The I Don't Think So (tm) Award

Ladies & Gentlemen, I welcome you to the first I Don't Think So (tm) Award ceremony, given to celebrate those people, places, situations & other nouns that, when you hear about them, make you shake your head & say "I don't think so."

Without further ado, I give you today's winner.

Don't ask me why, but on the radio this morning, I was listening to an interview with Vin Di Bona. For those unfamiliar with the name (which is probably most everyone), this is the man that has inflicted such atrocities on us as brought us such fine viewing fare as "America's Funniest Home Videos" & "Battle of the Network Stars I-IV." During the interview, he made the following comment:

Bob Saget, off camera or on stage...he's a rebel.

All together now - I Don't Think So!

Congratulations, Mr. Di Bona. You have just earned yourself the first I Don't Think So (tm) Award.

Let's give him a big round of applause, everyone!

The 33rd Annual Jayfest

Continuing in the grand tradition of the 32nd Annual Jayfest, this one was celebrated with cool gifts & mucho yummy eats.

The haul:
Birthday greetings from Dave Coulier, John Stamos & an Olsen Twin (Bob Saget was a no-show...slacker!)
The Dark Knight Returns graphic novel
London Calling, the Legacy Edition from The Clash
A shirt & pullover
Some denero
Heart of the Wild by John Eldredge
The Star Wars DVD set, widescreen (natch)
A scrumptious dinner & dessert, made from scratch by my wonderful wife
My son wanting to be with me on my night
Rousing renditions of 'Happy Birthday' sung by my coworkers, my mom, T, her parents & The Boy's friends

All in all, a very good day.

Here's looking to the 34th Annual Jayfest.

Hope to see you there.

*Crickets Chirping*

Is this thing still on? Hello? Hellooooo...

Yup, it's still on. Just quiet.

Not a lot to say, I suppose. Nothing really to rant about. No built up, road rage induced venom to spew. No stories about the idiots that inhabit the world around me that I haven't told you all a couple hundred times over.

I just feel...calm. Serene. Un-bitter. Non-angry.

Am I mellowing with age? Is thirty-somethingoranother the time when people start calming down? Yeesh! I hope not. I was rather looking forward to being a crotchety old man, sitting on the front porch in my bermuda shorts & black socks, squirting kids with the garden hose that dare to walk on my lawn. Yelling obscenities at the neighbor who lets his dog do his business in my yard. Being able to do odd things & just be looked as as "quirky" instead of the "weird" that I get now.

And the senior discounts.

Ah, yes - the senior discounts.

But I digress (I've always wanted to say that). I can't readily explain my recent descent into mellowness. I mean, I'm happier than I've ever been before in large part because of T. The Boy's doing better in school this year & has been a lot easier to deal with.

But, I still work in the same crappy job (although, I did finally make the "four feet to the left" move to the desk vacated by the Blonde In The Corner).

I still have to deal with the ex (but I have my beautiful wife to stand by my side when I do have to deal with the ex).

People at work still annoy me (but, I have a job).

People on the road still annoy me (but, I have a car, as underpowered for my taste as she may be).

People in general still annoy me (yeah...I don't think that's going to change any time soon).

I'm still putting on weight (but, I have food to eat).

Our plan to move to a house sometime last summer fell through (but, I at least have a roof over my head)

I guess maybe it's my perspective on things. When I look at the big grand scheme that is my life, things really don't seem so bad.

Definitely could be worse.

Email

I get some awfully strange email in my inbox. Go over to ETS' place to see the latest.

Pop Quiz

Just because I was bored. Apparently, I know my music.


Good. You know your music. You should be able to
work at Championship Vinyl with Rob, Dick and
Barry


Do You Know Your Music (Sorry MTV Generation I Doubt You Can Handle This One)
brought to you by Quizilla

Guest Postin', Aussie Style

Note from me: I had invited one of my friends (& one of you three or so Loyal Readers) from Australia to give the guest posting thing a whirl. Had I checked my Hotmail account earlier in the week, I would've seen that she'd taken me up on the offer.

D'oh!

So, although it's a little late, here's Elly with some insight on a little game called Australian Rules Football.

Take it away, Elly!


Aussie Rules


We have a terrible problem down here on the great continent of Australia. Should we go to the Australian Rules Grand Final next week end? Yes it is the controversy if the year or at least the season.

Maybe I should first explain the game. This of course comes from a female who sees the footy as a bunch of blokes running around a bloody big paddock chasing an oval shaped piece of inflated leather. Some body once told me that it comes from some primal instinct in men to chase an oval shaped piece of leather around a bloody big paddock.

The aim of the game is to boot the foot ball between to upright goal posts. If you manage to do this you get six points. If you aim is off but you get it between the goal posts and the posts either side you get one point or a behind (the only game in the world where they give you a point for getting it close enough). Why they call it a behind I have no idea but I guess somebody thought was and he obviously got away with it.

The rest of the game is made up of the teams hand passing and kicking the ball towards the goals. Which is where the game got its nick name of "aerial ping pong" The excitement is watching them tackle each other in the process taking marks and 'screamers'. No I'm not going to explain that.

But back to our problem. You see Australian rules football originated in Melbourne in the state of Victoria. And due to lack of finances in some clubs, other states bought teams and the game grudgingly be came national and the VFL (Victorian Football League) became the AFL (Australian Football league) . A few years later some other states added their own teams.

But the game still remained Victorian. Until Now... Oh the horror! The grand final will be played by two non Victorian teams! *Shudder* *Cough* It's the headlines in every paper and on the news. Will people go to the Grand Final? Will the heavens burst? Will the milk go off before the used by date?

I guess all these will be answered next Saturday when the final of the big one will be played at the MCG.

Me? I think I'll take the day off due to lack of interest.

Me again: Let us know who won, Elly.

Or if the heavens burst.

Or if the milk went bad before it's expiration date.

Inquiring minds want to know!

I found this...

...amongst the search engine referrals looking for Dave Couiler & Chia Head Mohawks:

Stomach moving under ribcage

And #4 on Yahoo!Search, to boot!

Y'all are just. Plain. Weird.

7a...yawn

Can someone please explain to me why, regardless of how late I go to bed, I still wake up at 7a every freakin' day?

Fourteen Years

I found a picture of you
Those were the happiest days of my life
Like a break in the battle, was your part
In the wretched life of a lonely heart

~Back On The Chain Gang - The Pretenders

September 30th, 1930, my stepfather was born in Mount Pleasant, PA. By the time he was three, his parents had died & he & his sister were orphans. The only family they had lived in England, so they were shipped off to live with them. Dad lived what I always pictured as a very Charles Dickensian life growing up. An abusive uncle. Went to work in the coal mines at twelve years old. Dirt poor. All during World War II to boot.

He & his sister were taken in by a couple of women, who I'm not sure if they were blood relatives or not. He did call them Aunt Stella & Lois. They treated Dad well & I remember him speaking of them often while I was growing up.

When he was old enough, he joined the Royal Air Force. A short time after that, he learned that he & his sister were American citizens (he had always thought he was a British subject) & was allowed to leave the RAF & return to the States if he agreed to sign up for the draft. He came back here, along with his sister & her husband.

And then the Korean War broke out & he was drafted & sent back to Germany.

Fortunately, Dad liked the Service.

Years later, he married his first wife & they had a son. They settled in the little town of Colton, CA, & Dad got a job with the state Department of Transportation, where he stayed for twenty-six years, painting the stripes on the highways all over San Bernardino County.

At some point, he & his first wife divorced. Then, some time later, he met my mom & they married. They & my little sister & I became a family. He took us & made us feel like his own children, never making us feel second rate. He taught me how to do things. How to work on & repair things. He taught me to eat everything on my plate, because waste was a bad thing. He taught me how to treat others. He taught me how to treat my wife & children.

He always made me feel special. He showed interest in my schooling. He'd sit as I showed him the comic books I'd won at the local shop. He bought me my first comic book. He'd look at the models I'd built & my Lego cars. We spent about a month working on my Millenium Falcon model, even through a blackout. He'd play Track & Field on the Nintendo with me. He showed me how to garden & cultivate. He taught me about the different parts of an engine. Even when he was really sick, just before he passed away, he came out to help me work on my car.

He would discipline us, but I know, without a doubt, that it was done in a loving way, to correct us, not to inflict pain or to frighten us. Once in sixth grade, I had gotten into a fight, over nothing really. The kid I fought with was a good friend. It was a misunderstanding. The principal said that I could take a suspension or a swat. Dad told them, in no uncertain terms, that no one touched his child. His child. Not his stepchild. Not his wife's child.

His child.

He was so proud of me when I joined the Air Force. I actually had the chance to get out before I went to Basic Training, but I didn't want to disappoint him, as much as I wanted to get out. Even though I didn't like being in the Service, I knew he was proud of me. It made it a lot easier for me.

He passed away fourteen years ago this week. He's been gone from us, physically, longer than he'd been with us. I know that he'll always be with me in my heart & in who I am as a father, husband & a man in general, but, oh, what I'd give to be able to talk to him. To go fishing or play cards or work on the car or anything. I wish he was here to see The Boy & to meet T. I know they'd both love him.

I wish all of you, Loyal Readers, could've met him.

And People Wonder Why I'm So Cranky

Email exchange this morning with a Customer Service Rep:

Me: According to the DHL site, the shipment was delivered in Spain today at 1230p, signed for by XXXX
CSR: So, the shipment is enroute, then?
Me: *Repatedly slamming head into desk in vain attempt to lose consciousness & avoid dealing with CSR*

Too Tough To Die

I'm a t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-tough tough guy
I tell no tales I do no lie

I'm a t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-tough tough guy
Halo round my head too tough to die

~Too Tough To Die - The Ramones

I always thought they were.

Johnny Ramone 1948-2004

What about thirteen?

Conversation on the way to work this morning (conversational format borrowed from Chris at Rude Cactus – I promise I'll give it back):

Her: ...if I found out that you were a serial killer & had fourteen bodies buried in the back yard I'd divorce you & then change my name back to my maiden name.
Me: What if there were only thirteen bodies?
Her: We'd have to talk about that.

Born For Me

You were born for me
Beautiful and blue
Stay here with you

~ Born For Me Paul Westerberg

I was ready to rant about my cramped office & the floor denizen coming in to take a phone call & conducting the whole conversation, quite loudly, in Spanish & about how Irene is so freakin' insistent on leaving the door partly open, even though she knows the noise drives me nuts!

*Ahem*

Instead, though, I decided to write, by popular request, about how T & I came to be us. In looking back through MLCotW, I've seen where I've talked about T & about things we've done, but I didn't see where I actually put finger to key & wrote about how we met.

So, without further ado, here you go...

Let's start back in December of '02. The exgf & I had split for the second (& last) time. The first time was bad (a post for another time, Loyal Readers), but this time, it was a great relief. I felt free for the first time in two years. But, after being in a relationship with someone for that long, I wasn't ready to jump back in the saddle just yet. I needed to be able to be myself again.

A few months later, after the infamous Subway Incident (where I finally felt the urge to hop back into the aforementioned saddle again - it was the first time someone really caught my eye since the breakup, so much so that I couldn't remember my order), I decided to see what the whole internet dating thing was about, since communicating with three dimensional women wasn't panning out for me (as was evidenced again by the Subway Incident, wherein I couldn't bring myself to talk to the woman that had caught my attention - in part because, for a few minutes, I'd completely lost my grasp of the English language). I tried a few sites & got nibbles here & there, but, with the exception of one date, nothing happened. Everyone was either too far away or had baggage or had both eyes growing on stalks out of one side of their face or something weird like that. So, in May of last year, I decided to say goodbye to the world of lonely internet users.

As I was leaving the site I had been on, I sent a few emails to some of the ladies that had viewed my profile in a last ditch effort to get a bite. I had a rule on these sites that I never clicked on someone who didn't have a picture in their profile. Even though I knew that people put deceptive photos on these things (I knew someone who'd gone to meet a woman, only to find out that she'd put a picture of her much, much better looking sister on her profile), I still figured that there was a decent chance that the person in the picture was the person I would be writing to. So, I went through the profiles & came to one that didn't have a photo. I don't know why, but I felt compelled to open her profile & see what she was all about.

She stated that she was just looking for a pen pal kinda thing, nothing serious. I figured "What the heck? Can't hurt to have someone to correspond with." Besides, she was in Arkansas - nothing could come of that, right? So, I sent her a very stiff email (I'm horrible at introductions) saying that if she wanted to write back, that'd be nice, blah, blah, blahdity blah.

To my surprise, she wrote back. She told me about herself & where she was from & schtuff like that. Her style of writing was a lot like mine, so it was very easy & natural writing to her. I asked her for a pic, so I'd at least have a face to go along with the written words.

That was when I began to be hooked. I'd look at her picture as I wrote to her. I'd wonder about her, what she was like, what she sounded like. One weekend, she told me that she was going to be gone & not have access to a computer. I knew something was up with me then because I actually missed her that weekend. This person that I'd only written to, that I'd only "known" for a little more than a month - I missed tremendously. I checked my email all the time that weekend in hopes that she'd gotten home early or used her brother's computer or stopped by a Radio Shack & used one of their displays to send me a message. When she got home, I was a little afraid that my emerging feelings would start showing through in my writing. I had to be careful with what I said to her.

Soon after that, we started instant messaging each other (is this a 21st Century love story or what?). Being able to communicate in roughly realtime, we found out that we had a lot in common, including a quick wit. We IM'd almost everyday.

At the beginning of July, we decided to take the next step & actually talk on the phone. What was going to be a short conversation, as she had to go somewhere that evening, turned into a two hour talkfest that I don't think either of us wanted to end.

By this time, I knew I was falling hard for her, Loyal Readers. We talked everyday with the exception of one & that was one long day. In fact, that's the only day we haven't talked to each other since that first call in July of '03. Many of those calls would start in the late evening & go on until the morning. One night, we started talking at about 8p my time. By the time we hung up, we had both seen the sun rise on a new day (thank goodness for unlimited long distance packages) in our respective timezones.

Finally, during one of our late night/into the wee hours of the morning phone calls, we told each other how we felt. Much to my pleasant surprise, she felt the same for me as I did her. I knew then that I wanted to marry her. I wanted no one else. I needed no other woman.

I have all I need in her. I have been blessed beyond measure by having her in my life.

I love you, Beautiful, with all my heart, soul & spirit.

Geek Out!

I've geeked out twice this month. Big time. Allow me to elaborate.

As you read over Labor Day weekend, one of T's friends from Arkansas came out to visit. While she was here, she wanted to see Hollywood & Beverly Hills & all that. I hadn't been there for awhile & found that they'd really cleaned up Hollywood Blvd. & Sunset. Lots of touristy type places to go to.

Just outside Grumman's Chinese Theatre, there were actors walking around for photo ops. One guy was dressed in a ratty looking Spider-Man outfit, a couple of people were dressed as Michael Myers from "Halloween" & Jason from "Friday The 13th." There was even a woman dressed up like a dominatrix/cop kinda thing. Come to think of it, she may not have been an actor.

Anyway, we're walking down the street & what to my wandering eyes should appear but -

a man dressed in Stormtrooper armor.

I just about lost it right there, Loyal Readers. It was all I could do to keep myself from jumping up & down. The photo op cost a dollar & I had my greenback in hand, waving it like a middle-aged woman at a Chippendale's show. I finally got my turn to get a picture & instead of saying something relatively witty & completely geeky, all that fell out of my mouth was "Duuuuh..." & probably some drool.

Incriminating pix are soon to come.

As if me geeking out over a guy dressed as a Stormtrooper wasn't enough of a clue, T got to see just how big of a Star Wars geek she married last night. I saw the commercials for the Star Wars DVD release next week (only eight more days!). I must've looked like a kid a week before Chirstmas, shaking & foaming at the mouth. Or a thirty-two year old man who seriously needs to get out more often.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep a straight face while kissing your wife & having the song from the cantina scene in Star Wars going through your head?

We'll Discuss It?

There's been a little upheaval in my office. Blonde In The Corner has left for (hopefully) greener pastures.

I can't imagine that there's anyplace with greener pastures than the Company. /sarcasm

Anyway, her departure has left an open corner desk in the office. A desk that I would like to scoot over to. A desk that I'll have to wait to scoot over to because, when I expressed that I'd like to move over there & out from in front of the sliding door, I was told that "We'll discuss this next week."

Wha...?

What is there to discuss? It's a four foot move to my left. You call up the telcom & systems departments & ask them to switch my phone line & data port over & - voila! - I have moved. Everyone can still call & email & annoy the crap out of me. I'll just have a different wall to scream & shoot rubberbands at.

Because of this, I thought I was special until another co-worker informed me that it took almost a month to move his desk from out on the floor to a vacant office. A month, Loyal Readers! A month to move to an office thirty feet away from his old desk. A month for the management to grant him approval to move his computer, phone & five pictures.

All that I've ever been required to do in order to move to another desk in every other office I've been in with this company is to find a box. Oh, & move my chair to the other desk. That's it. All done. Back to work. No discussing necessary.

But, everything in this department must be made as difficult as possible. I think there must be something in the policies & procedures that states how many flaming hoops must be jumped through in order to do anything. Call in late - two flaming hoops. Switch lunches - seven flaming hoops. Call in sick - eighteen flaming hoops, blindfolded, plus be dragged across carpet tacks & then dipped in alcohol. You get the idea.

I came to the realization a long time ago that the Boss Of My Boss (BOMB) has nothing better to do with her time than to micromanage every aspect of our time here & to enforce every...single...rule...& regulation that she can find. Of course, this doesn't stop her from being out of the office most of the day doing who know's what. But, she's got her reasons, I'm sure. Maybe she's finding other amusing ways to torment us. Jalapeno enemas, perhaps?

Better not give 'em any ideas.

The Score So Far...

Clown Car Starter - 1

Jay - 0

Round two begins tomorrow.

Never Forget

To the families of those lost three years ago, we will never forget.

To the police, firefighters, medics & soldiers who are out on the frontlines, we thank you.

Thank you all.

This being a holiday weekend, many-many-many folks are out doing holiday things such as camping and fishing and picnicking, taking part in community productions, reenactments, bonfires, beer-drinking and belly-scratching, etc., etc., yadda-yadda-yadda.

Most people will continue doing such come Monday, because Monday is the holiday, and when there is a holiday one must do things such a camp and fish and picnic, take part in community productions, reenactments, bonfires, beer-drinking and belly-scratching, and they mourn the loss of their holiday weekend o'plenty come Tuesday morning when it's time to shimmy back into the work clothes and actually earn the money they were busy spending on camping gear, fish-bait, picnic baskets, costumes, faux ammo, lighter fluid and beer. (To the best of my knowledge belly-scratching is still free.) (Unless you're in WeHo.) Except for me.

Because I am the sole payroll person for my company, a company with 750+ steady employees with a 150% turnover in any given year, I have to make sure that my holidaying employees still get paid on time. Because this week upcoming is a payroll week, I have to make sure that I do my job in order to get them paid on time, and because my payroll schedule does not care that I would much rather be doing anything but working on a holiday weekend, I will be working this holiday weekend. More precisely, I will be putting in five hours on Sunday and at least five to eight hours on Monday in order to ensure that we all have our checks on our regularly scheduled Friday payday.

Most people feel sad for me when this happens. Some of them even feel guilty to know that they are out partying while I'm slaving away to make their lives that much easier. A precious few will lift a bottle and give a great belch in salute to my hard-working nature. I like it when that happens. But you know what? I like these working holidays.

Don't get me wrong - missing out while the nation is at play can be a real bummer. However, my job tends to involve a lot of extraneous schtuff that makes it difficult to accomplish things on a timely basis. My weekends of work? Those days I come in when no one else is around? I live for those days.

Think about it: no one is there to walk into your office and demand immediate attention; no one is calling you on the phone demanding immediate attention; no one is even contemplating adding new duties to the roster throughout the day just when you begin to make progress on your hefty list of things to do. On my holiday work days? I get more accomplished in a five hour span of time than I can reasonably expect to accomplish in two days of a regular business work week on a same-task basis.

So don't cry for me, Argentina. The girl is all right. And this girl? This girl is not giving up her holiday. Oh no-no-no! This girl is taking Friday off instead. She is going to sleep in! She is going to lunch at a fancy restaurant in a sweatshirt and jeans! She is going to watch Garden State and find out the truth about the manatees! And this girl?

This girl is going to call all of her co-workers from bed, from in front of her computer, from the restaurant and from the movie theatre (before the movie starts, of course!) just to rub it in, the fact that they have to work and she? She is so totally enjoying her three day holiday weekend!

---

And, before I forget, Jay: Guess who is going to be one of the celebrities in the newest incarnation of The Surreal Life?

Yeah, I thought you'd be pleased!

(Posted by ETS)

Dear Jay's Mom:

I know that I am supposed to be blogging about interesting or bizarre things in Jay's absence, but I wanted to take a minute to tell you how cool I think it is that you read Jay's blog.

My mother doesn't read my blog. She knows that I have one but, having known me for all of my life, she says that she's afraid to read whatever I might happen to write. She then goes on to say that she thinks it's weird and she doesn't understand why this medium appeals to me.

This saddens me sometimes because I'd really like to share certain posts with my mother. (Not recent ones, of course. They seem to have lots of references to sweet manatee love in them, which is actually why you probably shouldn't hurry on over there anytime soon, either. Give me a few days to get the idea of naughty manatees out of my head, clear the front page of anything even remotely to do with manatees, then maybe you could visit.) The point is, I have fun with my writing, and I think my mother might have fun with it, too.

But she won't. She thinks I'm weird and she doesn't want to know about it. (And when one stops to think that there is an actual thread running through this week's postings that has to do with the mating habits of "sea-cows," one almost has to -reluctantly- admit that my mother may very well have a point.) Dang it.

So, yes, before I dove head-first into the next interesting post that I was going to put together for Jay while he and T and T's friend are out gallivanting, I wanted to tell you that I think you rock for supporting your boy in this regard.

Plus I'm procrastinating.

I hope you're having a delightful day!

Sincerely,
ETS

(Guest-Post by ETS)

Scarce This Weekend

A friend of T's is flying in tonight & spending the weekend. So, since we'll be showing her around the place (& south of the border - Yi! Yi! Yi!), I've handed the keys to the place over to ETS.

I'll be back soon to regale you with stories galore.

Clown Car Blues

My wee little clown car that I got last year is broken. Well, more to the point, the starter is broken. It won't start. It has gone on to meet it's maker. It is an ex-starter. So, in an attempt to avoid the $65 per hour labor charge to have it replaced, T & I decided that I will change it out myself. I attempted to remove the deceased part last night.

This is when I found out that the good people at Honda have a great sense of humor. They just loves the practical jokes. How did I discover this, you ask?

Because the people who designed the engine made the starter AS FREAKIN' INACCESSIBLE AS POSSIBLE!!!

Oh, I can see the starter. It's sitting in there, it's carcass teasing me beneath a mess of tubes & wires. I just can't get to it without removing said mess of tubes & wires. Nor can I get any tools in to remove the bolts. Apparently, the engine compartment was designed so that only four-year-olds can get their hands in to do any work.

Ha ha, Honda. Reeeally funny. Freakin' hilarious.

So, this Labor Day, I will be attempting to save a little on labor costs by laboring myself over the car. And cursing Soichiro Honda every minute.

Lousy clown car.

One Less Stop For The Great Pumpkin

I'm writing this at 2a, so please excuse the typos. I'll fix 'em later.

You may ask "Why is this freak posting & not in bed?" Well, according to this article, my beloved pumpkin patch may be no more in the near future.

And, it's made me sad.

One day, I'll take my children shopping there & as we walk across the cold tile floor, under the acoustical ceiling & security camera pods, feeling & smelling the cold recirculated air conditioning & being bathed in flourescent light, I'll tell the kids that once upon a time, I used to go there & feel the earth beneath my feet, walk under the deep blue sky, smell the hay & dust & feel the warm sunlight on my skin. I'll point out to them where the haybale castle used to stand; where the ponyrides & the kettle corn stand & the scarecrow used to be. I might even be able to pick out a few places where The Boy & I would find animal tracks & guess at what animal left them as we followed the prints to some half-eaten gourd. I'll show them where we used to stand & throw rocks into the creekbed below.

I'll tell them about coming to the patch after Halloween, when all of the Christmas trees were readied for sale. I'll reminisce about the smell of the fresh cut trees & cinnamon & cider on cool autumn nights. Even though we never bought a tree there (the mess coupled with the fact that I tend to leave the artificial tree up until February makes it an unappealing proposition), there was a certain something about just going & looking at & smelling the trees.

The opening of the patch is the one thing that I look forward to every year. It means that fall has finally arrived. The nights will start earlier, the temperature will start cooling - well, in a month or so. It means Halloween is just around the corner, & with it an abundance of ghost stories about Headless Hessians & other goblins & creepy crawlies that go bump in the night. It means looking forward to & wondering what the theme for the annual haunted house in the graphics department at work - one of the only times that I enjoy being at the place - will be. And soon after that, Thanksgiving & Christmas, being with family & stuffing myself silly with pumpkin pie &, for a short time at least, having that feeling that peace on Earth & goodwill toward men is an actual possibility.

You see, Loyal Readers, the pumpkin patch isn't just a physical place. It's another milemarker in my life. It's something to look forward to. It's a place where my memories live &, I hope for a little while longer, a few more will be made.

I'll mourn the day when all that's left of it are just memories. A story to be passed on to my children as we shop.

Dumb, Dumb, Dumb

I had to go demo some work I've been doing. Having just eaten a sandwich, my breath was not quite smelling springtime fresh. So, since I don't like chewing gum, I opted for a mint. Neither Blonde In the Corner nor Irene had any, so, my only option was one of the peppermints that we have in abundance in the office. But, I didn't want to be chomping on it while dazzling my boss with the demo. Furthermore, I didn't want that gooey feeling that one gets in their mouth after eating candy. So, I decided to try to break it into a smaller piece.

Being a male of the species, & one that has, in the past, used his fists to break apart blocks of frozen cheese & meat, I proceeded to try to break the peppermint by smashing it with my hand. Repeatedly.

This resulted in me bruising the side of my hand to the point where it was hard to type.

And the real kicker to this story?

I ended up eating the stupid peppermint whole anyway.

Lousy candy.

Mini Reviews

I had meant to write this up a couple of weeks ago, after I'd watched the videos & had lines & scenes & whatnot fresh in my noggin'. But, since I am the President of the Procrastinators of America, Southern California chapter, you're getting this review now.

Now, on with the show...er, reviews.

First up at the McUnoPlex -

Mystic River

First & foremost, do not watch this movie if you are severely depressed or on the edge of a breakdown. This is an extremely bleak, gloomy movie. Of course, being a Sean Penn movie, what'd you expect?

The movie revolves around three childhood friends (the aforementioned Mr. Penn, Kevin Bacon & Tim Robbins, who, I didn't realize, is a freakin' huge individual) who drift apart as they grow older, only to be brought together by a murder. I can't really go too much into the movie without giving anything away. All in all, not a bad movie. F-bombs a'plenty are liberally dropped throughout, because, apparently, ev-er-y-one in Boston talks like that. No nudidity & the violence is relatively tame.

I recommend seeing this movie, but only after something really great has happened & you need to balance out your euphoria because, as I said above, this is a depressing movie. Good, but depressing.

Next up -

Bubba Ho-Tep

This is a movie about Elvis, a black JFK & a soul-sucking mummy, set in a rest home.

This is quite possibly the greatest movie premise ever, Loyal Readers.

This type of movie is also one of the few areas where T & I have a divergence of opinion. She's more of a thriller/mystery/chick flick type. Me? Cheese all the way, baby! But, she allows me to feed my need for cheesey movies & I allow her to decorate the house however she likes. It works for both of us.

The movie takes place, as previously stated, in a rest home in Texas, where Elvis (B-Movie Lord & Master Bruce Campbell) - that apparently wasn't the real King keeled over in the throneroom - a black man (Ossie Davis) who claims to be JFK - one is never sure if he really is the former President or not - & a gaggle of other, colorful elderly residents reside. And a mummy - that Elvis calls Bubba Ho-Tep - lurks.

Hijinks ensue as the King & the Prez set out to destroy the Stetson & Tony Llama bedecked undead soul-eater.

I highly recommend this movie if you are into cheese, Bruce Campbell, mummies & have ever wondered what Elvis would've looked like in his later years. A few F-Bombs here & there, as well as a few other colorful phrases, a bitty bit o' nudidity & a couple of suggestive scenes make this a movie aimed at adults. Get the kiddies the director's cuts of Finding Nemo (where, as in every director's cut, everyone dies) or Bambi (where everyone, including Bambi's mom, also dies) instead.

And now, after awhile spent in mothballs, time to break out the eyeball rating system, five being best, one being, well, you get the picture.

Mystic River 3/5 Eyeballs

Bubba Ho-Tep 4/5 Eyeballs

Okay...

...it probably wasn't the most Christian thing to do, but yesterday at work, Evil T came into the office trying to get a few bucks to buy cake & ice cream for the department admin's birthday. Normally, I have no problem tossing a peso or two into the hat for birthdays, whether or not I particularly like the person. But this person has never, in the whole year & a half that I've been in the cornfield, been nice. I gave up saying "Good Morning" or "Hello" to her because she, not once, ever acknowledged the greeting. I've tried being nice to her, but to no avail. I mean, I'm not looking to get into some deep theological discussion with the woman, but is it really too hard to say "Hi"? It's two freakin' letters long. How difficult is that?

So, she & Evil T can enjoy their little b-day celebration on their own.

For once, I'd rather be at my desk.

Man The Lifeboats!

Well, we made it through our first summer storm of the past five years or so. Lots of rain & hail & thunder & lightning.

And I loves it!

Living in the deserts of So Cal, we don't see much of the wet schtuff. At all. A little to the east - thunder storms every year. Big, nasty ones. In the High Desert & mountains - a few summer storms per year. But down in the valley we get passed over.

I imagine that the local TV news teams were all out & about in their slickers, reporting on STORMWATCH 2004! or some such hysterically titled nonsense. If we get so much as three non-consecutive raindrops over the course of a week, the reporters start telling everyone to break out the rubber rafts, get their snorkeling gear on, start gathering up animals two by two & kiss it all goodbye, because we're gonna wash away, people!. That is quickly followed by the vacuous blonde anchortwit asking the weatherboob "When is all this rain going to end? I mean, I haven't seen the sun in, like, three & a half minutes! Tee hee hee!" Fifteen minutes later, when it's one hundred eleventy bajillion degrees out, they're asking when the heatwave is going to end.

And to think - these people went to college.

*sigh*

Forever & Ever Amen

I came home tonight & could smell T's perfume. Everywhere I go in the apartment I see little touches here & there that remind me of her. It makes me miss her when she has to work at night.

And it makes it all that much better when she gets home.

I love you, Beautiful.

Forever & Ever Amen - Randy Travis

You may think that I'm talking foolish
You've heard that I'm wild & I'm free
You may wonder how I can promise you now
This love that I feel for you always will be
You're not just time that I'm killing
I'm no longer one of those guys
As sure as I live this love that I give
Is gonna be yours until the day that I die -- Oh baby

I'm gonna love you forever, forever & ever amen
As long as old men sit & talk about the weather
As long as old women sit & talk about old men
If you wonder how long I'll be faithful
I'll be happy to tell you again
I'm gonna love you forever & ever, forever & ever Amen

They say that time takes it's toll on a body
Makes a young girl's brown hair turn grey
But honey, I don't care, I ain't in love with your hair
And if it all fell out well I'd love you anyway
They say time can play tricks on a memory
Make people forget things they knew
Well it's easy to see it's happening to me
I've already forgotten every woman but you --- Oh darlin'

I'm gonna love you forever, forever & ever amen
As long as old men sit & talk about the weather
As long as old women sit & talk about old men
If you wonder how long I'll be faithful
Just listen to how this song ends
I'm gonna love you forever & ever, forever & ever
Forever & ever, Forever & ever Amen

Herb the Fish

Herb's not doing well.

About a year ago, Irene brought in a fish in a vase with a plant growing out of it. Just one of those little betta fish - the Siamese Fighting fish. I named him Herb. He's been a source of much amusment, as bettas flair out their gills when they get mad. And they don't like bright colors. Or me, apparently.

And Herb gets mad. A lot.

But, ol' Herb's not looking so well anymore. A little green around the gills, if you will. He doesn't swim much anymore, except to occasionally show everyone that he's not dead yet. And then he promptly sinks to the botton of the vase. And leans to his side.

Poor Herb.

First Rick James, then Faye Wray & now, it seems Herb the Fish will be going to that big fishtank in the sky.

What does it mean when you stop sweating?

It is abso-freakin'-lutely hot outside.

And I went for a walk after lunch.

And I walked further than I usually do.

Cripes, I'm an idiot sometimes.

New Reader

A big "Hello" & a cookie, to boot, to my little sister, who recently joined the twenty first century & got a computer.

Welcome to the 'net!

I'll think up an amusing name for you on the site later.

Border Run

This is not being written from a Mexican jail, nor am I being held by the Border Patrol for smuggling midget wrestlers into the country. We made it back safe & sound. Thanks, ETS, for watchin' the place.

T & I had decided to go south of the border to celebrate her birthday. Actually, the festivities had started on Friday night with dinner prepared by moi - no, it was not macaroni & cheese - & a dessert of crepes, also prepared by yours truly. The apartment was subtley lit with candles & lanterns & looked pretty nifty. And, the food ended up being edible, which was a plus.

We left for Mexico late Saturday morning, originally looking to get a hotel room in Rosarito (about twelve miles past the border), but couldn't arrange any reservations before the trip. Since we didn't want to get there & then end up having to settle for a roach motel, we opted to find a room in San Diego & then take a coach on down.

We made it about ten miles from the border before finding a room. And spent an hour trying to do that.

After touring Imperial Beach trying to find a place, we then decided to go to Tijuana (T had never been there) on Saturday & then on down to Rosarito on Sunday. We made it to TJ about 3p & were met with a mix of oppressive heat, rancid odors & a ton of vendors, ready to sell us anything from necklaces to pharmaceuticals to lap dances.

One walk down one side of Revolution Blvd through all that was enough fun for us. We had lunch (& survived!) & headed back after a couple hours, laden with the fruits of our bartering & haggling.

It was after we got back that we realized that another trip down was going to leave us extremely short of funds. We chose to putz around San Diego on Sunday & then head for home. That night we went down to the beach & watched the sunset while walking through the surf & collectiong shells. It was gorgeous out there. And I had T by my side, which made it that much better.

We found a church in Imperial Beach the night before & made plans to visit it Sunday. When we got there in the morning, it became apparent that the place wasn't going to be packed. T jokingly commented that there would be fifteen to twenty people there.

Counting us, there were nine people. Yes, nine.

This was also quite possibly the world's longest, slowest sermon. Ever. The other seven members were very nice, but the pastor had a very monotone voice that threatened to put T & I into a coma. He kept referencing the "visitors," which made us kinda stand out a bit. Then came Communinon. With what appeared to be real wine.

Or reeeeeally old grape juice. And given the size of the congregation, it didn't seem that they'd be replenishing the juice & wafers too often, so it's quite possible.

After that, we made our way to San Diego & strolled around Horton Plaza for a bit. The Plaza, for those that don't know, is a huge, four or five story open air mall. Every manner of store can be found there. It's like TJ with set prices.

After all that we made our way back on home, with stories to tell about being harrassed nearly to death, a baja blanket & a few sea shells. We plan on trying to actually make it to Rosarito next time. It's supposed to be nicer than TJ, which isn't hard to do. My closet is a nicer place than TJ.

Smells better, too.

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I became the proud recipient of a beautiful, sparkling shiny golden crown this past Thursday.

When I sent out the e-mail to my immediate co-workers and supervisor(s) that I was leaving to fetch my crown and that I would not return for the day, I received a flurry of e-mails, all of the smart-assed variety: "I thought you were a goddess, not a queen!" "Did I miss the Miss America Pageant on TV last night?" "Oh! I forgot to bring in my tiara - we could have been twinsies!"

I replied: "Can't I be both?" "Yes!" and "Yes!"

That's me, Miss Goddess-Queen America.

The funny thing about it all? Yesterday I had lunch with a friend, eating the same manner of food that I was eating when I broke the tooth that required this gold crown, and I ... broke another tooth, same region - in fact, the upper plate equivalent of the one just crowned.

We won't know until next week whether I'll need another crown on it, but if I do? I'll not only be the first woman in my department to be crowned Miss Goddess-Queen America, I'll hold the title twice.

(Guest-posted by ETS because your illustrious host and his lovely wife have made a run for the border, not to return until Sunday at the latest. Or so I'm told....)

"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free"


The Statue of Liberty is reopened.

Welcome back, m'lady.

Tired...

So...very...tired.

Helped friend move...180 zillion degrees out...can't feel feet.

Must sleep now.

zzzzzzz...

After Lunch Walkies

I was going to rant a bit about the ex & the crap that she decided to pull this morning, but, I'm now in a fairly decent mood & don't feel like spewing any venom right now.

Maybe in a few minutes, just not right now.

Anyway, as I announced over at Amy's site last weekend, I'm taking yet another stab at exercising. I had mentioned that I was going to start running again. So far, that hasn't happened. I'm already tired enough in the morning. I don't want to add more to that. And it's been about a hundred & eleventy bajillion degrees outside even in the evening. And, more to the point, when it comes to exercising - I'm a lazy, lazy man.

One thing I have implemented, though, is using the last half hour of my lunch to go for a walk. Nothing major. Just a walk down the street & back, about 3/4 of a mile or so (baby steps, people...baby steps). It's a nice walk. Although I work in an industrial area, a good half of the area that I walk in is an undeveloped field. Most of the walkway is either in the street or the dirt. But, it's pretty quiet &, when they aren't shrouded behind a cloak of smog, the entire mountain range that borders the north end of the valley can be seen. Planes can also be seen, landing at the old Norton AFB, where I was stationed during my enlistment.

The walks not only stretch my legs, though. They also open up my mind, my memories. The walks take me back in time, to when I was growing up. At that time, I either walked everywhere (Rialto, my hometown, is not that big) or rode my bike. I didn't have a license until I was almost eighteen & I didn't get a car until I was almost nineteen.

You notice a lot more when you walk or ride a bike - sights, sounds & scents that you don't experience as they are filtered out through the a/c of a car. As I walk along the fields, the smell of the mustard plants & sage bushes & even the dirt makes me feel like I'm fifteen again, without a care in the world. The feel of the silty sand beneath my shoes & the crunchy sound that the pebbles make underfoot remind me of good times long since past.

There's a flood control canal along the walk, not unlike the ones that I used to play in & ride my bike through. It's always got water running through it & everyday I stop by it on both legs of my little mosey. I notice more & more animals every time I stop. On the east side, it's very serene & quiet. The water flows gently under the street. On this side, pollywogs & dragonflies of every color can be found. Today as I approached, a duck was swimming along & took off right when I got to the bridge. The pollywogs were nowhere to be found, but there were still the aforementioned dragonflies (one in particular, a gigantic orange one, looked to be the size of a helicopter) & some form of underwater bug that I'd never seen before. I thought maybe the tadpoles had lost their tails overnight & sprouted their legs, but I noticed that the critters had six legs, thus nixing the idea that they were frogs.

Unless they were mutant frogs. I dunno.

Anyway, these things were grey & about two & a half inches long. Maybe a bit bigger, maybe a bit smaller. All I know is that from about twelve feet above the water, these things were huge.

On the other side of the canal, the water flows over some rocks, a folding chair & a shopping cart & is a bit choppy. There one can find more of the monster dragonflies &, on occasion, more tadpoles. Birds of varying sorts flit about the reeds & marsh grass that grows there. Lizards &, I found out today, squirrels, frequent the creek, too. Or, rather, a squirrel, as I only saw one. It was big, though. Perhaps it ate the rest of the squirrels.

The rushing of the water over the rocks & the shopping cart have a claming effect that is only somewhat disrupted by the cars that occasionally go past, reminding me that I'm not on the banks of some lazily flowing stream, but rather that I'm standing in the street, looking over a drainage ditch with a purple .99 Cent Store cart in it & that I only have a short amount of time before I have to go back into the dungeon that I call my office. I take a swig of my water &, with great reluctance, pull myself from the past & head back to the office. When I get back to my desk, I look down at my shoes, all covered in fine, brown dirt.

It's a reminder that, for a little bit at least, I felt like I was back in time, back home again.

Bad Combination

I'm at work. I'm bored. And -

I have a laser on my desk.

Well, not a deathray type laser. Not yet, at least.

Here's my list of things I can do to amuse myself with my desk laser:

1. Make the aforementioned deathray & become Overlord of the Warehouse!
2. Point it at myself in an attempt to gain superpowers (because, as any comicbook reader knows, 75% of all superheroes & villains received their powers due to workplace accidents).
3. Open my own laser eye surgery clinic.
4. Actually use it for work related purposes (Hahahahahahaaaaa! Just kidding!).
5. Test the laser's range & effect on the human eye by pointing it at people out on the floor.
6. Point it at peoples foreheads & quote lines from the Terminator movies.
7. Whenever someone enters the office, whip around, point the laser at them & say "Set phasers for stun!"
8. Recreate a RUSH concert using various figurines from my coworkers desks.
9. Pretend I'm the Death Star, pointing the laser at the map on my wall while making my little Star Wars toy ships fly around, trying to destroy me.
10. Wave it around the room, making lightsaber noises.

File under "Wha...?"

Read this comment exchange between ETS & I from the previous post. If you've left comments on this site or any other site that uses Haloscan's fine commenting service, you know that there are little adds for things & blogs related to the topics of the comments.

Imagine my surprise to find out a link to this.

Um...yeah.

Geeks of the world, rejoice!

Lucas reveals the name of Episode III.

The Star Wars geek in me is so doing the Happy Dance!

Uh...bummer, I guess?

Imagine my suprise & indifference when I saw this headline:

Paris & Nick Split -- A Nation Mourns

My surprise was that I didn't even know that they were an item. My indifference stems from the fact that, even if I had known, I really wouldn't have cared.

Guest Posting

Whilst Amy's away playing in Sin City, she's once again graciously opened the doors of Bad Groove to us.

And, yes, I realize that I haven't posted here in awhile. So why am I posting at someone else' site, you ask?

Because I'm just a giving kinda guy.

Go over &, of course, cookies all around!

Confession time

I can't deny it anymore - I've become hooked on Big & Rich's "Save A Horse (Ride A Cowboy)."

I tried to fight it. Honest, I did. But it was just...too...catchy.

I feel so...dirty. I need a shower.

Funniest thing I heard this morning...

Governor Ah-nuld calling the state's Democratic lawmakers "girlie men."

It's only a matter of time before he's putting them in headlocks & dishing out noogies.

Then politics will finally be interesting!

Dreams
 
I've been having a lot of dreams about being in the house I grew up in or involving family members that have passed on.  Especially my dad.
 
*sigh*  I really do miss you, Dad.

More pix

Another one of T's pix from her first trip out here. She had never seen a Joshua Tree (as they only grow in the deserts of California, Nevada & Arizona) & wanted to show the folks back in lush, green Arkansas just how desolate her new home in SoCal would be.
 
Personally, I kind of likes the poor thing. 

Seems the new BloggerBot feature works
 
  

 
This is a pic that T took on her first trip out here last November of the desert nearby. 

Spidey 2:Electric Boogaloo
Alright, I've sat myself down, switched off Civilization III for a bit (freakin' addictive game) &, while it's fresh in my noggin', will give you my own itty bitty review of the newest Spider-Man movie.

Let me preface this by saying that I collected comic books while growing up & that Spider-Man was probably my favorite hero (or at least tied with Batman).  Because of this & the frightening amount of comic lore from up to the early 90's that I still have knockin' around in my brain, I am frequently disappointed with superhero movies.  I have been called a purist & I wear that badge with honor.  I mean, it shouldn't be too hard to make a faithful superhero movie.  The source material is right there, people!  There's no need to use artistic license.  It's like taking the story of Moses from the Bible & making him younger & an eloquent, non-stuttering speaker & - oh, wait...that'd be "Prince of Egypt."
 
Anyway, now that that's out of the way, on to our featured presentation:

Spider-Man 2:Attack of the Tentacles

If I were to sum the movie up in one line, it'd be something along the lines of "OH MY FREAKIN' STARS & GARTERS - THIS MOVIE ROCKS BEYOND ALL COMPREHENSION!"
 
Now, if I were to bind the comic fanboy inside of me & lock him away in a vault somewhere, the line that I'd use to describe this movie would be "OH MY FREAKIN' STARS & GARTERS - THIS MOVIE ROCKS BEYOND ALL COMPREHENSION!"
 
It just rocks.  That.  Much.
 
And, since I don't want to ruin it for anyone who hasn't seen it, I won't say anything more about it.  Because if I do, I will tell all sorts of things about it & probably tell you all about the ending & then you'd be reeeeeally unhappy with me for that.  Really.  I know you would.
 
So, my final words on the movie - go out.  See it now.  Go.  Get.
 
Now, about that pants pocket quandry...

Spiders & multiple pockets...

I haven't died or gotten lost or forgotten how to type. It's been a freakin' busy week at work & since that's when I do most of my writing, er...working, I haven't been able to crank out my usual amount of wit, fun & written frivolity.

On my plate for writing right now - a review of Spidey 2:Electric Boogaloo & an answer to ETS' eternal question: Why do boys pants have so many frickin' pockets?

Inquiring minds want to know...

July Fifth...

...All fingers, limbs & both eyes present & accounted for.

Hope yours was a great Fourth!

In case you haven't noticed...

I really, really, reeeeally can't stand my exwife.

Really.

Breaking News

REDLANDS(Reuters) - Several attacks by a pack of roaming feral garden gnomes have been reported over the past several weeks, prompting officials to issue a warning for gardeners in the city to be on their guard.

"I was outside, pruning back my prized boganvilla, when I noticed about half a dozen pointed hats poking out of the neighbors ivy. They seemed to follow me as I walked about the yard. Then, they suddenly jumped out & started poking me about the shins with their hats!" said South Side resident Henrietta Berg, displaying the multiple bruises on her lower legs.

"I came out one morning to get the paper & couldn't believe what I saw," said Irv Gustafson. "The legs on my pink flamingoes had been twisted into knots & there were dents & red scuff marks all over my deer & fawn statues. It was so horrible!"

Local officials have so far been unable to catch any of the gnomes. "I had seen what I thought was a gnome while on patrol around Brookside Park last Thursday," said Officer James Clark. "It was only upon closer inspection that I found that it was a soccer cone."

The city has called upon Dr. John Dietrich, Professor of Medieval Folklore at San Bernardino Valley College & foremost expert on garden gnomes. "These occurrences happen from time to time. People see a garden gnome in the Wal-Mart Garden Center & decide to take it home or give them as gifts, without thinking about the responsibility involved in their care & maintenance," says Dietrich. "The paint starts chipping & the gnomes get muddy & people just turn them loose thinking that they can fend for themselves, which is not true. Besides, they make tacky gifts."

When asked about the dangers of feral garden gnomes, Dr. Dietrich replied, "Well, as they have no mouths, so they can't bite. And since their bodies are made of plaster or, in some cases, resin plastic, they can't scratch you with their hands. And you have a good chance of outrunning them since their legs can't move. In fact, the only real danger is from them poking someone with their pointed hats. Or from somebody tripping over one."

Officials have released the following guidelines should anyone encounter a feral garden gnome:

-If you do see a garden gnome, assume that it is wild & steer clear of it. A brisk walking pace is oftentimes fast enough to outrun them.

- Do not invite gnomes around your home by leaving food out for them. You'll just be inviting trouble & besides, they don't have mouths & can't eat.

- If you come across a strange gnome, contact Vector Control or your local plant nursery.

They are described as being around eighteen inches in height, including the pointed hat, with a white beard, large nose & usually dressed in a jacket & small pants.

Club Jota

While I'm here slaving away at work (looking like I'm really into a project is hard work!), T is at home, running Club Jota. Since she's only working a handful of hours this week & they're all in the evening, we don't have to send The Boy off to daycare, thus saving a few pennies.

Part of being the head counselor at Club Jota means hosting a bunch of The Boy's friends from around the apartment complex, fielding the usual barrage of "Can I? Can I? Can I?" questions, taking the kids down to the pool & inevitably, feeding everyone.

Why T's so tired by the time I get home, I have no idea.

I've got yer answers

Okey doke - as promised, here be the answers to the Metalhead edition of Name That Song over at ETS' place.

How'd you do? Leave your score in the comments box.

1. I Remember You - Skid Row

2. Electric Gypsy - L.A. Guns

3. Fly On The Wall - AC/DC

4. Photograph - Def Leppard

5. Shot In The Dark - Ozzy Osbourne

6. I Don't Believe In Love - Queensryche

7. Love Song - Tesla

8. Ace Of Spades - Motorhead

9. Seek & Destroy - Metallica

10. Over My Head - King's X

Guest Posting

Over at ETS' place, whilst she mommy-sits.

Go...enjoy...cookies for everyone!

Home again, home again, jiggity jig

Well, the Jay & T Whirlwind Tour o' Las Vegas 2004 has come to an end (thank you's go out to Amy & ETS for holding down the MLCotW fort on such short notice. Thanks, ladies - nicely done :)). After a stop at my sister's house to ooo & ahh over the wedding pix, we finally pulled into Casa de Jota at around midnight.

Let me just say that I wish we would've had Amy's list of Fun Things To Do In Vegas with us. It may have made the trip a bit more entertaining. But, as we only had less than a day to visit & see the sites, we piled in most all that we could do on Thursday night.

Our official reason for going out there was to meet up with a college friend of T's that she hadn't seen in a couple of years. Since neither T or I had ever been to Lost Wages, we thought it'd be fun to see what all the hoopla was about.

The hoopla stopped as soon as we got off the freeway into town.

You see, I'm not what you'd call a "people person." In fact, most people bug the crap out of me. And it seemed that most of those people were holding a convention of some sort while we were there. The First Annual Let's See How Many Ways We Can Bug the Crap Out of Jay Conference. And I was the special guest of honor. An apparent requirement to get into this conference (other than the ability to annoy me) is to chain smoke until your lungs explode.

T & I probably have blacklung now.

We went to eat at the buffet at the Alladin. They've got different kitchens for different kinds of food (American, Italian, Mexican, etc.). The food was really good...well, the Italian food was really good. And when I say "Italian food," what I really mean is the pizza & raviolli that I had, because the place was a bit busy that night, which made getting anything other than Italian food really difficult. At one point I was ready to bite a lady who, with her plate already piled high, made the unfortunate decision to stand between me & the pizza.

After dinner, we walked around the mall inside the Alladin, which was made up of pretty much all reeeeeally expensive stores. I did enjoy the Sharper Image store, with it's $500 life-sized Yoda figure & the Cartoon store, which had some really nifty miniature statues of comic book characters. And, I don't know how they did it, but the ceiling is painted to look like the open sky & as you walk, the clouds look like they're moving, even thought they, too, are painted on the ceiling. Way cool.

Eventually, we made it out onto the Strip, which is apparently named for the fact that on every corner & most points inbetween, you can find men trying to hand you business cards & brochures for the mobile stripper trade.

Yes, ladies & gentlemen, you too can have your own private strip show right in the comfort of your hotel room.

I couldn't figure out what these people were handing out at first until I looked down at the ocean of business cards with nekid women on them. And then heard a guy negotiating prices with one of the gentlemen. Call me a prude, I don't care, but I just felt icky every time I walked past one of these people.

As we were walking (& dodging drunks), we did get to see the water show at the Bellagio. It was most impressive. Of course, as I'm watching the production, my mind starts wandering to things like "I'd sure hate to be standing over one of those fountains when they go off" & "I wonder how they make repairs on those things when they break." As you can see, the show didn't quite have my full attention.

We waded through more stripper peddlers & drunks & finally made it back to the hotel at around midnight. I was trying to be a trooper & not kill the evening so that T & her friend could have a good time together, but T finally called it a night, due in no small part to the fact that I looked like death warmed over dragging my butt down the Strip. I don't like the nightlife, I don't like to boogie. Well, I like to boogie...a little.

Later that morning, we had breakfast in the Teahouse of the Imperial Palace hotel, where we stayed. Muy yummy grub & not too many people this time made for a pleasant eating experience. Shortly after that, it was off to Ceasar's Palace (nice casino - not too smoky & not too crowded) so that one of the other ladies that had traveled with T's friend could pick up some Celine Dion goodies. Not being a fan (at all...not one bit...in the least) of the Great White Bore, I just couldn't see why someone would want a rhinestone covered picture frame with Ms. Dion's likeness in it. Maybe for a twelve-year-old girl. The scary thing is is that there are probably a few hundred homes of grown women with the aforementioned picture in them...*shudder*

As it was about two hundred & fifty bajillion degrees outside (& I was the only desert dweller amongst us who was comfortable in it), we headed back to the hotel & chatted with T's friend for a bit more & then set out for home.

Our ultimate impression of Sin City? Well, it's appropriately named, for one. And we both felt that we could've gone our entire lives & been just as happy (& possibly more lung cancer free) if we'd never gone. I don't get on my Christian soapbox on my site much, but, as a Christian, I just felt dirty being there, like it was definitely not the place that I should be at.

Walking down the Strip & seeing all of the sleaze & muck that's put out there for public consumption, it occurred to me that the ex-wife frequently takes The Boy out there & he's being exposed to all of this stuff. It's hard enough to shield him from the slings & arrows of the outside world & let him just be a kid & she's walking him around in a place that has a giant thong-clad butt on a sign on the side of one of the hotels. And who knows how many times he's picked up one of the stripper service's business cards?

Vegas is trying to make itself into a family friendly resort destination, but it's only a facade. Scratch beneath the surface & you'll find an machine whose sole purpose is to feed & make money off the vices of man. From the slot junkie, betting their last quarter & hoping that maybe this time they'll hit it rich to the strippers who sell themselves, the city uses & discards them & waits for the next batch of people it can lure to it with it's lights & hopes of hitting the big jackpot.

Wow...that was deep. I'll stop ranting now.

All in all, Vegas - not that great. Meeting T's friend - great. I really did enjoy that.

Oh, & the drive out there & back is beautiful.

Fun Things To Do In Vegas

Since Jay is in Las Vegas...I thought I would give a list of fun things to do in Sin City.

1. Go to Bonnie Springs- there is a free petting zoo (kids love it and do animal lovers and young at heart...I had a deer fall in love with me and follow me around). There is also a fairly cheap old western town recreation. There are gunfights in the street and an old fashion (yet hokey enough to not be too scary) hanging. It is great fun.

2. If you have the extra dough- I highly suggest checking out one (if not both) of the art museums in the casinos. There is the Bellagio Gallery of Fine Art and the Guggenheim Hermitiage (located in the Venetian). They have different exibits every time I go.

3. Another must stop at the Venetian? Madame Tussaud's wax museum. They are SO realistic looking it is amazing. It is truly an odd experience. They let you get right up to them so that you can touch them and stuff. Amazing!

4. A must stop at the Bellagio is The Conservatory. It is free. And changes with the season/holiday. I loved the 2003 Fall display. And the 2004 spring display was great. Caution- there are LOTS of plants...so if you have allergies...take claritin or something first :)

5. If you have the time and the fundage you may wish to take a trip to the observation deck of the Stratosphere. Even though I am afraid of heights- I am not as afraid up there for some reason. The view is breathtaking both day and night.

6. Another free fun thing is to catch the impressive watershow at the Bellagio fountatins. They are incredible. And there are different shows- all fountain shows are set to music- and the water seems to dance along with the music. A must see.

7. The Hard Rock Hotel and Casino is off the strip but has two of my favorite restaurants: The Pink Taco and Mr. Lucky's 24/7. The Pink Taco has great ambiance and wonderful twists on traditional mexican faire. Mr. Lucky's 24/7 has a little bit of everything (they have a killer personal pepperoni pizza) and the best thing about them, is, as their name entails...they are open 24/7 so there is always a cool place to go eat.

8. The MGM Grand has a free lion habitat ...it is always fun to go see the lions. I always stop by and take a gander.

9. The Mirage has a free white tiger habitat where you can get a look at the gorgeous beasts for free. Also at the Mirage is the Secret Garden and Dolphin Habitat. While not free I absolutely LOVED it both times I went. The Dolphin Habitat is my favorite part- but the Garden Zoo habitat was fun too. :)

10. If you like aquariums, there is the Mandalay Bay Shark Reef. My favorite part here is the park where you feel like you are under water with them. But the shark reef isn't just sharks and fish. There are also other kinds of aquatic animals including alligators. It was fun. I haven't seen the knew hammerhead shark exhibit...but I would like to.

11. I always like to go to Red Rock Canyon while I am there...it is a nice place to hike. Watch out for the wild burros...they will come right up to your car or person and they can bite!

12. For the chocolate lover there isEthel M's Chocolate factory. They have free tours of both the chocolate factory (with a free sample at the end !) and the Cactus Garden on the grounds of the chocolate factory. I highly suggest visiting the cactus gardens in winter when they are decorated with tons of christmas lights. It is something to see!


Well that is but a few of my favorite things to do while I am in Las Vegas. I am sure there are more....but they are escaping me right now. I have always wanted to go see Wayne Newton...but have never been able to fit it in yet.... I hope Jay is having fun...who knows...maybe he is seeing Mr. Las Vegas (wayne newton) right now!!!!

Posted By: Amy

Exploring One's Ancestry Through Footwear

I have this new pair of shoes.

They've got spongy soles that give you a little oomph as you walk, springing up after each step and cushioning my foot in such a way that in a week's worth of wearing I have yet to come home aching. They're black, with little bitty zippers on the heel, and they have something of a sandal front, my furry little hobbit toes open to the ruffling breezes while the basket-weave cross-hatching over the top of my foot leaves cute little patterns on my skin when the sun shines and I just have to be out in it.

I love these shoes.

The problem is that they are of a particular leather type material, more like sheepskin than anything else. And, as this type of material generally comes in shades of tan, any other color must be dyed in. Therefore, for the past week, every time I wear these shoes they stain my skin black.

It makes for interesting conversation when one mentions that one has black feet. ("Oh, you're Blackfoot, you say?" "Oklahoma, actually, but that has nothing to do with my shoes....") And nothing I've tried has ever really removed the black stains; they have to just kind of wear off on their own. I learned that when breaking in my Uggs so many years ago. Therefore, I have black feet.

But wait, it gets better.

My mother called me this afternoon to tell me that she'd found another pair just like this one. They happen to be blue....

Next week I'll be part smurf, just you watch.


Posted by ETS

An introduction of sorts...

Jay, your usual curator here at MLCotW, has gone to the desert in search of Elvis (or possibly slot machines). So, whilst Jay is away in Vegas, the micettes will play. Those micettes being yours truly (Amy of the fair groove of badness) and ETS (of the fair echoes of dreams). We may not have Jay's quick wit, humor, or connections to the stars...but worry not. We will strive to entertain you in his absence, the best way we know how! Now... on with the show!!!

Note: Please refrain from throwing produce or other items at the guest posters, if they are not as funny as Jay. It hurts their feelings and makes a big mess of your computer monitor.

Posted by Amy of BadGroove

Opposite ends of the spectrum

It seems that humanity is showing both the heights & depths that it can reach this week.

Both via MSNBC:

Private manned space mission is successful -
The first privately funded space mission soared 62 miles above the earth Monday.

Arab TV says South Korean captive killed -
The Arab TV network al-Jazeera reports South Korean has been killed by his kidnappers.

*sigh*

Celebrating one year of blahdity blah blahing

Three hundred sixty-five days, two hundred eight posts & three different color schemes have passed.

Happy Blogiversary, MLCotW!

Here's a cookie with a candle on it in your honor.

I was looking back through the posts over the past year. Some were good. Some...well...it's my first year doing this - cut me a little slack, m'kay?

In looking back, though, I can trace the beginnings of my relationship with T & see how my love for her has grown deeper & deeper. I can see some of the events that had happened over the last year, both personal & things that we, as bloggers, shared as a community & a nation & a world as a whole.

I can see that I either need to take a sedative before I drive or that people really need to get out of my way to avoid my road rage.

I can see that I really need to get out more sometimes.

So, in between getting out more, trying to relax more while driving & continuing to nurture my marriage to T, I’ll keep cranking out witty, informative & sometimes thought provoking posts.

Well, at least the witty ones.

What do you call a man who lets his child have four friends stay the night?

A stupid man.

A very tired & stupid man.

Words fail me

As you all are well aware, Paul Johnson, the American hostage, was killed.

I just can't find the words to describe both the anger & the despondancy I'm feeling. I just want to hold T & The Boy close to me right know & feel some semblance that all is right in the world.

All I can give is a small prayer for his family over their loss.

Artist's block

For about three years now, I have had the worst case of artist's block. I have not been able to draw so much as a straight line. I used to have little lulls in my drawing, but never for three years. I took to writing as a way to get out some of my creativity, but I miss getting an idea, picking up a pencil & seeing my imagination come to fruition right there on the paper. I've tried even just doodling & I can't get anything out.

Any ideas on how to shake it?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Summertime in the SBC

I was driving in to work this morning & noticed that the atmosphere outside was different. It felt like it did when I was a kid & woke up on the first day of summer vacation. Which is weird, because I haven't had a summer vacation in fifteen years.

Yeesh...I've been out of school for fifteen years.

Now I feel old.

I'm just the messenger...

I am the email forwarder to the stars, as ETS has found out. Go here to find out more.

Go. See. Ooo & ahh.

And, as always, have a cookie.

Silly Rabbit

OK, I don't want to go & use all of my best material so quickly, but I got nothin' else right now. And after yesterday's hissy fittin' about space invaders, I feel the need to cleanse the blogging palette.

So, here you go.

Dear Trix Rabbit,
Hi. How are you? I am fine. I like your commur...comer...your TV ads for your cereal. My mommy won't let me eat your cereal because she says it makes me hyper. I ate some at my friends house once and it made my poo turn green. Mommy thought I ate the toilet tablets again. It was funny.

Why do those kids never let you have Trix? It is your cereal. It has your name on it. My underwear has my name on it. Mommy says to always wear clean underwear. I wear a helmet too. Mommy calls it my magic crown and tells me that I am special and I have to wear it. My mommy loves me.

Do you know Lucky from Lucky Charms? Are the kids that try to steal his cereal the same ones that won't let you have Trix? Daddy says the little twits should buy their own cereal. Daddy doesn't move much after he has his "special drink." Usually he likes about 7 of his special drinks. He makes funny sounds when he's asleep. I laugh at them.

Your friend,
Johnny Doe

Space Invaders

*begin rant*

After lunch today, I've come to the conclusion that I must be doing something to attract people to me. And not people that I like being around, either. No, these are people whose apparent lot in life is to annoy the crap out of me.

I've already done a few posts about being followed into the bathroom constantly. But the same thing happens wherever I go. I can't just shoot down the lane in the grocery store without there being someone in the lane, cart conveniently parked right in the middle. I stop to look at a CD or book & someone always decides that where I am is the cool place to be.

Yesterday at lunch, someone decided to sit at the table that I was sitting at - the table that I have been sitting at, quite happily by myself, in peace & quiet, for quite some time now. And they didn't just sit. No, they clanked their plate & kept bumping the legs of the table. Keep in mind that there are six tables in the breakroom & three of them were empty. And again today, the same person sat at the table, along with two other people, & commenced to holding a conversation in Spanish. And YET again, there were three other frickin' empty tables!!!

Is it my magnetic personality that draws people to me? Is there something in the way that I snarl & growl at them that says "Please! Come invade my personal space! No, really, it's OK!"? Am I sending out vibes to reeeeally annoying, noisy people, inviting them to sit as close as they can to me?

When I eat my lunch, I want to enjoy it in peace & quiet. Unless I've made lunch plans with friends, I don't particularly want to engage in conversation or be sitting right next to someone, & I most certainly don't want to listen to their conversation, regardless of what language they may be speaking. When I go shopping, I don't want to be followed. And when I go to the bathroom, I DON'T WANT AN AUDIENCE!!!

*end rant*

By popular demand...

...I present to you -

The Larry Wilcox Fan Letter!

Ta daa!

Dear Larry Wilcox,

My name is John Doe & I am your #1 fan. I have watched & recorded every episode of "CHiP's" with you in it. Most people think that Erik Estrada was the main draw of the show, what with his white teeth & smooth dancing moves. But you, Larry, with your subtlety & low key demeanor were the reason that I tuned in (& continue to tune in on TNT). Whenever a customized Chevy van would do a barrel roll over a '71 Plymouth, Ponch would do his usual overacting. But not you, no sir. You remained calm & stoic faced in any situation, whether it be the aforementioned flying van or finding yourself in the center of a gaggle of rollerskating girls in bikinis. Good job, Larry! Good job!



When I was a kid, my friends & I would play "CHiP's" on our Huffy's with cards in the spokes to make the motorcycle sound. Although I looked more like Ponch than John, I still always wanted to pretend to be you. For 7 years straight, I wore my "John from CHiP's" costume for Halloween. My mom had to let it out a bit when I turned 16 & the outfit lasted me another two years. After I graduated from high school, I tried to join the California Highway Patrol (the real "CHiP's"), but they said that even though I had my own homemade CHP uniform & that it was very nice, they didn't have any openings & would call me back when something opened up. While that was 8 years ago, I still eagerly await their phone call. Sometimes I answer the phone with "California Highway Patrol, Officer John speaking," just in case it's them.



Anyway, you will always be the best part of the show. Erik Estrada is a shiny toothed hack.



And don't even get me started on "Bobby." What a loser.



Your #1 fan always

John Doe

Thank the Good Lord Above for Caller ID

This has been my week to have The Boy. And much like two weeks ago when I had him, I've gotten a call every stinkin' day from his mom. "I was just checking on this" or "Be sure he takes his medicine" or "I just wanted to say hi to him."

I see her more now than when we were married.

T & I have both had it. No matter how many times I talk to her about it, or ignore her phone calls or wish & hope & pray that she'll pop up on the side of a milk carton, she won't go away. The only thing that seems to have gotten through her think skull is that we don't want her in our home, hanging out. But having her at the door, hugging & kissing & "God bless you"-ing The Boy (this from someone who has never had any interest in church or God or anything like that) or having to check the caller ID & then wait for the phone to quit ringing is almost as annoying.

You see, I don't bug her incessantly when she has The Boy. In fact, I frequently go the whole week without hearing from him. I feel that it's her time & that, unless there's something really urgent that I need to get across to her, I don't need to be talking to her. More to the point - I don't want to be talking to her.

Towards the end of our marriage, I couldn't get ahold of her on the phone. Now I can't get her to quit calling. Grrr...

Ho hum...

I got news last week that the Amazing Shark Boy is leaving The Company. We met when he started working here about seven years ago. He left for awhile & then came back & we ended up in the same department again for a time.

I'm a bit bummed. I mean, he, Kevin & I will still probably get together from time to time for lunch, but sending out deranged fan letters & twisted news stories will be a little difficult (don't worry, ETS - I still have plenty of fan letters to use & a few in the works).

I hate it when others leave. Another person from my department's leaving this month. It's not a big deal. In fact, there are quite a few people here that I'd love to see go. I just hate still sitting here while others that I like (or can at least tolerate) are moving on to, I'm assuming, greener pastures. It's not sour grapes, either.

I guess it's just a touch of wanderlust. I've been at The Company for nearly nine years. It's had its ups & downs (the past year being a definite down). It's not the worst job that one could have (rectal thermometer quality assurance tester, anyone?). I'm just bored. I don't even know what, if given the choice, I'd like to do.

Crazed Fan Letter Time

...Or - Guest Posting at Amy's Time.

Mine's already there. Let the celebrity restraining orders begin.

Go. Enjoy. Sit a spell.

And Mr. Money - it's all in good fun. Really. Keep shakin'!

Good Bye, Little Guy

Despite our best efforts, the baby sparrow died yesterday.

Take care, Little Guy.

The Little Guy

We were going to wait a couple years before becoming parents. Best laid plans, I guess.

It happened Sunday, right on the sidewalk outside. We decided to take it inside, so that nothing would get hurt, as it's very delicate. T & I got a washcloth & heated it in the microwave & then wrapped the little guy up to keep it warm. It's still pretty small & isn't completely covered, so it gets cold easliy. Every time we'd open the washcloth, it'd start making noise. But with a little petting & attention, it would quiet down & relax. I think it's getting used to being handled.

The neighbors wanted to come see it. The Boy wanted to show his mom, but I told him that she didn't need to, as she's seen one before. I imagine she's seen quite a few, actually.

When we're not playing with it or petting it, we keep it in a shoebox with a heating pad underneath to keep it warm. I took it to work with me yesterday, because we'd planned on finding someone else who wanted it. The ladies at work ooo'd & aww'd over it when I took it out to check on it.

Since nobody wanted to take it, we decided to keep it until it gets a little bigger. T's going to run home after work to check on it. It gets lonely, you know (I can't take it everywhere - it'd get squished in my pants).

It'll be a sad day when I have to turn it loose into the world. It's been interesting watching & holding it; seeing it grow. But, I know it's for the best. After all, birds deserve to fly free.

Yes, T & I are the proud foster parents of a baby sparrow.

What did you think I was talking about?

Here at last!

The weekend, that is. After the craptastic week that I just had, this weekend is more of a welcome respite than most.

Ahhh...sweet, sweet relaxation!