Deal with it. The Tonight Show is an 11:30 (ish) institution. You are not the king shit who gets to change all that. And quite frankly, you've been a bore since you sold out to the man. Go retire. You have more money than God. Let us laugh again.

I Wanna Be An Atheist

2010-01-10T12:09:00.000-08:00

But I can't. By most definitions, an Atheist is one who believes in no deity. And realistically, I don't... but I do believe in something. I don't know if it's a human-like figure, or maybe some kind of blob... Blobgod. Maybe it's just the energy of our presence. But something is screwing with every one of us.

I recently learned this the hard way. If I believed in nothing, I would be affected by nothing. I would feel nothing. The problem with being human is the battle that rages on between the two factors fighting for complete control of the body. The brain is the entity responsible for rationality. It uses logic and experience to guide us through obstacles in life. The heart then comes along and drives us to make mistakes. I don't use the word mistake as a negative concept. Quite the opposite really. Mistakes can lead to great things. But, they can also bring us great pain. The heart is simply playing Devil's advocate to counter the deprivations our brain brings us.

Our lives would be much simpler if one could conquer the other. I assume there are those out there who have ended this battle. Those controlled by their brain probably have very productive lives. I would imagine they'd be a little empty on an emotional level, but they're productive. I'd guess that those ruled by their hearts live in a constant struggle. The world isn't designed for things going smoothly and we are rarely given anything for free. The heart just wants what it wants and can't see the rules.

Most of us take the balanced approach. We go about each day leaving tasks up to the brain and hand over emotions to the heart. There are frequent conflicts that arise. The worst of these conflicts is love. For the very few of us that truly find it, things rarely go as we had hoped. There always has to be a conflict to keep it from being easy. The end result is a physical pain.

How does a human being feel physical pain from no tangible injury? This pain wasn't caused by falling down, stubbing out toe, getting cut on a nail sticking out of the wall, or being hit in the face. It was caused by a feeling of loss. The only conclusion I can come up with is that this means I have a soul. A soul is just like my hand. While I can't see it like my hand, it's there. And it's susceptible to anything any other body part can experience. I have wounded my soul, and with the wound comes pain. I don't really see how it would be possible to have a soul without another existing plain for my soul to come from or go to.

I'm not even going to try and guess at what that place looks like or what the rules are, but if this place did not exist, what is the purpose of having a soul? What I am sure of is that it has nothing to do with a bible or any other book of words that are packed full of contradiction. That's a whole different argument. I'm not even going to use the word spirituality because I really don't know what this whole soul is.

And that is the point. I don't know. I don't know anything. Call me a fence post sitter, but that's all I have. Agnostics take a lot of crap for not having an opinion, but I think I do have an opinion. I don't buy into any organized religion. God is as tangible as UFO's, sea monsters, and Santa Claus. He could exist, but who am I to know? What I do know is that I haven't stubbed my toe, but right now my soul hurts.

What's The Deal With Teenage Stand Up Comics?

2010-01-04T21:36:00.000-08:00

So, as I was going through a bunch of crap in my home office I found a little binder notebook. I couldn't remember what was in it, so I opened it up and took a look. Back when I was an older teenager I had this idea that I would be the youngest stand up comic ever. I wrote down a bunch of ideas for topics to joke about. So, here I give you... unedited... my list of topics I was going to use for my teenage stand up routine-

1. Sweat pants draw string catches hair.
2. Parents wanting to go everywhere with you when on vacation.
3. All stand ups just lost girlfriends.
4. Pissing outside, pissing on a boat, can't rust.
5. First girl whoever liked me must have had brain damage.
6. Spanish tv stations.
7. Arnold Schwartzenegger and Michael Jackson.
8. How big actors feel about their early movies.
9. Janitors at the JCC (Jewish Community Center)
10. Girls say yes to plans, but not good enough for guys.
11. Dogshit in my room.
12. Getting tickets - explanations.
13. Frankenbarry vs Count Choculu
14. Asking two people the time - who's right?
15. First brave person to eat something for the first time.
16. The proper way to fold toilet paper.
17. Screwed shower systems.
18. Explaining about working at JCC without offending.
19. Saying goodbye on phone - bye, see ya later, take it easy.
20. Mom buys you neat shirt, next day it doesn't look good.
21. Why do tv's have vertical and horizontal knobs?
22. Why does the JCC pop machine take (steal) quarters and the members don't mind?
23. Wiring locker room doors so they shock people.
24. Women at the JCC who bitch about men's hair in the sink, but then want to tell you about their periods.
25. Trying to make a typical or bad car sound good.
26. Wouldn't you hate to be puss?
27. Why do they have "In Memory Signs" at restaurants? They just remind me of dead people while I'm eating.
28. Did you cut your hair?
No, someone else did.
No, it just falls out like that.
29. In Case of Emergency Notify: Ambulance!
30. What are one eyed, one horned, flying purple people eaters?

So, as you can see... I made the right career choice, or at least avoided a wrong one.

Lunch Upcoming

2009-12-30T07:06:00.000-08:00

It's one of my favorite places to eat lunch. It's not even so much where as much as how and what. But there's also a lot of stress that comes with this lunch. Eating Mongolian is a science.

When we first pull up to the place I immediately gauge the parking lot for a sense of what the crowd will be like. You always get there early. These places can pack out, especially if you opt for the place in Hillsboro. Those Intel bastards always flood the place... them and their stupid little Intel I.D. badges hanging from the very throats I'd love to get my hands around.

We walk in and the secondary crowd evaluation immediately kicks in. I will usually just walk out if it's too bad. But, by getting there early most crowds can be avoided. The host(ess) seats us. Seating location is important. Nobody wants to sit next to the line, but you also don't want to be at the opposite end of the grill. Who wants to walk through the entire place with everybody checking out your plate of creation? Although, done right, and a well made plate is like a badge of honor.

The host(ess) does the obligatory requests for beverages, type of soup, rice, and chopsticks. "Get out of my way! You're wasting resources here!" I think to myself. Water. Hot and sour. No rice (it's a filler to keep you away from the meat). Yes, no, I don't care! This becomes even more frantic when I see nobody in line, but then spot a herd of ditch diggers walking in. Those guys take forever. The line is clear. Let me go!

We're finally clear. Before I even get to the buffet I'm scanning for what meats are on what side during my approach. Lamb always gets first priority, then pork. Chicken will run third. In a perfect world, these places would know to keep the lamb, pork, and cilantro all on the same side. It never happens.

Two bowls... you always go two bowls. The first bowl is stuffed full of meats. You can go all one type, or mix it up for a variety. I never know what I'm going to do until I get there. While I love them, I have trained myself to skip the noodles to avoid excess carbs. But there really isn't anything like a good heap of noodles that the cook left on just a little too long and got a good burn to them. I'm not joking about that.

With the meat bowl stuffed full (remember to pad it down as you fill it), it's time to move on to the veggies, not to mention the finer establishments that also provide peanuts. I don't like the chopped peanuts you shake on. I want the whole nuts that get a good sear on the grill along with everything else. Broccoli, sprouts, spinach, green onion, celery, mushrooms (again, at the better places), cilantro, dried peppers, and squash.

The sauce line. This is where the novice Mongolian grazers hold everything up. They look at that damn flavor chart. Get rid of the damn flavor chart! If you don't know what sauce will do what, you have no business being at a Mongolian place. And if you must look, come in really early or really late to practice. Don't come in at peak lunch hours when the serious Mongolians are doing their business. Lots of hot and sesame oil. Lots! Teriyaki! Ginger! Garlic! Vinegar! Fish oil! Citrus! Hell, sometimes they even throw in a curry. Damn! Curry!

Now, this has been a perfect line. Get there late, and suffer the consequences. The idiots... they gaze at everything. They're so lost. Just grab something and MOVE! There's nothing worse than long lines. Back in the day I always had my two bowls, but never packed them past the top of the bowl. "It's all you can eat. I can just keep going back for more." No. Well, yes you can, but by the time you finish your first plate, the crowds have arrived and you have to deal with the lines. The never ending lines. Sometimes they are so long you have to just stand there with your bowls... waiting to set them on the counter to be grilled. Now, it's two stuffed bowls and one giant plate of food.

The final obstacle... timing your arrival to the cook just before he cleans the grill. At my closest location we have a cook who does not know how to clean the grill. As he scrapes and wipes, he always leaves big black hunks of charred whatever. I think he's half blind. If I get caught waiting for a clean grill, I watch and evaluate. You know exactly where your food must be placed to avoid the black gunk during the big stir. If he drops your food too close, that gunk will become part of your meal. Call me a sociopath, but I always get a bit of a giggle when I see the gunk land in a stack belonging to some Intel guy.

I prefer a higher heat grill where stuff really gets seared. The old blind guy at my regular spot tends to pull the meat off too soon, which always leaves a little salmonella scare in the back of my head. But once cooked, then comes the after saucing. Mine is always loaded up with the red heat and Hoisen. I avoid soy, but throw on a good dusting of pepper. And away we go.

As you may have guessed... I will be devouring a plate of Mongolian for lunch today. Oh yes. It's on my mind... already.

It's Coming

2009-12-28T06:13:00.000-08:00

So, I just turned 42. We're days away from 2010. Thus, I am well beyond halfway to the average life expectancy of an American male and the world is reaching an age that was once referred to as science fiction. The only thing that makes sense is my failing body. Foot issues, Lasik eye surgery, etc... and now what have I done? After 42 years of problem free issues, I have thrown out my back. How did I do it? Grabbing pillows off my bed.

A couple weeks back I chuckled as Chris, the most fit person I know, threw his back out brushing his teeth. Now, I have done the same grabbing pillows. This can only happen once you've passed the age of 40, I'm sure of it.

I can feel the little bugger. An isolated pain in the small of my back. It feels like a knot just ready to pop.

I'm lucky, I suppose. I can still stand, lay down, walk, and all the normal stuff. It just hurts.

I remember when I was a kid I used to listen to adults talk about their sore this and their aching that and I thought they were just a bunch of whiners. How can so many people be bitching about things. My body was fine. They just can't handle anything and were a bunch of whiney babies. Now... I am a whiney baby.

I think I've always had a decent pain tolerance, and I still do... but why so much at the same time, now?

I'll give this a few days. That's all things need, right? A few days? I've never been to a chiropractor. I got to listen to Chris' adventures when he went last week... the crunching of the bones, the pops, and the groans of pain as he was personally twisted by the Marqis de Sade. That's never been my cup of tea. A few more days...

The 773rd Post

2009-12-25T06:57:00.001-08:00

It's Christmas morning. As has usually been the case recently, I woke up far too early for a day off from work. I know I am growing more and more like my parents who wake up at 4:00 a.m. for no reason. It's like they think they've got eggs to collect and livestock to feed before sun up, when in reality they sit around and read the paper, clean the house, and dad waits anxiously for an appropriate hour when he can begin his series of phone calls for the day.

I am currently sitting at my desk burning CD's for dad's stocking stuffers. Speaking of which, last night at my brother's place... between my two nieces and Troy's girlfriend (Kerby, Abby, and Helen - respectively) they have three wiener dogs. One of the dogs is a full on humper. As the family sat around the living room watching the little wiener dog hump her very own mother, it became abundantly clear that this was... a stocking stuffer. Troy on the other hand opted to call out, "that bitch is a real mother fucker." Later, this same guy who uttered those words accused me of being distasteful for suggesting we replace the ear splitting church-like Christmas music with Flight of the Conchords' "Too Many Dicks On The Dancefloor".

I had one responsibility for the evening... bring mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes are generally considered one of the easiest of foods to prepare, nearly impossible to screw up. As always, I thought to myself, "I can make this bigger... I can make it better than just mashed potatoes." I had been cursed for years by being asked to bring the damn carrot coins. 2009 was all about breaking away from the carrot coins. I began to run possible recipes through my head, but couldn't come up with anything new and unique. I told a friend what I was up to and she suggested Bleu Cheese Mashed Potatoes. Genius! I sorted through a few online recipes to get an idea of what I'd be up against. Nothing fatal. I ran to the store, grabbed the key ingredients, and began peeling. Now, here's where the dilemma comes in. The recipe called for four potatoes. I knew our head count for the evening could be as many as twenty. I figured one potato for each person. I multiplied the recipe by five. But what I didn't figure was that the recipe was actually calling for four LARGE potatoes. And of course when you buy potatoes by the bag, you get medium to small sized potatoes. I whipped up the batch and found myself standing in front of a liquidy potato concoction. Taste = Delicious. Consistency = Soup. I presented the dish as Runny Tater Soup, and suggested that it be ladled over the turkey as nobody made gravy for the night. I mean who serves turkey without gravy? While traditionalists scoffed, I found it to be quite tasty and unique. So, to the nay sayers I say up your nose with a rubber hose.

Now, who's this Bleu Cheese Mashed Potato Suggesting Friend you ask? Ah, good question. Back when I was about ten years old a new kid walked into my school. She went by the name of, well... we'll withhold for now. Yeah, she was cute. All the boys thought she was cute and all the girls thought she was a threat. The girl stuck around until about the seventh grade when she just up and moved away. She was gone as quickly as she had come. I didn't think too much about it until one day I was browsing through Facebook and came across her name. Facebook was saying, "You might know..." I honestly can't remember if I friendvited her or she friendvited me, but we became Facebook friends. Immediately following, we began to chat a little. I quickly found that we had all this crazy stuff in common, the most significant being that we were both currently involved in long distance relationships. There was an odd attraction developing, so out of respect for the relationship I was in, I conveniently faded away.

This past summer, our mutual friend Lulu had organized a big get together to go check out the Air Guitar competition at Dante's. Everybody was to meet at the Thirsty Lion Pub beforehand. I was the first to arrive. One by one, a large group formed. Bleu Cheese Mashed Potato Suggesting Woman was one of the last to walk in. She was looking pretty hot. Luckily, she sat at the opposite end of the table. I politely said hello and gave her a wave. I sensed something though. My security felt off. I intentionally kept from looking her way. Eventually, we left and walked to the venue where the competition was being held. I tried to walk at a brisk pace ahead of the pack. But, Potato Girl quickly caught up to me and called out my name. I chatted with her, but really did my best to be stand offish. And that's how the rest of the night went. I felt bad, but I knew it was the right thing to do.

Flash forward a couple months later. I had put together a small reunion of people from my grade school. The meeting was small, but fun. The woman in question had arrived and sat next to me at the booth. I was able to hold it together, but I knew that there was a spark. We had a lot in common, and she laughed at nearly every attempt I made to be funny. But... I was still in my relationship and was happy with that relationship. I took what strength I had and kept everything very light that night.

Fast forward a few months later... The first Friday of December to be exact. I was single. The long distance relationship I had put all that work into had slowly faded and one day was gone. It was the weekend of the Winter Ale Festival. This was the annual day when Rick, Carrie, and I were at our finest. Except this year would be different. Carrie had been battling a concerning bug in her stomach and couldn't drink. Rick was battling the thing that Rick always battles... He said he didn't know if he was going to be able to get down there early. I am at the point in my life where I like to go to these things early in order to slip out when all the frat-type boys show up and make the event obnoxious. It's crowded enough. Once the showboating starts up, the whole thing just becomes not fun. I always take off half the day from work. Now I was in a panic. How was this going to happen. No Carrie. No Rick. I never go to these things alone. I began to convince myself I was going to miss the festival this year. But, I refused to go down without a fight. I got on Facebook to see if anybody was online. Who do you suppose was the first name that popped up? Yup. Josh Herborn. But Josh lived in Chicago, so I looked at the next name. Bleu Cheese Mashed Potato Girl. I shot her a quick instant message, "What are you doing?"

"Working."

"Can you get out early?"

"Maybe, why?" I went on to explain what was going on. She was into it and said she would check with her boss. It was a done deal. We made plans to meet in a little bit.

I'll cut through all the little details. Bleu Cheese showed up. We wandered in together. I honestly began this meeting as a friendly get together. I had no plans of anything. But, when she showed up I knew happy little thoughts were going to begin invading my head. We really didn't know each other that well, but as the minutes ticked away we found ourselves engaged in much conversation and a lot of laughs. This was long before the effects of the winter warmers could even begin to grab us. Within an hour I felt like I was with an old friend I had shared a lifetime with and we were just remembering the old times. Rick eventually showed up and found us.

From the Ale Fest we wandered to a deli for some food and then to the Lompoc to sit and relax with another beer. Rick guzzled his and was gone. He sensed something.

Somewhere during the evening, the friendly get together morphed into a mutual attraction, and as they often say, the rest is history. As it's only been a few weeks, we're both excitedly taking things slow... in a comfortably fast fashion. As I stated in an earlier post... my holiday letter to be exact... 2009 was a pretty crappy year all in all. But, December of 2009 was pretty great. I have little to complain about outside of the usual complaints I feel about most things in life. But right now I'm happy. I'm content.

As for Radio... he has no idea it's Christmas. He has no idea he gets to go for a ride in the car, run around my parents big yard, and will have a new refrigerator to pee on today.

Holiday Letter 2009

2009-12-14T16:52:00.001-08:00

Under normal circumstances the day after Thanksgiving has a certain feel to it, and for many different reasons. Some people are dealing with the after effects of over indulgence from the prior day’s feast. Others are racing to the malls for Shop Wars. There are those who simply begin to feel the dread of holiday pressures. Of course, I imagine there are a select few who love this day. They ate responsibly, shop online, and embrace the holiday expectations. But in general, Thanksgiving is the signal that the holiday season is in full force.

Today is November 27th, 2009, the day after Thanksgiving. I don’t know if this is good or bad, but today hasn’t had an impact on me as I completely missed the Thanksgiving smorgasbord due to the rapid onset of a cold. I’m hoping that the cold, however, will be my sole illness of the season. No H1N1 for me please. I’ve been eating mass quantities of BBQ Smoke Pork in hopes it will appease the Gods of Swine.

My Thanksgiving consisted of some of the aforementioned pork, mac & cheese, and broccoli. Because it was the holiday, I made sure to go all out and ensure the mac & cheese was Kraft. None of that generic crap for me. I’m shelling out the whole $.79 for this one. I watched football, played some guitar, and worked my way through season 1 of Six Feet Under. Essentially my Thanksgiving was like any Sunday, making today feel like any other Monday even though it’s really Friday.

I, for one, feel there should be a law that Christmas music and decorations should be banned until this day. I don’t mean this in any “Bah Humbug” manner. I simply think it’s misleading to walk into Costco in August and see the first aisle of Christmas decorations out and for sale, or to be sitting in a Chinese buffet and hearing Bing Crosby belt out Little Drummer Boy with David Bowie when it’s still the first week of November. Although, I have to admit hearing that song in a Chinese buffet any time of the year is odd.

2009… Wow! What to say… perhaps the worst year to date. Without going into mass detail I’ll just sum it up by saying unemployment, burglary, death, health scares, foot problems, unemployment (yes I said it twice), Rick Emerson went off the air, re-employment, and a break up. There’s really just too much to talk about in detail, so I won’t. It was just a bad year for this guy and his family. But… I still have my dog, my house, a job, friends and family, and I finally saw The Pogues in concert. So it wasn’t all bad. Oh, and I learned a lot about food carts.

Now I know many of you were expecting to open up this envelope and find a letter from Radio. He and I discussed the matter and he just felt it was time to take a break. He sends his regards. And honestly, I don’t know what he would even talk about. He still hates squirrels and cats, still pees on the refrigerator from time to time, sheds like a Wookie, and howls at me while trying to watch tv or talk on the phone.

I have enjoyed a chunk of the year exploring deeper into Portland’s food and beverage scene in order to keep my blog up to date. From the ever rotating selection of seasonal beers and the rise of the food cart scene, Portland is as exciting as ever. Throw in roller derby, soapbox derby, a velvet painting museum, and other general madness about town, who couldn’t love this city.

That’s all for now. I hope your holiday is exactly how you wish it to be, and 2010 is a bit more forgiving for all of us.

It's The Great Freeze Charlie Brown... NOT!

2009-12-14T07:08:00.001-08:00

It's not even officially winter yet and the news people did their best to convince the end of the world was coming for the weekend. Arctic Death Blast 2009 version 1.0 was certain to doom us all this past weekend. And after last year's rare week long rendition of living on Hoth, they thought they could scare the frozen piss right out of us.

I do recall for about 15 minutes catching a slight sparkle on the ground. It was far more pretty than dangerous. By the time I had reached my destination it had all melted back into the big wet.

The following morning in my area all was clear. I was told the east side of Portland woke up to a nice white frost. And then it was all gone.

We have roughly three more months of potential bad weather. The news guys are just getting started. I wonder what would happen if weather reporters were paid like athletes. The better you perform, the more money you make. Keep dropping the ball and you'll be cut. Being a television meteorologist has got to be the easiest job in the world. What other job allows you to be wrong so much?

One Ringy Dingy

2009-12-14T06:51:00.000-08:00

For most people in my social circle and those a bit older...

I remember growing up in a time where the phone would actually ring. It wasn't a "tone". Back then when you bought a phone it phone would generally outlive everybody in the house. I'm not even going so far back to the days of the rotary dials. While those phones were durable as well, rotary dialing was the worst for those of us with attention deficit issues. That little rotary thing could not possibly rotate back to the start position fast enough.

I'm talking about the simple push button phone. I don't remember ever having to replace those. We had the same outdated color throughout the house the day I moved out because they lasted forever unless you bought it for a monkey with an anger problem. When you used one of those phones the sound was crystal clear and the phone was actually large enough for the earpiece to reach your ear while the mouth part actually reached your mouth.... all at the same time.

At some point in time phone manufacturers used their Jedi mind tricks and convinced us digital phones were the way of the future. Not only did they look sleek, but you'd have to replace it about every two or three years, and the sound was beautifully garbled with each call.

Now with wireless phones you're lucky if you can get your phone to last more than a year. That old $10 push button desk phone that lasted a lifetime has now been replaced by a tiny piece of crap that will run you anywhere from $25-300 dollars every time you need to replace or upgrade your phone. And make sure you don't drop your new piece of high tech machinery or you're done for.

"Hellro beez bo drrrr."

"Hey, what's hrpning bo dee."

"Oh, jussssss tee dong heee."

"Coolbrrrrrrrr."

It's as if somebody has turned our phone conversation into a Kanye West song using Autotune. And somehow we all quietly accept these great advances in technology.

Darth Vader - Tough Guy?

2009-12-09T07:11:00.000-08:00

Topping every list of most villainous characters in celluloid history (or digital in George Lucas' case), Darth Vader has been an iconic piece of pop culture. From the first moment we saw his shadowy figure walk onto the screen in Star Wars there was no explanation needed that this was the bad guy. Other than the Devil himself, there has been little question as to who is the most evil being in the galaxy.

As the story goes, Darth Vader was once the chosen one who was to restore order to the galaxy as the most powerful Jedi. But, the Dark Side took over as Anakin Skywalker’s mind was over come by anger, jealousy, and the manipulation of Darth Sidious, thus completing the transformation from Jedi warrior and protector of peace, to a dark member of the Sith and potential ruler of the galaxy.

Imperial Officers would tremble at the mere thought of having to answer to Vader. Hide secrets, and you’d get a choke hold. Mouth off and you’d get the Force choke out. Sneak in to his Death Star and you get cut down by his light saber. But just how powerful was Darth Vader.

In Star Wars IV we see him as the ultimate presence of evil. He kills anything in his path and he takes no crap. In Episode V we learn that Darth actually has somebody he answers to. And, we learn he actually bred at one time. In Episode VI he is taken down by his own son, gives up his will to rule the galaxy, and destroys his boss, Darth Sidious (aka Emperor Palpatine). In the end we see him as a feeble old man lying in the arms of Luke Skywalker.

Eventually the Star Wars fan base is given the prequel trilogy. Episode I depicts young Anakin Skywalker as a small child with potential as he stumbles his way through destroying enemy ships. In Episode II Anakin has matured. He is now a Jedi in training. But, he’s whiney, mouthy, and basically a little bitch. He eventually meets a hottie and it’s clear that he is not going to be able to handle the strict code of the Jedi. Jedi’s are basically Catholic priests… no sex, marriage, or intimate relationships. And we all know how that ends up. It’s clear that Anakin is no different as he ends up married with a pregnant wife in Episode III. His mother dies and he rages on some Sand People.

Darth Sidious plays a series of mind games, promising Anakin he can train him to become the most powerful being ever with the aid of the Dark Side of the Force. And in the prequel trilogy we see hints of how powerful Anakin can become. He’s flinging things around with his brain. He gets into light saber battles where you would think he was part of Cirque du Soleil, flipping and twisting all over the place. The guy can literally leap tall buildings with a single bound. But, in the end he is taken down by Obi Wan Kenobi. Once he is given the name Darth Vader, everything goes to Anakin’s head. He loses control and Obi Wan slices him up like Spam leaving him to die in flames.

As episode III winds down, we see what’s left of the human side of Anakin/Vader converted into the black mechanical monstrosity we all know as Darth Vader carrying around the asthmatic inhaler of all inhalers. Had Episode III actually been released in chronological order and not been a prequel, we would have expected something much greater than the Darth Vader we actually were given. This is where George Lucas fails with consistency. In the prequels we see something much more powerful than what the original trilogy presents.

It’s all relative based on the chronological presentation of the series. But if you watch both trilogies in chronological order, Darth Vader is actually a bit of a weenie when it comes to expectations of the Sith. Episode I’s Darth Maul could have kicked Episode IV Darth Vader’s ass. Darth Vader essentially becomes a one trick pony. He’s got the force choke hold. He is a stiff when it comes to light saber battles. He never did learn how to stop somebody from dying as promised. I’m sure most Imperial Officers had developed quite a few inside jokes about their boss, “Uh oh… looks like somebody will be getting choked out today… bwah ha ha ha!” By Episode VI Darth Vader is nothing more than a WWE professional wrestler with their one finishing move. Vader might as well be Hulk Hogan with the big leg drop.

The prequel trilogy presented multiple members of the Sith. All of them had incredible battle skills. They could throw two tons of steel at you. They had lightning shooting from their hands. And they could Force push you across a warehouse. Darth Vader just walks around cutting off your airway. Even the Undertaker has at least two finishing moves when he gets in the ring. You may get choke slammed or be the victim of a Tombstone.
This is George Lucas’ ultimate failure in story development. Had he truly thought this out, Anakin would have developed much slower. Vader would have been a much bigger, badder badass. But in the end, he’s nothing more than Randy “Macho Man” Savage hurling himself off the ring post with a flying elbow.

Vinter Vunderland

2009-12-07T06:57:00.000-08:00

I knew it was getting colder, but I didn't expect the 22 degree blast that came shooting through the door this morning when I went to let Radio outside to pee. Apparently our low was 13 degrees??? Ok, I just wasn't expecting it so soon.

Yes, Thanksgiving came and went already. I, of course, spent it at home sick and alone. It was by choice. I could have forced myself to attend the family feast, but now is not a good time to risk exposing others to catching whatever it was that was bogging me down. At press time, I am simply congested and on the recovery end of things. All is well, if you enjoy constantly clearing your throat.

This past Thursday evening was spent doing all I could to not kick holes in the walls of my house while watching the Civil War between the Oregon Ducks and the OS Beavers. Apparently the Beavers have given up calling themselves a university and have dropped the U from their name. Now they are just Beavers from the state of Oregon. What their students do on their own time is their business. So, long story short... the Ducks ended up with the best time/clock management, squeaked out a win, and will be heading to the Rose Bowl to face the Ohio State Buckeyes. Oregon fans number one priority now... find out what the Hell is a buckeye. There's no hidden agenda in being a Duck.

Friday night was supposed to start Friday day. Ricky had committed to taking half a day off. Carrie had committed to taking Friday off. I had secured my half day off position with work. It was the annual Holiday Ale Festival... the one time of year when Portlanders venture into the cold and stand around drinking beers that, on average, are twice as potent as your standard brew. These beers are also packed with a lot more flavors like chocolate, coffee, juniper, cloves, and all those other holiday scents.

Carrie provided an acceptable excuse as she's been battling a bad stomach issue. Rick, on the other hand, was Rick. He didn't bail out of work like he said he would. I had to get down there early. Trying to get into that place at 5:00 is a nightmare. Navigating the beer lines is even worse. I hopped on Facebook to see who was online and would be interested in going. At my age most people are married, have kids, or can't/don't drink beer for a reason of their choice. This was going to be tough. I found Mindy. I explained what was going on and before I knew it, she was all clear to meet me down there.

I was a tad early getting down there as you never know how traffic and parking will go. The line to get in had been surging and easing as I was waiting. Mindy showed up right on time and we made our way in. It was packed. We began collecting samples and chatting away. About an hour later, Rick had appeared from nowhere and walked right into us. We collected more beers. Just as we were contemplating places to go eat we met up with a tall, slender guy. He stood about 6'7", had short spiky white blonde hair, wore a long trench coat, balanced on one crutch, and hid behind sunglasses in the already dim tent. He was something from a Tim Burton movie. The man was clearly on the prowl, and had a game. He had loaded his mouth full of lies... stories of massive wealth and name dropping that were clearly designed for those of the bimbo lifestyle. By the end of our encounter with the man he was showing us porno shots of his "girlfriends" on his new Droid phone. We left.

We ate and continued chatting the night away, eventually landing at the Lompoc. Rick bailed early as he announced he was unexpectedly flying to L.A. the next day for a short vacation. Mindy and I continued sharing stories at the speed of light. We had only met up a couple times recently in group situations. For those who don't know, we went to grade school together. So, it was fun reconnecting with somebody from the old neighborhood, so to speak. The evening had been salvaged. A new friend was made. And that's all I have to say about that.

Saturday was the big holiday work party with my co-workers. After a year of planning, fundraising, and stressing... we pulled it off. We had a DJ, caterer, bartender, and even Santa showed up for the family friendly event. Other than some forgotten garlic bread that made the place a tad smokey, the night went off without any problems. Once the party took over itself, Erin and I were able to relax and enjoy what we had created. This is another way of saying I probably had half a beer too many, but it was all safe and good. Chris kept his wits and was our driver for the evening.

On the way back, we made a stop at a bar where Erin's friend was having a 40th birthday party. From there we stopped at Shari's for a late night stomach coating. Other than the throbbing headache the next morning, I'm pretty sure those hashbrowns saved me from an unpleasant night.

Sunday was spent couch bound watching football, catching up on my DVR, and working my way through the Six Feet Under series. Next up... do I or don't I grab tickets to Spoon and Black Joe Lewis at the Crystal Ballroom? And Saturday is another Sex&Drugs/Decemberists (not the band) party at my brother's place. Don't be fooled by the S&D title. They are merely words.

LOL

2009-11-17T20:47:00.001-08:00

LOL!

Oot N Aboot

2009-11-08T16:00:00.000-08:00

If you haven't checked out my guide to Portland in a while, now's the time. I've just gone through it and made a lot of additions. Go check out the ABC's2PDX...

McAnger

2009-11-06T07:11:00.000-08:00

There's just so many elements of the word Wrong in this video...

Lions And Tigers And... Boobies... Oh My!

2009-11-03T12:09:00.000-08:00

Halloween has always been one of my more favored holidays. I'm not big on Easter, Valentine's Day, or things like that. St. Patrick's Day is even slipping off my radar as it becomes more and more of a frat party these days. But Halloween remains strong. And seeing as how I can't stay at home and answer the door due living in the same neighborhood where the young punks I supervise on Probation live, I usually go out.

This year was no different. The Crystal Ballroom was having their annual Erotic Ball. Bands, people in costume, booths featuring an assortment of naughty stuff, and some people walking around showing things that can't be shown on the sidewalk.

I had been to this event several years ago, but it was much more tame back then. Arturo begged me to go after he had been the last two years. So, I nabbed Rick, told Lulu and Jeff, and tried to get Ryan on board. Tickets had sold out, so Ryan missed it.

Now the big trick was going to get Rick in a costume. It's almost like a phobia for him. He feels that if he wears a costume in a room with hundreds of other people wearing a costume, it will draw attention to him, not realizing that being the only fuddy dud in the room with nothing on is what will really draw the attention to him. But he agreed. I had come up with the idea of Sean-opoly for myself. Keeping with the game theme I concocted Rick Tack Toe for Rick. I told him to go get a clear or white mask, sort of like a Jason mask or something similar. He showed up with a Jason mask that had all sorts of blood and marks on it. I turned it inside out and drew up a creepy # with X's and O's on it. Rick looked at it and said, "nope." He had brought over a white T-shirt we were going to design something on as well, but decided he just wanted a white mask and would wear the white T-shirt over a dark long sleeve T-shirt, which basically amounted to him being a 5'6" not-so-threatening Jason.

We met up with Lulu, Jeff, and Arturo at Scooter's for a beer and to watch the second half of the Oregon Ducks deconstruction of the USC Trojans. Go Ducks! Lulu was an over the top hot cop, Jeff was something I'm still not sure about, Arturo showed up with a mask on and an assortment of leather pieces, complete with a flogging device. Rick set his mask on the table and left it there. After a couple beers we walked down to the Crystal.

The first thing I saw when walking into the Ballroom was a topless, what had to be, stripper getting her breasts air brushed. As I looked around, I realized that it was going to be one of those parties. The event was sold out and hundreds of people walked around in some really funny costumes. Two bands played. Male and female strippers Go-Go danced on a mini stage. People were taking pictures of each other every where you looked. There were boobs, guy butts, girl butts, and more boobs all over the room. Of course, this was a small handful of people, but they were definitely the ones who stood out. Oh, so many hidden puns in there...

I looked over at Rick. He had put on his jacket and stuck the mask inside the jacket. Whatever.

A few other people showed up I knew. There were laughs and chats all night long. People kept handing me beers. I know my limit, so I would casually walk by a garbage can and discretely dump the beer out.

I stayed until about midnight and had to call it quits. Arturo had left long before me as his mission had been accomplished. Rick opted to stay and watch... well, I don't know what exactly. The bands were done. So, I don't know what Rick did after I left. Lulu and Jeff had wandered off to another part of the building. My night was done.

As I slept that night, I don't think it was sugar plumbs dancing in my head.

KUFO/Alpha Broadcasting Fires Local Talent To Bring Us Crap

2009-10-26T06:47:00.000-07:00

If you haven't heard, The Rick Emerson Show and Cort & Fatboy have all been yanked from the Portland airwaves on 101.1 KUFO. Aside from perhaps KINK, I don't know of a group of radio personalities who were more connected to Portland and the Portland scene. Word is that a guy named Ditch who bases his whole schtick on catering to the bottom feeding mouth breathers is coming to town from San Diego. Rick Emerson, Tim Riley, Sarah X Dylan, Cort, and Fatboy are all long time radio personalities who have been big supports to Portland.

Please let KUFO and their sponsors know how you feel about this. This is just bad for Portland.
101 KUFO
2040 SW 1st Ave.

Portland Or, 97201

Telephone: 503-222-1011

Lisa's Request

2009-10-21T21:13:00.000-07:00

My good friend Lisa thought this was TMR worthy. Who am I to argue?

What We Need

2009-10-21T16:58:00.000-07:00

To start, I am very aware of the essentials… the things required to survive. Beyond that is an infinite list of things that need to change, be taken away, and/or added to make this a better world. These things are negotiable and obviously biased. These are the things that wars are fought over, friends bicker about, and make the news. Today I want to address the following… the lack of new monsters and the definition of celebrity.

There was a period long ago when it seems there was an enlightening with monsters. Most monsters seemed to have come about in a period of time that is relatively the same… Vampires, Werewolves, Zombies, Mummies, Frankenstein, Creature from the Black Lagoon, Aliens, and Clowns.

I say it’s time somebody in Hollywood, or anywhere, come up with the next monster. Sure, we’ve been given the likes of Michael Meyers, Jason Vorhees, and Freddy Krueger. But those are characters, not monsters. I suppose the same could be said for Frankenstein, but I would have to argue that Frank falls under the Zombie category. Pretty much anything “undead” would be a zombie, right? Well maybe not. Vampires are undead. Mummies are undead. So, do you need to be undead to be a monster? No. Werewolves aren’t undead. It’s very complicated, but for the sake of argument I am declaring Frankenstein a Zombie-esque creature and leaving all other undead within their own category.

How hard can it be to come up with something new? Zombies crave brains. Vampires want your blood. Werewolves want your meat. Mummies want… well… what the Hell do Mummies want? A daddy? Bad! What’s left for our new creature? The heart? Eyes? Our souls?

Is this new monster undead? Is it alive? Is it from this world? Probably. Going alien is the easy way out. It leaves things too wide open to the imagination. It needs to be from here. But where? The water? Dirt? The dump?

And what is its weakness? Most monsters have a Kryptonite; sunlight, holy water, a cross, a stake, or a dismantling of their head.

There’s a lot to figure out here, but I think it’s time. We’ve been inundated with the same monsters over the years. It’s time for a new beast.

Next topic… What defines celebrity status? It seems there was a day when a celebrity was somebody who had accomplished something within the arts, whether it be acting, music, a writer, or live performance. A celebrity entertained us. They had talent. They were accomplished. I suppose athletes qualify here as well. Now, all you have to do is apply to be on a “reality” show, do something stupid enough to make the news, or lived within the womb of a rich person for 9 months and you get instant celebrity status.

Paris Hilton... Spidey… Joey Buttafuco… These people have done nothing, yet they have been handed the world. I know the source of this. It’s easy to blame the media for trying to trick us into believing these people are worth any more than we are. Nowadays we don’t get real news about the important things. Today, people find what Britney Spears has stuffed in her orifice far more important than what terrible thing a government has allowed to happen that day. The bottom line is most people are stupid, myself included. We allow these people to be celebrities by watching those stupid Hollywood Access type shows and reading People magazine. We watch reality shows that allow networks to profit off serious human dysfunction. We then believe it as “news”. And our government loves it.

So what do we do? Can the majority of Americans be saved from this? Maybe. The media has proven they can control our minds. Why can Wife Swap still be on TV, but Arrested Development only lasted three seasons? Why can the Jonas Brothers have multi-platinum albums, but most of America will never know who Gogol Bordello is? Because we have lost our ability to think for ourselves.

So what’s the next monster? Ladies and gentleman… I introduce to you… The Fauxlebrity… It will eat your soul, destroy your brain, and erase any ounce of creativity you ever had. Let’s just hope there isn’t a Twilight series written about the Fauxlebrity.

I Can Still Taste The Doughnut

2009-10-18T08:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was all about consumption. It all started with a phone call from my parents. For some reason they were headed to the Farmer's Market even though it was nearly pitch black outside from thick cloud cover with buckets of rain pouring down. And to top it off, there was thunder and lightning in mid-October. But nothing is going to stop them from picking up their flowers.

Dad told me to think of somewhere good to eat in Hillsboro. That's like hoping for a good song on a Nickelback album... it ain't gonna happen. The dining culture in Hillsboro is all about "tolerable". The majority of people here are very satisfied with average, and whenever anything interesting tries to make a run of it they usually vanish within six months. There's Players Deli who makes a satisfactory sub sandwich. There's the Hawaiian Grill who heaps on monster portions of the meat of your choice on top of a mound of rice and macaroni salad. There's the world renowned Japanese place. We have a decent Indian buffet place, and we have a tolerable Mongolian style spot. That's about it. Everything else is pretty much crap. One option that has recently popped up out here is Vivi's. Vivi's is a tiny little Pho hut that is cranking out some delicious meals. I had told my dad we would hit the Hawaiian place, but for some reason my subconscious drove us straight over to Vivi's. And it was good. I had a Beef Satay soup. Dad claimed his Pho was the best he had ever had. I've been to this place during the work week and you can't find a place to park.

We headed back to my place. Mom dumped off two half gallon jugs of fresh apple cider... my Kryptonite... and two Halloween doughnuts from the Beaverton Bakery. As soon as they pulled away, the doughnuts were in my mouth, followed by a big glass of cider.

It was then time to figure out what was going on with Rick and Tony. It started with me meeting them at American Dream Pizza at 5:00. Just as I pulled out of the garage I got the call to just meet at Tony's instead. As we all headed to American Dream in Tony's car the other options began to fly... "What about HUB? Oh we should go to Vincente's. How come we never go to Flying Pie? Could we get a table at HUB? Are we going to the food carts afterward for Whiffies pies?" We eventually ended up going to the Laurelwood to check out their pizza. They've always had good beers, but the place is overly kid friendly which means kids screaming at their half sauced parents. Tony had already eaten so Rick and I broke into a plate of tator tots covered in melted cheddar with bacon and onions. I had an espresso stout that was delicious. Rick had bitched and bitched about our last outing for pizza when we forgot to order pepperoni. All he wanted was a good pepperoni, mushroom, and olive pie. The waitress took our order. I pointed to Rick to order whatever he wanted. "We'll have a BBQ chicken pizza."

So now I need to go back almost 24 hours to the night prior. Pat and I headed into Portland and told Rick to meet us at The Rose & Thistle, a nice little Scottish bar. I've always loved their plank style cod fish and chips. The first thing out of Rick's mouth was about how much he hates cod. I reassured him they had more food. We sat down, checked out the menu, and low and behold they also had halibut fish and chips, as well as the cod. The waitress comes to take our order. Pat orders some meaty pie thing, I ordered the cod fish and chips, and then Rick... orders the wee plate of cod fish and chips. First of all, I'm just embarrassed he actually used the word "wee" when ordering anything at 38 years old. And secondly, HE ORDERED COD!

Back to last night... The BBQ chicken pizza was ok. To this day there is only one pizzeria that makes a truly delicious BBQ chicken pizza. That place is Pegasus in Eugene. They actually smoke the chicken, and the pizza is drenched in sauce. Everybody up here skimps on the sauce, thus giving very little sign that you are eating anything remotely related to BBQ.

From there, we headed to the Rogue Brewery. We did a drive by to see the place was packed out. We then opted for our loyal stand by, The New Old Lompoc. Their beers are always reliable. We hung there for a couple beers and a couple hours of guy talk.

We hopped in the car and made our way to Voodoo Doughnut. The line was roughly forty feet long, so we diverted our mission to Voodoo II, where the wait is always minimal. And there's a reason for this... they didn't have any of the usual specialties. It was a window full of sprinkle this and sprinkle that. I opted for an apple fritter. There would be no bacon maple bar tonight. To my horror, they were also out of milk. Ack! How was I going to eat an apple fritter without milk? I, somehow, forced it down, but it was not pleasant.

We headed back to Tony's where Rick and I hopped in our cars, and I headed home. It was 10:30 and I felt relieved I was actually going to be home before 11:00. I was stopped at the train tracks on Milwaukee just off Powell. The train was long. My phone rang. Arturo was just making his way out and wanted me to meet up. I asked where he was headed. "The Ringside," he said, where he was planning on meeting up with John A. and his girlfriend. The Ringside is one of the oldest fancy steakhouses in Portland. I was wearing double layered t-shirts, shorts, my converse, and a beanie hat. Arturo convinced me there wasn't a dress code in the bar. The train finally passed and I made my way. After snaking my way through downtown, I pulled into the Ringside's parking lot, and Art was waiting outside.

We walked in. The bar was packed and we had to wait it out. Everybody was dressed up ala Portland style. I was definitely underdressed. We grabbed a couple of chairs at the bar. Art made some chit chat with Jimmy the bartender. Jimmy looked like a Jimmy who would be the bartender at a fancy steakhouse bar. He was older, a ring of short hair surrounding his bald head, knew all the scores of the day's games, and looked like he had the answer to every dilemma in life. I spotted a friend across the room, but he kept looking at me like I was from the unknown. A table opened up, so Arturo and I grabbed it. My buddy Mark finally made the connection and came over to say hi. John and his friend showed up and the food was on. John, Tori, and Arturo went through eight plates of happy hour food and then devoured a piece of cake. Arturo pushed an oyster shooter on me that didn't sit well with the apple fritter that was still haunting me. I couldn't even finish my beer. I was stuffed.

For those who don't know... John Ashford is the greatest chef in Portland who isn't a chef. That man made some ribs one weekend that I can still taste.

The bar closed up and we were forced out. We said our goodbyes and I hopped in my car. It was 12:30. I just wanted to curl up in the back seat and go to sleep, but I made my way home and was asleep within five minutes of pulling into the garage at 1:00 a.m.

The Perfect Cure

2009-10-12T09:13:00.000-07:00

After losing the longest relationship of my life, I was in desperate need for something good. It was nearly five months ago that I learned The Pogues were coming to Portland. Imagine taking your five favorite bands and learning they were all going to play at one concert together. That is how much I wanted to see this show. I called Rick and asked him to pick up tickets as I am usually the one who grabs our tickets for the show of the month. As expected, Rick dropped the ball. By the time I found this out the show had sold out.

After scouring Craigslist for weeks, I finally found one decent human who was willing to part with his tickets at face value ($60). The majority of tickets were going for $125-150 a piece. Why? Well, The Pogues are legendary... the godfathers of Irish Punk, and a huge influence on modern music. This tour was nearly impossible. The band's frontman, Shane MacGowan (see above), should have died fifteen years ago. The human liver is not designed for his abuse, in which he admits to have started drinking at four years old. MacGowan (now 50 years old) makes Keith Richards look, and sound, like Kelly Rippa. And to top the whole show off, word is that this was the original line up of the band.

The band formed in 1982 where they blended traditional Irish music with Punk rock energy. The band quickly drew attention drawing interest from Elvis Costello who jumped on board to produce some of their greatest songs, and even Joe Strummer from The Clash sat in with the band from time to time. At one point, MacGowan was canned from The Pogues and formed his own band The Popes. Where most bands breakup and then inevitably reunite, The Pogues were always one band I was certain would never come back together. Not because they wouldn't want to, but just because I didn't see how MacGowan would be able to.

Read "A Drink With Shane MacGowan", or watch the documentary "Shane MacGowan: If I Should Fall From Grace" for a better understanding of why it would be easy to determine that a reunion would be nearly impossible. Imagine walking up to a homeless person who has been drunk for 45 years and ask them to go on a tour and front a high energy band. But somehow, through all the chemicals, MacGowan never forgets a lyric. His ability to annunciate may be a deficit, but he still knows the words.

Last night I walked into the Roseland Theater where the place was packed for a sold out show. The audience was made up of primarily short Irish men wearing their driving caps, soccer hooligans, and a handful of Punk rockers. Long before the show even began the crowd was chanting and waving their beers in the air. I really believe most people there were as shocked that they even had the opportunity to be standing there to see this event. And then out went the lights.

The Roseland erupted with energy as the band walked out. And sure enough, there was MacGowan... cigarette in one hand, drink in the other, sunglasses on, and staggering. Nobody in the room expected any less. His opening words were, "Fuck you!" And the crowd cheered. The Pogues broke into nearly every classic song. Shane sang on most of them, but retreated to the back stage area every three of four songs to take a break while the band went into instrumentals and other hits from their period without MacGowan. While the band was as tight as ever, MacGowan's timing was off, but he never forgot a lyric. In between songs he would attempt to speak with the crowd, but it was pretty much a muttering of, "Wuh wuh wuh... skheeeee," as he let out his laughter that resembled most toothless transients you hear on the streets. The man behind me said, "He's plowed, but I would have been pissed if he was sober." The show wasn't any less than I had expected.

There was nothing perfect about the show, and MacGowan is pathetic, but it reminded me of a show I saw at the Memorial Coliseum back on November 26th, 1976. When I saw Elvis Presley perform live, I wasn't seeing Elvis. What I saw that night was the man who was Elvis, but... it was Elvis. And what I saw last night wasn't Shane MacGowan at his finest, but it was The Pogues. And it was exactly as I thought it would be... Greatness.

Why 2009 Bites Weenies

2009-10-11T07:23:00.001-07:00

The year started out with a lot of hope. After eight years of buffoonery and abuse of power in the white house, America voted in a new style of leadership. Things were sure to get better, but not even Obama could fix things in a personal world.

To start, Carol's house was broken into by what was certainly some low life, doesn't deserve oxygen drug addict and would be better off under my back tire. Shortly after that, Carol was laid off. Her dad's health has also added a lot of stress on her and her family.

A couple months ago, I then lost my job. Luckily, I was able to get it back after a bit of a fight. During the whole process I also learned of significant health concerns within my own family that I'll keep private for now. Things were really piling up.

Finally, in what I hope is the last bombshell of the year... Carol and I split up. The distance between us became too much for her. I can't hold a grudge against her for anything. Long distance relationships are tough. I'd say we gave it a pretty decent run of two and a half years. There were just too many roadblocks in the way I suppose.

Anyway, I hadn't been on here in a while and thought I had better update whoever may still look here.

Old Friends

2009-09-21T16:00:00.000-07:00

This past Saturday night was the First Quarterly Garden Home Reunion at the Old Market Pub. After getting on Facebook for a while and reconnecting with a lot of old friends from grade school, we thought it would be fitting to try and have a reunion. We reached out to everybody we could find and set a date. While our first get together wasn't huge, it was fun. Lulu Tufts... Kelly Murphy... Pat Freeman... Amy Gresbrink... Mindy Giedt... all those names and faces showed up. We had a couple no shows, a few who had to bail out in the final week, and some who just live too far. But, it seemed to generate some interest, and after we had an evening of sharing stories and a lot of laughs, we decided to make this a quarterly thing. So, keep your eye out for some sort of announcement about another get together in January...

Gapfest Coming Sooner Than You Think. Be There!

2009-09-21T15:59:00.000-07:00

After a three year hiatus, Gapfest returns with a new format in honor of our 35th Anniversary! That’s right Buffy the Buffalo is 35 years old…a tribute to all of the generations of loyal guests, friends, and family who have helped us grow from a 25-seat tavern to the 250-seat full service saloon & eatery we are today!

In celebration of our success and in a time when many of those who supported us for so many years find themselves without work and struggling to make ends meet, we bring you a bash reminiscent of better times….an entire week filled with FREE! NO COVER! ROCKIN’ good music and tons of ROLLBACK FOOD AND BEVERAGE SPECIALS….open to close!

ROCKIN’ MUSIC: Join us and your fellow “Gappers” for FREE--NO COVER entertainment Tuesday through Sunday featuring some of the best past and the present artists that have graced the Attic with their sweet sounds--See our website for exact dates and times.

Highlights:
· Tuesday 8/29 @ 9pm Karaoke contest!
o $100 prize to the audience favorite!
· Wednesday 8/30 @ 9pm Open Mic Jam w/Chuck Warda!
o $100 prize to the audience favorite!
· Thursday 9/1 @ 9pm Intervision
· Friday 9/2 @ 9pm X-Angels & Tony Smiley
· Saturday 9/3 @ 1pm 9-ball Pool Tournament
· Saturday 9/3 @ 9pm J. Malem, Acoustic Minds, Keegan Smith & the Fam
· Sunday 9/4 @ 6pm Texas Swing Dinner Show: Los Cowtones!

ROLLBACK SPECIALS: Do you remember how much a pint of Widmer Hefeweizen was in 1987? How about the price of our famous Beef & Blue in 1989 or the price of a glass of wine in 1991? Well we do! We can even tell you when a cup of coffee was only a buck! We’ve scoured our menus from the last 20 years, recreated some of our favorite oldies, and are dropping prices all week long for this special event!

So mark your calendar, check out the music, and come down and enjoy the comfort of our “old place” while taking a bite out of the past with one of our daily old time classic features at ridiculously low rollback prices!!

Attention Young Beer Drinkers

2009-09-16T12:59:00.000-07:00

I feel compelled to let you know that most of you are idiots.

When you walk into the bar and order your beer, do not complain if the bartender pours a head on your beer. He's SUPPOSED to. A bartender who does not pour a head on the beer is either ignorant, or scared of you.

Pouring a head on a beer releases and activates the true flavors of a beer. It's just like when you pour a glass of wine you swirl the wine around to open it up. That's essentially what that head is doing.

You young kids are going to force it so that bartenders of the future won't even know what a head is and think it's some sort of accident. Learn how to drink beer before you start bitching about things you don't understand. If you want to drink beer inappropriately, drink Budweiser or Coors Light, but don't ruin my craft beers.

To you youngin's who understand what I'm talking about, keep up the good work.

Brought To You By My Good Friend Lisa...

2009-08-31T19:43:00.000-07:00

The Last To Go

2009-08-26T12:29:00.000-07:00

A Couple Recos...

2009-08-25T22:07:00.000-07:00

TV:

VH1 Lords of the Revolution - A five part series focusing on certain people or groups who shook up the American culture in the 60's and 70's. The five featured are Muhammed Ali, Cheech & Chong, Andy Warhol, the Black Panthers, and Timothy Leary.

DVD:

Sunshine Cleaners - Two sisters take on a new business where they clean up after murders and tragic deaths. It's funnier than it sounds and pretty much anything Alan Arkin touches is gold.

Tyson - An in depth interview that goes deep into the psychology of the man who changed the face of boxing. You won't have to like him, but I know you'll have a much better understanding of the self proclaimed monster.

Music:

Wilco (The Album) - I'm still riding high on Wilco's latest release. It hasn't ventured too far from where Sky Blue Sky left off with simple, yet beautiful, songs. Wilco had begun to get very deep and complicated for a bit, but are back to the music that's perfect for the sunniest of days, or the rainy day that has you sitting by the window.

Just In Case You Wanna

2009-08-25T18:39:00.000-07:00

So, I wrote this book some time ago. I've edited and edited it over the years. I've put out a minimal effort to find literary representation and publishing. I just don't get the game. So... I self published through lulu.com. If anybody is interested in buying a copy (I know, abusing the Blog for shameless self promotion) you can go check it out at...

Hardcover $22.43

Paperback $12.00

Thanks...