The Newest String Instrument

About twenty years ago I graduated from college with a degree in Broadcast Journalism.  It took my five years to get that degree, but that was not a bad thing, I really was on a five year plan.

See, 25 years ago, I went to college to study Music Education.  I had a vocal scholarship (very small) which means that in some aspects, I was a singer.  I had a five year scholarship.

I'm not typing this entry to discuss what led to my change in my degree.  It might be a good story, but that is not my point.  I'll get to my point eventually.  Surely you know this about me by now?  It takes time, but eventually, I get there.

Now, as a Music Education major, the basic expectation is that eventually you will  become a teacher.  I wanted to become a teacher and to this date, I wish I had pursued that option.  But, Music had been a joy and became less fun for me as it became a job... Still not my point.

As a future educator it was expected that we become familiar with all the instrument groups.  Much like there are food groups such as meats, vegetables, grains, candy, beer, pizza, etc....  There are four groups for instrument.

You have percussion instruments, such as drums, triangle's, cymbals, gongs, etc... Essentially, anything you can bang (giggity).  And you have stringed instruments such as the violin, cello, bass, viola.  There is another group called woodwinds which includes the bassoon, the oboe, the clarinet, etc... and brass instruments which include the trumpet, trombone, tuba, etc.... Of course the last two groups are considered "Wind" instruments which constitutes anything you can blow (giggity giggity).

There are always confusing instruments like the Saxophone which is shiny like a brass instrument but is considered a wood wind.  This is because the sax has a "reed" in the mouthpiece which is another part of being a woodwind.  Of course, the flute is a woodwind although it has no reed.  It's like that whole "I before E... unless not" crap in the English language.

Now in becoming a Teacher of Music, we had to learn at least one instrument from each group, as I recall.  I chose the Saxophone as my woodwind.  I had a pretty good embouchure for that one and could make some sounds that didn't sound like I was doing something rude with a cattle prod to some unsuspecting cattle.  Embouchure is how one uses their facial muscles to shape their lips and play a wind instrument.  Woodwind embouchures can be quite rude or sexy depending on how you look at it.  Try to look at it professionally.  Anyway, I think I played a pretty mean "Hot Cross Buns (a.k.a. Three Blind Mice)" by the time I was done.

I also familiarized myself with the French Horn.  I think I gave up on that one pretty quickly.  Mainly, it was because my embouchure was a look of me having just eaten all the lemons.  Also, when I played, it sounded like I was doing something rude with a cattle to prod to an unsuspecting sea lion.  Very sad...

I remember the excitement I felt when I discovered that I would have to take a semester in PERCUSSSION!!!  DRUMS!!!  YESSSS!!!  I AM A ROCK GOD!!!!  It turns out we spent a semester learning rudiments on a snare pad.  This is a rubber pad that sits on a stand in front of you much a like a snare drum but not.  It is simply a practice pad.  We learned drum rolls, ratamacues, flamacues, paradiddles, flamadidles, etc.... look them up yourself.  I passed.

I also took cello.  I LOVED THE CELLO!!!  I was not so good, but after a semester or two of studying, I could play some things and not sound like I was hurting cats and their kittens.  String instruments are much more finicky than one might think.  By the time I took my last exam, I remember having to do three "simple" pieces.  Something by Mozart.  Something by Bach.  And something of my choosing.  I chose Motley Crue's "Doctor Feelgood."  It involved fingering, plucking and bowing.  My professor was NOT impressed.  I was.

Now, of course, my fifth instrument was my voice and then I had to learn a sixth which turned out to be piano.  I am of the belief that scholars are still trying to discover what musical group the piano falls in.  It has strings like a harp, but the keys trigger hammers which strike the strings like a percussion instrument.  It is like fish on Fridays.  Is fish not a meat?  Or better yet, the piano is the tomato of instruments.  Is it a fruit?  Is it a vegetable?  No one may ever know...

I sang in bands throughout high school and college.  In the last band I was in, I was the singer and the bass player.  So, in essence, the cello led me to bass, although the strings are all backwards, quite literally.

I walked away from music a long time ago, but it will always be a part of me.  However, now, I am subjugated to being one of those guys you see at a traffic light, sitting in his truck, jamming away on his air drums or air guitar or air bass or air tuba, all the while singing along with the radio.  Yup, that's me.

Today, I offended myself.  THIS BEING MY POINT!!!

On the radio was Blues Traveler's song "Run Around."  It's a good song.  Very catchy.  The singer is very impressive.  I read somewhere once that the singer, John Popper, had gotten his Doctorate in Harmonica!!!  What I read was wrong.  He did not.  Sorry to excite you there.  He's just very good.

I am not good at the harmonica.  That came to me all too clearly on my way into work this morning.

While Run Around played, I joined in.  I was singing and playing my bass as I swerved through traffic.  I was carrying the band quite well and I helped John hit some high notes.  All the while, I didn't miss a note on the bass... as far as anyone watching would know.

Then came the awesome harmonica solo!  Jethro Tull be shamed with your lazy flute solo's!!!  John Popper is amazing!  I have listened to Run Around since '95 and I am always impressed!

But today in traffic, I was at a loss.  I could not suddenly let go of my wheel and play the air harmonica.  That seems a little unsafe.  Without even thinking about it, I suddenly noticed that I was playing the solo on my air bass.  WHAT WAS I THINKING?  YOU CAN'T AIR BASS A HARMONICA!!!!

I'm so ashamed.

I may try to develop the string harmonica just to save my credibility in the realm of traffic air bands.  And thus, this is where my story ends... for now.

I didn't say it was going to be a good point.  I don't think I've ever said that.

I am working on my humility and giving up my worldly possessions one possession at a time by, regretably, displaying my "inner piece."

I've heard it said that the key (or just a key) to inner peace is to be humbled and give up worldly possessions.  Which is why I always see bald Asians who own nothing but a robe smiling in every picture and, of course, practicing Kung-Fu or some sort of marshal art.

I guess, it is fair for me to say that I have not researched this much, if at all, and perhaps I only learned about finding inner peace through these measures by watching the TV show where a white guy who has not achieved inner peace played an Asian guy who had and went about beating up anybody who challenged the innerness of his peace and the peace of those around him; a.k.a. Kung Fu (the TV show).

But even those guys who never did learn karate and typically owned nothing and lived a life in humility seemed to be happy and on the verge of inner peace.  Yes, I am talking about monks, hippies, a select few homeless people, etc...  The list goes on.

Even John Lennon was wise enough to know that by giving up everything you believed in and everything you owned, you could be so much happier.  Granted, he wrote the song Imagine behind a very expensive piano in his Manhattan apartment, but he was getting there.

As am I!

In the last few years I've lost a lot: people who were once close to me, friends, family, half my stuff, time with my kid, pets, money, socks (just 1 per pair), etc.... yet another list that can simply go on.

At times it has been painful.
Mostly it has been humbling.
But, for the most part, I'm okay with a lot of it.

Over time, every loss and humbling experience combined really did get me thinking about how, as I've gotten older and acquired more stuff and more people have come into my life, I've also acquired more stress.  However, after the initial pain of losing someone, or something, has passed, I've actually come to gain some sense of relief.

I don't mean to sound callous, but that feeling of relief is a similar sensation to "well, one less thing to worry about."   Seriously, it's not that simple, but if I were to put it into words, I would have to type out a lot of them.  I think I'm typing enough words as it is.  You know I can do it!

However, what I know about myself is that, at this point in my life, I am not really willing to give up most of what I have.  Who really is?  It's not that I have anything lavish to maintain, but there is a way I need to live at this point in my life.  So, I have a job, to maintain a house, to provide shelter and supply food and use power and water... and I have stuff in my house for comfort, and for memories, and to fill space... and I have a car... etc... etc... etc... more lists...

Essentially, I GOT BILLS!!!!

So I have to wait for life to choose when I need to be humbled or when I need to give up a worldly possession.

A few Saturdays ago, life opted to kill two birds with one stone!

I was about an hour away from finishing up working a long day of televising football.  Yes, football fans are so desperate for football that sports networks now televise spring scrimmage games where the team plays itself in a game.  I was pulling for the team we were televising on this particular day and fortunately, they won!  I had doubts...

There is a great camaraderie among people on television crews.  We are an effective unit of professionals.  Sure video guys give audio guys grief and graphics guys get irritated and tape guys don't use tape... but we're there as a professional team to complete a job in a professional manner, right up until someone rips the crotch out of their shorts that is.  Then all hell breaks loose!

Well, that would be what happened to me!

Gaffers tape, much like duct tape,  is God's gift to those of us who cannot sew.

As we were striking our gear for the day, I managed to snag some part of my fly on a counter in my lonely audio booth.  When I squatted down to see what had happened, my shorts ripped from  mid fly to about a foot down my right thigh.  Luckily for me I had opted to wear neither my Burger King "HOME OF THE WHOPPER" nor my Optimus Prime underwear.  Unlucky for me, the light blue striped boxer briefs I had on were still remarkably exposed and did nothing to keep out the chill in the air.

At this point, I tried untucking my shirt.  Of course, it did not cover much of the tear and it simply showed off more of what is commonly called my "you look like a school bus in that shirt" shirt.

So, then I tried taping up the hole.  What you see pictured above was my first attempt.  I was unable to photograph the later attempts.  After what I thought was a successful tape up, I was finally confident enough to step out of my room and approach the Operations Manager to see if I could simply leave and avoid the strike.

Of course, before I could get the Ops Manager to be a part of this conversation, I had to walk through a crowd of crew members whom I kept steady eye contact with.  Upon reaching said Ops. Manager, I had to make her first promise to not feel sexually harassed by anything I needed to discuss.  That's right, she was a HER!

I brought her attention to my problem at which point the tape gave way.  She was not harassed in the least and had a great time laughing.  DID I MENTION THAT THERE WAS A CHILL IN THE AIR?!?!?!?!  I do not make a habit of flashing women, but if I did, I would not do it on cold days!

Needless to say, I taped up a lot more, so much in fact that it looked like I had shorts on that were half black and half khaki.  I ended up staying on and finishing the day and was "the hit of the party" in that everyone (but me) had a good laugh.

Yes, it turned out that life had opted to get rid of a worldly possession of mine (my favorite shorts) and humble me at the same time.

I'm sharing this with you today, because, well, it's a good story and, I could use a good refreshing case of humbling today.

Enjoy!

Feng Who? I'll just take it black.

I have lived my life surrounded by people who are indecisive about where to put their furniture.

I am using the word "people" generally, when in all reality, although they are actually people, to be more specific, in my experience they had all been WOMEN!!!  I just didn't want to come out and say "WOMEN" at first because I did not wish to be accused of generalizing a sexual stereotype that I used to quite  firmly believe in.

I have spent my life moving furniture for every woman I know.  And hanging pictures.

HAH.... "Hanging Pictures!"  I remember when that was a code term for a roommate of mine and his girlfriend.  She'd call and say "can you ask so and so (she knew his name, you just don't need to) to come over and help me hang a picture please?"  It wasn't until I stopped by her apartment one afternoon and noticed that she didn't have 90 something pictures in her house when it finally dawned on me!

I was never so lucky.  Whenever I've been asked to come over to "hang a picture," I'd have to hang a picture.  And on a side note to my side note, it's the same for "Wanna come up for coffee?"  Any time I've ever been asked that, I would wind up drinking coffee just before it was time for me to apparently go home and go to bed.  Nothing like a caffeine rush to heighten frustration....

Anyway, I swear I almost died once trying to properly place a sofa.  It was a sleeper sofa to be more specific.  "Move it here.... now try there.... How about over there...."   After about an hour of this and more back pain that I could possibly stand, I got coffee... JUST coffee....

I have lived with this stereotype for women for a very very long time.  THE STEREOTYPE IS WRONG!!!

Forgive me now?

Feng Shui... the first time I heard that term, I thought someone was being insane about some sort of wrinkly Chinese Dog.  I was mistaken.

When I started hearing about the belief that your placement of furniture could be a spiritual experience, I felt that this was some sort of made up medical excuse for some type of neurotic/ OCD behavior. 

I may be correct in my belief, however, as I have looked into it more, even if it is a medical excuse invented to justify OCD, it is a belief that is thousands of years old and was even suppressed in China at one time; which means it's gotta be powerful!

Of course, one of the purposes for designing a building a specific way or putting your furniture in a specific location (aka Feng Shui) is to help increase ones Qi which is pronounced "chee."

Now, the most important thing about "Qi" is that, well, you can score a lot of points using that word in Scrabble or Words With Friends.  It is an accepted word in both games and will help you win and, again in my personal experience, upset a lot of people who have me move their furniture and hang their pictures in exchange for coffee...  Qi is also ones positive energy.

So, following Feng Shui will essentially make you happy!

I was not happy Saturday morning at 5:23 when my dog woke me up.  I was not happy at all.

I woke up, charged with feed-the-dog-and-pet-her rage for a good twenty minutes.  I gave her a belly rubbin' that she will not soon forget.  "That oughta learn her!" I thought to myself.

Afterwards, she took a nap, but I was up.  Then I had an idea.  "I'M GONNA RE-ARRANGE MY BEDROOM!!!!"  And so I did.

In the next three hours I had flipped my king sized bed from one side of the room to the other.
I put my elliptical where my TV and armoire had been and I put the TV and armoire where the elliptical had been.
I moved my dresser where my night stand on my side of the bed had been and put my dogs "bed" where my head of the bed had originally been.
I even added a second nightstand that I had used before somewhere else in the house.
Then I went to the store and got three new lamps for my room.
Then I finished it all off by hanging some pictures in newly created empty wall space!

MY GOD I FELT SO ALIVE!!!!  SO MUCH QI!!!

I know it might be cheesy (spelled "Qisy) to say, but I really felt happy.  I do fight depressing thoughts from time to time and at the time I woke up Saturday, I really had been in a lull for a few days, that was not all dog related.  The simple act of redoing my bedroom was exhilarating!

That was four days ago and I am still thrilled to walk into my bedroom.  It is easier to navigate in the dark and I just like looking at it... when, it's not, in the dark.

Anyway, upon finishing my room, still riding my wave of positive energy, I sat down, all aglow with good vibes, and poured myself a coffee...

Apparently even I need to move the furniture and hang pictures and all I'm willing to reward myself with is a lonely cup of black coffee.... sighhhh....
 

I am surrounded by wonderful people... WHO ARE TRYING TO KILL ME!

I've often heard the phrase "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach!"  and I used to think that it was meant to be something sweet.  But I am starting to believe it is something very dark and suspicious!

Granted, in my youth, I often fell for the "sweet" aspect of this.  I can remember way back in college when I was dating this beautiful woman but I had gotten to that point where I just wasn't into the relationship anymore and I wanted to break up.  This was before cell phones and texting when you were expected to break up with someone to their face, so I'd go to her house to tell her, she just lived  a few blocks from my dorm.

I'd get to her house, ready to end it and she would open her door and it would smell DELICIOUS!!!  She was an incredible cook.  She'd invite me in, I'd sit in defiance, she knew what I was there to do and she'd offer me "just a nibble" and yadda yadda yadda, we were back on for a few more days.  I mean, c'mon, this was college.  Kids can starve to death in school.

Eventually, I got wise and I stooped down so low as to try to break up with her over the phone.  She had one of two evil fixes for that though:  A.) either she would say "why don't you come over so we can talk" and BOOM Lasagna.... or B.) it was the early 90's, again, no cell phones.  She knew where I was when I called her from my dorm a few blocks away.  So, she'd just show up after the call with a pie.

It was awful.  Eventually I had to do that awful thing where I just started ignoring her calls until she figured it out.  She deserved better, but I had no will power to fight off her caloric magic.  Ironically she was as skinny as a rail and hardly ate her own food.

Of course, there was also the high school crush who made lemon meringue for me and continued to send me lemon filled donuts when I moved away... and my Mom who always bought me groceries whenever she'd visit or save leftovers for me .... and pretty much any woman I've ever dated who could cook!

And so there you have it, it was as though every knew that food was the key to my love.

Now, let's fast forward a few decades... In fact, let's move about three decades past college right up to, this week and even this very morning!

I visited my Mom a few days ago.  There is nothing quite like going home to Mom!  I walk into her house and pretty much melt.  I know she can take care of me.  She sent me back home with a bunch of leftovers: a tray of lasagna, a tray of another casserole, some cooked pork tenderloin, a frozen tenderloin, some sausages (again cooked and uncooked) and several different desserts.  She had had some family visiting and needed me to take the leftovers.  I AM 100% A OK WITH THAT!!!  When I got back to my house, another relative of mine had left a batch of cookies she had made for me on my front porch.  YIPPEE!!!!

I love this stuff.  I need this stuff.  I WANT THIS STUFF!!!!  I know I am loved.  I have eaten like a king the past few days!

So, yesterday morning, after working out, I decided to eat healthy.  The one child and I opted for whole grain Cheerios for breakfast.  They were delicious!  It was all I needed.  I packed some leftover lasagna and sausage for my lunch (seriously a small portion) and I headed out the door to work!

Of course, I stopped off for a morning coffee with another relative.  Aaaaand of course, he had made some sausage biscuits.  I debated on eating one, but he served it to me "Eat it!  It's good!"  I ate it.  T'was good.  Upon finishing it, he said "get yourself another!"  I won that fight and did not.

I drank my coffee and headed to the office seriously reconsidering having any lunch.

I got to the office in time for our morning meeting.  "Oh Look... Donuts...."  The department head spearheading the meeting had brought donuts as a part of his gift to us for showing up to the meeting.  I refused, but ended up taking one at the end of the meeting.  I had enough will power to only take one bite and then toss the rest.  I was proud of my strength.

I sat back at my desk, rethinking my eating habits, when in walked another co-worker with steak biscuits from a fast food chain.  This guy is one of the nicest people I've ever met (unless he's grumpy, which happens daily, but it's hardly ever anything personal).  He is always thinking of others and is very generous about sharing food with the rest of us in the office.

DAMN HIM!!!!

I stared at the biscuit for a good 20 minutes.  I tried to ignore it.  I did not want to be rude....

I ate half of it and tossed the rest.  I know, such strength again, right?

With all of that covered now, I have come to realize that, the gift of food is not just a romantic thing.  It can also be a generous thing for people who are starving and for people who are needy.  It can be a gesture of family or friendship.  It is a number of things.

However, unless you're going for the whole "feed the starving" thing, which is quite noble, the food is NEVER healthy food!  I would never offer a friend a cabbage "out of love."

And so, I am very grateful for all of the kind food gestures and I pray that they will continue, right up until my coronary!

That's right.  I believe that we have been instinctively programmed to kill each other with kindness and with the the phrase should be altered to "The way to a man's heart (attack) is through his stomach!!!"

And oh yeah, that lasagna lunch was GREAT!!!!

....And nobody had to die.

Yesterday was a bad day.  It was a very very bad day.

No, nobody died.  So there was a plus.

It was so frustrating and difficult that I was afraid to talk to anyone out of fear of saying those damning words of "It couldn't get any worse" because then it totally would've gotten worse.  So, I talked to no one.

I'm not going to give all of the details that led to the bad day other than to list:
- City Hall
- Software
- Exhaustion
- Plumbing
- Expenses
- Life Choices
- Employment Concerns
- Kim Jong Un
- General Irritability
- Groceries
and so much more...

All of that simply pushed me to a brink.  Granted, nothing in my life suddenly changed yesterday to make anything significantly worse.  It just all seemed to chew me up and spit me back out.

I think my biggest issue yesterday was the lack of acceptance within me.  There was nothing for me to fight against, and nothing I could do to change anything going on.  I simply needed to accept it and find comfort in the fact that I'm no worse off than I was the day before.  And I really wasn't bad off then.

But, surely you know the feeling(s) right?  Where suddenly you feel like screaming at the top of your lungs "I'VE HAD ENOUGH AND I JUST WON'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!!"   But there's always that concern that life will just scream right back at you "OH YEAH.... Really?!?!?!"

Well that's where I was.  Granted, the majority of it was most likely in my head or me just beating myself up.

Anyway, my work day ended and I went home.  I got to spend an evening with my little girl.  That, was Heaven!

We had a great night with another family member and ate some lasagna made by a different family member and then played games and chatted.  Simple stuff, but so peaceful.

Then at bedtime, as I was ready to read her a book, she mixed it up a little and decided to read to me.  "Daddy, I think you said you like this one...."

I had one of those moments where you feel that your parenting is paying off and your kid just might not be as messed up as you fear you may be making them.  It was nothing major, and it was probably much more touching to me than in was to her, but I like to think it meant the world to both of us.

She pulled out from behind her back my personal favorite from Dr. Suess's catalog, Fox in Sox!  This is his best work and my favorite part is all about the Tweedle Beetles!  I used to read this to her quite often from perhaps her birth until about 6 and a half, then I had to start reading about princesses and stuff....

But oh how last night was wonderful as she read the chaos from the pages.  On page 27 she needed a break "Daddy, my mouth hurts, can you read some?"  And so I did, but by page 29 she took it back.  When we finally got to the Tweedle Beetles she stopped and looked at me "Daddy, you can read this part.  I know it's your favorite!"

I almost cried, but that would have made it harder to read.  So I totally MANNED UP and read about "tweedle beetles battling in a puddle  with a paddle in a bottle on a poodle!"  Because that is an AWESOME read!!!

Everything else was gone.  I was sharing a moment watching my child read to me something I had read to her dozens (if not more) of times before and she only did it because she knew I liked it!  All seemed right with the world.

When will she be ready to read The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy  to me?  Ohhhhhh I can hardly wait!

Anyway, all seemed better in my world this morning.  She woke up, we had breakfast and I took her to school.

AND THEN SOME S.O.B. CUT ME OFF IN TRAFFIC!!!!  I wanted to unleash some Tweedle Beetle Justice on him I tell you what!

C'est la vie'.

Title of Story: "THE END!"

But alas, I am simply not good at that style and apparently would not have been very good in that profession, and there you have it!  But at least I was able to give you a quick history lesson.

And that's it.  I'm sorry it wasn't too exciting, but that's really all I have for you today.




.....   Perhaps I should start from the beginning and explain!

See, when I was a student in the School of Journalism at my University, twenty something years ago, they taught us to write in the style of "The Upside Down Pyramid!"  This is based on getting to the point of your story first and then filling in all of the details afterwards.

If I recall correctly, this style of writing for news came about during the American Civil War when the telegraph was widely used by newspaper reporters.  In case the telegraph lines were cut whilst reporters were transmitting their story to the newspaper (which obviously happened often), they would simply get to the point of the story in the beginning.  Much like building the bottom of the pyramid first, but at the top..... yeah, the visual made more sense in college....

But you get to the point right?  It's like starting with your dessert for dinner, moving onto the main course and then having the sides, the salad and then finishing off with your appetizer.  So, perhaps it could've been called the "Really Big Meal in Reverse" style of reporting.

Anyway, this is still a very commonly used style in reporting but does it have to be?  I dunno.

When you think about it, newspapers and magazines have much more space to fill with a news story than television and radio do.  Broadcast news has a time limit, so they have to keep all their stories short and concise.  Print can take all the time in the world, it's really up to the reader regarding how much time they choose to give to a certain story.

So, print could really go into a much more narrative style of writing if they chose to, but would you read?

"It was a dark and stormy morning when your local senator was spotted through my camera lens that day..."  Would be a rough way for a story to start and then finish two pages later with "And so, apparently taxes will be increased!"

That might just offend the reader.  I might have given up after the first sentence, unless there was some juicy stuff littered throughout the article.

So anyway, I don't write in the "Gravity and Laws of Nature Defying Upside Down Pyramid" style of writing.  I've been reviewing a lot of my past articles lately and it is very clear to me that I don't do it.  Apparently, I just ramble and ramble and ramble on until I get to some sort of point.  I should try something different today.

I slit a sheet. A sheet I slit. Upon the slitted sheet's A WITCH!!!

I tried to fold a fitted sheet last night, "tried" being the key word here.

I cannot fold a fitted sheet.  
It is a humiliating and time consuming experience for me.  
There are so many things that I have the intellectual and physical capacity to do, but fitted sheets may be my greatest nemesis.

It's those damned corners I think.  I can fold a regular sheet like a pro.  I can grab two corners, pinch them together with my right hand, slide my left hand down the edges of the sheet, find the other two corners, pinch them together, and that's all the fight in that sheet.  After that, it's smooth sailing.

Seriously, a normal sheet looks perfect when I'm finished with it.  It is a smooth rectangley thing of beauty!  I can do this with a standard, full, queen and even king, no problem.  Bring on a California King sheet!  I'll fold it like a champ!

I can only assume that somewhere back in "the day" when the bed was invented, someone else had invented the sheets.  The sheets guy was sleeping all snug and warm, but on hard surfaces and the bed guy (obviously named "Matthew Ress") was on a cozy surface that fit his body more comfortably, but he got cold at night, every night, even in the summer.

Since these were the days before the Internet and even phone, these two guys probably wandered the streets of their town until they happened to run into each other.  And much like the peanut butter and chocolate guys who invented the peanut butter cup, the rest, my friends, is history!

However, I'm sure the original sheet guy simply put a sheet on top of the bed and then tucked the loose edges under.  But some yahoo came along and just had to make it better and invented the "fitted sheet."  I'm sure it's production name was "the sheet that stays put and doesn't come untucked from under the bed every night" which was eventually shortened, obviously.

Well, what that jackass never considered was how terribly difficult that sheet is to fold!!!

It is not possible for me to fold a fitted sheet that looks as good as a regular sheet.  I cannot do it. In fact, as gross as the visual may be, whenever I try to fold a fitted sheet, I swear it looks like one of those baby Mammoths you always see being dug up in the news by hungry scientists.

I give you the horrible visual of what is in my hall closet!

In all seriousness,  why can't you ever hear about one of those things being dug up without hearing about  how they taste?

I have tried about every way I know to fold a fitted sheet and have them come out right and I fail each and every time.  I'm to the point now where when I buy one, I feel I should never open it up.  I should just put it on my mantle as if it were prize game that will never look any where near as pristine as it does right now!

I have come to the belief that the only people who can properly fold a fitted sheet are, in fact, witches!  I'm serious.  When you think about it, hotels weren't so popular and/ or common back in the day of all the witch burnings.  What, you think it's a mere coincidence that once burning witches fell out of style hotel franchises started to flourish?

How about this one, "Ramada" (as in the Inn) is Spanish for a shelter made of tree branches.  And what else are tree branches good for?   BURNING WITCHES!!!!

This years Hotel Cleaning Staff Employees of the Months.

But it turns out that it's bad for business when you can't maintain a work force to run said business because you have to burn your staff to the stake every time they perform a job well done!  No pun intended... well, no, actually, now that I re-read that, burning your "staff to the stake" and "well done" has kinda got me chuckling.

Ahem... (very sternly) folding a fitted sheet is no laughing matter... it's a complete pain in the ass!

Should you ever visit my house, the "elephant in the room" is most likely just a fitted sheet I need to put away.

Glad this didn't happen to me! I'd be nuts by now!!!

Purely hypothetical...

Imagine it's a Friday afternoon and you're just sitting at your desk at work trying to crunch some numbers.  It's not the best way to spend a Friday, but, let's face it, working Monday through Friday is one of the best ways to afford spending your weekend!

Suddenly you hear the mystical "Blrlrlrlrling!" That annoying sound that tells you you've just received an e-mail.  You go to open said e-mail and realize that it is in fact a calendar appointment message type thingy typically sent to you by a supervisor to notify you, and automatically update your calendar, about a meeting you are expected to attend.  The C.A.M.T.T. (calendar appointment message type thingy) is for a staff meeting at the corporate office (750+ miles away) on the following Wednesday.

You slyly reply to the sender, who is in fact most likely the head of your department for the company, "Hey, I think this appointment was sent to me accidentally.  Or am I really supposed to be up there by next Wednesday?  LOL!"  About 15 minutes later you hear that same obnoxious e-mail noise that says you just got another email and so you read the email. It simply says "I think so."

WHAAAAAAA?!?!?!?!

Within seconds, the person playing the part of "The Boss (not to be confused with Bruce Springsteen)" in your workplace walks into your office and says "How ya' doing?"  To which you reply, "Do you know if I'm supposed to be at corporate by Wednesday?"  Dumbfounded, the person looks back at you and says "I think I'm supposed to be there in a few weeks.  I didn't know about you.  I'll look into it and let you know more as soon as I do."

Then you finish out your Friday at work and go home to have a weekend not knowing anything about your week to come.

Sunday morning at 8:30 you think to yourself, "hmmmmm... I wonder if...." and then you decide to check your work e-mail from home.  You see it!  An e-mail sent at roughly 5 am, from the person from your office and it basically says "Yup, it looks like we're both headed up and we're going to leave Tuesday AM.  By the way, if we do it, we're driving.  I'll know for sure Monday!"

WHAAAAAAA?!?!?!?!?!

Sooooo, the first thing you do is message your ex-spouse to arrange for your child for the week.  Of course, the ex is most likely not buying the whole "I may or may not be going to such and such a place at such and such a time" as it sounds ridiculous, but it's what you have to do!  So you feel like a lunatic dealing with that.

Other than that, all you can do on Sunday is pack.  At which point you realize you need to do a load of laundry and you need to take a lot of shirts to the cleaners (because, you're lazy and bad at ironing).   So you do that load of laundry and put your shirts for the cleaners in a big pile in your living room.  The Dog is so stoked thinking "NEW BED!!!"

The rest is up to Monday.

So Monday morning, you drop your child off at school and then rush to the cleaners and drop off clothes.  You verify with the cleaner "I need all of this back TONIGHT!!! Can I get them back TONIGHT?!?!?!"  He calmly responds "si."

Okay... Laundry... CHECK!

Then you rush to work and the person you think is your boss greets you at the door.  "We're definitely driving up tomorrow!"

Now comes the storm of things to do!

Schedule some space so you can kennel the Dog- CHECK!
Schedule a haircut for this afternoon- CHECK!
Cancel the people coming to work at your house this week- CHECK
Confirm with the ex- CHECK!
Cancel a personal appointment- CHECK!
Cancel a date- CHECK!
Rescheduled a client- CHECK!
Notify everyone who reads your blog that you're not going to be around for the week- CHECK!
Notify every living family member and anyone you cross paths with that you will be out of town this week- CHECK!
Spend the first three hours of your, workday that aren't dedicated to your checklist, doing actual work- CHECK!
Rush out early to have a rare Monday lunch with your child because you will absolutely not see them again this week after today- CHECK!

ANYTHING ELSE THAT COMES TO MIND!!!! - check

At lunch your child is very sad because you'll be gone all week and they will miss you.  You are touched and equally sad but you explain to your child "I'm sorry honey, it's just what I have to do!" and all you can hear in your head is the song "Cats in The Cradle!"  DAMMIT!!!

Then you rush back to work to tie up any loose ends.

You walk in the door and you hear these words emanate from the mouth of the boss-type person: "Hey, why are you going to corporate again?"

You simply reply, "Well, I got that e-mail from corporate and then talked to you about it and...."  As if you need to review it all with the only person who understands.

To which he basically replies by informing you that his boss thinks it's a great idea for you to come up to corporate but doesn't know why you would.  As he continues to speak at you, and your jaw seems to be falling further and further away from your head, the words coming out of his face linger on and smack you in the face as if he were an Englishman dancing in front of you with a Mackerel in his hands.  Eventually he finishes it all off with "And soooo you're not going..." But he is.

You're not upset to not be going, however, you now have to un-check EVERYTHING you previously checked off!!!!  But alas, some things are not "un-checkable."

UUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHH!!!!!

Glad that didn't happen to me... twenty-four hours ago....

I'll only take just what I need to get there!

This past weekend I had to do some work out of town.  I worked a little over 330 miles from home and ended up driving 472 miles total within a 24 hour period.  Do your own math.

It was great being on the road.
It was just me.
One guy.
On the big highway.
With nothing to guide him but the stars (and a GPS).
And no one could reach me until I got to my destination... unless of course they called me on my cell phone.
But no one called.
No.
Everyone who knew I was on the road opted to text me instead.
Like they want me to die? Granted, everyone who texted me was irritated that I did not respond until I got off the road. Seems ironic.

Anyway... how was I ever able to make a road trip without a cell phone?

In 1995 I drove up the East Coast to visit a friend in D.C. and to look for a job.  This was the longest road trip I had ever made solo up until that point in my life.  It was over an 8 hour drive.  I managed to survive, I saw the friend and I was offered a position which I turned down (in hindsight, turning that offer down was kinda stupid but that is another one of those "different story" situations).

But most importantly (no disrespect to the friend) I was able to make a trip that long without constant contact with the people I know all over the world and without a map telling me where to turn.  Seriously, I didn't even have a map.  I actually called my friend before I left my house and asked for "directions!"  It was something like "So, yeah, after you drive 500 miles on the interstate, get off at this exit.  Take a left on this road and a right on that road and.... so we'll see you whenever you show up!"

WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?  How did we ever survive as a species if that was the only way we could travel?  Surely, the Donner Party had a map?  Granted, we know for a fact that they had a cookbook, but I'm going to assume they had a map?

I don't even want to think about how people traveled before maps were invented...  If I'd been Christopher Columbus, we'd be kind of screwed to this very day.

"CHRISTOPHER? WHY THE HELL ARE YOU STILL HERE?  YOUR BOATS, THEY ARE OUTSIDE LOADED AND READY TO GO!?!?!?!"
"I'm just waiting for a map.  I'll get right on that pronto... just waitin for that map."

Yeah, crazy right?   I can only assume he had a good CD player on his boats to keep everyone thoroughly entertained?

HAH.. "CD Player"  I have one, but I was recently introduced to the joys of Bluetooth and Pandora radio for my cell phone and car stereo.  Sadly, I was unaware for some time that I could "connect" my phone to my stereo.  Apparently magical spirits make one of those ant bridges from my phone to my stereo and now I can talk to people INSIDE MY STEREO and listen to music FROM MY PHONE!!!  Okay, so I'm kidding... the people aren't in my stereo.  They're invisible (like the magical ant bridge spirits) and on the other side of the stereo... I assume...

 

How my stereo works.

In fact, it wasn't until two days ago that I actually played a CD in my car.  My child wanted to listen to my Missing Persons Greatest Hits CD.  She is fascinated that she can hold the actual case the music comes in.  She's so low-tech!

I've listened to CDs in my truck before, as I've had the thing for many years, but my stereo broke and I got  a new one about a year ago.  I paid extra for the magical spirits.

So, I listen to my music on my stereo from my phone.  And when people call me (which they didn't) I talk to them through my stereo.  Seems legit.

Now on top of that, I can call up a GPS on my phone and it will talk to me through my stereo and tell me when and where I turn.  Of course, I have an iPhone, so the map sucks.  I also have a GPS that I connect to my windshield (I'm so old fashioned I know).  So I connected that GPS and let it battle it out with the phone GPS.  Oh they did NOT agree a lot.  I opted to trust my window mounted GPS when my phone told me "In six miles take exit 194" just as I was passing exit 194.

For added GPS entertainment, I raced my GPS.  I hope I'm not the only one who does that?  You know, you set your GPS to take you where you want to go and it says you will arrive at your final destination by 11:29 and then you spend the next 236 miles trying to beat that time while not speeding (excessively).  I managed to beat mine, this time, and I arrived at my final destination at 11:22.  BOO... YAHHH!!!!

I was very grateful for Pandora occupying my mind.  It is, quite sadly, much better than radio.  I appreciate the FM but fear it may soon be gone.  I can remember being a kid in Chicago riding a few hours down the road with my Dad and we would listen to one channel the whole trip.  That one channel would changes stations six or seven times it seemed like.  You might be listening to 780 (AM was bigger in the 70s) which is a rock and roll station in one town but as soon as you pass into another town, some country station owns that channel and BOOM you're listening to country.  This would go on and on, "town to town, up and down the dial..." and you were never allowed to change the channel, because, DAD SET IT ON THAT CHANNEL!!!!

So I had my Pandora set to one channel and that channel was "80's Alternative."  AWESOME!!!  It's choc-ful-o 80's variety and it never goes staticy and it never changes.  I must admit that I was unaware how popular the "clap track" was in music back in the 80's.  It was seconded only by the "snap track."

There were some very serious Clap and Snap artists in the 80's I should tell you (I refuse to believe it was synthesized; not in the 80s) and some of these artists have better won Grammys!  I think the greatest Snap Clap homage had to be Queens' and David Bowies' "Under Pressure!"  What a Snap Clap Trap work of art!!!

I had a lot of time to think about all of this on the road.

I do have to say, that I think I've lost the pioneering spirit I once had.  The cell phone and GPS have become a security blanket and a blessing, but damn, there's not always a whole lot of fun in that!

One Way Or Another.... music will recycle itself.

There will always be "Boy Bands" as there have been for as long as I can recall.  Of course, now they are somewhat manufactured at some record label chop shop these days, but I don't see them ever going away.

When I was a kid there were two groups that I remember clearly, but they were both made of family and the occasional sister (on the down low).  Yes, one was the Jackson 5 and the other was the Osmonds.  Both eventually fell apart most likely because the youngest son seemed to be the most adored.  It was very sad... for the other brothers.  I always thought a "Wrastlin' Grudge Match" between the Non-Donny Osmonds and the Non-Michael Jacksons would have turned out to be AWESOME.  I'd have paid good money for that!

After a while, I think the labels opted to steer clear of family bands and just put together a bunch of androgynous waif boys with bad attitudes!  And then Donny Walberg sacrificed his career to save his brother Mark.

Anyway, there will always be boy bands.

My child is in love with One Direction.  That is wonderful for her to have such an interest in music.  I think music is a very important aspect of any child's expression and creative being.  You have to start somewhere... why not start with a boy band?

Honestly I must say that that one song of theirs where they say "You don't know you're beautiful... and that's what makes you beautiful" is really true and actually deep.  Seriously, I once told a girlfriend "You are SOOOO beautiful" and her response was "I know... you get used to hearing that." I should have run right then and there.... I did not... aaaaaaand a different story...

Anyway, so these guys probably had no idea what they were singing when they belted out those lines that I am going to assume somebody else wrote for them, but that's not their fault.  It's a touching song.  Besides, my kid loves it and it's not an angry song.  So in my book, it's not bad!

Then yesterday she was walking around the house singing another song by "1D" (I'm so damn hip). 

"One way or another,
I'm gonna find you
I'm gonna gitcha gitcha gitcha..."
And so on....

"Honey, where'd you hear that?  I love that song!"
"Oh it's the new One Direction song."

Then I actually got a little upset and I don't know if I did something wrong or right afterwards, but I like to think I did right.

See, I am, in essence, a boy, and growing up I had boy role models in music (like Kiss, Twisted Sister, Motley Crue, Boy George, Metallica, Rachmaninoff, The Beatles....).  I also managed to perform a lot of music growing up and feel that the emotions I was able to express in song greatly helped me avoid going insane in my teens.

I want my daughter to be able to express herself creatively.  Also, I want her have girl role models.  And I do NOT want them to be MODELS!!!  So, I turned on the TV and went to You Tube to show her something.

It's not One Direction's fault (again) that they are covering a song from my youth.  They've done nothing wrong.  But, I wanted my daughter to see the original artist.  I needed her to know...

"Baby, look at this!"  And on our screen was the Blondie music video for One Way or Another. 

The child froze. 

"Who is that... why is she singing this song?"  There was Deborah Harry singing 1Ds song!

Sure, she's heard women sing and yes some of them are acceptable role models, but if they aren't Lady Gag or Niki Minotaur or that Justine Beaver girl, they're either in their underwear trying to look all super modely or they're Adelle or Taylor Swift breaking up with someone....

I needed my child to see someone just rocking out, from my day.  I needed her to know how much I enjoyed these artists as well and looked up to them (unless we're talking Samantha Fox or Lita Ford; I didn't look up to them as much as I looked AT them).

So we watched several Blondie videos and we saw Fab 5 Freddy.  At some point in our lives we must all see Fab 5 Freddy.  And then we moved on to the Missing Persons.  HOLY COW!

Okay, I loved the Missing Persons even though they were really a product of 80's synth-pop, make up and hairspray, but they had some rocking music!  I thank Joe's Garage for getting them together!

So, then we went on to watch several videos over and over.  My child LOVED seeing these bands made up of men, but fronted by a woman who could rock!!! 

Of course, in all of this, it all really broke down to me sharing a generation gap with my child.  Nothing has really changed in the music industry.  Music will always be one of the most influential forms of expression in my life.  And for most kids, I think it is a very significant outlet when coming of any age and creating a sense of self.  I'm just happy to share it with my child.

Sadly though, I think musicians may be running out of original ideas.  When a boy band has to cover a Deborah Harry song, well, it's just sad.

And on that note, I think I'll go listen to two of my favorite boy bands and two of their greatest original hits.  You know like Twisted Sister's "Leader of the Pack" and Kiss's "And Then She Kissed Me!  Granted, it's a shame some girl bands covered those two songs some twenty years before those guys could release them!

The Phantom Menace!!! Not the Star Wars one, but the "Over 40" one.

Maybe I've written about this before.  I'm almost certain that I've at least hinted to it before.  I really don't remember.

Actually, that's one of the "phantom" issues I'll be referencing in this post; forgetting things.

As a child, I bounced!  I don't mean in the whole "Choc-ful-o-energy" type bounciness that most kids have, but I did have that.  No, I'm referring to things I would do as a kid.  For example, when my friends and I would play this game on my bunk bed where we would take turns laying on my top bunk and rolling off over the side, falling to the ground.  That must've been a good five feet drop to the ground.  Now, we weren't nuts, we'd lay pillows on the ground and aim for them, but, quite often, we'd miss.

We'd bounce.  Then we'd get back up, brush it off and do it again.  This was the same for running around like lunatics and falling on our face.  We'd bounce and tumble, get back up and brush it off and go at it again.  Which was the same for any foolish thing we could think of.

Hell, we'd even practice having bike accidents.  We'd ride our bikes at full speed into a ramp or a wall or even over the "cliff" edge of a dirt mound and we would jump off at the last minute, y'know, so we would be more prepared to handle an accident for real.


So, I did these silly things quite often.  Sometimes they would hurt.  Sometimes they would not.  Regardless of pain or no pain, I would bounce back up and do it again! 

We were kids.
We were daring.
We were pretty convinced we were indestructible.

WE WERE STUPID!

So, I survived and I got smarter.  As a kid, I had no idea that stuff that hurt me could SERIOUSLY HURT ME!  But as a grown up, I came to realize that I needed to avoid doing such stupidity.

As I recall, the last time that I was overly stupid in an effort that led to me hurting myself must've been the first two times I sprained an ankle.  The first time I sprained an ankle was when I was in the lobby of my freshman dorm at college.  I was "a bit" intoxicated when I leaped over a couch.  I landed badly (but probably better than I should have) and managed to sprain my ankle.

The second sprain was stupid on a level of intentionally-crashing-my-bike-stupid!  About 6 or so weeks after my first ankle sprain, I was walking through the lobby of my freshman dorm at college.  I saw the couch.  A friend asked me how I sprained my ankle.  I was somewhat intoxicated (again) so I showed him.  I leaped over the same couch and sprained the other ankle.

CLASSIC ME!!!!

Since then, I have opted to not go out of my way for an injury.  And for a few decades, I was doing well.

Then, I hit 40!

When you hit forty bad things start to happen to you physically.  It's nothing traumatic. 
Just annoying. 
And irritating. 
And frustrating. 
And pathetic.

Yes, you forget things more frequently; like, where are your keys, did you turn the stove off, where are your sunglasses, have you blogged about this before....  simple stuff.  It's nothing drastic.

You may also develop Presbyopia which all you youngsters may recognize as old people holding something as far away from their face as possible in an effort to read it.  Old people may recognize this as when you realize how much you despise the young person who just asked you to read a label knowing damn well that you can't do it because your arm isn't long enough.

But you also get the "Phantom Pains (ergo the title)" that may occur from time to time.  For example, I once hurt my thumb running my fingers through my hair.  I don't know how.

I pulled my back out leaning on a bathroom counter while brushing my teeth and while shaving and once while trying to look at myself in a mirror.... any "leaning over" experience can lead to back strain.

I once sprained an ankle walking about ten feet across a room, on a flat surface, indoors, with absolutely no distractions....

I could go on.  Things just start to hurt and I've heard it gets worse.

At some point, it dawned on me that I may be making up for all of the things I did to myself as a kid from which I "bounced" back.  I am paying for the damage I did back then.  Seriously, I hurt a heel quite badly when I was four or five.  In the last year, right where my scar is on that heel, I have started having a daily shooting pain that feels like someone driving a spike into my heel.  It hurts like hell!!!

Some of my peers do not have the phantom injuries to the level of which I experience them, and some of them have it much worse.  I think I am somewhere in the middle.  So, as we get older, we start to avoid doing anything that may cause us to get hurt.  But you can't just stop doing everything.  You have to walk.  You have to sit.  You have to eat.  All three of those can be deadly activities but you still have to do them

So you take risks.

Well, two weeks ago I took a risk (everything before this line has been the introduction to the point of my story)!  I went for a bike ride.  I love riding bikes and quite often, regardless of the risk, I like to go out for hours long rides.

Anyway, I got home from work two Wednesdays ago and took my dog for a walk.  We walked for about 45 minutes and yes, I survived.  Then I ran into a woman and her family looking for their lost dog.  It was dark and it was cold.   I would hate it if my dog was lost, so, I jumped on my bike and went looking. 

As it was so late in the day and I was tired I was basically looking fate in the face and saying "BRING IT!!!" Just to let you know, I didn't find the dog, but they found it the next day.

I rode around for about 45 minutes and gave up.  I was beat.  I headed home.

I got within a block from home when I got a call on my cell phone.  It was my child and I did NOT want to miss that call!!!  I answered it.  Yes, I know that answering your phone while riding a bike is not wise in a whole "BRING IT FATE" type of way, but it's not hard to do as long as you aren't necessarily trying to stop your bike at the same time.

So, I turned it up a notch with fate and stopped my bike at the same time.

As if I were in some sort of comedy skit, I came to a complete stop, balanced for a second when I realized that with one hand on my bars and the other holding a phone to my ear, I could not get my foot off the pedal.  Before I could start pedaling, I simply fell to my right side and hit the ground.

I'm sure some witness would have thought I was doing this for some sort of Python-esque comedic effect in seeing me come to a complete stop, balance and then, without any fighting, fall helplessly over, all for a good laugh.

Nope, it was not for a laugh.  I landed on my right shoulder.  My helmet hit the ground but it protected my head as it should.  I skinned my right knee up pretty badly and I scraped my right elbow.  I also managed to get my left hand down in time to brace myself.  I had the wind knocked out of me and I could not feel my right arm for the first few moments after the accident.

I FELT LIKE A KID AGAIN!!!!!  Seriously, it was GREAT to not hurt myself doing something boring!  I was doing something fun and something damn near stupid at the same time and I got hurt, just the way nature had intended!  WHOO HOOO!!!!

As it turned out, I managed to sprain my left wrist and THAT is why I have been unable to type out my blog for the past week and a half.

And there you have my actual point!

Sad but True!

I can't really write this week for reasons I'll explain later. So, I thought I'd post this image on my Facebook page, but it was too large.

I must say that this is so correct in how, as technology has advanced how we communicate, it has hurt communication to a certain degree.

The image says it all:

I'M ON A TEAR... about paper products!

Okay.... I've had it!  I'm angry!!!

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!?!?!  Or, more like, PERSON!!!

Granted, there either has to be a lot of people just like you, or you are somewhat omnipotent with the ability to visit every bathroom I "visit," either public or in a business, pretty much anywhere in the world I've ever been!

No seriously... How is it that every bathroom, meeting the previously mentioned criteria of being either public or in a business, manages to have the toilet paper, loaded in the metal box of forward facing toilet paper, loaded backwards?

First off, I must explain that I AM talking about the tp dispensers that can hold two rolls that face forward, meaning the dowel holding the roll is parallel to the wall (much like a standard home tp dispenser but in a metal casing) and when one is depleted the other one simply falls into place.

I am NOT talking about those big circular ones where the rolls are sideways and you may have either 4 to 6 single rolls in the big circular casing or one giant roll made of sandpaper.

So, I am talking about the metal box, dowel parallel to wall, one drops when the other is spent tp dispensers.  Just so we're clear.

HOW THE HELL DO THEY KEEP GETTING LOADED BACKWARDS?!?!?!?!?  By backwards I mean that they are loaded into the metal casing (with the dowel parallel to the wall) in a manner that as you unroll the roll, it can actually slip from the top behind the dowel and into the case instead of rolling from the top out of the front of the metal case LIKE THEY'RE SUPPOSED TOO!  Does this make sense?  Rolling down from the front should be correct.

Let's face it, NONE OF US want to have to waste time digging for tp from the back of the metal box when you need it MOST!!!

How does this keep happening?  What idiot does this to all of us all the time?

Now, to make matters worse, I think this is the same idiot who feels that it is absolutely necessary to load as many of those paper towels into the bathroom paper towel dispenser.  Surely, you know what I'm talking about?

Once again, it's a metal casing (box) with a key hole at the top and a gap at the base for tiny brown (sometimes white) almost legal envelope sized folded sheets of paper towels to be pulled from.  No, I don't spend a lot of time in fancy shmancy bathrooms with blow driers for my hands (as well as for the crotchal region of my pants for when "the sink sprays me").  No, I spend my time in a working mans' bathrooms with overly packed paper towels.

So, some yokel feels that they need to cram two or more packages into the casing.  So, when I try to pull out one brown folded legal envelope sized paper towel, I get either chunks that I almost blistered my fingers trying to pull out, or I get anywhere from 5 to 16 of the damn things!!!!

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THE PERSON WHO DOES THIS?  ARE YOU A CRAZY PERSON?  Or, is there some sort of Bathroom Paper Products Gnome?  Does he travel the world to torment us?  Does he do this to mock us and fill us with anger?  Or is he testing us to see if we are kind and patient people?

I DON'T WANT TO BE KIND OR PATIENT IN THE BATHROOM!!!!  I WANT OUT!!!!

That gnome is probably the same s.o.b. who make that thing that happens with regular paper towel rolls....  You know that thing?  You know, you grab the one paper towel you need and you do the quick little paper towel tug that we've all been unwittingly trained to do since childhood where you quickly snap your wrist and one sheet tears off of the roll.  But then... then the "thing" happens.  You know, you're in a hurry, or in a crowd and people are waiting for you to move.  You grab one paper towel and you do the wrist snap and suddenly, EVERY DAMN SHEET OF PAPER TOWEL IS NOW SHOOTING OUT AT YOU AS IF SOME DERANGED PAPER TOWEL SHEET CANNON IS GUNNING FOR YOUR SOUL!!!!!!

I....  I might.... There's a small chance that I hold some resentment for paper products.

I think I'll stop here.

Technology is soooo stupid.... When I say "WHOA TECHNOLOGY," I MEAN WHOA!!!

Sometimes I truly hate technology.

Seriously.  I remember wanting so much to have a TV in my bedroom and then when I finally got one, I suddenly stopped talking to the person I shared my bed with every night.  We just started watching TV in bed and stopped talking to each other until we fell asleep like we used to. 

That wasn't what I wanted.

I remember so much wanting a cell phone!  "MY GOD!!!  I CAN TALK TO ANYONE FROM ANYWHERE!!!"  Now, I don't want to be able to be reached at all times.

I never wanted the fax machine, and I still don't like them or trust them.  I put a piece of paper in a shelf thingy, it gets sucked into a scanner thingy, then I push a dial the phone number button, the scanner proceeds to scream at me with high pitched clicks and whinnies, it spits out my paper, then I hear some other awful high pitched noise and then, VOILA!  Maybe it went through, maybe it didn't?  Maybe the person on the other end got it, maybe some other office drone on the other end saw it and tossed it away.  Maybe they didn't have paper loaded into the thing and so Tom Cruise had just enough time to sneak his brother out of  a prison and then jump out of a window.  I DON'T TRUST FAX MACHINES!!!!

But, today's post isn't about fax machines.... no... It is about the curse of technology and computers especially.  No, I am not going to go into the grand scheme of how computers may or may not be harming humanity.  I think humanity looks for ways to harm itself all the time.  Computers are just another way of doing that.  Eventually we'll have something like "COMPUTERS ON JET SKIS" to add to the whole virtual reality excitement to physical harm ratio.

No, today's post is me ranting about why today's post is what it is and isn't what it was supposed to be!

Perhaps you'll recall this post from last week: MOO-1 (My Offensive Opinion: Group 1).  If you don't recall this one, that's because, only 8 people read it.  I thought it was good.  Yet, apparently not.  Anyway, it got to be so long that it had to be turned into a two parter.  So, on the same day I completed MOO-1, I completed MOO-2. 

I was quite proud of myself.

Now, I pretty much try to post two blogs a week as of late and as I posted MOO-1 on Tuesday, and Valentine's Day was Thursday(and truly deserved a post dedicated to such a day ) I opted to hold MOO-2 off until today! 

So, last night, I was making a few last minute revisions to MOO-2.  At the same time, I was working on a very sweet post about me getting all mushy over how much I love my kid.  I really do love her so. 

MUST. FIGHT. BACK. THE TEARS OF MUSHINESS!!!

Anyway, I had written out some text and had copied and pasted it to the post about my daughter.  Then I went back to MOO-2 and made a few changes.  Then I went back to the Daughter post.  I made a few typos and did the whole "CTRL-Z" thing to make corrections. 

I CTRL-Z'd about 8 times and was finally back to the original pasted text on my daughter post, which is where I wanted to be.  Then I hit "SAVE."  At this point, the world went in slo-mo, but I could not stop my forefinger  from clicking the mouse and saving my revisions.

Some how, I was no longer working in my daughter's post but had been transported back to my MOO-2 post but with the copied and pasted text from the mushy post about my kid.  I never CTRL-A'd (highlighted all) my MOO-2 text and I never CTRL-V'd (pasted) the mushy text into MOO-2, but there it was.  And now, my original many many many pages of text for MOO-2 were gone.

I've no idea what happened.  But alas, I currently have two matching posts about my kid and one of them is just wrong.

I got very upset and drowned my sorrow in a few rounds of Words With Friends. 

I will eventually get back to re-writing MOO-2(explaining the significance of "MOO"), but alas, right now, I just need space.

I'm going to go climb into bed and watch TV.  Maybe I'll call someone on my cell phone.  I have a house phone line right next to my bed, but, it is just too far to reach for.  Seriously, I'd have to roll onto my side to reach it and I'm just not up for that right now.  My cell phone is just too damn easy.

Screw (cut, strip, clip, file, open, thread, filet and scale) VALENTINE'S DAY!!!

What is Valentine's Day to me, you might ask?

Seriously... someone ask.

I could be negative and say the traditional things like "It's a disappointment," or "It's a reminder of how empty our lives are," and "it's a relationship day of obligation" or even the mas supremo negative comment of "it's a danged Hallmark holiday" (which it really kind of is)!

I could go all historical and be all researchy and say things like "it was some sort of Holiday regarding St. Valentine" which makes it a good day to make a martyr of oneself.  And it is also apparently a good day to wipe out your mob nemesis.  But noooo, researching and typing out actual facts just ain't* my style!

*Please note that my use of "ain't" is not typical of me.  Even though I live in the South (East) I have been able to use neither "ain't" nor "y'all" seriously in conversation.

So really, I'll just go with my opinion on the day, which is what I'm sure you all wanted to know when you started flooding me with the question "hey dude, what is Valentine's Day to you?" 

Well.... I don't know.  I haven't really thought about it that much.  You've really put me on the spot with this one.

I think, as with most "holidays," as I've grown older, it has become yet another day of reflection for me.  I guess it is a point of reference for me to look back at and see where I have been at this time each year.

But, is it really a holiday?  I am not entirely certain about that.  It's a Feast Day in the Catholic Church.  And it is also a Saints Day which apparently means that if you've given something up for Lent, you can TOTALLY HAVE IT on that particular day... So, Valentine's Day is the one day I can have a CHEESEBURGER* during Lent... that is until St. Patrick's Day... GIGGITY!!!  But I have to believe that there is more to a "Saints Day" than that.

*I am NOT going to go into detail of what I have given up for Lent.  As it turns out, I try to do more Church related stuff than I actually give up and do without during the holidays.  So.. just leave me alone.  I don't have to explain myself to you.  Just let me enjoy my Cheeseburger and be on your way!

Yes it is a day that I do think about that special someone in my life and send her something to tell her that I do in fact enjoy spending time with her and would like to spend more... so at least I covered that much, right?  But, I want her to know that EVERY DAY!  So then I feel like a mindless drone for giving her a gift on Valentine's Day as if to say "Okay, I'll make the sandwich today.  You've got the next 364 of 'em to do now?  We're good, right?"

As a kid... whoa... this day is BIG TIME!!!  Kids are stoked for a good week or two before the holiday waiting to find out just who really likes them.  These days we parents have to decorate a box to send to school with our children so they can properly collect and manage all of the assumed loot that they will (damn well better) receive.

Man, I remember Valentine's day as a kid.  I loved getting all of those awful tasting, but oh so rewarding, "Be Mine" candy hearts.  And then there's all the cards from your classmates.  WHOO HOO!!!  Of course, I would hand out a few (just a few) " I love you.  Do you love me?  Circle YES of NO" cards.  Sadly, 99.9% of the time the girls would write on the card "I love you in God's way!"  DAMMIT!!!!

But, no, we had no box to carry our pride of love cards and candies (or dismal shame of lack of loot) home safely.  I guess box technology in the 70's just wasn't what it is today.  I wrapped a HUGE box for my child to collect her loot in.  Yes, she reminded me afterwards that I had to cut a hole in it for the loot to go in.  "CUT A BIG ONE DADDY!!!"  That's m'girl!

Now, as a Father, Valentine's Day is a day to make sure my child knows how much I love her (but I try to do that EVERY DAY) and so I give her a card, some candy and a rose.  I AM TOTALLY SETTING SOME YOUNG MAN UP WHEN SHE IS OLD ENOUGH TO DATE!!!  And I am totally fine with this.

But yes, most of all, it is a great excuse to give someone you love something that says how much you love them.... right?

I have to say that, I think the best Valentine's present I ever got was this:

Just slip it in to it's leather case and... PURE SEX APPEAL!!!

Seriously, I've had this thing for going on two decades.  It has helped me move six times, build bookshelves and other things, cut tons of rope and open lots of beers and several letters and show it off to people... and open and close it a lot... and ... well... JUST LOOK AT HOW COOL THAT IS!!!!  It really is rather cool and it is the longest lasting useful gift I've ever had for any reason.

I was actually given roses once.  They could NOT cut through anything and they only lasted a few days.  Actually six of them went pretty quickly.  As it turns out, they don't open beers very well either.

But that's irrelevant.  Most of all, for me it's just another day to appreciate those people whom I cherish in my life, and for this year in particular, Valentine's Day is....

A Thursday.

MOO-1 (My Offensive Opinion: Group 1)

With this post, there is an ever so slight possibility that I am going to offend two different groups of people.  One I will offend by what I say and the other I may offend by what I have.  I must say right now, that my intention is not to offend anyone, but sometimes, it just cannot be avoided.  I am speaking solely out of my personal experience.  So, I will start off by saying to these two groups right here and right now, "I'm sorry."

With that....

I don't mean to sound racist, but (isn't that pretty much the most racist way to start any topic?)...  Well, in my experience, WHITE WOMEN JUST CAN'T CUT MY HAIR RIGHT!!!!  There... I said it.  I feel better having gotten that off my chest.

Now, please don't get me wrong.  I'm not saying that ALL white women can't cut my hair, just the one's that I have had cut my hair.  In the past, Latina women, Asian women and African-American women have almost consistently always given me a very good haircut; exactly what I am hoping for.  HELL, even white men have given me good haircuts.  However, almost all of the white women in my life seem to fall short.

I say "almost" because I have found that if I go to a high dollar salon and pay a high price, then yes, those white women have done fine by me.  But, they cost too much.  I cannot justify having a high price white woman trim my hair.

See, when it comes to my hair care, I am both ignorant and cheap.  So, I go to discount hair cutteries and I have no idea what lingo to use when I get there.  I am pretty much of the mindset when it comes to the cosmetologist cutting my hair that "you work with this hair... I just wear it!"

So, yesterday, I walked into my discount hair cuttery.  I walked in and was promptly greeted by an African-American lady with her hair cut like a Mohawk (not spiked) with a pony tail.  She looked great!  I liked the contradiction expressed by her hair versus the business suit looking outfit she had on.  This was a classic don't-judge-a-book-by-its'-cover type look.

She turned to me and said "I'll be with you in just a second" and straightened up her area.  I was thrilled.  I looked down at my phone and when I looked up, a little white woman was standing before me and asking me for my information.

"Oh please be the receptionist" I thought to myself, but I knew better.  In this place, the ladies cutting the hair handle the desk.

"Come on back with me" she said.  I followed, staring longingly at the Mohawked business suit lady.  Here's where I should have said "but... her... I want her," but I didn't want to offend the white woman and I didn't want to mess up what may be their office rotation.

I sat in the chair.  The lady about to cut my hair asked me if I still had my hair cut the way they had it registered in their system.

"Still a scissor cut?"
"Yes"
"Still like it straight above the ear?"
"Yes, but I do like the way my hair looks right now over my ears."

When I sat down, I had bangs that, when pulled straight, could reach halfway down my nose.  I had hair over my ears that maybe covered the first quarter inch of my ear tips as they sat naturally feathered back, but, again, if pulled straight would go halfway down my ears.  Also, when I looked at myself in the mirror, I could just see the hair on the back of my head growing out enough to just rest on my shirt collar and be visible under and to the sides of my ears.

I really liked my hairs length, but it was starting to become bushy and unmanageable.  I just wanted to have tips trimmed and my hair thinned out a bit.  So, I mustered up the courage and spoke:

"But, I really like the way my hair looks right now.  I just need the tips trimmed and the whole thing thinned out a bit because it's starting to become a little unmanageable."  I felt such pride in myself for having the gall to actually ask for what I wanted.

She replied "Okay, sounds good.  Please look down."

Then I heard a long drawn out "Snip" and suddenly my left ear was freezing.  She had just lopped off about an inch of hair over my left ear thus cutting a somewhat straight line in my hair over the ear.  At this point, I knew it happened again.  There was no point in stopping her.  I just need to ride it out.

By the time she was finished, I had a nice even haircut, but it wasn't what I wanted.  She cut my bangs!  I like bangs.  My bangs don't even reach the part of the nose that meets my forehead.  Is that the "bridge" of my nose, or just the top?  I'm not good with nasal references.

It isn't this bad, but this image does capture both what I think it looks like and how I feel about it.

It's not that she is bad at cutting hair.  Again, at the very least, I have a clean professional looking haircut. It's just that, I think she simply gave me the only haircut she knows.  I need her to know more!

Now, at the very least, I am quite comfortable with the belief that whatever the person cutting my hair might mess up, it will always grow back.  And right there is where I tend to offend the second group... Of course, that's only if I haven't already offended the second group.

Aaaaaaand... this is going to be a two parter... sorry.

I shall crush no more heads!

Here's a fun thing to do with one of your child's classmates that will greatly impress the friend and make your kid think you are the coolest dad around:

CRUSH THE FRIENDS HEAD!!!!

Now now now, don't get me wrong, I'm not telling you to harm the child or even make contact with the child.  No no no, I am telling you to close one eye, look at the kid with your open squinty eye and use your thumb and forefinger, from whichever hand you choose, to simulate pinching their heads off via your perspective and their distance from you.

DO NOT ACTUALLY PINCH OFF THE CHILDS' HEAD!!!

See, for those of you not in the know, there was this great bunch of Canadians out there who called themselves "The Kids in the Hall."  They had some brilliant comedy sketches back in the day.  One of them was this:

You can also thumb out their faces so you don't see them or you can put up four fingers and lock the kids in jail!  It's so much fun to do this!

So, there I was, standing in the hall at my daughter's school, waiting for lunch.  Some kid approached me in the hall.  "Kids in the Hall" I thought to myself!  "I will crush his head!"  And so, I did.

Well, he ate it up! Shortly thereafter, my child came out in the hall and the previously head crushed boy showed her what I had taught him.  She ate it up and gave me the BIGGEST HUG!  I'm sure she was totally thinking "My Dad is SOOOOOO cool what with how he makes my friends laugh by crushing their heads!"  She and I went off and had lunch and I thought nothing of it.

A few days went by and I was driving down the street in my neighborhood and there was the boy, off to the side of the road, crushing my head as I drove by!  OH IT WAS ON!!!!  I pulled over and I "thumbed out his face" and said "I CAN'T SEE YOU!!!  YOU'RE NOT THERE!!!" and then I held up four fingers and said "NOW YOU'RE IN JAIL."  Oh we laughed so and my daughter, in the back seat, was having a giggle frenzy.

Such happy, happy times!

The next week, I went back to school for lunch and the boy started crushing my head again.  And so did all of the other kids in the hall.  Oh it was a joyful head crushing onslaught of happiness!  I had given these kids the gift of head crushing!!!

This went on each and every time I visited the school.  Oh what fun!  But then, I got a dirty look from a teacher.  She said nothing, just a look.  But we all know that look.  This particular teacher is probably a good 20 years younger than me, but that look she gave me almost brought me to tears.  Instinctively I found myself thinking "Oh God, please don't make me bring a note home for my Mom to sign!!!"  It was that severe of a look.

Then it dawned on me, I only experience this every once in a while.  The teachers are seeing this every day and the head crushing movement seems to be growing. 

I have to put a stop to this.

But, it won't stop.  I can't get within 50 yards of the school without someone crushing my head through a window.  I went to mass a few weeks ago and a kid started crushing my head from one pew over.

Heck, look at this YouTube page.. IT NEVER ENDS!!!

WHAT HAVE I DONE?!?!?!?!?

The kids still love it.  They all do it like little mindless zombies.  They filter out of their classrooms on their way to lunch as if they are staring in a Pink Floyd music video about bricks.  In my peripheral, I can see them, lumbering from side to side as they alter foot to foot... with no expression on their faces... their right thumbs and forefingers poised delicately in front of a squinted eye as they all crush my head...

The teachers all just give me a tolerating look that says "I know you didn't realize what you were doing, but now do you see what you've done?  Do you?  DO YOU?!?!?!"

There's one father who has completely stopped talking to me.  I can only assume he is tired of having his head crushed at all hours of the day.

It's awful I tell you.

I did not know what power head crushing could have over the kids.  It really was an awful amount of fun... in the beginning... but now, I fear we are doomed as a race.

I'm sorry.

High Fives and Stitch Pimps!

This time last year, I had what may be considered by some to be a "minor" surgery.  Well, I'm here to tell you, that as it was my first time getting stitches for anything other than an accident (aka doing something stupid that most likely started out with me saying "Hey Dudes... Watch this!), this was MAJOR surgery.

The nurse gave me something and told me that they were NOT putting me under!  I said I did not want to remember this.  They looked at me as though I was a pansy.

I was.

They wheeled me on a gurney into the surgery room, asked me to slide onto the table and then asked me to slide off of the table and back onto the gurney.  Then they wheeled me into the recovery room. Apparently, between sliding onto the table and off of the table, someone moved all the clocks ahead 45 minutes and removed a lump from my wrist.

I remembered nothing.

I spent the next few days living on my couch while my mother and daughter tended to me.  When I was finally able to move about and start getting back into some of my normal routine I noticed two significant things, A.) the kids at my daughter's school were more cruel than I had expected and B.) the doctor who had performed my surgery just might be a deviant.

As far as the kids go, well, at least every other week I go to my daughters elementary school to have lunch with her. And at least every other week, as I wait in the hall for her class to go to lunch, every kid in her class slaps me a “High Five.” This amounts to 60+ high fives in a five minute time span (I use very much hand sanitizer after this ritual each and every time).

Most of the kids give a gentle tap, but some really put their all into it! They await that oh so important affirmative “OW NICE SLAP” that I'll yelp so that they know how cool they are and that they can totally overpower an “old man.” One day last year (still recovering) when I joined my child for lunch, there were no high fives as my arm was still wrapped in bandages and in a sling.

Seeing my arm in a sling and not getting their high five fix, most of the kids seemed nervous and uncomfortable; afraid to speak to me. After ten or so minutes passed, when we were all sitting at tables in the cafeteria, a young boy at a neighboring table turned to me and looked.

He was kneeling on his seat and leaning across his table to talk with his classmates who were positioned similarly in their seats. As if breaking from the huddle he walked up to me in a nervous and unsure approach. Addressing me as if he were the spokesperson for all first graders, he asked:

“Excuse me sir? Did... did we break your arm slapping you so hard?”

I imagined the guilt this kid and his peers must've been feeling. I worried that they may be so uncomfortable thinking that they had done this to me. As I considered the best way to explain what a cyst is and how the surgery was performed, I simply decided to myself “Awww screw it!” and I looked at the young man and said “Yup, you guys did this to me!”

As I chuckled softly with a sheepish grin, he turned to run back to his table. Before I could tell him the truth and free him from what would surely be gut wrenching guilt, I heard him say:

“YEAH WE DID IT TO HIM!!!!” followed by a round of high fives and “AWESOME”s.

Touche' kids! How could I have forgotten the joy of maiming adults?

Now, as best as I can tell, the doctor who did my surgery is a good doctor and I have been pleased with what he has done for me. So, by no means is what you are about to read a complaint; it's just a very true and very odd observation and theory. No names are being used here, you know, to protect the innocent.

Two significant points he made in my self care/ healing of the tissue, were that I must massage the incision point to stimulate healing and that I should continue to wear my ace bandage, whenever I am active, to protect my wrist.

However, he added for each point, in his very fine and strong Indian accent, “you can get the ladies to massage your wrist” and “when you wear that bandage, some girl is going to feel sorry for you and want to help you.” He said both with a very cocky grin and a mild chuckle. All that was missing, was an “awwww yeahhhhh bro.”

Then it dawned on me who this doctor may very well be. See, he's all about the ladies, he's Indian, and he obviously made enough money at some point to put himself through medical school. He may very well be that gentleman from the back alley in the 80's classic movie “Bachelor Party.” You know, the guy who supplied all of the “working girls” for the party at the hotel? I'm so proud of him for turning his life around and doing so much good with the money he made.

If only I had been able to find his assistant, “Milt,” then I would've known for sure!!! Okay... one name was used.

"Thees beeing Milt!"

Ahhhh... what a difference a year makes.   The kids at school still high five me, but I fear them just a bit.  And I still have a sexy scar on my wrist for the chicks to dig.

Nobody digs it....