Monkey Punch

So I'm hanging out with some friends a few days back and somebody starts to relate a problem he is having with an associate of his. It's not a major problem, it's just a minor disagreement between friends, but he was asking the group for advice. Several people there made some serious recommendations, but then I, King of Comedic Timing that I am, stepped in with a recommendation of my own:

"I think you should walk up behind him at a bar somewhere and monkey-punch him in the back of the skull."

Hilarity ensued. There was riotous laughter and an air of levity was brought to a conversation that had, by my estimation, taken a somewhat-too-serious turn downwards.

But as the gut-laughs were tapering off to occasional chuckles, something started to nag at me, tugging on the back of my mind.

What was so funny about that?

I mean, there are many elements of good comedy. Timing, certainly, ranks at the top. Also, in this case, it was the over-reaction element; you don't punch someone over a minor spat. The very idea of sneaking up on him and hitting him over this small issue was funny, because it was so over-reaching and ridiculous.

But there's more.

"Monkey-Punch."

Just what the hell does that even MEAN? I've never seen a monkey punch anyone. It's not a commonly used expression, not in the social circles I run in, anyway. When someone says "monkey-punch" I'm sure every single person who hears it has a different mental image pop into his or her mind, so there's no element of commonality there. There really is no such thing as a monkey-punch. So why is it funny?

Simple.

"Uh".

The short-U sound. The short-U sound is funny, pure and simple. Any word with a short-U sound in it sounds off, sounds wrong, sounds like slang even if it isn't. We try to avoid these words in public settings when we can. We pause mentally when we use them, as if we're just making sure we didn't accidentally say something dirty or inappropriate. It's shocking to hear, and for that reason, the short-U sound equals comedy, every single time.

That's why even the stuffiest person out there catches himself laughing when he hears an F-bomb dropped in a light-hearted moment. When it's spoken in anger, you bristle, and assume an automatic defensive posture, inbred in you from eons of evolution. But when it's dropped out of nowhere in the middle of casual conversation, first you laugh, then you say something about "that kind of language" being inappropriate.

Short-U is FUNNY, people, that's why the word "FUNNY" has a short-U in it!

"Monkey-Punch" uses TWO short-U sounds, DOUBLING the comedic punch it delivers. The sentence I used it in was, "monkey punch him in the back of the skull," which is a THIRD short-U sound, TRIPLING the comedy. If I could have worked in a fourth short-U, I'd have had ambulances picking people up and putting oxygen masks on them. I might even be facing manslaughter charges.

So the next time you're desperately wanting to be the center of attention, the next time you want to be the life of the party, whip out a short-U word and watch the laughter explode. Carry a list of them around with you, if you're not the fast-on-the-draw type. Try it at any time.

"Hi, Steve, can I take your coat?"

"Fudge Mother!"

"BA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

See? IT ALWAYS WORKS.

The short-U. Another fun element to add to your vernacular.

Straight Shooter

Let's say I'm a hitch hiker.

I'm out on a lonesome road somewhere and I stick out my thumb. Two cars pull over. The drivers lean out of their windows and ask where I'm going.

"Where are you headed?" I counter.

The first guy says, "I'm heading to a huge metropolis on the shores of a great lake, and on the banks of a mighty river. It's historic and epic and it's located next to one of the most beautiful waterfalls in the world."

The second guy says, "I'm going to Buffalo, New York."

Now, they're both talking about the same place. But the first guy is trying to sell it to me by exaggerating what the city is and has to offer. The second guy is just telling it to me like it is.

So which guy do I ride with?

The answer? NEITHER.

I don't want to go to Buffalo. I hate Buffalo. I want to go to Miami.

This exemplifies something I truly don't understand about politics. I hear people all the time telling me and others that they are going to vote for So-and-So because he's a "straight shooter." Because he "Tells it like it is." Because he's "Not just telling me what I want to hear."

I understand the value of honesty in a candidate. But when that's ALL you're looking for, you're fooling yourself. Let's say you're voting for Barack Obama just because you think he's telling you the flat-out truth about what he plans to do. Fine, I like that too... but I don't want abortion on demand, I don't want liberal-leaning judges on the Supreme Court, and I don't want a one-term Senator with no experience running the country, no matter how straight he is with me.

I see a lot of people so disillusioned with the lies in politics, that they'll jump into the car of any candidate they feel is being honest with them. But these are usually the same people griping a year later that they didn't get what they thought they were going to get in the guy they voted for. Really? I haven't seen a President who's surprised me in my entire lifetime. Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, Bush, they're all pretty much what I expected them to be in the end, so far as ideology goes.

Now let's say I'm that hitch hiker again. Two cars pull up again. One guys says to me, "I'm going to Birmingham." The second guy says, "I'm going to a beautiful subtropical paradise next to the spectacular everglades in warm and sunny south Florida." The first guy sees me going for the second guy's car, and so he says, "Hey, wait, no, I'm going to Miami. Never mind Birmingham, I misspoke."

NOW what? One guy is a slick salesman; the other guy is either lying to get me into his car, or he'll change destinations on a whim just to get me to ride along with him. So do I go with the smarmy double-talker, or the liar/vacillator? Myself, I go with the salesman. I want to punch him in the mouth, but I know where he's headed, and even if it's not Miami, it's probably Ft. Lauderdale or Naples, and that's close enough that I can get myself to Miami on my own. The other guy will either take me to Birmingham, or change course to head wherever his NEXT hitch hiker wants to go.

Politics. It's a funny game, but in the end I never find it very hard to play.

Winter Wonderland

I took this picture of Laura last night out in front of her house. I used my Sony a100 camera, set up on a tripod, and I had it on the "Lo80" ISO setting, which automatically opens the shutter for about 30 seconds. I had her stand very still, and then I walked around her and popped off the flash from a couple of different angles. If you look to her left you can see the flash popping, and you can see my ghostly apparition below it.

I was able to get maybe 3 good pictures last night before the frigid cold drove me back inside.

I honestly don't understand why anyone lives north of the Mason-Dixon line, or above about 2000 feet elevation. Is it pretty here in the snow? Of course it is, it's gorgeous. But I can sleep outside at any time of year in Florida, and the worst I'll get is a little chilly and maybe a little wet. And ok, maybe eaten by an alligator.

You get lost in the woods out here on a December afternoon, and you're dead. Hell, if your heater goes out one night you might wake up with hypothermia.

When I'm King of the World (and I will be) I am going to turn the northern stretches of the country into Penal Colonies. Bad people will be made to smash rocks with sledgehammers dressed in speedos and flip-flops from late October until mid-March. I'm expecting about an 80% mortality rate from this form of punishment, which is ok, because these people committed MAJOR crimes, like riding my rear quarter panel for two miles on the freeway when I clearly had my blinker on to switch lanes. And I KNOW they saw my blinker.

So the point of this blog?

1) People who live in Utah are insane because it's cold in Utah and it's insane to live where it's cold.

2) Riding my rear quarter panel is a major crime when I want to switch lanes, so make sure you're watching for my blinker.

3) I take pretty pictures. You're welcome.

and 4) I will one day be King of the World.

Happy freaking holidays.

-Steve

Life on the Road

Laura and I got into a discussion tonight, in which she mentioned that she didn't think I could ever come off the road and settle down, because I love it too much. This infuriated me! In fact I was frankly surprised at how much it infuriated me.

I DON'T love traveling; it's not like that.

At this stage in my life, I have no choice but to travel. My work typically has me on the road about 100% of the time. I work for the company I work for because for about 4 months every year, they have me on a project in Tooele, only an hour from home. So for one third of every year, I get to see what its like for everyone else, coming home to their own residence every night, seeing the same people at church every week, being able to go out and see their friends and family at a moment's notice if they want to. I LOVE THAT LIFE.

My next Tooele project doesn't start until about late March at the earliest, maybe even later than that. So for now, I'm on the road, down in Phoenix.

So I love it.

Wait, wait, wait, Steve, you just said you DON'T love traveling. Which is it?

Well, it's both.

I can't change my circumstances right now, for reasons I'd rather not go into. So I am left with a choice: Hate the travel, and be miserable every day. Or love the travel, and take it for what it's worth, and make the best of it. For peace of mind, I have chosen option B.

I'm accutely aware of how being on the road limits me. For example, remarriage is pretty much an impossibility at the moment, because who wants a husband on the road all the time? Wife #1 sure didn't. (Course, truth be told, she didn't much want me at home, either. But that's another story for another day.) Travel also severely limits my time with my kids, which is another circumstance I'd rather not live under. The companionship of friends is limited; I make friends wherever I go, but within weeks of leaving, I become "That guy from Boston who used to show up and church and then disappeared." And that stable feeling everyone gets from coming home every night...? Ha! Sometimes I wake up and it takes me a few minutes to even remember where I am. I hate it, honestly.

But there are advantages to it, too. I have seen almost the entire country, all of it on someone else's dime. I spend nearly every winter somewhere warm- Phoenix, St. George, Vegas, Florida, California, I nearly never drive in the snow, and I often spend my Decembers in shorts and flip flops. I get to experience all kinds of cultures. (For those of you out there who think that America is devoid of culture, your naivete' is astounding to me.) And my favorite of all, everywhere I go, I meet some of the most incredible people in the world. I have friends all over and my life has been forever changed and enriched by these friendships.

How can you not love that?

No, it's not that I love traveling, and just can't come off the road, because some deepset wanderlust keeps calling me back. Rather, I have just chosen to love the life I have. When things change and I can live at home like a normal human being, I will love that life, too. But for now, this is my life, and I love it.

It makes no sense, I know. But it is what it is.

Faces of Emma

*DISCLAIMER*

The following blog is a "parental blog". If you are adverse to reading parents going on and on about their kids, skip over this one. I won't blame you; it's really not my cup of tea either.

So this is Emma. She's my youngest. She has a lot going for her- bright, enthusiastic, great sense of humor, seems to have a lot of self-confidence already. All qualities that I'm proud to see in my offspring. All attributes that will help her get ahead in life. I love Emma.

I just wish she'd make a normal face for a photo every now and again.

It's hard to do for this kid, because even in every day life, she rarely has a normal face on. She's a performer at heart. She likes to call attention to herself, and once she has that attention she knows how to keep it. (I'm so low-key myself; I really have no idea where she gets it from.)

I'll get all the kids lined up for a picture and make a heartfelt request of them.

"PLEASE, guys, just look normal." They all swear to me they will.

I make a second request specifically of Emma: "PLEASE don't make a silly face this time, ok Emma?"

"Ok, Daddy," she says. I line up and shoot. She senses my finger pushing down on the shutter like a hawk sensing a mouse coming out of its hole. Her mouth drops open and her eyes look off in some other direction. The picture is ruined. Emma couldn't be happier.

Maybe taking her to see some old family friends will shame Emma into behaving. I know that as a kid, I loved to ham it up too, but when the parents brought other adults around, I'd tone it down quite a bit out of embarrassment.

Emma has none of that deep-down embarassment in her.

Now this wasn't a perfect picture to begin with; Stevie and Maddie have their eyes shut, and Ethan's pulling a "grr" face. It wasn't going to make the family Christmas card. But still, what's with the muscle-flexing?

I really don't get this kid. She has me flumoxed. But I guess I won't complain. Some of you have bigger problems with your kids than this one. Andrea has kids peeing all over the floor. I've had friends with their kids ending up in jail or on drugs. So far, this one just makes faces at inappropriate times. Things could be a lot worse.

Still, though, if any of you have any good solutions, I'm open to suggestions. All I have come up with on my own is either shooting her up with botox so her face muscles won't work, or praying for her to be struck with a severe case of Bell's Palsy.

There has to be a better answer than that.

The Supposed Right To Be Heard

Ok, back to this topic.

There is no "Right to be Heard," and I'll tell you why. The Right to Free Speech ALLOWS YOU to speak your mind. The Right to be Heard would COMPEL ME to listen to you. It's not a right if it compels someone else. End of discussion.

Frankly, it surprises me how many people think they have this mystery right.

This topic came about from a discussion I had with my friend M. She says that every person out there deserves dignity and respect. As part of the extension of this dignity and respect, we ought to sit and listen to everyone who has something to say. Now doesn't that sound like a perfect Utopian world? Sure it does. In theory.

In practice, it sounds (to me) like Hell. Every time my coworker launches into a graphic depiction of his sexual conquests, I have to extend him the dignity of listening? Everytime a drunken homeless guy sits next to me at the Gateway Mall and starts to ramble on about how he helped rescue Osama Bin Laden from the Russians back in the early 80's, I have to give him my full attention? (Sidenote: this actually happened to me once. I DID give him my full attention, because even though he was full of crap and stunk of bourbon, he told a great story.)

M threw the question of whether there's a right to be heard out to a college professor friend of hers, and here's the response he sent back:

"It is the duty of educated people in a free society to sincerely listen to every argument presented to them that is grounded in mutually agreeable principles and delivered sincerely. The flipside is that the presenter of any such argument must sincerely listen to any criticism of their position. Few virtues are more important to democracy than humility. "

What a cop-out. I think some Educators think that if they load enough Education Catch-Phrases into a statement, they'll sound smart enough to mask the emptiness of their argument. I don't even know exactly where to start with what an inane answer this is. So I'll just tear it up it piece by piece and insert in my comments.

"It is the duty of educated people..." If you're uneducated, you're exempt? I'm technically uneducated... I get a pass, I guess.

"... in a free society..." If you live under the hammer of despotism, you're also exempt? Lucky Cubans.

"... to sincerely listen to every argument presented to them..." EVERY argument? How much free time does this guy have? Apparently a lot more than me.

"... that is grounded in mutually agreeable principles..." My favorite line of all. Excuse me, but isn't it the argument that DEFIES your principles that spurs you to rethink your position? Isn't it the OPPOSING viewpoint that encourages critical thought and analysis?

".. and delivered sincerely." This is about the only point where I agree with Professor Blowhard. Neither of us wants to listen to some idiot who's arguing simply to stir the pot.

"The flipside is that the presenter of any such argument must sincerely listen to any criticism of their position. Few virtues are more important to democracy than humility. " Again, I'll agree. We all know that you learn a lot more by listening than by talking. Blah blah blah.

Ok, one other thing you might have noticed, but just in case you didn't, I'll point out to you: The Good Professor DIDN'T ANSWER THE QUESTION. He doesn't say if there is or isn't a right to be heard; He basically says there's a responsibility to listen.

There is no responsibility to listen. Pick and choose carefully who you listen to. I mean, everyone can teach you something, but do you have time to listen to everyone who WANTS to teach you something? I sure don't.

Back to free speech. You can speak all you want; but if you want to be HEARD, make yourself compelling, and get yourself a forum. That's up to YOU, my friend.

The Right to be Heard: A Discussion

I've been engaged in an ongoing debate with a friend regarding the supposed "Right to Be Heard." I maintain that no such right exists; it's nothing more than a common misunderstanding of the right to free speech. What do you guys think? I'll get into my arguments, but I'd like to rope in a few comments first.

Discuss amongst yourselves; I'll be right back with this. I'm gonna duck out to use the restroom and grab a hot cup of Joe.

My Stupid Hat

This is me in my stupid hat.

As you can see, it was originally purchased as the hat portion of a killer Indiana Jones costume for Halloween this year.

Problem is, I look so damn good in it that I now find myself creating excuses to wear it.

For example, about 2 weeks ago I had a day off of work. I wanted to go out to the desert and snap a few pictures, so I threw my camera in the car and drove out into the Superstition Mountains. I drove about 15 minutes, saw a nice little view, and stopped.

I dug the camera out of the back of the car, and there it was- my stupid hat. It sat there looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes. It was as if it were talking to me. Begging me not to leave it behind.

The following thoughts went through my mind:

1) It was a sunny day; you can get glare on the lens on a sunny day; a good, cheap way to avoid camera glare is to shade the lens with a hat. Oh hey, look, there's a hat right there!

2) I can just put that hat right here on top of my head and wear it out a ways to where I plan to take my pictures. There's nobody around who will see me in it, anyway. And that's the proper way to carry a hat, not carried in your hand.

You see how this is happening?

I'm not a cowboy, not by any stretch of the imagination. This is a cowboy hat. Well, ok, it's a wool felt fedora, but it LOOKS like a cowboy hat. I look like Don Imus in this stupid hat. I don't want to look like Don Imus. I don't want to be a city boy in a cowboy hat. That makes me a poser. I don't want to be a poser.

But I keep finding reasons to wear this friggin hat. I blame the hat; it's lonely and it exercises mind control over me in its own selfish quest for companionship. I need to separate myself from this stupid hat before it's too late, and I'm wearing it around Walmart with a big-ass belt buckle and cowboy boots on, stinking of Stetson and manure.

Someone steal my stupid hat before it ruins me.

Arizona Night Sky

This was the view from out in front of my apartment the night I arrived in Gilbert, Arizona. I'd make a comment but why ruin the view? I'll just shut up now and let you enjoy it.

Yahtzee. Whoops, I said that wrong... YAHTZEE!

How come nobody plays this anymore? Or if they do play it, why do they never talk about it? Is "Yahtzee" the "Dukes of Hazzard" of family games now? You know, the show nobody admitted to watching, yet there it sat atop the Neilson Ratings every week. Is that where Yahtzee is?

Or has everyone forgotten about it?

Maybe we've all figured out that Yahtzee is Craps without the money. Maybe we've all stopped playing Yahtzee because we're putting those Yahtzee skills to better use on Vegas vacations.

Maybe Settlers of Catan has us so mesmerized we can't deal with Yahtzee's simplicity anymore.

I grabbed a Yahtzee game for my kids for Christmas this year. I think its important that every kid has an unused, unopened Yahtzee game on their shelf throughout their formative years. I don't want my kids to grow up socially retarded, and so I bought them theirs. My oldest is 11; I hope I'm not too late to save her.

I'm also trying to work the "YAHTZEE" exclamation into more casual conversations lately. So far I haven't found an opening for it; I'll have to create one, I guess.

When I'm King of the World (and I will be, so stop scoffing or you'll rue this day, peasant!) every home will be required to both HAVE, and PLAY, Yahtzee.

It won't make the world a better place or anything noble like that. It's just a rite of passage, like being teased about the women's underwear you wear when changing for gym class in the boy's locker room. (Oh jeez, now I hope everyone else went through that rite of passage....) Everyone needs to suffer through about seven or eight years of family Yahtzee games, or else they aren't American and probably aren't worth knowing or hanging out with. (In fact I might not let them live; I'll be a cruel and merciless King.)

Go get your Yahtzee if your home doesn't have it yet. Save yourselves a lot of heartache after the coup.

Everyone's a Critic

Everyone is a critic. Except, ironically, those who are legitimately qualified to criticize.

I approached a few people to critique my photography before I splurged on my new camera. I thought I had some semblance of talent, but I wanted to make sure before I dumped out that kind of scratch. And you know what I heard?

"The lighting sucks. Your model looks stiff and unnatural. I don't like her smile. I don't like her pose. What the hell is she wearing, anyway? I can see powerlines in the background. I think I see a roof! Is that a roof back there, in the lower left-hand corner? I think it is! What's with that shadow on her face? What's with her looking to the side? What's with her looking at the camera? Blah blah BLAH blah BLAH blah BLAH!"

All of this came consistently from those who honestly don't know jack crap about photography. But they have had their pictures taken a time or two by semi-pro's with big fancy strobe lighting, so they THINK they know photography!

The lighting comments were the worst. I came to realize that everyone who has ever sat for a Walmart portrait is CONVINCED he or she is an expert on proper lighting. And their definiton of "proper lighting" is washed out, over-blown flood-lighting that takes every flaw and wrinkle and turns it all bright, neutral white. If you don't look like a friggin' Geisha, the lighting sucks as far as they're concerned.

The irony of it all was their follow-up comment, after 45 minutes of berating my horrible work. "But all in all, it's pretty good." Huh?!? Really? Uh, based on what, exactly?

Mercifully for me, I also apporached legitimate Photographers to get their opinions. I have at least two friends who have made at least somewhat of a living off of taking pictures, and THEIR approach, as compared to the amateurs, was very interesting. Let's take Katie, for example. The conversation with her went something like this:

Katie: What kind of camera did you use?
Steve: A Sony Cybershot Point-n-Shoot.
Katie: And the lighting?
Steve: That big glowing orb in the sky.
Katie: Ok, then basically, you rock.

This was followed by a fifteen minute conversation which included genuine criticism, presented constructively, as well as admiration for my composition, and remarks like "You really seem to have an eye for this," and "I like what you went for in pictures X, Y, and Z." She took into account the limitations I was working under, looked at what I was able to do despite those limitations, and gave me an honest outlook on it all. THAT'S how a pro critiques someone's work. She has nothing to prove to ME or YOU; she has a bank account flush with fresh green Benjamins to prove she knows her stuff if you should doubt her.

I'm telling you, nobody's a worse critic than the person who doesn't know what he's talking about.

(This blog was originally posted at www.myspace.com/happyjoy1971 on May 29th, 2007)

Mormons and Dating and Marriage

I'm Mormon.

Always have been, always will be. I love this church and have no qualms whatsoever about being a member of it. But all of that being said, I have to concede that we are a strange lot when it comes to dating and marriage.

Not that other demographics out there don't have their little quirks, too. I grew up in Massachusetts, where the concept of starting-out-small-and-humble doesn't seem to exist when it comes to marriage. Almost without exception, if you're anywhere from lower-middle-class on up, you don't get married until you've already set your life up to be where your parents were at ten years into their matrimonies. You have a house. You both have established careers. You have 4 or 5 years of cohabitation behind you. And you have at least $100K in the bank, because at least half of that is going to be dumped out on your Martha-Stewart-Eat-Your-Heart-Out ceremony. All of these assets just serve to make the impending divorce more complicated in the end, of course, but still, this is how you set things up in Massachusetts for your two-year starter marriage.

I disagree with this set-up. But Mormons take it to the other extreme.

I was out to dinner with a dear friend last night. She is well aware that I have been seeing someone semi-seriously for about a month now, and so, being Mormon, she went ahead and asked me the question last night- "Can you see yourself married to her?" I gave some smart-ass reply, to be sure, but inside me, I was saying, "Friggin' EXCUSE ME? How about we hit the 30-day mark first?"

Now I'm not going to feign total innocense here. I'm sure the girl I'm seeing will read this and say to herself, "Excuse me, but how many times now have you started a sentence with, 'If you were married to me...'?" Oh, ok, maybe half a hundred times or so I've said something like that. But I think she and I both realize we're being a little bit playful with it at this point.

When you're active Mormon and you're dating, you already have the end-game in mind, and so naturally those thoughts and considerations will come up. I'm not saying that they shouldn't, either. Especially when you're my age. If you date someone and can see right off the bat that her strict adherence to Green Party politics is going to be a deal-breaker when it comes to holy matrimony, then I think its a good thing to have given it some thought early on. It helps you thin out the herd, and that inevitably makes your final choice that much easier to make.

But Mormons do take it to an extreme.

I'm reminded of a recent girlfriend who asked me at about the month-and-a-half mark if I had "prayed about us yet to see if its right." My reply was, "NO! HELL no! Not YET!" I have no problems with prayer, and no problems with approaching the Lord with my deepest concerns and questions, but at the same time, I think He expects me to put a little thought and effort into things on my own. Asking 45 days into it if someone is supposed to be your wife is kind of like cheating; it's like saying, "Look, I just don't have the time to get to know this chick. YOU know her, you know ME, let's just cut to the chase, so I can move on to someone else. Decide for me, ok?"

No, I think you're expected to decide on your OWN, and THEN take that decision to God for a yeah-or-nay answer. That's just one man's opinion, though. I'm not declaring doctrine.

I'd love to sub-categorize this by saying its exclusive to UTAH Mormons, but the aforementioned girlfriend was from back east, same as me. Prior to her, my little New York Mormon girl was also making plans to set up our honeymoon at her family time-share, because we had almost hit two months together, and well, that's what you do, right? A Mormon friend from Jersey recently sat by me in Sacrament Meeting and asked me if I thought about getting married to my then-girlfriend yet. I think we had been together a month or so when that question came up. So no, its not exclusively Utah, as much as I wish I could declare it so. It's Mormon.

Now, here I find myself again, about a month into something, and liking the girl quite a bit. We're pacing ourselves as best we can, with the burden of this culture on our shoulders. She has already fielded at least one "Are you guys engaged yet?" inquiry from one of my friends. But we're strong. We can overcome. With strength and determination and resolve, I am confident we can date and get to know each other and see for ourselves if this thing is going to go anywhere permanent some day. My personal goal is to go through at least 2, MAYBE even 3 seasons together before we broach the subject seriously. I'm hoping for a couple of trips to meet family out of town, discovering half a dozen secrets about each other that have so far gone unmentioned, trying out things that one person likes to see if the other person might be into it, maybe even a serious argument or two, before we give that most-important decision any serious thought.

Call me crazy, or call me apostate, but that's how I plan to go about it.

(The preceding blog was originally posted at www.myspace.com/happyjoy1971 on May 23rd, 2007.)

Bringing Happy Back

You people are miserable. Don't deny it. I see it in your downcast eyes and your forced smiles.

I blame myself. I have been out of far too many of your lives for far too long. You've felt the void but had no idea what to fill it with. You tried things like "family" and "church activity" and "community service", and sure, you found them rewarding to a degree, but in the end, the void was still there.

Well, rest easy, folks. I'm bringing Happy back.

Now here's the dirty little secret: I wasn't "gone"- I have been blogging all along. But I was doing it on another website which shall remain nameless, but it rhymes with "ShmySpace". I've been fairly public about it, and frankly I had been wondering why none of you were reading it, but today it dawned on me why!

You people are GROWN-UPS. Duh, Steve, why didn't you think of that sooner? I've gotten plenty of hits on my ShmySpace blog, but it's been mostly 14-year-old girls looking for "Bulletin" content.

So anyway, here I am, back in your faces, putting smiles on your lips and interesting thoughts in your heads. I plan to blog a lot, so don't let stupid things like "parenting" or "working" get in the way of reading my all-important commentaries on life's foibles and oddities, ok?

Join me in welcoming Happy back. It's been gone for far too long.