Bringing Happy Back

Stop Crying.

2011-01-04T17:05:00.000-08:00

I know this seems to be a lot to ask of people these days, but seriously, everyone, can we all get a grip on ourselves?

I'm talking about this new-found link we all seem to have with out emotional sides. Look, I know crying is cathartic and it's healthy and it's nothing to be ashamed of. I know that, at times, emotions can get the best of all of us. But please note that I said "AT TIMES." This phrase is synonymous with "RARELY." As in, "NOT VERY OFTEN."

"NEVER" might even be acceptable.

I started noticing this little trend at church. We Mormons have a little treat every month called "Fast and Testimony Meeting." Everyone fasts for the day, and then at church, it's Open Mic time, and anyone who wants to can stand up and share their testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Of course, nobody really does that. When I was a kid, what people used to do was stand up and tell what they did that week, or where they went, or share cute anecdotes about their kids or parents or family vacations. Then they'd wrap things up with a rattled off "Oh-and-I-know-the-church-is-true-in-the-name-of-Jesus-Christ-amen." Ok, not exactly what the meeting was intended to be, but hey, it entertains us for an hour or so, and certainly doesn't hurt anybody.

Then it started happening. Every so often, a Weepy Sister would approach the podium. Usually someone who had a bad week or a near-death experience. They'd actually, honestly express their true faith in Jesus, and in the midst of it all, they'd break down and cry.

This wasn't a problem. It was actually quite touching, in fact, to see this rare and genuine show of emotion in public.

But then people started seeing the attention lavished upon the Weepy Sister after the meeting was over. The hugs, the expressions of appreciation and/or condolences, the offers of help or invitations to dinner, the camaraderie--

Next thing you knew, we'd have 2 Weepy Sisters at the podium the next month. Maybe even 3.

I don't know what happened to the world outside the Mormon community, exactly, but I figure it must have been something similar. Maybe people saw the crying audience members on Oprah so often they figured it was just the thing to do. Maybe it was the occasional dramatic tear running down Clinton's face in the 90's, when he got caught getting a little strange and had to re-appeal to the nation's Hausfraus.

I don't know what it was, but I want it to stop already.

Seriously, people, let's start getting a grip on our emotions. At church, it's gotten to the point where EVERYONE is crying. I placed a bet with my friend at church this past Sunday that over 5 of the people sharing their testimonies would cry, and I won the bet before the meeting was half over. They ended up accounting for 50% of the speakers. This is too much. It's starting to look a little phony, in fact, people... not saying it IS, just saying, come on... a little moderation might look more sincere, you know...?

It's even crept into the church's bi-annual General Conferences. I have old recordings of our church leaders from the 50's and 60's, and these men all spoke in strong, powerful voices at our Conferences, denouncing SIN! and proclaiming TRUTH! and in general, making Good Honest Living seem like the most bad-ass thing a 12-year-old boy could do whenever they took to the pulpit.

Boy, are those days ever gone. They all weep now. Over nothing. Almost every single one of them. Within minutes of the start of their talks. I can't help it, I roll my eyes whenever they start in. I try not to be cynical, but when EVERYONE is crying, I just can't help myself. I want to call them up afterwards and say, "Come on, get a grip, if we ever needed strong voices in this church, it's NOW! So buck up, stiffen that upper lip, and speak with a voice of power and strength, not with a total lack of emotional restraint."

There, now that I've surely offended every active LDS reader of this blog, let me move on to offending the rest of the world, and say that it's not just in our church. It's crept into everything-- newscasters, commentators, even the new Speaker of the House of Representatives can't get through a full interview without breaking down like somebody's grandma at a Family Reunion.

Look, crying can really draw an emotional response from a crowd, and is an effective tool for ginning up the masses. But the same can be said for emotional restraint and strength in the face of fear or pain, and frankly, I think this world needs just a wee bit more of that right now then it does the waterworks. We've all had a rough ride the past few years. We're all in pain; we don't need leaders who feel it with us, as much as we need leaders who show us how to transcend it.

Leaders, as well as peers. SO please, everyone, let's all get a handle on our feel-bads, and stop the crying, ok? Fake it till you make it.

A Year in Review

2010-12-31T17:17:00.001-08:00

In case you haven't noticed, I've been loathe to blog this year. It's been about ten months or so since my last post.

I still keep track of my daily traffic, and I think the most surprising thing to me is how many people still visit here, and for that I sincerely thank you. Rest assured, my break was by design, not, as some of you appear to think, a result of switching over to Facebook status updates as an outlet for my creative juices.

Well, here I am now, 5 hours and 40 minutes from a brand new year, and I've decided to revisit this blogging thing once again. Let's start it out by reviewing the past year, as viewed from where I'm sitting.

Let's be honest, it wasn't great. Lots of friends and loved ones either went belly-up due to the economy, or came pretty damn close to it. Some of them have all but given up; others are limping along on nothing but faith and hope, and I mean in God, not in this ridiculous President we have.

We saw a seismic upheaval of sorts in Washington, what with the general rejection of the Pelosi-led House of Representatives, and its replacement with a cry-baby-led Republican House. Some of my conservative friends are literally beside themselves with joy over this turn of events. I'm not. Nothing of any import will change on our plebeian level, and now Obama will have a pack of scapegoats to blame for any of his failings as he sets himself up for an almost-inevitable win in 2012.

So in summary, the world is kinda in the pooper right now, and there's not a lot of reason to expect it to get much better anytime soon.

But you know what? I'm in a great mood anyway. I really don't even know why.

It hasn't necessarily been a gangbusters year for me, either, on a personal level, but it hasn't been horrible either. I spent the bulk of the year living in the sparse backwoods of eastern Turkey, and then came home to the States to find that things were a little slow workwise, and had to make necessary- and not altogether pleasant- adjustments as a result. In previous years, this might have put me on the verge of a breakdown, but I think I found some sort of zenlike serenity and inner peace out there in Turkey, if I may indulge in a little self-introspection here, because frankly, I feel pretty damn good right now, and no- I haven't been drinking.

Or maybe I'm just not fully aware yet of how close I am to the brink of absolute destitution. Oh well, time will tell, right?

Anyway, I'm the kind of guy to look forward, so if you have had a miserable year yourself, and you see no hope and no reason to celebrate tonight as the clock ticks down to midnight, well, let me try to offer you some words of reassurance: This is all temporary. And we- you included- will all get through it. This year? Maybe. The year after? Almost certainly. Within 5 years? Oh hell yes, undoubtedly.

Can you hang on for 5 years until things are better and we all have some tangible indications of hope to hang on to?

You might think you can't, but you can. We all can. Hang in there, blogfans, better times are a-coming.

Why You Wouldn't Vote For Me

2010-02-17T09:46:00.000-08:00

"Hey Steve," people have said to me, "You're a smart guy! You could make a difference! Why don't you run for office?"

Simple, people. Because you'd never vote for me.

"Sure I would!" you say, and sure, maybe I could snooker you into a first term, but trust me, once I get into office, and start shaping this nation to fit my vision of what America should be, every single one of you would hop off the Steve Train.

Why?

Because I'd be fair. But not fair in the way that most of you think of fair. "Fair" to most of you means "easy" or "free from burden." It means "evenly distributed" to others, and to still others, it means "passing my burden along to someone who hasn't borne it yet."

To me, it means you reap what you sow-- and sometimes, you reap what other sowed near you, too. Your benefits from your efforts would be yours to keep-- but on the flip side, so would your losses from your bad gambles. If your choices make your kids suffer, then I hope your suffering kids don't pass that suffering along to a third generation, but if they do, don't look to Washington to stop the cycle.

Under me, the rich would get richer-- unless they took a big gamble on Real Estate or bad banking practices or poor auto marketing techniques. Then they'd go tits up, and I'd sit back on a pile of tax money and point and laugh and say, "Nope, you can't have any!"

"UNFAIR!" you say. "What about the people who invested in those businesses, but had no say in their day to day business practices??" Well, I guess I'd say they invested badly. If they ever get enough scratch together to invest again, I hope they learn to do it more wisely! "What about the workers, who slaved and labored day after day for 30 years, and walk away with nothing?" Well, I hope they find another job! Shit happens, after all. Sure hope they socked some of that money away. Oh, they didn't? Time to put the Wii on eBay!

You see? Already I'm losing some of you, right? You think the Federal Government should be the Great Equalizer. If someone invested and lost money, they deserve to get that money back.

Um.... why? Where was my cut of their dividends? They never paid me a dime from that. Where would my chunk of their earnings be, if the company had succeeded, and they had cashed out their stocks at an 80% profit? I'm pretty sure they'd forget to mail my check. So if they're not sharing the wealth, President HappyBack isn't spreading the poverty, either.

See, my Presidency would be governed by a solid and realistic principle of Fairness-- of Karma, almost. You can do whatever you wish with your money. I'd deregulate the crap out of the market. Almost no oversight-- just do as you please. But along with that, I'd also dismantle the safeguards that unfairly protect you against failure and responsiblity for unethical practices.

Corporations,for example? Gone! No more hiding your personal practices behind some faceless entity that can simply dissolve and walk away. Let's see how many banks lend half a million per mortgage to dirtbags with 350 credit ratings when the CEO and Board of Directors might be personally held responsible to the investors for the bank's collapse. Let's see if they approve such a practice when they see their competitors' personal jets and stretch limos on the auction block to pay off their account holders. Yeah, even without regulations, you'd see a sudden influx of responsible practice if you also forced personal consequences onto them.

It wouldn't stop in the market, though, for those of you who so far are cheering me on. Immigration, for example? It would be one of the easiest things a foreigner could do. They'd need nothing more than a fingerprint, a signature, functional English, and vow of solidarity to the Union. Then they're in! No BS waiting periods, no hoops to jump through, no requiring them to learn the history that our natural-born citizens are completely ignorant of. They want in? They're in!

But then, they're responsible. Immediately held to the same expectations as any other citizen. Comply with every law. Provide for yourself, cause I'm cutting welfare, too. And all government forms would be in English- period. Why, cause we hate Asians and Latinos? No, because it's impractical and costly to try to accomodate everyone. You wanted in, now cowboy up and carry your load. Don't whine about it, either, I've been in your shoes, and I learned the language, too. It's tough, but then so is life.

Welfare? Ha! Hope you enjoyed it! That's gone. Foodstamps, gone. Medicare and Medicaid, Gone. Social Security? Sorry, I'm not going to bust the bank so I can give every old man and woman not-quite-enough-to-really-benefit-them-anyway. All of these big hearted programs would be gone. And gone NOW-- immediately. I'd have 20 million Baby Boomers burning me in effigy.

And people would suffer, make no doubt! It would probably take the country a full generation to get used to having to save money again, and sock it away, and provide for themselves in their retirements. For kids to get used to taking care of their parents when they reach their twilight years. For families to refill the voids that Government left behind when President Steve dismantled the safety nets and locked the coffers shut again. For the system to swing out of the red, where everyone functions on someone else's borrowed money, and back into the black, where we make money first and then spend it.

But the Military? Bombs, baby, not butter! You want butter, your state and local governments are free to do as they please to make you happy, but on my level, the Federal level? We will tax you all--- yes, even you poor folks, at the same percentage rate as the rich-- and we will use that money to pay our military personnel twice what they make now, and to make them the most bad-ass people-killing machines seen since the last James Cameron movie.

That bad-ass military would sit on our soil, and protect our people and our shores, and unless they were BEGGED to go somewhere else and fight-- and I mean begged IN WRITING, AND OUT LOUD, ON HANDS AND KNEES IN A U.N. GENERAL ASSEMBLY MEETING-- where the entire world could see it-- unless that happened, they'd just sit and protect us. President Steve would practice what he likes to call Bitch-Slap Diplomacy. Meaning, if you attack us, we destroy you handily and readily. And then go home. You rebuild on your own cash, with your own people. We just go home and wait to see if you're going to try it again. IF you do, hey-- we're back!

You see?

This is why none of you will vote for me. You're apalled already. I'm so COLD-- so heartless-- I seem to hate everybody and everything.

I disagree, though. The way I see it, I believe in you- all of you-- way more than any of your current elected officials do. Way more than even you do. I think you are all able to provide for yourselves. I think you are also caring and loving enough to seek out and care for those who are less fortunate, without my big government vaccuum stealing your cash, filtering it through 15 layers of red tape, and paying it back at a rate of 23 cents on the dollar to those who can jimmy the system enough to play poor.

I believe in you, and you don't want that. It makes you responsible for your well-being, and for your own community, and that?

That's no fun.

Naw. I'll just sit back here and gripe about others with higher X Factors who dupe you into voting for them. Frankly, it's probably more productive in the end.

Obama's One Year Mark

2010-01-20T09:34:00.001-08:00

Wow, what a year, huh kids? Who'd have thought in early 2009 that we'd be celebrating Obama's one-year mark by electing a Republican Senator in Massachusetts? Political winds blow us to strange harbors, don't they?

You may remember a little blog entry I wrote one year ago called "The Obama Baseline." If not, click on the link and go back and read it. I departed from my usual snarky ways to lay out a completely neutral baseline assessment of where the country stood, so that we could have some solid numbers against which we could judge Obama's presidency at regular intervals.

It was also a good read, because I put in a picture of some hot chicks looking at cars at the very end, to spice it up a little. Seriously, I did, go back and look.

Anyway, now that we're a year in, let's take a look at those numbers again, and see where we stand, shall we?

Here we go:

In January 2009, unemployment stood at 7.2% nationwide. It now stands at 10%. Increase: 2.8%

Gas prices, January '09, national average: $1.82/gallon. Today: $2.73 a gallon. Up 91 cents.

Januray '09, oil was trading at $34.63 a barrel on the New York Mercantile Exchange. Today, it's trading at $77.14 a barrel, for an increase of $42.51, more than double.

January '09, the Dow Jones Industrial Average stood at 8281.22. Today, it's at 10,542.62, for an impressive gain of 2261.4. The NASDAQ back then was at 1529.33; today it's at 2277.95, for another impressive gain of 748.62.

In January 2009, The Median Sales Prices for Existing Homes, by region, were:
$242,500 for the West; today it's $231,100.
$154,500 for the South; today it's $151,400.
$142,400 for the Midwest; today it's $140,800.
and $257,700 for the Northeast; today it's $223,400.
(Note that the numbers I give for last year have been adjusted in this year's spreadsheet, using more accurate sales figures. I kept the numbers I posted last year to maintain continuity within my own blog.)

In January 2009, the Consumer Confidence Index currently stood at 38; today it stands at 52.9, a significant increase.

National averages for some common consumer items, vs. last year's prices, are as follows: ....Unfortunately, this data is not readily available right now for the 4th quarter of 2009, so Obama's Department of Agriculture needs to step it up in so far as reporting this data in a timely manner goes.

In the Middle East, we still have 115,000 U.S. troops in Iraq as of November 30, 2009, down from 144,000 in August of the previous year; 4374 troops have been killed in Iraq as of November 2009, an increase of 151 under Obama. Obama ran on a promise to bring all troops home within 16 months; he has 4 months left to comply with this. One may logically assume he will not meet this deadline.

Israel and Hamas are still observing a cease-fire, after waging a 3-week war a year ago.

Obama's approval ratings hover around 50%, the fastest drop to that level for any President in our nation's history. The Governorships of Virginia and New Jersey have gone from the Democrats to the GOP.

And everyone's having a fit about the first Republican Senator in over 30 years being elected in Massachusetts.

So there you go, another boring statistical Post, which will unfortunately become an annual event for me.

But hey... you know how I make it up to you guys, right? Have a little eye candy:

A Lamp

2010-01-13T04:14:00.000-08:00

I needed a lamp.

I needed it about a week and a half ago, but I dreaded having to buy it.

"Why, Steve?" You ask, "It's just a lamp, right?"

No, it's not just a lamp, it's a maddening descent into pantomime hell.

I'm not back in the U.S. right now, where I can walk into Walmart and see a display of a couple dozen lamps, pick the one that most tickles my fancy, and then pay at the self-serve cash register.

I'm in Eastern Turkey, in a little village called Ilic, on the shores of the Euphrates River. I wasn't even sure they sold lamps here, to be honest. I was pretty sure they had light bulbs.

Damn it, though, ever since my light fixtures caught on fire last week (that's another good story) and the repair crew replaced them, my room has been as bright and cheery as an Al Qaeda safe house. They put in these dome light fixtures, meant for two 75 watt bulbs. Instead they wired each for just one bulb, and then placed in the smallest halogen bulbs they find. I get about as much light out of them as Pluto gets from the Sun. Maybe not quite that much.

So I needed a little desk lamp or a reading lamp. It was time to bite the bullet and take a trip into town.

Downtown Ilic isn't exactly known in the 3-village region as a magnet for commerce. If I had to compare it to somewhere else I've lived, I guess the thriving metropolis of Rio Bravo, Suchitepequez, Guatemala could fit the bill. But it was nice enough for the 2500 people in town, well lit stores selling the essentials I needed, like chocolate and Coca Cola Zero and mechanical pencils, all at fairly reasonable prices. I had established a rapport with some of the shop owners, especially the Coke Zero place. That guy liked to practice his English on me, so he got a lot of my business.

But those weren't the stores I needed to visit. I had to head down the the Far End of the Street.

I rarely ventured down that way. That was the more dimly-lit end of the downtown district, where they sold tools and weapons, and had metal shops and cave-like auto repair garages, and small side-walk tables full of grumpy old men drinking tea and scowling at foreigners. That was where they walked down the middle of the road when you tried to drive through at 5 kph, and as your bumper approached their calves, they'd give you a slow disgusted look over the shoulder and advance another 5 paces or so forward at a slightly slower pace before they finally meandered out of the lane of traffic.

I didn't feel as welcomed there, but there was where they had the lamps, or so I was guessing. So I sucked it up and headed down that way, after parking my truck down at the friendlier end of the road.

My first attempt was at the electronics store, where I had seen electric teapots and small cooking appliances in the window before. I ducked in, with my iPhone translator app out and at the ready, already scrolling through it as I walked, to see how to say lamp.

"Lamba", it said. Well, easy enough!

I walked in, muttering "lamba, lamba, lamba" to myself so I could make my one word inquiry without having to look at my iPhone. But much to my disappointment, there was nobody to ask. The store, although wide open and brightly lit, was completely empty. I was the only human to be found. I waited around for a bit, looking over the stacks and boxes of items for sale, but after visually determining that there was no lamp to be had here, I gave it up and headed on to my second choice.

That was the knife-and-gun shop.

Now I knew it was a long shot, but I had bought a few pocket knives there since arriving in town a few months ago, so I knew the shop keeper, and had already established a sort of hand-motion language with him. So when I walked in, he smiled and greeted me warmly, probably thinking he was about to score another knife sale.

"Merhaba," he said, and I responded in kind.

"Merhaba. LAMBDA!" I smiled, fists on my hips, proud to be speaking the native tongue. I had just said, "Hi. LAMP!" same as I would say in the local Ikea back home if I needed a desk lamp, right? I mean, that's how we all talk to each other. Cursory greeting, then state your business!

He cocked his head to the side, confused. My smile faltered, my confidence starting to crumble a little. I put my hands in front of me, my right hand flat, palm up, the fingers curved at the first knuckles, forming a base. The left hand I held about a foot over it, palm down, fingers forming a rough cone shape, like a lamp shade. Then I repeated my one-word inquiry:

"Lambda," I said.

He shook his head. Not like one might shake their head to say "No, we don't have lamps," but rather as if to say, "What the hell are you talking about?"

I pulled out my little translator and typed in the word again. Lamp. translation... Lamba.

Oh LAMBA, no "d" in the middle. Here I thought I was asking for a lamp, and instead I'm asking him for a Sorority house. Dumb ass American.

"LAMBA," I said.

"Ahhhhhh!" he said, nodding his head in emphatic understanding. You might know this particular head nod; it's a nod we never use with fellow English speakers, only those we think don't understand us. We're not nodding just our head, we're nodding from the second or third cervical vertebrae, getting the entire head and neck into the act, like a Texas Oil Well. We're not saying "yes," we're saying "YEEEEEESSSSSSSS!!!!!!"

This nod was universal to all languages and cultures. It was a world-wide assumption of foreign idiocy. It said, "You don't speak my language, ergo, you are stupid, and need even my simplest answers to be shouted and spoken slowly and thrown out in the most obvious and confrontational manner possible, so as to not misunderstand one another at all."

He turned around and grabbed a light bulb off the shelf behind him.

This was going to be a long night.

More hand gestures, more emphatic "Hayir (no), LAAAAAAMBAAAAA" from me, and finally a shrugged admission of defeat from my knife-and-gun-selling friend. I pulled out the translator once again, typed in a word, and asked him, gesturing out the door, up and down the street, with my shoulders half shrugged inquisitively, "Nerede?" or, "where"?

He came to the door, took me by the shoulders, pointed me down towards the far end, and pointed three doors down. "LAMBA," he said, pointing.

"Tesekkurler," I said, to thank him, and went to the 3rd door down.

This time I wasn't screwing around. I walked in, nodded and said "Iyi aksamlar," (good evening), and then turned and looked all over the shelves, trying to find this thing before social graces required me to verbally inquire.

No use, though. Before long I was back at it again. "Lamba?" I asked, very nonchalant this time. Sure, maybe I'm speaking in one word sentences, but I have this language DOWN. I own it. "Lamp?" I asked, chest swelled with confidence.

It worked. He nodded, like one Turk to another, and grabbed a light bulb off the shelf.

What was it with these people and the light bulbs? Light bulb was "Ambul" or something. No, "ampul," that was it. It wasn't "lamba." I shook my head disapprovingly. Why couldn't this guy speak fluent Turkish, like I did?

"Hayir (no)," I said once again. "LAMBA."

"Ahhhh, tamam," he said. "Oh, ok."

He walked over to the shelf behind me, and slid aside a candy rack, to uncover a hidden stash of flashlights. He grabbed one and held it out to me.

Well, we were getting closer, anyway...

"Hayir. LAMBA." again I did the sign language. Again it was met with confusion. We motioned back and forth at each other for about a minute. He did't understand a damn word I was signing, and I didn't understand him either. Didn't people put lamps on end tables in this country?

Screw it. I bought a candy bar to thank him for his troubles and wandered out of the store, desperate this time, poking into store after store, saying "Lamba?" over and over, getting pointed back to stores I had already been to, and shaking my head to say, "No, they only carry light bulbs, same as the ones you're so eager to sell me when I'm asking for a LAMP."

Finally, in one store, a break through! I found someone who remembered about 15 words of English from his school days. Between his 15 words of English and my 11 words of Turkish, we were able to have a regular caveman conversation out in the streets, and he informed me with a "yes" and a finger point that lamps were, indeed, sold in Ilic.

He pointed back up the way I had come from, down to the friendly end of the street. "Bank."

I nodded. "Bank." I knew where the bank was. I had just come from there, getting Turkish Lira to buy this stupid lamp.

"Street," he gestured, flipping his hand over.

"Other side of the street?" I said.

"Yes, yes, yes!" he said, oil-well nodding.

I thanked him, walked on, already knowing full well where he was telling me to go.

It was the Coke Zero store. I approached the door.

"Hello, how are you?" the store owner asked me when I walked in.

"Fine, and you?"

"I am good!" he said, smiling ear to ear. There he was, speaking English like a son-of-a-bitch, like he was BORN speaking it! This wasn't going to be any trouble at all, I thought to myself.

"LAMP!" I said, smiling myself.

He nodded. "Lamp!" He knew that word!

He grabbed a light bulb.

You're Creeping Me Out, Lady.

2009-11-24T00:19:00.000-08:00

Well, the numbers are in, and "New Moon" is looking like it'll rank somewhere in the Top 5 of all-time when it comes to opening-weekend box office returns. Not surprisingly, either, the numbers coming in are indicating that 80% of the New Moon audiences are female. So there's nothing really shocking here to report, right?

Well, if you mean "shocking" as in "surprising," then you are correct, sir. But if you mean "shocking" as in "disturbing," then I respectfully beg to differ.

When "Twilight" came out last year, I took great delight in teasing my 30-something divorced hausfrau friends about their borderline-creepy crushes on Robert Pattinson, the star of the film. "He's a HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT," I would taunt them, but many of them responded by reminding me that A) his character is actually hundreds of years old, and B) the actor himself is 22. Ok, ok, you got me. Still a little creepy, but I can buy into that.

This time around, though? Same squealing hausfrau crowds, same film series, but now we have a whole new level of creepiness: The star- and the character- is 17.

Now I know what some of you are thinking. "Hausfrau? As in, housewife? What are you talking about, Steve, this movie was for little teeny-boppers, not their mothers!"

Oh, I know who it was ostensibly made for, but I'm talking about who's actually seeing it, and who exactly is drooling over this young boy's rock-hard abs. I have yet to see a teenager confess her undying lust for this kid, but my 30-to-45 year old ladyfriends? They are unabashed in their confessions of the dirty things they'd love to do to this child.

As I love to point out to the more rational, even-keeled women I know, every single one of these women would be creeped out beyond expression if I were to show up at the opening-night 12:01 Imax showing of the next Hannah Montana Concert Film in pajama bottoms, fuzzy slippers, and a Team Miley t-shirt. Without exception. I'd be condemned and vilified for the remainder of my days by these women. Hell, I've gotten flack from some of them for checking out 25-year-olds.

But when I respond to their dirty minded Facebook comments regarding young Taylor Lautner with a one-word comment, "17," oh BOY do I ever catch some flack! One friend went so far as to tell me that I was NO LONGER her friend, since I wasn't able to just let her enjoy her little movie-star crush. Oh, and I was just jealous.

Jealous? Hmm, I never comment when someone says they want to ravage Brad Pitt. I mean, the guy's a grown man, they're grown women, and he's eye candy. It's to be expected.

But Taylor Lautner? Lust after him when he starts shaving, if it's too much trouble for you to keep track of his birthday.

Now for the rest of you men out there who are reading this, nodding your heads, and wondering why you have to accept this phenomenon as "normal," "ok," and "to-be-expected," DO NOT take this blog as an instruction guide on how to fight the power. No no, my friend, let me be the fall guy here. You will lose if you try to fight it. Trust me, because I'm losing, too. No need for us both to go down in flames. Just relax, let the movie fade into the sunset, and take solace in knowing that by 2012, the last movie in the series will be released and forgotten, just in time for the end of the world.

We just have to accept that the women we are expected to want, in turn, want little boys. We, meanwhile, are to continue pretending that we never notice any woman under 30, or that weighs less than 135 lbs. And that we dig the wrinkles and cankles. And no, you don't look fat in that dress.

And Mary Kay Letourneau? Sorry, babe, I have no answers for you, and no, your record will not be expunged.

Shaking the Bushes

2009-11-02T02:53:00.000-08:00

It's not unheard of for someone to get one over on me. I'm generally a trusting guy, and I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt. If you're clever enough, you can use this against me.

This is the tale of two women who weren't clever enough. But God love 'em, they tried.

Now before I get into the story, let me give you a little background information. On occasion, I indulge in a practice I call "shaking the bushes." Here's how it works.

I'll find myself alone on a nice enough evening, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Usually I'm ok with that; I can crack open a good book or write you people a little blog and the night just seems to fly by. But every so often, I'm restless, and I want to do something, or talk to somebody.

But I can't think of who exactly to call, or what exactly to do.

So I'll pull out my cell phone, and open up the Text Message feature, and write a message that simply says "Hey what's up?"

Then I'll scroll through my address book, and send that message out to five, ten, sometimes even fifteen people at the same time- usually women, and usually women that I've taken out a time or two but had only lukewarm interest in. Then I wait to see who responds. In other words, I "shake" the proverbial "bushes" to see what animals come running out of them.

Now before I continue, I can already hear a good number of you women out there decrying this horrible, demeaning practice. I think you women are silly for doing so. Why? What's so horrible about it? To me, it's like walking into a crowded party, and shouting, "Hey, anyone wanna make a Taco Bell run or something?" Fifteen people hear you, maybe one or two say yes, and by the time you pull out of the driveway, the Taco Bell run idea has turned into a 45-minute dessert at Denny's. No harm, no foul, and while nobody fell in love, nobody spent the night bored sitting on the arm of a couch at a lame-ass party, either.

On one particular night this past summer, I shook the bushes. I picked out a few names at random and shot off my three-word instigating message. Then I sat back and waited.

Within a minute, I got a message back from J that said simply, "Hey we should hang out tonight!!"

J was a girl I had taken to lunch about three months prior. Nice enough, pretty enough, but she just didn't light my fire for me to seriously pursue her. But I kept her number and sent her my bush-shaker every few weeks, just in case. She had never responded. Until tonight. When she was suddenly gung-ho enough to not just suggest we hang out, but to pile an extra exclamation point onto the end of it.

Odd.

As I was musing over this oddity, I received another text message. This time from K.

K is the Hot Grandma I took out for dinner just a few weeks before. Again, nice enough, pretty enough, but we didn't see eye to eye on some essential things, and so I kept her around in my phone list as someone to say hello to every so often, but not someone to chase after like a coyote on a rabbit.

K had never responded to a bush-shaker, either. Until tonight.

Her message said, "Hey we should hang out tonight!!" Double exclamation point and all.

Now, Stevie's no fool.

OBVIOUSLY, unbeknownst to me until this moment, J and K know each other... and OBVIOUSLY, J and K were hanging out together that very night. And OBVIOUSLY, when they both got my "Hey what's up?" text message at the same time, they were INCENSED! How dare I send the exact same message to two different women at the same time! Why, I must be-- a PLAYER!!

(Remember what I said about how you women think this practice is demeaning?)

SO OBVIOUSLY, J and K hatched up a little plot to teach me- the PLAYER- a lesson.

They were both going to lead me on.

At the same time.

With the exact same wording in their text messages, right down to the punctuation.

And since I'm not a clever woman, fighting a PLAYER for the dignity of the entire gender, OBVIOUSLY that little detail was going to slide right by me.

Well, hey- two can play at this game. Or three, I guess.

I responded to both K and J at the exact same time, with the exact same message.

"Yeah we should!"

They responded back, at the exact same time, with the exact same message:

"Come over tonight! I'm feeling naughty. ;)"

Mmm hmm.

Oh wait, not "mmm hmm", I forgot, I'm a stupid PLAYER, I think below my waist. So I was obviously going to fall for this.

I sent my response, and a brief three-way conversation ensued. Or rather, two separate-but-equal two-way conversations ensued, because at no point did it ever occur to the two geniuses that they might want to at least vary their wording a little, if they weren't going to vary their story lines.

ME: oh are you? Well then I'm coming right over!
J and K: Good! what do you want me to wear?
ME: Does it matter? Just make it sexy.
J and K: I'm going to wear a tank top and a mini skirt.
ME: Sounds hot!
J and K: So what time will you be here?
ME: What time is good for you?

...and here's where they finally thought things over a little, in an attempt to finalize their devious plot. They inserted a little variety.

J: Be here at 9:30.
K: Be here at 10:00.

ME: Ok, see you soon!

I sat there for a moment, trying to think like a woman. Not an easy thing to do. What was the end game here? I mean, there was really only two ways this could play out, from their point of view.

1) I show up at J's place, and the gig is up. Or....
2) I don't show up at all, and nobody really wins.

Obviously, they were really hoping for option #1. They wanted their Movie-moment, their plot climax, where the PLAYER opens the door to find the two vindictive women standing there- and oh my GOD, they KNOW EACH OTHER, oh what a plot-twist, who saw THAT coming???-- and then they--

--they----

---they what?

This was an anti-climax waiting to happen. Silly ladies, the way to play it would have been to invite me over to both their places at the exact same time, seen who I tossed aside, and who I wanted more, and then both wait at that girl's house to nab me. Booyah, then they have a genuine gripe, because I actually DID turn down one to see the other.

But now?

Hell, I have two appointments half an hour apart, and I'm not even dating either of these broads, so who's being harmed?

I had to see how they thought this was going to play out.

I drove over to J's place. I pulled up right at 9:30, as scheduled, and walked up the front walk. J was out front, watering some flowers. You know, like every woman does at 9:30 at night. Oh, and she was wearing jeans and a long-sleeve sweater too, not a mini-skirt and a tank-top, so they didn't even think to follow through with the wardrobe. And she was nervous as a cat. Jumpy, eyes twitching all over the place.

I walked up to her and smiled and gave her a big hug. "Hi, J! What's up?"

She looked confused. I wasn't making any mention of the fact that she was- well, clothed. And I was happy to see her anyway. I wasn't acting like a PLAYER at all! Kind of like the way I didn't act like a PLAYER when I took her out to lunch a few months earlier.

But no- I had sent out two text messages at the SAME TIME, to TWO WOMEN, with the SAME MESSAGE! I MUST be a player, right?

...right...?

The poor girl, I could see her rethinking things. She almost looked guilty at this point. She muttered something lame and incoherrent about how she was watering her flowers (yeah I saw that) and how she has the guy setting tile over still finishing up her bathroom but he'll be gone in a minute (Oh is that whose truck is parked out front?) and um... well, do you want to come in?

Sure.

We walked to the door.

She reached for the knob. There was a little more spring in her step now, because this was it, this was their big moment, this was the GOTCHA! Her cohort was there, waiting on the other side of the door, and now- NOW!- was the moment when they were going to put the PLAYER in his place, because he tried to PLAY them, and in so doing tried to play ALL WOMEN, and so on behalf of ALL WOMEN, they were going to do me in, right here, and right now, as she was reaching for that knob, and was turning it, and was about to open that door--

"OH hey," I said, as the door started to crack open a little, "Is K still here, or did she head home? Because after this, I'm supposed to head over to her place to see her."

J stopped, the door half open, and looked at me, her eyes comically wide open, as empty and vacuous as her intellect. Her mouth worked up and down a little, as she subvocalized her confusion in unintelligible vowels and consonants.

Then, almost on auto-pilot, she just pushed the door open.

There stood K, as vacuous and surprised as J. They looked at each other.

They looked at me.

They looked at each other again.

I walked in and gave K a big hug. Unsure what to do, she hugged me back, somewhat reluctantly.

"So how long have you two known each other?" I asked nonchalantly as I walked in and sat down at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. J and K followed after me, not saying a word. Shock was in the air, like a big empty void.

This was supposed to have been their moment of glory, and it failed. And they had no back-up plan.

I stayed for a few minutes, and had a great conversation with the tile guy as those two sat in stunned silence and watched me enjoying myself a little right there in J's kitchen, on what was supposed to have been their big night, their grand moment. I left as I gradually felt their stunned silence fade into sullen icy displeasure, and then a low dull anger.

When a woman is angry, that is ALWAYS the time to leave.

As I headed out the door, I turned to K and looked at my watch. "Um... I probably won't be able to make it over until about 10:30, will you be home by then?"

K just laughed mirthlessly and quietly. As I drove away, laughing to myself, with PLENTY of mirth, and with plenty of volume, I heard my cell phone beep. It was a text message. From K.

It said, "Don't bother coming over tonight."

I laughed to myself again, and typed out a one-word response. Not even a word, really, just a syllable, but one that to me summed up this entire ridiculous night, and their entire ridiculous plot. I punched it in and hit send.

It said, simply:

"Duh."

The Four Pillars of Modern-Day Political Discourse

2009-10-28T07:59:00.001-07:00

So who out there likes to talk politics? I know my hand is raised! And if any of you know me, that's as surprising to you as a sunrise.

But as much as I like a little verbal jousting about the times and seasons we live in, with friend and foe alike, I realize that this isn't for everyone.

I mean, I can hold my weight in these discussions. I know enough about stuff-n-things to sound smarter than I actually am, and I know enough about obfuscation to hide behind a wall of tangential irrelevancy when I find myself flummoxed. I can stick and move like a prize fighter when it comes to arguing over Washington's denizens and the crap they spew forth upon us.

But you're not me.

While I gravitate towards these discussions, many of you shy away from them. Sure, you have opinions, some of them even well-thought-out opinions. You have your gut instincts, your general senses of right-and-wrong, your belief systems or lack-thereof. You have things you want to get off your chest and points you want to make, but you feel too intimidated and daunted to open your mouth and engage the enemy in battle, even if that enemy is your best friend, and the battle is only over who should be elected to the local school-board.

Well, I can't, in good conscious, let you, my dear friends, sit cowed and intimidated, letting the world run roughshod all over you. So in your interest, not mine, I am giving you the key to Modern-Day political discourse; the four pillars upon which all civic policy discussion is currently founded!

Here they are:

1) FEAR!
2) HATE!
3) SELFISHNESS!
4) STUPIDITY!

(Capitalization is intentional.)

Yes, those four words are all you need to remember to get through any discussion relating to public policy. These words, coupled with the proper accusatory tone, can shut down any opposing viewpoint or opinion, if shouted loud enough, voiced in the proper inflamatory language, and/or coupled with a disgusted scowl or an accompanying "Pfft" and a flip of the head.

Now look, don't be a simpleton. You don't just shout out the word "HATE!" when you're in a backed into a proverbial corner. No, silly, you accuse your opponent of being CONSUMED with hate. Or fear. Or selfishness. Or stupidity.

Getting the picture? I mean, if you're a Conservative, you have almost surely found yourself on the receiving end of this unfounded criticiscm at some stage of the game while opposing Universal Healthcare provided by the Federal Government. "Why are you afraid of something you've never tried? Why do you hate the poor so much you want to deny them healthcare? Why are you so selfish you want to deny little kids their trips to the doctor? Or are you just an idiot?"

Are you catching on?

Now look, I know these pillars sound like nothing more than cheap shots, but there's a good reason for that: They are.

But that's what it's all dissolved down to these days. So why not partake?

What, are you afraid to? Why do you hate people so much that you won't talk to them? Are you so selfish that you won't fight for what's right? Or are you just a moron?

See? I gotcha!

Look, I didn't say I LIKE this method of arguing, I'm just saying that it's the perfect fit for today's lazy intellectualism. Why actually engage in thoughtful consideration of another's viewpoint, when you can fall back on baseless and harmful accusation instead? Why try to understand, when you can instead besmear and defame the enemy?

What do you think conversation is, a forum to expand your view and understanding? Pfffffft, haven't you gone to a Town Hall meeting lately? Conversation is to be HEARD, not to LISTEN. Listening takes time and effort. And you could miss Dancing With the Stars if you get involved with that crap.

SO there you go. Your 4 pillars. Please use as intended- i.e., completely irresponsibly.

Hot Grandmas

2009-08-19T09:27:00.000-07:00

Well, I suppose this day was inevitable, but I still wasn't quite ready for it: The day I dated a Grandma.

Ok, actually she was a Grandma-to-be, not YET a grandma, so at the time I took her out, I hadn't yet crossed that threshold. But by now that little baby has burst into the world, so now I have to admit to it: I took out a Grandma! She was hot, and she was young- she had had her own kid in her late teens, and then that kid got herself knocked up young, so it wasn't like I was taking out a grey-skinned shriveled old lady dragging an iron lung behind her.

But still- a GRANDMA?

But this post isn't about me dating a Grandma. No, that's the hook to draw you in- this post is actually about a conversation we had the night I took her out. It went something like this:

GRANNY: I am SO EXCITED for my little Grandbaby to be born!
ME: (lacking enthusiasm) Awesome.
GRANNY: She's due in about a month! And the best part is that I'm going to be there for the birth-
ME: WAIT!
GRANNY: --what?
ME: What did you say?
GRANNNY: Um... I'm going to be there for the birth...?
ME: In the Hospital?
GRANNNY: In the ROOM! It's going to be so awesome-
ME: Is your daughter married? Or is she a single-mother-to-be?
GRANNY: She's married.
ME: Happily? Like, is he in the picture? They're young newlyweds?
GRANNY: Yeah, why?
ME: Don't do this to them.
GRANNY: Do what?

I looked Granny over. She had such a childlike look of pure, oblivious innocense on her face. It would have been very easy to forgive her her cluelessness. To just banter about something light and fluffy until dinner arrived.

But no- somewhere out there was a Young Son-in-Law who was silently begging for my intervention- ANYONE'S intervention. So, for his sake- and since I already knew I had no interest in this broad anyway, so I didn't give two craps if I offended her- I pressed on.

ME: Don't be there for the birth. I mean, be there- be at the Hospital- but don't be in the room.
GRANNY: (blink blink blink, swallow) ....why?
ME: Seriously?
GRANNY: Yeah, why?
ME: Because it's a family moment.
GRANNY: Well, I'm family.
ME: This is a THEIR family moment.
GRANNY: But I'm her MOTHER!
ME: Which is why you should be right there at the Hospital, so once they have had their special, intimate moment with just them and their newborn child, they can immediately invite you in to share their joy.
GRANNY: (blink blink blink) ... But I'm her MOTHER!
ME: And she is now his wife. And you need to stop being so intrusive into their little nuclear family unit, before you drive him away and leave her a young single mother with a bitter ex-husband with stories to tell about his overly-intrusive mother-in-law, who wouldn't keep her damn nose out of their household.
GRANNY:... but the Doctor and nurses will be there too-
ME: Trust me, they fade right into the background. They may as well be furniture. You won't be able to do the same. Your unwanted presence will be completely in their faces. Especially his.
GRANNY: But... but... he WANTS me there!
ME: No, he doesn't.
GRANNY: No, he SAID he wants me there!
ME: How did that come up?
GRANNY: My daughter asked him, and he said so!
ME: Once you demanded to be there and she went to him, he was stuck. He had no other option than to grit his teeth and say, "Of course, honey, I want your mother there!" He doesn't, though. He doesn't want you there at all. Just like he didn't want you there for the conception, either.
GRANNY: (blink blink) ...but he SAID so...
ME: He had no choice. You two conspired against him before he had a chance. Shame on you both.
GRANNY: (blink blink blink)
ME: Seriously.

Well, needless to say, the rest of dinner didn't go well. For her, anyway; my dinner was delicious and the waitress was smoking hot and kind of a flirt, truth be told. But Granny was horribly upset and offended.

Oh well.

I'm sure there are many of you out there who will disagree with me. I am equally as certain that all of you who disagree are women. AND, I am equally as certain that some MEN will state that they disagree, too- when confronted by their angry and offended wives- but those men agree with me more than any others. They may even post comments here disagreeing. In fact they are probably the most likely ones to post comments disagreeing! They'll write their disagreeing comments and get all angry and heated and will then call their wives over to show them the comments they wrote, before the wives even know they did it, before they even know this blog existed, hoping that by doing this, they will somehow ingratiate themselves to their wives, and aggrandize themselves in the eyes of that woman who can never see any good in them or their actions!

I don't blame you men- I know why you're doing it. Even while you're vociferously telling your overbearing wives about what a misogynistic cad I am, just know that I feel your pain, man.

All is forgiven.

So on behalf of all husbands, or specifically all fathers-to-be, I'm asking all of you who will one day be Grandmothers: Don't do this. When the kid is born, stay out of the room. Let your daughter or son have a special bonding moment with just their spouse and child. Give them two friggin minutes, for the love of all things holy, to be JUST THEM, at the most special moment in their family's existence!

And if they INVITE you to be there? Politely refuse. Because let me be brutally honest: If they're inviting you, it's because you're already too intrusive and manipulating as it is, so they are inviting you as a preemptive strike to assuage your ire when you confront your child later and say, "You ARE going to invite me to be there for the birth, RIIIIIGHT??"

You had your shot at motherhood. Cut the apron strings, and now let HER have HERS.

My Directoral Debut

2009-08-04T12:22:00.000-07:00

Sit back and be entertained.

Boggle: A True Story

2009-06-15T10:34:00.001-07:00

I swear to you, every word of this story is true. I wish it weren't, but it is.

In the spring of 2005, I found myself assigned to work on an EPA-monitored Superfund clean-up site. For those of you unfamiliar with the EPA's Superfund sites, these are basically really nasty places where some company dumped assloads of pollutants for decades upon decades, creating such an unholy mess that it could never be cleaned up properly without the Federal Government's intervention.

They're pretty disgusting.

To make matters worse, the particular Superfund site I was assigned to at the time was located in West Virginia, on the banks of the Ohio River, just south of the thriving metropolis of Wheeling, in a little town called Moundsville. So on top of cleaning up mountains of festering chemicals while wearing a TYVEC suit with air hoses supplying my air for breathing, I was also living in one of the most depressing places in the entire country.

Everything was grey. All the time. The sky was grey, the air was grey, the ground was grey, the river was grey, the skin color of the local residents- everything. My entire world had become grey.

Around this time, God saw fit to balance out my grey, dour existence with a little ray of sunshine. It came in the form of a girl I met through some singles website, who lived about 45 minutes away, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She was Valerie, a gorgeous blonde who looked like a cross between Kylie Minogue and Marilyn Monroe.

Now I could go on and on about Valerie. She was unlike anyone I had ever met. She was perennially cheerful, without the least hint of that annoying bubbly chirpiness that most cheerful people have. She had a positive disposition, no matter what the situation or circumstances. Most of all, she was full of great ideas on every topic-where to go, what to see, what to do once we got there.

On top of just being good company, Valerie also opened my eyes to several aspects of existence that, until then, hadn't yet presented themselves to me. While I could list pages and pages of the areas where she enlightened me- not least of which was, the undiscovered beauty of Pittsburgh itself- I think the biggest eye-opener of all wasn't something she necessarily DID, but rather what she WAS.

See, while Valerie and I were roughly the same age- she was just a couple of years older than me- Valerie had gotten started on the whole family-rearing endeavor far earlier than I had. So while my oldest kid at the time was about 8 years old, Valerie's was 17. She was the parent of a teenager!

I had no experience dating a woman with a teenager. And to be frank, before I met her daughter, I expected the worst. But Valerie's girl was a very pleasant surprise, as was her 11-year-old son.

Both of them were the nicest, sweetest, most polite kids I could have ever dreamed of meeting. We brought them along with us every so often when we went out to hit the town or get dinner, and they were always fun to have along, and nearly always on their best behavior. They even called me "Mr. Steve", which amused me to no end, but which I never corrected, since it indicated to me that Valerie was raising them with the proper level of respect for their elders, and I didn't want to be an impediment to that.

Naturally, since I was around such a great woman and such wonderful kids, I, too, always wanted to put my best foot forward all the time. I didn't want them to get any indication that I could be anything less than dignified and mature in every situation.

It was in that frame of mind that I found myself one night at Valerie's house, enjoying a delicious meal she had cooked up for me, and chatting with her and her daughter. Time was wasting, and Valerie liked the stay occupied, so she suggested we all play a game of Boggle.

Boggle, for those of you unfamiliar with it, is a fairly simple game. Here's how it's explained by Wikipedia:

"The game begins by shaking a covered tray of sixteen cubic dice. Each die has a different letter printed on each of its sides. The dice settle into a four by four tray so that only the top letter of each cube is visible. After they have settled into the grid, a three-minute timer is started and all players simultaneously begin the main phase of play.

Each player searches for words that can be constructed from the letters of sequentially adjacent cubes, where "adjacent" cubes are those horizontally, vertically or diagonally neighboring. Words may include singular and plural (or other derived forms) separately, but may not use the same letter cube more than once per word. Each player records all the words he or she finds by writing on a private sheet of paper. After three minutes have elapsed, all players must stop writing and the game enters the scoring phase."

Simple enough, right?

So we broke out the Boggle.

Valerie's daughter shook it up and set it down. Valerie started the timer. And we were off!

And there it was, right in front of me, across the bottom row of the tray:

V. U. L. V. and on the next row, above the last V... A.

VULVA.

Staring me right in the face.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. No, no, no, Steve, NOT GOOD. You can't write down "VULVA" in front of your girlfriend and her teenage daughter, not even if it IS a proper medical term. No, find something else.

But it was fruitless at that point. As any red-blooded male out there can attest to, once you've seen Vulva, it's ALL you can see.

I looked desperately around the board for something else. For ANYTHING else. Maybe an "I" next to an "S". Nope. Or possibly an "A" next to an "N"- but no, that wasn't to be found anywhere, either.

All of those tiny, 2 or 3 letter words that pop up EVERY SINGLE TIME you play Boggle were NOT THERE THIS TIME.

The best I could do was locate an "S"- next to the final "A" in Vulva. "Great," I thought with dismay as I watched the timer tick down to nothing, "Multiple Vulvas. These two are going to think I'm the biggest pervert on the face of the planet."

Finally, the last few seconds ticked away. I was stuck- I had no other options. Picking up my pad to hide my shame, I scratched "VULVAS" onto the top sheet of paper. And as a good faith measure to show I wasn't just looking for porn words, I also wrote down "AS."

There. I was covered.

Valerie went first, and rattled off an impressive list of words I never saw. "Why"- who knew that was there? Or "Gas". Not bad. She had 6 or 7 of these on her pad.

Her daughter was next, and she rattled off an equally impressive list of words. She and Valerie added up their scores and wrote them down, and then they both turned and looked at me.

"Ok, Mr. Steve, what do you have?" her daughter asked.

"Um... well, I spotted this one right off," I said as I slowly lay my pad down on the table, "and it's- you know, it's a medical term... it's in Grey's Anatomy... and it was right there, so I uh..."

"Oh hey, look, you're right," Valerie said, pointing to the tray with nothing more than mild admiration in her voice.

"Oh yeah!" her daughter said, spotting it too. "V-U-L-V-A-S. Hey, not bad, Mr. Steve!"

"Yeah, that's 6 letters," Valerie said, "which is 3 points. Pretty good!"

"Um.... I also have 'AS'...." I offered lamely, dumbfounded.

I was in utter shock. I had just written down female privates, right in front of them, and they didn't even blink. Didn't snicker, didn't shake their heads in disgust, didn't even seem to notice what it meant. They had attained a level of maturity in their household that I was still above me, no matter how much I pretended.

Valerie picked up the tray and shook it to begin our next round.

And I spent the rest of the evening looking for more dirty words, knowing that from now on I had free reign to do so.

I didn't find any though. Just Vulva, just that one time.

The Waffle House Experience

2009-04-19T08:45:00.000-07:00

Ever since my kids moved to these God-forsaken swamplands outside of Charlotte, North Carolina, I have been telling them the same story about the Waffle House. It usually goes something like this when we drive by the one up the street from their house:

ME: Have I ever taken you guys to the Waffle House?
KIDS: NO!! We wanna go!
ME: No way, it's so gross!
KIDS: But you said it's funny!
ME: It is funny!
KIDS: Tell us about the waitress again!
ME: Ok, here's what happens. You sit down at the counter and you order. The waitress stands in front of you and writes it all down. And then she pivots on her heel, and without moving one single step, she shouts your order at the top of her lungs at the line cook, who is standing about five feet away from her. "SCRAMBLED EGGS! THREE STRIPS OF BACON! HASHBROWNS! BISCUITS N' GRAVY ON THE SIDE!" I don't even know why she's there. You could shout the order to the cook yourself just as easily.
KIDS: No way, you're making that up!
ME: I'm totally not making up a word of it! That's what happens!
KIDS: Then take us there and show us!
ME: No way, their food sucks!
KIDS: Pleeeeeeeeeeeease!!
ME: No!

Well, today I finally relented. The Waffle House was right up at the street, and my ever-fattening gut was craving their hashbrowns with double grease, so I figured it was time to prove to these kids that there's more to life than Hannah Montana and The Suite Life of Zack and Cody. It was time to show them the less dangerous aspects of life's gritty underbelly.

Our first disappointment came when we walked in to discover that the entire counter was already full. A suspiciously over-dressed family of 6 had arrived moments before us and spread themselves out the entire length of it, gingerly resting their elbows upon it after making the required cursory inspections for dried jam and congealed ketchup splatters.

Damn.

I really wanted my kids to have that counter experience. Instead we were going to have to make do with a booth situated in the back corner. Luckily, the "back corner" is only about 8 feet away from the counter, so at least were still within close proximity of where most of the action happened.

Our waitress could best described as a Susan Boyle, without the charm, talent, or cheery disposition. She silently took our order down on a notepad, and then turned and walked back behind the counter. My kids watched her intently without missing a step. She took the order off the pad wordlessly and handed it to the cook.

They turned on me. All 4 of them at once, with the dismayed looks of betrayal that your kids generally save for that "there is no Santa Claus " moment.

Emma, my 6-year-old, led the clamour: "She didn't yell anything."
ME: I know.
STEVIE JR.: You said she always shouts the order.
ME: Well, I didnt say always-
ETHAN: Yes you did! You said she shouts-
ME: Everytime I've come here before, every waitress has shouted-
MADDIE: She just handed it to the cook! She didn't even whisper it to him!
ME: Look, this is the first time I've been to this Waffle House. In every other Waffle House--

And then... from across the restaurant---

"SCRAMBLED EGGS!"

Four little head all snapped around at once towards the commotion.

"HASH BROWNS! COFFEE, BLACK! DOUBLE ORDER OF BACON!! TWO WAFFLES!"

The scowls of disappointment were suddenly replaced with the joyful expressions of children discovering twice as many presents as expected under the Christmas Tree.

MADDIE: Oh my Gosh, it's real!
EMMA: (In her best southern twang) SCRAMBLED AAAAIGS!
STEVIE: That was awesome!
ETHAN: ..... (Ethan was too dumbfounded to speak.)

On and on it went, throughout our entire morning there. That shrill Flo-voice, screaming at her very own Mel, standing a mere four feet away from her if he was an inch, the windows threatening to shatter from the pitch and volume of it.

It was the most magical moment of my kids' lives to date.

And more importantly, I was vindicated.

Oops, Our Bad!

2009-04-16T16:18:00.001-07:00

So pirates are brazenly trolling the waters off the coast of Somalia, and beyond, with greater and greater tenacity and boldness. They are capturing shipping vessels and holding their crews hostage, demanding lucrative ransoms for their safe return.

Whose fault is this?

Bush's, of course! And then, after Bush, yours, if you're American.

Or so says the leftist media in this article.

Come on, don't act surprised. You knew this Day of Blame was coming. No ill can befall the world without Bush and the United States somehow being to blame for it. Rather than compelling you to read the afore-cited article, I'll sum it up for you. Two years ago, Somalia was controlled by a brutish pack of rebels. Ethiopia came to the aid of the Somalian Government and fought- and defeated- this group of rebels. America smiled upon the entire endeavor, without engaging them or firing a single shot.

So now it's America's fault.

Hey, makes sense to me.

Not that we're EXCLUSIVELY to blame. European leftists also blame the European powers-that-be in this article.

Again, let me summarize it, because it's aggravating to read for yourself.

Europeans are dumping nuclear waste off the coast of Somalia, sickening and killing the Somali people. Then the same Europeans are illegally over-fishing the same waters, somehow not getting radiation sickness from their aforementioned dumping activities. (If you sense an inconstistency here, hey, I'm right there sensing it with you.) In retaliation, Noble Somalians are taking to the High Seas to excise a "tax" upon these illegal dumpers and fishers. How? By taking the crews of unrelated ships hostage and demanding ransom. (I'm sensing that inconsistency again.)

So to summarize, whose fault is it that Somalian pirates are boarding vessels that aren't theirs, holding hostages, and demanding ransoms? Bush's, yours, and Western Europe's.

Not Somalia's.

Never the perpetrator's.

Consider yourself educated!

They Buy You, They Own You!

2009-04-04T15:35:00.001-07:00

I wouldn't regard myself as an alarmist. While I'm not a big Obama fan, I've stayed largely silent since he took office. I figured it was only fair to give the guy a while and see what he could do with it.

Well, kudos to him! I'm truly in awe. I never thought we'd become Socialist so quickly, and I lay all the credit at his Stalinist feet, with a tip of the hat to Bush and the gang for so effectively facilitating the transition before he took office.

I don't think I need to rehash the entire economic mess we find ourselves in for all of you reading. We're all painfully aware of it. A lot of us (myself excluded) are angry at a lot of people. Big executives of banks and auto firms seem to be the target of choice these days- well paid, smug, silk suits, private jets- and here we sit from day to day, wondering if we'll get a pink slip, while they collect multi-million dollar bonuses for a job poorly done.

That's easy to get pissed about! And when you're that pissed off, and someone comes along and bitch-slaps the moneymakers around a little, you kinda want to cheer them on.

Look at what's really happened, though.

First, the Obama administration set a salary cap of $500K for executives of corporations taking bailout money. You cheered, because you always thought they made too much anyway. You ignored the obvious- if they set their salaries where they think they ought to be, and we stay mum, they can one day set ours where they feel ours ought to be, also- whether you feel that's high enough or not.

Later on, the Obama administration decided that if GM wanted bailout money, then their CEO, Rick Wagoner, had to go. I'm pretty sure this is the first time the President of the United States has fired an executive of a private company. (Of course, it's hardly a private company anymore, right?) Once again, cheers from many of you, but it seemed a lot more people were a lot more surprised this time around. In fact, a lot of people who were supposed to be cheering were actually starting to sound a little alarmed. Maybe unsettled at this new trend. But not enough to complain too loud, since they thought he kinda deserved it, too.

If he can fire Mr. Wagoner of GM, though, Obama can one day fire you, too, if you're not walking in lockstep with his agenda. Remember that.

But now the most unsettling news of all has come to light. Are you ready for this one?

All of these Obama-moves thus far were based upon the premise that, hey, you companies voluntarily took Government funds to stay afloat, so now the Government gets to call the shots to make sure you don't screw up again. However, it's now coming to light that in some instances, companies that were already staying afloat just fine on their own were forced to take bailout funds (by Bush!), and that Obama is refusing repayment of those funds!

Now why is that? Isn't it a good thing to do, to encourage these companies to repay what we've lent them as soon as possible, so we can recoup our squandered tax funds and rescue our economy?

No. Not if that means giving up power, dumbass! And Obama, who until a couple of months ago had never really run anything before in his life, is really enjoying this whole new Running-The-Entire-World gig. Don't look for him to let any of it go anytime soon.

Once again, I want to reiterate that I hate writing this particular post at all. I hate people who tell me we're on a "slippery slope" and who raise false alarms at every new government policy. But we're not on a slippery slope this time. We've already slid to the bottom. And nobody's up there anymore to throw us a proverbial rope.

But hey, enjoy the New World Order! It looks like it'll be quite an experience!

DO SOMETHING, QUICK!

2009-02-13T08:21:00.000-08:00

Hey, did I get this right, what I heard a couple of hours ago?

Did the House of Representatives of the United States of America just pass a TRILLION DOLLAR SPENDING BILL, 1100 PAGES LONG, without even READING IT FIRST?

No.... That's a joke, right? I mean, what congress in its right mind would take a deficit-laden public like ours, and dump another TRILLION DOLLARS of debt in our laps? That can't be right. Surely, I misheard.

Oh, ok, see? I was wrong. It's only $787 billion, not a trillion.

Holy crap, wait... that's still an assload of money.

But wait, I didn't see this either- it's a stimulus package! Ooooooh, that's ok then!

I mean, sure, it's gonna cost us three quarters of a trillion dollars, but that's LATER. Right NOW, we're going to get all kinds of good things out of this. Jobs, for example! Some of us get to keep our jobs, others get to get new jobs! (Which is a good thing, since our taxes are going to be giving our bank accounts a high colonic pretty soon to pay for this thing.)

And these are great jobs- the ones you've dreamed of since you graduated from college with your MBA! These are CONSTRUCTION jobs!

Hot damn, grab a shovel, neighbor, you and I are gonna build some roads and bridges!

Er, at least, I think we are.

I guess I'm not really sure.

Nobody read this thing before they voted on it, after all.

Not my congressman, not yours, not anybody's.

Not Speaker-of-the-House Nancy Pelosi, either, but she's on her way to Rome for 8 days now, so I'm sure she'll read it on the plane.

But come on, relax, people, this is the GOVERNMENT we're talking about, what have they ever screwed up?

These are the people that gave us longer lines, toothpaste and water confiscation, and granny-wanding at the airport check points.

They also gave us last summer's highly successful Wall Street bailout package- you know, the one that saved our economy- er, uh... I mean, the one that saved your house from foreclosure- er, uh, wait...

Well, the government gave us the DMV, and that's still functioning like a well-oiled machine.

So naturally, I trust them with every single dime I have made so far in my life, as well as every dime I will ever make, and most of what my kids will make, too. Not that I have any choice. Because if you think this stimulus package is the panacea to our economic woes, just wait till you see what they come up with 6 months from now when it fails!

Uncle Don

2009-02-04T15:54:00.000-08:00

Recently, in the midst of one of the worst winters of my life, I found myself desperately seeking some refuge from what seemed like an unending assault upon my happiness and good senses.

Then it hit me- I was in Riverside, California, and Uncle Don lived just an hour and forty-five minutes or so south of me. And Uncle Don? That guy was a walking party.

Don was my mother's oldest brother, and had been a truck driver for as long as I can remember. Every so often, his trucking route would take him through our neck of the woods in New England, and few things shocked the house with excitement like a surprise visit from Uncle Don! He did things that, as a kid, we found to be exciting and rebellious, like telling slightly-off-color stories, and drinking COFFEE! Black, no less! (Keep in mind, I'm from a family of staunch Mormons.)

As I grew older, though, and went through some of life's more egregious crapstorms, I came to understand Uncle Don on a far deeper and more personal level than I had as a child. I was divorced, he was divorced. I had had my time away from the church, and so had he. We were kindred spirits in a way.

But this understanding was from a distance, still. I mean, I rarely ever saw him. A lunch every so often in Salt Lake City, when he was up visiting his sisters, or maybe a family reunion or a funeral, but other than that, he was a name mentioned anecdotally when I talked to Mom.

Well, I was going to change that a little. I gave Don a call and told him I wanted to come down for a visit, and he was ecstatic about the idea. We spent a good ten minutes on the phone as he told he how to get there. I thought about cutting him off and telling him I could find it on my phone's GPS, but even giving directions, every other sentence was interrupted with a joke and a chuckle of laughter, so I let him go on, writing it all down as he went, the old fashioned way.

I pulled up to his place on Saturday morning. It was a long row of apartments in an over-55 community, and I crawled through the parking lot slowly, unable to see any numbers, and wondering how in the hell I was going to find him. That proved not to be a problem, though. Don was standing outside his aprtment with a gaggle of adoring old women gathered around him. I shook my head and laughed, admiring how he still had it at the ripe old age of 82.

As I walked up to him, he took my hand in a firm handshake and introduced me to the neighborhood ladies. "This is my nephew Steve," he said proudly, and the doting crowd of fans all chattered excitedly, more to suck up to him than out of any excitement to see me. Don had a big grin on his face, but not the kind that comes from egotistical pride from the admiration of a few women. No, rather, it was the smile of a man who knows that while the attention is flattering, he doesn't need it to know that he's still something. Don was amused by their attention more than anything.

As he chased away the old hens and led me into his apartment, his first question was, "Well, are you staying the night?" I hesitated for the briefest of moments. I really hadn't been planning on it, but damn it, I had been here for five minutes and was already having such a good time, that I said, "I sure am!"

And so we had a blast. I wish I could go into detail about every moment of that weekend down there at Don's. We drove all around his town, and he pointed all kinds of things out to me. We saw the house he had lived in for thirty years. He had a story about every house, every neighbor, every place we passed.

Now I know what you're thinking- oh jeeeeeeez, old people stories! But no, these were DON stories. These were good!

Like this one:

"You see that pole there by the house? When your Aunt J was fooling around with that damned dentist in town, he used to park his car over there because there were no lights on that side of the house, and he figured he could sneak in without being seen. Well, those neighbors over there? (he points across the street) They came out in the middle of the night and let all of the air out of his tires. (He laughs, as if this is the funniest thing he has ever heard in his life.) All 4 of them! (He laughs again, harder and longer this time.)" We continued on down the block, for a new house and a new story.

That was my weekend with Don. I found out more about him- his life, his family, his marriage, his business, his time fighting in WWII, his friends from the war, his brothers and sisters- than I had ever know before. We went out to eat at his favorite places, took a drive up into the mountains to see some of his favorite sights, had lunch at the local Indian casino, and we even got out the boomerangs he had bought in Australia and took them over to the local school yard to see if we could figure out how to make the damn things come back to us. (Incidentally, we never did.)

That weekend with Uncle Don was exactly what I needed. It's amazing how being with a family member can bring light back into your soul like that, especially when you're with someone who has been through the ringer himself, and survived it, and came out ok on the tale end after it.

One of my best memories from this weekend was a conversation we had about faith. See, that's where Don and I had dissimilar stories; he stayed away from the church for the most part, whereas I went back to it as quickly as I could. He told me his views of the church when he was telling me about how he'd hide from the local missionaries. Here's what he had to say about it:

"Oh," he said over dinner, "I suppose I felt bad about how I gave those missionaries the run-around, but after a while, I just stopped coming to the door when they came over to visit me. See, they were barking up the wrong tree with me. They needed to be out looking for people who didn't believe in the church. But I DO believe in the church. See, I already KNOW it's true. I just don't go, that's all. They didn't need to be wasting their time with me."

As much as I wish I could have seen him make his way back into the church some day, I guess it's enough for me to know that he never doubted it, no matter how much trouble he may have had living it.

Saturday night, we swung by my cousin Michelle's place, to see her Christmas lights. Don loved those lights, and he adored his daughter Michelle, as well as her husband and her two little girls. And he thought their Christmas lights that year were about the coolest thing he had ever seen. We stopped by, took them in, said hi to Michelle, snapped a couple of pictures, and then we were on our way.

As we drove away, I got a glimpse of how magnanimous Don could be. "See, Michelle was talking about her job as a teacher once, and I said to her, Michelle, if you can be half the teacher your mother was, you'll be a success. See, Steve, as much as I have to say about your Aunt J, I have to give her one thing. She was an amazing teacher. She really knew how to reach out to those kids. Oh, how they cried when she retired!"

Don didn't have to share that with me. But he did, and he went out of his way to do it, too, more than once over the course of the weekend. He may not have enjoyed his marriage very much, but he was a big enough man to have seen the good in his ex-wife, and a big enough man to go out of his way to point it out to others.

Sunday afternoon, when I loaded up in my car to head home, he came out to see me off. I gave him one of those man-hugs, half-handshake and half-hug, and we spoke for a little bit, and then, as I was climbing into the car to leave, he said to me, "Well, Steven, I'm glad you came down. That was a lot of fun! We're going to have to do this again sometime, maybe when your cousin Chip comes down in a few weeks!"

"Sure thing, Uncle Don, I'll be in touch! Let's plan on it!"

It just wasn't to be. Uncle Don passed away a couple of days ago in a car accident on I-15, just outside of Rancho Cucamonga, not 20 miles from me here. It was quick, and unexpected, a total fluke of an accident for a man who had spent his entire life driving all over the country, logging literally millions of miles in his time. But that's how life goes.

I'm glad I got to see the old guy before he left us. Uncle Don was a one-of-a-kind, and was dearly loved by all of us, and by me, personally. We'll miss you, Uncle Don. I'll miss you.

The Obama Baseline

2009-01-19T10:28:00.001-08:00

Well, here we are, a day away from a new President. Exciting, huh? I, myself, find it hard to believe that 8 years of Bush have gone by so fast, but POOF! They're gone, like a puff of dandelion dander in the wind.

Now, we all know what's going to happen about 2 years from now. Republicans of all stripes and flavors are going to come crawling out of the woodwork, jockeying for their chance to take the pole position in the 2012 race for President. Jindall of Louisiana, Crist of Florida, Palin of Alaska, Romney of Uta-er, uh, Massachuetts... expect a list of about 15 of them, all testing the waters to see if a run is even feasible.

They're all going to be asking you the same question:

"Are you better off now than you were in 2008?"

What an aggravating question. Who ever remembers? We're so short sighted! I mean, how many of you remember that when McCain secured the Republican nomination, National Security was a bigger deal than the economy was? Pffft, none of you. How many of you remember that is was just about a year ago that the mortgage market went into a freefall? None of you! We're in such a here-and-now society these days that it's hard for us to fathom how things used to be anymore, we only see how they ARE, and assume that must be how they always were.

So I'm providing you with a service today: A baseline you can use to judge the Obama Presidency. As of today, the last day of the Bush era (please, please, hold your applause...), here is where we stand as a nation:

Unemployment currently stands at a national rate of 7.2%.

Gas Prices stand at a national average price of $1.82 a gallon.

Oil is trading at $34.63 a barrel on the New York Mercantile Exchange.

The Dow Jones Industrial Average is at 8281.22, and the NASDAQ is at 1529.33.

The Median Sales Prices for Existing Homes, by region, is: $242,500 for the West; $154,500 for the South; $142,400 for the Midwest; and $257,700 for the Northeast.

The Consumer Confidence Index currently stands at 38.

National averages for some common consumer items are as follows: Milk, $3.82/gallon. Ground beef, $2.86/lb. 5-lb. bag of potatoes, $3.36. Apples, $1.51/lb. 5-lb. bag of flour, $2.46. Cheddar Cheese, $4.76/lb. Bacon, $3.37/lb.

In the Middle East, we still have 144,000 troops in Iraq as of August 2008; 4223 troops have been killed in Iraq as of January 2009. Obama ran on a promise to bring all troops home within 16 months.

Israel and Hamas are currently observing a cease-fire after a three-week offensive into the Gaza Strip by Israel, which was spurred by rocket attacks on Israeli settlements by the Palestinians, prior to and during the offensive.

The national mood seems to be pessimistic, with everyone wondering if they'll still have a job tomorrow.

And everyone's having a fit about the First Black President being sworn in.

Ok, HappyBack, great blog, but a little boring... can you spice it up a little?

Sure, here's a picture of some hot chicks looking at cars. Hey, whaddya want from me? Statistics are statistics. You want stimulation, go see a Scorcese film.

Your Super Bowl Bet. Guaran-Freakin'-Teed.

2009-01-12T09:34:00.000-08:00

Victory follows me.

It stalks me across this great nation like a private investigator looking for a child support evader. Like a craxy ex-girlfriend determined to make me love her again by boiling my rabbit on the stove.

It is relentless.

Here's how it works: When I move somewhere, and then LEAVE, their sports team, if it's any good to begin with, will win the Championship the following season.

Early in the decade, I was living and working in Masschusetts. I left and moved to Tampa. New England won the Super Bowl.

I moved from Tampa to Las Vegas. Tampa won the Super Bowl.

I got divorced, my ex moved back to Massachusetts, and I started flying back there a lot and spending time with the kids.

New England wins another couple of Super Bowls.

In late 2004, I lived in the Pittsburgh area. I left; Pittsburgh won the next year's Super Bowl.

At the same time, I was living in Cincinnati quite a bit. Cincinnati sucks. I wasn't going to help them out any. Remember, the team has to be good to start with!

But Indianapolis, just about an hour away from Cincy? They won the next Super Bowl.

This has happened with Hockey Teams, Baseball Teams, over and over.

Last year, I spent 5 months in Phoenix.

Count on the Cardinals to take it all.

Now if they DO, and you didn't BET ON IT, don't come whining to me. I set you up for a great pay-out.

I want half the winnings if you do, though. Come on, it's only fair.

Fishing

2009-01-04T18:58:00.000-08:00

So a friend of mine started writing something on her Facebook wall recently about how she wants to write a book called "How To Catch the Elusive Fish."

Naturally, this is a metaphorical title, and this book would actually be a how-to guide for catching a man.

Her friends started piling on with suggestions for chapter titles. CHAPTER 1: What worked yesterday isn't working today. CHAPTER 5: This fish is a fresh-water species, so what's he doing in salt water? CHAPTER 6: The Art of Catch and Release.

Sheri countered with her own Chapter suggestion: CHAPTER 7: Location, Location, Location... excerpts: "Location is key. Avoid popular places you may find other anglers"...."Beware of fish in Provo waters. They seem tasty enough, sure, however they swim in the same circles and refuse to leave the pond....You can still catch a great fish in warm weather, for example in AZ. Of course this requires movement because they swim faster in shallow water, eat less, and they tend to be indifferent to common lures...."

All of this was a lot of fun. It's natural to compare dating and its foibles and follies to hunting or fishing, after all. You do tend to acquire this hunter-tracking-his-prey mentality once you've gone through a few futile relationships. We've all done it.

But it got me to thinking: What does a fisherman do once he's caught a fish?
1) If it's a pitiful little thing, he throws it back.
2) If it's big enough to eat, he kills it, skins it, guts it, cooks it up, and eats it.
3)If it's a really big fish, he kills it, shellacs it, and mounts it on the wall.

Now let's compare THAT to dating. You are the fisherman. Let's say you snag a mate. You have three choices:
1)Look him over and then throw him back;
2)get a good meal out of him; or
3)keep him as a trophy you show off to your friends, until they get sick of coming over and hearing the story of how you snagged him in the Gulf of Mexico during the Bonito run last year.

The end result? Even if you've found and mounted (no pun intended) a trophy fish, you're still pretty much alone. I mean, have you ever tried to have a meaningful talk with a mounted fish? Hell, I have seen some that SING, and they STILL can't carry on a good conversation.

I think we single thirty-somethings spend a little too much time trying to figure out how to snag a trophy fish, when what we really ought to be doing is figuring out how to breathe under water and swim.

I mean, if a fish is what you want, and a fish's companionship is what will keep you happy for the rest of your life, then you need to figure out how to relate to the fish better, instead of trying to find a good way to lure that blasted thing out of it's natural habitat.

Even if you put your captured fish in a 100-gallon tank in the living room, there's going to be a constant wall of glass between you and your beloved, as he floats around between the plastic scuba diver and mermaid, and you stand outside on dry land watching him, unable to connect with him.

No, we need to rent and watch "The Incredible Mister Limpet" and learn some sage bits of wisdom from Don Knotts. Stop trying to figure out how to trick a fish into biting your hook; pucker up, jump in and swim around with them, instead.

Or hey! Try pursuing humans!

Christmas Memories, Volume 3

2008-12-24T08:21:00.001-08:00

Rio Bravo, Suchitepequez, Guatemala, 1992.

This was to be my second and final Christmas spent in Guatemala during my 2-year mission for the LDS Church. And oh, how the mighty had fallen by this point in time.

See, I was a mission big-wig up until a couple of months before this time. Some of you reading this are former Mormon missionaries yourselves, and so you may be able to relate to what I'm about to tell you, but for the rest of you, maybe I ought to delve into a little detail.

You see us wheeling around town in white shirts and ties on mountain bikes, our helmets securely fastened around our chins. To you, we're all the same. Quiet kids from Utah out knocking on doors and calling everyone "sir" and "ma'am".

But there's a sort of hierarchy that goes on in these missions. Most of us just go out and knock on doors, but some get called to positions of leadership. District Leaders watch out for small groups of maybe 6 or 8 missionaries; Zone Leaders look out for 3 or 4 of these districts; and then the really big Kahunas, the 2 Assistants to the President, or AP's, rule over all of them.

I shot through these ranks early on. I bypassed District Leader altogether and instead spent 5 months as the Mission Financial Secretary. I learned quickly that even among humble servants of Christ, everyone loves the guy who controls the purse strings. (waitaminute- didn't Judas control the purse strings...? Never mind. On with my story.)

After my time in the office, I spent another 5 months as a Zone Leader in two different zones. With 6 months left before I went home, I was on the fast track to AP. Everyone expected it of me. My name was legend.

Then we got a sudden influx of 20 or so missionaries who had to be pulled out of Honduras due to a political uprising. Suddenly, we had to open up a bunch of new areas to missionary work that either had never seen missionaries before, or hadn't seen them in over ten years.

That's where I got sent. For two months, I was banished into relative obscurity in a village deep in the Mountains, walking its hot dusty streets and struggling to adapt to its local dialect of Cakchiquel. While I was there, large groups of missionaires went home, and even larger groups arrived. By the time I was brought back out of the mountains, nearly a third of the mission had never heard of me, and any thought of me rising into the highest levels of leadership were long since forgotten.

Suddenly, my huge head had to deflate and adapt to the idea that I wasn't anything special anymore.

That's when I got sent to Rio Bravo, Suchitepequez, to finish out my last 4 months.

It was a small, steamy, sweaty little town on a major higway running along the Pacific coastal plain. People here walked and talked and worked a little slower due to the heat, and the effort required just to cut a swath through the thick wet air from day to day, moment to moment.

Rio Bravo, like any small town, had its own peculiar cast of characters. There was Noe Revolorio, the pastor of the largest Evangelical church in town. He was a quiet and unassuming man, thin, bespectacled, gaunt- but once he took stage to deliver a sermon, it could be heard echoing through the concrete canyons of the town's streets, from one end of town to the other.

There was Sister Victoria, the local friend-to-Mormons. Not a member of the church herself, she nonetheless loved it, and loved the Missionaires, and made sure her Mormon-suspicious husband rented us our house/chapel at the cheapest rate possible, and even showed up at meetings on occasion when she could sneak out without letting the husband know she was gone.

There was Victor. Victor was a young guy in our local congregation. A bit effeminate and socially awkward, he was a short, skinny little guy with a front tooth missing and a prominent lisp because of it. Which did nothing to reduce his effeminate nature. Victor was an all-around good guy. If something needed doing or someone needed helping, Victor was there, usually without you even having to ask him. Or even INFORM him- word got around that town quickly, and Victor would just know, and he'd show up to help.

There was the town drunk. Every town had one, but this guy was the angry variety. He'd wander town in stinking clothes and with an bitter disposition, barking at anyone who was unfortunate enough to cross his path to give him some money, or food, or at the very least, a little respect. His local nickname was "Mi Perrita," which translates into "My Little Doggy," but "Doggy" in its feminine form, just to add another list twist of indignity to his already miserable life.

And there was the Snake House. Nearly every town I had lived in had one- a house with 2-4 attractive sisters living in it, aged anywhere from 15 to 25, who loved to flirt with the celibate missionaries, and use their womanly wiles to drag them down the path to hell. Or at least get them to flirt back. In Rio Bravo, the Snake House was right next door to our own house, which doubled as the local church building. And the Snakes were Alma and Sarah, two sisters, ages 19 and 21. Alma was the brighter, less-attractive of the two, but by less attractive, I mean in the way that Jessica Simpson is slightly less attractive than Pamela Anderson. Sarah was the more attractive of the two, and was also far more open in her flirting, blowing loud kisses to me every time we left the house in the morning to do our daily visits.

And then there was my missionary companion, Elder Calderon. A young rich kid from some little village on the border of Mexico, his heart just wasn't in this whole mission thing. And frankly, at this point in time, mine wasn't in it as much as it once had been, too. I was tired, and I wanted it to be over with. I still put all I had into my daily duties, as did Calderon, but we were always good for staying somewhere a little too long if the conversation was enjoyable, or taking the longer, more scenic route to an appointment, even if that meant arriving a little late and having to leave a little early to take the same route back.

Christmas in Guatemala isn't like Christmas in the States. It's a lot more like the 4th of July. Fireworks are set off all night on the 24th, in increasing number and frequency as the night progresses, culminating in a cacophony of violent explosions at midnight to celebrate the birth of our Savior. As missionaries, we'd visit as many people as we could, both members of the church and members of other churches, delivering a brief Christmas message and then being stuffed with fresh-cooked tamales. By the time you've had you tenth tamale for the day, you want to puke every one of them back up, but we were troopers- we just kept on going, kept on visiting, kept on eating as the night grew later and the noise of the fireworks louder and harder to talk over.

Our second-to-last visit of the night was to the Snake House, our next door neighbors. Now I know, I labeled it the Snake House, and in so doing diminished it to house-of-sin status in your minds, but it was more than that. Alma and Sarah were just two of the 5 sisters who lived there. They lived there with their niece, Llesika, their mother, and on holidays like this, their father would come home from Guatemala City to visit.

I really liked their father, and loved any chance I got to come and sit and talk with him. The daughters knew their social places during visits like this; Me, Dad, and Calderon were left to sit on the nicer seats by the fire and talk, while they would enter and leave the scene with tamales and drinks and softly-spoken inquiries as to our general level of comfort and whether we needed more to eat or drink. They'd then back out of the scene, ducking behind Dad and winking flirtaciously when they were pretty sure he couldn't see it. Not that he'd really care; if one of his daughters could land herself an American husband, he'd have been all for that.

We sat and talked for way too long, and as much as I enjoyed it, jousting good-naturedly over our differences in religious views, and laughing and joking around, I subconsciously knew we should be getting on to our last appointment.

That appointment was at Victor's house. See, as nice a guy as Victor was, he was also overly sensitive to perceived slights. Arriving late was taken by him as an indication that we really didn't value him or his friendship. Inattentiveness was another indication to him that we really didn't care too much for him. He was wrong, of course- we loved this guy. When he loosened up and stopped worrying about how people were treating him, he was more fun than anyone else in town. We cared for the guy like a brother. But always being watched for any indication of ingratitude was exhasusting, and it created a strange situation where, as much as we knew we'd enjoy the visit, we wanted to put it off for as long as we could, even though we knew that so doing would only make matters worse.

Finally, I presented the Snake House Dad with his gift, and then we wrapped up the conversation and politely made our departure, awkwardly declining the traditonal Christmas hugs from Alma and Sarah before finally relenting under their insistance and enjoying the carnal body press from the hottest babes in town. We did duck the kisses, though, much to their dismay.

Victor lived right around the corner from us, and we cautiously made our way over. I was bracing myself for the guilt onslaught as we approached his gate and called out to announce our arrival.

"We're here, Victor!" I called out, expecting to hear him say in response, "A la', Elders, we expected you 45 minutes ago!"

Instead, his voice drifted over from the fire in the back of the property. "Over here, Elders, come get some Tamales!"

Mmmmmm, tamales..... more tamales. Well, hell, it was Christmas, so we dished ourselves up a couple and sat down by the fire.

I let my eyes adjust and looked around the fire as we sat down. Victor was there, with his mother, and his niece, and then there was some guy I didn't recognize at all, sitting almost directly across from me.

Victor made an introduction. "This is Juan."

I nodded my head, stood up, circled the fire, and shook his hand.

Now that the fire wasn't between us, I could see him a little better, and I recognized him this time. Startled, I hesitated before I shook his hand, and then offered it and shook it firmly.

I hadn't recognized him at all, because I had never seen him bathed and in clean clothing. I had never been that close to him without smelling that acrid, oily stench that comes from rubbing alcohol sweating out of your pores all day every day. I had never heard him talk to me, only shout, or growl. I had never seen him quiet, or humbled, as he was tonight.

It was Mi Perrita. It was the Town Drunk. Cleaned up, smelling good, sitting quietly and politely, and enjoying a tamale with the family.

"Hi, Juan, nice to uh- meet you," I said.

"Nice to meet you too," he said back, keeping his head down. See, he knew I knew who he was. The whole damn town knew who he was. And as much as I wish I could say I had never laughed openly at him in public, it wouldn't be true.

Now, I had never openly MOCKED the man in public, but there had been times when he approached a group of us on the street and started to berate us, and in those times, it often seemed that the only was to defuse the situation was to laugh and walk away, or run, sometimes, if he was particularly loaded up and aggressive.

To me, I was laughing at the situation. Here I was, a middle class white kid from the suburbs of Providence, Rhode Island, running down a street in Rio Bravo, Guatemala, with an angry drunk guy screaming at me. That was funny! So I laughed.

Mi Perrita- or Juan, as I guess he was actually called- didn't find it as funny. To him, he was the source of my laughter, not the situation itself.

And now here we were, face to face, on Christmas Eve, eating tamales around Victor's fire.

I sat down, and Victor pulled out his bible. "Let's read the Christmas story," he said, and we did, passing the bible around the fire, each of us reading a few verses from Luke Chapter 2 between staccato bursts of firecrackers out on the street behind us. Juan could read fast and loud, something not often seen in Guatemala, where 5th and 6th grade students often struggled to read a full sentence.

The night wore on, and the conversation was fun and lively. Then Juan told us his life story, which I only vaguely remember now. He was from neighboring El Salvador, and had somehow ended up in these parts on a work assignment of some sort. He started drinking while he was here, missing his family, and ended up a full-blown alcoholic, and now spent his days wandering the streets of Rio Bravo. He was embarrassed and ashamed, and cried openly as he got to that part of his story. We sat silently and stoicly, not really sure what to say.

He pointed to the fire and said he was was burning his clothes and starting over. I looked in, and sure enough, there were the last few burning rags of the outfit he had worn every day for months now, probably for years. His fresh clothes were Victor's, donated to him. Victor didn't announce that; I just recognized the shirt. Victor only had three or four shirts to begin with. I made a mental note to come back in the morning with some extra clothes.

Finally, the fireworks in the background reached such a crescendo that conversation became impossible. We stopped talking and walked out to the street with our own fireworks and added to the noise of celebration. Juan lit them and threw them like a champ. Victor danced around like a fool with his little niece as they blew off entire chains of them. It was midnight. The Christ child's birth had arrived.

We went home and went to bed. I wish I could tell you that Juan's life changed from that moment forward, but it didn't. By the end of the week he was walking the streets again, drunk and angry. But he was now a frequent visitor to Victor's home, between these drunken binges, being fed a fresh meal and getting fresh clothes from a family that really couldn't afford to give him either. Maybe he wasn't clean and sober overnight, but at least now he had a place to go to renew his commitments when he fell off the wagon, where he knew he was just loved and accepted, and not judged.

I left Rio Bravo 2 months after that and returned hom the the United States, and I have no idea what ever became of Juan. Maybe he finally cleaned up. More likely, he stayed drunk, and improved his life in fits and starts, only to fall back down again, over and over and over.

But more importantly, as I saw it, Juan now had friends, and family, that he could turn to. he had a home to go home to.

And Victor? Victor proved to me once again that most everybody I met in that country understood Jesus and his teachings a lot better than this arrogant white boy ever did. Well, I'm better off for it in the end.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

Christmas Memories, Volume 2

2008-12-14T17:29:00.000-08:00

I have lots of friends. I don't mean that to sound like I'm Mr. Popular; I just do.

The majority of them are of the casual-acquaintance variety. We nod when we pass in hallways, we exchange friendly greetings and handshakes at church, we might even toss a text message back and forth on a bi-monthly basis.

Others go a little deeper than that. They are the call-on-in-my-time-of-need friends. Or the share-what's-really-bothering-me-when-everyone-else-thinks-I'm-fine kind of friends.

Some of these friends, though, aren't really even friends anymore. They are just a simple DNA strand short of being family.

Rob and Allison would fit nicely into that latter category of friends.

I met Rob in 1996. I was a 23-year-old newlywed. He was a long-haired 18-year-old kid. My wife and I had just moved into his hometown and were attending the same church congregation as his family.

I took an intense disliking to him the first time I saw him.

It was the hair. He had this little-English-prince hairdo, all the same length, all the way around. I remember he'd part the front with his fingertips like a pair of curtains so he could peer through them.

I hated that haircut.

A couple of weeks after I first spotted this kid and decided to dislike him, I was standing in the hallway at church after the meetings let out, chatting with one of our new friends there. Behind me, I heard some other group engaged in a discussion of their own. I had no idea who was talking at the moment; all I knew was that whomever it was, he had my sense of humor. I turned and immediately thrust myself into the conversation. I answered some smart-ass comment of his with one of my own before I even knew whom I was speaking to.

It was the long-haired punk kid I so disliked.

He just banetered back with me as if we had been best friends for years.

And from that moment forward, we were.

Rob has seen it all from me in our 12-year friendship. He's been there to see all of my kids almost from birth. He's taken roadtrips across the country with me. I could say things like "Busch Gardens", "Rambo", "Dog", "NASA", or "Hand check" to him, and without even having to re-tell the stories behind those words, we'd be laughing ourselves into fits.

In 2004, Rob saw me at my absolute low point in life. Barely divorced a year, I was a mess. I had no idea where my life was going. I lived it miserably from day to day. I followed one bad mistake with another. Every word out of my mouth was inane and selfish and foolish. I think back on those days and I'm surprised anybody who knew me then stuck with me.

It was in the midst of this horrible time of my life that Rob and his new wife Allison invited me to rent a room in their home in Boca Raton, Florida, just as the holidays were approaching. Mind you, they didn't respond favorably to a request from me; they OFFERED it to me. I reluctantly accepted.

Reluctantly, because as low as I was at the time, I recognized that this was going to be Rob and Allison's first Christmas together as Man and Wife. Something deep inside of me said that this should be a private time for the two of them. They ought to be spending it together, just the two of them. My presence would be an unfair and unwelcome invasion.

"Whatever," Rob said. "Just come. We want you here."

So I did. I drove down from West Virginia, where I was working at the time, and moved my things into our new place in Boca.

Christmas arrived a day or two after I got there.

It would be unfair of me to exclude the rest of Rob's family when I mention my group of friends who are now family. Rob's mother and father and siblings would fit into that category, too. Without any hesitation whatsoever, they invited me over to a large family gathering at his sister's apartment. Presents were exchanged, guitars were brought out, songs were sung, and throughout the day, laughter prevailed.

I have been the unrelated guest at other family gatherings before. Usually, you sit in the corner, and get an occasional 2-minute chat from whomever is unlucky enough to wander by your seat. They don't exclude you by design, necessarily, but they don't quite know how to include you, either.

There is none of that in Rob's family. You'd have never known, if you were a silent observer, that I wasn't related to them by blood. I was included in everything. I was in the center of every conversation in my edge of the room. I was given gifts, included in the singing, and sometimes given the floor to share a story or joke of my own.

I was family.

The following morning, Christmas morning, was shared back at our apartment. Our tree was my camera tripod with a green tablecloth draped over it. Small, inexpensive gifts, typical of any newlywed couple, were exchanged.

And once again, I was family. I was included. I was WANTED there.

Rob and Allison probably still don't appreciate the gift they gave me that year. Not the one they had for me under the tree; it was a nice pair of dress pants, one that I thankfully still fit into, in fact. No, that gift was nice, but it wasn't the one that mattered. Because what Rob and Allison gave me was a FAMILY.

As I look back over my life, I remember fondly, every so often, a person here or there who has shown me a glimpse of what Jesus himself must have been like. See, I like Jesus, and I love reading every account of his life and teachings that I can. But as vividly as I can imagine the scenes of his life, sometimes trying to imagine his personality or persona eludes me.

But I can tell you one thing about Jesus, from what Rob and Allison and the rest of their family showed me that year. If Jesus were to have happened across a recently divorced, hopelessly drifting man who's every thought and word was tainted with anger and bitterness, I know exactly what Jesus would have done with such a man.

He'd have invited him into his home for Christmas, and treated him as a part of the family.

I know, because Rob and Allison and their family did that themselves.

Christmas Memories, Volume 1

2008-12-09T12:39:00.001-08:00

Christmas 1985 or so. Maybe 1986. The exact year doesn't matter all that much.

I was in Junior High at the time, a skinny little kid with pale skin and almost-black hair, which I liked to keep as shaggy as I could get away with. My daily wardrove was jeans, a denim jacket, and an Iron Maiden T-shirt. Sometimes I mixed it up with a Megadeth T-shirt to keep things lively.

I was the 4th of 8 kids. I was about 14 when this happened, which means that my two oldest brothers were off serving missions for the LDS church at the time, both of them in Northern California. We were supporting the two of them at the time, which was probably quite a chunk of change! But as a 14-year-old, I wasn' privy to the family bank statements, so all I can do right now is make an educated guess: We were poor.

Not DESTITUTE. We still had a good sized home and food on the table, and all of the creature comforts we needed. But Christmas? As I recall, it was looking a little sparse that year.

Our family tradition, on Christmas morning, was to line up in the upstairs hallway sometime just before daybreak, and wait for my Dad to get the camera out so he could catch every moment of the day on film. Once he had gotten himself in place down in the living room, we were allowed to come down the stairs and stand there, lined up in age order, and gaze out upon the filthy lucre spread out there for our enjoyment. Dad never promoted a false belief in Santa Claus; we knew from early cognizance that Mom and Dad were the source of this bounty, the bulk of which was assembled in individualized piles of presents around the edges of the room, the rest of which was in the pile of gifts under the tree.

Dad snapped the usual shot or two of the anticipation-faces, and then he released us to go tear our piles apart.

In years past, my own individual pile had held many a pleasant surprise for me. We always had a Big Gift- whether big in size or in prominence, it was THE gift of the year. Like the year I got a Six Million Dollar Man large-size action figure, with the rubber skin on his bionic arm that you could roll back to reveal his cyborg parts. Or the years when I got race tracks or train sets. It was always something I had been wanting for months, and it was always the Moment of the Year when I opened it up and got to play with it.

This year, though, my pile was a little scanty. I went over and looked for my Big Gift. It was hard to pick out, because nothing in the pile was very big. Finally, I spotted it- a small, oddly shaped package wrapped in paper and a bow.

I knew what it was before I opened it. It was a cheapo walkman from the local K-Mart.

I knew this for two reasons:

First, we lived within walking distance of that K-Mart, and that was our childhood hangout. We used to walk over all the time and check out the goods in the electronics department. I had seen plenty of these cheapo walkmans hanging there before, and I knew the shape of the plastic wrapping from memory.

Second, I had gotten the same gift for my birthday, just a month and a half before.

When I got my cheapo walkman for my birthday, I got made fun of. Some of my friends looked at it and said, "Look, no rewind button!" It was true- that model just had a fast forward button, and if you wanted to rewind the cassette tape, you popped it out and turned it over, and fast forwarded it until you got to about where you wanted to be. My friends, all of whom came from families that could afford the authentic Sony Walkman, complete with their shiny pseudo-metal finish and rewind buttons, had a great time mocking my cut-rate K-Mart walkman.

I pretended not to care, but secretly, I coveted that Sony Walkman.

Now here I was, on Christmas Morning, with what? A Sony Walkman? No, the exact same K-Mart Walkman I had endured for a month and a half now.

For a moment, I was disappointed.

Then I looked at Mom.

My Mom is a saint. My Catholic friend John used to tell me that he was going to have her canonized after she died. He was going to submit her name to the Vatican and have her declared Saint Lynne, she was so damned saintly! I told him that while she'd appreciate the sentiment, she didn't need that honor bestowed upon her.

Mom had a wistful smile on her face. I was just getting to the age where I could read the emotion behind it. It was bittersweet. She was enjoying the excitement on our faces as we opened our gifts, but she was also wishing she could have gotten us something more, something bigger, something better.

I looked at my Walkman, and I imagined Mom out shopping for it. Probably balancing her checkbook, probably allotting out some cash for this purchase, probably thinking over in her mind what her little punk 14-year-old son would appreciate. Probably thinking over how much I seemed to enjoy all of those damned Metallica tapes I played on the tape recorder all day and all night downstairs in the basement. Probably wishing I wouldn't listen to it, but probably more interested in pleasing me than in anything else.

She probably checked the pricetag, and thought to herself, "Would my son enjoy this?" And then, after imagining me banging my head to that crap I used to listen to, she smiled, and she bought it.

Mom and Dad put a lot of love into that stupid cheapo walkman.

Mom turned and looked at me at that moment. She smiled at me and said, "Well, did you like your walkman?"

I smiled back. "Yeah, I love it!" I slipped on the headphones and put in the batteries and started tearing into another gift.

Mom turned to look at another sibling, and then a sudden realization crossed her face. Turning back to me, she leaned in close and asked, "Did we get you that same walkman for your birthday?"

"Yeah," I said, not sure how to answer.

Mom just muttered "dang it!" and hung her head.

"... but it's ok, I think I accidentally broke it," I said. It was lame, and a lie, and she knew it. So I tried to spin fast. "Well, no, I didn't break it, but I mean- I use it a lot, and so it's good to have another one, because I'll wear it out eventually, you know?"

Mom smiled at me and turned her ever-so-disappointed-in-herself gaze back to the other kids.

I don't remember what I did then. Hug her? Yeah, maybe. Try to talk up my gift even more? Probably.

But I remember what I felt. For maybe the first time in my life, I felt genuine gratitude- not for the gift, but for the love behind it. I understood that it wasn't about what loot I reeled in, but rather about who gave it to me, and how they felt towards me. And this gift was given with love, from someone who loved me unconditionally.

That walkman was broken by the end of the following summer. But that Christmas will always remain functional to me.

....seriously....?

2008-12-02T19:06:00.000-08:00

Well, the word from Florida is that Mel Martinez will be resigning his Senate Seat in 2010, leaving a Republican vacancy that prominent Florida Republicans are already scrambling to lay claim upon. Governor Charlie Crist, Representative Connie Mack, Florida Attorney General (and former 2000 Senate race loser) Bill McCollum- all familiar names, all being thrown into the mix.

But wait- they're not the ONLY ones weighing out a run. Word has it that former Governor Jeb Bush is seriously considering making a run for the seat, too, and if he does, a lot of these other contenders might just clear out of the way for him.

Wait, you say- JEB BUSH? Brother of the sitting President? The extremely UNPOPULAR sitting president...? THAT Jeb Bush?

You're kidding, right?

No, I'm not kidding. And here's another thing I'm not kidding about: If he runs, he'll win. And if he wins, he's a front-runner for the Republican nomination in 2012, if he wants that job.

Oh come on, you're saying, that's insane.

If you think so, you don't understand politics, my friend.

Do any of you remember how popular George H.W. Bush was when he was voted out of office in 1992? Well, let's put it this way- the guy he LOST to only got 42% of the popular vote.

The economy was in the tank, the popular consensus was that he had botched a war in Iraq- sound familiar?

Within two years of that election, George W. Bush was voted in as Governor of Texas. Four years later, he was reelected, and Jeb Bush was voted in as Governor of Florida.

Two years after THAT, George W. Bush defeated the incumbent Vice-President during a time of prosperity and peace, when the VP should have been a shoe-in, riding a wave of general disgust over the sycophantic sexual escapades of then-President Bill Clinton.

So George H. W. Bush's son took the Presidency. The Clinton name was spoken with a bad taste in the mouth of anyone who said it.

How soon everyone had forgotten 1992.

Eight years later, the most hated First Lady of modern History, now a twice-elected Senator from New York, came within inches of securing the Democratic party nomination for President. Now she is being welcomed back into the White House as Secretary of State.

How soon everyone has forgotten 2000.

Come 2010, be ready to see how quickly everyone has forgotten 2008. Jeb Bush, who right now has the worst surname in politics, will show how quickly we look back at bad times and say, "Wow, compared to NOW, we didn' know how good we had it!"

Something strange is afoot.

2008-11-20T20:02:00.000-08:00

I like to check my sitememter on occasion, just to see who's checking in, and where they're checking in from, and how long they're staying.

One of my favorite features is being able to see how they got there. Some of you come in through your google reader; some link in through other people's blogs; some of you already know me by heart and just type the website's name and come here directly, and on purpose.

Increasingly, people are finding my blog by typing a phrase or comment into a search engine. For example, during the election, I was amused and somewhat alarmed by just how many people we googling "Lawdy I Shore Do Loves Campaignin'" or some variation of that, and were being directed to this posting, which is (or at the time, was) the first thing google directs you to.

You can draw conclusions from the frequency of some of these searches. Obviously, there's something out there that people are talking about, or emailing each other about. Maybe it's a news story that has you typing in a particular phrase; maybe it was an overheard conversation at the gym or coffee shop. Maybe it's just a general societal trend, and you're finally catching on to it and googling it to see how you can get up to speed on it.

Today, there's something going on over seas.

Something dirty.

Something dirty on people's feet.

I've had two hits from people googling "porn shoes" in the last 24 hours- one from Slovenia, and another from Greece- linking them to this post.

It's unsettling. These countries, dangerously close to the ultra-socially-conservative Middle East, are being swept with a desire to put images of nekkid people on their feet. And MY BLOG is getting caught up in the craze.

I'm imagining the Taliban catching wind of it and somehow thinking I am either behind it, or encouraging it. I just hope that whatever terrorist group decides to act upon the infidels propogating this disturbing trend takes the time to READ my blog, and see that I'm 100% opposed.

God help me. I never thought this blog could draw me into such a maelstrom of controversy.

On the other hand, if porn shoes become REALLY popular, maybe I could get behind it and turn a buck off of it... hmmm.....

Bubba

2008-11-20T12:08:00.000-08:00

Remember my old High School buddy Bubba, from this post? Well, now that most of his peers have been married a time or two, and have an average of 3.7 kids each, Bubba has finally decided to tie the knot, too.

In honor of Bubba's ascension into the realm of Ball-and-Chainism, I'd like to take a stroll down memory lane to familiarize his new bride-to-be with the man she is about to marry.

Let me go on record as saying that Bubba isn't half as tough as he likes to let people think.

In High School, he was a good solid foot taller than I was and easily had 100 lbs or more on me, since I was weighing in at about a buck ten, after a heavy meal and a fully-clothed swim.

That not withstanding, one night at weekly church Young Men's activity, I was sitting on the sidelines watching Bubba and everyone else play a game of basketball. It dawned on me after a few minutes that they were playing so loose and sloppy, that I could literally jump in and play both sides and they would never even know the difference.

So I did. For about 5 minutes, I just ran back and forth with the rest of them, fouling without shame or restraint, throwing the ball to whomever was closest to me whenever it landed in my hands, regardless of what team they were playing on. It was a glorious moment. I was in freaking heaven.

But then, after a few moments, I found myself off to the left side of the court, in close to the basket. I believe they call this area the "paint" or something. So I'm standing there catching a breather, when I hear what sounds like a sick elephant bellowing at the far end of the court. Alarmed, I look up.

And there he is. Bubba, galloping at full steam straight towards me.

Now, he wasn't doing this maliciously. At this stage in the game, there was no thought involved, and I honestly don't think that Bubba even saw me directly in his path. Or at least that's what I choose to believe, because as he drew closer, he wasn't slowing down one bit, despite the fact that his greater size and momentum meant he was about to plow into my frail little frame with somewhere around 7000 lbs of force, if my math is correct. (It's not, so don't check it.)

So what did I do? Well, the INTELLIGENT thing to do would have been to jump out of the friggin' way. But remember, I was aware that Bubba, despite his size, wasn't half as tough as he lets on. So I wasn't giving him an inch.

No, I was taking him down.

Employing one of the few wrestling moves I had mastered during my brief career on the mat, I dropped low as he came within striking distance, my body parallel to the floor, my limbs spread out like a spider's, and I swept his ankle with a lightning-fast arc, using my right hand.

Bubba fell like a mighty redwood. Flailing to keep himself up, he took down the two guys closest to him. Flailing to keep themselves up, THEY took down two guys each. Before you knew it, everyone collapsed in a tangle of arms and limbs and cursing heads.

I ran, laughing, from the gym, the only one to emerge from the entire experience unscathed.

Bubba. Pffffffffffffft.... I crap bigger than him.

Everyone's a cynic? No, I'M a cynic.

2008-11-12T17:13:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling cynical.

This isn't me. I'm not usually like this. I'm a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. I'm not sure what led to this but it's lasted for two days now. I was going to wait until it passed before I wrote another blog, but I need to write, so screw it, you're getting my cynicism now.

So what should I write about? Politics?

Sure, why not. Let me give you my cynical assessment of the upcoming Obama Presidency, using a simple formula:

A) I'll list something Obama promised but won't deliver.
B) I'll list how the Obama-worshiping press will cover it
and
C) I'll explain how the press would have covered it if McCain had won and broken the same promises.

1) WITHDRAWAL FROM IRAQ
A) Obama will not withdraw troops from Iraq within 16 months of taking office.
B) "President Obama listened thoughtfully to his military advisors, and, putting his ego aside, acted upon their sage advice and wisdom."
C) "President McCain broke the very promise upon which his entire campaign was initially built."

2) TAX INCREASE
A) Obama will not immediately impose a tax increase on those making over $250K a year.
B) "President Obama has delayed his plan to raise taxes on those making over $250K a year, to allow time for his stellar team of economic advisors to assess the economic conditions before making any drastic changes to the nation's tax code."
C) "McCain extends tax cuts for the rich."

3) UNIVERSAL HEALTH CARE
A) Obama will fail to implement a Universal Health Care plan.
B) "President Obama has wisely decided that this is not the proper time for our nation to shift such a large segment of its economic base from the private sector into the public sector."
C) "McCain denies Health Care to children, women, and minorities."

Feh. President Obama. This will be one of the worst one-term Presidencies we've ever had. I don't what I'm more cynical about- Obama's pending four-year failure, or the four years of Romney or Palin that will follow.

I know, I'm a cynic. I already told you that.

It's My Birthday

2008-11-08T09:05:00.000-08:00

It's my birthday today. 37 years old.

You probably think I'm going to expound upon the realization of my mortality, right? Well, I'm very sorry to disappoint you.

I get a little stiff when I sit in one position for too long. Big freaking deal. That happened when I was 24, so it's only natural that it happen now, too.

No, I don't spend my birthdays pontificating upon my impending demise, and how much closer it is. Nor about aging and all of its ramifications.

I actually think about what I'm going to eat. And I wonder if anyone will call, and then I kinda hope nobody will call, because 75% of the people I imagine WILL remember and call are people I don't much want to talk to.

When I'm King of the World (and I will be), this day will be celebrated with parades and virgin sacrifices, but we're not at that stage yet. So now? It's just another November day.

Anyway, feel free to leave a Happy Birthday comment here if you must. Or don't.

THIS Again!

2008-11-07T17:00:00.000-08:00

Q. What has been missing from the HappyBack blog for the last 4 months or so?

Go on, think it over....

Give up?

A. Complaints about traffic!

And why do you suppose that is?

It's because for the last 4 months or so, I have been in places where people know how to drive. Los Angeles, San Francisco, Sacramento, a brief stint in Reno, Charlotte...

And now here I am again, back in Utah. And once again, my blood is starting to boil every time I take to the roads.

For a while there, I thought it was just a figment of my imagination, this Utarded-Driver phenomenon that I was sure I was perceiving here.

It's not. You people really are the worst drivers on the face of God's Green Earth.

You get other things right. You have great family values, you make a mean pan of Funeral Potatoes, you ski like nobody's business...

But you suck behind the wheel.

Like last night. I'm headed down to Lehi from Salt Lake for my annual Birthdayfest with Carol. Every year we have done this since we first met 4 years ago in Cincinnati- we go to Benihana's or Tepanyaki's (about the same difference) and then we see the latest installment of the "Saw" horror movie series. The first year was the first Saw; now we're up to Saw V. And really, what better way is there to celebrate the day of your birth than to watch hapless victims being graphically dismembered? But I'm getting off topic here.

So I'm driving in the right-hand lane. I carefully check my mirror, and see the center lane is wide open. There's a car about 15 car lengths back, chugging along at the same pace as me. I'm not in his way, he's not in mine, everyone is content.

But I want to move faster. So I want to switch lanes. And I know what's going to happen. But I brace myself and do it anyway.

I signal that I'm moving over to the center lane.

That friggin' car 15 car lengths back lurches forward as if I had asked to sleep with his sister and he's going to punch me in the nose to teach me a lesson. He guns the engine and burns about three gallons of gas in his mad dash to block me from entering HIS LANE.

That son of a Utard. Well screw him. I signaled; I wasn't asking his permission, I was informing him of my decision to come over.

And I did.

I waited until he was about half a carlength behind me, and I went right over.

Ohhhhhhhh, he was pissed! Brake lights glare, high beams come on, horn starts honking, and I'm sure that middle finger was just about touching the windshield.

By Monday I'll be back in Los Angeles. I CAN'T WAIT!

My Inane Analysis

2008-11-05T14:27:00.001-08:00

A lot is going to be discussed on TV this week about the failed McCain Campaign. You're going to hear all kinds of analyses with all sorts of fanciful theories floated out there to try and explain not only what McCain did wrong, but how he could have done it right, and won this thing.

Ignore all of it. I'll explain it to you right now.

1) He needed to stop being so old. Obama was young. By being an old man, McCain failed to connect with young people, who themselves were NOT old, and thus voted for the guy who was young. Had McCain tried being a little younger, like say, 52 or so, he might have actually stood a chance.

2) He needed to fix our country's financial woes. By himself. About a year and a half ago. And then made sure that he was given due credit for it. By failing to have done this, McCain instead cast himself as the guy who DIDN'T save the economy. And who wants to vote for THAT guy? Holy crap, not me!

3) McCain needed to have chosen a running mate who was as old and white as he was, and who said something half-retarded every time he opened his mouth. I mean, what's with this hot young babe who appeals to his base? Like that was gonna work!

4) McCain needed to get a lot more people to vote for him. Instead, he fell about 7 million votes short of Obama. While it's not quite impossible, it's certainly very unlikely that you will win an election without getting more votes than your opponent. This was piss-poor planning on McCain's part, and contributed directly to his overwhelming defeat.

5) McCain needed to actually BE Barack Obama. Instead, he freely chose to be John McCain, during an election cycle when Barack Obama was the more popular choice. John McCain can only blame himself for this monumental blunder.

There you have it. Now when these other pundits start spouting off their silly reasons for McCain's defeat, you can switch over to "Dancing with the Stars" on TiVo without leaving yourself uneducated. You're welcome.

Yes, He Could!

2008-11-05T08:35:00.000-08:00

Well, look at that! He did it.

He won it with 52% of the popular vote to McCain's 46%. Not bad. And he knocked off Red State after Red State. Ohio, Indiana, Virginia, North Carolina, Florida, Nevada, bam bam bam... the list goes on. He did it. He convinced a LOT of people that he embodied hope, he personified change, and he held the keys to our transition back to prominence and greatness in the world.

HE DID IT.

While all the celebrating was going on, the world took notice, too. In Gaza, Israel and Hamas launched an assload of missiles at each other. Medvedev (the Kermit to Putin's Jim Henson) declared in his State of the (former Soviet) Union address that they will be placing short-range missiles along the EU's eastern border as a response to the planned U.S. missile defense system in that region. Apparently, this is the start of the Joe Biden-predicted "testing" of the fresh-faced new kid in town.

But still, what a moment. I didn't vote for this guy. I know he's destined for abject failure. I didn't fall for the soaring rhetoric and feel-good imagery. I CREATE feel-good imagery for a living; I know it's all a facade! Naw, I wasn't fooled, not for one second.

But what a MOMENT! Sometimes you have to see beyond the politics and see the humanity of the moment. And watching those crowds celebrate in the streets, you have to concede that there was a triumphant moment occurring, when people were able to take their hope to the polls and see the fruits of it. Watching Jesse Jackson in tears, or Juan Williams choking up as he reported on it, you had to feel some sort of happiness for them. This was a moment to remember.

Revel in it. I'll allow it for a day or two.

An Election Day Primer

2008-11-04T03:44:00.000-08:00

Well, here we are! After what, 13 years of campaigning? Am I off on that? Whatever, after a long friggin' campaign season, the election is FINALLY HERE.

Well, ok, for most of us, it's been here for a month or so. Maybe you've already mailed in your ballot. Maybe you were registered by ACORN and have already mailed in 30 ballots! Whew, how exhausting, but good for you, for participating in Democracy! You have earned a well-deserved break. Go outside and have a smoke.

For the rest of you, it's Election-Day-As-Usual. Time to go down to the local library or school and step into that booth, pull the curtain closed, and vote.

This can be tough. Voting, especially over the past 8 years, has been a daunting task for a lot of you.

That's why I'm here to help. So, in your interest, let's go over a few things, shall we?

1) When you get to your polling place, you may encounter long lines. It's ok! If this is the case, YOU HAVE NOT BEEN DISENFRANCHISED!

Now, I hate long lines as much as the next guy. But this is an important thing you're about to do, so be tough. Hang in there. Pretend you're at the Walmart check-out stand, and you're buying a new Wii System. Most of you will stand around for two hours to do that, without grumbling.

For you ACORN-registered voters, you may end up standing in line several times, and waiting EACH TIME! God bless you for what you're doing to advance your candidate's cause. You may want to call in sick to work; this could take you all day. Also, have a fake beard or pair of glasses handy; after the fifth or sixth time through the line, you may be recognized.

2) Once you get inside the booth, you will have to face down the VOTING MACHINE. I wish I could direct you how to use it, but there are so many varying models of voting machines out there that I couldn't possibly start. What I CAN do, however, is give you some general guidelines.

By and large, most voting machines will be dumber than you, the voter. (This may not be the case in certain counties in Ohio and Florida.) It might take you several minutes, but you CAN overcome all of the challenges your voting machine will present to you. MOST OF THE TIME, here's what you have to do:

A) Find your candidate's name
B) Push the thingy next to your candidate's name.
C) Verify that you have pushed the thingy next to your candidate's name.

If you screw this up, YOU HAVE NOT BEEN DISENFRANCHISED! You have been stupid. It's not the same thing. It's not even the same number of syllables.

For you ACORN-registered voters, this will actually be a breeze once you've done it a few times. Maybe while you stand in line, you can explain how the machine works to those standing in line with you, to speed things along.

Some of you may notice that your Voting Machine is just a touch-screen that produces no paper ballot. Vote for whomever. It won't matter; the tallies on those things are already pre-determined. Hey, vote for Bob Barr! He won't win anyway, but you can have a good chuckle sitting around the campfire this summer with your friends about how you voted for friggin' BOB BARR! What a riot. Oh by the way, you HAVE been disenfranchised, but hey, whaddayagonnado?

3) Many of you will be approached by Exit Pollers once you leave the polling place. They will ask you, "Who did you vote for?"

The correct answer is "Barack Obama!" I know, you just voted for Bob Barr; it doesn't matter! You must ALWAYS tell the exit poller that you voted for Barack Obama!

This is very important. The networks depend on these exit polls so that they can call the election early. If you start telling them who you actually voted for, I'm gonna end up sitting up until 3 a.m. waiting for the election results to be tallied. If you just say Obama, on the other hand, I can probably make it to Hooter's by 10:30 for a big basket of wings and a night of severe dysentery. So do it for me. "Barack Obama. I voted for Barack Obama. For change 'nstuff."

NOTE: ACORN-registered voters should only respond to the exit pollers once. Some of them have TV cameras with them. You don't want to be spotted doing a two-fer in that fake beard.

4) Wear your "I Voted" sticker! THIS IS FEDERAL LAW. If you don't wear that thing back to the office, AND KEEP IT ON ALL DAY, your vote will not be counted! Please place it somewhere prominent and make sure you slightly angle your body so that it may be seen by all who pass by your cubicle. It will feel like you're being an obnoxious ass; that's ok, because you ARE being an obnoxious ass, but you are being an obnoxious ass by FEDERAL STATUTE.

5) Tomorrow morning, about half of you will discover that your candidate lost the election.

NO WHINING!

This is key to our democracy. If you don't like the guy who won, you only have one option: TALK SMACK ABOUT HIM FOR FOUR YEARS. (Which is kinda like whining but not the same thing. It's a very nuanced difference.)

What a grand and golden opportunity you have been handed. The economy's in the tank? It's because of that jackass in the White House. Russia invades Ukraine? Yeah, because with so-and-so in Washington, they think they can get away with it. You bought a $490K house on a $38K annual salary and defaulted on the very first payment? Friggin' President shoulda been there to stop your dumb ass.

You see how this works? It's awesome- you won't be to blame for ANYTHING anymore. You can go to work and literally fart on your boss, and when he fires you, you have a man in the Capital to blame for it.

You'll be the envy of all your neighbors. ACORN voters? Ha, look what you're gonna be missing out on!

Ok, people, that's about it. I hope this was helpful. Feel free to pass this along to your friends and neighbors. Democracy is important, or so they say, so Rock the Vote or Vote for Change or whatever this year's catch-phrase is.

Oh, and get plenty of rest over the next week, because the 2012 campaign is scheduled to get started on November 11th.

Can You Afford This Guy??

2008-11-03T16:08:00.001-08:00

Barack Obama's latest video? "Under my plan... electricity rates would necessarily skyrocket." This is not even taken out of context... he goes on to explain WHY they will skyrocket, and then to imply that we, the American people, just need to be persuaded that these high electricity bills are just going to be good for us in the long run.

Who's voting for this guy? What, cause he's pretty and he thinks he's Jesus??

When a Man Loves a Woman

2008-11-03T14:55:00.000-08:00

Marriage. That's when a man loves a woman and they get hitched.

That's it, that's what it is. What, you don't like that?

Sorry!

Maybe it's not for you. Maybe you're a man who likes men! Hey, crazier things have happened, right? It's all good, I'll still have a taco with you at Tito's, no big deal. That's not my thing, but that's why you're not me, right?

Society at large has come around quite a bit. They recognize that a lot of men are falling for other men. And a lot of women are diggin' other chicks. The latter, I get it. The former? Hey, like I said, it's not my thing. But I digress.

I recognition of these other living arrangements, society has extended every single legal right that automatically comes with marriage to gay and lesbian couples. You want your partner to inherit everything when you die? You can have it. You want to be able to make medical decisions for one another? Have at it! Co-ownership of property? It's yours! The framework and structure is already in place whereby all of this, and more, can be yours! Here, it's wonderful, read all about it here!

Ain't society great? All tolerant 'nstuff?

But it's still not marriage.

Why?

Because marriage is when a man loves a woman and they get hitched. I mean, that's just what it IS.

There's a big old legal fight being waged out here in California right now over this definition. Unsatisfied with just having all the benefits and rights that married couples have, gay couples now want the TITLE. Why? Because, if you don't change that definition for them, as they demand, you're a hate-monger.

Huh?

Yeah, you intolerant bastid, you are consumed with hate and loathing and frankly deserve to die if you don't want to redefine "marriage" to placate the Gay community.

Sigh. It's so silly, really. But whatever, the Gay community can think whatever they want of me, I guess. Now that this definition is up for vote- AGAIN- in California, I'm going to go ahead and vote for calling a potato a potato (proverbially speaking) and let the gay community call me whatever they please.

Look, I'm being a bit light about it, but it's a serious issue. Marriage is what it is. A lot of people are surprisingly lax on this issue; they say, what's the big deal if we just nudge the boundaries of that definition a little, to appease those who want in on that title?

Well, where do we stop nudging once we've nudged it that far?

I mean, if our definition of marriage changes from "man and woman" to "willing adult and willing adult", it begs all kinds of other questions. What if THREE "willing adults" want to marry? If we grant it to two, we HAVE to grant it to three, don't we? If that's what they want? Aren't we hate mongers if we don't? And what if a guy wants to marry his sister- both of them over 18, both willing? What kind of angry, red-faced, hate-filled sonsabitches are we if we refuse that to them?

Another thing, if I may wax a bit serious here. This isn't just about the definition of marriage. Once the definition is LEGALLY changed, the floodgates are open to persecute you in the legal arena if your morals disagree with this fancy new definition. You think this is paranoid ramblings? Ask the Catholics- they had to pull their adoption services out of Massachusetts once marriage was redefined there. It went like this:

1) Catholics teach homosexuality is wrong, and cohabitation is wrong, and only grant adoptions to married couples.
2) Gay marriage is legalized.
3) Gays approach the Catholics and say, "Hey tricked ya! We're married now, so you have to give us spawn." Catholics say, "Nope, whatever you call it, it's still immoral."
4) Gay couples sue.
5) Massachusetts tells Catholics they have no legal right to their moral stance.
6) Rather than fold on their principals, Catholic Charities pull out of Massachusetts.

Oh here, read it for yourself.

Scary. You will be LEGALLY MANDATED on your practices if they are faith-based.

Also, contrary to what the Gay Lobby is proclaiming, Gay Marriage WILL be taught in the schools as being on equal footing with Straight marriage. It's already happening in Massachusetts- and parents are being told, "Tough crap, it's legal and we'll teach your kids this if we want and you have no say on the matter."

No.

This is silly.

I encourage you Californians to flock to the polls by tomorrow night and vote this silliness away. I literally cannot believe I live in a state where this is even something that has to be voted upon, but it is, and it's looking like this measure will fail if you believe the polls. So here you have it. A rare endorsement from HappyBack for all my readers. Vote Yes on Prop 8.

Marriage is what it is. I'm very sorry if that hurts your tender feelings. But I am going to take my hate-filled, angry heart and saunter on down to the voting booth and cast a vote for marriage remaining marriage. Then I think I'll go pet some fluffy puppy dogs cause I'm angry like that.

Can't Decide? Well Neither Can HE!

2008-11-02T21:44:00.000-08:00

"The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who in times of great moral crises maintain their neutrality." -Dante Alighieri

In 1999, an important vote came up in the Illinois State Legislature. A bill was up for consideration that would have allowed some juveniles to be tried as adults. It was a hot-button issue at the time. The African American community was strongly opposed to it; the tough-on-crime crowd was eying it carefully, and was ready to pounce on anyone who voted against the measure.

It was a tough issue. One that required a lot of thought, and then a decisive decision.

Barack Obama? He voted "present."

Over the following years, several tough votes came up dealing with abortion rights. One of those issues was whether to pass legislation requiring doctors to provide medical care to babies who survived attempted abortions; at the time, these babies were left to die on the operating room tray.

Another tough issue! Another vote that required a lot of thought- and then a solid up-or-down vote.

Barack Obama? He voted "present." And then 6 more times, on other abortion rights issues, he again voted "present."

And THEN, 121 MORE times, on all kinds of different issues, over the course of his 8 years in the Illinois State Senate, Barack Obama voted "present" rather than giving a solid "yes" or "no" vote. A total of 129 times, Barack Obama decided not to decide.

To be fair, he voted over 4000 times while he was a state senator. So these "present" votes accounted for only 3% of his entire voting record- roughly 1 "present" vote for every 31 votes that came up. Not alot, right? pffffft, what's to worry about?

I mean, if he stays true to that sometimes-indecisive nature, then over the course of his 4-year term of office as President, he'll only refuse to work a total of about 43 days worth or so. And it will only be on controversial issues of great import- he'll be there for the Easter Egg rolls and Photo Ops with Eagle Scouts.

I'd like to ask 3% of you Obama supporters out there to show your unity with the Candidate by voting "present" on Tuesday, instead of a decisive "yes" or "no" on Obama. Because this election is important! And that's when HE sidesteps deciding, after all....

And it'll only be 3% of you. I'm sure he can win without you.

Barack- Present we can!

Ummmm... what?

2008-11-02T18:16:00.000-08:00

Barack Obama, July 17th, 2008:

"We cannot continue to rely on our military in order to achieve the national security objectives we've set. We've got to have a civilian national security force that's just as powerful, just as strong, just as well-funded."

What the hell does THAT mean?

Waitaminute... I know! These guys are still available.....

Is it just me, or is Obama getting scarier and scarier the closer he gets to victory?

Tales of Halloweens Past- Part 3

2008-10-31T12:17:00.000-07:00

I'm hesitant to tell this story, because it involves at least one person who has quick-n-easy access to my blog, and said person might not like this unpleasant story retold. But it's one hell of a great story, and so I'm gonna tell it, with a few name changes here and there to protect the identities of those involved. Even though a lot of you will know EXACTLY who I'm talking about.

This happened in 1988 or 1989, I'm not sure which. I was driving around on Halloween night with 4 of my friends:

Jerry was the driver that night. He was the oldest of 8 kids, and came from a relatively wealthy family. Jerry was known to have a wee bit of a hot head at times, and a tendency (at that age, anyway) to think that the world revolved around him in very tight little circles. Jerry was also somewhat of an athlete, and was plagued by knee injuries, and that particular night was hobbling around with his left knee in a brace and a bandage.

Next to Jerry, in the front passenger seat, was Antonio. Anthonio had moved to our corner of Massachusetts from a tiny little farming community in northeastern Utah when he was about 10 or 11, and while he was a very nice kid, he brought a lot of Utah uptightness with him. But Antonio could nearly always be counted on to Do The Right Thing and/or Take a Stand.

I was seated squarely behind Jerry. To my immediate right, riding the center of the back seat bench, was Bubba. Bubba was 6'5" tall and was the hero of his football team, and was midway through the season that would eventually culminate in their upset victory in the state championship football game, the first of two he would lead them to. Bubba was the kind of guy that a tiny little smartass like me liked to have around, because he was big enough to have my back, and because he laughed- LOUDLY- at nearly everything I said. And his laugh was a total Bubba-sounding laugh, too. Bubba was awesome.

To Bubba's right, seated behind Antonio, was Ron. Ron and his family had moved to Massachusetts from Texas just a year or so earlier, and WHOA NELLY were they ever your stereotypical Texans! They had that get-'er-done mentality and that thick Texas drawl, and that LAUGH- you know the laugh that makes the hairs on the back of every New Englander's neck stand up stright? That "Duh HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH!" guffaw that you just naturally think of when you think "Texas"? Well, Ron had it, and a bad case of it, and he employed it often.

And it got him into trouble.

So like I said, it was Halloween night, and we were driving around. We had stopped somewhere to say hi to someone, and when we came out to get back into the car, we discovered that some passing a-holes had egged Jerry's car.

They were splattered all over the windshield and driver's side of the car. It was recent enough that the eggs were still tacky to the touch, but long enough ago that they had fused themselves to the paint and glass with that teflon-like bond that eggs attain.

Now, this wasn't Jerry's own personal car. This was his family station wagon. And as such, it wasn't some kind of luxury vehicle or sports car. It was just a ride; a sturdy, can-do vehicle intended to haul kids and groceries all over suburbia. Cars like that are made to handle whatever can be thrown at them.

Including eggs.

But for some reason, Jerry took this egging as a personal affront. To him, these kids hadn't tossed a few eggs onto a random station wagon as they walked by. No, they had egged JERRY. They had egged his FAMILY. They had left a mess that Jerry knew his father was going to make HIM clean up the following morning.

They had insulted him and walked away, in the dead of night, under cover of darkness, leaving Jerry with nobody to vent his rage upon.

Wait- nobody? Not quite accurate....

We all loaded into the car, 4 of us still in jovial spirits, but Jerry with a simmering rage that was slowly heating up and approaching the boiling point.

As we cruised along the backroads, we were all still laughing and joking around as we had been before we discovered the eggy mess on the car. Anecdotes and stories were being bantered about, and Ron was guffawing with rare abandon.

That laugh.

It was so loud. It was so... emptyheaded sounding.

"DUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH!"

Over and over. Whatever anyone said, everyone laughed, but Ron's laugh was loudest of all, even overpowering Bubba's Bubba-laugh. And it never seemed to cease. No sooner had one joke passed, than another was told, and Ron laughed once again, or continued laughing without even stopping.

"DUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH!"

Now, I knew Jerry better than anyone in the car. Jerry was my best friend. I had seen Jerry at his best, and at his worst, and I knew his moods and his anger and I knew what generally set him off.

But even I didn't see this coming.

They say that every 7 minutes in a conversation, there is a lull, where everyone just kind of settles down and regroups for the next 7 minutes of talking. Nobody knows why, exactly, it just seems to happen.

We had a lull. Things were quiet. Teenage boys are uncomfortable in quiet lulls. We all look for something else to make fun of, something to mock, something to make a joke about to get the noise rolling again.

Ron looked out the windshield, and found his target. "DUH HUH HUH HUH... Some cornhole egged your car, Jerry! That's funny! DUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH!"

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!

I still remember flying forward in my seat, held back by my seatbelt from hitting the back of Jerry's head with my teeth. Jerry slammed on the brakes as hard as he could, and in one swift motion, craned himself around in the driver's seat, and just let the fists fly.

I don't remember how many undefended shots he landed on Ron's big Texan head, but it wasn't many. Texans are trained to fight back when attacked, and Ron started swinging as hard as Jerry did.

Whump whump whump, for about fifteen seconds it was just a flurry of fists. Jerry was craned around to his right, and was trying to hold the brakes down with his left leg, but that was his bad knee, so the car was still moving, slowly, heading for a ditch on the side of the road.

And then Ron had had enough. He opened his door, gave Jerry one last head-whack, and jumped from the moving vehicle. He slammed his door shut, and Jerry turned around, and hit the gas.

Have you ever heard stunned silence? It's damn near palpable. Me and Bubba sat there with classic "WTF" expressions on our faces, trying to process what had just happened. We didn't say a word. We were afraid of setting Jerry off again.

Then Antonio finally spoke up after maybe a minute.

"Pull over."

"What?" Jerry said.

"Pull over. I'm getting out."

"What? NO! I'm driving and you're not-"

Antonio opened his door, and Jerry, shocked, pulled over. Antonio jumped out before the car stopped and immediately started running back to find Ron and see if he was alright. Jerry? He pulled back into traffic and just kept going.

After a moment Jerry spoke up, looking at Bubba and me in the mirror. "Do you guys want out too?"

We silently shook our heads. No, we wanted to get back to our own cars and get the hell out of there. That's all we wanted.

The ride back to Jerry's was a running monologue. Jerry was furiously trying to talk me and Bubba into believing his weak justification for his outburst. But we weren't saying anything. We were just listening as he intently rambled on and on, explaining- mostly to himself, I think- why Ron's laughter HAD to be responded to with violent blows to the skull.

Finally we got to Jerry's house, where the worst was yet to come.

Jerry had to face his dad.

My memories of this part are pretty hazy, but as I recall it, Jerry had decided that a preemptive strike was the base course of action. Obviously, Dad was eventually going to find out that he had brought the smack down on his friend for no good reason, so Jerry was going to go with the outright confession, with doctored up reasoning for the attack, in hopes he could convince the old man that he had acted out correctly.

Dad was unimpressed. He saw through the family-honor tack that Jerry tried to take.

Dad: "Jerry, you're saying you HIT your friend?"
Jerry: "Dad, he was MAKING FUN of our CAR!"
Dad: "You HIT... another PRIESTHOOD HOLDER??"

Ooooo... Jerry's Dad had him there. That was always where it went with Jerry's Dad- he pulled out the Priesthood card. See, as young Mormons, we received the Priesthood at age 12. And we were expected to act a little better than our peers because of it. And we were expected to treat our fellow Priesthood Holders as brothers, except without all of that sibling rivalry hitting that sometimes goes on amongst real 17-year-old brothers.

That was the end of the discussion. Jerry tried, God love him, to explain himself a little further, but Jerry's Dad wasn't having it.

Calls were made, apologies were forced out of Jerry, and begrudging animosity remained between the two of them for some time. To be honest, I have no idea how the two of them feel about each other today. I don't know if that friendship was ever patched up.

All I remember was sitting there, in stunned silence, watching Jerry and Ron pound each other in a moving vehicle without an attentive driver.

All over eggs.

Happy Halloween!

You Never Can Tell

2008-10-31T09:05:00.000-07:00

When I was a Manufactured Home Salesman in Central Florida back in the late 90's (Yes, I was a Manufactured Home Salesman, one step below a Used Car Salesman) I was repeatedly advised not to "curb rate" anybody. Meaning, you can't look them over and, based on appearance, guess whether they can actually BUY a home, or if they're just there to look around.

Over my months there (I lasted 5) that lesson was taught to me over and over through experience. I remember one very-upper-crust looking woman who came in and spent hours with me, looking at home after home, well past closing time, and when we were done, and I ran her credit, she scored somewhere south of 300. GAH- she couldn't have gotten a 1 cent loan on a 5 cent styrofoam cup if she put up the first 4 cents in cash.

I learned my lesson that day!

And yet, despite having had this lesson drummed into my head, I still do it.

We all do it, though, don't we? We look at a long-greasy-haired 18-year-old in rumpled-hemp-fabric clothing and think "hippy." In our minds, we know where that kid probably stands on a whole slew of issues- he supports abortion rights, he wants pot legalized, he's in favor of gay marriage, he hugs trees, he does yoga and pretentiously says "namaste", etc etc... all based on his look. And most likely, we're right- but more importantly, we can often be dead wrong.

I curb rated again today, at the supermarket, buying my breakfast. And once again, I was proven wrong.

I got in line behind a young black woman and her young white friend. They were discussing the Presidential race, rather animatedly. One was pro-Obama; one was adamantly opposed to him, and was excitedly expressing her decision to vote for McCain on Tuesday.

Guess which was which?

Yeah, the BLACK woman was pro-McCain. She was all upset with Obama for his "present" and "no" votes on the Illinois Born Alive Infants Protection Act. Bascially, it was a bill that said that any infant who survives an attempted abortion is entitled to, and will immediately receive, medical care. It came about because of a nurse who witnessed several such infants being left to die on the operating tray, sometimes being left there for 45 minutes.

This bill passed the United States Senate on a 98-0 vote. Kennedy, Boxer, Clinton, Edwards- all voted in favor of these infants receiving care. Obama wasn't a United States Senator at the time, though- he was in the Illinois State Legislature.

When the same bill came up in Illinois' State Legislature, Obama first voted "present" (which is a Legislator's spineless way of ducking a controversial issue) and then voted against it.

And this black woman in the grocery store was now voting against Obama, for his stance on that issue.

I guess you can't curb rate anyone.

Tales of Halloweens Past- Part 2

2008-10-30T12:14:00.000-07:00

Admittedly, Halloween 2007 was a better Halloween for me. It was still a bit of a chore trying to assemble my Indiana Jones costume, but in the end I think it looked pretty damn good, so I was relatively pleased.

Also, this time around I found myself in Northern California rather than Utah. And guess what? It was a skank-free Halloween. I guess 30-something single mothers in California don't feel the same need to skank out that Utahns do. Nor the same need to pack a pair of silicon bags into their pechos and "accidentally" bump into me with them at every turn.

I hit two parties last year, one in Danville and one in Berkeley. And again, I saw some pretty impressive costumes. Here's a sampling of my favorites:

1) Siegfried and Roy (with my date, Elphaba.)

2) A Goth Girl (I had fun modfying her picture) and the Ghostbuster in the background, talking to the guy who didn't bother dressing up, but probably "cleverly" told everyone he was dressed as "an average guy" and then ate too much of the free vegetable platter offerings.

3) Death. I'm actually not sure what this guy was but I called him Death. He kicked my ass at pool, too.

4) Batman and (my personal favorite of the year) The Geico Caveman.

To cap off my Halloween experience, I headed over to the graveyard in Davis, CA and had a little fun snapping pictures of two of my favorite things: Gravemarkers, and Me.

So I guess last year turned out ok in the end. I kinda missed the skanks though. I have to be honest.

Tales of Halloweens Past- Part 1

2008-10-30T09:59:00.000-07:00

It's Halloween again. And in honor of Halloween, here are some memories of Halloweens gone by.

I friggin' hate Halloween, can I be honest? A lot of you might be surprised by this statement, knowing what a funloving guy I am, but it's true.

I loved it as a kid, don't misunderstand. You get to dress up like Superman and collect candy from neighbors. Hey, sounds like a winner to any 7-year-old!

But as an adult, the entire paradigm shifts.

Especially as a SINGLE adult in your mid-30's. And ESPECIALLY as a single MORMON adult in your 30's. This all became crystal clear to me Halloween 2006, which was the first year in well over ten years that I had bothered to put any effort into trying to enjoy it.

You can't Trick-or-Treat anymore, so it's all about the parties. And the parties, frankly, are simply excuses for otherwise frumpy Mormon single mothers to dress as skanks for a night and "get away with it." Which hey, sounds great, right? A room full of skanks? But it's not. Especially not in Utah.

If I had a dime for every pair of fake boobs that has left a bruise on my back when they slammed into me in an overcrowded living room like a pair of overripe melons about to burst, I'd have dollabills tumbling out of my esophagus. And when said fake boobs do slam into my poor ribcge, I can be assured that when I turn around I'll see one of three things:

1) Skanky Girlscout
2) Skanky Dorothy
3) Skanky Female Cop

and on occasion:
4) Skanky Little Red Riding Hood.

Wow, how original.

Now the guys? THEY go all out. I've seen some great costumes in my time. Here are a few of the best from a way-too-big party I went to in Lehi, UT that year:

1) Wolverine

2) Marge Simpson

3) Captain Jack Sparrow

And yes, that sexier-looking Captain Jack Sparrow on the right? That's me. My vest was a size 0 brown felt go-go dress I bought at a thrift store for a dollar, cut down the middle of the front. The goatee was half painted on, half fake goatee stuck on with spirit gum. My boots, which you can't see here, were my roommate's Harley Davidson boots.

I noticed a strange dynamic with the Jack Sparrow outfit, by the way. Women over 30 thought I looked absolutely HOT, and women under 26 or so thought I looked absolutely DISGUSTING. Like a "filthy pirate" as one put it. Which was kind of the point. So I guess, job well done, right?

Anyway. Halloween 2006. Moderately enjoyable. Chicks my age dug me. And I got a kiss from Betty Boop. Awesome.

More to come.....

Porn Shoes

2008-10-28T18:33:00.001-07:00

I took my 10-year-old son out to buy some shoes the other day, along with his 7-year-old brother and 5-year-old sister. Three kids on one visit! We didn't have a whole lot of time, so I decided beforehand to take a 3 step approach to it.

1) Set them loose to pick their own shoes.
2) Check the sizes and prices.
3) Buy them what they chose (so long as it wasn't too expensive) and get the hell out of there.

Pictured here are the bad-ass shoes my semi-emo-in-training, wanna-be-skateboarder 10-year-old picked out. I was limited on time, and they looked fine to me at first glance, so I had him throw them on, rip off the tags, and we paid and left.

Fast forward to the next afternoon. He had a tremendous knot tied in them that he couldn't undo, so I stooped down to assist him. And I got an eyeful of this:

Yeah, "XXX" stamped across the toe of a shoe made for 10-year-olds. Or maybe it's for adults who wear a size 2; I shouldn't jump to conclusions, right?

Naw, I went ahead and jumped to conclusions. This company, World Industries, and this shoe store, Shoe Carnival, were selling shoes for children that had "XXX" stamped across the toe. The skulls, I could handle. A little edgy, but boys always like skulls. The anarchy symbol? A little less acceptable, but honestly, that "A" doesn't mean what it used to anymore. Now it's just a random symbol of generic rebellion, not an actual outcry for a collapse of all world governments.

But "XXX"? No, NOT acceptable. I don't think it's right for my 10-year-old, or for ANYONE'S 10-year-old, to be advertising the rating for a graphic pornographic film on his toe.

Now in fairness, "XXX" is also the stamp that cartoons in the 30's and 40's put on the outside of whiskey bottles. It COULD have been referring to that. Which I would have found only slightly less offensive.

But please, spare me, we all know what it's referring to.

Well, I'm not a suck-up-and-take-it kind of guy when it comes to things like this. We went immediately to another shoe store and bought some better shoes. Not the same brand, either. F them; they don't get my money anymore.

And when I returned the porn shoes, I didn't slip in and shyly ask for my money back. I asked to see the manager, showed him the shoe, told him why I was returning it, and asked him why he was selling porn shoes for 10-year-olds. He had no reply. Neither did the manager in the second Shoe Carnival store I went to when I asked him the same question, standing in the aisle in front of the offending shoe, displayed at kid's-eye level.

Porn shoes. Honestly. Now, not only do I have to monitor what's on TV and the radio, and what websites they visit, and who sends them text messages and what those messages say- but on top of all that, I have to monitor his SHOES for porn references.

World Industries and Shoe Carnival. If you're as disgusted as I was/am, well, you know who to boycott now.

Why I'm Not Voting

2008-10-27T10:35:00.000-07:00

I never knew I had so much influence!

Chokitcay

2008-10-24T16:22:00.000-07:00

This is the transcript of an actual conversation that took place on the morning of October 22, 2008, in Rock Hill, South Carolina. (Note: When speaking in the Dunkin Donuts Drive-through guy's voice, allow the words to echo around in the hollow spot in the back of your nose, and speak just a little too slowly.)

DUNKIN DONUTS DRIVE-THRU GUY: Weckum to Dunkindonutz may I take yorder.
ME: Wha- oh. Um, yeah, hold on... I want a box of Munchkins-
DDDTG: Whaflava?
ME: What?
DDDTG: Whaflava?
ME: What?
KIDS IN BACK SEAT: I think he said "what flavor?"
ME: Oh, uh... can you like, grab some random ones and toss them in there? Like an order of 25, selected at random?
DDDTG: Assordit?
ME: Wha- assorted? Yeah. Random. Assorted.
DDDTG: Assordit?
ME: YES! ASSORTED!
DDDTG: Widis compleeyorder?
ME: Will this-?? No. No, I also want 2 chocolate donuts.
DDDTG: Chokitfrostit?
ME: What?
DDDTG: Chokitfrostit?
ME: What?
KIDS IN BACK SEAT: CHOCOLATE FROSTED!
ME: Chocolate frosted?
DDDTG: Chokitfrostit?
ME: No, chocolate!
DDDTG: Chokitfrostit?
ME: CHOCOLATE! NOT chocolate frosted!
DDDTG: Chokitcay?
ME: WHAT?
DDDTG: Chokitcay?
ME: WHAT?
KIDS IN BACK SEAT: CHOCOLATE CAKE!
EMMA: Yay, chocolate cake, Daddy, I want Chocolate cake-
ME: Chocolate cake?
DDDTG: Chokitcay?
ME: No, I don't want chocolate cake, I want a chocolate donut! I want TWO chocolate donuts!
DDDTG: Chokitcay or chokitfrostit?
ME: Oh for the love- you call a chocolate donut "chocolate cake?"
DDDTG: Chokitcay?
ME: (To Maddie) Who calls that a "chocolate cake donut?" What's with this guy?
DDDTG: Chokitcay?
ME: Chocolate donut. CHOCOLATE DONUT. Chocolate through and through. If that's what you call chocolate cake, then yes, I'll have a chocolate cake donut.
DDDTG: Widis compleeyorder?
ME: No, I want 4 milks, and THAT will complete my order.
DDDTG: Toopuhcen ohomill?
ME: Oh good hell... MILK. MILK! Whatever you grab off the shelf! Whatever YOU think of when you want milk, grab me that.
DDDTG: Toopuhcen ohomill?
ME: (shrugging, I look in the back seat for translation)
KIDS IN BACK SEAT: TWO PERCENT OR WHOLE MILK?
ME: 4 WHOLE MILKS!
DDDTG: Widis com-
ME: Yes!
DDDTG: Please pullroun segunwinduh.
ME: Unbelievable.

Democrats: Snatching Defeat From the Jaws of Victory!

2008-10-21T13:22:00.000-07:00

CHANGE!

That's what we all want, right? That's the driving motivation behind the Democratic platform's assertion that they ought to control both the White House and Congress!

CHANGE is what's driving voters to lean towards giving full control of Government to the Democratic Party. Leaving "change" as a vague, wishy-washy, undefined concept, the Democrats were cleaning the Republicans' clocks!

But Democrats are skilled at losing elections that for all accounts and purposes, they ought to run away with. And it looks like they might- MIGHT- blow the single, most golden opportunity they have ever faced!

How? Why, by DEFINING what the coming "change" is going to look like!

So what does "change" equal? Well, let's let them define it for us in two very recent examples.

1) Change equals international conflicts against the United States.
According to Joe Biden, the Democrats' Vice-Presidential Candidate, the world will challenge Obama with some kind of international conflict once the new kid takes office.

Madeline Albright, former Secretary of State in the Clinton Administration, called this a "statement of fact."

2) Change equals new, higher taxes.
Joe Biden stated that it's "Patriotic" to pay more taxes.

Barack Obama stated, in his now-famous conversation with Joe the Plumber, that the intention of this increase in taxation was not to punish those who break into that over-$250K-a-year level (which really isn't very high these days), but rather it was just a good idea to "spread the wealth around." In other words, take what he has earned, and give it to those jealous people in lower income brackets.

Democratic Congressman Barney Frank of Massachusetts then followed up by saying that yes, there should be tax increases, and that there are "a lot of rich people down there that we can tax down the road."

Now that's change we can believe in! ...and vote against. You got it straight from the Donkey's mouths.

(*Note: Finances are tricky. They confuse many people. But to make it uber-simple for all of you, let me just make it clear: the current economic turmoil the World is passing through is NOT a result of our taxes being too low. Ergo, RAISING taxes will not pull us out of it.)

No Need To Comment

2008-10-21T06:03:00.000-07:00

This video pretty much speaks for itself. It's just over 8 minutes long, but I think you ought to set aside eight minutes and have a look. There's a special guest appearance 6 and a half minutes into it that might influence your vote. Unless you're still voting based upon who's more handsome.

Deciphering Biden

2008-10-20T14:37:00.000-07:00

The problem with Joe Biden is that he still has the ability to speak. He's an old, experienced foreign policy wonk, which is a definite boost to the Obama ticket, but damn it, the guy TALKS. And it gets him into trouble.

This time around, he really left the world wondering just what the hell they'd be getting themselves into with an Obama presidency. His cryptic reference to the first 6 months of the impending Obama Presidency were enough to leave even the most liberal of us clenching our asscheeks shut with the force of the Jaws of Life.

Read it for yourself:

"...he's gonna need your help. Because I promise you, you all are gonna be sitting here a year from now going, 'Oh my God, why are they there in the polls? Why is the polling so down? Why is this thing so tough?' We're gonna have to make some incredibly tough decisions in the first two years. So I'm asking you now, I'm asking you now, be prepared to stick with us. Remember the faith you had at this point because you're going to have to reinforce us."

"There are gonna be a lot of you who want to go, 'Whoa, wait a minute, yo, whoa, whoa, I don't know about that decision'," Biden continued. "Because if you think the decision is sound when they're made, which I believe you will when they're made, they're not likely to be as popular as they are sound. Because if they're popular, they're probably not sound."

Biden emphasized that the mountainous Afghanistan-Pakistan border is of particular concern, with Osama bin Laden "alive and well" and Pakistan "bristling with nuclear weapons."

"You literally can see what these kids are up against, our kids in that region," Biden said in recalling when his helicopter was forced down due to a snowstorm there. "The place is crawling with al Qaeda. And it's real."

"We do not have the military capacity, nor have we ever, quite frankly, in the last 20 years, to dictate outcomes," he cautioned. "It's so much more important than that. It's so much more complicated than that. And Barack gets it."

After speaking for just over a quarter of an hour, Biden noticed the media presence in the back of the small ballroom.

"I probably shouldn't have said all this because it dawned on me that the press is here," he joked.

"All kidding aside, these guys have left us in a God-awful place," he then said of the Bush regime, promptly wrapping up his remarks. "We have the ability to straighten it out. It's gonna take a little bit of time, so I ask you to stay with us. Stay with us."

So what does this mean? Simple. Ignore the Biden code and hone in on a few key points:

1)"Sound" decisions won't be popular ones. This means, even the most liberal amongst you will be wondering what kind of an incompetent ass you just voted into office. The rest of you will just be assured that, as you suspected, the liberals voted an ass into office, which won't surprise you, but WILL dismay you.

2)"Be prepared to stick with us." This means, THEY'RE sure as hell not sticking with YOU. They're saying one thing now to get your vote, but once they're in office, that crap's going straight out the window, baby. But hey- stick with them! They'll learn ya.

3)Here is the scariest part of all of it: ""We do not have the military capacity, nor have we ever, quite frankly, in the last 20 years, to dictate outcomes. It's so much more important than that. It's so much more complicated than that. And Barack gets it."

This one means, We're either surrendering to Al Qaeda and pulling out of Afghanistan, or we're going to have a little sit down with them (yes, our Generals will sit down with TERRORIST LEADERS) and come to some sort of agreement. Some hug-each-other solution to them sending suicide bombers into markets and jet airplanes into buildings. We'll stroke 'em all we have to and then declare (this will be amusing) "victory." And then we'll slouch out of the region in hot-faced shame, with the entire world knowing full well we just had our asses handed to us.

But hey.

It will feel like the worst thing our country has ever done, sure, but "stick with them!"

They know better than you, after all. You? You're just a dumb American. Whose vote they desperately need.

Good God, people, I have played a fairly even hand throughout this election, but I think my vote was just decided.

FAIL

2008-10-17T11:18:00.000-07:00

Seven months ago, Hawaii became the only state in the Union to offer UNIVERSAL HEALTH CARE FOR ALL CHILDREN! Hurrah hurrah. Hold on, a parade spontaneously erupted over here when I announced that, let's let it pass....

..Ok, tumbling girls in gymnasts outfits...

.....marching band....

........clowns with candy.... midgets with sparklers.....

Ok, back to the matter at hand.

As of today, Hawaii is no longer the only state in the Union to offer UNIVERSAL HEALTH CARE FOR ALL CHILDREN! Why, because another brave state has stepped up to the plate to address this (cough cough) crisis?

No, because Hawaii declared it a failure and dropped the program. They couldn't afford it. Turns out that people who already had health coverage for their children were dropping their bought-and-paid-for coverage to take advantage of the state-offered freebie. Hey, can you blame them? It's all about the Benjamins, baby.

Now those unfortunate souls are going to have to sacrifice their Big Screen TV fund to pay for their children's health care again! OUTRAGEOUS!!! PAY??? For something as IMPORTANT as their CHILDREN'S WELL BEING? That oughtta be FREE!

To summarize:
Health Care for your kids: Important. Someone else should foot the bill.
Big Screen TV: I'll drop a month's wages on that shit.

It's all about where you place your priorities.

When I'm King of the World (and I will be), there will be no state-provided health care. There WILL, however, be a state-bought Big Screen TV hanging on every wall. Six of one, half dozen of the other....

mmmmm, steak.......

2008-10-16T18:18:00.001-07:00

Outer space smells like steak. No, for real! My girlfriend says it's because Outer Space is close to God, and God eats steak.

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/article1820985.ece

The Only Poll That Matters

2008-10-15T09:40:00.001-07:00

Depending on whether you read the Reuters, Zogby, or CBS/New York Times poll, Barack Obama is enjoying anywhere from a 4 to a 14 point lead over John McCain right now.

Big deal. There's only one poll out there right now that REALLY matters, and it's this one: The Scholastic Presidential Election Poll. You know, the one where the little kids line up at school and vote in mock elections? yeah, that's the best poll out there, and it has Barack Obama running away with this thing.

Since 1940, this poll had been dead-on in all but three cases: 1948, where the kids picked Dewey over Truman; 1960, where they picked Nixon over Kennedy; and 2000, where they picked Bush over Gore, which mirrored the Electoral College results, but not the popular vote.

So why am I putting so much stock in this silly schoolroom straw poll? Simple.

Kids don't know what they want. They know what they're told. I'm sure there are very rare exceptions to this, but by very rare I mean VERY rare. Kids pretty much do what they see their parents doing. At before they hit their teenage years, they cheer for whatever candidate they hear their parents cheering for.

This is a very telling poll; polling children gets to the heart of what's being discussed in households across America far better than some random caller from Reuters can.

Now, it's not exactly a PERFECT method. You have to factor in variables. Like, for example, households with more than one kid under 12. Two pro-Obama parents with 4 pro-Obama kids will cause the poll to skew further Obamawards than their actual votes will. But when you account for the broad spectrum of American households with multiple children, spread across multiple areas and political leanings, it all evens out fairly well.

Even the three anamolies can be pretty well explained away. The 2000 election was well within any poll's margin of error, and 1960 had some veeeeeeery suspicious vote counts coming out of Chicago. And 1948 was a very unique election, with Truman's victory being attributed to a major shift in public opinion very late in the campaign, and well after the Scholastic poll was taken.

I guess a major shift in opnion is possible in this election, too. In fact I think this election has more potential for volatility than any election in our nation's history. But that being said, this poll gives Barack Obama an 18-point lead over McCain, 57 to 39 percent. It would have to be an awfully big opinion shift to wipe out that kind of a margin.

So sorry, Republicans, but you're most likely going to lose this one. But come on, look at who you chose... did you really expect any other result?

And let's not forget the dumbasses on the right.....

2008-10-14T22:26:00.000-07:00

Lest anyone out there think that I am of the opinion that Barack Obama has a corner on the dumbass market, let's take a fun look at some dumbasses who are backing John McCain. My favorite of all of them is this old woman, who simply can't support Barack Obama because "he's an arab."

Kudos to John McCain for correcting her immediately, too, by the way. He deserves a piece of pie.

Well-Thought-Out Positions

2008-10-14T09:20:00.000-07:00

Lest any of you think that black voters are in favor of Barack Obama just because of the color of his skin, well... ok, maybe a lot of them are. Here's a clip from the Howard Stern show illustrating this point. (Note: Yes, it's Howard Stern, but there is no profanity or lewdness in this clip.)

Vote Early and Often!

2008-10-14T07:21:00.000-07:00

Uh oh! Have you heard about the new Ohio law, which allows you to register to vote at the polls, and then vote, right there on the spot? Sounds great, doesn't it? Sounds like Democracy in action! What could possibly go wrong?

Umm.... this.

There's a group out there called ACORN, which stands for Association of Community Organizers for Reform Now. They claim to be non-partisan, but they align themselves openly with liberal causes. One of their pet causes this year has been to fraudulently register non-existent people to vote. Or to make up addresses and put the names of famous celebrities on their voter registration cards. For example, this year in Nevada, the entire front line of the Dallas Cowboys registered to vote. In Florida, Mickey Mouse tried to register to vote- but sadly, he was turned away. (I guess he actually resides in Anaheim. Silly Mickey.)

ACORN's supervisors claim these are just honest mistakes. You know, a guy says his name is "Tom Johnson" and it's misheard as "Mickey Mouse"...? Yeah... I'm buying that.

I'm certain that they weren't attempting any kind of voter fraud to make sure their candidate of choice, Barack Obama, is guaranteed a victory in Red-leaning Ohio. Oh wait, whoops... let me quote from this article again:

"The vote of Darnell Nash, one of four people subpoenaed in a Cuyahoga County probe of ACORN's voter-registration activities, was canceled and his case was turned over to local prosecutors and law enforcement, Board of Elections officials said yesterday.

Nash had registered to vote repeatedly from an address that belonged to a legitimately registered voter, officials said during a hearing at which the subpoenaed voters were to testify.

Board officials had contacted Nash this summer, questioned his address and told him to stop repeat registering.

But still, he breezed into Ohio election offices - the state allows early voting for president - reregistered with a fake address and cast a paper ballot, officials said."

Well, this is the sad by-product of Democracy, I guess. People will try to cheat. And some will get away with it. And those who are caught will cry Disenfranchisement. And some people will sadly agree with those people.

Se la vie.

Pie Heaven

2008-10-13T19:09:00.000-07:00

I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that I have never heard of Sweet Potato Pie before today. Barack Obama sure as hell knows what it is, though!

More Reason To Be Creeped Out

2008-10-10T09:37:00.000-07:00

There's a certain imagery you don't want attached to you when you're running for President in this country.

You don't want to be viewed as a dictator, for example. Or a radical. Or a nazi.

Another imagery you want to avoid is being viewed as a Messiah.

I already posted two creepy videos a couple of days ago that have cast Obama in a Jesus-esque light. One had some chanting, militant teenagers and the other had some uber-creepy kids singing to Obama much the way kids at church sing to Jesus, with their empty-headed parents looking on adoringly, apparently oblivious that they had just tossed their kids into one of the worst propaganda grinders they ever could have. (That little girl singing the solo will be haunted by that video well into her adulthood.)

Now, as if people weren't creeped out enough by this seemingly religious adoration of Barack Obama, we can pile the unsavory Louis Farrakhan on to the top of the rest of these videos. He has now proclaimed Barack Obama to be-

brace yourself-

THE MESSIAH.

I kid you not.

Watch it for your yourself.

A Fifty-Fifty Nation

2008-10-08T07:21:00.000-07:00

These debates are boring, aren't they?

So let's talk about something else, because I think the fix is in here. I think the nation is being manipulated and duped.

In 2000, we had an election unlike any other. A tie! It all came down to one state, it dragged on for a month after the actual election, and in the end it turned into a flurry of courtroom drama, with ruling after ruling being issued within hours of each other, State Supreme Court facing off against the U.S. Supreme Court, and finally an order to end it all and certify the count as it stands.

Whew! Drama!

Drama sells. News channels saw ratings unlike anything they had ever seen before. We were mesmerized, as a nation. We even sat glued to our sets for 4 hours to watch a Ryder truck full of ballots being driven from West Palm Beach to Gainesville! Can you believe that?

Fast forward to 2004. We had a President now who just two years before had approval numbers north of 90%, but whose popularity was waning. We had an ultra-liberal pathetic excuse for a Senator from Masschusetts challenging him. We had a nation still mostly for the war, and we had a good economy. By all rational thinking, it should not have been that close an election- the sitting President should have won by anywhere from 6 to 10 points.

And yet, he squeaked by, winning by 3. Right up until the night of the election it was being reported as a toss-up. It didn't make sense.

Now here we are again. We couldn't have found two candidates more unlike each other. A young, sleek, eloquent rising star from the Great Lakes region, and a cranky old establishment type from Washingt- oh sorry, Arizona.

They are essentially tied in the polls.

Anyone falling for this? I'm not.

It doesn't make sense to me that for 8 years running now, our nation is divided evenly down the middle. Red and Blue. Right wing and Left wing. 150 million Americans thinking one way, and 150 million thinking the other. What are the chances of that, for EIGHT SOLID YEARS, despite ALL of the tumultuous changes and upheavals our country has endured?

You think it'd break in one direction of the other. After 9/11, you think it'd sway maybe 55-60% pro-Bush, pro-Republican, pro-War. Or if not, 55-60% the OTHER way. But it just doesn't make sense that a world-rocking event like that left our electorate pretty much exactly where they were beforehand- evenly split.

Now here we sit on the brink of another Great Depression. And what are we seeing? A TIE! Oh sure, Obama's up in the polls, but by what, 2 or 3 points most of the time? And neither candidate is breaking the 50% mark, or if they are, it's for a day or two at a time.

I'm not buying it. I'm not buying that we're that evenly divided. I think the fix is in. I haven't figured it out yet, but something's up. What do you guys think?

Pitbull in Lipstick Tears Grizzly Adams Asunder

2008-10-07T09:02:00.000-07:00

Wow, where was this in-your-face attitude when she was sitting down with Katie Couric?

I kind of like this video. Apparently, some guy on the Michael Moore Diet Plan down there in Estero, Florida was so fired up against McCain-Palin that he decided to forego a shower that morning to run down and yell at her from the front rows of the crowd. Sarah Palin responds vacuously but eloquently. And she can be forgiven for the vacuous nature of it- I mean, what else can you do with a heckler, launch into a 10-minute dialogue?

Well done, Sarah.

Congressman Frank, Please Shut Up.

2008-10-06T19:45:00.000-07:00

Yeah, that guy again. My apologies to me readers, for having to see that unappealing mug TWICE in three posts. But he's been popping off at the mouth again, and I can't let this go unchallenged.

Today's accusation? Why, it's that when Republicans criticize Barney Franks' failures as the head of the House Financial Services Committee, they are ACTUALLY spouting off anti-black hate speech.

Huh?

Yeah, they hate blacks. Or so he says anyway.

Congressman Frank is not black. But the subprime mortgages that led to this financial mess? Those were received by poor people.

And poor people? A lot of times, they're black.

So to summarize, it goes like this: Congressman Frank->Subprime Mortgages->Poor People->Blacks. So if you bash Congressman Franks' glaring inadequacies as the head of the House Financial Serviced Committee, YOU, my dear Republican friend, are a BLACK BASHING HATE MONGER!

Ta-Da!

Good people of southeastern Massachusetts, you have an enormous opportunity before you to prove to the world that you're not the dumbasses we all take you for. Vote this guy out of office. (You won't do it. You'll scratch your big, cinder-block shaped heads and say, "Well, he seems to be doing a pretty good job...")

This is the party of change.

Obama Militant Youth

2008-10-06T07:16:00.000-07:00

Well, this isn't going to help his cause any.... Fresh from this morning's WTF Files, I present to you: Obama Militant Youth. (Note: The original video posted mysteriously disappeared off of YouTube; I get the feeling this one is going to be uh... "repressed" every so often. I'm not saying by whom; it might be a copyright infringement for all I know.)

Before you watch this, I'll just give you my impressions. I know these kids are not associated with the Obama campaign. I believe they are genuinely inspired to have an African American leader they feel they can look up to and emulate. Kudos to them for finding a unique way to express that.

But kids... you don't want to parade around in military fatigues chanting and throwing fists around. It makes your beloved leader look like a Black Panther leader. And with his history of associations, like Reverend Wright and William Ayers, the last thing he wants to look like is a semi-militant black leader. You're hurting him, not helping him. And this thing has gone viral now, so the damage is done.

I think years from now we're going to read about the influence of the "Obama Youth" much in the way we read about the "Swift Boat" campaign that supposedly led to Kerry's defeat. (Because it COULDN'T be Kerry's own smug assholishness that led to his defeat, right? Right.)

Anyway... enjoy. And for good measure, after you've watched the Obama Youth parade around like Nazis, enjoy the next video, which features little children singing to Obama much in the way Cuban children sing to Castro, or Venezuelan kids sing to Chavez. A little sidenote on that video: the maker inserts a clip of the Hitler Youth singing to Der Fuehrer. I am not calling Obama a Hitleresque figure, myself. But the side-by-side comparison of the two is a little startling.

Oh, and the image of Obama in the turban? Cute. But come on, either he's Muslim and we bash him for that, or he's Christian and we bash him for his support of Reverend Wright. I have no problem with you guys opposing Obama; just get talking points straight and consistent, ok?

When I'm King of the World (and I will be), this kind of propaganda won't just be discouraged, it will be brutally repressed.

Hey, uh, Barney...?

2008-10-04T12:29:00.000-07:00

Oh, how my heart swells with pride whenever I see my old hometown Congressman Barney Frank on the news! (Anyone detect a hint of sarcasm there?)

But whoa, I'd hate to be Barney Frank these days. (Honestly, I'd hate to be Barney Frank ANY day, but ESPECIALLY these days.) When you have BOTH Bill O'Reilly and Alec Baldwin bashing you, you're just not doing a very good job.

All that aside, let's be honest. Democrats control Congress right now, and Republicans control the White House, and Alec Baldwin is absolutely right in this clip- "There's blame to go both ways." AND- as much as I absolutely despise this guy, O'Reilly is right too, when after his irate rant against Barney Frank, he says that one guy Cox (a Republican) says "Yeah, I screwed up", and one guy Frank (a Democrat) is saying, "Everybody else is to blame."

Sidenote

2008-10-03T10:10:00.000-07:00

Apparently, if you google the words "Lawdy, I sho loves campaignin'!", my post is the first option that pops up. So far I have had hits from Louisiana and Pennsylvania, from people googling that phrase. I'm not sure whether I should be proud or embarrassed.

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

2008-10-03T09:26:00.000-07:00

Well, the press has finally developed a name for the current crisis facing our nation, so now we can truly speak to the problem, and not the symptoms. I guess we're officially calling it "The Credit Crisis" or something like that- and oh, how true that is!

The Mortgage mess was only the initial indicator of just how widespread our problem is. It's becoming increasingly clear that our nation was running on way more credit than I was ever aware of. (Mybe you were all a little wiser to that than I was.)

We all probably knew about our own personal credit lines, and those of our businesses, if we ran any. But now something far more dire is becoming crystal clear: nearly the entire nation is run on money that it doesn't have! It's not just us, individually, borrowing to fill our gas tanks on credit cards, or buying houses with mortgages. Businesses routinely borrow money to pay payrolls or invoices. State and Local Governments borrow funds to pay for road projects, or cover payrolls for state employees. And the Federal government? Holy SHIT! (Sorry, Andrea, here's a quarter for the potty-mouth penalty jar.)

For years and years and years now, this has just been business as usual. And it's not always been such a bad thing. People liked to talk about the deficits that were run up during the Reagan years, for example, but we paid all of that off, within 6 years or so of him leaving office, so what was all the panic about, right?

Well, now it's kicking us all in our collective crotch. The Federal Government is already strained to the breaking point with this Wall Street/Main Street bailout B.S. that's about to pass through Congress today. But now it's been approached by California, with hand outstretched, asking if they have another, say, 7 billion dollars lying around they could lend it for a while. (The banks that usually lend California money have instead given them the bird, free of charge.)

California's gone broke now? Well, that's no surprise to anyone living here. This is the most welfare-and-"program"-happy state I have ever lived in, and I grew up in MASSACHUSETTS! But wait- it's not just California unable to borrow and spend. As stated in the article in the link above, "New Mexico was forced to put off a $500-million bond sale, Massachusetts had to pull the plug halfway into a $400-million offering, and Maine is considering canceling road projects that were to be funded with bonds."

Listen.

I spend as I earn. I learned the hard way about this crap, and now I've learned my lesson. I'm still paying off bad debt from my unfortunate past. But I'm not accruing any in my present or future. I have no mortgage, I will soon have no car payment, and I haven't accrued a single penny of credit card debt in the past 4 years or so.

So how do I do it? I earn it first, and spend it after.

That might not be such a bad idea.

Maybe we, as a nation, should suffer through a decade or two of tumult and havoc, and emerge on the other end earning FIRST, and spending AFTER. Maybe a generation should bear the burden of living in (gasp) rented homes! And driving (good GOD, NO!) inexpensive cars we can pay cash for! Maybe states should (No, HappyBack, NO!) cut programs and (stop, no more!) reduce spending! Maybe even the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT should trim the budget back to (this is too much- be gentle!) defense spending, and NOTHING MORE! Kinda like it was back in the day, you know? Before we all suddenly felt entitled to everything we could dream up, based on the merit of living and breathing in America...? Remember those days...?

Probably not. But you're about to pass through them again, so get out your journals and start recording the next few years, so our kids can hopefully get the clue that we missed out on from our elders who lived through the Great Depression.

I've said it before and I'll say it again- when you borrow money, people, you gotta pay that shiznit back.

Must See TV!

2008-10-02T14:56:00.001-07:00

Oh man, is this ever going to be good. Palin vs. Biden. The Rambling Wreck of the North vs. the Foot-in-Mouth Disease Old Fool of the Midwest.

This is what debates are televised for- the train-wreck potential that exists. And especially V.P. debates. Let's be honest here- we don't care much what either one of these two think, because they're only going to be the man or lady in waiting. And no matter what the actuary tables are saying, we all know the chances of either of them sitting in the Oval Office are pretty damn slim.

No, we watch these things in hopes that another Lloyd Benson moment will occur. That "You're no Jack Kennedy" zinger, the only memorable thing that has ever come out of a Vice Presidential debate.

Until tonight. There is so much potential here, something HAS to happen. It's like placing a cow in a river full of piranhas- it's only a matter of time before the mess begins.

I'll be glued to my set.

A HappyBack Cinematic Masterpiece

2008-09-29T23:14:00.000-07:00

You guys know me and you know my politics, right? So you know I don't agree with the "politics" of this video, if you can even call it "politics."

That all being said, I loved making it. It's ridiculous. But it's funny. And I make a damn good Secret Service agent.

Enjoy!

Let's Clean House!

2008-09-29T12:42:00.000-07:00

Wow, HappyBack- 3 posts in ONE DAY? Yeah, I know, it must feel like I'm REALLY forcing my opinion down your throat today, but this is no ordinary day!

Today, our country's leadership has proven itself to be abject failures. "I know, HappyBack, you already bashed Pelosi-" I'm not just talking about Pelosi! Nor am I just talking about Bush, the only one who has had any spine in this whole ridiculous Government Bailout initiative. I'm talking about EVERYONE.

All of Congress. All 435 Representatives and all 100 Senators. And amongst those Senators, I am including Barack Obama, and John McCain.

We already know how ineffective the White House has been over the past year. But I'm not going to let Congress get away with blaming them, as if they had nothing whatsoever to do with it. Any budget the White House has presented, THEY have voted into law. Any law they have presented, CONGRESS has approved.

So what's got me all up in a tiff about them today? This article on Yahoo. And in particular, one specific line in this article.

As the $700 Billion bailout plan crashed and burned, "...The overriding question for congressional leaders was what to do next. Congress has been trying to adjourn so that its members can go out and campaign. And with only five weeks left until Election Day, there was no clear indication of whether the leadership would keep them in Washington. Leaders were huddling after the vote to figure out their next steps."

Wait, Congress wants to adjourn so its members can CAMPAIGN? SCREW YOU, CONGRESS, WE VOTED YOU IN TO WORK, not CAMPAIGN!

Let's vote them all out. All of the House of Representatives and about a third of the Senate is up for reelection this year.

Every single one of them who runs home to attend a rally or cut a commercial to try and get reelected, while Washington and Wall Street are in shambles, deserves to be thrown out on their ass without a pension or a thank-you card.

Whoever is running against the incumbent in your town, vote for them. Democrat, Republican, Libertarian, or Card-Carrying Socialist- vote for them, and not the incumbent.

I'm serious! And I'm not suggesting this to "send them a message!" or to "let them know exactly how we feel!"

Who cares anymore about messages and feelings? THEY HAVE FAILED. They PERSIST in failing. The White House is taken care of; those guys are gone. But if we return the same Congress next year that we have this year, we'll have more of the same.

There are NO EXCEPTIONS. Listen, Utards, that means you'll have (gasp) TWO Democrats, and only ONE Republican! Can you stomach that? No?? So what?? In two years, vote THOSE jackasses out, too, if they can't get things done!

It's House cleaning time, people. And don't be silly and write me in, either- just get whoever is in there, OUT.

Ineffective Leadership 101

2008-09-29T12:14:00.000-07:00

Gather round, class, and listen to Professor Pelosi's latest lecture on ineffective leadership.

Actually, it's not so much a "lecture" as it is a case study. She doesn't TELL us how to lead ineffectively, but rather, she stands up at the pulpit, at perhaps the most critical juncture in her time as Speaker of the House, and SHOWS us how to ineffectively lead.

There are two tacks you can take when the nation faces a crisis.

First, you can take the reigns and guide us back onto a better path. If you see a bumpy ride ahead for us, you let us know that in candid terms. But you also paint for us a portrait of what advantages our hard times ahead will garner us in the end. You inspire. You rally. You prod an unwilling legislature into action, despite their reluctance and misgivings.

Instead, she did this:

Speaker Pelosi stepped out onto the floor of the House today, just moments before the vote on the $700 Billion bailout plan, and pointed fingers of blame. Evil Bush ruined Saint Clinton's Immaculate Economy, in her simplistic- and untimely, to say the least- estimation.

She rankled the very Representatives whose votes she needed, and in so doing, assured them that their votes will be turned against them in partisan rangling when they're all up for reelection in a few weeks. So they did what any spineless politician would do- they took the safe "No" vote.

She was so ineffective that 40% of HER OWN PARTY took the safe "No" vote on this one.

Is there a leader in the House?

It's In The Presentation

2008-09-29T09:43:00.000-07:00

Republicans these days want to spin Obama as a bunch of fluff and an empty suit. McCain's camp has been the leading force behind the all-image-no-substance drive.

That being the case, they sure are going out of their way to make sure Sarah Palin is kept squirreled away, lest she open her mouth and destroy her paper-thin tough girl image, and chase away thoughtful conservatives just before the election.

After her interview with Katie Couric, can you really blame them?

This was absolutely stunning to watch. I mean, it's no secret to anyone that the Press is liberal, and will toss any Conservative candidate under the bus the first chance they get. Katie Couric is no exception to this. She's not there to give an even handed view of Palin, she's there trying to get a "gotcha" moment on tape.

So what does Palin do? She sits through the interview with a painful, paranoid "I know you're trying to get me, Katie, and I'm not gonna letcha!" look on her face. One HAS to ask- if she can't handle Katie Couric with grace under pressure, how in the HELL is this woman going to handle Vladamir Putin, when he "rears his head?"

Watch just a 1-minute exchange. Watch it twice, because after the first time you watch it, you're gonna say, "Huh? What did she say...?"

Now contrast that with Bill O'Reilly's interview with Barack Obama a week or two ago. O'Reilly is a total blowhard. I detest the guy and I think he's a horrible interviewer. His point, also, is to trip up the candidate and try to get a soundbite that makes Obama look like a fool.

In the face of this, Obama comes across masterfully.

To be fair, now, Obama isn't running against Palin, he's running against McCain. And Biden, who IS running against Palin, can hardly open his mouth without his third chromosome showing.

But still- let's be real here. Obama IS running against Palin. That's the whole reason Palin was selected. To try and win over women, to try and convince Conservatives that McCain really DOES love them, and to try and woo the younger vote.

FAIL.

Is it too late for a do-over?

Yes. it's too late for a do-over.

Suck it up, Conservatives, and get ready for 4 years of Obama-Biden, and if you're really smart, suck it up even harder and prepare yourselves for Candidate Romney in 2012. Because he remains the only candidate in your party who can effectively counter Obama, charm-for-charm, soundbite-for-soundbite.

But he's Mormon, right? Yeah, what was I thinking...

I'm HappyBack, and I approved this message.

2008-09-26T16:54:00.000-07:00

I don't like John McCain, right? Is everyone clear on that?

Any doubters?

Ok then.

Watch this video. It is BLATANTLY pro-McCain/Palin.

But it is factual. You can slow it down and watch it frame by frame, you can google everything it brings up, and you can fact-check it on your own. (You won't, of course, but you can.) This is a GREAT explanation of how we got into the mess we are currently in.

Ten minutes, and POOF! You'll be SMART.

How To Weather The Next Financial Fiasco

2008-09-25T08:33:00.000-07:00

I'm not an Economist. Nor am I an Accountant. Nor a Financial Wizard of any measure. I have no credentials whatsoever in this field. We need to establish that fact right off the bat.

That being said, I am going to offer up to you a sure-fire, guaranteed method to survive the next Mortgage melt-down. Because I assure you, if we manage to stave off THIS one, the next one is coming not too far down the road. More on that later- let's get on to the meat of this post: YOUR financial well-being.

Here's how you save your house, people. It's all done by remembering a simple principle:

When you borrow money from somebody else, you have to pay that shit back.

Ok, potty-mouth, I just dropped an s-bomb on you. But it caught your attention, right?

Look, I want a house, same as you. But I don't have one right now. Why? Because I lost it to the bank? Because I wander the country and so I don't really need one? No, silly- because in 2006, when the banks were practically giving money away to any old jackass who wandered in with their hand outstretched, when I could have literally gotten a half-million dollar mansion anywhere I wanted, I decided that it wasn't a prudent move for me at the time.

Wow, don't we all wish a lot more people had been as prudent as Happyback was now?

Look, this is honestly very hard for me to write, because I have a lot of very, very close friends who are going to read this and feel a little stung, but I feel like it needs to be said.

Do any of you understand that nobody is going to lend you hundreds of thousands of dollars without expecting you to pay it off in the end?

And do any of you understand that a house is a phenomenal LONG-TERM investment?

What's with you people buying a half-million dollar house on a $70K salary, on an adjustable rate mortgage at 2%? I mean honestly, WTF?? Did any of you think more than a couple of years down the line? What, you thought because it went up in value 15% the year you bought it, that it was going to CONTINUE going up in value every year until you were good and ready to flip it for another wonderful investment?

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

REALLY? You REALLY thought that?

Yeah, apparently you did, along with the entire F'ing nation. ALL of you. Three Hundred Million Americans HONESTLY thought houses just go up in value, year after year, at astronomical rates, and that trend just NEVER ENDS. It never slows, it never reverses, it just goes up, and up, and up....

and up.....

losing momentum....

slowing.....

oh crap. We're dropping.

Really fast.

Damn, we're dropping like a cruise missile now...............

And now what do you people want? You're looking at your houses, worth 50 or 100 thousand less than you bought it for, and you want out. You feel like it's not your fault, and you just want to bail out.

You're being stupid again. Remember what I said? It's a great LONG TERM investment....? If you sit on that house and pay your payments, and keep it for ten or twenty or thirty years, guess what? You'll have made a bundle off of it in the end.

But there's a problem. First off, you don't want to live where you're living. You don't like the neighborhood or the neighbors or the town- you only bought there because you figured you'd make a windfall in a couple of years and you could move on, right? BAAAAHAHAHAHA... sorry, sorry, I'll stop laughing at you.

Well, you're stuck. Suck it up and make the neighbors some cookies, because you really have to grow to like them now.

But there's a far worse problem.

Now that adjustable rate is shifting from 2% to 14%- OUCH! In other words, now the mechanism has kicked in whereby the bank- who GAVE you that money, in good faith- is starting to get some profit off of it. Which is why they lent it to you in the first place.

But you can't afford THAT payment! You could barely afford the LOW payment in the first place! So NOW what?

NOW, I bail you out. Or more exactly, I bail out the bank that you ripped off. My taxes do, anyway.

It's so easy to blame Bush, isn't it? Say he must be to blame, because he sat in the White House while all this happened?

Well, I don't. Sorry, friends, but I blame you. You wanted the house Mom and Dad lived in, but you didn't want to work and save for twenty years first, like Mom and Dad did when they bought it. You wanted it NOW.

Well, at least your kids will now be able to say with relative ease they lived better than THEIR parents did.

Let's all smarten up once our credit scores are fixed, shall we? In fifteen years, let's buy things we can afford, and start over from scratch, no matter what killer deals the banks offer us.

Any Doubt Who Bill Wants To Win?

2008-09-25T07:23:00.000-07:00

When I first watched the above video clip, I didn't think much of it. Bill Clinton is many things- most of them despisable- but above all else, he is a politician, and a skilled and observant one. His assessment of the electorate here, and of people's reasons for voting, is astute and spot-on.

But what really jumped out at me, about 4 minutes into this clip, was his glowing praise of John McCain.

He states here that he genuinely likes both candidates, and I believe that- I think one of Bill Clinton's greatest skills is his ability to genuinely like people, long enough to shmooze them over, anyway. (Newt Gingrich used to say he didn't want to be seated next to him at meetings because his charm was hard to fight against.)

But he clearly likes John McCain a lot more than he likes Barack Obama.

Anyway, that was a couple of days ago on "The View"- notable, but I didn't think much of it, until I saw this news article yesterday. Bill Clinton, saying on Larry King Live that he was going to wait until after the Jewish Holidays to campaign for Barack Obama.

Huh? Yeah, you read that right.

And now this morning, this comes out- Bill Clinton again, going out of his way to explain why McCain has suspended his campaign, and asking people not to count him out.

Boy, Barack, with friends like these....

I don't know how to embed this particular video clip, but follow this link and let Chris Rock sum things up a lot better than I can.

Well That Was Stupid.

2008-09-24T16:31:00.000-07:00

In the face of an impending financial meltdown on Wall Street, and with the entire Nation focused on our floundering economy, John McCain decided he was going to grab what he surely saw as a perfect opportunity to show the American people that when times get tough, John McCain rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

Well, that sounds nice and all, but what the American people are really looking for is...

brace yourselves....

CHANGE.

Now we all know that Bush, the perceived cause of all our nations' woes, won't be around much longer no matter who wins in November. But at this stage in the game, what could POSSIBLY be more important than having the two candidates for President come forward with their ecomnomic plans to guide us out of this mess?

I know what McCain was trying to do. He wants the nation to see him as a guy who doesn't TALK about things, but DOES things. Somebody in his campaign must have suggested that flying back to Washington would convince the unconvinced that McCain was their go-getter.

I can even get behind that idea to a degree, but why suspend the entire campaign? He's even pulling his TV commercials off the air! Why? How could that possibly help us get out of the hole? Is he going to donate what he saves in advertising revenue to the Treasury?

No, rather than looking like a go-getter, McCain now looks like exactly what he has fought so hard this year NOT to appear as:

Rash. A man who leaps first and looks later. He's been known for years as a guy who pops off at the mouth in a hotheaded rage without hesitation. This brash move of his looks a lot like that kind of thing. It looks like a poorly thought out plan, executed without much forethought.

And it makes Obama look levelheaded in comparison.

Way to screw it up, Johnny.

Here, let David Letterman mock you for a while.

Shame On You.

2008-09-19T08:59:00.000-07:00

So I'm sitting at work the other day, and I get this text message from a fine Utard I knew back in the day. This particular Utard is one I rarely hear from, so it's not like I'm her random-message dumping ground for whatever comes across her phone. When I get a text from her, it'll be something she's put some thought into sending.

I open up the text message. It's a picture of a monkey, with "Hail to the Chief" playing. Then the monkey slowly morphs into Barack Obama.

While I'm still staring at this message, aghast, saying to myself, "Did she really just send this to me....?" the phone beeps again. A second message comes through. This time, it's Barack Obama with a Buckwheat hairdo and big, white, Al Jolson lips, standing in front of the White House. The message underneath it says, "LAWDY, I SHO' LOVES CAMPAIGNIN'!" as the Jefferson's Theme Song plays in the background.

I immediately write her back.

ME: Do you actually find those funny?
HER: Yes. I take it you're voting for Obama then?
ME: Not very likely, but I'm not a racist, either. Are you a racist?
HER: No, I don't think I'm a racist.
ME: If you thought those were funny, you definitely are.
HER: I am soooooooo sorry. I'll delete those out of my phone and never send them again. I don't want you to think I'm a racist.
ME: Well, I do. How could you expect me not to think you're a racist when you make fun of Obama just for being black?
HER: You know what? I'll just never text message you ever again.
ME: Sounds good to me.

I hate to say this, people, but there are a LOT of racists out there. And before you go pointing fingers at the Republicans at large and saying, "YEAH, AND THERE THEY ARE!" let me share a little anecdote with you.

I have a very close friend from Texas. Her parents are life-long Democrats. They are voting for McCain. Why? As she put it, "Racism trumps politics this time around."

I have been having an on-going conversation lately with an old, old friend of mine, and my assertion to him has been this: If Obama hopes to win, he needs to be ahead in the polls by at least 5-7 points on election night.

That will give him about a 1-2 point margin of victory.

How do I figure that?

I am estimating that about 5% of the people who publicly claim to be pro-Obama are actually closet racists. When they get a phone call from Reuters or Rasmussen asking who they're voting for, right after asking them what their party affiliation is, they'll say Obama, but when they're alone in that voting booth and there's nobody around to see, they're not going to put a black man in the White House.

What am I basing this on?

On 15 years of working alongside mostly Democrat Union laborers and machine operators, from Buffalo to Baton Rouge, who hate any Republican, but hate any black man who dares step foot on their jobsite far more. I've seen it first-hand. I've listened to their racist jokes and watched their racist behavior up close. I once saw a black guy get run off a project based on outright lies just so a white guy could be installed in his place. All this done by guys who would say to me, "F*** Reagan- he was the worst President ever."

Their Unions will endorse Obama. They'll carry signs for him and wear buttons and stickers for him, like good little foot-soldiers, when the Union tells them to. But when they get into that voting booth, some of them are going to buck their marching orders and pull the lever for the white guy, simply because he's a white guy. Not all of them, not by a long shot- but there is a small percentage of them who will never, ever vote for a black man, no matter what his politics or policies.

I can think of dozens of good reasons not to vote for Barack Obama. His tax plan, his foreign policy, his stance on abortion, his liberal politics in general- all legitimate concerns for any voter, if that's the hill they wish to die on.

But the fact that he's a black man doesn't even show up on my list. If that's your reason, don't go thinking I'm one of your wink-wink-nudge-nudge guys when you want to have a whispered conversation about that fact in a dark corner somewhere.

No, because here's my opinion on the matter: If that's your primary reason for voting against him, shame on you. I don't even hesistate to say that.

SHAME ON YOU.

Take a Walk.

2008-09-18T11:50:00.000-07:00

Go for a walk tonight, ok?

A long, slow walk. Stop to look at things you'd normally walk by. Pick some things up, carry them for a while, look closely at them, set them back down, and keep walking.

Bring along somebody you like talking to. Or go it alone, and talk to yourself instead. Either way, keep the conversation light and easy.

Don't break a sweat, unless that's your thing. If it's breezy, take off your hat or hood and let it blow right through your hair. Even if it's frizzy today, or if it's been thinning for a while now.

If there's a fire in the neighborhood, enjoy the smell of smoke. If you pass an accident, think only about the people who escaped it unscathed. If a dog pees on you, enjoy the warm flow into your shoes.

Because the world is on the brink of complete and utter economic collapse, just in case you're not following the news. The worst financial collapse since the Great Depression!! Major financial institutions, many over a hundred years old and seemingly rock-solid, are tumbling like a house of cards. Others are still surviving, but only on funds borrowed from Uncle Sam. So who's going to bail out the rest of them when Uncle Sam's piggy-bank runs dry?

Never mind THEM-- who's going to bail out Uncle Sam?

Shhhh.... just go for a walk. That's tomorrow's problem.

How To Win By 20

2008-09-13T11:48:00.000-07:00

Ok... THIS is the last piece of advice for John McCain, and I MEAN it. After this, the old man is on his own.

Here's how you don't just win this thing (because if I had to guess right now, I'd say you're going to), but you win it by a solid 20-point margin.

Start dropping Hillary's name as a possible member of your Presidential Cabinet.

Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, Secretary of Energy, Head of the EPA, White House Counsel, Chief of Staff, anything. Just uh... keep her away from Health Care.

You won't lose the Conservative Base you have so skillfully locked in by selecting Palin as your V.P. They know that Cabinet posts aren't going to hold any sway over your Administration's general policies.

But what it WILL do is snatch up a good chunk of Hillary's supporters.

Not all of them.

A lot of Hillary's girls are bought and sold on abortion. This is the younger, mostly urban, Gen X and Gen Y crowd. To them, babies are the enemy! If you're not at least THINKING about killing your own young every time you develop a zygote, they think you're a Puritanical nutjob. Placing Palin on the ticket lost you their vote forever and ever and ever. They're voting for Obama.

But a good chunk of Hillary's supporters are more worried about a woman's place in Society and Government than they are about baby killing. These are mostly older women with cankles, clipped hair-do's, shapeless polyester slacks, and a tendency to put the "g" in Long Island at the beginning of "Island" instead of the end of "Long". (Lawn-Guy-Lin) They are skeptical of the Sarah Palin choice; for the majority of them, her ideology isn't jiving with their own hardly at all. You haven't won them over yet. But they're intrigued.

If you float an interview out there suggesting there's a place in the McCain White House for Hillary come January, they'll come to you. Maybe not in droves, maybe not all 18 million of them, but you'll get enough to edge your numbers up into "unbeatable" territory.

And if you're worried about Hillary herself ruining things by saying she'd never take a position in your White House, put those fears to bed. Hillary's in a funny spot. She doesn't want Obama to win; but she can't have her fingerprints on his defeat, either. She'll continue to tout him as the best choice for America; but she'll stay coyly mum about any suggestion of serving with you in the Executive Branch.

So John, take my advice, and while you're solidifying your base, reach across the aisle, too. Show the voters that you're still the Big-Tent-America guy, as well as the Conservative Messiah.

Inspired At Church

2008-09-12T13:26:00.001-07:00

I take notes at church.

I started doing this about two years ago, mostly to stay mentally engaged enough so as not to fall asleep. But I also have found that I can find something of merit in almost every talk delivered, whether it's from an old, seasoned leader or a 12-year-old kid giving his first public discourse.

Sometimes, though, my mind wanders.

When I was a young man, I used to write notes and draw cartoons to my friends during church, same as I did as school. Except, well... the notes I wrote and cartoons I drew at school were more PG-13 or R rated than the Disney faire I whipped up at church.

These were necessary distractions at the time. I have always had a strong belief in my religion, but haven't ever been particularly "pious" about it. I always enjoyed going, but I also enjoyed being a cut-up whenever the opportunity presented itself. I had to maintain a balance between these two often-conflicting aspects of my personality. Otherwise I would have abandoned one side altogether, and become obsessed to the point of annoyance in embracing the winning side.

As I was looking through my notebook from a couple of weeks ago at church, I noticed that I haven't changed much.

My apologies to all midgets out there. In all honesty, I don't recommend anybody out there practice any of my midget-killing methods. I really don't think most midgets pose that much of a threat.

And contrary to my last comment, yes, technically, I think you ARE required to serve midgets.

Put a Fork In Them, They're Done.

2008-09-11T08:24:00.000-07:00

I'm going to declare this election over. Congratulations, John McCain.

And congratulations to the Democratic Party, too, on your uncanny ability to lose games you were leading going into the 3rd quarter. Seriously, that takes skill, to do it that often with whichever candidate you throw out there.

Why am I declaring this Obama campaign dead so early on?

Matt Damon.

When Matt Damon emerges from the shadows to attack the enemy, you have lost.

I like Matt Damon. I liked his "How do you like them apples?" line in Good Will Hunting. I liked him kicking ass in the Bourne movies. I thought he was funny as hell in the Oceans movies. I even enjoyed his humble, self-deprecating response to being selected as People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive.

I bet I'd love to sit down and have a beer with Matt Damon in some Cambridge bar full of graduate students. If I were the type to sit down and enjoy a beer in Cambridge bars full of graduate students.

Matt Damon shouldn't talk politics, though, because he does a great disservice to his cause. He's a smart guy, don't misunderstand me. His opinions are usually pretty well thought out and intelligently delivered. He looks scholarly, almost, as he delivers them.

He looks like he's smarter than you!

But worse than that, he looks like he KNOWS he's smarter than you.

When the demographic you're struggling to connect with is the blue-collar white guys in the coal mines of Ohio and West Virginia, how well do you think this will go over? Having a smug New Englander offering his looking-down-his-nose opinion of the candidate you have decided best connects with you?

But that's the Democratic Party's fall-back position, when all else seems to be failing. They always start out well, trying to convince us that their Ivy-League candidate is one of us, and understands us, but in the end, they always revert back to saying, "Look, idiot, the other guy is as stupid as you are! Vote me for me, I'm smarter!"

Blue Collar Americans give the smart guy the bird. They vote for the guy they want at their barbecue. Who wants Barack Obama at their barbecue?

Pffffft..... we want Sarah Palin at our barbecue!! We imagine she'd show up on the back of a Harley in a denim mini-skirt and a Lynard Skynard T-Shirt, tied in a knot at the belly. She'd grill us up some fresh Moose-burgers!

And who's that old guy with her, her Grandpa? Oh, McCain? Well hell, that guy sat in a Vietnamese Prison for 5 years, Ma, serve him up some extra potato salad!

But we don't want Barack Obama at our barbecue. We don't want him walking around the living room with his hands behind his back, in his dresspants and starched shirt, looking aloofly and bemusedly at our Singing Bass hanging on the wall.

And Matt Damon? We'll play his movies at our barbecue, but if that pansy ass dares show up, we're going to ship him right back to Hahvahd Yahd, where he belongs.

Advice for the two o' youse.

2008-09-08T18:45:00.001-07:00

I know, I know, I said they each got one pieceof advice, and that was IT.

It's my blog, though, so I can do what I want. John, Barry, both of youse guys listen up here. Because this time I mean it- after I give you this nugget of political savvy to gnaw on, I'm THROUGH. I'm gonna sit back and watch you duke it out and chuckle sinisterly to myself.

Ready?

Run FOR, not AGAINST.

What do I mean? I mean, run FOR a cause, FOR the people, FOR what you believe in.

Don't run AGAINST "the failed policies of the past." Or against "4 more years of Bush-McCain." Or against "my opponent, who just doesn't get it and is out of touch."

If you look back at our most successful Presidents in the past, the most memorable Presidents, they were the ones who inspired the nation.

Look especially at Kennedy and Reagan- they weren't leading our nation through any kind of spectacular battles or devastating economic downturns, really. I mean, there were minor problems they told people they were going to address, and each did so with some degree of success, but that's not why they are remembered as great Presidents.

It was their ability to inspire within us something hopeful and elevating.

Look back at our current President. When was his approval number the highest? Right after we were attacked, and he led us to hope and believe that we could overcome this and fight back. It wasn't that he launched an attack AGAINST Al Qaeda that drove up his numbers; it was that he stood up FOR America.

People want to hope. They want to believe. Barry, that was where you were kicking John's ass up until recently- you didn't just PREACH the Audacity of Hope, you WERE the Audacity of Hope!

But now?

Now, you make misstep after misstep, trying to downtalk your opponent, and putting your foot in your proverbial mouth every time you do.

And what's HE doing? He's running around the country with a lady who inspires hope far better than he can, who just has a KNACK for it, and he's basking in the sunlight of her hopeful smiling face.

We have 8 weeks here, guys. That's enough time for either of you- in fact, for BOTH of you- to inspire us enough to send up to the polls with a belly full of fire. Have at it. I'm interested to see which of you does it best.

Advice for Barry

2008-09-07T18:17:00.000-07:00

Barry.

I gave John some advice, so in the interest of fairness, I'm going to give you some, too. Just one time, and then you're going to have to plow through this election with nothing but your multi-million dollar staff of thousands of political analysts to help you, so listen up.

You're going through a tough time right now. Up until about a month ago, you were a Rock Star. You were the new kid on the scene, the Messiah of Washington, the Great Hope for Change. You personified an entire generation's angst over their nation's penchant for political b.s. You were IT. You were a shoe-in for President.

Then two things happened.

The first thing was your fault. You screwed up on your running mate. You announced a typical Washington insider, who was so bland and white-bread that the mere mention of his name nearly derailed the Obama-train in one fell swoop.

The second thing blindsided you while you were regrouping.

McCain stole your Convention thunder and announced the hot neo-con Governor of a state nobody has ever been to as his running mate.

Suddenly, you were no longer the Hope of America. Overnight, Obama became Old and Busted, and Palin is the New Hotness.

You can't get that back. Ask Britney Spears, or Leann Rhimes, or Brandy. You only have one shot at being the exciting young newcomer, and when that's gone, it's gone, baby.

You were hoping to ride Originality and Freshness into November. It ended in August, instead.

WHOOPS.

So here's what you have to do. It's time to regroup and reform your attack. And you have to take a page from the (gulp) CLINTON handbook to do it.

I know... the thought of it makes my stomach turn, too, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

Divide and conquer, Barry. You have to split the vote.

McCain is about to do something nobody has ever done in the history of the Presidency- ride his running mate's coattails into the White House. So here's what you do.

You start a grass-roots "Write in Palin" campaign. She's the one they want, Barry, not McCain. So you have to get some of them thinking they can somehow get their Palin high without having to swallow that bitter, jagged McCain pill.

Get your staffers out there working the phones now, with phone calls all over NeoConvilles nationwide, whispering into their ears that they can write her in for the top spot in November, instead of voting for John-and-Sarah.

You don't have to convince all of them, just 5 percent or so, enough to sap away his new found strength and ride your risiduals into victory. Clinton didn't win by defeating Bush, he won by having 19% of the people who hated him vote for Perot. He won with 43% of the vote.

You can do that, too, if you can split these bible-thumping animal-killing oil-drilling right wingers into two crowds, and have them cannibalize each other.

So that's it, Barry. I'm afraid that's about your only hope right now, since you're currently running 4-10% behind them in the polls, and you really have nothing new to pull out of your sleeve to change that. I know what you're saying- THAT'S my advice? I know. It won't work. Sorry, Barry, it's all I've got for you.

Good luck, Barry. I never dreamed I'd have to say this, but you're going to need it.

Big Sur

2008-09-04T09:04:00.001-07:00

Normally, I would save these pictures for my other blog, http://www.srosbachartistry.blogspot.com/. But these came out so damn good that I had to post it up here, too. I figure I batter you guys so much with politics and gripes about Utah drivers, and you put up with it so well, that you deserve a moment of tranquility and beauty every now and again.

If any of you are ever looking for a cheap, easy vacation option that provides you with some of the most breathtaking beauty you could ever conceptualize, then I'd highly recommend taking a drive down the Big Sur region of the California coast. Running roughly from Carmel-By-The-Sea to the north, to about Santa Barbara or so on its south end, this is a drive that you could do all in one day (as we did) or that you could just as easily, and enjoyably, cut up into 2 or 3 days worth of Jimmy Buffet-esque coastal wandering.

Whether you like mountains, or beaches, or mountains rudely pushing beaches out of the way... whether you're into Redwoods, Sea Lions, or delicate flowers that smell like licorice... whether you like vigorous hikes through the woods, or relaxing naps on the beach... whether you're into fine dining on seaside baloconies, or choking down some grub at greasy-spoon cafes... whether camping's your bag, or covorting with the high-lifers at a $2000-a-night coastal resort... Big Sur offers it all. You can pick and choose as you please, and set your budget as best suits your bank account, and however you decide to go about it, you will thoroughly enjoy yourself.

Bring along someone you enjoy being with. That'll make it even better.

Hawkeye, Centennial, and the Land of Enchantment.

2008-09-02T14:24:00.000-07:00

John.

Great job, with that whole running-mate thing. You shook things up. You picked a dark-horse-maverick-right-wing-tough-as-nails-take-on-the-establishment-new-comer. Who'da thunk such a woman even existed? But you found her, and you selected her, and damn, John, you're even starting to look like an appealing choice to ME.

And I don't like you!

No, seriously, I really, really don't like you!

But you might get my vote, and that's no small accomplishment!

So in the interest of my new-found affection for you, I'm going to give you one small piece of election advice. That's it, one piece, one time, and that's all you'll get. So hear me out.

I want you to look at this map.

And now I want you to take a look at this map.

See any difference? Look hard, it's not obvious at first. Give up?

Three states, John. That's all that stands between you and the White House. Or more importantly for me, that's all that stands between Sarah Palin and the Vice-Presidency.

Iowa, Colorado, and New Mexico. All three of those states went for Bush in 2004, and all three of those states are leaning towards Obama this time around. And Colorado is really leaning more towards you, already, in most of the polls taken in the state lately, but don't get complacent there!

I know, I know, the only poll that matters is the one taken on Election Day. But we both know that's bullcrap.

As much as the press wants to gin up the image of Obama-The-Unbeatable, he's really not beyond your reach at all. But you have to concentrate on the electoral college count more than anything. Most of the "red" states are staying red. Most of the "blue" states are staying blue. Accept that.

But those three red states are looking awfully purple these days, so you better go figure out why. Colorado and New Mexico are especially unforgivable, John, if you lose those- you're a 4-corner state guy! Those are your neighbors! For 25 years or whatever, they've been sitting there watching you work, and now they want OBAMA in the White House? Come on.....

So that's it. Take all of your campaign money and spend heavily in those three states. Eat a lot of corn. Take a trip to Santa Fe. Wear a Broncos Jersey in New England- you're not winning Massachusetts anyway, right?

DRINK ETHANOL! DRINK IT OUT OF AN IOWA STATE COFFE MUG!

Do whatever it takes, but you get your old butt out there and make these states "right" again, or else you're going down in the Bob Dole Hall of Fame as the "Horrible Candidate" of 2008.

Well Done, Senator McCain....?

2008-08-29T06:00:00.000-07:00

This is extremely premature for me to write, but it's looking like old fogey McCain was able to pull off what young, vibrant, change-meister Obama so miserably failed to do: Select a running mate who actually makes this race new and exciting again.

Reports out of Alaska are saying that Governor Sarah Palin and her family hastily departed in the wee hours of the night on a flight to Ohio- where John McCain will be announcing his running mate in mere minutes. (Other reports are saying she's still in Alaska.)

But let's pretend it's her.

She's young (44, younger than Obama!), she's conservative, she's ethical beyond compare, she's pro-life, she's enjoying 80+% approval ratings in her home state, and come on... she's a former first-runner-up in the Miss Alaska Pageant, so she's smoking hot!

Once again, this could be a totally false report, but if it's true, I really have to give it to McCain- you've done well, old man. My hat's off to you.

**UPDATE**
As of 11:30 EDT this morning, all major news sources are confirming that Palin is, indeed, McCains' choice for VP. Oh I'm good.....

Your Turn, McCain!

2008-08-27T09:40:00.000-07:00

I've been giving Obama a lot of crap lately about his choice of Joe Biden as a running mate in this election. Barack was hoping for a bounce in the polls following his announcement, and he saw one- but it was a bounce downwards. Whoopsy! But what did he honestly expect? He smugly pranced across the country, coyly hinting at big things to come with his announcement, as if he were hiding the most ground-breaking political secret ever to hit the nation.

And then he announced a boring old white-haired white guy, a name that had been floated in the press over and over for about three months. What a let-down! It showed lack of chutzpah, lack of original thinking, lack of courage, lack of Presidentiality, frankly.

John McCain benefitted.

So now it's his turn to blow it.

John, shock us. Seriously, that's all you need to do at this point- surprise us!

We keep hearing the short-list names over and over. Pawlenty. Romney. Lieberman.

So pick anyone but them. They're floating Kay Bailey Hutchison's name out there now- so don't pick her, either, ok? Just don't go with a name we've heard. Be fresh and new, because if there are two words NOT associated with John McCain right now, they are "fresh" and "new".

Find a woman. Or find a minority. Or hell, find both. Condoleeza Rice is going to be unemployed very soon.

Find someone outside of Washington. Better yet, someone outside of Politics altogether!

Bribe Colin Powell. Beg Mayor Bloomberg. Present a Constitutional Ammendment to get Schwarzeneggar on the ticket.

Tell Jesse "The Body" Ventura you'll kick his ass if he doesn't take the job.

I don't really think it matters who you ultimately end up with, so long as you first surprise us, and then don't disappoint us.

We have 360 million people in this country, so don't let the Press fool you into thinking that there are only 3 or 4 people qualified to take the position.

Let's see if you can step up to the plate and deliver a homerun.

Well Isn't This Cute!

2008-08-25T09:49:00.000-07:00

Planned Parenthood. Aren't they adorable?? I just want to pinch their cheeks everytime I see what new clever antics they are up to.

First they got caught a few years back explaining to what they thought was a 15-year-old how she can protect the 23-year-old boyfriend who knocked her up from statutory rape charges.

As if that weren't cute enough, an undercover operation then revealed that, in calls to over 800 Planned Parenthood clinics, (800!!) a 13-year-old pregnant by her 22-year-old boyfriend was advised on how to get the baby aborted without telling her parents, and how to protect the boyfriend from charges, too.

Now isn't that the cutest thing you have ever heard? Those lovable little curmudgeons....

But that's not all!

Earlier this year, a Planned Parenthood employee in Idaho explained to a caller that yes, he certainly COULD specifically donate money to abort a black baby, and make sure the black population is kept down so the white donator's kids won't face challenges under affirmative action when they apply to colleges in 18 years. My favorite part of THAT adorable exchange was when the caller said he wants to keep the black population down, and the PP advisor said, in response,"understandable, understandable!" She also said later on that this was the first request of that kind she had ever received, and she was "excited"!

What a laugh riot!

But never to be outdone by themselves, Planned Parenthood has now kicked it up a notch!

Honestly, words fail me here, so strap yourself in, and have a blast perusing Planned Parenthood's new website geared towards YOUR impressionable teenagers. They call this fun-packed website "Take Care Down There." You can watch fun-loving, jovial teenagers giving each other oral sex, and pulling down their pants in front of each other, and all kinds of hijinks. All presented "tastefully" of course. (I DO advise you look through, but maybe you want to send the kids out of the room. Afterall, while it's geared towards them, it's geared towards them watching WITHOUT YOU AROUND, the way it ought to be, right? Just put a link to the website on your desktop and let the kids have a blast!)

Now look. You have two choices for President this year. One is a boring old wrinkly guy who's no fun at all. The other is a young, fresh-faced dynamo who GETS it. And the young guy is your choice if you love Planned Parenthood's fun little antics. Don't take my word for it; watch him as he addressed them earlier this year, their name proudly splashed all over the backdrop behind him.

Incidentally, should the wrinkly old guy pick the Mormon from Massachusetts as his running mate later on down the line, feel free to ask yourself why that Mormon guy's wife wrote Planned Parenthood a check while he was Governor. Who knows, maybe that WILL turn into a fun-loving ticket, after all!

Biden-Obama 2008: So much for "Change"!

2008-08-23T02:31:00.000-07:00

Well well well, he fooled us all, didn't he? We thought Mr. Obama was all about change, but in the end, he chose for his Vice President a Senator who has been giving us the same old same old in Washington D.C. for over 30 years now.

You can call this the "gravitas" choice. Remember when that word was the talking-point buzzword for the press to explain away the Cheney choice in 2000? Well, it applies far more here than it did there.

Fresh, new faces in Washington? Oh hell no. Tired old men will be slouching through the White House corridors in this administration. No matter how boyishly charming the top name on the ticket is, THIS is the man who will be pulling the strings.

So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen: Biden-Obama 2008.

Evan Bayaaaawwwwwwnnnnnn.....

2008-08-22T16:55:00.000-07:00

Well, if Matt Drudge is to be believed, the bumper stickers are already being printed in Kansas...and after weeks of speculation, obfuscation, and red-herring floating, the edge-of-your-seat wondering is over.

In the most anti-climatic finish ever, Barack Obama has managed to prove that, at least when it comes to selecting a running mate, he is no different from any other candidate who has ever run for the office of President.

He picked another late-40-ish, sculpted-haired, boyish-grinned white guy. Evan Bayh, in case you thought you were looking at a picture of John Edwards or Dan Quayle, circa 1988.

It was a tough choice for Mr. Obama. Having built his entire campaign on the premise of "CHANGE!", he automatically precluded from his possible selection list any candidate who might have brought some international experience or clout to the ticket. John Kerry, Bill Richardson, Hillary Clinton, Joh Biden, Christopher Dodd, all Democrats with solid records and experience.

And all Washington Insiders.

Evan Bayh, on the other hand, is a relative newcomer to the nation's Capital. First elected in 1998, he has established himself as left-enough to play ball with the party, but right-enough to keep the Conservative people of Indiana electing him to office time and time again. Does he represent change? No, of course he doesn't! Ten years in Washington is still a long time! He's as entrenched in the Senate Democrat group-think as anyone else is.

But he's young, handsome, and he has a funky-spelled last name that looks kinds cool on a bumper sticker following "Obama".

So Evan Bayh, people. Obama-Bayh 2008. There you have it. I'm as disappointed as you are.

But wait... it could all be a ruse. These bumper stickers could be a cover for a better choice, after all. One can only hope.....

How You Don't Want To Be Remembered

2008-08-17T07:38:00.000-07:00

How big of a piece of crap do you have to be to score an obituary like this one?

The Fairness Doctrine

2008-08-14T12:03:00.000-07:00

Have you ever heard of the Fairness Doctrine?

I could write a whole article describing it, and its origins, and later demise, and put you all right to sleep better than a couple of Ambien tablets would do it.

Instead, let's just say it's a theory that stated that if a media outlet devotes time or space to one viewpoint, then they have to devote the same amount of time or space to the opposing viewpoint. That theory was put into practice in the late 40's and was eventually abandoned as a complete failure in the late 80's.

The Democrats in Congress, who instated it in the past and kept it's feeble corse alive for 40 years before it collapsed and died, want to bring it back.

You can't blame them.

They fail miserably at making their talking points compelling, or getting their messages across effectively, and they seem to have an uncanny knack for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory when it comes to Presidential elections. The only hope they have for winning over America at large is by making sure you are brainwashed with their messages every time you turn on the boob tube or log on to check the news.

I mean, on the surface, it sounds fair enough, right? If CNN runs a 12-hour prime-time mini-series about Barack Obama, shouldn't they have to run one of equal length about John McCain, in the same timeslot? Fair's fair!

Ok. Then where's Ralph Nader's 12-hour mini-series? And then we have to give Bob Barr his fair timeslot, too, right?

And what about Rush Limbaugh's 3-hour broadcast every day railing against the political left? Do we really want a 3-hour response imposed upon the hundeds of stations carrying his show? (Well, waitaminute... can we get John Stewart signed on for that? that might not be such a bad idea...)

Yes, on the surface, it seems like a great even-the-playing-field kind of idea.

But the world isn't black and white, people, it's varying shades of grey. Even the issues that seem pretty black and white have angles and nuances to them that couldn't fairly be addressed using some sort of "Point A vs. Point B" content doctrine for the TV news.

Abortion for example. It's pro-life vs. pro-choice, right? Well, what about the people who want it legal, but closely monitored, and only legally allowed in certain specific circumstances? Where exactly do they get their fair say if only options A and B are mandatorily broadcast? And who, exactly, gets to voice their opposition to that viewpoint if it IS given airtime- the pro-lifers, or the pro-choice crowd? They both think that idea sucks.

No, the fairness doctrine is a bad idea. Apparently, according to a poll taken today, most Americans agree with me on that point, too. It stifles free speech. And it kills the broadcast industry. Who's going to tune into a 12-hour JOHN MCCAIN mini-series?? You'd have to give away your advertising time.

Don't be duped. Here's what's fair when it comes to broadcasting your viewpoint: get yourself a forum, and make your self compelling. Everyone has an equal shot when you apply THAT standard.

California

2008-08-13T19:53:00.000-07:00

I remember when I first arrived in Florida back in 1993. Tropical heat. Blue skies with fluffy marshmallow clouds. The beach. The palm trees. Green everywhere, warm all the time... I thought I was in heaven.

I was close, but I was wrong. I hadn't yet been to California.

Now, I have mixed feelings about loving California so. I was raised in Massachusetts as a Celtics fan. Our upbringing involved instilling an almost-instinctual hatred for L.A. and all that it entails and represents.

But I had no idea. I was raised wrong.

It's never really hot here, it's just temperate and pleasant all year round. The summers get into the 80's out here closer to the coast. The winters settle into the 60's for a daytime high. The mornings are wet and foggy, and by 9:00 it all burns off into a clear, cloudless, blue-skied paradise.

Gentle swelling hillsides tumble out before you at every turn along the highway.

The palm trees are everywhere.

The people are so silly-happy it's ridiculous.

Everytime I come here, I think to myself, "Why did I ever leave in the first place?"

Maybe this time, I won't.

Oh, I know it's not perfect. The ground has been known to shake enough to tear the infrastructure asunder. Every couple of years the entire state burns to the ground. Some of the residents like to drive by schoolyards and spray them down with bullets. California has its faults, to be sure.

But everywhere has its faults. New England has its winters, Florida has its alligators and hurricanes... nowhere is perfect.

Now don't get me wrong. I have traveled the entire lower 48, and every place I have been to, I have found something of merit to appreciate. Even in Buffalo. I'm not deriding anyplace. I like the entire nation.

But California? Sorry if you disagree, but it sits atop my list.

Who knows.

Maybe it's just my tour guide that's skewing my opinion.

If It's Ugly, It's Everywhere.

2008-08-11T11:25:00.000-07:00

Hummingbirds are some of the most beautiful, delicate little beings on the face of the earth. Little in life is so serene as the gentle buzz of one's wings as it breezes by you on a hazy summer evening.

But good luck finding them. They're not everywhere.

They are nestled away in isolated little enclaves scattered around the Americas. Santa Fe, New Mexico. The backwoods of Utah. Alaska. The Caribbean.

They're not especially shy nor reclusive, nor are they the rarest bird in nature, but finding them will take you some effort. Enjoying them requires stillness, silence and patience. And you only have so many months out of the year to savor their company before they fly south for the winter.

Skunks, on the other hand, are friggin' everywhere.

There's not a highway you can drive in the lower 48 states that won't provide you with a lungful of skunkass at some point along your journey.

These vile beasts can survive on just about any crapfood they find anywhere, will breed at a rate just shy of bunny rabbits, and have the decorum of a college sophomore when it comes to holding in their anal gland emissions.

That's the way of the world, unfortunately. The Beautiful are out there, waiting for you to discover them, but you have to be patient, and you have to be gentle, and you have to approach them with respect, and maintain that respect throughout your encounter with them, or else they buzz off to a calmer clime as quickly as their paper-thin little wings will take them.

But the ugly? They'll fart all over you whenever they can, and their stink will carry on the wind for miles upon miles.

I'm sure there's a metaphor here somewhere, but really I'm just pissed off cause I caught a nostrilful of skunk gas last night on my way home.

I hate those nasty little beasts.

Kvetch, kvetch, kvetch.

2008-08-07T10:38:00.000-07:00

Oh please, people, spare me.

Complaining is the new National Pastime. Sorry baseball, you had a good run, but you've been replaced.

Actually, I'm wrong; there's nothing new about this. People have been pissing a moaning since they invented words to piss and moan with. But it's particularly distasteful when it's so unwarranted, as it is in American Society.

I'm not talking about gripes aired about legitimate hardships. No matter who you are, $4.50 gas is taking a bite out of your wallet. Of course you can mutter a few bad words under your breath about this.

No, I'm talking about the people out there who bitch about everything, just for the sake of bitching. Kinda makes me want to give them something to bitch about.

So why am I on this tack this morning, you wonder? Well, it's my own fault. I did it again- I went into the "comments" section on a ksl.com news story. It was about how Utah has updated their online "Sex Offenders" registry to include kidnappers. So now it's the "Sex Offenders and Kidnappers Online Registry."

And people are complaining. "Blah blah blah Utah is a Nanny State." "Wah wah wah they are out to put everyone on a list who doesn't walk in lockstep with the rest of the state blah blah blah."

I dunno, I'm kinda into the idea of being able to log online and find out who diddled their nephew or absconded with a neighbor's little girl. That way I can tell the kids not to knock on the Johnson's door on Halloween night. I don't think this will ever lead to an eventual "Democrats in Utah" list to allow the predominant Republican demographic to go out and egg their neighbors. Why? Because it hasn't yet, despite the whiners saying it would ten years ago when this idea first got rolling.

Hey, maybe I'm wrong, whatever. I still have air conditioning and carpet and a green lawn in front of my house. All of you whiners, take a trip around the globe and see how many of your fellow world citizens have the same. We have it pretty good here.

Even with the lists.

The Most Powerful Man in the World

2008-08-05T08:31:00.000-07:00

Who is the Most Powerful Man in the World?

Not the President of the United States of America. Not the Prime Minister of Great Britain, nor the Russian President. It's not the head of the U.N., and it's not the leader of China. It's not some Hollywood mogul, nor is it Al Gore or Barack Obama.

It's not even Bono.

The Most Powerful Man in the World is journalist Matt Drudge.

I doubt I have to give much of a bio on this guy. And honestly, there's not much of a bio available to give. He's notoriously reclusive for being such a power player.

First bursting on the scene ten years ago by breaking the Monica Lewinsky story on his "Drudge Report" website, Matt Drudge has gone from being perceived as a fringe wacko yellow journalist, to today's preeminent journalist of record. You can hardly find a columnist or reporter of any credibility out there who doesn't start his day by perusing the Drudge Report. The most-often-asked question amongst the traveling press corps on either candidates' plane is "Did you see on Drudge...?"

His accolades are not undeserved. Just last week, as I felt the earth here in Southern California swaying under my feet, I ran inside to check Drudge and see where the earthquake was centered. Less than a minute after the shaking stopped, there it was in his top-corner headline: 5.8 quake hits Chino Hills, CA. I was in awe.

He has achieved a nearly Godlike status amongst his peers- if I can correctly use the word "peers" here, since he really doesn't even have any.

Drudge makes his own rules and sets his own terms. Rarely does he grant interviews; if you wanted to hear him speak, you had to tune into his Sunday night AM Radio broadcast. But even that avenue is closed to you now, as he dropped the show without advance notice or fanfare in October of 2007.

By staying off stage, and yet simultaneously in everyone's face, Drudge has gone from being a human to a journalism demi-god.

And now he's toying with us. Much as the Greek Gods did in ancient mythology, Drudge has turned us Mere Mortals into his pawns in a grand game.

Drudge wants to select the President, and he's probaly going to succeed at doing so.

Or better said, he doesn't care who he selects as President- he just wants to make sure it's a guessing game right up until the final hours.

He has been publishing glowing, sunny, lauding stories and headlines and photos of Obama throughout the entire campaign so far, drumming up this image of Obama as unbeatable, as the next JFK/RFK, as a political messiah who is sent to save us from ourselves.

The polls and voters responded responded accordingly, rejecting Hillary Clinton (whom he portrayed as a tired old iron-pantied Cruella DeVille) in favor of the younger, more vibrant Personification of the Audacity of Hope.

Now that November is just 3 months away, he is turning the coverage to favor McCain, whom up until now he portrayed as a cancer-riddled flip-flopping old dinosuar. This, in hopes that his coverage will sway the election the other way. Look at today's headline and picture. It's pretty powerful. "'Approving Roar' for McCain in the Heartland." Now check the polls- McCain is up by a point or two. We're bowing in obeisance to Drudge's orders to Love McCain.

I think he might pull this off.

For Drudge, it isn't so much about selecting the winner, as it is about steering the storm.

Wherever the pervasive winds of change seem to be blowing, Drudge wants to jump in and blow them back the other way.

This is the answer to the question many have been asking themselves in recent years: Why is the country so 50-50 these days? It's because whenever the national psyche seems to be turning one way or the other, Drudge- and subsequently, the rest of the Press- pounces on the populace with story after story, study after study, image after image, to sway them back to the other way of thinking. By keeping us constantly guessing as to what's "wrong" or "right", he keeps us reading his pap and filling his coffers.

So what can we do? Nothing. Just accept it. You think you're capable of independent thought? Please, Drudge scoffs at the very idea. That would involve turing off "So You Think You Can Dance" and exercising some quiet pondering and analysis for 30 minutes or so a night- and we know THAT ain't happening!

No, don't fight the inevitable. You'll do as he sways. You won't be able to help yourself.

Announcing S Rosbach Artistry

2008-07-31T21:07:00.000-07:00

Well, a lot of you have asked to see some of my more "artistic" landscape photography, so I decided to launch a new blog for you to pop in and look whenever you get the desire to. It's called "S Rosbach Artistry" and you can go see it here.

Enjoy!

What is the opposite of "EVERYONE PANIC!!" ...?

2008-07-29T14:22:00.001-07:00

Remember a couple of weeks ago, when oil was trading at $147 a barrel, and gas prices were edging up over $4 a gallon on average, nationwide? Remember how the news was telling us that we were selling our SUV's, refusing to buy plane tickets, riding our bikes to work, stealing gas from our neighbors, and repenting of all our sins en masse because of the surely-impending end of the world we thought was just around the corner?

Well, I guess you can start sinning again.

Light sweet crude oil closed today at $122.19 a barrel, after dipping as low as $120.42 during trading. This is a drop of over $25 since July 11th, when it peaked at over $147 a barrel. It's also the 7th declining session for oil in the last ten sessions of trading.

Now, if you were to reverse that trend- a $25 RISE since July 11th, 7th INCREASING session in the last ten trading sessions- this would be front-page, leading news every night. But this is GOOD news, and that's why none of you have heard a thing about it.

But that's my job. I bring Happy back into your miserable lives. No need to thank me, folks, just accept it graciously.

You Can't Stop Charisma!

2008-07-21T14:47:00.001-07:00

I remember, vaguely, the press coverage of Ronald Reagan.

He was evil. Or at least that was the impression I was certainly given. I'm sure that wasn't the universal coverage by any stretch, and I'm also sure that my evil-Reagan perception was compounded by my openly-and-adamantly-anti-Reagan teachers in my Massachusetts High School. But by and large, as I recall it, Reagan was always covered with skepticism at best, and open disdain at least occasionally.

Nevertheless, Reagan swept his way into office in two landslide victories.

You can't stop charisma!

The press could say all they wanted about Reagan, but once he put that charming, smiling, grandfatherly mug out in front of the cameras, people loved him and trusted him, and pulled the levers for him.

You can find other examples of charisma winning despite the conventional wisdom. Kennedy was running against the Vice President of successful two-term President; he won anyway. Clinton was widely regarded as a philandering pothead who couldn't keep his hands to himself; he still got himself two terms in office.

Yes, folks, despite what the press or the people may say, when you're charismatic enough to shine through the gloomy coverage and make people love you anyway, you're unstoppable.

But what about when you're SO charismatic, that even the PRESS cant objectively cover you?

What if all premise of equal and fair coverage is dropped in favor of the press corps chasing you around the globe like a rock star, with their three top new anchors along for the ride?

What if major newspapers are accepting the Charmer's essays for publication, but turning down his opposition's counterpoint essays, with the advice that he try to "mirror" the Charmer's essay a little more?

When such blatantly obvious bias is being demonstrated by our supposedly objective press, one has to wonder where we're headed next. What if the press decides next time around to just give no coverage whatsoever to the candidate they disagree with? What if they create the impression that their favored son is running unopposed?

But all that being said, all I can do is go back to my original example to dispell all fear and conspiracy theories. Reagan never fell to the bias of the press. So if the GOP faithful wanted to win against the unstoppable Obamatrain, they should have picked someone with a little Charisma of his own to run against him, instead of a dried-up old weasily carcass. It's not like they didn't have one out there to pick.

Oh wait- that guy was Mormon. Never mind.

Anyone want to join me on the links on Election Day? I don't see much of a reason to vote in this election. The outcome is a foregone conclusion. Or at least that's what the news is telling me.

It's Getting Hot Up In This Mug

2008-07-18T11:23:00.001-07:00

This is the Sun.

It's a wonderful thing. It does a lot of good. It makes me warm and bronzes me like a Greek God on a hot summer day. I'm a big fan of the sun.

Sometimes the Sun gets angry with humanity. This makes the Sun break out in hives. These are called sunspots. When the Sun gets a lot of these, the Earth warms up.

That's a fact. Lots and lots of data proves this fact.

This is my car.

My car does lots of good things for me. It takes me from place to place. It plays music as I go. It has a little orange pinetree hanging from it's rearview mirror that smells like a Pina Colada.

I like the smell of Pina Coladas.

I like my car.

My car does a lot of bad things, too. Not on his own, usually. My car likes to get together with other cars in the neighborhood and drink expensive gasoline, and fart.

When my car farts, it's odorless. But it contains nasty particulates. These particulates get together with other car-fart particulates and they turn the air over Salt Lake City brown.

I suppose this is my car's way of getting revenge. I have farted in my car more times than I can count over the years I have been driving him. I'm sure he doesn't like it. And its not like he can help it any more than I can. When you gotta fart, you gotta fart. So I don't get angry with my car. I don't get upset with the other cars around, either. I see our brown skies as the price I pay to live on the west side of a bank of towering mountains that block the air from blowing out to Colorado. Se la vie.

This is Al Gore.

Al Gore is very angry with my car.

Al Gore wants my car to die.

Al Gore thinks my car is warming up the earth. He's very upset about that. He wants me to get rid of my car and ride a bike.

Ride a bike 715 miles to California from Utah, and then ride a bike all over California, and then ride my bike back to Utah when I'm done.

My car is not warming up the Earth. My car is making people in Salt Lake City cough, that's all.

Al Gore has a car, too. Al Gore has lots of cars. Al Gore's cars? They fart.

Al Gore also has a big-ass house. Al Gore's house? It farts too.

It farts a lot more than your house!

It farts about as much as your entire neighborhood's houses fart together.

Al Gore likes to fly places to tell people about their farting cars and houses. Al Gore rides private jets to these places. Al Gore's private jet? It farts too.

ALOT.

Like, think of how much your old college roommate farted. It's something like that, multiplied by a thousand.

Al Gore likes his jet. He's not going to stop flying it. He likes his cars. He's not getting rid of them. He really likes his house, too. He's not tearing it down or moving.

Do as Al Gore does, not as Al Gore says. Drive. Live. Fly, if you get a wild hair up your ass and want to fly. It's ok, I swear to you it is. Al Gore? He's what we call "irrelevant."

The Sun? He doesn't stay angry with us forever. The hives go away. The Earth cools down until he gets pissed again.

You're not pissing him off. Al Gore is. Al Gore won't last forever. We're going to be ok.