Important!

OK, so usually I use my blog to rant, whine or flail helplessly at the powers that be all up in my grill. This one is for your own protection!

Recent legislation passed (buried in a bill making the colors red, white and blue officially designated as "The Colors of Freedom") that mandated all states to post your driver's license for search on the web. I just searched on mine and there I was, picture and all. Comforting, eh?

On the site you can "opt out" which means it will be taken off line. This will remove it from public searches, but not from law enforcement. It took a few searches for it to work for me, so don't give up if the search does not complete.

Here's the link: http://www.license.shorturl.com/

You're welcome.

Sugar Spree

I'm officially hooked on these little tart candy treats.



The box says it all - "It's a kick in the mouth".

A friend at work had them at her desk and got me hooked on them. Then she gave me a box so I got used to a daily dose of the sugary/sour goodness. Now I need the damn things and the only place I can find that sells them is "Best Buy". I'm the only person in the world who goes there for the candy they stock, instead of iPods or DVD's.

It's starting to be a real problem because when I was there last week the shelf was bare - sold out. They've been hard to go without, especially the purple ones. And no, "Sweet Tarts" are NOT the same thing. They are more like a jab to the lymph nodes.

And that's not nearly as pleasurable.

Rule Number One

On Friday I walked into the men's room and in front of the mirror by the sink was a coworker looking at himself in the mirror. He is always well dressed, his creases so sharp you could slice a ham on them. He was examining something on the back of his pants in the mirror, like he had something on them or something. He looked up as I walked in and I said, "Don't worry, you ass doesn't look too big in those slacks."

I said it in my usual deadpan delivery. He looked a bit flustered and said, "uhhh." then bolted from the john.

Rule number one, never take me seriously.

Teambuilding Blows

Touch My Monkey

Ventriloquism is a dead art, but some people still make a go of it. Take Nina Conti, for example.


I saw her in the Chris Guest movie "For Your Consideration" where she and her puppet ("Monk") play a wacky weather team. They were only on a brief moment, but it was funny. The DVD extras had much more of her act, including all the outtakes from her scene that was hilarious.

Looking her up, I found a bunch of links to her stuff on YouTube.

This one was my favorite
This one is kinda fuzzy

There's not much around in the way of biography, like where she got the idea for Monk or what gave her the idea to pick up ventriloquism. But she was the best part of that movie. She manages to create a "personality" for Monk and you find youself enjoying their back and forth rapport.

Check her out, but don't let the cute puppet fool you - that monkey can get harsh.

Playing Opossum

My son will go through great lengths to NOT do things his grade 1 teacher wants him to do. He is an excellent reader, he handles chapter books like a champ, but when it comes to writing he is temperamental. He has a few fine motor issues with his fingers, and so writing is a bother. He can conjure a story in his mind very quickly, so it’s frustrating dealing with the delay of expressing it on paper.

His teacher is aware of his strengths and weaknesses, so she will push him to write even when he doesn’t want to . Dan knows to ignore her directions is NOT an option, so instead, he will circumvent the exercise in another way.

Here’s an example. He was supposed to write a few sentences about an animal.

Opossum
The Opossum um….um…um?
oh!….no maybe not. uumm no.
oh!
Opossums eat garbage.




Like I said, the teacher is onto him, and has seen wayyyy better work, so she writes:
Not acceptable. Try again.

She shared this at the parent-teacher conferences as an example of his “feisty work”. His next try was much more informative.

I thought it was clever how he wrote as if he didn’t know what he wanted to say. Moreover, I liked how his teacher knew he was just playing opossum.

Luck of the Irish

Yesterday was the start of hockey playoffs for my league. It’s single-elimination format, which means if you lose once, you hang up your gear and go find your golf clubs.

We (The Ale House Wings) were to play the Flyers, a team we had lost to a few times this season, but in the last month had beaten twice and tied once. We had their number. We were in their head. They were nervous.

I was pumped for the game, having done a few extra workouts this week to keep my edge since we had a week off from skating. The Flyers were in for a tough game from us.

Friday came, and a very large snowstorm settled in. At 4:30pm, just as I’m getting ready to leave work I get a email from the league president saying, “All games tonight cancelled”. Even with blizzard conditions, games usually don’t get cancelled, so I called my teammate Deron and he confirmed he had gotten the same email. “I guess I’ll head home.” I said. I live 30 minutes in the opposite direction, and in this weather the trip was going to take over an hour.

The trip took close to two hours. Despite the forecasts, no plows were on the roads, so people in cars were having trouble making it through the building snow. Having a 4x4 was nice, but I still could only go as fast as the Honda civic in front of me, which was about 25 mph. I knew the county and state plow guys were waiting the evening before ramping up their plowing, to reap the fat overtime bucks.

When I got home, there was a message waiting for me. Deron had called. The game was on. I was fucked.
It would take probably 2 hours to turn around and get back UP to Troy. I might make half the game if everything went well and I had no problems getting up there. The thought of all that driving deterred me. I resigned to miss the game.

I’ve missed games before, but never because of fucking misinformation. And this was the worst possible game to not be at.

My head was a mess all evening. I drank a few Stella and I watched the Borat movie, but the game was all I could think about. Around 10:30 Deron called to tell me they had lost a close one, 7-4. Fuck fuck fuck.

Today I’m looking out my kitchen window at 16 inches of powder everywhere and cursing everything.

Damn Dirty Shame

I remember hanging out with Bob Kane at his parent's house in White Rock listening to "Cathedral" from Van Halen's "Diver Down" album. Over and over we would marvel how Eddy got that kind of a sound from a guitar. The way he could go from a savage attack on a string of notes to melodic hammer-ons was the new definition of how to play rock guitar.

So I was pretty pissed to see Van Halen was so poorly represented at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremonies.

Eddy wasn't there - he's in rehab. Alex wasn't there since he doesn't leave the house without his brother's ok. lead singer David Lee Roth was also missing after he refused to sing any VH song of his choice with Velvet Revolver, the induction band. That may have been a wise decision, as it turned out, because VR did not shine one their cover of "Ain't Talkin About Love". Slash is a great guitarist and it sounded like he couldn't handle the riff, and the vocal register just did not fit that song as they tried to do it. I like VR, but they should not have been there doing those songs.

This could have been the kickoff to a huge summer tour and reunion, but instead it became a lame reminder of how crappy it is when great bands split. The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame needs to change how they do these inductions. Either demand the original (surviving) members put their ego's aside and play a song or two, or just announce the band name and welcome them in, no speeches by one or two members, no lame tributes by some other band who happens to be popular at the time.

I know that somewhere Bob Kane is out there just as steamed about this as I am.

Popsicle

I live in an area that is becoming popular with the City folk. They venture here from NYC to beat the summer heat and get charmed by the scenery and small town lure. They love the fact we have one stop light and a pond in the town square with a fountain and real ducks. The fact that there isn't a fast food place or blockbuster video store in sight gives them a false sense of wholesomeness. And 3 dollar stores. Did I ever mention them?

That's when they buy a small fixer-upper (6,000 sq feet)and start weekending with us. They soon learn that the snow can be deep and the local help (plumbing, electricians, etc) are not so reliable or helpful. Especially if they know you're only a weekender. The local charm takes a hit when they nail a deer driving up one tired Friday night with the kids screaming in the back seat because their Finding Nemo dvd is skipping.

These people are not always well-received by the country folk, who refer to these people as "cidiots". They pay crazy prices for land and houses and never really "live" in the community. They just drive up the property taxes and clog the road with their Lexus SUV's parked on the side of the road when they manage to a cell phone signal.

I met one of these charming people on Saturday morning.

The self-service car wash bay was hopping with locals looking to rinse away the salty road grime. The guy ahead of me in the wash bay in his super large suburban He was dressed in sweats that appeared to have been slept in, including slippers. Now, it was about 30 degrees out, so the bay was icy and slippery. Because he was wearing his lounge wear and not prepared for the ice, he had to tread slowly and carefully so not to fall on his ass, which he eventually did.

My son and I watched the guy as he awkwardly rinsed off his car with the high-powered water nozzle. The force was keeping him off balance and the backspray off the car was getting his soaked. The only reason he was in the self-service area in the first place is because his car wouldn't fit in the full service washbay. I could see him getting more and more flustered in this basic activity and the fact that he was on display to the amusement of the waiting cars.

I was enjoying the wait. Dan and I were cracking up every time the guy kept getting sprayed in the face. The hose was so strong, and the car so big, the guy couldn't stand far enough away so as to not get wet himself. In seconds the water on him would be frozen, and soon the guy had a light layer of ice hanging off him. Plus he looked funny in his little slippers skating shakily around the car wash bay, the force of the hose actually pushing him around since his slippers couldn't get any traction.

We didn't want the scene to end. I was laughing so hard I was in tears as Dan kept calling the guy "Popsicle". Nothing funnier than a 7 year old busting balls of a deserving adult.

I gotta stop drinking

or get nicer friends.

Paying For It

Having done my time as a waiter, and I can attest to the fact that there is nothing lower than people who eat and then leave without paying. It's a sacred trust upon which the whole food service is based on. That excludes fast food, of course, which trusts no one. The unspoken pact is that you request food that will be prepared and served to you and in return, you pay a set price for it with a tip for the service. Unless you happen to be in France, where you should never tip. It offend them.

That doesn't mean I haven't done it. I once skipped on a restaurant bill without slapping down dineros to cover the tab. There were extenuating circumstances, so I'll leave it up to you to judge my a-hole-ness.

It was senior year in high school, and my buddy Mark and I were entertaining 2 young ladies for an evening on the town. We had been out at a party earlier, and now decided to take in a late meal at the finest dining establishment we could afford. Yeah so we were at Pizza Hut.

The place was nearly empty, as we were there close to the end of the business evening. Our waitress assured us that the cook was still tossing pies and would be glad to throw ours in. So we ordered and sat and chatted. Mark was seeing one of the girls, and I was along to keep her friend company. Not so much a wingman as a stand-in.There was zero chemistry between myself and the girl I was there to entertain, so the evening had been severe mix of the awkward and the disappointing. In other words, the pizza was going to be the highlight of the evening for me.

The service was sparse. After ordering we received our drinks, then didn't see the waitress for 35 minutes. Mark and his girl kissed and nuzzled and cooed and were in their own world. Her friend and I were past making small talk, had been passed it for some time. We were both there for our respective friends to enjoy themselves, and that's about all we had in common. Our unspoken agreement was just to sit there.

And sit there we did. After the rather long wait our pizza arrived. With the restaurant was now empty, she tossed the pie on the table hurriedly and returned to the kitchen. Our drinks were dry, so I walked to the door of the kitchen looking for our waitress to get refills. The kitchen was empty. I had an idea where the personnel where, either burning a substance in the alley or bumping uglies in the walk-in cooler. Not wanting to interrupt either activity, I gathered up the cups on our table and filled them at the soda fountain. We resumed eating.

Long after finishing the last bite there was still no sign of our waitress. The limited conversation at the table now consisting of yawns. I checked the kitchen and it was still empty. At this point, we were kind of pissed off. The girls said they would wait in the car, and left us to settle the bill, which had not been delivered. I looked at Mark, and he at me.
"How long do we wait?" he wondered.

"F it, let's go." I said. He shrugged and we walked out.

Now, had we been looking to make a score, we could have opened the unattended register and cleaned it out before we left. We didn't do it for the trill or challenge, I mean we could have probably gone back in the kitchen and cooked our own pizza to go. The combination of poor service, being sick of waiting for the help to reappear and the culmination of an evening that had blew chunks led to the hasty decision to skip on the bill.

It also taught me an important lesson about being the friend who will go along with a buddy on a date to occupy her "friend". The lesson was, "Fuck that".

Hey Mac

I've been admiring the Mac advertising for some time now. It's fresh, funny and offten, true. Whoever dreamed up the campaign is brilliant.


PC gets a new camera "installed" using masking tape, as MAC looks on

I've been a PC guy all my life, with the exception of the Timex Sinclair that was my very first computer. It had less functionality than my watch does, but it was a gateway to the new world of computers. The only Mac I ever worked on was an Apple IIe that we had in the computer lab. That';s where I wrote my first "program", which did a screen print that said: "Eat Me"

Genuis, I know.

Years later, I'm still clacking away on a PC. I still have limited experience with Mac's, so I was a little surprised when my brother Tim called me asking what I thought about them. He's considering buying a Mac over a PC for the first time ever. He's sick of the issues he's had with almost every PC - setup and confuration.

I was about to defend the PC when I realized he had a point. He just wants a PC he can turn on, plug crap into, and have it all work. This seems to be a common theme in the Apple ads, and it appears to be making progress with users like my brother.

He's had his MAC laptop for a week and he just can't say enough about how easy it is to use. Every device he had worked flawlessly (so far) and even things like his old iPod that wouldn't work with the XP machine now works fine.

Nice to know the ads are not just entertaining but on the mark in the thuthiness department.

My Town

Why can't I be a lottery winner?

Every once in a while I play the lottery (when it's huge, like it was this week) because I could really put that money to good use. Last night on the Daily Show, one of the guys from Craiglist were on and he was asked why he won't sell the website to some large company, like YouTube did. His exact quote was "I wouldn't know what to do with all that money."

Are you effin kidding me?? What a moron. If you don't know what to do with it then give it to a charity, or just drive down the road and shovel the bills out the window. Somebody will pick it up. Idiot.

I know exactly how I would spend a few hundred million. I'd locate a small town somewhere around here in upstate NY. It has to be relatively tiny, like under a 100 families in the township. These do exist, I've checked and I have a prime candidate selected.

Next, I'd offer each family 1 Mil for their property, the deal contingent on everybody in the town accepting. Since the average value of these places is 30 grand, I'm guessing it will be a no-brainer. The town will be mine by sundown.

Once in full ownership, I bring in the bulldozers to raze the place and start over. The dreary, worn facades will be converted to a story-book type homes with wide, friendly streets. All the towns power will be generated by solar, wind and fecal matter sources. A team of builders will construct clapboard houses set back from the road behind lush lawns with polite fences, some which are indeed white picket. In the business district (about a block long) historic-looking storefronts will provide necessities with country flavor and plenty of parking. Of course we'd have a pizza place, a 7-11, and a massage parlor. There would be NO dolllar stores, thank you very much. A modest hockey arena will be located just the other side of the "downtown", right before the drive-in. Public skate would be free for residents, the movies would be pleasantly affordable.

How would I populate my paradise? I would offer the new houses and business space free (you just pay taxes) to people based on an application that has one question on it:

"What is the average weight of an un-laden swallow?"

Yeah, it's an obscure reference from a movie. If you know the response to this query then chances are you're my kind of folk. You would be invited to reside in this unique and fun place, where we would have all kinds of quirky town traditions and parties, some stolen from the tv show "Northern Exposure". The Summer Festival parade will be one you wouldn't want to miss - I don't want to give away too many details but I can confirm that there will be free Coca-Cola and pop-rocks.

The reason the houses will be rent-free is that you can be evicted if you turn out to be a drag. You'll get a written notice warning you that you appear to be a stiffass. If you need to be reprimanded again then a moving truck shows up and you are outta here.

I'd be the sheriff. I'd have a kickass patrol car (Ford Mustang 5.0 for summer, A H3 for winter) and a deputy to handle the actual peace-keeping calls. I'd just cruise around mostly, in an Andy-Griffith / Reno 911 kind of way.

I bet you think the idea of creating such a socially engineered community just wouldn't be possible in modern times. Just 5 years ago Walt Disney Corp opened up their version of the idyllic town. It's called Celebration, Florida. (http://www.americansc.org.uk/Online/Celebration.htm)

The only detail still unresolved is a name for this place. "Shamusberg" is too obvious. "Margaritaville" is a cliche. Naming it after some famous place like "Springfield" just invites a comparison.

I'm sure if I win the lottery I'll think of something to call it.