Resolution

“I resolve to write more letters this year. What about you Jared?”

“What are you doing?"

"It's my new years resolution, for the party. You need to fill yours out so we can get going."

"Okay. let me think. I resolve to grow a third eye!”

“What!?”

“A third eye... right in the center of my forehead! That’s my new years resolution this year.”

“...”

“Don't look at me like that Samantha.”

“Jared, don’t be stupid.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Try. First off you don’t need a third eye. Even if you did, you shouldn’t have it in the center of your forehead. It would serve you better in the back of you head. If you’re going to make idiotic resolutions they should be slightly sensible. Now, what is your real resolution.”

“I resolve to eat fewer peanut butter and pickle sandwiches!”

“That sounds simple enough.”

“I don’t want it to be easy. Okay...I resolve to be the first person in space...”

“Too late.”

“..dancing the polka.”

“Having a little trouble with your resolution this year?”

“To put it bluntly. Yes.”

"Sometimes its hard to identify parts of our lives that need improvement."

"Maybe that’s just it Samantha, maybe there’s nothing wrong with me. Maybe I can’t think of a resolution this year because I’m flawless. I don’t have anything left to change! I’ve done it! I’ve attained perfection!”

“Get off the table and write down your new years resolution! We're going to be late. It’s easy. Ahem, ‘I Jared, resolve to spend less time standing on the coffee table acting like an idiot.’ Now get down here and fill this out so we can go.”

“No really! Listen. Maybe I’ve done it. Maybe I’m perfect.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, I have a great job and I’m still in my twenties! That means I’m obviously very smart.”

“Or just plain lucky. I don't want to burst your bubble but you are the worst person at math I’ve ever met.”

“Maybe that’s normal for perfect people.”

"Jared..."

“Stay with me now. I’m in decent shape and hardly ever get sick”

“I admit you are mostly healthy but Jared, you do get sick.”

“I get stomachaches sometimes but that’s different. I mean like colds and flus and cancer and stuff. I mean, maybe I'm immune to viruses and things!”

“Jared. Are you telling me you don’t think you ever get colds? Why do all men think they never get sick? Is it some universal delusion of your sex?"

“I have natural charisma.."

"Hello! ALL MEN GET SICK! Plus you are also the biggest babies about it! It's always, ‘My head hurts!’ ‘My throat is sore!’ ‘I can't stop vomiting!’"

"...I have good looks..."

"On the other hand, men will drive a nail through their finger and just wrap it in duct tape! I don’t get it.”

“... and of course charm.”

“Additionally you’re also a good listener.”

“I heard you. Listen, I’m having an epiphany here."

"Jared..."

"Stand back and bask in my glow."

“Jared..."

"Turn your eyes and gaze on perfection!”

"Jared!"

"Yes?"

"I’m sorry to break it to you but you're not perfect. You have poor eyesight, you're slightly bowlegged and you’re too short to be perfect.”

“What! What do you mean I'm too short?”

“It’s nothing bad. It’s just when I think of the perfect man I picture him as least as tall as me. Thats all.”

“Wow. That's nice. I had no idea you thought of me as short. I'm five eight. That's pretty average I'd say. I mean you're five foot ten. Maybe you’re just too tall!”

“Its not important, I’m just saying, you are not perfect.”

“Fine. The giantess has spoken.”

“Whatever. Hey midget, do you have a new years resolution yet?”

“I resolve to grow taller this year!”

“Good. Write it down! Let’s get going.”

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 13

It is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption. This week I've picked two pictures for you to choose from. There is just something about that bottom situation that always makes me smile!

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.

Hippie Arts and Crafts

Okay very funny everyone! Turn off the MRI! I'm wearing my metal insoles!



Stuff I've found this week:

Point and click adventure Haluz I just started but this is a lot of fun. like a flash version of Myst. Lemme know how far you get, I'm only on the third scene.

Boston Love. My sister has succumbed to the power of the blog. She has been a blog reader for months, but now is full on blogger. Additionally she has a very cute Boston Terrier who loves getting into trouble.

Secret Ingredient

My nose is captivated by the smell. Grabbed and dragged into the inviting mists of aroma that surrounds and comforts me. My eyes are enveloped by the menu items, each complete with catchy name and detailed photo. There is a certain quality to the food that I cannot put my finger on. I see by a flashing neon sign that this is none other than that august fast food restaurant, “Bucket O’ Grease!”

As a rule I’m not a fast food eater. It’s not to say that I feel that the cuisine is beneath my overly sensitive and developed pallet. It’s just that a majority of these establishments are hamburger joints. For the most part I’m not a hamburger person. I mean I like them well enough, I suppose, but I wouldn’t normally pick them. As such my fast food choices are a little more limited. Smallish greasy chicken pieces, or smallish greasy tacos.

For some reason lately I have been drawn to fast food. I have not given myself over to the urges but I must say it is getting harder and harder to resist!

“Come to the dark side Peter.”

“YES, NO! wait...”

“We have a pail of seasoned curly fries! And a 67 ounce soda option! ”

“AHHH!!!!”

The thing is recently I have been trying to watch what I eat. The trouble with watching what you eat is that you also spend a lot of time watching what you cannot eat. I find that while I’m eating my healthy and nourishing dinner, things that wouldn’t normally even appeal to me, like burgers, sound better than they ever have in the past. While I normally would be quite turned off by the idea that a guacamole jalapeño bacon burger even existed, I find it dancing in my head as I consume my chicken salad with light dressing.

I believe that the real draw is the wanting and not the having. I cannot recall ever being happy after consuming my weight in extra crispy chicken, that is once I regain consciousness. For some reason though it is hard to remember that when my car unexpectedly veers to the left and I find myself puzzling over which sides to choose. My only conclusion is that there must be some secret ingredient, beside the treasured 1000 island dressing.

Why else would I be willing to risk my pocketbook and another three day bellyache, for the least satisfying meal in America? It might be for convenience, ease, or possibly price. More than likely it's for the double-double burger with onions, well done animal style fries and a cold, thick, chocolate ice-cream shake!

Whatever the secret is I hope that I can continue to resist, though I’m not sure for how much longer. All their full sized ads, mail-in coupons and super size options are calling to me. As far as fast food is concerned the only real clarity comes with the aftermath. When the grease soaked bag lies in the trash, the jumbo gulp is gone and all you have left is a body of discomfort, and a knowledge that you have once again succumbed to the secret ingredient.

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 12

It is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.



Suzies toy was missing. All those on the naughty list were checked, twice!

Fun Christmas Flash Games:

Turkey Shoot Bag some Christmas dinner!

Santa Ski Jump A Classic!

Rudolph's Rooftop Challenge 964.7 is my best... very odd game...

Fear of Fruitcake

It’s that time of year again. Time for holly, ho-ho-ho and happy times with family and friends. Christmas is also the time for that thoroughly maligned little dessert. The most unwanted, uncared for and misunderstood baked orphan. The ever feared fruitcake.

Johnny Carson once said “The worst gift is fruitcake. There is only one fruitcake in the entire world, and people keep sending it to each other." This is funny on many levels. One is that many people feel that fruitcake will never go bad, and so it could be passed around for an eternity. The second is that most people would never think of actually trying the bar of confection if anyone did send it to them, so no one would know if it had gone bad. Some else once said "There is nothing dangerous about fruitcakes as long as people send them along without eating them."

I sometimes feel that I’m the last person on earth who actually likes this heavy little Christmas treat. I know a lot of people who claim to be fruitcake haters but haven’t ever tried one. There is something trendy and appealing about saying you dislike it. Sort of a way to fit in with everyone. Yeah, I wear designer jeans and hate fruitcake, I'm cool. In it’s own way fruitcake has a thick wall of prejudice built up by naysayers. This isn’t surprising as it tends to be the ugly duckling of Christmas. It weighs a ton, looks like a hodge podge of leftover refrigerator items and is about as dense as crazy Uncle Fred. What is a cake to do against all this injustice?

Luckily it’s tough enough to take it. Despite the fact that its name is now synonymous with insane, and people fear that loaf like package under the tree, it may surprise you to hear that fruitcake sales continue to rise every year. I’m not sure if these are maybe closet fruit-cakers, protesting disgust and then running home to their dirty secret. Possibly people are buying them for gag gifts, or even more likely, maybe they are being used as pothole fillers in the federal highway system. Who can guess?

My folks would make fruitcake every year when I was growing up. Starting near the end of November the house would be filled with the smells of candied fruit and rum. It was a long process that literally took weeks to get the fruit to the point of being ready to add to the batter. I have great memories of think slices of fruitcake, toasted in the oven with a pat of melted butter on top. There were no upturned noses for the fruitcake in my family. I was blown away when I reached adulthood and found the animosity this cake endured.

Of course there is nothing saying you have to like fruitcake. I’m just saying, why not give it one more try? In the end if you still don’t like it here’s a nice way to get rid of it.

Ode to a Frozen Car

You just have one purpose
You just have one task
To get me to work
And to get me there fast

I spring from the house
At a quarter to eight
Fifteen minutes to work
I cannot be late

You sit there and smile
You’re all covered in ice
I can’t see through the windshield
Now isn’t this nice?

I work my key in the lock
And I open my car
like a small icy tomb
I’m not going far

I start up the engine
Pry my hand from the key
Feels like everything frozen
And sticking to me

I engage the wipers
They stress and they strain
“We can’t break through this ice,
What is wrong with your brain?”

The garden hose frozen
No bucket, less sun
I need to get going
Something has to be done

So I take out my charge card
And I scrape a small square
Now driving five miles an hour
...I’ll never get there.

-Peter Brown 2006

Intersection

Waiting at the intersection can be one of the most enjoyable experiences in life. You might find that statement a little odd but I assure you it’s true. That is, if you know what your doing.

People watching is a very engaging pastime. Some places are better than others. Weddings are good, amusement parks are great and supermarkets are superb. You need to find that place where they feel that they are in a protected bubble. Somewhere that there is both a level of privacy for them and a clear view for you. I submit that the car driving through the busy intersection is just such a spot.

When you are alone in your car you are at liberty to do some of the most outrageous things. I find that while I’m at the stoplight I get to see a dozen vignettes pass by at high speeds. Like the collection of various blooper reels all pieced together for my enjoyment.

Leading the show is the juggler. To watch the expressions on this mans face as he simultaneously, turns on his left turn blinker, shift into first, works the steering wheel and tries to finish that last bite of cheese burrito is worth a full priced admission to the movies. His performance only lasts for a second of course but it is followed up with a fellow who believes he has totally privacy until he looks over and sees me giving him a huge grin. This wouldn't be so bad if he hadn’t had his finger so far up his left nostril that I could see his hair moving. Luckily he’ll never see me again and if he does he will not remember me. As for me, I will have his face etched in my memory till the day I die.

Just when I though it couldn’t get any better the next car in the parade is one of my favorites. The singer. It looks very funny to see someone belting out a very energetic song complete with clapping and head wagging while you can only guess what it sounds like. This particular performance is even more fun for me, because it is one that I frequently engage in. When I see the singer drive by I laugh both for how odd it looks, and knowing that additionally how much entertainment my silence singing has given to others.

That car was followed by a commercial break. It was a huge shipping truck with a very dull but obviously dedicated driver. Since I had nowhere to go I waited for the regular programing to return. I was not disappointed.

There is something amusing about two passengers faces when they don’t think the other person can see them. The man was driving with a very disgusted look on his face, as his female passenger used her left hand as an outrigger and with her right she applied a very think layer of mascara to her eyes. Make-up while driving. This activity is one of the most daring you will see as a motorist watcher! To put your entire days appearance in the hands of a whole road of bad drivers is as daring as it gets!

Then the light turned green and ended the show. I was a little disappointed but really had no choice but to continue on my way. Of course I knew that there was also a good chance I would hit the upcoming light just right and get stopped again for an encore performance at the next intersection.

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 11

It is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.


Here's the one to get it started:

The year Rudolph lead the famed reindeer strike!

Stuff I found this week:

Sling Shot Santa 250 is as much as I've managed.

Cell Start Start your car with your cell phone.

Pretty Challenging Christmas Quiz I cheated...

Calvin & Hobbes

This is a post about snowmen...or little boys...or tigers. I'm really not sure. I love Calvin and Hobbes and here are some of the famous Calvin snowmen for your blogging enjoyment!

Waiting To Cool

As I sit here typing this up, I’m engaging in rite that most people would not find unusual. I’m waiting. I’m waiting for the moment. I’m waiting for that moment when my joy can be fulfilled and whatever it is that is too hot for me, becomes cool enough to consume.

The cooling ritual is a process that hot food eaters have had to endure for generations. It is a specific rite of passage that many go through every morning and some more than once a day. It requires patience to sit there and listen to your insides call out to whatever it is that is overheated.

“I really want to, but I cannot consume you yet.”

“But I’m here! And I’m piping hot and ready for you.”

“I will not be tricked again! No, I will wait.”

A hot cup of coffee yearns to be gulped by some innocent schmuck who believes in comment decency and has no understanding of what one hundred and ninety degree liquid feels like going down. As everyone knows who has taken that larger than necessary initial sip, it burns like the dickens! Burning hot liquid, even a normal sip has done it’s duty. It's burned your tongue. By doing that it has succeeded in turning your four dollar mocha into a cup of motor oil in a trendy paper cup with an inspirational saying on the side.

Additionally all throughout the day it now speaks to you.

At the office you should have waited.
In line at the video store, you should have waited.
Smelling you lunch, you should have waited.

"Leave me alone! I get it okay?!"

A constant reminder that holds on for hours, of a mistake that will render the rest of your day into the same raw feeling that your tongue now endures.

Waiting is not exclusive to liquids. Order anything with cheese at an eatery and you will find yourself counting ceiling tiles or forking at your kale as you wait for the bubbling to cease. You might fill your time watching your friends polish off their salads or chips, as you haven't even started on your meal. This is a test of patience like no other. In the end it is worth all the patience you can muster. For time stands still when hot cheese touches tender flesh. All the blowing, weeping and ice water in the world will not make the slightest impact.

For those who do not order the overly hot meal, don't feel left out. The hot plate is a device used to bring everyone into the waiting experience. In a way the hot plate is even worse than burning food. The thing is that the plate so hot that even once the food has cooled to eating temperature, the plate is still too hot to touch. So what choice do you have? Wait for the plate to cool enough to touch and have a cold meal, or try and eat your food without burning your appendages? A friend with a hot plate. This is the only real dinner theater.

In the end though it seems that the cooling ritual is one we cannot forgo. While it might be fun to sip your coffee or consume your cheese enchilada that is perfectly seasoned, without hesitation, you might be surprised how much less you anticipate it. Anticipation can be the best seasoning of all. So just sit back, relax and wait for it to cool.

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 10

It is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.


Here's the one to get it started:

Okay fellas I'm sorry! Listen what do you say three Big Mac for $1, and we forget the whole thing? Fellas?

Two Funny Japanese McDonald's Ads...

Ad # 1

Ad # 2

This ended up in my search somehow...So I added it...
Oddness

Ode to a Christmas Shopper

Well now, put on your grimace
Head out to the store
Your shoppings not done
They all must have more

With elbows a flying
And a snarl on your face
You just stole from that couple
The last parking place

You ram with your cart
You push and you shove
To get all the presents
They will think the most of

You bark at the shoppers
And belittle the clerk
You grabbed both the last toys
You are really a jerk

Think back to a time
When shopping was fun
Before you decided
You hate everyone

Why are you out here?
So bitter and cross
Christmas’s meaning is simple
Our gain for His loss

You hurt only yourself
With a gift bought in venom
Give your children some joy
Not that jacket in denim

So remember it's Christmas
Remember the reason
It’s not to be bitter
But Christ’s love in this season

-Peter Brown 2006

Lowering My Ears

As I’m driving down the road, I see in front of me the shiny tail fins from a restored Chevy Belair. I hear what sounds like The Everly Brothers belting out “Bird Dog". I imagine this is blaring from some modern CD player in the car. As I pull up along side this classic ride, I see an older gentleman. A throwback to a bygone era, he is quite cleary attempting to regain his past through excessive spending and nostalgic crusing. He is obviously in his early to mid 60’s with a leather bomber jacket, white tee and 50's greaser hairdo. He smiles at me and gives me a nod of recognition, and that’s when I realize it. We both have the same hair style.

I desperately need a haircut. It’s getting out of control. I’ve gone nearly three months between clips and I’m having trouble keeping this pile together for a entire day. This last realization, that with a white t-shirt, leather jacket, and cuffed Levis I could easily look the same as a 1950’s greaser, has got me down. It’s not that I don’t admire this persons style, it’s just that I don’t want to be known as greaser with a pompadour and ducktail in 2006. Beside I don’t really know many Paul Anka or Pat Boone songs.

I’m always happy once I’ve gotten a haircut, but I dislike the experience itself. It’s hard to willing subject myself to something I'm not looking forward to, with the addition of paying sixteen dollars plus tip. Invariably there is always the uncomfortable small talk.

“Hello, so you want a haircut?” She asks.

“Umm...yes, that is the hope.” I say. “Do you have a package that offers a non-chat option?”

“Only with Pam,” she smiles, “but she will ignore your requests and leave your head looking like a wild mountain goat. And she expects a fat tip for it too!”

“Fine I’ll take the chat.”

They always ask me what I do. I explain that I sit at a desk all day type emails, check files, and move very infrequently. It’s not very exciting and certainly doesn’t fill up much of the cutting time. Sometimes I want to lie just to make things interesting.

Well... I work for the CIA. Today we cracked down on a rouge group of scientist who were very close to inventing a perpetual motion machine. I would then explain how the oil companies have been suppressing other neat stuff like cold fusion and magnetic hover cars for decades. I could end it all by saying that the President called and left me three voice mails but I hadn’t gotten around to listening to them yet. This conversation would probably be better than what normally happens.

“You have a lot of gel in your hair”

“I know. ”

“It’s hard to cut with all this gel.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I use more gel because it’s getting long, which is why I’m here.”

“What brand do you use?”

“It comes in a white container with colored squares on it. I buy it at Target because it’s cheap.”

“Have you tried-”

“Please just cut my hair. I don’t want any of your sudo superior products that make me smell like a chemical factory and cost a fortune. Thanks for asking though.”

“So... What do you do?”

Selective Order

Are you a chronic pencil sharpener? Do crooked pictures call to you? Do you know where every item on your desk should be? Do you still leave your wet towel on the floor? Then you might be just like me and be one of the millions who suffer from a new affliction I’ve discovered. I call it Selective Order.

The person who suffers from Selective Order believes their life to be orderly. They have no idea that it isn't. They will devote countless hours on one project that they feel needs to be done while putting off less important tasks, like getting ready for work, or packing diaper bags. The person who suffers from Selective Order will spend an hour and a half investigating an odd sound in the kitchen while a pile of dirty dishes sit in the sink. Additionally they will be surprised when no one is impressed when the sound has not only been identified, but stopped.

I spent this last weekend knee deep in cables, wires and rack hardware. I had to rewire one of the dozen server rooms I’m responsible for. This process took me over sixteen hours. Cables and zip ties were flying. I have to confess I love every minute of it. There are points when I’m tired, frustrated just plain beat but in the end I get to take a step back and enjoy something that I have saved from disorder. This morning when I came in I found that I had neglected to turn back on about half the equipment that I rewired yesterday. The users could care less if the cables are new and shiny.

It is very similar at home. There are certain things which must adhere to my order. My office desk has to be arranged just so. Pens on the left, mouse and CD spindle on the right, papers in order and stacked neatly in the corner. All my software ordered by box size. Non-box media in color coded jewel cases according to type of software, but my shoes can be kicked off anywhere I choose.

In the restroom, my hygiene products are all lined up. They are arranged by the order they are applied. I always wash out the sink when I’m done, and then leave by stepping over my dirty sweats that I’ve left lying on the ground. Additionally I’ll take time to remove price stickers off of household items, but go seven days without a shave.

I will work for an entire afternoon re-organizing the garage and my work bench but not even think about mowing the lawn that is so overgrown, neighborhood pets have gone missing in it. It’s been three months since my last haircut but I’ll always find time to fix the mini blinds if there’s a strip that’s out of place. I can’t say I understand it, it’s just the way I’m made.

So if you know someone who suffers from this same affliction just try and understand. They honestly believe that they live their life in an orderly fashion. So if you do have to tell them please, break it to them gently.

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 9

It is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.



Here's the one to get it started:

Bob's last day on the job!

Stuff I've found this week:

Mentos & Coke

Way cool license plate cover Finally! You can tell them how you feel.

Suffer from a fear of heights? Don't add this to your vacation list

Fun geography test. Yes, I did rather well. I can claim only a slight mistake on Vermont and New Hampshire...

A blogging must have... Comment tracking. co.mments I found this and it is very cool!

Waiting For Microsoft

“Yes can I help you?”

“Please! My server is down and I’m trying to get my Exchange connector service-”

“What is your name?”

“Peter...”

“How much time do you have to wait?”

This is never a good sign. I knew it was going to be bad when I called but I had put it off long enough. I had read through my manuals, and scoured the internet newsgroups. I had done everything I knew to do. I had no choice. I had to call Microsoft.

Calling into the largest corporation in the world and asking them for help, has all the makings for a very bad dream, or maybe the good start of a joke. I had run out of options and so I took the plunge. I have logged countless hours on the phone with Microsoft over the years, and it was mostly because some boss of mine insisted. Generally I come away with more questions than solutions, and about $245 less in my pocket.

Calling and expecting instant service is like walking into Wal-Mart and expecting it to be empty. This just isn’t going to happen. So I wait. Some waits are hours, others are days. I called on Nov 21st, and by Nov 27th I still hadn’t heard any word back. So I wait. In waiting I had to justify not working to my boss.

"I can’t leave." I said, "I have to wait or I might miss my call and then I’d rotate back down and have to wait all over again."

There is something about coming into work each morning and realizing your entire productivity for the day is dependent on your faith in a multi billion dollar corporation to call you back and help you. I got impatient. I did one of the dumbest things you could do. I called them back.

“What is your name?”

“Peter Brown.”

“What is your case ID?”

“Look I need some help. It’s been near a week since I paid for this case and I still haven’t heard from a tech. I’ve just been waiting.”

“Sir. You can wait or I could transfer you to our support team in India.”

“No. Please don’t do that! Please. I need the connection department. My users have been down for a week. Do you know how many people I have relying on this server?”

“Sir you are a light mist is the raging sea of software commerce. We will call you when your number comes up. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No....”

“Have a nice day and thank you for choosing Microsoft.”

This is the way it goes when trying to leverage support from a company so large that nearly everyone in the world has at least one copy of a software package that they sell. I ended up getting called yesterday and after about three hours the issue was resolved. All in all I’m happy not because my issue is solved and my boss is happy but because today I will not have to be waiting for Microsoft.

For Security's Sake

Rarely have I come up against an enemy so crafty. I find that there is little for me to do but fret. I have tried all conventional means on this foe. Reason is lost on the uncaring, and shouting to the deaf is without merit. In all honesty the only thing it understands is force. Sheer unadulterated violence is the only way to get your point across to the ever present ever stubborn plastic wrapper.

There are few pleasures in life as fun as unwrapping something. It feels good to know that you're the first person who gets to touch whatever it is that has been sealed. Like a mini birthday party every time you decided to make a ham sandwich or open a roll of paper towels. For the most part this is easy enough and the plastic falls to the floor and you get whatever it is your hoping for. “Just what I always wanted, breath mints!” Some manufactures haven’t quite reach the subtle equilibrium between safety and convenience.

The media wrapping companies are born of fire, and want only for your discomfort and animosity. I must say they are successful. There are few objects on earth that can boil up in me the rage that a minuscule piece of plastic wrapping can. I pour out all my hate bitterness and judgment onto it’s thin cellophane surface to no avail. The DVD only laughs. “You bought me friend, but you can’t play me till you get my teeny tiny wrapper off. Are you even trying?”

Once you decide to go for broke and rip it off with your teeth, the wrapper has already won. It knows at this point you have lost your cool. You have gone from a cheerful happy person with new movie to watch, to caged animal foaming and frothing at the mouth. As you stand there in the presence of your friends and family with slobbery DVD case in one hand, plastic wrapper hanging from your mouth. You smile casually while huffing and puffing with a desperate air of trying to regain your composure.

You go for your prize, the new DVD with deleted scenes, director commentary, blooper reel and introspective on set back story, only to find another obstacle. Three super sticky plastic ‘security seal’ labels covering the edges. The White House doesn’t even have this much security! You almost expect an armed trooper to parachute in and challenge you to hand to hand combat for the privilege of watching the movie that you’re not even sure exists within this labyrinth of traps!

Once you are finally able to watch your movie your memory begins to fade. This is a failsafe mechanism for your brain. Like a safety valve on a propane container. It wasn’t that bad, you think. It’s not the end of the world, and really they do need to keep the media safe. I mean you wouldn’t want them to be easily stolen. Hey maybe tomorrow you could go out and buy that new album you’ve been thinking about.

Represents

“So you see how the larger mass represents love and see that smaller bit..”
“The rusted wheelbarrow that’s been welded on?”
“Yes, that represents our journey though life...”

Well it’s official. I’m a lumbering Neanderthal when it comes to my eye for modern sculpture. I wouldn’t be able to decipher the meaning in a bronze crumpled paper cup, or the hulking rusted edifice that stands like a beacon of knowledge at our local junior college. I just don’t understand.

Art used to be a representation of life. When “David” was chiseled out of marble, Michelangelo wanted to represent a man. He went through the painstaking process of making stone look just like a human. When I look at a picture of it, I’m blown away. I can’t even imagine taking chisel to marble and getting anything that looked like a stick figure, let alone a human that you almost expect to take a breath, and shake off all that gray paint.

Modern sculptors don’t need to represent life, that what pictures are for. But that doesn’t stop our fellows. They yearn to make you wonder. They want to make you understand what their soul is saying. All I see is what looks like the wreckage from some huge construction accident.

Believe me it’s not that I don’t want to understand. I do. I yearn for the knowledge of what this person was trying to say. I appreciate their toil. I mean I understand that it isn’t easy work welding several dozen pieces of farming equipment together and placing it on a concrete base. That takes time, dedication and a certain eccentric vision. In the end you want that vision to speak for you. Tell the world what you are, and how you think. To me all it says is, “Tornado?” Besides a tornado I can’t imagine ever seeing a scythe handle and tractor headlight looking like that. It almost hurts my head to think that someone made such a mess. If I were a farmer I might start weeping.

Sometimes it’s not so much that it is speaking to me, but that I look at the sculpture and think, “I could do that. I wonder how much that cost?” There is large rendering of a concrete wall on the grass near my local mall. It has a rugged rough look to it. There is a six inch wide vertical cut in it. They call it art.

All it says to me is, “I’m a large concrete wall with a cut in me, call a repair man!” As I was walking up to it I almost expect the title to read “Break In The Wall” maybe I can make that mean something. The trouble is when I get up close it says, “Tom’s Path To Valor”, or “Midnight Sailing.” Neither of which say, “Concrete Wall” to me.

I suppose it all comes down to taste. If your particular bent is for the modern look, than you're in luck. There seems to be more of it popping up all the time. If however you're like me, an artistic Neanderthal, then you might want to grab your leopard skin and club and travel back to Florence, Italy. It seems there is little place for us left in this world of modern thinking.

Lazy Thursday Blues: Early Edition

Due to the fact that Thanksgiving is tomorrow I've decided to post our Thursday game early. I will let it ride over the holiday. I imagine hits will be low and this will give more folks a chance to play.

Last weeks captions were the best ever!! I was rolling on everyones creativity. I have a few good pictures cached for these games and hope you like todays choice. So for the record, it is Caption Thursday.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.



Here's the one to get it started:

All the way to China?!
Yep. All the way...


Digging holes can be fun...



Beware The Shoveller



November 24th is Sinkie Day!! Don't Forget!

Mildly Psychotic

You see them all the time. They pass for the average person on the street. You think they are just like you in the movies, driving in the parking lot, ordering at the restaurant. These people are not the same as you and I. These people are afflicted with a disease. They are the mildly psychotic.

You might not be familiar with this diagnosis, so allow me to explain. The mildly psychotic are not bad people. They don’t mean you any harm or in fact mean to inflict harm on themselves. It’s just for whatever reason they have decided that they will put their good senses on the back burner for a time and go completely insane. Here are a few examples.

Parking lot psychotic. The parking lot psychotic should be well know to all of us. There is something that happens to the human brain when we are adrift in that sea of filled parking stalls. I have often found myself muttering or hollering to the car in front of me. This is semi normal parking lot behavior and somewhat expected. The mildly psychotic person will take it a step further.

If an open spot is seen twelve rows back the mildly psychotic person will stick their head out the windows and holler “THAT’S MINE!!” throw themselves into reverse and weave through the cars to get to that spot. This behavior does two things. Makes enemies with the other drivers, and initiates a domino effect of mildly psychotic behavior in others.

The mildly psychotic person can also be seen in the supermarket, buying up all the four for dollar containers of yogurt so the other customers cannot have any. The mildly psychotic person has trouble understanding that yogurt goes bad, and they cannot possibly eat the equivalent of eight gallons of yogurt, in half pint containers, in under a week. The mildly psychotic cares only for deals and not the harsh realities of a shelf life.

The mildly psychotic person tends to show up frequently at sporting events. There is something about the enthusiasm of rooting for your team that bubbles this behavior to the surface. Here they are easily spotted. Shirtless and painted with team colors holding large foam fingers, jumping and screaming. For the most part they are accepted in this venue.

In fact in someways we all have been the mildly psychotic person at some point in our lives. That person in the restaurant who changes their order four times before deciding on their first choice. The person who wears headphones and sings loudly on the street corner. The mildly psychotic person will realize hours or days later what has happened and then agonize over it. This is different than the severely psychotic person who wouldn’t even care if they did recall.

So remember when you see them on the street picking up all the dirty pennies, or the department store dancing to the contemporary music channel, they aren’t responsible for their actions. They have been possessed by some strange force that will grip us all at some point in our lives. For the moment they are mildly psychotic.

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 7

Everyones Captions from catapult week were great! I believe I have another good picture for captions. So this week it is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.



Here's the one to get it started:

Okay everyone, remember where we parked.

Keeping with the theme...


I wish my car did this...



Uh, wow...

Waking up

They say that waking up is hard to do
Now I know, I know that it's true
Don't say that this is the end
Instead of waking up I wish that I were sleeping in again
(apologies to Neil Sedaka)

“Are you awake?”
“Uhm?”
“Are you awake? It’s 6:30 the girls are up I have to get going.”
“Oh yeah....Of course I’m...”
“I turning on all the lights”

I have a hard time waking up in the mornings. There is something about the time readout on the alarm clock that seems so unreal when my eyelids part after drifting back to sleep. “Got to be to work by 8:00, the clock reads 7:14.” I really should be freaking out by this point but some mornings I just can’t make my body get excited. “Okay...I’ll skip the shave, and sleep till 7:19. If I tie my shoes while driving I might be able to sleep till 7:23”

There are just so many factors working against you each morning. First line of defense for keeping you in bed, is the bed itself. We own a very comfortable bed. It’s a double pillow top. If there is anything I own that has the ability to get me fired, it’s my bed! This combined with my new bizarre dreams are two sure fire ways of keeping me beneath the covers. I have know what happens to the talking donut at the supermarket. I mean did he get eaten by the monkey in the suit or not?

They say you need a reason to get out of bed in the morning. On the weekdays those reason are really hard to come by. I can smell the coffee brewing and it’s nice. But the motivation isn’t enough to remove the sleeping glue from my eyes. It’s hard to not just surrender when your body is willing to glue your eyes shut every night to keep you happy. What is a person to do against such an enemy?!

I was talking about this with a co-worker. We were discussing ways to wake up. Everyone has a method. I heard tell that eating an apple is a better way to wake you up then drinking coffee. I doubt it. Even if it is true I don’t think I could fit an apple in my favorite coffee mug. My co- workers method was a bit more drastic.

Craig told me when he has to get up early, he drinks three glasses of water before going to bed at night. I imagine this works every time. Unless your not fast enough, in which case might I suggest a rubber mattress pad. The only downside I see are lots of dreams about the ocean, waterfalls, and bursting water balloons. A small price to pay for getting out of bed on time.

When it comes down to it I believe it is a matter of will. If you have the will you can get up on time. If you are more like me you will neglect your duties or hygiene for another minute or two of sleep. Either way you have to admit that waking up is hard to do.

Flamingo Fever

There are two basic types of people in this world, people who like plastic pink flamingos on their lawn and people who do not.

Don’t get me wrong I like to see a front yard with a little extra spice on it once in a while. I’m not saying we all have to have the same 20’ x 18.5’ front lawn planted with Bermuda grass and 2.3 inches deep. I’m not for regulation of peoples style. All I’m saying is that it takes a certain type of person to buy a plastic pink flamingo and plant it in their lawn.

When it all comes down to it the single pink flamingo is not doing anyone any harm. If you like it, you should have it. Maybe it brightens up your morning, makes you think about shrimp, or makes you yearn for another vacation to Argentina. It's the folks who get really excited about the little plastic sculpture that I don’t understand.

One time, while en route to our vacation destination, we spotted a sight that I will never forget. It was a house. It was a nice house with a fabulous view from across this gully in a heavily forested area. That was not the reason that we stopped though. We pulled off the side of the road with slacked jaws because all over the house, lawn, trees, shrubs and any open space were pink flamingo stand ups. I believe we counted over a hundred of the little rascals. In addition to all the pink flamingos were a dozen or so red ones, and a single blue flamingo just to add a dash of class.

This person had every right to collect flamingos and litter their lawn with them. I’m not condemning this behavior I’m just asking a simple question. Why? Is it really necessary to have a freaking flock of fabricated flamingos on your front lawn? I have often wondered if this flamingo fever had stopped at the front. I cannot imagine someone who would do this to their lawn having the self restraint to stop at the door. Maybe some pink flamingo table legs? Possibly pink flamingo lamp shades, chairs, oven mitts or Tupperware set. Who can guess.

When it comes to pink flamingos I have to side on the ‘people who do not’ camp. It’s not to say I don’t smile each time I see one, but it’s not that I’m basking in the joy of the creation. It’s more that I’m trying to picture the person who had the nerve to drive to store, pick one out of the garden section and wait in line. Anyone who has that much self confidence is my hero, and the thought of them brings a smile to my face.

Lazy?

“You might be the laziest person I know.”

This was a comment from my wife yesterday in regards to my reasons for not wanting to use the door in the garage. The deal was the car garage door was open and I didn’t want to open the human access door. I envisioned opening the door with a two-year-old child in my arms, locking it and then closing it behind me. I hit the car garage door button and took my daughters life in my hands running under the closing door. I saved at least fifteen seconds and a number of wasted motions. As far as I’m concerned my wife paid me a complement.

There is a story I’m reminded of by the Brothers Grimm. Basically the three sons had to say how lazy they were and the winner got to be king. Now while I have no belief that my lazy tendencies will lead me to govern a nation, I do think they tend to be a service to me. A wise person once stated that necessity is the mother of invention. I believe this statement to be true, but I don’t think it is only necessity that spurs invention. You could say that laziness produced some pretty good stuff too. I would put it more eloquently but we lazy folks don't really care quite as much as others.

I can recall plenty of times in my life where I have put off work to further my pursuit of something more idle. When I was younger one of my duties was to water the garden. My father showed me how, you stand here and sweep the water back and forth for fifteen minutes, then you move here and start all over again. This process was repeated over a quarter acre garden. All in all the process took about forty-five minutes.

If it hadn’t have been for laziness I would have been lost. I put off watering the garden for an hour while I constructed an irrigation plan for the melon patch. It was an elaborate series of ditches starting from a single spot on the top of the mound. I ended up only saving about fifteen minutes but I learned a valuable lesson. If you want a few minutes of time to yourself your going to have to work for it. Make no mistake; working hard on something you do like to put off something you don’t like is being lazy.

I have found that I will spend a countless amount of time trying to find a better way to do a thing if it keeps me from actually doing the thing. Yard work tends to be near the top of that list every time. There is something about racking mowing or weeding that brings out the “Are you sure we should be sweating during this?” attitude in me.

The lazy person will always be looking for a better way, even if they have to take a lot of rest and naps along the way. I suppose we didn’t need the escalator, microwave or electric mixer but I’m glad they’re here. And I imagine we have a lot of lazy people to thank for them.

Tool Collecting

Being a male it is essential that I have a toolbox. It is also a requirement that the box is well stocked with any item that a body needs. My toolbox has three drawers and a flip open top. It was a present from my sister. Before that my tools lay in disarray in odd drawers and on tables. This is not the sort of collection you can brag about. I suppose if you want to you draw the analogy; you could almost see tool collecting as a sort of religious obsession.

In addition to the toolbox it is necessary to build an altar to this beacon of manhood. This altar is called a workbench. A workbench is a testament to your building prowess and can also be a source of bragging rights. Buying a bench is fine but it’s bragging rights are different. It say’s I have more money than you and can therefore buy more tools to put on my altar. The tool gods are fine with a purchased altar, but appreciate the toil and frustration that comes with building your own. Tool gods like to see you unhappy; they’re so like that.

I made my workbench from scrap wood that I found in my garage. I smile every time I drive into my garage. It is the only thing that has ever been constructed from the tools in my tool chest. After I build it, I put everything neatly in it’s place and walked away. That was two years ago. Its sole purpose now is to hold up my toolbox and look pretty. I can say without hesitation

“I built that bench, and those are my tools…Yes, in the shiny red box. With all my power tools and electrical cords wrapped up neatly and stacked below.”

My carpentry skills are pretty weak and that’s putting it nicely. Just because I don’t have a use for my tools, doesn’t mean I don’t want more. I have a hard time not purchasing a new addition to my toolbox every time I’m at the hardware store. If something is not added to the toolbox regularly the tool gods will get angry and your nails could rust, or your screwdrivers might get carried away by your spouse, even though she is well aware that her tools are inside, and your tools should never be used for replacing batteries in a child toy!

The tool gods likes power tools the most. Things like reciprocating saws, hammer drills and chop saws. If these items are not within your means then shiny things like socket sets or framing hammers will fill the bill. Of course you can always substitute either of these for gadgets. Gadgets get you extra points with the tool gods and require less frequent sacrifices. Good examples are laser levels, stud finders, digital tire gauges, or 10 in 1 screwdrivers.

The tool gods are jealous of your time and will know if you neglect them. Spouses do not always understand this and you might have to come up with excuses to collect your tools. Believe me in the end it is worth it. You don’t want to your sacrifices to come up short one day and have judgment come in the form of a major house catastrophe. Handy men are expensive, and although you have the tools, you haven’t got a clue how to use them!

Someday In May

Before the moon had gone away
Sometime in the month of May
In my bed I did still lay
I knew from there I’d have to stray
And I could hear my body say
Get up, wake up and start the day

Preferred to stay beneath the sheet
But soon I was upon my feet
And then morning I did greet
Though my belly yearned to eat
Breakfast would be long to meet
For first a task I must complete

And to the shower I did go
In that place where waters flow
To disinfect that smell I know
Bitter grounds for contempt to grow
In folks who let their feelings show
I turned the dial and set it so

I entered in the misty air
Where climate is near perfect there
The water wrapped me as I’m bear
I sang a song and wet my hair
And in that otherworldly stare
I smiled and felt the showers care

But before the task grew old
What happened there must be told
My loyalties that shower sold
It’s waters turned to freezing cold
And of my senses it took hold
Sucking from me all that’s bold

Emerging with a frigid face
Shivering in that lonely place
Reaching for my towel post haste
I wrapped me at a frantic pace
I tried from me the cold to chase
And thus I’ll state my resolved case

When from the shower I did come
My body icy, cold and numb
A simple episode to some
Changed me as a man struck dumb
To misery I did succumb
And this new life of tedium

Nearly eight years have gone astray
My worse fears I can’t outweigh
As for the shower I say nay
I will not venture in the fray
Every since that fated day
Sometime in the month of May

-Peter Brown 2006

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 6

Everyones Captions last week were great! So this week it is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.



Here's the one to get it started:

Thomas! How many times have I told you not to play with your food?


I've had a few dryers I wanted to do this with...



He's very lucky for all the sand...



Rack this one up for the bizarre...

Correspondence

Everyday it’s the same ritual. I come home and maneuver my car into it’s parking spot. Days that my spot is taken will find me quite off. Mostly it is available and so starts the u turn and parallel parking job. Some days this maneuver is harder than other days, but I always end up in the same place, with the trunk of the maple tree visible through my rear passenger window. I depend on dependably.

I get out of my car and head for the next stop. The mail box. I always get the mail right after parking. I need to feel secure in my routine. I rely on the undeviating rhythm of the afternoon’s duties. Things need to go according to plan. As I open my mail box and grab my three notices of new mortgage rate options, a coupon to Bed Bath and Beyond and the ever present bill I let out a sigh of relief. Now my evening can begin.

There is something about written correspondence coming to your house that is more gratifying than a phone call or email. The first part is simply that each envelope is a mini treasure hunt. Just because the package says “Confidential” doesn’t preclude your finding an advertisement for a new redwood deck, a coupon for free parking at the local Indian Casino, or a pile of money mailed out by some crazy person who picked your address at random. Each notice is a shock of minute excitement and they all build to a crescendo of enjoyment that is sorely required after a long day of the same old thing.

Conventional mail also brings with it certain benefits that are hard to come by with email or the telephone. You can read it at your leisure. While on the couch, standing in the doorway or sitting on the kitchen counter. Unwanted mail is not as annoying as unwanted email. I don’t mind heaps of junk mail the way I do an email box full of SPAM. Wading through the minutia that is removing fake emails from my Inbox is vastly different then thumbing through bright colorful postcards and free samples of baby diapers. It’s pleasant for me to sift through forty-five absurd coupons for floor wax, printed checks or even personalized pet tags. Plus I can open then all without fear of any nasty computer viruses.

Some times even legitimate mail arrives. A card from a friend, an invitation to a party or a three dollar off coupon to “Hank's House of Hot Dogs.” I recall only on a few occasions the sheer misery I have felt upon opening the door of my mailbox and seeing nothing but the nasty glare of bare metal. It’s a defeating feeling and one which I’m not fond of enduring. It says no one cares, not even your creditors. Luckily I can only remember a time or two where this has happened, and once or twice it was because my wife had gotten the mail early. This is a practice that is frowned upon and the action must be substantiated with a very worthy cause. Expecting money in the mail is one of the few excuses that will not warrant some form of reproach.

Sure we get paper cuts, and sure it fills up your mailbox but really aren’t those reasons just a little petty? I have a recycle bin and a club store pack of band-aids, I think I can overcome these road blocks. I say bring on the correspondence.

Perspective

“Peter,” Someone asks, “Why do you talk to yourself. You know that’s real bad sign!”

I replied to them with the same phrase I always do. “I always talk to myself. I prefer dealing with a higher class of person.”

Some people say that folks who talk to themselves are insane. I’m not sure if I disagree with that, but I can tell you we tend to be pretty harmless too. I’ve been holding conversations with myself for years now. It’s not that I don’t like people it’s that I need to have something to fall back on. For those of you who don’t understand let me enlighten you.

I love to talk. You must be very clear on this point because all the rest hinge on it. The worst punishment for me would be losing the sheer joy that is verbalizing. I talk to strangers in the supermarket, in the elevator or at the crosswalk. Some people stare, some walk away but most will engage me in conversation. I don’t think about it, it just happens. I just had a conversation with a older couple in the movie store this week. They never asked me to pry into their discussion but we had a nice chat and they thanked me for my opinion. It’s true that I can get shy or uncomfortable just like anyone but sometimes talking will actually make me less uncomfortable.

That being said I will talk to myself when no one else it around, or even when they are somethimes. I have full on conversations or discussions. Sometimes I’ll just start a conversation and see where it leads me. This process might help clue you into the odd posts that I’m now producing on Fridays. Other times I’ll take different sides of debates. I’ll even use hand motions to get my point across. I start arguing on one side of the issue, then I’ll cut me off and give me what for! The nerve of me thinking like that. I helps me hone my ideas and sometimes it will make me laugh. People will drive by me in traffic while I’m doing this in my car. These are some of the best reactions I get. Make no mistake, I love knowing that people think I’m nuts.

Just to press this point, I’ll talk to vegetables in the supermarket. There is a certain sick enjoyment that comes with being the crazy person. If you see me in the supermarket I’ll hold conversations with the hot dog packages asking them which ones think they are the juiciest. Recently Patricia and I took the girls to the store and each got a basket and a child. My wife gave me a few items to find and we split up. In the supermarket with your child who doesn't talk yet. This is an excellent excuse for talking to ones self. Alexis listened while I explained the about the evils of light cheese, why Anusol changed it’s name to Tucks, which products shouldn’t have logos and how leaving the sausage isle empty handed would make me cry. Some people stare, some people laugh and some will even join in. Most though, will try not to make eye contact and just shuffle away.

I’ll talk to myself as I walk down the street, sit alone in my car or in a crowded room. It feels perfectly normal to me. I don’t feel mad, it’s just something I do. If you think I’m crazy then that is your point of view and as I said before, I’m fine with that. Just know that it's a matter of your perspective and understand that I'm mostly harmless.

Lazy Thursday Blues: Caption 5

I've really been enjoying everyones creativity with the captions. So this week it is once again Caption Thursday! I'll provide a picture and you provide the caption.

As always we need to adhere to good taste. Please keep it clean.


Here's the one to get it started:

Jefferson? Bob Jefferson? Nope, never heard of him.


Stuff I've found this week.


Wooly Willy Online. That's right, you can now adorn Wooly Willy with hair without the stigma of carting around a childs toy. I made a photobucket account for anyone who would like to share their creations. Just capture a the snapshot, save it as an image then you can upload it to photobucket username: kludgespot password: password.

Someone sent this to me... It's a new classic.



Here's a funny little take on Numbers 21 over at Puddleglum's Wigwam. Snakes on a Plain

Thanks to a link from www.dinane.net I saw this amazing video! It's a little long, but very cool/funny/odd. Apartment Drummers

Furniture City

Going out of business! Everything must go!

We are not going to make it anymore. We will have to close our doors. We have a dozen lurking salespeople but no people to make sales for. We spend more time dusting our furniture than selling it. The creditors are calling and it’s not for friendly chatting. Furniture City is calling it quits.

I can’t understand it. It’s not like we are selling our household furnishings for way more than they are worth. No, I will not accept that! It’s not that we are overpriced, it’s that our stuff is worth more than our competitors. Sure it looks cheap but it's not. That cardboard back is there to ease the toil involved in moving, and particleboard is becoming very popular. At least that is what our suppliers say. Who would want solid wood panels when veneers looks just as good, and they come in heavy black lacquer!

We have tried every tactic we can think of. Free puppy day seemed to dissuade customers more than bring them in. We had beanbag day. Spend a thousand or more on a bedroom set and receive a free plastic beanbag chair in one of seven vibrant colors. This did not go as well as we had hoped. We even had a huge 5% off blowout sale and still couldn’t even approach the deals of our highest priced competitor.

We try and do our best. When a customer comes in we smother them with service. It’s even in the employee manual. Page five subsection three paragraph six, “The customer cannot be trusted to make decisions on their own. Once they pass under the ‘This door to remain unlocked during business hours’ sign, they are to be ‘Smothered with Service.’ All employees will do their best to piggy back the customer, make suggestions, ask inane questions and generally pester the walking credit card until they get fed up and leave.” Even with all of this extra special attention sales are suffering.

We have no choice but to close up shop. Don’t worry about it though we’ll survive. We’ve gone bankrupt eight times before. Of course we weren’t Furniture City then. First it was Furniture Village, then Furniture Furniture Furniture, always with the same sales people and same merchandise. We have a liquidation sale, but even then sales are not stellar. People must not have seen the twelve dozen 15% off all stock signs on the front lawn.

Our investors will never get wise. We’ll re-open and be right where we’ve always been, peddling our sub quality merchandise the only way we know how. At slighty higher prices then other stores but with service you can depend on. Come in and see us, you might not recognized the new name on the door, but it will always be us. Different dust cover but still the same boring content at the newly remodeled Furniture Bazaar. The name says it all.

Boating Bound

Everyone has to buy their boat someday. I’m not sure when this statement becomes a reality but I can assure you it’s the truth. If it were not the truth, they wouldn’t make houses with a doublewide driveway. Even contractors understand, you need to have a place to put your boat.

It amazes me how many boats there are in suburbia. It seems to me that this obsession with water floating is just a natural progression of life. Your born from water and you realize after a lifetime of dry dock that you just can’t take it any longer. At some point you just need to get fed up enough to want to sail away.

Grow up, get a job, get married, get a pet, buy a car, have kids, buy a house, buy a boat, then die fulfilled. There are people who die before getting their boat. Their souls are never truly at peace and they haunt the rest of us and say things to our brains like, “get the pretty blue boat with a big motor and a shinny knob to pull water skiers with.”

What is really amusing is the fact that you aren’t required to ever use your boat. You are only required to purchase one. The life requirement is in not the boating itself, but in the ability to boat. You now can rest in the knowledge that if you ever needed to you could go for a float. Mostly though it’s there for you to wash it, cover it with a tarp and to make your neighbors jealous. In fact allowing your boat to rust to pieces on your front driveway is one of the joys of many boat owners.

Additionally it serves to remind you, as you come home each day, that it’s because of the boat payment that you have to work so much overtime and you have no weekends free to take it out for a bob. That is an extra piece of irony that the salesman left out of his pitch when you decided on the sleek red one with the attachable bass fishing seat.

In the end though you will buy your boat. Sure you might get the motor home first and travel all over the county side but what will you find at the end of that journey? Water. When it all comes down to it, a continent is just a fancy way of saying big island. Sooner or later you will bore of driving on the same roads and your body will ache for new ones. There will be no driving off the island.

The human soul screams to explore. You must know what lies beyond. You see it is just as I told you, everyone comes to a point in their life where the deck is rigged and the hand is forced. So you will do what millions have done before you. You’ll buy your boat. The pretty blue boat with a big motor and a shinny knob to pull water skiers with. Nothing will stop you, not even your good sense.

Black and White Fever

For years I told myself I didn’t have it. I not a victim of the disease. Why should I worry? I wasn’t doing anything that warranted concern. I knew how to avoid the pitfalls and the mistakes. For years I was right, narrowly escaping punishment for things I knew I had done wrong. It seems that the tables of fortune have turned. I now cannot escape the fact that I have a rabid case of black and white fever.

A couple of weeks ago I was driving to work the same way I always do. He spotted me. I spotted him. I pretended everything was fine. He slammed on his brakes and flipped a u-turn across heavy traffic, cranked on the sirens and the flashing lights. Out of my lungs I expelled all my air, will and hope. I was going to get a ticket for the first time in a decade.

The way he whipped through traffic I could swear I was a wanted man. I felt like Edward G. Robinson cornered by the fuzz. “YOU’LL NEVER GET ME COPPER!” The main difference being I didn't have a machine gun. So instead I rolled down my window smiled and asked “What seems to be the trouble officer?”

“You were going ten miles over the speed limit. When you saw me you started to slow down. Are you aware that it is 55 on this road?”

“I’m not sure. I was just driving to the road conditions. This was my exit that you pulled me off in front of. That's why I was slowing down” I have to confess to being a little put out by this. “Was I driving reckless? Was I endangering other drivers?”

“Getting in a head on collision at 65 miles per hour could be deadly.” The way he said this made me feel like a six year old. I almost expected him to pat me on the head, and ask if my mommy knew I was driving like this.

“But getting in a head on collision at 55 miles per hour is perfectly safe, right?” I regret saying this because it ended our conversation. I thought it was a good point, but the officer didn’t want to discuss it with me. I signed my violation and he thanked me. He thanked me the way a mother thanks a stubborn child for doing something they were told, only after they have been punished.

Now it seems that I’m no longer the confident driver I was a few weeks ago. I have a case of black and white fever that is out of control. I have all the symptoms clammy hands, cold sweats. I pull off the road or onto side streets to just avoid being on the same road with the cops. I’m neurotic and making more simple driving mistakes than I have since I was first learning to drive. I know it will pass in time but until then I wouldn’t suggest driving with me. If for some reason you have to, please refrain from wearing anything black or white.

Lazy Thursday Blues: You Decide

I really enjoyed this the last time we played it and I hope you did too. I'm going to try it again.

You Decide!

The premise is simple enough. A series narration similar to a “Choose Your Own Adventure” books. I'll start off with a brief narration, and a list of choices. Someone responds with a couple of sentences about the path they want, and a couple of choices of their own. We will play till we stop.

This is only limited to your own imagination...don’t worry about length of your path or originality or anything, just comment. The more comments the further the story, however odd, thrilling, funny or ridiculous it becomes. You choose the path to fame, misfortune or the inane.

Here we go:

“You have just come of age. Your father is a shipwright, but not a wealthy man. You've been around boats all your life and despite your fathers pleas you decide to seek your fortune abroad. While you are out at sea you hit a nasty bit of weather and smash your little boat against the rocks of some uninviting island. You haul yourself to shore and are relieved that your body appears to have held together. Standing on the beach you realize that the ship was shattered to pieces on the rocks and you cannot find enough wood to even make a decent picture frame. Riffling in your pockets you find a pocket knife, a picture of your dog, and a beenie cap. To the east you see what looks like smoke rising. To the west is a grove of cocnut trees."

A) Head to the east and see if this land is inhabited.

B) You head west and try your hand at getting a cocnut open.

C) You can make a sand castle and drink some sea water.

Ingredients

Tired of working? Bored? Just plain lazy?

Well step right up I have just the ticket for you. Spend a few seconds and play the ingredients game at Legal Addictive Stimulants. It requires very little brain power and might even be fun.

Chili Cook-Off

Today is the day I get to test my mettle. Today I get to show what I am made of. Today I get throw down and defend my honor. It’s the annual office Chili Cook-off.

I have only worked here for the a little over a year, and in that time period I am still not very well known. There is nothing odd about that, it comes with the job. I’m in charge of maintaining the network, and the servers, and all the interconnections between them. I no longer interface with users and very rarely answer the phone or speak to humans beings outside my group. As such when I show up some place with a screw driver and start removing thousands of dollars with equipment people always freak out.

“Hello?" She eye's me with suspicion. "Can I help you?”

“No thanks,” I show them my badge. “I’m just here to work on the network.”

“Does Bill know you're here?”

I sigh. I can feel a quiz coming on. “We don’t have a Bill in IT.”

“I was just checking... What is the IT directors middle initial?”

“T. His middle initial is T.”

“What year was the company picnic canceled due to ...”

I suppose I can understand, here is this fellow you’ve never heard of, walking into your office, with limited social skills, taking your server out with him.

I decided last year to enter into the chili cook off mainly so that I could have some interaction with my peers. I spent hours looking for the right recipe, hunting for the right combinations and spices. I took three different recipes and merged them into one. It took hours to prepare and I agonized the whole time. I get there and I find that were aren’t allowed to say who’s is who's. I put down my anonymous chili #12 and wait. I sample some really bad chili, talk to almost no one, and wait for the results. I ended up winning second place (a tie) and my certificate came with a twenty-five dollars prize. I had spent forty five on ingredients.

So for the last year I have been staring at this ‘6th annual Chili Cook-Off Winner’ certificate on my wall thinking about what a waste the whole thing was. So what do I do? I entered again this year. The contest is today at 11:15.

We shall see.