redeyevision

Here's Cheer For Ya

2006-12-29T08:41:00.000-05:00

Knee deep in the holiday season, the one where the hits keep on coming.

Only I thought this was supposed to be a vacation, one in which our sitter watches the kids most of the week and I bust out my 6" rims and roll high. Of course I'm not really sure 6" rims are desirable or how one measures them, but it sounds pretty good.

Or is it possible that rims are inversely proportionate to cock size?

Anyways, Duece, our 7-month old has infected bulging eardrums, making him round-the-clock pleasant company. And Shredder's favorite pasttime now is making as much noise as possible. I could be part of the blame for that as I (Santa) gave him a drum set for Christmas.

But I don't know if I'm cut out for this Stay-At-Home-Dadism. Love the kids, hate the mess and would hate not having a paycheck even more. It's just a good thing I met my wife while at my full earning potential, otherwise I'd have to get CUCKOLD 1 for vanity plates.

Society gives an obligatory polite nod and smile to the Stay-Home-Dad, but in practice it's much more treacherous.

In the meantime, I hope everyone enjoy's their holiday season. We love the festivities we can hide behind and pretend to be busy when we're just lazy, so that's the reason for the season.

If you have something exciting going on right now, please write and tell me about it so I can live through you while on spit-up duty.

Sincerely,

Ale8one

Rumble Blurb

2006-12-08T22:52:00.000-05:00

What does this new blogger version do? I'm terrified to convert it or whatever. I'll try to hang on to the old one til they kick me out.

But that's nothing to do with this.

It seems I've run in so many different circles in my life, that I tune out any of the stories I've heard before. You know, the people who've stolen someone else's life narratives. It's really not that hard to come up with your own story.

It's really about honesty and avoiding the trap of what people think you should say.

It's the consequences of maturity.

Endorphins and Dopamine

2006-12-03T20:52:00.000-05:00

Sure, it was a little goofy sometimes and the slicked-up romantic comedy adorning the movie like your grandmother's fake flowers on the dining room table tended to be an eyesore, but Clerks 2's bitter banter didn't loose a step from its orginal.

And then it hit me. Now in my mid-thirties, I realize I'm already enjoying the nostalgia of the early 90's.

I knew it existed, but this is the first time I'd felt it.

Sadly, the friends I hung-out with married the sentiments of aimlessness.

I joined them in the day-to-day muse of trying to feel good and get by at the expense of tomorrow. Hell, in some ways that hasn't changed.

In our mid-twenties, we acted as if we didn't care, though the weight was evident in our faces.

Maturity's a long, slow process and I love most of the changes.

But I know I'll never have as much fun.

That's o.k. I'm learning news ways of fun even if it's less thrilling.

Shredder is now diving head-first off the automahn and purposefully landing straight down on his head. He's laughing so I let him continue.

I got off on the sentimental rush of the movie. Two of my favorite songs of the 90's, 1979 and Misery played entirely.

Kevin Smith now peddles nostalgia and I eat it up.

Post Greetings

2006-11-27T20:31:00.000-05:00

I hope everyone had a grand holiday. I know I did.

It was one of the few breaks that seemed to last a while without a rush back to work.

Now the kids seem to be well (or weller) and we're charging hard toward Christmas to do it again.

My wife can't cook a turkey though. On our Stay-At-Home-Thanksgiving we had to eat the carbs only, the turkey wasn't ready til about 9 pm that night.

Evidently the requisite two-hour cook time turned into five hours. So we ate it the next day, and it was dry and chewy, like turkey jerky.

Shredder tried it, chewed on it for a while and spit it back out.

That's o.k. I made delicious roasted red pepper and garlic dip and made pita chips. That was the real deal.

Now it's on to perfunctory work parties and social gatherings this upcoming yuletide. There's even a wedding thrown in the mix. Yuck! Also, I doubt I get out of avoiding her family this go around.

Matter of fact, because I've been so tardy in my in-law dealings, my mother-in-law has called for an 8 am mass this coming Sunday. This one's mandantory, plus it's an hour drive to the church from where we live.

Sometimes you get the bull and well, sometimes the bull gets you. But the damn turnaround shouldn't be so quick.

Happy Gob Gobbler Ya'll

2006-11-23T09:34:00.000-05:00

We're staying home this year and that's something to be thankful for.

No road trips to grandma's and that means no annoying relatives.

If I could spell the word Hallelujah, I would type it many times, this will be the best holiday yet.

Young baby Duece has come down with RSV, so we're RSVPing to our kitchen.

My wife doesn't want to infect the other babies we'd come in contact with and that's o.k. by me.

Other than a nasty cough and crackling congestion, the baby will be fine. But I'm taking advanatage of the opportunity to stay away from those rascally relatives I could do without.

This means no time spent on the road and better food too. Grandma is diabetic and cooks with sweet and low. It's tragic.

Instead, my wife is pulling out the top-fat Paula Dean recipes, we're even loading up with a pumpkin cheesecake.

And I'm inventing a new drink for the holidays to be perfected by Christmas. It's called the Griswald in honor of Christmas vacation and it will contain some mint creme and vodka, kind of a take-off of the white russian.

So, it's just me and the wife and the kids and lots to do.

Sometimes, relatives are better kept in touch with by phone.

More Plentiful Ohio Valley Greetings

2006-11-17T22:24:00.000-05:00

Time again to revisit upon you tales of upper respiratory woes, for it's all I can do to fight the good fight against the cunningest virals inhabiting my most moistest places.

But then I think about Darfur and I have trouble owning up to these frivolities.

It doesn't matter, I can't handle thinking about either one.

Back to the moisture issue however, I once dated a girl in Lexington, quite a while actually, who was much troubled by the word moist. The sound of it grated her I think, probably made her think about sweat and very possibly that sweat being genital sweat, which publicly, we all don't really like to think about.

So I've got hang-ups too.

My current preoccuaption being that I've never tried heroin not even once and feel emboldened yet mystified with this experience. That experience being that I've never tried it. It is like some high to me.

What's the saying? I'm much too old to feel this damn young.

At least that's what dad said. I guess he meant that fowl youthful cravings should be carved out long ago.

But we both know that there's nothing more exhilarating than feeling self-righteous.

And so I will travel to Thanksgiving next week feeling much alive (if congested) and blessed.

As I will look across the table at my banker uncles, I can't help but think once again, "What the Fuck!"

Just Roll The Dice, Baby

2006-11-09T21:42:00.000-05:00

I had to think hard what my username was to get on here and that's a sad statement.

When one skips writing for a whole month, one should really have his blogger license revoked. But that's all water under the uterus, as my dad used to say. I think he meant that the baby was born and you can't take him back, a hard lesson I'm learning these days.

But really, I can't complain too much.

Currently, we're enjoying what my grandparents would call Indian Summer as it was a toasty 70 degrees here in the Ohio Valley.

Now, people get crazy on these warm days. They break out sweat and running gear as if they can't miss a day of jogging. But a quick glance of their form, function and pace reveals they haven't done this since last year.

Then again, in a few days we'll all be sitting on the couch for a few months complaining about the endless gray, cold background.

Not me. I won't miss the yard work and it's a good excuse to watch more movies and hibernate.

But for now, I'm stuck in the little room above the garage and the thermometer reads 75 which feels like 90 with the adjusted family index.

Downstairs my wife is hosting bunco and I'm hoping she'll let me make out with one of the girls later as some kind of belated birthday present, but Vegas would tell me I have better chances at changing a few diapers before I put the finishing touches on this autumn Thursday evening.

I know which one I'd choose already too. The one rumored to have done a short experimental stint as a stripper.

Give me a line-up of girls and I can sniff out the stripper. A lot of guys can.

I knew it when she came through the door. No, she wasn't well-endowed and I barely looked at her body. Will swear too it.

My wife was standing close by.

I could tell she was the one just by the look in her eye. No doubt.

It's kind of a piercing look, you could say it lingers a bit too. Like the eyes have permaneantly adjusted to peering across smoky rooms.

Or something like that.

But seriously, I've enjoyed the kids tonight as I always do. It's genuine moment after highlight upon highlight.

And Shredder enjoyed all the exuberant attention from the girls. I'm already jealous of the rascal.

I must do this writing-blogging thing again real soon. It feels good to punch out a few sentences on the keyboard. Shredder did his thing to our laptop, so typing was painful the last month.

Now I've got to figure out how to keep him off the back-up without having to hide it all the time, or I'll go another month without blogging.

Oh, I've got great news! I've come up with a holiday alcoholic beverage. No, I rarely drink, but this year will be special.

I already know the ingredients and have a name for it as well. It's just going to come down to tweaking the right proportions and then you will have to try at home.

Great! Success!

Letter To Olivia Breen

2006-09-25T20:42:00.000-04:00

Firstly, let me say I'm the one who should (is) be whole-heartedly embarrassed.

For a lame, blog-stalking post shamelessly naming names and lamenting lost lusts.

I suppose this cyber, rabbit-trap experiment had a point, but I can offer no explanations other than this:

Earlier that evening, my wife's friend had been over and we were yukking it up about our similar camp experiences. Apparently, they're darn near one-size-fits-all.

Only in that old context years ago, could you even recover a vague inkling of who I am.

Even some type of description will never exfoliate the cloudy layers of memory. I just wanted to use the word exfoliate.

But what I'm trying to say is, I have this memory issue. Sometimes it's too good and hauntingly accurate. It does that to me - strange places and time warps. That's what that place was, a time-warp.

So, strangely, I recalled your name and still see many of the faces from that summer when I can barely remember old girlfriends.

It's called myth-building. And boy do we love to build them. The greatest ones are built for the people we barely know.

And that's you and I. We don't know each other. That makes it fun.

My fellow bunkmate Tzion, rode in with you on a bus from New York.

"She's got that pure, classical, light-skinned, European look," he tried to tell me in his broken English.

Sometimes a friend can mark you like that from the get-go. You know, just like the first day of school, we get labeled. I guess I kept a tab.

I tell you, there's something about the great outdoors. And being in a strange place.

Never meant to embarrass you. Sometimes, I just love to show off my recall.

We did spend one day, chaparoning a science trip to Binghamton together. You are a good conversationalist.

And very pure. I mean that in the purest, pure sense.

But please, it's not necessary to be embarrassed. There's only do and do not.

Hope the children are doing well. Me? It's currently a (loving) headache raising two boys, one 5-months the other 20-months. But perhaps someday they'll make it to camp, possibly a camp stuck near the Catskills - as a counselor preferrably.

May they be lucky to meet intelligent, beautifully talented and graceful Canadian Olympic skaters. You know you were one (Olympic skater), don't be so modest. Or tell me lies.

Please forgive me. It's been a long, hot summer. And I promise to quit splashing your name all over this blog.

Sickly Tired of Chronic, Runny Noses

2006-09-12T20:23:00.000-04:00

Allergies have been an accepted, livable, irritable part of my life.

It could be worse.

But, for the past year, at least once a month, they turn into a quasi-sinus infection or a cold. And it's right on track for this month.

An antihistamine is good enough for the garden variety days, but when it turns into this monthly monster, the drug stops me up and keeps the bacteria around longer, thus working against its original benefits.

If it's some cruel version of male monthlies I'm now living, then, well, that's too cruel. As I would rather bleed from somewhere with a headache than constantly blow my nose and sneeze and have a sore throat.

Tonight I went out and got a vaporizer for the bedroom and am hoping that helps. I'm desperate for any remedies these days.

I know now, that when the kids get a runny nose, that's my warning sign. Mine usually follows the next day and I'm sure they are the culprit.

High vitamin doses, eating well and exercise don't seem to fight this stuff off like it used to.

If anyone has any recommended courses of action, or advice, I'd love to hear it.

I Woke Up Early This Morning To Smell The Flowers And Feel So Good From All of The Love

2006-09-09T21:51:00.000-04:00

Just to clear up the confusion:

A pussyass is a lame dude.

An Asspussy is some girl you want to dive into, attacking ass and pussy simultaneously til it deliciously blends together, like a smoothie.

But that's not what I'm here to discuss.

Heroes aren't people who stay in school for another year to boost their draft value.

Nor are coaches with good win percentages. Skilled tactician? Certainly, but not a genius. Diagraming tricky plays will only take you so far, you'll need lots of speed the rest of the way.

As Colin Cowherd would state, Matt Leinart couldn't throw a down and out before the draft and the end of his Heisman winning junior year. An untimely, moderate shoulder injury turned him into the ballroom dancing goldenboy at USC.

Nothing against dude. He's pretty cool. Definitely not a pussyass and one whom could whimsically and randomly pluck asspussy from the sidewalks with the ease that Shredder thumps dandelions.

But he wasn't trying to live a Public Service Announcement for staying in school.

Michael Bush broke his leg in the season opener last week. He's lauded as the hometown hero choosing to stay and lead the program one last year.

Noble yes but he chose locally so no one could compete with him to carry the ball and he was disappointed when the faceless experts said he would have been a 2nd rounder. Good guy, but if someone told him he was to be first round, bye.

All that being the case, I'm having trouble finding much motive for the Floridians, other than College Glory Suprema. I mean three of these guys could have gone first round, yet they're hanging around financially supportive parents and apartments for the seemingly sake of a title defense.

I'll agree it's not airtight, but this doesn't happen often. And my personal odds are that they won't be in control this upcoming year.

Heroes keep going day after day, despite considerable odds.

Being at the right place at the right time, doesn't necesarily make one a hero.

Well, I originally intended this blog to have much more porn in it. And so for that, I'm reasonably dissapointed.

There should be more cocks and lots of cunts, colliding. First I have to ask my wife, because I was gonna borrow hers.

I lik to keeps my vimmin in line.

Addendums and Corrections

2006-09-02T13:42:00.000-04:00

My buddy Jon called from Lexington called today to re-remind me of my focus on the pageantry of SEC football.

A couple of years ago we went to see our beloved beloved alma, UK, perennial conference doormats, get waxed by the University of Georgia. We were seated near some of Georgia's sorority ambassadors and they asked us to take snapshots of them and their friends while on this SEC tour.

Alas, they didn't bring their digital cameras.

"Did you remember to cut off their heads and zoom in on the cleavage?" I asked Jon.

"Done. They'll remember their friends in Kentucky," he replied.

"Oommh. I'd let my momma eat off those plates," said I.

But one correction is in order for my Garrison Keillor related summary. He was talking about offering a break on estate taxes specifically. You can read his eloquent plan here. And thank you Mr. Keillor.

And thank you Jon, for keeping my head straight.

Down In The Grove

2006-09-01T22:45:00.000-04:00

Last week, I had this thing going with two of my co-workers.

We were hanging out down in Gatlinburg and doing the stuff one does down there in the Great Smokies, you know. And I'm riding in the back seat getting turn-a-bout hand and blow jobs from the women of my cubicle community.

And this is what children do to you - put you on the abstinence plan.

The next thing I know I'm groggy and furiously fumbling for the meaning of my sexual dream about my obese, post-menopausal associates.

But the glory of September and its college football blessings are among us now and last evening while enjoying the grandeur that is South Eastern Conference football against the back-drop of Mississippi willows, a couple of things occurred to me:

1) How much more gay Sports Illustrated has become with its college and pro football athlete profiles. Are they trying to become Men's Health?

and 2) I've never read a William Faulkner novel and so will make that my fall project while watching dangerous young men run into each other and make lots of money for the SEC.

But the South is beautiful and I've always read Faulkner captured its mysterious graces and paradoxes.

I've got to agree with something Garrison Keillor wrote the other day. We should take away health-care for all those with Bush Cheney stickers and make them use faith-based medicine, then we can give them a break on capital gains.

Mississippit State put up a heck of a fight against South Carolina. But they'll be overmatched by most of their conference competitors. Starting QB's on both teams went down. It's the first game of the year and there's always blood between the hedges.

Go on and get to your baseball playoffs, your well-paid Yankees, sit around for hours waiting for left-turners to take to rubble, get your fantasy draft underway and your expert opinion.

I'm announcing my mourning period is over for USA basketball and its quick-hit isolationist strategy against well-formed, cohesive international teamwork.

Give me football and Faulkner and foliage and another Saturday in the South.

I'm On Hiatus Or Something

2006-08-13T22:23:00.000-04:00

As If you didn't know.

I'll see you September 1.

I Hope Everyone Is Enjoying Their Summer

2006-08-03T21:02:00.000-04:00

I have summer envy right now. Everyone must be enjoying their summer more than me.

If I were in the the marathon of Great-Joy-Thou-Art-Enjoying-Thou-Summer-Immensely, where no one felt any pain, I would be running 30 minutes behind Mel Gibson.

Did I mention I've gotten googles for Olivia Breen in this blog? Those Canadian Hosers, they love them some ice recreation. Sounds good about now.

But I'm getting over one of those bizzare summer cold/allergy monsoons that washed over me starting last Sunday. I was up til 5:30 in the morning just trying to breathe. I made for one cranky employee Monday.

Back to the summer thing. I haven't been to a restaurant since the baby was born back in May. If I were to go now, I wouldn't know how to look a waiter in the eye. And of course there's no vacation/travel this year. I'd give anything to wait one hour in line for Space Mountain right now.

I'd even enjoy the adventure of one of those rolling blackout things. Maybe even do a block party where everyone exchanges candles or something.

Speaking of conspiracy theories: I'm sick of seeing previews for World Trade Center. The same firm that marketed against John Kerry's Vietnam service is now distributing the media for this movie.

Oliver Stone's like the kid I knew back in high school, who got into some kind of shit trouble every week. Even stole a car and refused to shower for a week once upon a time. Yet he dated the hottest girl in school for a while. Then he atoned for his sins by becoming a Kentucky State Trooper. When I think of that dude, I think of Oliver Stone, they're synonomous.

And Nicolas Cage should continue to play drunk people. He's done nothing since the beautiful Leaving Las Vegas.

So all this heat is getting to me. And to top it off, my in-laws are coming this weekend, along with a healthy dose of my family. It Deuce's baptism weekend. God watch over him once he's old enough to understand. I'm going to need medicating.

Gotta run, time to hatch some plans.

By the way, what's with all the complaints about detainees throwing shit and piss in the faces of guards at Guantanamo? They filed something to the Legal Landmark Society or something. What the hell did they think they signed onto?

I get shit on, pissed on and puked on every day and can't say a word about it. And spare me the "but they're terrorists." You don't think children terrorize their parents over a lifetime? This shit's just getting warmed up.

O.K. I'm going to get inside now, and try to scrape some frost out of the freezer and think about Olivia Breen.

Dreamscapes

2006-07-26T20:49:00.000-04:00

Ahh, it's the summer doldrums right now. Increasing humidity, rinse...repeat. Wake up. Change the baby's diaper.

It's an easy familiarity. I signed up for it.

This is how our life passes before us, during these days of sleeping routine, til one day you realize you missed them...somehow.

I'm actually looking forward to the St. Michael's picnic this Saturday, strange as it sounds. I'll put Shredder in a fishing derby while I grab some beer, intolerant stomach be damned.

I now live across the street from the soon-to-be-formed holy trinity of commerce.

Within walking distance there is our church, St. Micheal's which I attend once a year, in which my wife attends 3 times a year to bone up for purgatory.

Then, there's Kroger, the best grocery store Kentucky can come up with, which I attend 5 times per week.

That's the problem with living across the street from the grocery, I treat it like a convenience store. No list, no problem, I'll get it tomorrow.

The completion of this trinity is a Starbuck's, opening anyday now. Barista Brat will be proud.

Well, it had to happen sooner or later, it's in the scripture, right? I mean, what are savings accounts for?

So the picnic's got more promise of fun than Duece's baptism the following Saturday. If I could figure out a way to get drugs, or at least drink inside my tee-totaling family, then the dynamics could change.

Bam's family? No problem, they bring their own stuff.

I'm waiting for autumn, there's more action.

Christmas In July

2006-07-19T20:42:00.000-04:00

Man, this heat's caused an extra herpes outbreak for me.

All it took was a walk to the park on Sunday in 100 degree weather.

All in all, I'm managing with the "common cold" of STD's fairly well. I'm on no medication, just the occasional run of L-lysine, an amino acid strong enough to throw it off-balance.

This pesky virus, the one that keeps on giving to my wife and back to me, is the told-you-so blister.

I survived at least 10-years of quasi-protective sex, only to take chances later on from the gift-giving vixen I met up with right before I started dating my wife.

It hides at the base of your spine. Heat and stress are tag-team catylsts. Before it rears its ugly, Pat Robertson reminder, my leg brings about a tingly, slightly sore sensation for a couple of days. It moves up and down, leaving my knee sensitive to the touch, then my toes.

Could be worse. It's just something my wife and I share and compare.

The ties that bind.

Man, I can't wait for cooler weather.

Do This Fun Weekend Game! See If You Can Pick Out The Mother of All Comments!

2006-07-14T22:43:00.000-04:00

While reading this, I became mesmirized by some of the 1,000 or so comments left for Poor Petey and you want to jump on the poor sap too! Then, I continued reading and started feeling sorry for him, but just a little, he seems...like a serious fellow.

Mesmirizing is a difficult word for me to spell.

Regardless, let's hope the above linked sentiments carry through for the next, say...four Novembers.

Across Four Novembers!

It's Camp!

2006-07-13T22:01:00.000-04:00

A camp experience can merit a blog all on its own, but sometimes, you have to settle for the abridged version. No matter how much technology supposedly improves our lives, we'll still only have 24 hours in a day to work like a jigsaw puzzle.

And that's why I'm trying to talk my younger sister out of having a second child. Even with unlimited resources to devote to the lovable rugrat, it still doesn't stop the clock. The law of marginal utility applies to children too.

But that's another story. In a way.

You see, one time...and I'm naming names here. All names used are real to the best of my elephant memory.

It's true I have a good memory, and that can be a curse. Evidently, marijuana can impair the learning process in the moment, but I for one suspect marijuana alone, scarcely dents the long-term storage capacity.

I inherited this memory from my paternal grandfather, who at 88, could remember with great detail, his hitch-hiking trip to California during the thirties. He could also tell you who attended his 5th birthday party. This trait passed on to my dad and Shredder now exhibits acute function of the family curse.

The elder gents had terribly weak legs that got them down in their backs and that's why I spend so much time doing squats, to compensate. Everyone compensates for some family shortcoming.

But what I'm trying to say is that I spent the summer of '97 as a bunk counselor and beginning guitar teacher in the rock shop, which was a clever name for the music department, at Camp Island Lake with a post office box of Starucca, PA. Maybe it's spelled Starruca or something similar.

The government must have given ample land grants sometime in history, to tons of children's camps in the area of Northeastern Pennsylvania and Southeastern New York.

I don't know if you've ever done this sort of thing before, but it's madcap. Run by Jewish owners, there's a gazillion nationalities represented and even though it's an expensive arts and sports camp 'for the kids', there's a lustful undercurrent that says, hook up with whoever, however.

Like an idiot, I went up with my girlfriend.

Guys can actually feel like a veritable piece of meat in that camp.

"You don't bring your girlfriend to camp," one vixen sternly reported to me.

She asked me out into the woods one night. Quickly. I just as quickly declined, feeling some strange attachment to my girlfriend who I rarely saw during the regimented days on the sprawling campus.

There were more and better invitations. One by the lovely Canadian, Olivia Breen, a reported Olympic alternate on the national figure skating team. She was too pretty for me to inquire as to her validity. Again, I declined. It must have been something my girlfriend's father told me before we left town to sleep for three months in the Catskills on wooden planks.

Two conditions turn women (and men) into non-descriminate pillow-biters:

1) continual, 24-hour exposure to fresh air
2) the opportunity to never see anyone from that camp or setting in your life again, ever.

Hotties fucked slobs they wouldn't have made eye contact with in high school or college.

Coverboys fucked pock-marked, cellulite transporting winches from Queens college. Or maybe it was Smiths. No wait, I used to listen to the Smiths. Wait, that happens anywhere, but you get the picture.

Had I had the keen foresight I should have had, I wouldn't have brought little Joanna with me. But it was her car we drove up in. You gotta dance with who brought you. I didn't stray for quite some time.

I wasn't naive as to the workings of human nature and opportunities. I just didn't envision it to be like shooting fish in a barrel.

My fellow bunkmate counselor was a crazy Israeli named Tzion. Every morning he asked me to pronounce his name correctly and pick out decent clothes for him to wear. I helped him write a love note to the object of his desire.

We got drunk at a local tavern, Lombardi's is the name. That's where the temptations increased. One night I drove into the mountains after a couple of beers and was stopped by New York state police. I failed a pocket breathilizer. I never forgot the officer admonishing me with, "you want to spend a night in a New York jail?"

We were so far out in the mountains he let us go because it was a logistical nightmare getting a tow-truck up there, plus I had no cash. He let my car mate, an English girl who had never driven before take us home at 15 mph.

Ahhh, it makes me come alive, thinking about going back there. There's not a better defintion for summer.

I thought that camp must have been in a particularly lustful latitude until I compared notes to counselors from other camps, other times, other places. Again, see the 2 listed reasons above.

"Let's go to camp!" said my sorority girl-girlfriend.

"Uh, o.k." And we did. Together.

I could have done Olivia Breen.

I did however, kiss one girl in the back of a pick-up truck on the way home from Lombardi's tavern, one star-blitzed night.

There was some tongue involved.

I even told Joanna about it, later, after we came back to Kentucky.

Damn! Memory and conscience.

Rubbing My Eyes

2006-07-12T19:21:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, you try to talk yourself out of the things you see.

For example, yesterday, I went to the gym. Far out.

Walking to the front of the parking lot, there's always two empty handicapped spaces that are never filled. I don't know for sure, but if I ever wind up in a wheelchair, I'm getting a good work-out from the old-fashioned, non-motorized variety and dropping my gym membership.

I'll also enter into disabled olympics and play wheelchair basketball and the like.

But none of that has nothing to do with this story, so I'm sorry you had to read that. I'm just saying I never see disabled people in my gym.

Anyways, I'm to the front of the lot, near the two handicapped spots when an older Ford Explorer pulls into one of mentioned handicapped spots. And quickly, out pops a young, twenty-something male, with handicapped tag hanging from mirror and protein shake in hand.

With no limp and perfect stability, he makes a quick scan of the parking lot from under his backwards-turned Texas Longhorns cap, and briskly jaunts into the health club. Into the health club, from his handicapped, front-row parking space.

Now, I've seen plenty of seemingly healthy 50-year olds park in similar spaces and tote out cartons of cigarettes and lottery tickets, but I always felt sorry for them.

I've never seen a meaty kid who looks like he lifts weights do this.

Just sayin'.

More Kids, Part II

2006-07-10T18:21:00.000-04:00

Bam's not cut out to be a Stay-At-Home-Mom. When I come home she pops the top off a cold one, which is not like her. She already has that low-key daze that says, "these babies are killing me."

Softly, I would guess.

Sure we enjoy wine, but moderately.

I just now stocked our meager wine cabinet with cherry coke and salt and vinegar pringles. Just like the way it looks.

That really has nothing to do with anything, other than that's a fairly nasty combination of modern bad eating and it's filling up our cabinet. And we have a perenial ban on soft drinks and bad chips in our home.

But when I was with the extended family this past 4th of July, the conversation turned to children drinking too much milk. Shredder at the time had been going through a 'all milk and little food phase.'

A lot of Bam's brothers and sisters had more than 2 children. We won't because, we'll our tubes have been tied. I mean, the editorial 'we' have had our tubes tied.

Anyways, my sister-in-law talked of her daughter drinking milk exclusively to a health detriment. It blocks out minerals your body should be absorbing for food and hence, the real-live medical term - milk anemia.

So I ask her, in all my curiosity, "How long did she do that?"

That being how long did she drink only milk, avoid food, and how long did it take you to do something about it.

She, being the mother of 4, was initially hesitant. I helped her out with a "3 months?"

"Probably longer than that" she said matter of factly.

When we got home, I asked Bam how long it would take someone to notice a child's behavior such as this, and how long it would take to appropriately respond.

She caught my drift and promptly theorized that it's the by-product of too many children.

I mean, how long should it take one to realize your kid drinks only milk, doesn't eat at all and repeats this pattern for months?

??

There are so many things I don't understand. And I was narrowing my list of mysteries before the children were born.

I haven't even gotten started on the other sister-in-law, who also has 4 children and has let most of them subsist on the drive-through. Now she wants the 11-year old girl to start a diet.

So much for the short list.

Shredder Falls

2006-07-09T21:24:00.000-04:00

I haven't written much lately, because...because of some stone-cold virtue I live by on occasion.

Or something my mother and your Dutch uncle once said..."If you can't say anything nice, don't say nothing at all."

The mechanical reasoning for my writer's block is the continually trip over the question of why people would have children, or so many of them.

This leads me to my guerilla blogging visit recently to Tertia.org. Now, as Christine will attest, I can skew the occasional fact, but hey, sometimes numbers are insignificant.

Tertia, seems the lovely South African lady who battled the noble battle of infertility for some time. She charts her trials over something like a 3-year saga of failures and mis-carriages and now has lovely twins.

Her journey is the amazing testament to perserverance, if not insanity, bless her spirit.

I never am confident about my spelling of perserverance. It seems like to many r's.

Bam and I mis-carried our first time, but right after Shredder was born the dam broke and 16-months later spat Duece. There wasn't anything either one of us could do to stop it.

I understand what one mis-carriage can do to your soul.

But, what really haunts me, is the daily torture I endure to the riddle of, "why did my mother-in-law have 12 children?"

Besides being the thing I use to hold over Bam when she complains about the babies, I'm well aware that had her mom not had #12, I would be laid up and penniless at the Bunny Ranch.

But, it does make me wonder what mind control my mother-in-law suffered. I'm talking besides that Catholic thing and all. Couldn't she just have beaten the old man off with a broom? The man was frequently liquored. And that's something that usually throws my balance off.

Tonight I had one of those moments. You know, where something becomes clear, so clear you forget what you were thinking about?

Right.

Upstairs, Bam bathed the babies. After further inspection, I decided there was nothing for me to do.

Bam throws order #1,834ac at me, on my way down the steps. In civilian terms, it means bring up diapers for Shredder.

One step into the living room, I feel a trickle on my head, down my back... and for the life of my lovely (but quaintly slobby) wife, I can't imagine how she is managing to spill some of the bathwater over the balcony.

But I look up and Bam's no where around. Instead, a buck-nekked Shredder is standing at the railing and pissing on my head.

It was that kind of weekend.

And he was laughing.

Log Jammin'

2006-07-04T09:12:00.000-04:00

I'm not posting the mosting these days. It seems I have challenges in a couple of areas.

Firstly, I'm grappling with allergies and can't type and blow my nose at the same time.

Then, did you see that?

I just got interrupted again, Shredder's hungry while my wife's sleeping. The baby is attached to her breast and chest at all times, and honestly, they are a bizzare looking organism. d gjmmgjnmnr,efjmv,gg,g,gmkgjfkf,f,d.ldrke4k

did you see that?

I can't keep Shredder off the keyboard. We can survive the viruses but not this cyber destruction.

I used to go into work early, just to get in a half-hour of blogging before work started. Then, big brother imposed his leaden foot and locked us out of sanity-sorting recess.

It's impossible to blog here at home.

Oh yeah, I could do it after everyone goes to bed. But last night I watched a movie, those things are rare too. It was Cache, and it shows what can happen when you're a mean little kid. Or what you can do to another kid, mean-like and all.

We already geared-it-up and blew out our Independence Day celebration on Sunday, fighting for pool space and meager rations against the country catholic denizens comprising Bam's family. Yes, there was even some turtle casserole.

Yeah!

2006-06-29T22:00:00.000-04:00

Shredder's got this thing going where he thrusts his fist in the air and yells, yeah!!

Good news from the Court today.

Mom of three opened this up on Tuesday. Democracy is not for...

It's NBA Draft Night

2006-06-28T19:43:00.000-04:00

Currently enjoying the lusciousness and frivolity that is Graeter's ice cream - banana and chocolate chip cookie dough. Those are two separate flavors by the way, unless you mix. Sorry, there's a chance you can't enjoy it in your neck of the woods as they only sell in surrounding Cincinnati cities. I'll ship you some if you wish. Possibly. Sadly, I get nothing from this bogus product plug.

They just took the Italian kid first. O.k. fair enough. It's a weak draft this year.

I didn't get invited to New York, but I'm figuring on being a second-round pick. I could possibly go late in the first round because there is a premium on point guards this year.

I acknowledge I'm the second best point guard in the state of Kentucky, right behind Rajon Rondo, I mean, I've played his back-up point guard from Eastern High to a stand-still many days at the Northeast YMCA. Scouts quickly pick-up on these things, word gets around. I'll play for anyone except the Atlanta Hawks.

My workouts haven't been all that great lately, but I've got a great attitude. Doesn't that count for anything? I already own a few ties so I won't have any issues with the dress code.

I don't have any tatoos, can't decide if that's a pro or con, but I can roll a blunt.

My agent Shredder, is not very supportive right now, on one of the biggest nights of my life. He's a bit whiney, missed out on his afternoon nap.

That's o.k., I've done all I can do up to now. I'll just finish my banana ice cream.

June Heat

2006-06-26T21:02:00.000-04:00

Still enjoying my return from the nether-world of wordpress and still smarting from Big Brother's finger up my arse, I've decided to reach back into the portal and take slices from some of the sane bloggers I cross as I look through their wordpress windows.

When I was a yonker (a young man), about the age of 13 or 22 or 31, I dabbled in some poetry. First I pretended to be Wadsworth, then Whitman and finally settled for the snarky simplicity of E.E. Cummings. Then one day I got pissed off at my sister and parents, got drunk and said, "fuck it! I'll just be a cheesy Jim Morrison."

Anyway, a lot of this stuff was left behind along with journals (back in the day before the blog electric) in spiral bound notebooks left at my parent's house. These scribbled bindings, in all actuality, probably only served as ink-iron-clad reminders to my folks of all the illicit, stupid, yet fun shit I did during my quarter-life crisis. Now I cringe, barely. And I won't plead innocent before all the evidence at their disposal. Which is probably what happened to those notebooks, but I can't bring myself to ask.

But enough about me. This is about some of the outposts I've come across on the westward journey of the desolate wordpress landscape. Most are from Canada.

Here's Red Cow Poetry. There's a loss poem, or two.

Then there's September Fool and she's at that anxious-collegiate-stage thingy now.

If you have a moment, write Sept. Fool. She likes getting emails and such. Who doesn't?

She's never been drunk. At age 13, her father was killed by a drunk driver. There was no investigation. Six weeks later her family received an anonymous phone call telling them a cop did it so it was kept quiet.

On other fronts - Sunday night I was taking a luxurious shower, Calgon style, away from screaming ruggers and enjoying a quiet game of pocket-pull without the aid of a pocket. Now, I'm never one to play pocket-pull, especially in the shower but often I live my life dotted with some 'why nots?'

Just when I got behind the 8-ball, the doorbell rang and I paused, but decided to let the doorman get it, or my wife, so I continued on with the game.

When I got out, I was told my neighbor just had a massive heart attack and so I needed to attend to some neighborly duties for a while.

I vowed to never play pocket-pull again...in the shower.

Aaahhhh...

2006-06-24T22:36:00.000-04:00

It's just like the first night of clean sheets after months of wallowing in your own dead grit. You know what happens as soon as you make it to bed - that involuntary grin.

You see, while I'll always admit to making my own bed, Big Brother inserted its Big Stinky Toe over one of my Inherited American Inalienable Rights. Blogging At Work.

Right on Party People. We Hold These Truths To Be Self-Evident, motherfuckers. Excuse my French.

So now I can talk about it since I'm not doing this from work. Breaking the silence feels like fresh linen.

Last week, Governor Ernie, reeling from political knocks as hard as those coming at W. lately, took away our blogger privelges. Anything by Google blogger is off-limits. Blocked. It made me so mad, I forgot how to spell privelges.

I started a blog on one of those other services, wordpress I think, which is a virtual wasteland (with a few exceptions). I felt like The Omega Man except I couldn't walk around in empty buildings and do you know, neat stuff.

I searched other wordpress blogs but most were in a foreign language or geekspeak about writing code. On blogger when you hit "next blog" you'll quickly run into something interesting, like someone talking about their new mower or some lingerie. When you do wordpress's similar function, it looks like someone's dissertation or programming project. Needless to say I had been put in the hole, solitary confinement for a week.

So today, I took my political life in my own hands. I sucked-up some initiative and got my wireless feed going from home. You can't keep a blogger down. If you don't hear from me for a while, you know Big Brother has sent me to the hole again. Or I'm changing diapers and scraping raisins off the floor.

Today, Bam and I took the ruggers downtown to Greek Festival. Why in the hell would one take a 1 month-old and a 16 month old down there? Well, 1) to eat lamb shank and 2) attempt to wear the kids out so they'll sleep for 18 hours straight.

Sometimes this backfires and 1) literally gives me heartburn from the marinate on the shank and 2) makes the kids sleep less.

At bedtime, Shredder is old enough to go down on his own, without a whimper, but he cried and fought me for a solid hour tonight.

I decided not to drink, and passed up the bottle of red wine Shredder found this afternoon, after it had been missing for a couple of months.

Instead I did something a little naughty I like to do on the occasional weekend when all are tucked in bed. You see, I have this fantasy Playstation game, NCAA Football 2006, that allows me (and this is where the fantasy part plays in) to build a dynasty with the Kentucky Wildcats. Tonight, I put a spin on it - I put on a blue T-shirt and matching, blue athletic shorts. I stretched and warmed-up and put on my game-face.

Yes, it's gay. But everyone is entitled to a bit of homosexuality now and then if they wish. This is America.

And like Mr. Scott enjoys saying, even if he does too often, "That's as cool as the other side of the pillow."

Post Weekend Musing

2006-06-19T13:59:00.000-04:00

I spent most of the weekend in the little hometown of my youth. It has a part of me so I should always say something nice.

It's a good get-away from the city and there are lots of caring people there.

Anyway, Saturday evening I go into a convenience grocery and the patrons must be the leftover inhabitants from the movie, The Hills Have Eyes. I've always wondered what they do with these leftover cast members suited to the above mentioned movie or others, like Deliverance.

I'm sorry. I feel bad.

My sympathy quickly turned to anger, traveling back home in a solid-sheeted rainstorm. Most drivers pulled over to wait it out. Despite urgings from my wife to do the same, I beat on. Call it ego-driverism and a desire not to be a waiting roadside target. And hunger and restlessness.

When the storm finally cleared, traffic stopped dead on the interstate. It was only a matter of time before the babies got enough of it.

I told my wife to whip out the boob and stifle Duece's cries, let the trucker's get their views! Every job should have a perk right?!

Traffic stopped and crawled for 35 miles. It was grueling. However, the babies survived better than me. My Rock Star Energy drink just made me more irritable.

Turns out it was a lone trucker that manged to flip his rig and bottleneck traffic for hours. Was he on coke in this storm? Did he oogle a tittie-flasher too long?

What was supposed to be a routine 2 hour drive I've done a 1,000 times, turned into a 6 hour highway ordeal.

For a long time, I wondered, since my boys are so close in age and Shredder was weaned from the boob not all that long ago, would he start begging for it again when he saw Duece using it?

The answer is no. So now you know.

Another wonderment for today. Can common genitalia and mammalia (I just now used that word for the first time in my life and I love it, real or not!) qualify as a fetish?

I mean you like tits or ass or cock, what man or woman doesn't, but you like it even more than average. Still, it's common and part of the main sexual attraction package.

So there has to be something more erratic or uncommon about it to push it into fetishville. Like double E breasts, etc. etc. as opposed to double D's.

No, not true. I have a boobie fetish of all kinds and sizes, especially if they're real.

2006-06-16T11:55:00.000-04:00

"You'll never guess what I did with those soccer balls...te he"

Life these days?

2006-06-15T09:44:00.000-04:00

Well, there's my wife and the two boys - Shreder, 16-months and Duece, who's about a month-old now. Sometimes we all cry at the same time.

So, it's 3 guys competing for 2 titties.

Any Bets?

2006-06-14T09:43:00.000-04:00

O.K. people. How long do you think it will be before we start paying for our blogger accounts?

Not me. That'll be the end of the line.

It seems problems are occuring more frequently than in the past due to storage/server issues. To do the massive upgrades necessary for handling the capacity will require more capital, party people. And that could be you and me.

Perhaps google will come out with an enhanced-for-pay package that will give you a choice and then eventually ease the strain on the 'freebie' mode. That way, people that want to pay for a service that 'does more', will enjoy the bells and whistles, while you and I stick to the bread of what we have now. Sounds good to me.

In the meantime, we're stuck with out slow, occasionally unresponsive service.

Big Blue Balls

2006-06-13T11:59:00.000-04:00

file under sports

Soccer in America was spring-loaded but couldn't make it out of the gate. Now the hype hurts and once again, we're relegated to the status of Bad News Bears/Atlanta Hawks/New Orleans Saints/Tampa Bay Devil Rays/UK football/Walter Mondale in the world of futbol.

This was the debutante party that got rained on. The eighth-grader's pre-high school party was crashed by thugs and all the DJ's equipment got stolen.

Now, it just gives the haters their quiet 'told you so' condescension faces.

I have to admit, I couldn't tell you the difference between soccer and rugby. Never had a youth league where I grew up. Couldn't name you two pro U.S. soccer teams.

But as I understand it now, the U.S. team isn't given a chance before they even get a chance.

Hey, the L.A. Clippers actually made it to the post-season this year. Bad teams can become mediocre. Maybe someday they'll quit teasing us with promises of "Team USA this is the year!"

For most of us, we'll have to take some interest in the hometown team, before we can appreciate Brazil v. Germany.

Here's to the future.

2006-06-09T10:12:00.000-04:00

"You see any concern here? Shhhiiii....that was just a shootaround. Time is just space before I refresh the highlights. Might get loose in game 3. Trim and goatee still tight and fresh. Check this - they've put me with the washed-up, old-timer's All-SEC team. Jason and Udonis from Florida, Tippy Toes Toine from Kentucky and Diesel from the Bayou Bengals. Heck, even Coach Riles was All-SEC back in.....way back sometime when they played games in black and white. Don't matter, I'm strapping everyone on. Could put me with the All-Nun's of St. Edward's and I'll give 'em a night no one forgets. Even let my mom eat off that plate. Hope those Germans and Cubans don't bring my ratings down, they sure make for some ugly TV. I'm tellin' ya, it's Wade's World."

Tissues Issues

2006-06-06T11:03:00.000-04:00

I go through more tissues at work than anybody. With my bi-seasonal allergy fest and the new germs my son gives me, it's a wonder the waste management company doesn't charge for extra disposal.

Our office is good about supplying quality paper care. I just tend to blow through my tissue boxes quicker than most. Some of my co-workers still have the box they opened last December.

I went to the supply closet and was dismayed that the Kleenex supply was gone. This is June, not exactly the height of cold season, but I can't stack a roll of toilet paper on my desk the way I do at home. That's bad form. It's more aesthetically pleasing to have a florally decorated box with a nice-white ruffled tissue poking out that says, "I'm here for your nose service, sir."

As I gun through my allotment, I don't feel like I can go and complain to the hot, dark-skinnned, thong-wearing, purchasing secretary, who's always behind in Kleenex orders.

Ahh, but then a fantasy rises...

My fantasy takes place in an empty conference room, where we discuss the lack of promptly delivered Kleenex. The debate gets heated. I show my teeth... She thumps her large chest...I reach out to strangle her...then...she takes my hand...

...and leads me to a private, hidden, stockroom, wall-to-wall carpeted with infinite spoils of Puffs and Kleenex with aloe. I frolic and roll around in the velvety textures, knowing I'll never again have to 'borrow' from my co-workers.

A Borrowed (and Burrowed) Post

2006-06-05T10:39:00.000-04:00

To rip a Monday post from the now defunct Used Hack (I believe you can talk to him on bloglaughs), If a man has to work and is not able to blog, then the terrorists have won. And the Pat Robertsonites and the Devil Doers and the Fashionistas and the Facists.

I can't blog. I have to work. Woe is me.

A Childhood Game

2006-06-02T12:08:00.000-04:00

Today we'll start a fun little game that I hope to continue from time to time. Maybe we'll call it "What Did They Just Say?" Friday. Please feel free to come up with better names or acronyms.

It's a game my sandy-haired best friend and I played in middle school, as we sat on the bottom mattress of my single bunk-bed set (I didn't have a brother, my mom just thought bunk-beds were cute for my little room and handy for sleepovers, plus the bunkers belonged to her little brothers), sweatily thumbing through Sports Illustrateds.

The game was to take turns looking at the pictures and make-up something the athletes were saying. I'm sure you've played it maybe with some variation.

No photographers on the planet mastered the art of capturing the grimace like SI. It was perfectly ripe material for our timeless passion-gag. If only, we put as much effort into learning to spell.

As you can imagine, for two 13-year-old boys, the punch-lines mainly related to bathroom humor. But we laughed hard with every turn of the page as it brought a new face and a fresh fart.

It induced me to eventually ask for a cheap camera for my birthday, so I could take pictures of our neighborhood ballgames.

Here's the first one I've done for company in a long time. And today, I'll stay out of the bathroom.

I believe this is one of our esteemed cabinet members.

What's he saying?

"Huckleberry Hound is the greatest cartoon of all time. Period. Except for maybe Yogi Bear."

Strung-Out Goodbyes

2006-06-01T08:32:00.000-04:00

I realize the epic proportions of media scrutiny on everything a celebrity does today. Are we that starved for info-tainment?

For example, everyone's goodbye or retirement is milked for maximum, post-career iconism. And ego, dig.

This morning, I heard about Roger Clemens deal (wow! max pay for half-time work). Michael Jordan retired 3 times. Brett Favre (and the media) talked about it all summer and Garth Brooks actually called it quits a few years ago.

If you're an entertainer of the singer/actor variety, you can't offically announce retirement, because everyone knows you'll make paid appearances or cut another album at some point in your 'retirement.' From now on, there's no such thing as retirement for you, just your eventual death announcement.

O.K. Sorry for the morbidity.

My personal favorite 'call it quits, we'll miss you', in all sincerity was Jamal Mashburn's last home game at the Univeristy of Kentucky. The lights went out, the flashes sprinkled around the arena and they honored a genuine, humble guy who helped bring UK basketball back from its deathbed. He was a quiet, thoughtful person. And he hired an agent and went on to make millions in the pros. Easy call. Oh, plus the NCAA wouldn't allow a return.

That's what we need. A real, rule-stickler governing body for all retirements. Once you make it public, you get your rocking chair and lose your job. The end.

For romantic break-ups, you get only one shot. When you send that second 'Dear John' or let them down in person, that's it. Quitsville.

When you say you are going to finish painting that room. Boom, you get to mention it... enough already...

Rusty

2006-05-31T09:44:00.000-04:00

It's time to dust this thing off and get back in the blog saddle, slowly but surely.

The past couple of week's have been a whirlwind of excitement and adjustments with the new arrival. Right now, we're trying to keep Shredder from using Duece as a play toy and let me tell ya, older brother is quite the sneak.

Yesterday at the grocery, he managed to sneak extra cans of goods into the cart, stuff I didn't notice til we checked out. Evidently, he loves refried beans.

Anyways, some of you have sent emails and I'll try to respond soon. Thanks for the well wishes.

I'll try to start blogging again, erratically, but surely.

We Had Our Baby!!

2006-05-21T15:46:00.000-04:00

The Duece is here! A bit early, but all is well...

except for sleep, which there is none of... I have a low tolerance for little sleep.

He weighed only 7 lbs. and 2 oz. A little feller.

I'll be talking to you guys soon, probably next week. I'm so lost.

Love Ya, Mean It!

Your Quick and Dirty Movie Review

2006-05-15T11:03:00.000-04:00

This weekend I saw Munich. And it's one of the best from last year.

This movie rests not on the actual events of the 1972 Olympic hostage murders, but the Isreali counter-terrorist operations in the 7 years after it happened.

It's a Spielberg wonder and balanced enough to present a moral argument for all sides.

Paced as a spy thriller, the agents are given enough humanity to make it fantastically believable. Like most good movies, your pulse quickens with theirs in the appropriate situations.

With a running time of about 2 hours and 45 minutes, don't try to watch it while typing on the computer or conversing with family. Block off three hours just for yourself and climb into it's tense landscape.

This movie captures a long, spiraling European road trip that ends in New York, and the scenery is magnificent.

A Comisserative Speller

2006-05-12T10:49:00.000-04:00

I can't believe how bad my spelling is these days. Even the simplest words rack my brain, words that I could spell backwards as a 5th grader. I think I even won a 5th grade spelling bee.

All that's left now, is the rhyme, 'I' after 'E' except after 'C'. And still I flub it from time to time.

I'll even avoid more expressive, challenging words for fear of my current spelling defiency.

What's the word for, fear of spelling?

My pronunciation? No fear. Meaning? No issue. Typing, o.k.

For instance admit, I agonize over whether to ad an extra T. If I ever see one of my blog posts, it's riddled with simple spelling errors.

Like yesterday, I spelled warehouse as wharehouse. I must have been thinking of a large storage facility for prostitutes. That's it.

My memory? Short-term and long-term? I'm cursed with acurate recall. There's no Alzheimer's for my paternal male side. Not even vague dementia. It's scary.

But my worst nightmare is to go up against 4th graders in a spelling bee.

The audience would laugh me out of the auditorium after flubbing up 'embarrass'. I got that one right (I think) because I just looked it up in the dictionary.

Mmmm...Smokin'

2006-05-11T09:06:00.000-04:00

Last night, my wife and I discussed our mutal admiration of candy cigarettes as children. While the taste left much to desire they were pretty darn cool.

Waiting in traffic the other day, I noticed a car decorated with patriotic bumper stickers and equally strong anti-smoking stickers.

Whatever their views, I always find it interesting when people choose to voice political sentiment on vehicles so I interpret accordingly.

This person sees himself as a champion of freedom, but believes no one should smoke.

I've never smoked (at least not cigarettes) and my few attempts at the habit took place in a bar, where a few drinks caused me to light the butt-end. If I ever got a drag and inhaled shallowly, I'd cough uncontrollably.

My biggest complaint of the bar scene or any scene for that matter is the smoke. I've skipped out of occasions to avoid it. My wife feels the same way and we'll raise our children to abhor it.

That said, I believe anybody that wants to, should be able to smoke as much as they want to.

Some of my best childhood memories begin about age 4, while my family was hanging tobacco in the barn, I was happily toting around my pack of Candy Camels.

Where I grew up if you had a spare acre, you either spent half the year toiling over the extreme labor intensive plant that was tobacco or you leased it out to someone else to sweat over.

If you did neither of the above, at some point in your life, you knew someone who involved you in pulling, planting, cutting, spiking, weeding, stripping or housing tobacco.

My wife talks about the dreaded childhood winters she spent in a cold barn stripping tobacco and readying for market.

My grandfather owned a tobacco warehouse where my parents sometimes worked and I'd hang out in the office sucking up all the second-hand. I'd then go out and play on the market floor where one afternoon, some of the workers swept up scrap and loose leaves and put together a pallet for me. A kindly buyer, a representative of R.J. Reynolds that liked kids, gave me top price for that trash pallet of tobacco and when I learned it wasn't mine anymore I cried my eyes out.

Now, I don't know of anybody who has anything to do with it. Some farmers got grants to raise bees or improve their horse farms.

If you know of the existence of a candy cigarette, let me know.

It's A Travashamockery!!

2006-05-10T13:50:00.000-04:00

It looks like I'll have to work this Saturday.

I'm not taking this well. My Saturday's are arranged you see. Here are some of the things I'll have to cancel or postpone.

1) My 9 A.M. call girl appointment. The absolute best every Saturday morning ritual during my wife's pregnancies. She's not gonna be happy as she likes at least a week's notice and will have to find me something (or someone) else to do. As for the call girl, she'll probably charge a cancellation fee.

2) Nad-shaving. I like a smooth, close shave.

3) My cricket game and subsequent strawberries and cream brunch with the boys.

4) Road-kill gathering.

5) Cognac and French history discussion group.

6) Sex and The City re-runs.

7) Senior Center Bingo.

8) Drilling for oil.

9) Polishing/waxing my mailbox.

10) Reviewing 2004's grocery receipts.

How About That David Blaine?

2006-05-09T13:40:00.000-04:00

I've heard the name David Blaine today, especially on the radio, no less than 863 times today. Just sayin'.

I've put the final touches on a wonderfully, thick, yellow, slimy head-cold or sinus infection or uber-allergies, in the past couple of days and so I finally felt like going out to the park.

It's a brand new sensation when you get over some infection, so I took advantage of it and gasped for air by shooting basketball for about an hour.

Then I came home and decided to watch the new playoff series between the Miami Heat and the New Jersey Nets. And after a good while of eating and wondering if the Nets are that good or the Heat are that bad, I flipped over to The Learning Channel where I viewed the majority of a reality-fix-it-series episode of Shalom in the Home. You know, the well-meaning rabbi comes in and fixes cognition and emotions. And I'll say I'm impressed with his expertise.

The couple in question had a 3-year old enabled tyrant. What blew me away was the dad who spent up to 6-hours a day filming and editing his son for his website. The child was taught to act out some things and it looked mighty exploitative and narcistic to me. One clip showed a grueling, demonish temper-tantrum. I agree with the rabbi, that's a bona fide train wreck.

You want to put up some cute pictures on-line? Sure. But I don't see how you can normally interact with your child filming hour upon hour day after day at the expense of genuine parenting. Parenting through a website doesn't count.

I say this as my wife, who has a (seldom used) dark room and scatters the floor with 35mm shots of Shredder, can get carried away. We were digital crazy until she dropped the camera last year and we haven't fixed it. I also forget to charge the video-corder and we leave it at home now on outings and family functions. And it's o.k. My best pictures are mental recollections.

I don't know how the show ended, I was merely the temporary voyeur of someone else's camera.

My Mom-In-Law and Derby Leftovers

2006-05-08T11:45:00.000-04:00

It sure was Monday.

My mother-in-law spent Sunday night with us.

We always have these awkward run-ins over coffee the next morning. As we're both half-asleep, we play a bizarre dancing game in the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets and chanting "excuse me," like a mantra.

One morning she filled the coffee pot full of water and set it on the burner, but neglected to pour the water in the top to brew. I wanted to go upstairs, wake my wife and have her explain it to her mother. Instead, I feebly mention to mom-law that the water is still in the pot and then I'm embarrassed. I make it a great point to explain how I've done the same thing before.

Today, I opened the cabinet to show her the coffee filters. She stood staring at the them for a while. I didn't want to intervene as she might possibly have changed her mind. Maybe she had to think about it. Too late. I pulled them out from under her nose, again feeling bad.

Then I left for work to leave her to watch baby Shredder. What are you gonna do?

Derby weekend came and went, just like Christmas. Shredder pulled us away from the party Saturday at 7 pm and made us go home. My wife was immobile and I can't chase him after two beers.

Despite the large amount of arrests, the vandals were decent enough, they only left a large rock on the front lawn. Evidently, they couldn't get it to the window.

Barbaro blew out the field, and again, every time this year the talk turns to the Triple Crown after an impressive win. There has not been one since 1978 when Affirmed did the deed.

And in the past few years, the Derby winner has won 2 out of 3 races to tease racing fans. Now writers are talking it up, again. We've seen this dance before.

We'll wait and see.

A Population With The Highest Percentage of Bulimics

2006-05-05T11:30:00.001-04:00

Louisvillian and ESPN writer Pat Forde details a rough life.

Yes there are actually commercially designed and manufactured throw-up bowls at race tracks throughout the country.

An Unforgettable Race

2006-05-05T09:01:00.000-04:00

file under Hallmark moments

This is my most embarrassing, disclosed post (O.K. one of 58 most embarrassing posts). And I want to start out by apologizing for the stupidity of two 25-year-old males who had nothing better to do, than to endanger their lives and the innocent lives of proximate bystanders in the wake of said fatuity (i think that word means really, really dumber or something).

I offer no pitiful excuses although it is in my nature to analyze some results to come up with positive future influences.

The only thing I can think of is that by about age 25, your Pre-Frontal Cortex (PFC) fully forms. This now allows you to make intelligent, informed, rational decisions. Ours must have been delayed.

That day was Derby '97 I believe, give or take one. And I was riding shotgun on that stormy Saturday, North up I-65 with a long-time, hometown friend from childhood whose name was Jernigan.

Now Jernigan was a buddy that if you were going to get into some type of trouble, it would probably be with him. And we were consistent.

I don't know what made him speed up the interstate, but hey, he regularly drove fast. We had a bag full of dope, a pipe on the console and the floorboards were littered with fresh, empty cans of Old Milwaukee.

Roughly 15 miles outside of Louisville, we noticed a trooper heading South, opposite of us. I don't understand the accuracy of radar detectors from that great of distance across the median but it didn't matter. A blind man could tell we were speeding, so Smokey flipped his lights on.

Jernigan just reacted. He floored it.

From the mirrors we watched intensely as the squad car crawled across the median and swept into North-bound traffic.

Nobody said a word. Jernigan just pushed on to manipulate our head start.

I was trying to reassure myself that I wasn't the driver, but it didn't matter. It was a silent collusion. I busied myself hiding beer cans, but that was like throwing in a little dirt to cover the crater in your backyard.

The speedometer touched just under 120, then the engine shut off. It was as quiet as a prayer meeting, and so we were.

"What the hell?!" I finally screeched. Jernigan turned off the ingnition.

We were now coasting, helpless at sea, waiting for the big shark to emerge. The fates temporarily granting us a smoke-screen of traffic line to slow the inevitable.

Jernigan mumbled something bout some mechanism, his expression white steel.

He flipped the ignition back on. A low buzz beyond the dash affirmed the resurrection of a fighting chance. Fate again, we're two-for-two. You need all the help you can get when fighting the law.

My eyesight allowed the mirage of an exit, the pulsating blue-light background still catching the mirrors. Nothing mattered anymore, just animal response as the truck was guided off the ramp and chameleoned into a pack of cars converged on a convenient store gas station.

We sat still for awhile, as if we'd fallen back to earth. Watching unknowing patrons come and go, Jernigan stood outside the cab, sipping on a coke. I waited, for an explosion of lights, uniforms and angry men. But no one knew about the casual criminals in their midst. This is how it goes down right? You return from that other world and scatter your fragments amongst the innoccent and unaware.

The hard rain came and after some time we assumed our journey into town. Jernigan said it was the most exhulting rush of his life. Later that night he would bungee jump in some bar's parking lot to the cheers of drunken derby relvery.

I borrowed money to get into the race to begin a day of misery. It was 45 degrees with a windchill that pushed into the 30's, one of the coldest days on record for that time of year. I wore a long-sleeved T-shirt and spent much of the day huddled around the bathroom, the only infield refuge. I could only afford maybe two beers.

Our plans for shelter for the night hinged on my ex-girlfriend we finally linked with, but disintegrated quickly when drunk and out-of-mind, she forgot how to tell us to get back to her group.

Rooms in the city are as rare as a virgin in Amsterdam's Red Light District. We slept at a rest area, where my ex slapped Jernigan in some drunken moment. The next morning we showered at a truck stop.

It was a small price to pay. I haven't attended a Derby since.

Addendum: No one got hurt. I'm just sayin'.

Jernigan got DUI a year or two later after fighting with his girlfriend.

The 132nd Running

2006-05-04T09:33:00.000-04:00

The morning line is in and I'll make this easy for you to select your winner Saturday. Brother Derek is your favorite at 3-1, but he'll have to swing way out from post 18. This can take a lot out of a horse.

Don't bet on him, you won't make any money. The favorite wins about 20% of the time or once out of every 5 years if that.

Here's your big factors for this year's Kentucky Derby. It's a packed field of 20 horses, they had to kick a couple out because that's your max. The big issues are going to be how a horse handles traffic and if they are good closers. The Derby is long and most horses lack that type of race experience. Here's the breakdown:

Traffic: Point Determined, Lawyer Ron, Brother Derek, A.P. Warrior and Barbaro are all good horses who can handle traffic. I probably just named one of the winners.

Closing ability: These are horses that don't have to be out in front, but they run a race that enables them to close from behind and finish. Choose from Point Determined, Steppenwolfer and A.P. Warrior in this set.

Speed: Top 5 speedsters
1) Sinister Minister
2) Sweetnorthernsaint
3) Brother Derek
4) Lawyer Ron
5) Point Determined and Barbaro

The Bob Baffert Factor: He's the new D. Wayne Lukas these days and has multiple Derby winners. His Sinister Minister got the monster Beyer Speed Index of 116. This horse will set the pace and do one of two things 1) no one can catch his speed should he hold on or 2) he'll flame out. I'm inclined to believe the latter. If you want to bet on Baffert, go with Point Determined. While this horse doesn't match Minister's incredible speed, he does handle traffic and is a stalker/closer.

If the track is deemed sloppy: Go with Sweetnorthernsaint, period.

Oddball Factor: He's the only guelding in the race, which means his nuts have been cut off. Sometimes this may have a calming, focused effect for the horse.

I'll give you 3 choices: Choose your winner from Point Determined, Lawyer Ron or A.P. Warrior. O.K. 4 choices - (I love an oddball) Sweetnorthernsaint.

Dishing It Out

2006-05-04T08:27:00.000-04:00

I'm going to start this morning by dishing some Derby dirt on a few celebrities that make it into town. It's firsthand experience of a friend of mine who works for a local hotel and talks about her individual interactions and reactions to satisfying autograph seekers. We'll hereby refer to said source as Dish1

This is according to last year, so it's old news but if I get anything good over the weekend, I'll pass it along. You might have to help me identify some of these people correctly.

Evan Firestone, if I have that name right, is a former bachelor, no? Anyway, he maintains a "sweet and friendly, public personna and is consistent in politely dealing with all people," claims Dish1. Dennis Franz "may even raise the bar for public PR." "He's got great personal charisma and like Firestone, may not turn down an autograph."

"Kid Rock plays up his druken, rock-and-roll, party boy rep and keeps a girl on each arm," says Dish1. "He's constantly joking with the female fans, telling them "no, I will not sleep with you" as they approach."

Now we arrive at the less favorable, less fan-friendly celebrity section. Before I divulge, I will say the stars are human after all, we build them up, and they get tired of people. But that's the price of fame right? I mean you had the original motivation to seek attention, now you must deal.

The winners of this cateogry are Michael Jordan and Charles Oakley, the latter a lesser known NBA sidekick of Jordan.

"They're plain and simple jerks to individuals," says Dish1. "They cuss people out, even grandmas looking for autographs for their grandchildren."

I guess when the corporate cameras aren't rolling on Jordan, he releases the bile.

**THIS JUST IN**!!

Finally, dirt for this year. My source called me and told me of her dealings with Ludacris, over the past couple of days. Dish1 doles, "The guy is clearly enjoying his celebrity and time here so far."

Maybe that's what winning an Oscar will do for you. Congrats to the Crash star.

Let's see if Jordan changes his attitude this year.

O.K. that lasted much longer than it was supposed to. Now on to the real stuff.

Over and Under

2006-05-03T10:32:00.000-04:00

file under Television drama

Since there haven't been any good new movie releases to talk about - remember I don't go to the theatres and have to wait for home rentals - I decided I would finally catch up on the final season of HBO's Six Feet Under. As we don't carry an HBO subscription anymore this is the best I can do.

Now I know, most of you will say "Hey, I'm all Sopranos," with a fist of solidarity in the air and that's fine, but a man has to choose and I don't really watch TV dramas. I doubt I could name you more than 2 or 3, so there we have it.

After being reaquainted with last season which was really 2 years ago, I'm back in the fold. It's morphine. I saw the first two episodes this weekend and will nurse myself through the rest of the season. DON'T TELL ME HOW IT ENDS!! I have an idea about that anyway.

This is one of the most original series written. It's bleak and tragic and magically 'out there'. To be a one-room, non-action drama, the pacing is good with quickly changing storylines.

Sometimes the character's narcisim is draining, but something happens to take your focus off a single character. They're all goofy and self-serious, which beautifully sets the tone for their troubles. And messed-up. Man, have you ever seen so many people so messed up?

After watching the second episode where George comes home and Ruth is reluctant, I want to slap her. He seemed to be doing fine til she started messing with his head. Now she will get the crazy she's asking for, which is probably what she needs.

On another drama front, the Derby posts will be drawn at 5 eastern today on ESPN. Then it's on and I will give you the simplest handicapping possible for you to choose your winner.

Friday, I will dish my most personal, terrible Derby day all time and sincerely hope the statute of limitations has passed.

6 Weird Things About Me

2006-05-02T14:46:00.000-04:00

I'm a tag-ee from Barista Brat, and a little slow in getting around to it.

Here goes:

1) I'm a psuedo-exhibitionist when it comes to sex and don't care if the windows, shades or curtains are wide-open. Anything and everything else, I want to do in private. My wife is complete opposite on all of this.

2) I never bought any of my high-school yearbooks and never attended a class reunion. Still I keep in close contact with many childhood and high school friends. I figure, I want to see who I want to see.

3) Before my second or third date with my wife-to-be, I attempted to wax-off part of my abdominal, hair-trail pattern, thinking she was into the hairless chest look.
a) it was one of the most painful experiences in my life.
b) to my relief she's not into gay men or young boys.

4) I always wanted to be a bull-rider or a jockey. Although now I realize there are serious health consequences for being a jockey and trying to keep your weight that low.

5) Growing up, my parents imposed a rule on my younger sister and I, that if it was warm and sunny, we had to stay outside for the better part of the day. We built forts and houses out of anything we could in the woods.

This probably contributed to my love for hiking as I've made countless trips to Red River Gorge and Mammoth Cave National Park. I hope Shredder inherits this passion.

However, to this day, I take great pleasure and glee in staying indoors on rainy days and doing absolutely nothing. It takes the pressure off and I feel like I'm getting away with something.

6) One of my favorite hobbies is obsessively browsing the candy, cookie and ice cream isles of the grocery to see all the goodies I deprive (ha!) myself. While I do place limits on sweets (we have a soft drink ban in our house), I frequently eat ice cream because of the calcium.

The sweet combos and new products in this category are absolutely mind-boggling and seemingly infinite.

Derby Week and The Final Month

2006-05-02T08:42:00.000-04:00

file under sports/pregnancy

Lots of Louisville's citizens will tell you that Derby Week is as exciting as the week between Christmas and New Year's.

Work is lax. (I played hookie yesterday, shhhhh!) There's parties, office parties and derby parties. If you spend all day Friday at work, you're void of any semblance of a life.

Friday is the Kentucky Oaks (for the girls or fillies), mainly attended by locals, who then get out of town or hide out for Saturday's Derby. And this year's races will be sloppy and wet as storms are in the forecast.

Still, everyone I know has a Derby Saturday tradition and it involves either getting drunk or planting flowers, sometimes combining the two.

My wife and I are in our final month of pregnancy, with the C-section scheduled for June 1.

It's crunchtime now, and we're in the playoffs, and like the Miami Heat, old and struggling this last month. There's much to do and the window of opportunity is closing.

My wife's hip hurts so bad, she likens herself to the 61-year-old coach Pat Riley, in need of a hip replacement. She moves as slow and cumbersome as the Diesel these days.

At times, we feebly shoot from the mouth (but we never fight, awwwhhh) like Toine Walker, Gary Payton and Jason Williams and my defense is as porous as that trio.

If we're the Heat, then my 15-month old Shredder, is the Chicago Bulls, full of energy and pushing us to elimination. It's tough for aging veterans to keep up with him.

How does all this end? Will youth be served? Will we regain our composure?

Too many questions, it's getting hectic.

Dah-Dah-Dah

2006-04-28T09:39:00.000-04:00

It's an experiment only possible from Kang and Kodos.

The balloon glow has been a Derby Festival attraction for years. But this year there's officially the Great Balloon Rush-Hour Race, and they're doing it right over I-65. And you guessed right, more fender-benders this morning. That's just bass-ackwards.

How about that teen writer who was advanced a half-mil and then got busted for plagarizing? That's what happens when you put too much pressure on an overachiever and take her to the marketing department who's looking for a canned product.

Oh Lord help me with this riotous upcoming weekend.

It's my nephew's first communion or my nephew-in-law as I call him. Is there such a thing? He's only a nephew by marriage, if that.

Anyway, I'm getting geared-up for Saturday night mass. My dear-heart wife has left this one optional, but I feel compelled. I'm think I'm going to borrow a big doobie from one of the boys and there better be alcohol at the post-mass gig. Just sayin'.

I've decided to go around to various family members and start some 'polite' talk, like "Lovely bar mitzvah this evening, huh?"

In the words of my 15-month old, "Dah-Dah-Dah--DUH!"

Have a great weekend!

Fast Forward Girls

2006-04-27T08:51:00.000-04:00

file under "I wanna go back, go back and do it all over, but I can't go back, gotta know"/Eddie Money

In my sophomore year of high school, I was asked by one of my coaches to try and run track.

Since basketball just ended, there was little break between the seasons, but I agreed hesitantly as one interested in compliance more times than not.

Physically, it's a bit more grueling than anything I'd ever done. There's not many breaks in running.

The smells come back every spring, as the track sat near a landscaping company with fresh mulch (crap) in the air. When the work-outs were tough, I'd nearly puke with that robust scent in the background.

Track is an interesting mix of a collection of individuals pretty much doing their own thing. There's football players throwing heavy things, basketball players jumping things and cross-country runners doing what they did last fall.

And unlike any other school sport, there's constant, close proximity to girls. Many of whom I barely knew.

There were young, pretty, talented athletic black girls I got to know who became my cheerleaders during races and I became their biggest fan.

Early into the season, we tried on track shoes and they made constant jokes about my long, skinny foot length and its correlation with, you know, other things.

As a clueless, naive country boy (o.k. you're right, I still am, just moved to the city), I didn't know much of anything, even if it stared me in the face. If a girl liked me, I didn't know about it until after they had given up and moved on to someone else.

One day I boarded the bus early before an away trip, and there were only a few people on board. Some were catching Z's in the only way you can half-sleep on a school bus by putting your forehead against the leather-covered bar of the seat in front of you.

I was standing and waiting for someone to get out of the walkway when one of the sexy, young black girls sat up from a seat to my left, and we're all wearing those short, skimpy, sleek track uniforms you know...

She placed her hand right above my knee. I froze and didn't make eye contact, as if I were out in the woods with a wild animal, like I learned in cub scouts or something.

Immobile and trapped on that bus, still smelling the mulch in the air, she proceeded to move her hand up my thigh and underneath my shorts, just resting her finger-tips on the bottom quarter of my underwear and crotch.

"Where are you going good-looking?" said the sexiest voice I will ever hear in this lifetime.

And somehow I managed to free my concrete self and run the fastest I've ever ran off that bus.

Then I remained a virgin the rest of my high school existence.

What Is Sport?

2006-04-26T10:49:00.000-04:00

I'm just talking generally here. Not getting into Webster definitions or overly pedantic debate, just plain pop banter.

A friend of mine once easily described sport as anything involving a ball, but lamented and accepted the fact that soccer qualified. Track and field did not according to his defintion.

Personally, I think track athletes are some of the best in the world, as I believe a great sport requires great athletes who posses above average, total muscle-controlled physical skills, stamina and mental acuity. The results being based on energy the athlete creates by their own body.

To me, this disqualifies NASCAR. While these men are phenomenal stunt drivers, I doubt many of them have enough athletic skill and ability to seriously compete in any sport on a Division-I collegiate level. If so, their marketing gurus would have let us know by now.

I had to laugh the other day when I saw one of NASCAR's own, a Kurt Busch (if I correctly ID) who threw out the first pitch for the Arizona Diamondbacks. And you know he practiced for days, but with his camera ready wind-up, he tossed the ball well out of the catcher's reach.

You can prove me wrong. You may be able to point out NASCAR's so-and-so who was a collegiate bowling champion or skeet shooting champ. I'm just asking for it. O.K. Let me be more demanding - find a swimmer or tennis player.

ESPN has picked-up on quite a few professional recreations that are dubious at best. Competitive eating? Paintball? Both require stamina and a degree of skill.

I know, ESPN is in the entertainment business, and the lines tend to be blurred with sport. Sport is entertainment.

X-Sports are growing.

Maybe there should now be two divisions of sport for categorization. Everything's more definitive these days, why not break down the definition of sport itself?

Maybe it should be 1) physical sport - those that demand greater, consistent, total-body-effort/result dependent from energy created and sustained from athlete's individual fine motor skills, i.e. basketball, baseball, football, track/field, competitive eating, golf.

and 2) technological/engineering dependent sport - i.e. NASCAR, motor-cross racing, snowboarding, etc. You see this one already requests further sub-categorization. Snowboarding does require total body control for results, but depends on the engineering of the board and energy from the pipe/course.

O.K. You're right, competitive eating should go in the novelty category and spelling bees are classfied under nerd competition.

I think nerds are great and I used to enjoy a few rounds of disc golf.

Sympathy

2006-04-25T10:23:00.000-04:00

file under - the wrong thing to say

Last night my wife, tossing and turning late into the night, complained about her back hurting and how she wanted to have the baby early.

As always, I offer super encouragement.

"But honey, your mom had 12! Surely you can pop out a second one and be done."

Bumps and Crap

2006-04-24T10:33:00.000-04:00

file under horse stories

Years ago, when I was like 20 or 23 or something like that, I worked for a subsidiary of the Jockey Club, which is the registry for thoroughbred horses (doesn't have anything to do with underwear).

I had a supervisor there who basically did some part-time or fill in horse training when the time called for it. Knowing my somewhat experience with horses, he asked me to come and fill-in as a hot walker while he was filling in for a trainer who was going to be away for a couple of days.

My quick horse-ography reads like this: My father raises horses so I was around them a lot growing up. The horses and I had on-again-off-again relationships throughout the years. It started at age 4 when a pony rolled with me and ended about age 16 when I was bucked-off a big mare. Since then, I mostly decided to stay off.

Add the tumultuous dimension of horse allergies and I don't know why I ever bothered.

Once upon a time, I took a trip to an allergist, where they gleefully pin-pricked me with different allergens up and down my arm. I was stung with everything from sagebrush to dandelion junk to horse dander. While they leave you to sit in the room with your palms and wrists up, you get to watch all the red bumps swell without scratching. Later they tell me I'm most allergic to horse dander.

That's one reason I hate and avoid the doctor, all those expensive tests and wasted time to tell you what you already know.

So, anyways, back to the original story, I'm now a hotwalker at Keeneland race track.

And you have to get up insanely early for this, like 5:00 in the morning. It's so gorgeous that early in the morning with the sun rising and the fog - so beautiful you can't enjoy it because you're in shock from lack of sleep and the allergens are coming in.

The horses are galloped early and then walked (by said hotwalker) around the barn until they cool down.

While horse and exercise rider have hit the track, I must scoop poop and ready water. But I'm so damn slow, he's run a marathon and I don't have anything ready.

I can walk though, so now I've got expensive, ton-plus, thoroughbred in hand and start circling the barn area with other post-exercised horses and handlers.

And I'm the only tall, white one amidst the Hispanic riders that have come up from Fair Grounds (most horseman work a circuit, going from one track to the next as it closes).

I didn't understand their Spanish or why they say "Ho back!" I thought they were calling me names. Actually it means you're stopping, and to alert other hotwalkers behind you so they don't end up stuffing their heads up your horse's ass. At one point, I side-swiped the horse on a post.

They were all laughing at me (and cracking jokes in Spanish no doubt), and the trainer came up to witness my rookie attempts. I was promptly alleviated from the job the next day.

Hey that's just fine. I never asked for this crap anyway!

The Completion of Sex and Violence

2006-04-22T11:36:00.000-04:00

file under movies

Boys being boys in Amsterdam, it was not enough for this trio of adolescent elders who took their frattish dialogue on to Slovenia. There, they got more than they asked for in Hostel, a perfectly, lusciously textured gore-fest of sex and violence. It is the strongest blend of Sado-Masochism I've seen to date.

I almost didn't make it to the plot as the horn-dog banter made me think about chucking my $4 rental fee and calling it a night.

A few years ago, someone (one of the faceless "they" no doubt) did a study linking the relationship of sex and violence in the brain. They found it triggers the same areas and stimuli.

S/M clubs will make this their cult flick. It's just another addition to the overwrought, dime-a-dozen horror genre, in which only .5% are decent films.

Hostel is a Quentin Tarrantino produced/backed film. He also presented Chungking Express, which is the lonliest, feel-good movie I can remember. Rent it instead.

I've seen all the best picture academy award nominees: Brokeback Mountain, Capote, Crash and Goodnight and Good Luck (haven't seen Munich). I should be talking about these instead, but they're not as fresh right now. Brokeback is the best, despite it's criticisms.

My personal litmus test for a good movie, is one that still haunts me the next morning. It's still vivid and I can't remember if I had a dream about it or not. I'm still thinking about the next day.

Crash is a good movie. It plays on a standard writing trick today which is, lead the audience up to the expected, then throw in a twist. I didn't think any more about it than what I had for breakfast the day before.

A popular criticism of Brokeback is: well, if they were a boy/girl couple it would be a standard love movie. Right, but it's not a boy/girl couple, it's a boy/boy couple going headlong into the toughest American stereotype of the American West/John Wayne territory while tough Texan George Bush is our president and gays are fighting for civil rights.

You could also say something like: well if everyone were white in Crash, then it would be just another ensemble movie about people hanging out in L.A. Well, guess what? They're not! Changes the complexity of things huh?

Back to Hostel, one disturbing note: The proliferation of these clubs is a truly terrifying thought.

Current Addiction

2006-04-21T15:51:00.000-04:00

file under food/addictions

I must not be getting enough salt in my diet because for the past month I've been addicted to Salt and Vinegar potato chips.

It's one (or 5) of my bad indulgences and I can't seem to escape its grasp. The Pringles variety makes it worse, turning me into a machine. I could crush the chips and snort them through a staw.

I've also tried the more natural less preservative, Kettle Chips brand. Not bad. You can tell the chip actually came from a potato.

After I come down, I have a terribly raspy tongue. It's like someone took commerical grade sandpaper to it, but I can't stop this madness!

The New Kid

2006-04-21T14:10:00.000-04:00

file under sports/college basketball

Rajon Rondo's early departure into the NBA draft leaves an enticing off-season of speculation as to who will run the point for UK next season.

California's top-ranked point guard, Derrick Jasper has chosen the Kentucky and Tubby Smith path to college stardom and NBA aspirations. With his arrival, many believe the freshman who slightly resembles New Jersey Nets star Jason Kidd will immediately take over at point.

While at 6'5" he will have the advantage over SEC guards and any other opponent the Wildcats come in contact with, he will lack a Jason Kidd game. However, he's one of the most anticipated "Tubby" type players in some time.

Jasper, a lover of defense and wearer of the strawberry floorburn as a badge of honor is also a terrific rebounder. In any game he's as likely to tally as many assists and rebounds as points.

He will compete for the position with the flashy Brooklyn native and returning junior, Ramel Bradley, who has come off the bench for the Cats the past two seasons. Bradley is a pure playmaker who can play the point as well as Rondo and is just as effective in the 2-spot.

Early this season, look for Jasper and Bradley to platoon, with Meeks seeing time at shooting guard and Joe Crawford locked in at small forward. The line-up needs to be consistent to avoid the on-going experimentation that occurred last season.

First Saturday In May

2006-04-20T09:12:00.000-04:00

file under sports/personal

It's almost two weeks until the 132nd running of The Kentucky Derby. I can probably name 3 horses in what's supposed to be a large, competitive field this year. So I won't give you any expertise. I do know that Sinister Minister posted a Beyer speed index of 116, which is off the charts and that the favorite wins only about 20% of the time. So yes, you do about as well picking your favorite name.

Horse racing, in decline like boxing, was one of the most popular sports about 70 years ago. The sport of kings has trouble connecting with the public and is fairly esoteric nationally. While the Derby is huge in Kentucky and some of my friends are pumping iron and tanning to look good for the infield, I doubt many people take notice nationwide.

In the next few days I'll concentrate on what I do know from my own experiences working on thoroughbred farms and going to the track. It's unlike most local writer's experiences I'm sure. I don't know how many of them have shoveled manure or almost been trampled.

Anyway, the festivities have started here in Louisville. Last Saturday, we attended the Kentucky Derby Festival Basketball Classic, which showcased the nation's top recruits. And while many local UL and UK incoming freshman made waves, I was probably most impressed by Stanford's Lopez brothers - 14-feet and poised to take the Cardinal...somewhere, we'll see.

Thinking and The Trouble With It

2006-04-19T13:41:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking about tinkering with the format of this blog and have been for some time. I don't know if it's spring or what, but I know of some blogs that are either on hiatus or discontinued just recently.

Among them, some regular reads like Used Hack who is blogrolled along with the Feenix Fun Girl who needs a mental break. Overworked and Underf*cked is also on the hiatus roll as well as some others I check on occasion.

I know blogs are like leaves on trees, some drop and some stay but I can't remember seeing so many I'm familiar with take temp or permaneant leave. Good luck to them all in their personal endeavors!

Meanwhile, back to my format discussion. Since I talk about my wife and kid a lot and there's one of you who thinks I don't like my wife which is not true - I just enjoy aggravating the hell out of her and she knows it - I'm considering blogging more about movies, music and sports. Or at least movies and sports, since I don't get into new music or go to concerts like I used to.

Politics would be great, but I tend to get fired-up too easily and don't have near enough time to expound on the intricacies necessary to provide a well-balanced report.

There's enough sports wars here in the state alone to keep a soap opera digest and while I don't go to movies, I rent enough to comment and give a fair opinion worthy of any critics.

Anyways, thinking out loud - if you think of anything worth blogging about regularly (as in consistently, not just once a week), let me know. Dingleberries, butt lint and other related topics are under-represented.

Situational Virgin

2006-04-19T08:32:00.000-04:00

Your average girl, if she's interested in you long-term, will wait to sleep with you.

Now I realize this isn't always the case, but just generally, the more interested a girl is, the more they have to prove and don't want to come off looking like a slut.

If a girl doesn't give a damn, is slightly disturbed by your cross-eyes and thinks your teeth are off a bit she'll jump you as soon as there's a clearing.

Guys? It doesn't matter either way. Long-term, short-term, we'll just wait for a clearing.

But First, Death

2006-04-18T11:39:00.000-04:00

We got our taxes done about a month ago, but my wife pays quarterly taxes so she had to make an adjustment, therefore the additional work lead her to turn them in yesterday, right on deadline.

And of course there's a line if you were just getting them postmarked yesterday. The police were at the post office directing traffic and asking people exactly about their business there. If you didn't need to get in line, they asked you to leave.

So my wife, being the 8-month-old pregnant slob she is, attaches Shredder to the hip and promptly gets in line. Then it's her turn at the counter and she is without wallet, presidential orders or anything that would allow a postal worker to appropriately mark and send her package.

I would not have wanted that feeling. Of course, the counter lady gave her the first dirty look in the dirty-look-gauntlet, but actually held up the line so Bam could drag her fat belly and Shredder out to the car and look for said missing wallet.

She never found the wallet but discovered an old dirty credit card peeking from under the floor mat that just happened to be valid. Then proceeded onward to the walk of shame waiting as the disgruntled proletariat.

No doubt, there was enough anti-momentum in the crowd that decided to let her pass and spare her from a lynch mob.

Rites of Spring

2006-04-17T10:30:00.000-04:00

Are there any particular rites of spring you enjoy?

No. I don't regularly spring clean, or clean that regularly at all for that matter. I used to plant seeds and hope something grew. By the time they do, I can't tell if I've got an onion or a weed. I'm sure I've cleared a young sproutling, thinking it was a weed, when it could have turned into a beautiful trellis.

Sure, I'll mow the yard and hack on some weeds. We have a terrible yard. Worst in the neighborhood. My older next-door neighbor is always giving me advice. He's a certified yard-master. I'm not that worried about it myself.

One spring, he placed some chemical dust in my garage. He later informed me he wasn't being rude, he just wanted to help out, saying it would kill weeds. I wasn't offended in the least bit. I took the stuff, even though I hate large amounts of chemicals (not to mention having contact with them) and spread it around the yard. It killed my grass and allowed the weeds to thrive. Hey, I even read the directions. I'm not afraid to, I can own up to it.

The most annoying spring rite by far is all the severe weather warnings. Nothing gets ratings like severe weather. We're supposed to have thunderstorms, it's spring. But not everything is virtual doom. My wife stays glued to the TV as they pull out all their super-storm-tracking radars and I go scrambling for bottled water because she's a paranoid.

Granted, stay indoors and watch for funnel clouds. High winds will do damage. But call this my point-of-rant: Not every dark cloud is the next coming of the Texas Tornado of 1911, or whenever it was.

Do you have anything you consider a spring rite? nose-picking? do you go on a bird-sighting expedition? Launder you underwear?

Please share your nastiest spring secret with me. I won't tell. Promise.

But! This Is Good!!

2006-04-14T11:44:00.000-04:00

I try not to reference too many news/sports posts...sometimes a really good one comes along that deserves it.

It's short and sweet! And from Deadspin.

James 4:6

How I Met My Wife - (The Whole Scene)

2006-04-14T10:00:00.000-04:00

I'll keep this as short as possible for ya: (too late)

I slinked back to Krazy, to our chaotic home. We would finally, exhaustedly disintegrate.

In the meantime...remember? Bam, the Rival and myself all had a crazy.

When you have a crazy in your life, you're bound to look for side oportunities.

The Rival and Bam took advantage of this for two weeks. I lost out. Evidently they used each other up when Bam grew weary of Rival's crazy. He wanted to continue calling on her, Booty Style. She said no. Tough girl.

I was now a free man. I played basketball with the guys, let my face get stubbly, borrowed a clean T-shirt, ate at a good restaurant and in my unshowered glory, picked-up a 2 a.m. butterface at a dive bar lovingly called Crack Whore Inn.

Butterface didn't go away. She hung out for two weeks.

One night Rufus and I hit the town. Yep, just me and my gay buddy, hanging out in tight T-shirts.

I asked him about Bam. Hmmm.

I called, gave her the coordinates, she came out to meet us.

We (Bam and I) bought each other a couple of shots, then Butterface called. I couldn't resist. What's that saying? A bird in the hand is worth two standing by you at the bar.

I left Bam at the bar. Rufus told her all about my little situation. She was miffed.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, many a friend has told me that that unintended stunt is probably the quickest way to get a girl's attention. Please tell me it's not true. I'm afraid however, it might have worked, unwittingly and unwillingly.

A week or two later I called her up on a date. Part of the successful evening entailed going to the city's gay bar with Rufus and his boyfriend. Then a week later we went with them to San Francisco, the gay motherland where we would finally consummate things.

This has to have been the gayest beginning ever to a heterosexual relationship.

A couple of years later, we were married in Big Sur.

How I Met The Wife - (Her Scene)

2006-04-13T11:48:00.000-04:00

She ended up meeting Rufus, his boyfriend and I at some trendy restaurant/club hybrid in an older part of town. If I had known it was like that, I wouldn't have gone as I'm more of a dive bar man.

We hit it off. She had been on a date, having drinks with a man whose ex called repeatedly. So she came out to meet Rufus who told her she should meet me.

The night was fairly uneventful. The conversation and chemistry was good but I was still attached to Krazy and made no concerted effort to take it any farther. She left the restaurant a bit typsy and I felt as if I was letting something get away.

Now, we have a long running debate about Rufus's part and planning in our eventual union. Sometimes he was helpful, as mentioned above, and other times he seemed to divide us. Nothing illustrates this more than the following scenario:

A few weeks passed and he invited me to Bam's upcoming brunch. Still with Krazy, I declined, but got the opportunity to go the morning of that brunch.

As he was strangely adamant about me attending, he left a very detailed voicemail about when he would be picking me up and where we were going - Krazy would later intercept this voicemail and so it produced....well, more craziness.

I attended the brunch. But so would another suitor. The new suitor turned out to be Rufus's best friend's brother. That's right, Rufus's fag hag brought along little brother whom they had wanted to introduce to Bam.

Now here's the scene - Bam was dating a crazy, little brother was dating a crazy and I was dating Krazy. Rufus and Fag Hag hatched schemes to try and at least get someone seperated from their crazy.

The problem was there were three of us in attendance in need of crazy removal, two of us guys and the other one Bam.

Bam was in good shape, she had to chose from me or him. I had a rival.

I also wanted to leave the brunch so I could get back home, before Krazy arrived. I did.

Bam settled on my rival.

How I Met The Wife - (My Scene)

2006-04-12T09:08:00.000-04:00

In August of 1990, my parents helped move me into a dorm lovingly called the Vault, at the University of Kentucky. A non-descript tower of concrete, it was 22 stories and there was only one-way in and out. Many a bottle of alcohol was confiscated by the close gauntlet of residential advisors trained to dampen a party.

Being one of the first arrivals, a black man emerged from the room across the hall. He was a virtual omega man as he had moved in a week early for band camp and was glad to see other life arriving. Cheerily greeting my parents, he introduced himself as Rufus to everyone and I was glad to have a friend on the floor.

My roommate, arriving later was from my hometown. We grew up playing sports together and double-dated for two high school proms as our girlfriends were best friends.

This was one of my biggest college mistakes as I missed out on the opportunity of having a roommate from Maine (or Ontario) and fresh perspectives, instead of the tired frat-boy I'd known since 7. We simply weren't that good of friends. But enough of that, carry on.

For the whole year, Rufus would come knock on the door and spend much time jawing and doing nothing and I often wondered why he'd never leave. A good guy, with a funny-shaped head, he seemed a bit peculiar but harmless and some pretty good company. After our freshman year I would run into him inadvertantly on campus.

Flash forward to over 10 years later, I had moved 2 or 3 times and was making myself comfortable in Louisville. One afternoon while working out at the downtown Y, I ran into Rufus. After the usual good to see you's again, we exchanged phone numbers and plans to hang out. Later on I outed him and he told me about his boyfriend.

But right now, this has nothing to do with my wife. It's all about the set-up man.

Months passed and I was shacked-up with the Hot-Psycho-Mommy-With-Fake-Titties and her four-year old daughter, whom I credit with readying me for fatherhood. It would be the only positive I garnered from the relationship.

You see, I'm firmly convinced that before you decide to settle down, you go through the craziest, unhealthiest relationship possible. And while it's a whole other story, I will mention a couple of items as it may relate to my friend Rufus.

Rufus and I cut up like one of those friends you have where you don't give a damn. You don't care if you impress them or not, it's free and easy and you can be yourself. Now psycho-girlfriend who was aptly nicknamed Krazy, was very threatened by that - and even though I wasn't gay nor had ever experimented with being gay, I got the same accusations from her which resulted in threats from her ex-husband.

Now dude, that's a bummer. When you're not gay, but you receive those threats just the same.

I really believe this relationship, in which I was literally hit a few times, caused major change and motivation in me.

One weekend, during one of Krazy's disappearances and in which the child was left with a friend or relative, (I was often left to care for the child during some of these episodes) I managed to get out on the town with Rufus and his boyfriend, and that became the first meeting with a very beautiful, dark-haired and doe-eyed Bam.

O.k. so tomorrow I'll set her scene and merge them somehow and it will be much shorter, as they (the faceless ones) promise.

Meatballs

2006-04-11T10:49:00.000-04:00

Until the time I started dating the tart that would become my wife, I had experienced 1 or 2 meatballs. It's not that I didn't like them, they were just out of sight, out of mind.

Here are some things that ranked ahead of meatballs in terms of consumption and frequency for nearly 30 years:

1) insects (all varities)
2) sea eel
3) hardcore malt liquors, of the Mad Dog and Thunderbird varities.
4) mutton
5) glue
6) Menthols
7) snail
8) Funyuns
9) chicken and fish bones
10) Warren County Twist
11) blood and stomach acid
12) rust
13) Midol

All that changed when my wife dragged me to her family functions. It is heretical to not have meatballs at these gatherings. The meatball committee stews up at least 4 large crockpots and often some of the uneaten ones will follow me home.

There, they tend to visit me again and again, without invitation.

A Nun's Hit and Run

2006-04-10T09:15:00.000-04:00

Yesterday found us in the sticks celebrating my mother-in-laws 80th birthday. At least I think it's number 80, close enough anyway.

The whole family, extended family, siblings from Pennsylvania flown in, cousins and the works made it to a small church fellowship hall that used to be a one-room schoolhouse. There were plenty of meatballs (to eat) and all 12 grown-up children even did a little Hee Haw skit. (Hee Haw!)

It was a nicely sunny, slightly cool spring day. The kind of day where I get my first-of-spring slight sunburn on my glowing, pale face and forehead.

The wife got in lots of visiting, I chased Shredder around the lot and found lots of dirt for him to eat. At one point, he was teething on the concrete steps. Perhaps he has an iron deficiency. (Do you think as you get older, some of the simplest words get harder to spell?) (Maybe it has something to do with my weekends).

So after hanging outside in the gorgeous spring day, tanning my forehead, a couple of my sister-in-laws boys ran up excitingly.

"We just saw a nun, hit and run!"

Of course the parking lot was packed, which transforms it into an obstacle course for an eighty-something year old nun who has virtual purple* issues and is reluctant to drive at night. Although this was day. Still.

Yes, she tagged someone's car and drove off. Did she realize it? Only God knows.

*I've got a vague issue what this is. At a recent family gathering, she told me she had trouble driving at night due to her diminished virtual purple. Evidently, it has something to do with picking up on shadows, depth perception, etc. in the dark. Or maybe it has nothing to do with the afforementioned.

Answering An Emailer's Question, Personal Blogging Ethics and Talking About Some of My Favorite Artists

2006-04-07T08:32:00.000-04:00

I don't often give out my email address, but in some rare, grateful correspondences, I've exchanged with a few people and it serves as a more personal, welcome respite of cyber conversation from the blogging world.

This emailer recently inquired about a nugget from an old post, Hot Time In Ole Town, in which I described a fateful night of agonizing revelry. One of the main character's real names is not used, of course, even though he deserves mention due to the integrity of his songwriting abilities. I probably will use it sometime, just because he so strongly merits that recognition.

This is where I wrestle with my personal blogging ethics. How much to tell and what to leave out, especially when those that are close to you are involved. It's one thing to spill something on yourself or goofy strangers, but it's a diffferent ball of wax when it relates to friends and family.

But that had nothing to do with the emailer's query. He asked me to explain a statement I made about grand ole Willie Nelson picking-up the afforementioned local artist's song when he made a recent trip to Louisville. So as I'm a big fan of all entities involved here, I decided to give credit and mad props in this post as well as answer a question.

Firstly, Willie's Kentucky trips are due to his corporate partnership with Texas Roadhouse, which is headquarted here in Louisville. Yes, I know, Texas Roadhouse is headquarted in Kentucky. No, I don't know if there is a Kentucky Roadhouse in existence or if it is headquartered in Lubbock or Ft. Worth.

As I don't often give props to anything a corporation is doing, I make an exception here because I've had close past professional dealings with Roadhouse brass. They practice exemplary business standards at the corporate level and it shows down to the restaurant level, where by 5:00 this afternoon, the restaurant that sits not even a quarter mile from headquarters, will have a waiting list and standing room only.

I've also met a congenial and authentic Willie Nelson, whom is the real deal. He's a true music lover and in-tune to a local music scene that boasts among others, Bluegrass legends and trendy-modern fave, My Morning Jacket.

From time to time, Willie may hear a local artist's song (anywhere) and ask permission to learn or play it himself. This could be at a show or in a roomful of friends. As he mostly records his own material, it's rare that he releases someone elses. Still, it's needless to say that it's a compliment, if Willie takes an interest in your song, as in the case of Ted.

While we're still on the subject of great artists, I'd like to give even more due props to the legend that is Steve Earle. He's one of our great American Singer-Songwriters and one of the few artists left with a backbone. He stood out against the war well before it became popular or a little more poltically viable to do so. If you get a chance, please take some time to hear some of his music.

You Know You're A Quality Republican If....

2006-04-06T10:04:00.000-04:00

1) Like a Genius, you slap some form of a W sticker on your vehicle.
2) Your church has a better gym than their church.
3) Your church parking lot sports more BMW's than their church's parking lot.
4) You've solicited minors for on-line sex.
5) You've gotten someone pregnant and financed their abortion.
6) You often preface much of your conversations with "Rush says...."
7) You fly to New Orleans for photo ops.
8) You have fond, sentimental memories of the first Gulf War.
9) You believe the ten commandmants should be posted in every office because you can only remember a couple of them.
10) Tom DeLay and Enron executives are inspirational figures.
11) You think prostitution should be illegal everywhere except the backseat of your car.
12) The Duke Lacrosse team is a fine, overpersecuted example of our outstanding, American collegiate youth.

More to come.... please feel free to add some of your own.

What's That You Say?

2006-04-05T14:35:00.000-04:00

My wife called me at work today, concern, tears in her voice. She had taken Shredder to the doctor for a hearing test. He came up with severe hearing loss in his left ear.

You know the old saying, you learn something every day? True (sometimes).

Normal hearing comes in at the 25 decibel range (according to these measurable tests). His left ear registered at 60 decibels which places him in the severe category. The categories range - mild, moderate, severe, profound. 90 decibals is deafness. 60 is way to close for me, and closer to 90 than 25.

For my wife, the speech pathologist, it's her worst nightmare. She sees the damage from delayed speech and cognition too often, now it's coming home.

I say, "at least he's got one good ear!"

Amsterdam Part II

2006-04-04T15:12:00.000-04:00

As I mentioned a few days ago, the second trip was vastly different from the first. The big variable being I had a new travel partner, a guy from my hometown. This changes everything. You go from traveling with a girl whom you're still in the honeymoon phase of a relationship to a dude who becomes your antagonist.

I believe your mind is good at taking such painstaking mental snapshots that you really can remember a place as you left it. That's how I felt coming back there. I remembered many streets, shops and schedules that made me a tour guide to my apprehensive pal.

Make no mistake this time. My buddy was a guru. I think the first thing we did was step into a coffee shop, he was looking for the holy grail of all greeness. As I mentioned earlier, I hardly partook (word?) in the first excursion for various reasons. Now, with JJ bouncing through the city like a toddler, I spent quite a bit of it in a haze. I can't say it was necessarily better, just different and hey, it was vacation time right?

We spent much of the trip on bikes, which is I'll have to say, the best way to tour the city. Next best is by train and foot, but the bike allows more control of your time and space. I couldn't get over the idea of bikes having the right of way over cars and the little bike stoplights and special lanes. I was a clumsy American weaving in and out of bike traffic. Often, I was cursed in Dutch (or so I thought) by pedaling commuters who would ring their bike bells when I offended.

It's a nice scene. More bikes, less traffic. It takes about 50 bike bells to equal one blaring horn and so rush hour seemed like a Sunday afternoon stroll. This is probably my most happy memory there. Just floating into the bike path of those people contently commuting home after the work day, sometimes with a bag of groceries latched on their bikes. Contentment in simplicity.

Then the sun goes down. And there's much to find in a city like this. But, perhaps yet again, we'll save it for another time.

Regional Dialect

2006-04-03T14:05:00.000-04:00

Words, phrases and general sayings I grew up hearing people say:

dreckly - "She'll be here dreckly." I've talked about this one before. It really means directly or soon, but took me 20 years to decipher.

gouge on it - The most common phrase used by farmers talking about reluctant old trucks with old clutches. To gouge on it is to get it going or going faster, usually up to speeds of 25 mph.

old heifer - By true definition, it's a maiden cow. It's really used as a substitute for bitch.

share - A form of getting wet and possibly applying soap. "Well after dinner, I'm gonna get me a share, then go to bed.

bow - 1) a hemispherical vessel, wider than it is deep for fluids or food. 2) a cylinder-shaped apparition at the end of a pipe. "When we get back to the house, we're gonna pack up another bow."

ol' boy (ol' girl) - what the??!!??

geared-up - Ready for a night on the town, or possibly riding in an old truck in need of shifting up. "I'm gonna get geared-up and drive to Bowling Green for some wool."

wool - The female persuasion.

I'm Tingly Right Now

2006-04-01T15:07:00.000-05:00

Read John Clay's warm and fuzzy column, righ now!!

Amsterdam Part I

2006-03-31T10:12:00.000-05:00

A couple of things have made me think of Amsterdam recently.

1) It's coming up on spring break or has been spring break (for some), and every year that reminds me of my first trip there.
2) Some of those mommy blogs have gone over there recently and blogged from it.

My first trip there was in '96. For spring break my girlfriend (I know who the hell takes a trip with their girlfriend on spring break) and I wanted badly to go to Barcelona. Being poor college students we had to cash in on everything we had and still fell well short of being able to afford a round-trip ticket and one meal a day. Affordability left us two choices - London and Amsterdam.

Now London and Amsterdam are the cheapest tickets anywhere. I've flown to California twice and it's pricier on so-called bargain fares. In the early spring or late winter you can take off from an Eastern city, say even Nashville or Memphis for about $400 and some taxes. If you go during winter I'm sure you can score for about $350 or less round trip.

Upon arrival to Central Station, you are blitzed with cheap hotel or hostel stays all competing for your attention and business. You can also bargain for rooms so there's never any reason for booking before you arrive.

It's also easy getting around and has the reputation for being the most tourist friendly city on earth. We spent a long week just soaking it in, spent way too much time in museums (they are second only to Paris in numbers and prestige) and on trains in the countryside.

I spent very little time in the coffee shop because just a little dab'll do ya. I had heard about the little laminated menus and couldn't believe you could order right off of one. Contrary to popular belief it's not as legal as everyone makes it out to be but it's tolerated. Local authorities allow personal consumption. At that time there was also a big push to scale back on the number of coffee shops as they proliferated most of the city. They weren't trying to eradicate the shops, just prune (ha ha) them back.

It's an amazing old city, often called the Venice of the North with all it's canals. The architecture is of course old and grand and cafe life permeates the streets. There are many neighborhood bars where if you walk in people immediately know you're not from there. The locals patronize their pubs like Americans do their TV's. Not that the Dutch don't watch TV, it's just that they seem to have a more active evening social life that culminates at their local watering hole. Some nights you could walk by and they'd all be singing and swaying as a crowd and you stayed out of those because it's not your family.

If you want to go to Europe for the first time, Amsterdam is the best introduction, it's traveling 101 for Europe.

My second trip I'll have to tell you about later. It was early March 2003, right before the Iraqi invasion and there were massive demonstrations and lots of ethnic groups raising Anti-American protests. We were caught right in the middle and it was both exhilarting and intimidating. That's when you slap a Canadian sticker on your back-pack.

I went with a childhood friend who had been wanting to go for a long time, and we turned it into Boys Town. It was a much different trip that when I went with my naive, lilly-white girlfriend a few years earlier. That trip was like a Disney Adventure compared to the recent one. Trip number two was more like Fear and Loathing set against a volatile political scene. But we'll talk about that another time.

It Puts A Lump In Your Throat

2006-03-30T13:53:00.000-05:00

I was in the bathroom last night trimming my nose hairs and happened to look around and noticed the place was neater than usal. Someone had used a broom and even removed soap scum off the sink.

Two things, 1) It wasn't me and 2) it wasn't my wife.

After mulling over the possibilities that it could be an alien experiment or pranking prowlers (that's right, not so long ago there was the tickler prowler who broke in and tickled unsuspecting slumberers) I finally remembered my wife's sister-in-law spent the day watching the baby at our house. As they were on spring break, she brought over two older kids who occupied the baby while she did some (GASP) cleaning.

As anyone who has visited our home recently can attest, we're not the neatest people on the block. Fact, we're admittedly disgusting. Now I'm eating crow after talking about my in-laws the way I do and then here comes one who has the bravery and audacity to handle my underwear.

That said, I will refrain from commenting on the in-laws for a week, unless it's lavish praise and today is one of those well deserved days.

I'm talking about soap scum removed from the shower for crying out loud!!!!!! How bad do I feel?

Not real bad. Bout damn time someone got around to it.

My Beef With The Pharma/Insurance Industry

2006-03-29T15:09:00.000-05:00

This is one of those "discussions" I have with my sister-in-law the pharmacist, whom makes a living giving people drugs they sometimes need.

What's a discussion? Well, assuming I can spell it right, it's a nice word for an argument-lite you have with in-laws who you have to see, continually and often. So basically I refrain from flipping them off.

Anyways, Monday I will spend all day at a site couseling elders on Medicare Prescrip. Drug Plan. And it can benefit some people, I won't argue that. However, the insurance companies can change the formulary anytime they want. In other words, if there's a drug they feel like they're spending too much money on, they can yank it right out of the plan - anytime.

That's wrong dude.

And back to the Pharma discussion, I also think the Pharma lobbyists have way too much clout to influence the approval of some drugs rushed to market. Then they're pushed to the consumers - the patients who come in asking a doctor for a drug they've seen on TV. And as he's had 50 Pharma reps in his office that day, he says o.k. - that's right for you.

Sowing Seeds

2006-03-28T10:12:00.000-05:00

Somone (a philosphy major) told me that every decision you make is important. That includes whether to eat a cheeseburger or not. And where you get it.

I believe it. Not that every decision should be raised to hysterics, but they all matter.

My wife and I are currently taking the pains to move in about a year. We're going to a farm in Southern Kentucky that's been in my family for generations and live in an old farmhouse. I want the boys to have access to the fresh country air and the horses I've been allergic to all my life. That's right, I want them to experience the same sneezing attacks from horse dander I sufffered in my formative years. And dodging horse apples might give them some agility.

It's time my wife and I get a handle on our future. I will probably be going back to school and the move will enable us to work less and spend more time with the boys. My parents will be around for their early years as well. We'll have a garden, an orchard and no dishwasher, which I told my wife is something I'm going to rectify. Even though the name of this endeavor is 'less is more', we have the uncontrollable habbit of dirtying way too many dishes, too often.

It's not easy to take hard looks at complete change. It's hard to tamper with the comfort of now. But we know if we don't take the steps when the family's relatively young, it may never happen.

The time-frame is to move in about a year and intitally stay for two years. We can invest, save, plant. If we love life down there, we'll stay, otherwise we'll move back to the city and expose the boys to the wonders and imaginations that the city offers.

Either way, it's an adventure.

Decisions, Life Changes, Yada-Yada, Etc.

2006-03-27T10:33:00.000-05:00

There are times you go through life, just floating in the routine.

This is not necessarily a bad thing, it just happens.

Life is cyclical. There has to be rest before motion.

I have many things to talk about, but little time.

In the meantime, enjoy this life-challenging, bare all, 4-part-plus-post from the certifiable princess.

Remember, it could be worst.

Our Home Lab

2006-03-24T09:00:00.000-05:00

No. It's not meth you bunch of drug addicts!

My wife is on her 3rd stomach bug since she's been pregnant. As we're (the editorial sympathetic we) in our last trimester, we should be past all this stuff by now.

This pregnancy has been tough on her. We've recycled the same germ all winter, before we had Shredder, my wife and I never got sick. We wonder what all this sickness is doing to the baby.

We got pregnant too soon again, she's 38 and her body did not get enough time to heal after the first baby.

Now I know there are more tragic stories. Her mom had 12 kids, some of those coming at a later age than my wife's, but it's still hard to see her stay sick, any way you look at it.

I'm looking forward to summer drying up some germs, the eventually C-section and the time we can have both boys healthy and my wife can have her body back.

But then, there's more sleepless nights to come.

Let's See... I Don't Feel Like Typing

2006-03-23T14:53:00.000-05:00

Bam's mother has been kind enough to help out this week as our son Shredder's gotten some stomach bug and is homebound.

It's kind of odd to have grandma around. She just kind of hangs out and plays solitaire.

We started to talk about discipline. I ashed her if she ever spanked her kids, what she used and which one of her 12 children got it the most.

She said "oh yeah," then looked down, her voice kind of trailed off.... "let's see... what's his name....."

International Rules of Manhood

2006-03-22T09:30:00.000-05:00

I got this from Bricotrout. It should probably be more aptly titled International Rules of Insecure Manhood. You decide. It has some comedy merit.

1: Under no circumstances may two men share an umbrella.

2: It is ok for a man to cry ONLY under the following circumstances:
a. When a heroic dog dies to save its master.
b. The moment Angelina Jolie starts unbuttoning her blouse.
c. After wrecking your boss' car.
d. One hour, 12 minutes, 37 seconds into "The Crying Game".
e. When she is using her teeth.

3: Any Man who brings a camera to a bachelor party may be legally killed and eaten by his buddies.

4: Unless he murdered someone in your family, you must bail a friend out of jail within 12 hours.

5: If you've known a guy for more than 24 hours, his sister is off limits forever unless you actually marry her.

6: Moaning about the brand of free beer in a buddy's fridge forbidden. However complain at will if the temperature is unsuitable.

7: No man shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man. In fact, even remembering your buddy's birthday is strictly optional.

8: On a road trip, the strongest bladder determines pit stops, not the weakest.

9: When stumbling upon other guys watching a sporting event, you may ask the score of the game in progress, but you may never ask who's playing.

10: You may flatulate in front of a woman only after you have brought her to climax. If you trap her head under the covers for the purpose of flatulent entertainment, she's officially your girlfriend.

11: It is permissible to drink a fruity alcohol drink only when you're sunning on a tropical beach... and it's delivered by a topless model and only when it's free.

12: Only in situations of moral and/or physical peril are you allowed to kick another guy in the nuts.

13: Unless you're in prison, never fight naked.

14: Friends don't let friends wear Speedos. Ever. Issue closed.

15: If a man's fly is down, that's his problem, you didn't see anything.

16: Women who claim they "love to watch sports" must be treated as spies until they demonstrate knowledge of the game and the ability to drink as much as the other sports watchers.

17: A man in the company of a hot, suggestively dressed woman must remain sober enough to fight.

18: Never hesitate to reach for the last beer or the last slice of pizza, but not both, that's just greedy.

19: If you compliment a guy on his six-pack, you'd better be talking about his choice of beer.

20: Never join your girlfriend or wife in discussing a friend of yours, except if she's withholding sex pending your response.

21: Phrases that may NOT be uttered to another man while he is lifting weights:
a. Yeah, Baby, Push it!
b. C'mon, give me one more! Harder!
c. Another set and we can hit the showers!

22: Never talk to a man in a bathroom unless you are on equal footing: i.e. Both urinating, both waiting in line, etc. For all other situations, an almost imperceptible nod is all the conversation you need.

23: Never allow a telephone conversation with a woman to go on longer than you are able to have sex with her. Keep a stopwatch by the phone. Hang up if necessary.

24: The morning after you and a girl who was formerly "just a friend" have carnal drunken monkey sex, the fact that you're feeling weird and guilty is no reason for you not to nail her again before the discussion about what a big mistake it was occurs.

25: It is acceptable for you to drive her car. It is not acceptable for her to drive yours.

26: Thou shall not buy a car in the colors of brown, pink, lime green, orange or sky blue.

27: The girl who replies to the question "What do you want for Christmas?" with "If you loved me, you'd know what I want!" gets an Xbox. End of story.

28: There is no reason for guys to watch Ice Skating or Men's Gymnastics. Ever.

Dreams

2006-03-21T08:38:00.000-05:00

My wife flirts with hysterics these days. I just try to sleep.

Most of her fits come after her crazy dreams and she wakes me to tell me all about them.

She's very detailed, and her lengthy descriptions and storylines could match any Russian novel.

Here's the cliff notes:

My wife reluctantly let a friend from high school watch our 13-month old son, Shredder. The girl told her not to worry, everything would be fine. When it came time to pick-up Shredder, the girl had given him up to some secret service types. And had given my wife a phone number where she could find him.

That phone number was a direct line to the White House and President Bush's office. When she called it, Hannibal Lecter answered the phone.

She is not allowed to do any sleeping tonight.

Hot Time In Ole Town

2006-03-20T10:38:00.000-05:00

Anymore, I get one Saturday night out with the guys per every presidential administration. Yep, after Saturday, I'll be looking forward to 2008.

It was wild by my standards. I rarely see these guys much anymore as they city dwell in their musical party circles and I dwell in - suburbia.

My friend Banner and his girl Sara moved their successful clothing botique to a new location. After checking out the new digs I left to meet up with his best friend Ted and some other dudes at the next door pizza pub/bar.

Now this area is always thumping on the weekends. There are way too many cute girls much younger and crazier than I ever remember when I get out to these parts. And there's way too many G-moneys/hemp frat boys out that have suds-upped their cock and balls with the expectations to at least get blown.

We don't usually hang out at this bar, but the beer is good and I finally got an oppurtunity to catch up with some amazing people I don't see enough. One of my favorite people in this big, wide world is a gentleman, who of course won't go by his real name. It's the afforementioned Ted. Now Ted is an easygoing, accomplished singer-songwriter who gets plenty of Public Radio airplay and acclaimed criticism. Heck, Willie Nelson even picked-up one of his songs in a recent show here.

With all apologies Ted, I'm sorry about this but it's too good guys. Hey, it'll be great material someday huh?

Ted has a girl - who really likes lots of varying guys. Ted knows this, but keeps heart in harm's way.

O.k. back to it -

A little later in the evening when a few beers (4 in my low alcohol tolerant case) stops time for you and the wall of noise makes you forget who or what is going on, I finally notice Ted has been gone for a while. I ask Chief about him and he proceeds to tell me a short and sweet story of Ted's girl fucking over him yet again.

The noise and smoke in the bar comes like waves now. I fucking hate cigarette smoke and those beers are way over my tolerance, but I'm having a good time. It's not late enough that I feel guilty about my wife and baby back home and I'll have plenty of time to 'mellow' out and drive as I've stopped drinking.

It's in this lull that somebody runs in the bar and excitingly starts talking about a guy who just picked up a brick and threw it into a plate glass, store front window.

"You fired my girlfriend!" said the baggy jean wearing frippie who was mocking and recreating the event for his friends. He continues to say the line over again and pretends to toss an imaginary brick.

"That's Banner's new store!" someone exclaimed and we emerge from the haze onto the now crowded sidewalk to get a good look. There was a flashing police cruiser a few yards down and a crowd around them, I couldn't tell what they were doing.

Sure enough, shattered plate glass and the big hole in the store advertised vandalism and saturday night intoxication.

I asked Chief, "Who got fired from the store?" He's in the know of all things.

He scratched his chin and said, "I can't figure it out. There's only 3 girls who work the store and they've never been fired."

Clearly some vagrant had the wrong store. He should pay more attention to his girlfriend's location and preferred places of employment and should lodge complaints during business hours.

"Bunch of savages in this town," I laughed off to Chief.

We shoved our way closer to the squad car. I could now make out someone surrounded by 3 police officers. It was Ted! He saw the whole thing. They were getting information from him.

There were more stories, people on the street were pointing Ted out as the miscreant. Bunch of drunken idiots. They don't know Ted and Banner are best friends. As Banner has been unaccountable all night, Ted is doing what any good friend should do and look over the store.

But just like O.J. down the freeway, you wouldn't believe it, but the evidence started mounting up.

Chief pulled me aside to where some of the guys were now gathering. "Ale8one, it was Ted," he said not blinking.

"And it wasn't you fired my girlfriend. It was you fucked my girlfriend."

Poor Ted, a criminal record on top of the usual complications of love.

I drove home sober and carefully to my waiting wife who enjoyed a good bedtime story.

Packin' Heat

2006-03-18T10:24:00.000-05:00

One Saturday afternoon, I went to an indoor shooting range with my buddy Snazz.

He spent $75 on rounds. We grabbed some thick earmuffs (no not that kind) and clipped in the target.

He had two guns, a 9mm and a .45 or a glock.

I watched him shoot, the smoke stinging my nose, a couple of hot shells kicked out and thumped my forehead.

When I was about 12, I envied my father's little .22 set on a western frame. My dad really dug westerns. The Rifleman, Bonanza, Wyatt Earp, etc. I didn't care about military looking guns, I thought the old west was cool.

He took me out to the farm so I could have at it. I wore ear plugs, but I never got used to the ringing in my ears.

Now it was my turn to shoot. Snazz had ripped up a target pretty good. I asked for mine to be placed closer. I started with the glock. It's amazing something that small has that much power. I was concentrating on keeping the gun from kicking me in the head more than the target. Next I usedthe 9mm. A smaller gun, but amazing kick. These things aren't toys.

My grandmother carried an old pistol with her. One afternoon, my father caught my sister and I examining it without permission. We got some big trouble there. It had been known to misfire.

They say (you know, the faceless they) that in every Russian novel, if a gun is shown in the first half, it always goes off in the 2nd part. Sooner or later, a gun goes off.

My wife and I don't have any guns in the house. Before we met she kept an old Louisville Slugger by the bed. I keep it handy now.

Snazz asked me if I'm going to buy a gun.

"No. I have too much angst," I said.

"I'm waiting for someone to break-in so I can rip them apart with my bare hands."

Sister Teracini

2006-03-17T10:17:00.000-05:00

My wife's aunt, she can be mean.

I guess that's what 80 years of celibacy can do to you.

Often I'll try to avoid my favorite nun so she won't hurt my feelings.

Jammin' Jake? He doesn't care. One day a few years ago, she denigrated him for his long hair.

"Well you look like a witch," he spat back. He's less respectful than the others.

A couple of months after the first baby, she walked up to me at Thanksgiving.

"You look to be in fairly good shape. What do you do?"

Not knowing what to say I replied, "I play basketball."

She looked at me for a few seconds and said, "Well, start taking your wife with you, she's losing her girlish figure."

God bless her.

Addendum: She is truly a good and intelligent person defined by her hard work and lifetime dedication to social change and equality. I am usually the first person to sign her petitions and enjoy conversing with her. This lady doesn't hold back though, and that makes for some quality shroud wearin' comedy.

Cheating, and Getting Away With It

2006-03-16T11:32:00.000-05:00

I'll warn you, I have no hard numbers, just the anecdotes. And I'm curious to hear your personal discoveries.

I know of a few cases in which, during or after a divorce, it was divulged that the wife cheated but got away with it (during the marriage the husband did not or claimed not to know). In some cases both parties cheated, however, during the precedings, only the man was discovered to be a cheat.

I'm not placing a value judgement of one sex over the other. In the words of a friend of mine, "all women are bitches and all men are bastards." Sometimes that's true.

But what I'm talking about here is the possible trend of a benefit of a double-standard. We all recognize trends un-trumped by major studies, and that's what leaves these observations qualitative.

My best account comes from a couple I was fairly equally friends with. They were married for ten years. The end came when he was caught cheating. The ex-wife later told me she had cheated in year 2 of the marriage. They had been high school sweethearts and young, he traveled early in their marriage. She was about 23 during the secret rendezvous.

Upon the impending divorce, he was viewed as the bastard by all sides, especially her family members. It was not a bitter divorce. They had no children yet she refused spousal support despite encouragement from her lawyer (In this state divorcees may be entitled to support after 10 years of marriage). Still today, the understanding remains that the burden of the break-up is on him due to his affair. Never mind her own undiscovered affair a few years earlier.

I'm aware of similar cases and I'm not going on rumors, tabloids or TV. These are real people and friends.

Women have more mind-boggling choices and opportunities than ever. There's the pressure to choose career vs. having babies. I do believe men are still shuttled more into traditional roles even though they have choices as well.

What have you personally witnessed? My intent isn't to indict either way, just to see if there is a trend. You could see it the other way around. Traditionally, men have had all the options of carrying on and concealing affairs, but that is changing in today's economic landscape.

Evolution is slow. Women are just now fully reaping the benefits of trailblazers from the 60's and 70's. I do believe this is a good thing.

However, some current generations may be the first women in their family to recognize and take full advantage of this reality. In that sense, they are the trailblazer, and that may not always be comfortable in a mixed-messaged society full of pluralities.

A Big Hand For All The Little Guys

2006-03-15T14:20:00.000-05:00

Last night I watched 10 minutes of the NCAA basketball play-in-game. It was the first time I watched teams play for the 64th spot and unfortunately, it is not time well spent.

It's a bit disheartening really. These kids give a hard effort before going to the ceremonial slaughter of playing a number one seed. I mean someday it will happen, a #16 will knock off a #1, but not anytime soon.

I can see where it's really disconcerting if you lose this game, and you could call it a double-double if you get blown out as Hampton did last night, 71-49 to Monmouth.

In Hampton's defense, they did play 5 games out of the past 7 days. It was their conference tourney run that got them in the NCAA. Monmouth had 6 days of rest, but it goes to show you the struggle of the small, 4,000 student body school against the immense, big-time athletic budgets of basketball powerhouses.

However, you will see a big school fall as you do every year and that's what makes this tournament fun. But in the end, you won't see a Monmouth in the championship game, as that unfailingly is Big School U. territory.

Is there some rigging in the tournament? Most certainly. All institutions have some amount of rigging involved. Even though no one involved will admit it, there are too many ironic pairings involving rivalries, old coaches and saucy story lines.

Take for instance the UK-UAB game. This is the 2nd time in the past 3 years these teams will meet. UAB is supposedly the small-school underdog, but a chic favorite to win the 1st round only to face UCONN.

What's the old saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Before the first meeting with UAB, UK coach Tubby Smith invited former Arkansas coach Nolan Richardson to watch practice. UAB's current coach had been a long-time assistant under Nolan Richardson. According to sources, that little scouting outing became the blueprint for beating UK. Heck, you can read about it in the above link, it is juicy and happens a lot I'm sure. And it's no excuse for losing.

There's plenty of crying to come.

Mine or Yours?

2006-03-14T14:25:00.000-05:00

I always listen, but sometimes I'm a knucklehead and refuse to discuss. Last night I went to bed too early and this is what I got. The 23rd discussion or averted discussions on the following subject:

When our second child arrives in June, we have decided the bus will be full. No vacancy. No more. (Sometimes I wish other couples in the area would place some kind of limits on their fundamentalist progeny, but then you can't be the boss of people you don't write a weekly paycheck to).

It will be time for my Catholic girl and I to chose the method of anti-procreation or rather, Zygote-managed Orgasmically Recreational Sex. I like to call it the ZORS program or system if you like. It's all the fun of sex without the fuss! (spawn)

My wife's personal philosphy is to say Nope to the Pope (NTP). Still, here's a quick rundown of the methods that have been eliminated with respect to ZORS.

- birth control pills (she absolutley will not do)
- IUDs
- condoms (she says I won't consistently comply and she's probably right).
- diaphragms, etc.

This leaves the options of:

1) tube-tying
2) me under the kniffe
3) withdrawl
4) abstinence

O.k. so there's only really 2 or 3 viable options. There's no way I'm going to a doctor and go into surgery for something that is not a medical necessity. If I develope a baseball-sized tumor on my forehead, then I've got a reason to climb under the knife. Until that happens we'll let sleeping dogs lie.

One of my wife's cousins told her they fill your stomach with gas before they tie your tubes. I don't know if this is urban medical legend or not, but I don't like the idea. Besides I want my wife as natural as possible.

There's just something sexy about a girl that can stick, ya know? I like my sex with an element of danger.

Here In The Valley

2006-03-13T14:25:00.000-05:00

It's wonderful here really.

After a mild winter of spring-like weather, I have survived "out of season" sinus trouble to come to -

Spring. Now I can start my real sinus and allergy issues, unlike the masquerading sinus trouble from winter.

I don't know where I've been, but I now see the buds swelling on trees and everytime I see them, beautiful as they are, I feel my nasal cavaties bulge and my eyes sting.

This, the Ohio Valley, is the nation's worst area for an allergy sufferer.

I grew up suffering with allergies and had to take the shots, yada-yada. But I used to live on the outer limits of Allergy Capital USA.

This was not good enough for me. I say, if you're going to do something do it right.

Like Briar Rabbit to the briar patch, I decided to settle down in the heart of it all. If the nose wants to run, let it run. Arizona would never do for me.

I just love collecting decorative kleenex boxes and loading up on allergy prescriptions.

As a wise man once said, you've gotta have passions.

Spring and Japanese Death Poems

2006-03-11T09:21:00.000-05:00

Hope you're enjoying the storms in your 'neck of the woods' today.

They're both exciting and threatening, and unfortunately sometimes deadly.

There are a couple of times a year that they always remind me of this poem by a Buddhist monk from a couple of centuries ago.

Please forgive me. After a few years, this is the best I can remember from the English translation.

This Life, to what may I liken it?

To an autumn lighting storm at dusk.

Another Re-Run

2006-03-10T12:02:00.000-05:00

''I'm concerned about a broader message this issue could send to our friends and allies around the world, particularly in the Middle East,'' the president said.

Now he's concerned about what 'friends and allies' around the world think? The Unilateral Wiretapping King is worried about an image thingy all of a sudden?

Where was this consideration before the hasty war effort? Is this the same tough guy that allows no confusion or pulls no punches or takes absolutely no chances when it comes to homeland security?

I know this is one of those lazy post days - you know, where people post a link so they can get on with a microwave meal or a smoothie. Personally, I need to cut firewood for next winter.

But, I can't help but think that this current Bush presidency is just a long-running reality show that gets more and more ridiculous each day, and no matter what the man does, there are still enough followers and converts to keep it going.

Please replace and put Rockstar INXS in the White House.

Blood and Tubes For Breakfast

2006-03-09T10:13:00.000-05:00

We got up at 5 AM this morning to take Shredder to the doctor for tubes. It's never fun to have your baby put to sleep even as reassuring as the pros are.

Our appointment was at 6:15 and we were first up. First in line, first to be scheduled and first to have the procedure done this morning, but upon arriving right after the staff, we still waited over an hour for them to begin the anesthesia.

First, there's more paperwork. Then a nurse comes by the pre-op room to explain the procedure and post-op care. Then an anesthesia nurse comes by to explain her part and announce the doctor will be by in 15 minutes. A few minutes later someone else comes by to do more explaining, then the ear, nose and throat doctor comes by for explanations and finally the anesthesiologist stops by for his talk. And the baby hasn't had anything to eat all morning.

It's funny how each person had a different time estimate for the procedure. It didn't take long at all, after they let my wife and I back in the waiting room, they called us into the recovery room about 5 minutes later. Very quick.

Of course he woke up groggy and disoriented. His lower lip was trembling just like the day he was born and he had no muscle control in his neck. It didn't take him long to calm down and hopefully we won't have ear infections for a while.

Still, it stings a little to see blood coming out of his ears. I can take it a lot better when he gets older.

Baseball Bittersweet

2006-03-08T11:04:00.000-05:00

Nothing screams spring like baseball even though it seems to be in a virtual winter these days with its lower TV ratings and steroid scandals.

Nothing is more storied in this nation's athletic history than baseball.

Nothing embodies summer and youth more than baseball and its card collecting and vacant lot pick-up games. We had our own green monster which was really white but contained character-distorted dimensions nonetheless.

It was the end of my little league career and the end of my baseball career altogether that I chose to read about it and card collect instead of play.

My father was a local baseball hero, fortunate enough to be offered a scholarship to play shortstop for UK , but saw his own career-aspirations shortened by injury.

Though he never said it, I'm sure there came a time in my toddler totin' days that he transferred those aspirations to me. But whatever they were exactly, they were short-lived as my parent's cornered me after a tee ball game and upon inquiring about my lack of aggression and desire, my father chose at that moment to never push me in athletics again.

And he didn't and I'm glad and all the better for it. For parents should never live through their children. I'm not saying I never deserved an efficient and joyful kick in the ass.

Still, I grew up under this proverbial shadow in our small and too friendly town. Every day in high school, I passed his picture in a trophy case.

"Do you play baseball?" was the common question a townly stranger or old coaches would pose after finding out my parents names. That's your common tag in a small town, where as in the city it's "What do you do?"

"Uhh, no I don't," I always said shyly.

A few years later I left that town for college and worked in UK's athletic department. There were no trophies there or memories of my father and no one cared unless it had something to do with the glorious revenue monster that was basketball.

Dad had given me his childhood baseball card collection and I brought it with me to college. It was a genuine treasure filled with Mantles and Mays and Maris's and Musials. Shortsightedly, I sold it for a pretty price when money got tight.

He never said a word. He never offered much advice on baseball.

I liked basketball much more. The ball was easier to pick-up and softer. I made the school teams throughout the years. Seeing my inclinations and average heighth, he taught me a dribbling drill. I listened and it paid off. Still, his high school basketball team was the only team in our school's history to make the Sweet 16 state tournament, so he had me there too. Funny thing, I was twice the athlete he ever was.

So all month, you'll be hearing the cliche March Madness, and so it is.

Basketball is bittersweet too.

Post 56

2006-03-07T14:15:00.000-05:00

So this is what it has come to. Online diaries (sorta) in our magical world of technology.

Where you actually write about nothing and someone googles a semi-related subject and pulls up your blog.

Like when I've titled a post about Jesus but it really had nothing to do with Jesus. Poor souls.

Or when some veteran of a foreign war (VFW) wants to look for long lost buddies on a national level and they find this post.

And I go on to talk about what time my wife and I went to bed for example.

Oh, about 10 til 9, or 8:50 on your digital clock, thanks for asking.

But we didn't really go to sleep. Just messed and gommed.

My mom used to say that, "mess and gom around." I don't think I've ever seen gom in the dictionary and still don't know exactly what it means other than being associated with wasting time.

Like my great-grandmother used to say "she'll be here dreckly." Referring to my mom as I wanted to leave my great-grandmother's house and was impatient about waiting to be picked up. It took me 20 years to figure out she was saying "directly", and it came out sounding like "dreckly" in her Southern affect.

But my wife has this way of twisting covers all around and sticking her feet out at night and so it's like trying to sleep under a washcloth, you just get a little piece of bedding to try and contort yourself to.

Speaking of insanity, this pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel in his pants.

A bar patron tells the pirate, "hey, you know you're walking around with a steering wheel down the front of your pants?"

"Aaarrrghhhh, and it's driving me nuts," growls the pirate.

But I snore a lot so I can't complain too much about my wife's bedding and sheet twisting habit.

So I apologize if you're looking for friends and you come up with this, post 56 which is really just the post after yesterday's - post 55, but was not titled so.

The Guest

2006-03-06T14:23:00.000-05:00

We set out on that main east artery that is I-65 last Saturday with a happy baby on a full belly. Destination? South towards Nash Vegas and a little town of my youth. Mission? To celebrate my niece's 2nd birthday.

This sunny day we arrived early to find the house virtually empty except for a couple of relatives of my brother-in-law. As they were scratching and clucking around in the yard we paid them no mind and attended to dumping out Shredder's goods so he could make the place his own.

As guests started to take up some of my space I looked around for something to eat. That's when I spotted the birthday cake adorned in a fungus of icing and two purple dinosaurs.

Now I heard my sister say at one time they were trying to keep the jolly big dinosaur out of sight and mind while their daughter passed through the formative years. Myself, I thought the happy lug had found his way into a deep tar pit as far as capturing the attention of toddlers anymore.

But, as someone outside the family got the little curly, blond haired girl hooked, her parents decided to indulge her in all things Barney.

The party was going along as usual as a party can for a two-year old and two sets of relatives stranger to one another. There was plenty to eat, then the baby eats cake, then the baby helps tear off wrapping paper.

It was about this time I gathered an ominous feeling. What does the word ominous mean? I'm not really sure, but something felt dark, threatening and strange. I had been playing with some kids near the door when all of a sudden I look up to see my brother-in-law casually standing outside looking in.

Hmmm....That's odd, I normally have a "Help me I'm a complete dumbass look" on my face when I'm locked out. He seems to have a giddy expression, but he's wearing pants.

And that's when it all bumrushed me. GET AWAY FROM THAT DOOR!!!

Spastically I try to run, tripping over toys and old people. When the doorbell rang I sputtered even more, wedging the point of my snakeskins into some poor kids eye. This set off the symphony of saturday afternoon chaos.

We didn't stick around for this ending. I grabbed my baby and my wife and left a big trail. The last thing I remember is ole big, purple and lovable entering the living room where they found my niece, the guest of honor, trembling and shaking in a corner with her grandmother.

Funny How Your Time Changes

2006-03-02T11:40:00.000-05:00

Before the birth of our first child of January a year ago (I know, newbies), we spent little time in front of the TV. For the better part of our dating life (good) and a couple of years into our marriage we never stepped into a dark theatre and might have rented all of two movies.

Now years ago, I was part of a geeky, little film group who gathered to watch more obscure stuff, but that passed and I've never seen the like since.

As the siren now calls for baby's bedtime and my consistent devoted presence, I find myself on weekends monitoring his sleeping while laying out in front of a decent movie. I absolutely refuse to watch 99.9% of the well-informed, enlightenting and inspirational television programming offered to us consumers.

Yes, that now makes me a veritable basement movie critic now doth it! And so, here is some of the better recent stuff I have come across during my on-duty standby night watchman job:

Nobody Knows
The only subtitled one here (Japanese). Please get over it. It's worth it and will absolutely break your heart. If you get a chance, read the New York Times review that came out in late 2004 or last year. A child-like mother abandons her children in their new apartment. And no, it is not sentimental either. Before I had children I would have never looked at it the same.

Thumbsucker
Back to American suburbia, these are some things that can happen as your child hits the teens.

Rushmore
Funny, a little dramatic, glad I caught up with this one.

The Constant Gardener
A decent intrigue film.

Corpse Bridge
Tim Burton, animation or whatever you call the computer generated stuff these days.

Mysterious Skin
It is unbelievable how the director took this harrowing subject matter and made it into a delightful work. There are a couple of squeamish moments but they assured you no children were present during the actual filmed scenes. This is truly a good one.

I haven't seen any of the Oscar Best Picture Nominees other than Crash which was o.k. Seems like it is one of those "safe" movies they nominate to lose but make the list look presentable.

Hustle and Flow was better than my preconceived notions but it's hard as hell being a critic.

Sleeptalkin'

2006-03-01T14:27:00.000-05:00

In the middle of the night my wife woke me up and thought I had just come to bed.

She sat right up on her elbows with her hair hanging in her face and whispered, "was anybody up when you came to bed?"

I looked around the room, and for clarity, tried to get her to mention a name. "Who do you mean?", I asked somberly.

She started shaking her hands in the air and growled, "Anybody!"