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The Yearly Demarcation of Eventual Death February 11, 2011

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Here I am…..a lyin in winter.

I think its vital for an unrelenting pessimist to have some kind of yearly yardstick from which to measure ones own devolution into increasing irrelevance. And thus it is, February 10th, the year of……..I’m guessing someone’s Lord…..2011. And I hate myself just a tinsy bit more.

And what’s not to hate…..Older? Check. Minivan driving? Check. Disney time share owner? Check. Dredge on society? Check. Lime green leisure suit…..ok that’s on order, but I hope to be able to cross that one off soon.

So what does the future hold for the survival of the witless? I’m hoping for an early retirement and managing to die with limited pain – I would have said die with dignity but lets face it, that’s too high of a bar to clear.

Don’t worry about me…..the unbearable weight of my self acknowledged uselessness will lift eventually. I soon will be back into my usual chipper, bitter, sarcastic self.

Of course, maybe I should just lay off the Absolute.

Blue Friday January 28, 2011

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When I first heard the term “Black Friday”, I was, of course, delighted

Assuming the term black would embody its usual negative connotation, I dreamed of a Friday for the rest of us. The forlorn, dystopian, disdainful, morose, gothic underbelly of consumerism lost that is the United States of Amerigo Vespucci. Imagine my dismay when I realized it instead had everything to do with hanging out at Wallmart and 5AM in the morning.

Believe it or not, I was talked into the universal slap in the face of decency and the antithesis of quality (Zen and the art of Motorcyle Maintenance notwithstanding) that is the mart of walls, at what can only be defined as an undogly hour (I’m experimenting with dyslexia)……Ok, talked into it is a pretty loose description. My then pregnant wife asked me and I reflexively said yes, without listening. I gave up free will about the same time that random juvenile delinquent freed Willy.

So there I was, in a place I hate, with people I hate (didn’t know them, but there’s a good chance I hate them) attempting to buy crap I don’t need. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is? Ok, clearly if your reading my blog its obvious I don’t know what love is, but that’s beside the point.

Oh, notice I said “attempting” to buy. Apparently those on the “inside” of the inner workings of greeterville knew that you really had to start lining up at Midnight, take a number at 2 AM, and then were actually able to buy stuff at 5 – which of course, I didn’t do. There are few things in this world I am more proud of than the fact that I was not a in the know about the Walmart rituals. Wouldn’t want to see a group picture of those people.

Ok, enough anti-holiday drivel. The real reason for this blog is to reclaim Friday, or maybe rebrand it. Look, Friday…….sucks and you know it.

All sorts of work crap gets thrown at you on Friday because people have been procrastinating all week and all of a sudden realized stuff had to get done by the end of the week requiring insta fire drill.  For some reason, it usually rains, snows, or sleets (its a blog, I can make up words), the only sports available are High School sports, which I could watch but that of course would send me down a journey of recollection of disappointment and dispair (ah, High School, its hard to imagine one person could generate that volume of public humiliation in a mere 3 years).

And finally the ultimate sadness – working too long forces you to eat at the only place without a 45 minute wait……which is of course TGI Fridays. Suffice it to say, I don’t TGI Friday, and hate talking about my flair!

Friday isn’t good. Friday isn’t black. And no, I wont thank dog its Friday (might thank Nietzsche, but that’s a different post).

Friday is disappointing, acerbic, frustrating……and BLUE.

But, then again, its better than Wallmart at 5AM.

Just When You Thought it Was Safe to Blog…. January 6, 2011

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I’m BAAAACK!

Like a blemish to teenage epidermis, like sinus infection to the nasal cavity, like ear hair to a self denying baby boomer…….you might revile it, but you can’t ignore it….

I’m back, and better than never…..or is that better than clever? Definitely better than leather.

And why am I back?

Because deep down in places they don’t like to talk about in parties, you wanted me back. That’s right all of you…..or should I say some of you…..ok, it was really just Stu, but he asked me more than once so that counts for something.

So where was I?

Lets say I was on a bit of a metaphysical journey, a tireless existential exploration of my inner core, divining my essence, my true north through determined introspection and a quest for self knowledge, love, and inner nobility.

It was either that or I was in the bathroom.

Ok, really what happened to me was life. External events of the outside world overwhelmed me demolishing my will to blog. Those of you who know me know what happened…..the Cowboys went 6 and 10. Oh, and my daughter being born probably played into it a little.

It is truly a miracle of life that my wife’s gene pool could be so overpowering that it could overcome my negative karma-bile to produce something beautiful.

There was one particularly touching moment. My little princess was wailing with surprisingly effective ear piercing tenacity, and I attempted a calming ritual rocking her with my 8th grade white boy dance rhythms and singing pre-hallucinogen Beatles lyrics. At that point the tears ceased, her eyes met mine and the yet unspoken message was delivered by her expression “Did you really think you were going to hit that note?”

Apparently sarcasm didn’t skip a generation……and I couldn’t be prouder!

Stanley the Manley October 1, 2010

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Down at our rendezvous……

Believe it or not, that’s what they were actually saying. In almost every song, there is one line that is borderline indecipherable. For all of my life I thought they had just strung random syllables together because they couldn’t come up with a rhyme for “three’s company too”.

Oh and I love it that they threw a French word in there – fitting to the level of sophistication and the intricate and complex plot development of a show based on existential angst and witty social commentary……oh that and putting food on Jack’s head.

The show “Three’s Company” was the cultural touchstone of my generation (note to self, when you talk about your generation, that means you’re old).  You wanted to be Jack – albeit a little more successful romantically. You wanted to drink at the Regal Beagle…..hands down the best name for a bar, ever! You had a friend like Larry, and Chrissy……well lets face it, she made life worth living.

But, as I get older and more, well, crusty – I realize the best character on that show, that really set it apart was …… wait for it ……. Stanley Roper.

The crotchety landlord who lived downstairs. A wicked sense of sarcastic humor, a biting tongue, always somewhat angry about…..something. And of course, vaguely creepy. What’s not to love?

The best part of Stanley was what I affectionately refer to as the “camera of life”. Often Stanley would make another one of his cutting, almost cruel, jokes when no one else was around to hear it. But, that didn’t stop him from looking into the camera, smiling, and nodding his head as if he knew you were there – ala a Beautiful Mind.

So, lets take this up a notch. Sarcastic, moderately cruel, crotchety, and possibly schizophrenic – in an entertaining way. I don’t just like Stanley…..I am Stanley.

So keep it down up there!

Sarcastic Ranterings September 16, 2010

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Ranting or Pondering? Only the schizophrenic knows for sure.

I was trying to determine whether to title this blog “Sarcastic Ranting” or “Sarcastic Pondering”…. but after multiple seconds of introspection, decided to make up my own word because as an American, that’s my right……you hear that Obama……I want me illiteracy back!

Enough set up – the following is an amalgamation of random, bitter, disturbing thoughts…..for your reading pleasure.

If you always feel like Ozzy Osborne at 3 in the morning, how do you know when your sick?

I have just attempted to flush my sinus cavity with apple cider vinegar in a somewhat vain attempt at  momentary nasal clarity so I can, you know, breath and stuff. While it clearly did not work, the accompaning hallucinations are well worth the pain.

Chronic sinusitis is both a journey and a destination. Since its really the only constant in my life, I’ve come to regard it as a friend. Of course, there are some negative aspects to this relationship i.e. I’m never sure when I’m actually sick.

Am I throwing up because of a stomach virus or just gagging on your phlegm again? Is that…um….increased regularity a result or another virus or simply an overdose of antihistamines? Is my skin cold because of a reaction to a fever or the fact that I haven’t inhaled normally for 2 years (unlike Clinton, I WANT to inhale)? Pure unadulterated Chaos!

When did “making me puke” become redefined as entertainment?

You can’t spell “Gaga” without “Gag”. A meat dress? I mean I heard rumors that you had a thing for Scooby Doo, but this method of wooing is a little over the top……Plus you know that any relationship would be ruined by those meddling kids.

Ok, I get it. You think the “people” treat you like a piece of meat, so you dress up like one. That’s either artistic or autistic. Good thing you didn’t think people treated you like crap.

BTW, do you sing or something?

My 6 year old son was bored by football game, but was … um … closely observing the cheerleaders. Should I be disappointed or proud?

So, he’s an ab man. He actually refers to it as “bellies”, which makes it sound more innocuous, but its all about the midriff…..or the naval to be specific.

Touchdown scored? Who cares. Scantily clad cheerleaders girating? You had me a scantily.

The football fanaticism clearly skips a generation…..but lovin the ladies maintains the legacy track. And I’m told I’m supposed to find this disturbing.  Hmmm. I wonder what it would be like to have morals?

Since my soul is dead, why do I still feel guilty about …… anything?

The only thing in my life that even resembles any sort of religious or spiritual affiliation is my devotion to the Dallas Cowboys. I mean I do dedicate my Sundays to worshiping them – I follow the star.

On a related topic, oh striped one, do not throw a flag on the last play of the game. A penalty deciding a game should only happen if there was a crime committed, not an infraction.

Oh so the moral thing…the other day I was questioned about a prior religious affiliation from which I happily “fell away” (it rhymes with doorman). Anyway, as I started to relay an unnecessary explanation of living a life based on logic, instead of on “not drinking stuff” I felt a tinge of something that resembled guilt.

Of course it could have been indigestion. I haven’t felt guilt for years, so I wasn’t sure what it felt like.  Either there is some humanity left in me (I’m sure it was inherited and thus accidental) or my acid reflux is coming back. I’m hoping for the reflux, because lets face it, belching is much more fun that morality.

So, I think congratulations are in order. You just managed to make it through a rambling post about phlegm, gagging, moral relativism, and potential flatulence.

Take that Obama!

Bad Parenting Advice August 26, 2010

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So you’re a good parent – how boring. Want a more interesting life, time to change up. This blog will help you get there.

Ok, generally my posts are full of nihilistic, introspective, and unadulterated sarcastic misery. It requires an intense amount of abrasive focus and negative energy. However, this weak I am exhausted and just don’t have it in me to produce such lovely bile…..so I figured I just go with hacky blather ala Jeff Foxworthy. Enjoy.

Some tips on parenting from a decidedly bad parent.

You might be a lax parent if…….

  • You’ve ever answered the question “Daddy are you mad at me” with “I don’t know, is your Mom looking”.
  • You’ve ever taught your child a pickup line – even as a joke (note to self – apparently teaching your child to wink and sleazily deliver the line “hello ladies” is not funny)
  • You are outwardly envious when told of your child’s acts of delinquency at school, especially when authority is denigrated i.e.

Teacher: Your son doesn’t pay attention when reprimanded.
Me: I’m sorry, could you repeat that? I wasn’t listening.

Teacher: I can’t seem to get him interested in the religious portion of class.
Me: I guess me telling him the whole Nietzsche “god is dead” story was a tactical error.

  • You’ve ever played a “yo mama” type game with your child using potty related humor i.e. your potty is so nasty, my farts improve the smell ( of course, I always let him win).
  • You’ve even considered potential punishment for your child not showing fervent enough devotion to the Dallas Cowboys (if a child isn’t fanatical by the time they are 6 , 50% will never become fanatical).
  • You’ve read this blog and realized you have several escapades that could top the examples listed above.

Thank you, thank you. I’ll be hear all week……

Ok I’ll really be here forever……I mean, the internet is always on meaning my sarcastic hackiness will be available 24 hours a day for the rest of your life.

What a revolting thought.

Bring on da Gator August 16, 2010

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So your in the desert, with nothin better to do…….why not name your horse?

Note of self realization, it is either incredibly bold, or exponentially dim witted to start a post with a reference to little ditty by Gordon Lightfoot. Of course, it could be a stroke of creative genius. AND I’ve always wanted to be known as a misunderstood genius – at this point in my life, I’ll settle for misunderstood.

Um the Lightfoot reference – in a song I don’t care enough about to Google and find out the title, he utters the phrase “I went to the desert on a horse with no name”……and rambles on about something else that rhymes with name…..rain, pain, maybe stain – who knows.

The point is I never get past the first line. Hey Gordo, why doesn’t your horse have a name? Naming a horse aint that hard. Lefty, Millie, Jumpy…..Mortimer – just pick one.

Of course, he is in the desert – which may explain the lack of logical thinking and unwillingness to make a decision.

I make such a comment lovingly, and even wistfully. For 13 years I lived in the land of the rising sun exposure. Phoenix either rose from the ashes, or is a result of poor ash disposal technique. Any venture outside of your air conditioning protective bubble can result in what can only be called a “crisping”.  However the resulting hallucinations are lovely – especially when you throw in a Gila monster or two.

With such wondrous visions, why not throw logic out the window? And my friends from the Arid Zone do not disappoint.

You see, recently in sparkyville, a dam broke releasing the content of a man-made lake – Tempe Town Lake to be specific. That’s right, they built a lake in the desert! Ecology and common sense be damed. Oh and of course the  dam was supported by……get this…..industrial strength balloons – because concrete is for wussies.

Wait, it gets better……

The mini-flood generated by Tempe Town Leak resulted in several large puddles in which fish were permanently trapped. And because those fish were, um, undesireables  (they had carp-o-tuna syndrome) they couldn’t be transferred to another lake and had to be disposed of in the most efficient way possible.

The great leaders of  Tempe, after watching multiple Scooby Doo episodes sprung into action…..They went to the zoo, got one o dem alligators and announced that the snack bar was open.

Because, ya know, gators eat fish and this gator was famished, and the fish were going to die anyway….might as well make it entertaining. Of course gators don’t live in the desert, and carp aren’t their natural food, but lakes don’t exist in the desert either so none of this is “natural”.

Ok, normally I try to have my posts make a point, but truthfully on this one I just wanted to tell this story. And, I have a new euphemism for a illogical solution to any problem……

“Bring on da Gator!”

Oh and by the way, the gator’s name was Tuesday…..That’s right, they went to the Desert with a Gator with a name.

Take that Lightfoot!

Coagulated Blood August 5, 2010

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So…….she’s a fairy.

A full on tinkerbell, giggly laugh, saccharine infused, Peter Pan lusting fairy – with flowers in her hair and mushroom inspired dance moves. HBO, if you would take just a second out of your gratuitous sex and violence filled day you would note that the animal you just jumped was in fact a shark – as a side note, say AAAaaaa to the Fonz for me.

You see, HBO has this series entitled “True Blood”, and because my whole identity is defined by my Socratic search for truth…..and good beer, I am compelled to suck the essence out of each episode like an oil skimmer off the Louisiana coast….belching along the way. And, thus far, the blood has in fact been true or at least moderately truthy-like.

Ok, look…..viewing True Blood requires a certain suspension of logic and intellectual curiosity. Vampires, werewolves, were “panther”…..just hangin with the humanoids. But there are so many fun, playful, intensely uncomfortable metaphors that it has been worth it. Vampires coming out of the “coffin” clearly an allegory to my buddy in high school admitting that he really listened to Duran Duran (hungry like the werewolves)…..oh and maybe the gay thing too. There is a delightful disdain and attack on heteronormative culture that is transformative in nature (don’t worry, I don’t know what that word means either – I just like to use big words in random places which is concomitantly disingenuous).

Racial and class differences play into it as well, um, I think…..ok I really don’t know but any show that racks up a body count that can compete with Total Recall is worth a viewing. I mean the death toll based on STDs alone is probably in the 100’s.  Werewolves? Why not! Werepanthers? Sure throw them in as well.

But……a fairy? Named Sookie? Isn’t Sookie one of the sophisticated debutants on Jersey Shore?

What’s next – a luscious leprechaun  with questionable intentions? Maybe a metephysical encarnation of the Cadbury easter bunny whose chocolate eggs are filled with rattlesnake venom? Might as well go old school and call in Mr. Snuffleupagus – I never did trust that guy.

The sad part is, even though the series is going down an unfortunate and torturous path, I can’t wait for the next episode……

Even though, the True Blood has coagulated.

No, Not the Mini! July 27, 2010

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Its all over.

The torch of hope has been extinguished. The facade of unrealistic dreams has crumbled. Even the joy of moral depravity and gratuitous schadenfreude has ceased to mollify the unstoppable force that drives me down the road to inevitable, soul crushing, destruction.

I have……(infer dramatic pause)…..been mini-vaned. Oh the humanity!

This unfortunate outcome should have been foreseeable. The signs that I was on the road to doofus were well marked. When a night out stopped being about alcohol and started being about Target, when the words “vacation” and “Disney” became synonymous, when I started celebrating New Years at 10:30, when I started sayin freakin (ok, the last one hasn’t happened yet but I fear  it could) I should have known that a dorkmobile was on the way (Target, the gateway dork).

The Gods have a keen sense of irony in labeling the source of my demise the “Odyssey”. Yes, this journey I am about to embark on is truly Homerian – crossing the river Styx of potential coolness to dwell forever in the inferno of terminal loser, coupled with  a turn radius of next week.

So what’s the next step of devolution?  Shopping at Sears for matching sweats, a striped headband and amber visions? Hanging out in the garage sitting in a folding chair making unfunny weather related jokes to the unfortunate passer by (hot enuf fer ya? heh, heh, heh). Drinking decaffeinated coffee?

Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.

Chicken Pride July 15, 2010

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That’s right…..I’m a coward!

To me everything tastes like chicken – because I am one. Want to know why the chicken crossed the road? Just ask me…..but,  I probably wont tell you because I’m afraid that what I would say would seem, um, clucken ridiculous.

I’m not just afraid of the monster in the closet, I’m afraid of the closet (the assundry of mismatched polyester  is simply scary). I’m afraid of gila monsters, soccer monsters, the cookie monster…..I’m even afraid of @havi’s monsters. I’m still on the fence about monster.com

The avatar for my blog isn’t really an image of me – Its Jim Morrison. Oh and the Twitter visual?  Its James Dean. Both “characters” are relatively ugly and obscure. I only use them because I’m afraid that if you saw how handsome and suave I really am, you’d follow me just because of the looks and not for the reason you follow me today……to know that  no matter how bad things may get, at least you’re not me.

As a fearful, lilly livered, yella bellied…..BOB-bok-bok-bok-BOK…..I am here to proclaim a truth that is universal, despite its unpopularity……

Fear ROCKS! That’s right I said it!

Fear keeps you from leaning over the side of the Grand Canyon for a better view of the depth because your brother dared you….well…..it would be more accurate to say fear “should” have kept me from leaning over the side of the grand canyon…….bad example but you get the point.

Fear helps you avoid at least some moments of humiliation, with the exception of that concentrated humiliation period also known as Junior High. Fear prevents you from going skinny dipping in the lake where Jason drowned when camp counselors weren’t watching…..and he really should have won that battle against Predator and the Jason X plot was a little disorieting…..oh right, the back to the subject.

Lets face it – cowardice keeps you safe? And what’s not to like about that?

Ok, I know –  it stops progress, it hinders growth, keeps you in bad careers and relationships, it causes plaque build-up (yes, I fear the dentist)…..but who needs all that “stuff” anyway?

I mean if everyone overcame fear and, say, ditched that 9 to 5 zombie like capitalist prison and switched to entrepreneurial, fulfilling, life sustaining careers, then you would have a bunch of irrepressibly happy people walking around. Can you imagine how clucken annoying that would be? Trust me – I know a lot about the subject…..I grew up in Utah.

Oh no, I just had a thought (what, it could happen). Proudly embracing cowardice in a public forum is so antithetical it could be considered…….brave?

Damn!