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My Great Season of Loneliness

2011-09-29T16:20:00.001-07:00

It's time I embraced and spoke about a sad, sad time in my life. Was it a time that made me a better human? Almost certainly not. Was it a time upon which I reflected later, realizing that I had learned life's lessons and come out stronger? No. Was it a pile of dung with flies on it? Yes, it was.

My parents got called on a mission that overlapped mine and subsequently, I lived in their home with my brother and his wife who were supposed to be there to support me, give me guidance, help me get back to living a regular life again, and keep me away from porno.

They were there for about a year, I was doing fine except for the porno (joking, we didn't have internet) and then they got offered the chance to move back east for a job opportunity for my sister-in-law that they couldn't pass up. This left me alone in my parent's house. For some 22 year-olds, that would have been a boon from on high. For me, not so much.

Instead of living alone I invited Derek Wessman to live with me. That first month with little Derek living with me was joyous, indeed. We drank so much soda pop and played so much Nintendo that methinks the Gods on high were jealous. I had my tonsils taken out and so the soda ended. With it ended the chance of living an even below-average life for awhile.

The year was 2002. The month February. Some of you, even those of you who are featured prominently in this tale of woe, look back on this period with great fondness, I'm sure. Some of you think "I loved it when that French guy asked me to go with him to the bobsled" or something like that. I believe the time is thought of as the "2002 Salt Lake Winter Olympics" or some crock of shit like that. To me, it will always be my Great Season of Loneliness.

As stated, I had recently had the tonsils torn surgically from my body when the world arrived in Salt Lake. While this ended the nearly year long string of colds I had, it began the six week period of only being apple to drink f-king apple juice. I'm not one to use the f word all willy-nilly on this blog, but that's how much apple juice I drank. It was 5 years before I could touch another swig of it. As a man who loves his food, being put on an apple juice diet put me in a very dour mood.

What really killed me, however, were those damned Olympics. See, they robbed me of the only thing I had going for me at the time: friends. My family was gone. I was off work. I couldn't eat. What else did I have but friends? Here's a rundown:

Derek: My little friend has an aptitude for the Japanese language matched by very few, and because of this, he was in high demand during the Olympics. Japanese visitors needed translators to explain to them why they didn't win any gold medals, and apparently they needed them 22 hours a day since I only saw Derek when he came home to complain about the conditions and go to sleep briefly. He would have to sit for days at a time, or so it seemed, in a car, waiting for the Japanese people to have him drive them around and amuse them (in their defense he is very amusing). I don't blame Derek for my loneliness. He tried and I think he was as lonely as I was during this time.

Aja: Aja and I have been great friends since the age of about 16. At this point I was modestly obsessed with her on several levels, including the one where I thought she had a great body. She was and is very beautiful, thin, fun, and loving. She's smart and she thinks I'm funny. How could I not love her, right? At this time, she was also a jet-setter, living one year in Europe, one in Hawaii, a month in Utah, and who knows where else. In other words, when she was here, I wanted to be with her because I never knew if she'd be in Turkey the next week. Alas, this was not my lot during the Olympics. I don't know what she was doing besides not calling me, but it sure seemed a lot more fun than sitting on a crappy blue and white checkered couch watching cable TV trying to recuperate from Tonsil surgery and drinking Apple juice. Thanks for the visits, Aja. Oh wait, you didn't make any, like everyone else.

Aaronee: Aaronee is a girl who I'd had an odd crush on for most of the time between my 16-24th years. If she reads this, I'm sure she'll pretend like she didn't know this, but that would be a complete lie. If you didn't know it Aaronee, you aren't very bright because everyone else on the planet knew. Aaronee was strikingly beautiful and I must say I really thought she looked good in a sweater. See, February is sweater weather, but did I get to see my little friend in a sweater? No. She was off with of all people, Aja, I think, having fun and probably having French dudes hit on her and invite her to watch downhill skiing or bobsled or some crap like that.

Kristie and Kelsey: These were my two good friends at work. Kristie would later become my wife and even later become my ex-wife and Kelsey was a good friend. Both were and I'm sure are (I haven't seen Kelsey in a few years) very easy on the eyes and I thought we were good friends. Guess how many times good friends come to visit you while you're out of work for 6 weeks recovering from tonsil surgery? If you guessed none then you know how these two roll. Bad job, guys.

Phil: I can't blame Phil. Sometimes when this subject comes up, Phil says something like "you could have called me." This is true, Phil. This is true. The only problem is Phil was in a six month funk at the time and I felt that having him around might actually make me feel more lonely. I was wrong, but that was how loneliness had clouded my thought process. Forgive me Phil, forgive me.

Jim and Shelley: Way to pull the ripcord, and oop, bail out on me. They moved away for a chance at more money and to not have to live with Jim's loser brother in his parent's house. Do I blame them for my loneliness? Yes, I do, although less than others.

Mom and Dad: I know that you, like Jim and Shelley, were doing what you had to do, but it doesn't change the fact that I was lonely.

Grant: You made a good effort. I will give you that. My only good night during the Olympics was with you. Thank you.

I would say that getting that all off my chest makes me feel better. But it doesn't. I hope you can all sleep at night. Just kidding. Of course, time passed and I was able to share time and have experiences with each of you in the future. What mad me sad during these months was having some of my favorite people within miles of me, and being unable to see them. There is no moral to this story, just that I learned that loneliness and I are not good friends, and that I am grateful for the friends I have, imperfect as they are.

That Sad Morning

2010-04-12T16:46:00.000-07:00

Never trust your friends.

I learned that lesson 9 years ago on a warm summer's eve.

This insanity had been brewing for awhile. Little Derek, eyes aglow, had finally badgered, cajoled, prodded, and begged me enough that I agreed to go with him on a drive to witness what he called the Astronomical Observation Tunnels.

You must know that at this time, I was quite wary of going anywhere with Little Derek. See, I'd heard the tales of him inviting Big Phil on a drive, only to accost Big Phil and make him drive for 16 hours into Idaho and Wyoming. I knew that acquiescing to Little Derek's requests would have consequences. I knew that some of them would be catastrophic, and that some of them would be as majestic as the 4 majestic things spoken of in Proverbs chapter 30, verse 28-31:

29 There are three things which are majestic in pace,

Yes, four which are stately in walk:

30 A lion, which is mighty among beasts

And does not turn away from any;

31 A greyhound, A male goat also,

And a king whose troops are with him.

Despite my reservations, Little Derek, Big Phil, and I went to the local grocery store where we bought supplies for our trip. The supplies were these:

1. A cluster of ripe bananas
2. A chocolate bar
3. A Kielbasa sausage

Little D had the necessary wood and accouterments to start and sustain a fire in the back of his Jeep. (The Jeeth Of Deeth )We therefore did not need to purchase any supplies for the building or sustaining of a fire.

Little Derek explained that the Astronomical Observation Tunnels were found in a remote desert area in Box Elder County, Utah. For those who are not familiar with the geography of North-Western Utah, it should be explained that directly to the west of Salt Lake City is an arid desert where there is very little development . The land is not without a certain beauty, although the beauty is perhaps not apparent at first glance as one might have a propensity to think of this area as a bit of a wasteland. Shrubs, salt flats, and rolling hills and mountains are the norm. Very little water is to be seen west of the Great Salt Lake herself.

After buying our supplies, we left the Salt Lake Valley at roughly 6 in the evening, with plenty of daylight still at our disposal. We headed west until Little Derek pulled us onto a road I had never seen nor heard of, nor have I traveled since, which we rode upon without incident for a substantial period of time. We then came to a place where the road was intersected by train tracks. Although it seemed insane to me at the time, Little Derek pulled off the road and started to drive parallel with the train tracks. There was a very small dirt path along the side of tracks which made driving possible, although I feared that if an actual train came, there would not be enough room for the two of us to co-exist on the tracks. Little Derek, as is his way, assured me there would be no incident and insisted that if a train did come, we would be given room to continue living our lives rather than dying. He insisted that the train would give us quarter.

After driving a good distance on the fairly uncomfortable side of the tracks, we did, in fact, come upon a stationary train. Little Derek was correct in his previous assessment and we found that the dirt path upon which we drove was just wide enough for the train and for our vehicle. When we got to the head car of the train, we decided to stop the Jeep and to get out and try to talk to men running the train. This proved to be very fruitful.

We got out and were immediately greeted by the main captain or conductor or whatever you call the guy in charge of the train. I apologize to the reader for my ignorance of train terminology, but I digress from my story. He explained that they were a cargo train carrying coal and other minerals. They had stopped to let the train rest for awhile. (that is an embellishment, by the way. I have absolutely no recollection of why the train had stopped.)

I don't know who asked the question, or how things came about, but the conductor allowed us up into the main chamber of the train, where we were able to live out the fantasy of every child who has ever lived on a continent where trains exist: We got to pull the chord that makes the train say "Choo! Choo!" If that isn't cool to you, you have probably suffered severe brain damage. After 20 or so minutes of train chat with the conductor, we had to get back on the dirt path to continue our voyage.

At this point, clearly excited about our run-in with the train, I felt certain that this trip was going to turn out to be great. How could it not? The darkness started to fall around us as we continued to venture deeper into a land that was unfamiliar to me, despite being less than 100 miles from my home.

Soon, total darkness was upon us. The stars shone above us, and looking out of the window, I was reminded that city life often robs us of moments like those: moments when we look at the stars and the galaxies and remember that we are....oh shit I almost turned this into a Steinbeck story. Back to the action.

It came to pass that we were nearing our destination. It should be noted that Little Derek had assured us pre-departure that he knew the exact location of the Tunnels, and that he would have no issue guiding us there safely. Truer words were spoken a lot of times, like every time someone didn't lie. Derek did, in fact, have a general knowledge of the location of the Tunnels, but that general knowledge served us poorly in the intense black desert which would soon force the Jeep to become our own private vehicular mosh pit.

See, Little Derek had never mentioned that we would be going off road. Soon, the Jeep was shaking back and forth with the force of an earthquake. My large head was nearly hitting the ceiling as the Jeep entered craters and crevasses in the desert floor. Several times Little Derek nearly plunged the Jeep into a river or crack in the earth that would have meant the doom of the Jeep. After what seemed like an eternity, and felt like I had been in a Prize Fight with a young Iron Mike Tyson, we finally, and luckily, stumbled upon the Astronomical Observation Tunnels.

Not to ruin the anticipation, but they were just 4 giant concrete tubes in an X formation with some holes cut in the top, possibly for Astronomical Observation. See that picture ? You make sense of it. Those two dudes on the Tunnels are not from our party. They were some other fools who somehow found out about the Tunnels. Now they know how damn disappointing they are. I'm sure some people will think they are cool, but to me, they are the work of an insane person and the sight of one of the worst nights of sleep I have ever had.

We walked up, in, and around the tunnels and surveyed the land briefly. We then agreed that it would be time to prepare a fire and cook our victuals. After Big Phil and Little Derek got the fire cracking, we prepared and ate the kielbasa sausage, which was, of course, delicious. Little Derek then entertained Big Phil and I by preparing a culinary favorite of his: Bananass.

If you've never had Bananass, the concept is simple. Take a ripe Banana, split it open without removing it from it's peel. Then gently place pieces of chocolate bar into the peel, shut the peel over the banana and chocolate, and cook over an open flame. The chocolate inside the peel melts beautifully and when eaten with the banana, make a special dessert. There is, of course a downside to Bananass. See, when the bananass is placed over the open flame, the outer part of the peel burns, creating a highly unpleasant odor, which can probably be smelled from space. That's the ass part of bananass.

After our humble meal, we sat around and enjoyed nature and each other, regaling ourselves with tales of past heroic deeds, mishaps, and blunders. A good time was had by all. As the embers of the fire burned dim, we decided it would be time to take our slumber.

I don't know which genius decided we should sleep in the tunnels that night, but I'm going to blame it on Little Derek. I'm going to state this simply: Picture a giant tube. Picture that tube is made out of cement. Now picture sleeping on the rounded bottom of that tube, without a pillow or blanket. Needless to say, it was not a pleasant sleeping experience.

Big Phil and Little Derek awoke with the sun the next morning. I, having never properly slept, greeted them. After small talk we killed the fire with our urine streams and got in the Jeep. Not wanting our adventure to end, we decided to drive the short distance to that Mecca of Evil, West Wendover, Nevada.

For those who are not familiar with North-Western Utah, West Wendover is a city approximately 120 miles west of Salt Lake City. It shares the border of Utah and Nevada with it's brother city, Wendover, Utah. West Wendover is a very small town with nothing of note other than 5 casinos where games of chance are offered. In case you're stupid, that means gambling.

Little Derek and I had at this point started to develop the nasty little habit of driving out to West Wendover periodically to partake in Blackjack. Up to this point in life, we would drive out, wager a relatively meager sum of money like $40 dollars, and come home. Sometimes we would win, usually we would lose. It didn't matter because we would have the greatest of times on the way to and from West Wendover, mostly by passing the time with freestyle gangsta rapfests. Sure, halfway through the trip home the raps would nearly always devolve into insults hurled at the other person's mother, but up until that point, many a funny thing would be said. (let's not kid ourselves, many a funny thing would be said after that as well, sorry Gyorge Ann.)

So on this morning, as we were so close, we decided to swing over and see if we could have a good time. There are some relatively nice casinos in West Wendover, but for some reason, probably because we are insane, we usually decided to gamble at the worst of them all, the Red Garter Hotel and Casino. The Red Garter looks like a whore-house from the late 1800's and smells like 1 trillion people all decided to smoke a cigarette and use the carpet for an ashtray. The dealers are usually the grumpiest, crotchety old Cubans who wear 10 pounds of cheap gold jewelry. It's just our kind of place. The Red Garter was also the only place in West Wendover that offered $2 Blackjack, or BJ as we call it.

We arrived, went to the ATM's and got out some cash with which to play. Even Big Phil decided to play this time, something that he rarely did at this point in our gambling careers. We sat down together and the massacre soon began. Hand after hand of Dealer 21's, Boyd 19's. Nothing went the way it should. Soon, I was out of money and had to make a Walk of Shame to the ATM. The same thing occurred. Walk of Shame after Walk of Shame I returned to the tables, only to be quickly dealt with by the Evil Lord of Gambling, Gamblor .

Little Derek had long since ran out of money, while Phil had wisely won 40 dollars and gotten out of the game. After several hours had passed, I dropped my final f-bomb on the dealer who gave me a 19, only to have him make a 20, and left in shame. We sat on the curb of the Red Garter where I sadly sat in silence for a few minutes.

Big Phil was the one to ask the question: "How much did you lose?" The response:

"My whole tuition for next semester. I don't know what I'm going to do."

Little Derek was in no happy mood, having made a walk of shame or two himself, but even he lamented this turn of events asking what I would do.

"I don't know."

We walked to the car with heavy hearts. We piled in and started to drive. Just before we left the city, Big Phil expressed that he was hungry. Little Derek and I agreed, but I angrily reminded them that I had no money left in life. Little Derek echoed that he was broke as well. Big Phil munificently offered to buy. At this point, there was but one restaurant left in the city, and it was called Taco Burger. We all like Tacos, and we all like Burgers, so we decided to not make the drive back to the other end of the city where there is an Arby's and a McDonald's. Taco Burger would do just fine.

After looking at the menu, we all agreed that we had to each purchase a Taco Burger. Nothing else would do. We decided to eat outside in the front of the little restaurant. I tell you that on that day God showed no mercy to us. Not only had I lost over $1000, but when I bit into the Taco Burger, nothing could have prepared me for the unholy concoction of spices which got crapped into my mouth. After one bite, we all spit out the Taco Burger and agreed on one thing as we got back into the car and headed home: Taco Burgers effing suck.

And that, my friends, is the tale of That Sad Morning.

(PS) I didn't really lose anywhere near $1000 dollars or my whole tuition, but somehow over the years that is what the story grew to be in Little Derek and Big Phil's minds, and maybe even my own, until one day last year when the story was re-hashed and I remember that I really only lost like 200 bucks. No small chunk of change mind you, and definitely a bit of money I could have used towards tuition, but not my whole tuition. Time really does make stories better, doesn't it?

Rating Some Famous Songs

2009-08-17T16:35:00.000-07:00

I am so bored with music right now. So I decided that I would Google search "Best Songs of All Time." The first link on the page was Rolling Stone's list of the 500 greatest songs of all time. Please, all 4 of you who check this blog periodically, spare me the "Rolling Stone is lame" talk. I know. I just want some music to listen to, and after perusing the list, there are several that I've never heard. So, I'm going to listen to all of them, and then give them a rating. I may or may not make a comment about a song. This could take a long time, and some may say I'm crazy, but I don't give a damn, that's my prerogative. I may put a video in if I find something I find worth watching.

Rating System:
5 Stars-Excellent, usually a classic
4 Stars-Great
3 Stars-Average
2 Stars- Poor
1 Star- Bad (or if Bad is too difficult of a concept for you, just listen to any Rush album.)

500. More Than A Feeling-Boston 5 STARS

Not the best singing job here, but a pretty sweet video.

499. The Boys Are Back in Town-Thin Lizzy 2 and 1/2 stars.
There is something about this song that I just don't like. Maybe it's the fact that I usually don't like the usage of the term "the boys."

498. Rainy Night in Geo-Oh screw it.

I just realized how asinine it would be for me to do this and there is just no way that I am going to tackle a project of this magnitude.

What am I doing with my life that I would even contemplate taking the time to listen to 500 songs and giving an opinion on them for the 4 people who read this blog?

By the way, #498-Rainy Night in Georgia sucks balls.

Bye

What Would Jesus Do? Probably the Exact Opposite of What My Friend Did

2009-02-18T14:42:00.000-08:00

When I was a child in the late 80's, people started thinking it was very cute to smugly ask the question "What would Jesus do?", as if that was going to make people stop doing what they were doing and take a new course of action for the better. I think for the most part, people now hate that question. See, whenever the mainstream society takes a good thing (Most people would not argue that doing what Jesus would do is a bad thing) and starts making it the popular thing, then that thing can start to suck and/or backfire. (see Coldplay)

Regardless of the backlash from WWJD (as the saying has annoyingly come to be known), I would still say that it is a good rule of thumb to try to do right by those with whom you come in contact. Now, I am as guilty at times of not doing what is right as much or more than the next man. But for the most part though, my errors are minor and I try to do the right thing.

Like Sir Paul McCartney, I have a general creed when it comes to dealing with other people: Live and Let Die. I don't care what you do as long as it doesn't hurt me or other people. I try not to be too judgemental. I try to stay out of other people's business. Sometimes however, it cannot be avoided. Sometimes people bring you into their business and you are forced to make a judgement call. Today was one of those days.

I have a close friend, let's call him Chas for anonymity's sake. One day a few weeks ago, Chas decided to surprise his wife with what she'd been begging for. No, I'm not talking about surprising her when she comes home from work, finding Chas in a man-thong with his chest hair shaved into a Byzantine Cross, silly. That can happen on any old day. No, I'm talking about what it seems all women want, even more than Hot Man Meat: A puppy.

So Chas and his wife, let's call her Liz, went down to the animal shelter to find a puppy. They settled on a cute little pup, went through the animal adoption process, and took him home to meet their older dog. This is where things started to go sour. See, what Chas and Liz didn't think of, or perhaps even know about, was how shitty it is to own a puppy. They get into everything, never stop barking, use the house as a bathroom, annoy the other dogs, and are generally quite bothersome until they are 2 years old or older, depending on the breed.

Of course, that is exactly what happened to Chas and Liz. The puppy was messing up their sleep schedules, bothering the other dog, and just generally being a nuisance. Puppy had Mom and Dad at their wit's end. What were they going to do? What would Jesus do?

Probably the exact opposite of what they did.

Chas and Liz finally had enough with little puppy. Should they have been patient with puppy? Should they have followed through with the commitment they took on when they originally adopted puppy? Of course they should. Did they? Of course they didn't. I guess in the minds of Chas and Liz, "adoption" is a term used very loosely. Although little puppy didn't come with a return policy, he was returned nonetheless. And were was he returned? To the scary pound. I can only imagine what puppy thought when he entered the doors to the shelter and heard the all too familiar barking and whining of the other dogs.

I sat in my seat of judgement when I heard this story and I told Chas that I thought what they had done was wrong. Not on any huge scale, but wrong nonetheless. He understood my point, but disagreed. He assured me that the reason they had gotten rid of puppy was because it was fighting with their other older dog, and they figured that because puppy was so young and cute, it would have no problem being adopted by a family with whom it would be a better fit. Perhaps he was right. He then told me he knew for a fact that the puppy was adopted very quickly. I momentarily felt good for Chas, and thought that maybe he had kept up with the whereabouts of the puppy and felt bad for it after casting it away, but no. How did he know the puppy had been adopted? Because the shelter had sent him a refund check less than two weeks after they turned puppy in, and they only send refunds if the puppy is adopted out.

Chas, Liz, I hope you cash that check and put the cash into your pillow cases so you can sleep on a bed of lies tonight. I worry for your souls, but not for puppy, because as Don Bluth and Disney taught us, All Dogs Go To Heaven. I don't know if the same can be said for all people.

Levels Of Geekdom

2009-01-12T16:18:00.000-08:00

Sometimes life gives you a glimpse into the secret chambers of another man's heart, and that glimpse is usually one which makes you glad to be yourself. I have recently had one such experience.

There is a new guy who started working at my office a few weeks ago. He is a jolly soul, and while not pushing 3 bills like myself, is quite stout and girthy with a big laugh and a quirky sense of humor. He has come by my office several times to discuss "Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story" (which I strongly recommend) and other comedies of that ilk. Needless to say, I've taken a wee bit of a shine to him and dare say that he has done the same with me.

Anyway, the other day I went over to his office to see what he was doing and I noticed that he had a number of oddities hanging on his wall and sitting on his shelves, namely: Action figures of Optimus Prime, He-Man and Battle Cat in full armour, several GI Joe figurines as well as a tank or some sort of vehicle, and a poster with Sergeant Slaughter. Initially I thought this was pretty cool and asked him why he had these relics of childhood. He replied that he likes to collect 80's toys and memorabilia.

This lead to a 3 hour discussion where I came to learn that my friend has every Star Wars toy from the original series, something like 80% of the GI Joe toys, and several other toys from that time period. Indeed, he has taken his toys up to the mountains and taken action photography with them and posted them on a website, this website, in fact. Now, we looked around and found that my friend was just the tip of the iceberg for GI Joe photography, with some even photo shopping fake missiles and fire and such coming from the toy planes.

At this point, I asked my friend if he owned any swords and if so did he know that the next logical step would be for him to go to the park, dress up in chain mail armor, get some 20 sided dice and act some shit out. He couldn't even believe that I would suggest that as a course of action, letting me know that what he did and what the people who dress up in chain mail do aren't even remotely comparable. He claims it is like comparing apples and oranges. They are "totally different levels of Geekdom." Are they, friend? Are they? He offered some explanation about how collecting Military Toys is nothing like getting dressed up in Knights armor and chanting in Latin, but to me, they are quite similar. Not in theme, but in obsession and mania.

After some good natured ribbing, a trip to my Mom's house to get my old toys, and a back rub with scented oils, minus the back rub with scented oils, my friend went home and left me thinking. I have a few beliefs in life, (one of them being that every man craps his pants at least once a year. Now, it might not be a full-on crapping, but he at least sharts once per year and if he denies it, he's lying.) And now, after my discussion with my cohort, I've decided that I have a new belief: Everyone has at least a little geek in them. But not everyone is prepared to learn Elf languages or Klingon and not all Geeks are dangerous, so to help you sort out who is who, here is a brief run-down of my 3 Levels Of Geekdom:

Level 1: General Geek
Most people fall into this level. Level One includes any of your basically acceptable nerdiness: lower level collections, obsessions with video games/sports/fashion/television, basically anything that you don't want other people to find out about unless you trust them. This may include the eating of boogers, making an NBA Live Team out of all Old Testament Characters (i.e. Habakkuk and Moses) having pictures of cars or half-naked women on your garage walls, really just the usual things that are geeky, but overall socially acceptable. It is important to know that there are sub-levels included in the major levels, but I'll let some geek with more time than I have fill you in on what those are. Derek. Level 1 Geeks can generally be trusted, and are not dangerous.

Level 2: Fantasy Geek
Level Two is really just the taking of a healthy enjoyment of a hobby and raising it to a whole other, scarier level. Collecting baseball cards is one thing, and is certainly geeky, but then pulling the cards out, getting 6 dice and trying to come up with a formula that will, in tandem with said cards, calculate how many strikeouts Ed Johnson had in his eighth season, and then having debates with yourself over if he would make the Hall of Fame after his career ends (Yes, he would), is an entirely different thing. Level 2's collect things and never remove them from the original packaging, buy special computers to run their video games they play for hours on end, and have thought about going to a Star Trek Convention, but have never done so. Level 2's are usually safe, but when they are on the verge of becoming Level 3 or are displaying Level 3 type behaviors, they should be avoided as they may have just bought a Ninja Star and are certainly on the edge of using it.

Level 3: Get Out and Do It Geek
This is by far the most disturbing and subsequently most humorous level of Geekdom. This is when you decide that just knowing all the facts about the French and Indian War aren't enough, no, you need to collect some black powder muskets, the pelts of animals, and go to a re-enactment of said war. And when you are out roughing it, you certainly can't use toilet paper, pussy. You need to use leaves and shrubs to get your arse clean. Of course there is a lot of variation in this level, with your Low-Level 3's being Trekkies and people who dress up as Albus Dumbledore for the premier of the new Harry Potter movies, and your Upper-Level 3's who are usually just multiple offenders or Double Dippers in Geekdom(trekkies mixed with civil-war re-enactment, World of Warcraft players who also actually like the last 2 hours of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy etc.) Be very cautious when speaking to and especially mocking Upper-Level 3's as you must remember they probably have a Katana and iron breastplate at home and they are definitely closer to using them in real life than you would imagine.

Well, now that you are armed with this knowledge, I hope you can diagnose yourself honestly, and keep yourself and your loved ones safe from harm.
Live Long and Prosper.

Useless Trivia

2008-08-27T15:26:00.000-07:00

I love to talk. Those who know me know this is an understatement. I can chat it up with the best of them. In fact, I am the best of them, so I can chat it up with myself, and often do. In my car. Loudly. To myself. I then turn with crazy eyes to the soccer mom in the car next to me and mouth "You're Next!" while pointing at her. Ok. That got wierd. I don't actually do that very often.

Now, in my many conversations, I have noticed that something seems to happen quite frequently. A topic comes up, and I am able to adroitly give a factiod or snippet of information about said topic. Sometimes this is done to humerous effect, and sometimes it is done solely for information's sake. Either way, the reaction often goes something like this: "Ha ha. Man, you know a lot of useless trivia."

Excusez-moi? Did you just call what I said useless? Cuz I just used it, biatch. I used it to make our conversation more fulfilling and interesting. I just made myself appear smarter, which I am, because I know more than you. I proved it by making that excellent point I just barely made 2 seconds ago.

You know what's useless to me? All that calculus and chemistry that's up in your brain. You work in sales, bro. You waste brain space on the atomic mass of plutonium (244.0 amu), or the freezing point of alcohol (-117 degrees farenheit.) Now I know those 2 facts as well, because I Googled them. Booyah.

So don't tell me it's useless trivia to know who the last player to legally throw the spitball in baseball was, because not only have I had several opportunities to share that tidbit, one time my boy Cheeth was at a Mariners game when that exact question came up on the scoreboard, and you can only imagine how impressed the 50 people around him were when he stood and shouted "Burleigh Grimes" and the scoreboard revealed that same answer. And he wouldn't even have known that if I hadn't told him.

So think twice before you call my trivia useless again, because I just used it.

(and FYI that is a picture of Cliff Clavin, who used trivia to make the show Cheers waaay more awesome than it would have been without him. I suggest you take the time to watch this.)

He Misses You Pizza

2008-06-19T10:40:00.000-07:00

It's 10:40 PM and an internal alarm sounds in his head. Ring Ring. Ring Ring. Only 20 minutes left to order from the Pie Pizzeria. "If you are going to order, you must order now, for the Arabic pizza delivery man will not deliver after 11" whispers a gentle voice to his spirit. Acquescing to his urges, he picks up the phone. 2-3-3-1-9-9-9 he dials. The gentle voice accepts his order. Soon it will come. Soon.

Melted cheese, herbs and spices, sundry meats and veggie-tables will combine to assuage the hunger of his belly. The television hums in the corner, and urges "Pay attention to me! Look, half-naked ladies!" but it is of no use. His focus is singular, and his gaze will not be averted from the window. He will not allow the Arab to ring his doorbell, for that might awaken his wife, and alert her to his Secret Feast.

"It's taking too long," he whispers to himslef, his voice tinged with frustration. "He's usually here faster than this." He gets up and prepares his plate and untensils. He pulls out napkins and realizes they will not suffice. Paper towels. His hands will get greasy. Paper towels are what he needs. The soft buzz from the refridgerator reminds him "Don't forget about me. I have delicious sodas in my belly, ripe for consumption." Old Man Refridgerator, you've never let him down and you aren't about to now.

He hears the distant closing of a car door and shuffles to meet his Hero at the door. This man from the Arab lands, this Modern Day Magi, bearing gifts both hot, delicious, and of great value, hands him his Joy. "You sign credit card reciept. I no have pen." the Arab says as he hands the paper to him. He scribbles his name and thanks his old friend who turns and heads to his Chariot, a 1986 Toyota Tercel.

The Box greets him as it always does: with Pizza Haiku:

"Open Up And See
Many Treasures Lie Within
Happiness and Joy"

He obliges and is met by his Cherished Consumable Companion. Strains of the Hallelujah Chorus are sung in his head as the heavenly aroma wafts to his nostrils. Olfaction never felt so right.

Attack! He rips the first slice from the round. The slice will not withstand , as his teeth tear it asunder, bite by bite, chewing it, grinding it, obliterating it.
Whoosh! a flood of soda is carrying it away, down the dark hole, down the pipe, down the drain into a vat of acid to be disolved.

He will spare not one drop as slice by slice he devours his prey. He can't stop, he won't stop. Breathing is a chore. Chewing is a chore. His lust for it is insatiable. His urges become stronger with each bite. Rip. Chew. Swallow. Repeat.

One piece remains. His belly is full, his appetite satisfied. One piece stares back at him, mockingly. "You can't. You wont." He struggles with the choice. His stomach rumbles, beggin him to quit, "I'm full, no room here. Enter at your own risk." He stares at the single piece. "You don't dare, " it says to him. He picks it up and puts it back.

He is going over the edge. He indulges his gluttony, neither enjoying nor savoring this final challenge. He struggles. He sweats. It is finished.

FIN

Current Interests

2008-05-05T13:59:00.000-07:00

I realize I last blogged January 08. For all 2 of you who check this weblog occasionally, I salute you. It has been so soon since the last update that I feel I'm being a bit indulgent to post again. Either way friends, here goes. You're welcome.

There were a few questions from the last few posts that may have entered your head in the short months since we last had interent interaction. What was the conclusion to Philp's lament? How has the CPAP machine worked out for you fatso? Also, of course, the question most people think after reading my blog: What is the meaning of life? Alas, friends, these questions must be left unanswered.

I titled this post Current Interests although I may not speak of any of my current interests. I may. That just remains to be seen.

My wife is currently 7 months pregnant. Yes, I will soon be a father. The child already has the Madsen luck. She gets me as a dad. Poor thing. Look forward to hitting every red light, especially when you are in a hurry. Now, the thought may have crossed your mind that this blog will now turn into that which everybody detests: A gay blog about your damn kids. Here are some examples:
http://dave_lindsay.blogspot.com/
http://harmdawg.blogspot.com/

Be warned, Cheeth. Be warned.

Looming fatherhood doesn't really change your perspective that much. Perhaps once the baby is birthed I will have more thoughts on the whole thing, but don't expect to write some book, a la Bill Cosby. Who knows.

As you know, I have great taste. So let me give you a few recommendations to make your lives better:

Music:
Bon Iver-For Emma, Forever
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lR5K8u86Lfc

Queens of The Stone Age-Era Vulgaris
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5ivZ-4DmPY

Film:
Idiocracy
The Wendell Baker Story
Harold and Kumar Escape Guantanamo Bay
No Country For Old Men

Video Games:
Grand Theft Auto IV

Some other recommendations of things I'm currently enjoying: Pork Chops, playing suited connectors in late position for cheap, mullethawks, The NBA Playoffs on TNT !, and daily showers. (I know Cheeth will never go for that.)

Take it easy, peeps.

Philip's Lament

2008-01-31T15:47:00.000-08:00

I have a few minutes, good sirs, so I think I will write of a few things.

Many of us here share a mutual friend by the name of Philip Yawn. Mr. Yawn is a man of no small stature, not physically, nor metaphorically. He possesses an incredible physical stature and strength, even the strength of mighty Ajax from Homer's Iliad.

Unfortunately, despite his behemoth strenght, Old Mother Nature has dealt him a cruel hand, a hand akin to the 2-7 offsuit in Hold 'Em. You see, as any house needs a firm foundation as a base, so does a 300 pounder need sturdy legs to hold him up. Alas, this has not been Philip's destiny. No, he is more like the Philipino, forced to build his house thusly : http://z.about.com/d/gosouthamerica/1/0/c/8/1/2124362Amazhousestilts.JPG

Our dear friend and acquantance (for, as Cowardly John Baker once stated so wisely: "you have your friends, and you have your acquaintances") has unjustly had to endure a second knee surgery, this time upon his right knee. The surgery was allegedly a success, but you wouldn't know it from the ghastly swelling which still resides in the knee, a full week after the surgery.

May our thoughts go out to Philip. May you call and wish him well, or visit him to lift his spirts as I have.

You may have thought that was the end of Philip's Lament, and chronologically, you would be correct. However, allow me to spin a yarn that completes this dirty dirge. Forgive me for the sudden change in tone that will occur now, continuity has never been a strenght of this web log, why sould it be today?

I was enjoying a relaxing evening at home with me Wife and me Jonny. We were about to watch a movie upon me big screen, when Jonny recieved a call from Philip, asking him to come pick him up, as he had just gotten in a motor vehicle accident. Me wife and me obviously went with me Jonny to see our friend.

Upon arrival at the scene of the accident, Philip appeared to be in good spirits. He was writing a witness statement in the frigid cold (it was 10 degrees or so that night). He informed me that he was fine. His car had recieved a fair amount of damage in the passangers front side. However, looking at the other car showed it to have the appearance of an accordion. It was completely smashed in front, the airbags had deployed and the thing was just wrecked completely. Philip had a green turn arrow, and the other driver had not seen the light change to red and smashed the poo out of our poor Philip.

I helped Philip clean some belongings out of his car and this is when the story turns surreal. The mother of the female driver (of course she was a female), pulled up, and all 500 pounds of her struggled out of her car. As she quickly moved towards her daughter's car, the rippling of her belly could only remind one of a tidal wave. Her tits, and yes, that is the only word I can use to describe her tits, each weighed more than a 6th grader. They hung well below her belt. She rumbled around the car and began removing belongings from it. Unfortunatley, she lifted her shirt up to hold those belongings.

Friends, this is not the appropriate time or place to describe the horrors that I witnessed in those brief seconds her shirt was up. I tried to avert my gaze, but I was like a moth, drawn to a flame. My eyes simply could not escape. Perhaps, because of her mass, there was a gravitational pull which made me look on, but I digress. Needless to say, I did not feel well for a few moments.

The driver of the car, a hillbilly, if a woman can be so called, was cited and left the scene. We took Philip home and although he was shaken up, he was alright.

The concluding chapter of Philip's lament is that Bob Debry is now suing Philip for an accident he didn't cause, and damages which were not his fault. Philip, a man who is in no way litigious, will have to enter the courts of law and defend himself.

May happiness come to Philip.

I am as Job of Old.

2008-01-24T10:50:00.000-08:00

In 20 aught 2, Derek told me that I was as Job of old with my many health afflictions. At the time, I had undergone a 5 year period of having an inguinal hernia repair, tonsilectomy, a groin fungus(ringworm) the size of Texas that lasted for 2 years, and 6 months of ongoing cold symptoms(thus the tonsilectomy). I was also soon to undergo my Great Season of Loneliness which coincided with the 20 aught 2 Winter Olympics, held in Salt Lake City, Utah.

(as a funny side note, whenever my Great Season of Loneliness is brought up, Philip will not recognize it, saying that he was available to me the whole time. To this, I usually respond, "you're not exactly a great cure for loneliness. In fact, hanging out with you probably would have made me feel more lonely." He doesn't like that, but I find it gutbustingly funny.)

Since that season of life, I have been relatively healthy. But oh, how things have come full circle in the last year and I am as Job of Old again!

In 06 I had an umbilical hernia operation, which is well documented on this internet web log. Well, it reopened (1-5% of all hernias reopen)and 2 weeks ago I again had it surgically repaired by Dr. Edward Hashimoto, a pleasant, buisnesslike Japanese American man. That in and of itself, would probably not have been enough to inspire an entry onto this internet web log, but the complications which arose tipped the scales and here I write. See, after the anesthesiologist said nighty-night, apparantly my oxygen saturation dipped below 40 percent. 95 percent is normal. They got me back up to a good level and finished the operation. (I basically no longer have a belly button in which to form another hernia. Thanks Doc !) At the end of most operations, they give you narcotics for pain. Well, when I was administered the narcotics, my lungs stopped working.

To make a long story short, I had to stay in the hospital overnight, where they treated me for sleep apnea and put a CPAP machine on me. I have since had to have a "sleep" study (I put sleep in quotations because you basically don't sleep during the study. They put 21 wires on you in various spots such as the head, chest and legs. You are in a room which is 120 degrees farenheit, and the machine which records the data has a screen which is brighter than the Sun).

I got the results from the study today: I have severe obstructive sleep apnea. During the study, I stopped breathing over 500 times, including over 180 times per hour whilst sleeping on my back. I now have to have a CPAP nitration test to see what level the CPAP machine needs to be on.

I also need to lose weight and excersize so the muscles in my throat get stronger.

Anyhew, that's that. Love you long time.

Video Games

2007-08-14T10:11:00.001-07:00

Forget about the reunion. Forget about it. I'm going camping. That will be more fun.

This post, like most, will be completely random in nature, but I would like to see some lists posted in reaction to what I write. That is an order.

MY TOP 10 VIDEO GAMES:

10. CONTRA-up down up down left right left right b a b a select start. 'Nuff said.

9. SUPER MARIO BROS. 3-You could put on a frog suit for swimming and a racoon suit for flying. Because racoons are so good at flying.

8. DOUBLE DRIBBLE- I put this on despite the fact that my brother Jim would make me cry by using the "triangle offense" against me, causing me to literally cry, long before Tex Winter had implemented it with the Chicago Bulls. In fact, old Tex probably stole it whilst watching his children play Double Dribble.

7. STREET FIGHTER 2-Despite the fact that I had to go to Kevin Lee's house to play this game, as I never owned a Super NES, few games have delivered as consistently as this. And although Ryu is slightly stronger, I would always play as Ken- I don't kneel to no Japanese !

6. PRO WRESTLING- One of the few games that ever caused me to pound buttons so furiously I wore a blister into my thumb. What pushes this over the top is the fact that I kept playing after the blister. A winner is you!

5. STAR WARS: KNIGHTS OF THE OLD REPUBLIC-The first and only true "nerd" game to make my list. This is an RPG, and a great one at that. Almost-and I say almost-got me to play Final Fantasy, but I didn't because that meant I would have to also start masturbating a lot.

4. GRAND THEFT AUTO: VICE CITY-simply amazing. Great story, great action, great music. You can pick up whores.

3. MIKE TYSON'S PUNCH OUT- Nick Correa had this:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Power_Glove . Somehow it actually made you worse at the game. I can defeat Tyson. I have witnesses.

2. GRAND THEFT AUTO: SAN ANDREAS-This has everything you could want-gambling, murder, rescue mission, airplanes, bike races, gambling, skydiving, and a jet pack. Oh, and you can pick up whores.

1. TECMO SUPER BOWL: No game has brought me such joy, such exquisit joy, as this. From trying to play a whole season in a night with friends to subbing in Scott Mitchell over Dan Marino and simulating a season, just to see how he would do (poorly), I have enjoyed every minute I spent with this game. I am the champion. There is no debate.

High School Reunion

2007-06-07T18:16:00.001-07:00

Does it make me a bad person that I don't want anything to do with my 10 year high-school reunion?

Let me explain my situation. No there is to much. Let me sum . I attended the Granger High School in West Vally City, Utah. It was a nice school. I enjoyed my experience there, overall. I made a few very close friends, many friends who do not remain close, yet I enjoy greatly, some aquaintances, and a number of bitter enemies, some of whose whole high school lives I allegedly "ruined."

I was a teenager, as most high schoolers are, and as a teenager, was given to many of the foibles that beset teens: pride, vanity, lying, deception, self esteem issues, bad judgement. Probably the worst example of bad judgement that I had was when I decided to run for class office. I did this for 2 main reason, both of them bad.
1st-I had just lost a student body election to a person I thought I disliked, a certain Conrad Lund, and wanted to save a little bit of face. In retrospect, how could I have disliked him ? I didn't even know him.
2nd-I wanted to be validated as "popular" or whatever status these types of things bring you.

Now, being a class officer was not all bad, and for the most part I enjoyed, but got little out of, the whole experience. However, where I lacked insight, and what I really regret, was seeing that I would then have some sort of burden to be a part of the future High School Reunions.

I lament this lack of forsight! Oh, how I lament it!

I don't want any part of the reunions. I don't want to go. I don't want to see your damned kids. I don't want to b.s. about what I do, what you do, what we do. I don't care. If I cared, I would already know, trust me.

What should I do?

Motor Bikes

2007-05-22T11:22:00.000-07:00

reeeeeeeeev. vrooom vrooom.

I'm so wierd right now I could eat a horse. So here I am, making motor bike noises. vrooom. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. wreeeehr. weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh. grrrrrrnnngggg.

Vesuvius: That is the last object to which I compared myself. I was all full of the rage, and the anger, and I felt I was a stream of liquid hot magma, flowing beneath the earth's surface, ready to erupt. Ready to ejaculate my contents onto the side of the mount. Down,
down,
down,
gravity would pull me until I killed the village folk below. Beware village folk, beware ! I burn the skin, I melt the skin, I kill the skin.

But no. Dormant I lie. Village folk, you are safe-for now....

vroooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom.

I Am Not the Dipshit Ben Winslow Makes Me Out To Be

2007-04-16T22:02:00.000-07:00

I was Googling! ( I feel the exlamation point makes it more fun) my own name, and the name of some comrades tonight, and these were some of the results:

Derek Wessman: 19,00 hits. some of them were even about him translating some shit.
Philip Yawn: 340,000 hits. None about him that I could see.
Russell Parker: 3,000,000. It pays to have the last name Parker-or does it?
Jonny Pease: 21,400. Apparantly if you lived past 40th West, you can't pull in more than 21K hits.
Grant Madsen: 1,140,000.

I'm pretty sure Philip, Russell, and Johnny do not read this blog, nor do they use the internet for anything other than masturbatory purposes, so I feel free to say that they all enjoy scat porn. Now, I have gotten off on a tangent, haven't I? Where was I? Ah, yes, my Google! searches. Lastly, I searched mine own name:

Boyd Madsen: 548,000. Not a bad total. I scrolled throught the list of hits, and a few actually applied to me. I clicked on one, and was horrified at what I read: http://www.deseretnews.com/dn/view/0,1249,640186067,00.html

June 11, 2006. A day that will live in infamy.

Read the article. Half of what I "said" makes no damn sense at all. At one point, Ben Tonto Winslow "quotes" what I "said" as: "There's like 50 groups." I would never say "there's" and then use groups. I would say "there are."

The best part about the whole thing is that it makes me seem like a kiss-ass to the stupid "Primer" on Polygamy. Now, what I really told Ben Douche Winslow is that the Primer didn't help me that much to do my job, and mostly just gave me some statistics and terms that I didn't really know. I explained that I would never rely on a Primer to assess abuse and neglect in any case.

I DENOUNCE THAT ARTICLE ! I DENOUNCE BEN WINSLOW! I DENOUNCE THE PRIMER! I DENOUNCE SCAT PORN!

Dona Nobis Pacem
http://www.hymnsite.com/lyrics/umh376.sht

Lord, What Play Would Ye Run?

2007-02-08T11:25:00.000-08:00

What is happening in the world of sports? First of all, the Celtics have lost 16 games in a row, with no sign of relenting, the Bears were defeated in the Super Bowl by the Colts, and Ex-Jazz bust Dom Ameichi, er John Ameichi is gay.

But really, what has me puzzled, are some quotes by Colts Head Coach Tony Dungy after winning the AFC Championship and the Super Bowl :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CTIprAvT_E

http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/football/302552_voices06.html

There are others, but let me just say they all say roughly the same things.

Everytime this guy gets a microphone put in front of his face, he has to start rambling about the Lord and how his team did it "The Lord's Way" and how the Lord prepared them.

Now, I don't have any problem with a dude loving the Lord, but what does that all even mean? We did it "The Lord's Way?"

Tony Dungy: Lord, what play should we run here?
The Lord: Quick slant to Harrison, he's been killing Vasher all game.
TD: Lord, that ball almost got picked off.
TL: Hey, that defensive coordinator is a smart guy.

I mean, I'm pretty sure the Lord doesn't have a way to play football. I'm pretty sure he doesn't care who won the Super Bowl. What happens when Lovie Smith, Coach of the Bears and also a Jesus Freak, plays Tony and the Colts?

Lovie: Lord, please help our team do it your way, The Lord's way, so that we can be Your chosen team to win the Super Bowl
Dungy: Lord, please help our team to win with Your Football Way. We should be Your team to win the Super Bowl.
The Lord: Hmmm. This is tough! Both Coaches are trying to use My Football Way. I can't decide. Well, Tony payed more tithing this year, and I like those commercials with Peyton Manning, I think the Colts are going to win it The Super Bowl this year.

It just doesn't jive with me. Leave the Big Guy out of sports, people. He has enough to worry about with people like me walking around.

Don't Touch-Don't You Dare Touch

2007-01-19T10:21:00.000-08:00

So yesterday I brought a shiny, red apple to work to eat as a little snacky-snack. I put it on my desk and never thought about it again. I went about my bidness, took care of a few odds-and-ends, looked at a clip or two on youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?=FDrHaHqM4nQ and thought not again of the delicous orb that awaited me as a midday snack.

Later in the day, two coworkers came into my office and started to speak with me, about what I cannot recall. However, in the middle of my conversation I looked over to see that one of my office invaders, a woman no less, was manhandling my damn apple. I mean, this was no simple pick up and put back down. This was no grab it by the top and bottom and then put it back down. No, this was a two-handed, full-bodied massage of my apple. Then, this woman, who dared to touch my apple, the apple of a man by the way(me), simply put the apple down and walked out my office. (without a bow or a yes sir, if you can believe that!)

Needless to say, I was more than a little disturbed. How am I to know if this woman carries some form of communicable disease or not? How am I to know if she cleaned her you know what after her last trip you know where?

All of these question lead me to an intense debate about what came next in the process of me eating my apple. Most of this debate, by the way, occured on the way to, and in, the restroom, which you may or may not find bizzare and or diplorable. See, when you get an apple from the store and take it home you usually "wash" the apple before you eat it. But my question is, do you really wash the apple or do you simply rinse the apple? Just running an apple underwater doesn't really clean it like we like things clean does it? I'll give an example.

Let's say you are outside cleaning up garbage on the highway as part of your worker-release agreement at your halfway house. You pick up various items: candy bar wrappers, credit card reciepts, perhaps a severed appendage, poop, whatever it may be. Then, when it's time to go, you get back on your state-owned bus and go back home. What is one of the fist things you would do on returning home? My bet is most people would go wash their hands. How would most people do that? By simply running a bit of cold water on their hands and calling it good? Hopefully, you answered no.

See, people use soap and friction to clean off their hands, bodies, carpets, etc. If you don't, then your hand, body, and carpet can continue to smell like whatever you tried to wash off, wether it be food(think oranges), filth(think poopoo), muck (don't think about this one, trust me).

Now, back to the apple. Should I wash it with soap? Would that taint the flavor? Should I just rinse it like normal and call it good? Or would I catch lupus? Should I cut off the peel and eat the flesh only, robbing me of valuable nutrients and flavor? Then, to add insult to injury, I didn't know if, after using the restroom, I needed to wash my hands with soap, dry them, then wash the apple, or simply wash my hands with soap, and then, bypassing drying, rinse the apple. Either way, on my hands, I was going to use soap.

But then it hit me: Screw it all! I picked up the apple, didn't wash my hands, didn't rinse the apple, and dug into it, right there in the bathroom. I finished it off, core, seeds and all, in front of my cohort. He said he felt a little nausea as he watched me, but he was manly and only threw up in his mouth a very little.

Ok, that last part isn't true. I decided to wash and eat the apple, and despite the fact that it had been manhandled, the apple was delicious, crisp, and wonderful.

I will now have to go and judo-chop the woman who touched my apple, and make her pay for her insolence as well, but the moral to the story is this: keep your hands off of my damn apple !

Feces

2006-09-29T14:55:00.000-07:00

What a funny word, man. What a funny word.

By The Way

2006-09-20T12:33:00.000-07:00

I didn't say I like camping.

Derek.

I didn't say that.

I Don't Like It

2006-09-19T13:12:00.000-07:00

I don't like it one damn bit friends. What am I talking about ? Genital Herpes? (never had 'em, so can't comment.) The fact that Derek lives in Japan (I like that two damn bits, but not much more.) No. This cold-ass weather is the correct response.

We went a-camping and a-camping we went last weekend. With me were faithful sidekicks: Phil, who brought an element of contention that was simply priceless, and Jonny, who really was the man of the trip.

Let me esplain. No, there is too much, let me sum up. A few weeks ago I found out that Pluto ain't no planet after all. This confused me as I have been told it was a planet since I was a child. Pluto, you fraud. Shame on you. Impersonating a planet. Motherbitch.

Suddenly, I felt an upwelling of interest in astronomical observation. So I searched Wikipedia and found as many facts as I could about each of our planets. Then I made many calls trying to find someone who had a telescope. Russ had one. We went to the mountains.

It was exhilirating. We seen stars, we seen nature, and we seen me hit Phil in the cocknballs. (I aplogized, and promised to never do it again, a promise I fully intend to keep.) Then, we planned a camping outing, where we could look at the stars and fish.

Fish?youaskyourselfyesFish! I also have had a hankering to fish. So we made the plans and went to the Granger East Stake Property above Fairview in the Manti-La-Sal National Forest. This was good because there is a lodge.

Anwyhew, long story short, it got cold and snowed and we didn't get to fish and we couldn't see any stars. Phil brought an assload of bacon, eggs, and hot dogs. You gotta love Phil. He was insane the whole trip and actually took 4th in my standings for man of the trip behind Jonny, me, and the snow.

So I hate the cold.

Bye

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

2006-07-20T10:25:00.000-07:00

The beast awakens !

I'm on the verge of a creative explosion friends. Call this the calm before the storm. Call this the peace before the war. Call this the sweats before the shits. Yes, friends, call this what you will (no-name vagabond), but know that it is coming.

Like a lark, singing sweetly in the trees only to have a red-tailed hawk swoop down and devour her, yes, even as her lush tones are silenced by said red-tailed hawk's grasping of her throat and making a quick end to her existence, then rising triumphantly into the air and letting out a blood curtling "kaw-kaw!" so too, will I rise above the mundane monotony of day to day life and release my gutteral screams into the heavens, proclaiming my majesty!

Fear not friends, for the time is coming. When, I cannot tell you. Know only that it is coming.

Hey you ! No-you!

2006-04-20T10:11:00.000-07:00

I am recovering from my hernia.

I just want to dispell any rumors that my genitals have been touched in any hernia operation. They haven't. No, my testicles still hang freely, swarthy and warm within the protective pouch which is my scrotum, untouched and unharmed by the surgeon's tools.

It is true that in my 18th year my lower intestinal wall slowly broke, allowing portions of my large intestine to distend into my inguinal canal, a canal without water, but a canal nonetheless, causing great discomfort and making me not enjoy Granger High's annual sock-hop, to my great distress at the time. Never, at any time, were my testicles in any danger. So the haters can stop hating.

My testicles live free, fettered only by the very raiment that surrounds them. They hang proud, as proud as the Bald Eagle, though they are covered in curly hair. They produce my seed, even the seed of Boyd Madsen.

God bless you, my testicles, for you are great.

The Good News Department

2006-03-30T09:57:00.000-08:00

I know all 2 of you come to this website looking for the good news which spews forth so readily from my typewriter/brain set. I would never want to disappoint, so of course, today I have great news for both of you, which I will wrap up in a convoluted and long story, which you may or may not enjoy.

So a few months ago, after eating large amounts of food, (As I recall it was a whole Little Ceaser's Pizza Pizza!) I felt substantial amounts of pain in my belly button. This was wierd as my belly button has never caused me pain before. Well, other than the emotional pain I recieved when Jim, my brother, would callously mock me for its profundity, claiming at times that a whole finger could get lost inside of it. (oh well, at least I didn't have monkey teeth or any pictures of me wearing a hat with my bangs sticking out front)

I didn't think twice about the pain, and went on with life. However, I couldn't escape the fact that every week when I would eat a whole pizza!, my belly button would hurt like balls. I also couldn't explain it. As the weeks went on, the pain became more normal after any meal and pretty much any day, not just whole pizza! day.

To describe the pain on the pain scale, ranging from smiling face(no pain) to frowning Ross face(sever pain), I would have to say it was a straight line face. (moderate pain) Quite dull, radiating to the muscles, and I assure you I use the term muscles very loosely, surrounding the umbilicus.

As I played basketball on Tuesday, it was giving me more sharp, dick-sucking pains, so I put half of my finger in and pushed. To my surprise I could feel a popping sensation and could push something back in. The pain did not subside until this morning when I awoke.

The long and the short of it is, according to medical science, that I have an paraumbilical hernia.

I gots to go see a surgeon next week, which is great. Enjoy the good news like I did, and still do.

Feel Free To Fail

2006-03-27T10:37:00.001-08:00

I have failed in life many times, and this last week has been yet another filled with failure for the B man.

First off, I kind of got fired at my job at IHC somehow. Oh, well. I guess I didn't really get fired, per se, but I did get so that I can't work there for a few weeks it seems. My boss is saying that she can't justify the hours because I don't have enough work to do, which I can understand, but it still sucks to be losing that extra income, even if it is temporary.

Second off, I am trying to get someone to take over my lease so that Kristie and I can move in with the in-laws (ugh) to pay off debt and save for a house. I had 2 girls set up to move in and take over the lease (and don't ask, I don't know if they were bull-dykes or not, but niether had a flat-top.) Anyhew, they call an hour and a half before they were set to sign the lease and say, "we can't take the apartment." All I said was, "whatever" and hung up.

Third off, I didn't get accepted into the Master of Social Work program at the U. This failure stings not becuase I wanted to badly go, (I didn't) but because of the stinging letter they send you. It says something to this effect:

"We get many applicants and have only 120 slots. This year alone, there were close to 250 applicants."

Shit man. You mean to tell me there were only 250 applicants and they gave 120 slots? Man, that stings. That means I was in the lower 50 percentile.

That's failure with a capital motherfing f.

I Can Do Whatever I Want To, Bitches.

2006-03-14T10:46:00.000-08:00

You don't think I can go weeks without writing in my blog months years shyit decades you're wrong then because I can. Because unlike some of you blog-whores another day without blogs is just another day without you Jon Secaga referenece intended its just that nothing is going on and my muse has left me and I know not of which to speak because my job is kicking my literal ass right now making me think that it might be better to simply shoot myself in the face neck and throat and then I think wow the rest of my life is boring even to me and I'm living it.

What you just said Boyd that's not completely true because even though life gets boring there is still that certain je no sei qua inside of you that makes you interesting to yourself if you know what I mean it's simply that the dimensions of your mind arent ruled by time and space no sir you can do and think as you please and if you want to talk to yourself while you're walking your dog then dammit you're going to do so and there will be no shame felt when that black man that lives on the second floor sees you and gives you the stank-eye while he smokes on his deck he can't even believe that you are talking completely out loud to yourself so he gives you a dirty look but damn him damn him damn him all to hell because he's the one doing something crazy isn't he he is the one that is out pushing the cancer down into the only two lungs his maker gave him he is the one spying on me and my dog and my private converstation with myself and my dog's private conversation with himself and his search for frozen dog feces that he can sneakily eat but I won't let him because man he licks me with that tounge and if he eats frozen dog feces than it's like I'm eating frozen dog feces and anyone with half a brain can see that that isn't a very attractive propostion.

Random Thoughts From the Last, Oh, Week Or So

2006-02-13T10:05:00.000-08:00

Gambling Degenerates:

So, turns out the wife and assistant coach of Wayne Gretzky are gambling degenerates. Let me tell you when you have a gambling problem-when you are betting on the outcome of the coin toss of the "Super Bowl." (as Gretzky's wife did, dropping 5 grand on it.) Anyway, hopefully this will find a way to rid us of hockey once and for all and send it back to Canada.

My Job:

So boring right now. I have plenty to do, but not much incentive to do it. Oh well, the thought of being thrown in jail should help. (that's what can happen if the judge is unhappy with you for not doing your job.)

Bachelor Party:

Not the movie. We had one for Chase recently and the only things missing were the big, fat, black stripper we wanted to get, and The Cheeth of Deeth. Cheeth, you were missed greatly. First, we ate and partied at Chuck E. Cheese's. Then, we held the rest of our little soiree in this wierd building behind Russ Parker's house at Ardell Brown's Quail Run R.V. Park. We had a Tecmo Super Bowl tournament. Derek, you would not have fared well since San Fran was outlawed. I won easily, including an amazing 64-0 trouncing of Phil. (don't you ever bring San Diego at me again, bitch !)
Gifts for the groom included:
1. In The Navy Penis Ring-with quick release valves for explosive ejaculation.
2. Adam and Eve thongs.
3. KY Jelly
4. Erotic Dice
5. Penis Care Kit
6. Flavored Body Cream.
But the best was
7. Latex Penis Extension-sorely needed by many of us.

Anyway, it was great fun.

Music:

I read this really bad book about Elliott Smith. It was called The Big Nothing by Benjamin Nugent. The problems with it were many, but the main one was that it simply was not very informative. I didn't really learn much that I didn't already know.
Put it this way to you, when, on the second edition of the book, you have to include an afterword explaining why your book sucks(he said no one would talk to him and he was rushed.), then you know you pretty much failed in writing the book.
I'm sure your cousin, Ted Nugent, is dissappointed in your efforts.

Scott-if you read this-don't get this book. It is lousy.

Ps. Elliott Smith was the best songwriter of the last 2o years and I defy you to prove otherwise.

Goodbye

Nerds Rule

2006-02-02T20:44:00.000-08:00

Or so they think.

There is a common saying in our world that goes something asi-"Nerds rule the world." Or, "Nerds Rule." I heard this and it got me thinking: Do Nerds really rule the world? (Why am I capitalising the word "Nerd?" I shouldn't, and from this point forward, (or as some people say "foward"(lordy, I am the master of the parenthetical insertion inside of a parenthesis).)) I won't.

The obvious answer is, no. Nerds do not, in fact, rule the world. Now, do nerds often make a lot of money? Yes. But they ain't killer, and they ain't rule no world. Let's take a look at some prominent world rulers over history and see who really rules the world:

1. Abbas I of Safavid: Shah Abbas I (شاه عباس اول) (January 27, 1571?-January 19, 1629?) was the most eminent ruler of the Safavid Dynasty. He was also known as Shah Abbas the Great (شاه عباس بزرگ). In early October, 1588 he became Shah of Iran, by revolting against his father, Mohammad of Safavid, and imprisoning him.
In the midst of general anarchy in Persia, he was proclaimed ruler of Khorasan in 1581, and obtained possession of the Persian throne with the help of Morshed Gholi Ostajlou, whom he later killed in July, 1589. Determined to raise the fallen fortunes of his country, he first directed his efforts against the predatory Uzbeks, who occupied and harassed Khorasan. After a long and severe struggle, he regained Mashhad, defeated them in a great battle near Herat in 1597, and drove them out of his dominions.

Sound like a nerd? Well, just to dispell any notion that he might be a nerd, look at this bit of info:

When Abbas died, his dominions reached from the Tigris to the Indus. His fame is tarnished, however, by numerous deeds of tyranny and cruelty, particularly against his own family. Afraid of a coup by his family (as he had done to his father), he locked them up in palaces in order to keep them without knowledge of the outside world. This resulted in weak successors. He killed his eldest son, Safi Mirza, and left his throne to his grandson.

No man who kills his own son could be considered a nerd. An insane sonofabitch? Maybe. But a nerd? No way. Let's take a look at the next non-nerd ruler:

2. Eric of Pomerania: Dude was the ruler of Iceland. Iceland, bitches. From contemporary sources King Eric appears an intelligent, visionary, energetic and a firm character. That he was also a charming and well-speaking man of the world was shown by a great European tour of the 1420s. The reverse of his character seems to have been his hot temper, his lack of diplomatic sense and an obstinacy that bordered mulishness. Those are some of the explanations why this king who was inheriting perhaps the greatest power that any Danish ruler has received was able to lose everything.
Almost the whole of Eric’s sole rule was affected by his long-standing conflict with the Holstein counts. He tried to regain South Jutland (Schleswig) which Margaret had been winning but he chose a policy of warfare instead of negotiations. The result was a devastating war that did not only end without conquests but even let him lose the South Jutlandic areas that he had already got. During this war he showed much energy and steadiness but also a remarkable lack of adroitness. A German Imperial verdict of 1424 recognising him as the legal ruler of South Jutland was ignored by the Holsteiners. The long war was a strain on Danish economy as well as on the unity of the North.

See. This basically says that Eric was basically a stupid, useless bastard.( See paragraph 2, "a remarkable lack of adroitness.) He was overthrown, by the way. And no nerd would have a hot temper and am obstinancy that bordered mullishness. I don't know what that means, but I'm sure most nerds aren't mullish at all, dude.

(As a sidenote, there was a non-nerdy dog named after him, the Pomeranian.) (that might not be true, but you can imagine if it were.)

And last but not least:

Ghenghis F'ing Khan: No need for an intro, just know this:

Genghis Khan generally preferred to offer opponents the chance to submit to his rule without a fight, but was merciless if he encountered any resistance. In such cases he would not give an alternative and would mercilessly slaughter the population of the resisting cities, leaving only the skilled engineers, artists, spies and any troops who submitted and incorporating them in the Mongol system to expand their manpower, while absorbing their technology and skill as needed. There also were instances of mass slaughters even where there was no resistance, especially in Northern China where the vast majority of the population had long histories of accepting nomadic rulers. Genghis Khan's conquests were widely characterized by wholesale destruction on an unprecedented scale and radical changes in the demographics of Asia.

Mass slaughter is not the stuff of nerds.

In conclusion, don't give me Bill Gates, okay? He don't rule the world. Don't give me computer programmers, stock traders or the current president. (who is less of a nerd and more of a redneck warmonger, but I digress.) Nerds don't rule the world, kick ass mass-murderers do. So, the moral is, if you wan't to rule the world or a portion of it, don't be a nerd, be a cult of personality who is not above killing women and children for little to no reason. Okay?

B

It's My Life

2006-01-25T14:14:00.000-08:00

And it's now or never. I ain't gonna live forever. I just wanna live while I'm alive.

IT'S MY LIFE

Hello, Cyberworld. Long time no see. Have you missed me? No. Go hump a camel.

I've been contemplating my current circumstance in life, my lot, if you will, and I have come to the conclusion that I don't really want to keep doing what I'm doing. My job is burning me out in a lot of ways and I need a pick-me-up. No, I'm not talking about the crystal methamphetamine I could easily obtain from any of the churls that I deal with on a daily basis in my line of employment. I'm talking about good old fashioned cocaine. Just kidding.

What I need is a new job. That could be in my field. I've thought about changing from working long term with foster care and in-home cases to going to investigations. I think I would make a kickass, no-holds-barred(wasn't that a Hulk Hogan movie, starring Zeus by the way?), Dirty Hairy type investigator. So maybe I'll do that. I've also applied to Master's school, for which I am very unexcited.

I have one other option and it ain't pimpin'. See, pimpin' ain't easy. No, you've got to have an intestinal fortitude, a lack of scruples combined with an obstinant and somewhat unnerving observance of your own pseudo moral code, and a pimpin' hand that says "Don't cross me, bitch." Oh, and the Ho's. You've got to have the Ho's.

Pimpin' ain't for me. Don't get me wrong, G. I would love to wear honey brown mink coats, walk around with an unnecessary cane with that wierd knife on the end, sport alligator skin shoes, and drive in an open convertible with the steering wheel in my left hand and a diamond encrusted flask full of "crunk" juice in the other. It's the other part of it, the Ho's and the bitchslapping, that I just could't stomach.

So instead I'm probably going to law school.

Peace.

I Just Saved A Bunch of Money on My Car Insurance

2006-01-04T11:06:00.001-08:00

Not really. See, I don't go through Geico.

No sir, not me. No company with ads that great will ever recieve my buisness. Who has the best commercial? Oh, the barons of beer do. Don't try to act so holy-"Oh, I don't drink beer, so beer is evil and I don't support the drinking of...beer." You know you like the beer commercials. You know it so stop denying it, MASTER OF DENIAL !

My point is, I will never buy goods from the greats of marketing. So there, corparate America, with your Ad Agencies and your surveys and your field studies. I wont' be duped by it.

PEACE !!

I Just Saved A Bunch of Money on My

2006-01-04T11:06:00.000-08:00

My Blog Is Bad

2006-01-03T10:30:00.000-08:00

It's pretty obvious, isn't it?

I was reading some other blogs, of friends and other loved ones (disciples, minion, you know the type), and I came to the conclusion that my blog is by far the worst of the bunch. Do you know why? I don't either.

It could be because I just don't have anything interesting to write about. It could be my poor, disjointed writing style. (Or lack thereof.) It could be my incredibly large genitals. I guess we'll never know, will we?

My New Year's was extremely exciting. I went to Red Lobster with me wife and me Jonny. Phil was, of course, too cool to do anything with us. Then we went home, saw Dick Clark ring in the New Year, and went to bed.

Speaking of Dick Clark, or Clarke, I'm not going to look up the proper spelling, but what the hell happened to that dude? You gonna let a little stroke or something set you back like that, Dick Clark? Dick Clark, you need to pick up your game.

B

Twas The Day After Christmas

2005-12-27T11:44:00.000-08:00

I've never been so glad to be back at work.

Just kidding. It wasn't that bad. Other than the countless hours with my in-laws and thier many cousins in a small house, it was nice. Oh, and I missed out on the food at my mom's, which i gaurantee was much better than what i had.

Bye.

and by the way, jonny still don't need no friends.

Happy For Jonny

2005-12-09T09:43:00.000-08:00

Love is on the way, I can see it in your eyes. Let's give it one more try tonight, baby.

So I was at Volkswagen getting my car fixed 'bout 3 months ago. I was there for a few hours and started chatting it up with the pleasant receptionist due to my extreme boredum. Anyway, I called Jonny and had him pick me up. I decided that I was going to work my magic and get him to go out with girl receptionist. She had some boyfriend about to leave on his mission so I set it up so that after he left on his mission, Jonny could go in for the kill.

About three months later I made them go to lunch together and made Jonny ask her out, basically. And just last night they came over and they are getting married.

Just kidding. But they did seem to be getting along very well, which makes me happy for Jonny.

SST !

The NBA

2005-11-29T20:45:00.000-08:00

Oh, how you have fallen.

I went to a Jazz game tonight. It was, simply, the worst basketball game I have ever seen. The Jazz reached 60 points on a last second shot. There were 37 turnovers in the game, 19 blocked shots, The Jazz shot 33 percent and the Pacers shot 40. It was unwatchable. I still enjoy NBA hoops over college and always will. I like the style better (one on one matchups) than the college (jack up three pointers every play). Also, as bad as the NBA has gotten at shooting, it is still better by far than college.

Here are a few things I would do to change the NBA

1. Get new refs. Start anew with the rules of basketball actually being applied. The game has gotten so physical, so clutchy and grabby, that it is more of a contact sport than it should ever be. I literally mean get rid of all of the existing NBA refs who can't or won't call the game correctly and get new ones who will.
2. Push the 3 point line back a foot or two or get rid of it all together. (it should be outlawed until the pro game.) The players have gotten used to it and use it too frequently, like a crutch. This would help with spacing and bring back the medium range game. What happened to players who could shoot outside, medium and inside ? They just don't exist anymore because every kid is concerened with jacking up the 3.
3. Give technical fouls for flopping. I can't stand to watch Manu Ginobili. He's such a puss. If the refs gave out techs, which would also count as personal fouls, for players like him who obviously flop, then it would go away.
4. Cut out 5-10 teams. There isn't enough talent to fill 32 rosters. Period. So cut the teams who historically have sucked: Clippers, Hawks, Hornets, Bobacats (why were they even added in the first place?). Then make cuts of teams no one likes except the home fans: Jazz, Sacramento, Cleaveland and any other team that never one the championship.
5. Get rid of completely gauranteed contracts. I don't frankly give a rat's hind-end if a player makes 20 million. But when he's just tanking it, or faking injury and still getting checks, he should be allowed to be cut and only a portion of his contract count towards the salary cap. Or make them accrue paid time off, so that if they get sick or hurt, they can still get paid.

Please, any other changes.

B

Car Update ! (SO FUN !!!)

2005-11-22T22:33:00.000-08:00

Looks like it's gonna be about 800 bucks. Turns out my radiator burst and I need a new one.

If it keeps going like this, I'm going to kill someone and chances are they are from Australia.

B

My Damn Car !

2005-11-21T22:34:00.000-08:00

Oh, technology ! You are my bane !

Sos I'm driving to my night job tonight, and I get about a block and a half away, and guess what happens? My car starts smoking like ka-razy. So I get out because I think, "Shit, my car might blow up." And I cross the street. After a few minutes of much smoke/steam billowing forth, I opened up the hood. I looked on the ground and to my dismay, what did I see? All of my damned anitfreeze pouring onto the ground.

So....I got it towed and will find out the damages tommorrow, which could range from radiator hoses to a blown head gasket. (50-1500 dollars) I'm sure mine will be closer to the latter. See, I already have dropped $2400 on the car in the last 3 months. I'm so sick of it. Fortunately, I still owe $12000 on the car, it is worth maybe 5 or 6, has one hundred and five thousand(I wrote it out for effect)miles on it, and has only 45 monthly payments left. Isn't that gr-8?

B

Damned Racket

2005-11-17T15:17:00.000-08:00

I recieved disturbing news today from the University of Utah. Seems that my application for graduate school was filled out incorrectly. See, I applied for Spring 2006 semester and apparantly, you can only apply for Fall 2006 semester. Anyhew, the problem is that now I have to reapply, I lose the 70 bucks I paid for the spring application, and I have to pay 45 for the fall application. What a racket.

I'm worried about something: risk taking. Let me explain how. I see a lot of people out there with ideas and talent. I consider myself one of these people. However, I know that most people never take a risk and therefore, they never get anywhere with thier talents. I don't know, I mean, I don't consider myself a genius or anything of the like, but I do feel that I have creative thoughts that need to be expressed. 2 problems mainly. I like music and I like humor.

1. music-well, I am not talented enough to be considered anything special here. However, I do feel like I have a certain level of creativity that I should be tapping into, despite my lack of pure musical talent. And another thing-Grant has the talent. He has the creativity. But it worries me that he won't take the risk and put what he has out there.
2. Humor-I like to explore funny things. However, I am afraid that I might have the talent and creativity in this vein to make a career out of it but that I won't take the risks for so many reasons: self-doubt, finances, time, my current stable position.

anyway, just some thoughts.

B

I Don't Think So, Red

2005-11-16T14:14:00.000-08:00

"bout dis big"
-Blaine Woodland

I don't think this proves your theory, Derek: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fart
Let me explain the theory by telling a story:

Derek has the stinkiest gas on earth. I kid you not. This is the kind of gas that could literally cross your eyes if you were exposed to it for too long. The kind that actually makes you gag and possibly have a small amount of barf enter your mouth. (not a real, big barf, just the acidic, bile-ridden little burp-ups that some of us are prone to get) Anyhew, when asked why his farts smell so bad, Derek, of course, has a theory to explain why his smell is so pungent over the smell of others. See, Derek waits untill he is about to mess himself before relieving his anus of its unholy burden. And, scince he waits so long, he claims that his gas has more "pooh particles" in it, thus making it more fetid than it would normally be.

The fact that he has even thunk about such things is, of course, deplorable, but then he sends me a link to "prove" his point that doesn't even remotely do so? Un-be-effing-lievable.

"Aerosolized particles of feces are also present in flatus, though in miniscule amounts"

This statement alone says that the amounts of aerosolized particles of feces, or, as Derek so eloquently refers to them "pooh particles" are only present in miniscule amounts. The article makes it quite clear that mephitic odors, such as those which leave Derek's body, are caused by many other factors.

SST !

2005-11-12T12:26:00.000-08:00

Today is Saturday and I am at work.

Phil called and told me that I had a bad job because I have to work on Saturday. This all goes back to an era when Phil's fat ass had to work basically every night and every weekend. I told him constantly that he had a bad job.

The difference is that I don't actually have to work at all. I choose to. See, I have about 20 people to buy Christmas presents for and although I make a ton of money with the state, I need to supplement my income to bare the burden of this thing we call "Christmas."

I would rather just not have Christmas and just have the day off from work. Christmas is mostly just a pain in the asscrack for me. The family stuff and the food are okay, but the presents are just way too much, man. Anywayz.

Has anyone watched Will and Grace ever? Why is this show on? I mean, I love the gay joke as much as anyone else, I guess, but the show is just basically the same damn joke over and over. Wow, what good fashion sense gay guys have. Wow, gay guys are sure sensitive. Wow, gay guys (fill in bad gay stereotype here.) I don't get it.

B

Persephone, Be My Muse !

2005-11-10T15:50:00.000-08:00

Today I was thinking.

That may seem bizarre, but no. I watched the Celtics play the Grizzlies of Memphis at my brother Jim's house. I had some observations to share:

1. Shane Battier's head is that of a Chinese Shar-pei. It is very odd-shaped and covered in wrinkles.
2. Corn rows must take forever to do. First of all, you have to have an afro or full head of hair. That itself takes time to grow. I worked with this lady named Kathy Sorenson. She is lilly white with long, black hair. That, however, does not keep her from sporting corn rows. Quite humerous.
3. I love Paul Pierce.

Later, I played a round of golf with Jonny and we decided to play best ball, which I had never done. Thank goodness, he hit most of the good shots. We were 3 over after 9, which was all we played. Jonny was sad becuase there was an aged man in the group in front of us who was very bad at golf. That in itself is not sad, even to Jonny. What was so disconcerting was that after he hit his bad shots, he would run up to his ball and hit another bad shot, then run and run and run. Jonny was filled with pity. The pity of God.

Other than that, pretty normal day. Oh, except I didn't work.

B

2005-11-09T13:48:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my world.

Some people look at the world and ask "Why?"

I am one of those people.

Why do the babies starve?
Why do I have to work with idiots?
Why do those women with enormous whisker-biscuits feel that it is okay to wear bikini tops and spandex undershorts to theme parks?

This blog will be about nothing, and it will be about everything. It will be ambiguos and it will be androgynous. It will be detailed and clear in its sexual orientation. (slightly gay)

In the immortal words of Randy "Macho Man" Savage, "The madness is gonna kick in!"

B