Move along folks, nothing to see here

The raise

2006-10-25T16:51:00.000-07:00

So I used to work for the guy you see in the picture above. It was a gardening supply outfit and was pretty busy. When I started there it was managed by this guys brother. He was a great guy and I liked working for him but I was there for over a year and he never increased my salary. Sadly he was taken with a sudden illness and had to take some time off. That's when this bastard took over. He was a real jerk and we all hated him. But after only two weeks he gave us all a boost in pay. Some of the other guys thought that it would have been nicer coming from the manager we all liked. I didn't care one way or the other, you know the old saying: a raise by any other gnome would smell as sweet.

Please steal this picture and use it on your blog as you see fit. But let me know so I can report to the creator of the pic. See dizgraceland link to the right for details.

New Cat

2006-10-15T22:20:00.000-07:00

TUTU TOO

2006-09-28T20:04:00.000-07:00

The truth is that it is not important whether you win or lose, or even if you play at all.

The only thing that's important is that you have a huge freak'n TV so you can watch the game.

Like me and the Bishop here (he's a huge Cardinals fan).

In the before time

2006-02-03T17:09:00.000-08:00

Hey, look who it is. Everyones favorite absentee blogger, Lights in the Wake. This picture was taken while I was attending Salisbury State College on Maryland's Eastern Shore roughly 20 years ago. I have no particular reason for posting this today except that I am tired of looking at the words "Semi Retirement" every time I go to my blog to start my blog rounds.

Pay no attention to the collection of stuffed animals in the background. This picture was taken in the room of my friends Laura and Kris and I presume that the animals belong to one of them.

Honest.

Semi-retirement

2006-01-04T19:38:00.000-08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and children of all ages: It is with a mixture of regret and relief that I must announce my semi-retirement from blogging. You may have noticed my absence from the blog community during the last couple weeks. I have been contemplating whether I enjoy blogging or not. I have reached the following conclusions:

I absolutely love being part of this little community and I don't want to give it up.

I seriously dislike maintaining a blog. Mostly.

I have done some work of which I am moderately proud so I know that I can produce some entertaining content. I can not, however, produce material I am happy to publish on a consistent basis. So I find myself experiencing much more anxiety than pleasure from blogging.

So here's what I've decided to do. I am leaving this site up. But I will not be updating very often. I will be visiting the blogs of all my favorite people pretty much the same as always and, of course, I will be leaving plenty of comments.

I would like to flatter myself by thinking that this may be disappointing to some and if that is the case please know that I sincerely appreciate the sentiment.

So, to Tim-Elvis, my first and best blog pal. To Teri, you naughty, naughty girl. To THE Michael, my grumpy but lovable Florida connection. To Thoughtmaster, my horrible, evil, and cruel ex-wife/close personal friend. And, of course, to Shandi, my closest friend and confidant.

I love you all, I hope you understand.

Not in the mood

2005-12-19T21:03:00.000-08:00

My parents are visiting and cleaning, repairing, and altering pretty much everything in my house. On one hand I am grateful that these things are being done. On the other hand they are things I don't really care all that much about. Which is why they haven't been done already. On the third hand it makes me feel kind of irresponsible and childish to have my parents doing this stuff. But there's no stopping them without hurting their feelings so I just have to suck it up and let 'em go at it.

Also today my friend Mike had what has been described as a severe breakdown and has been admitted to a psychiatric facility for observation. This is the kind of place where they take away your shoelaces so you don't kill yourself. He's had a lot of bad stuff happen in his life in the last 3 years so I suppose that a little meltdown is not surprising.

Anyway, I am not in the mood to post anything. Except this, of course.

Say, are you trying to tell me something?

2005-12-11T19:13:00.000-08:00

The other day I got a letter from my mother containing a couple hundred bucks and a note saying that she thought it would be nice for me to have my house professionally cleaned. Now, my mother can be pretty subtle so there's probably some kind of message here. I can't see it though, I think that she really thought I would enjoy receiving this service. The fact that my parents are coming out here for Christmas is purely coincidental I am sure.

No matter, the fact is that I am happy to have it done. As some of my friends will probably confirm in the comments section, I have a more tolerant view of when something absolutely NEEDS to be cleaned than most. Oh well, it's not like I have lots of visitors. Of course, it may be that I don't have a lot of visitors because my house is messy. Chicken or the egg, I guess.

Please don't read this, it's lame. Seriously.

2005-12-06T17:34:00.000-08:00

Today I took my car in to the shop for some body work. You might recall, my faithful readers, that a while back I wrote about attending a memorial party for my friend John. While I was up there his widow backed into my car and scraped the paint on both passenger doors and knocked the mirror off. No problem, she immediately told me about it and gave me her insurance info. I call them and they send me to a body shop to see their adjuster. No problems so far.

I get to the shop and there is a guy standing behind a car with the insurance companies name on the side. He's messing with some sort of instruments in the trunk. Naturally I assumed this was the guy I'm supposed to see so I go over to him and say "I assume you're the guy I'm supposed to see." He tells me that he is not and directs me to go inside and talk to Gus. OK, so Gus must be another guy from the insurance company, right? I talk to Gus and he looks at the damage and takes some pictures and gives me an estimate: $1380. Seems like a lot to me but I've never had any body work done so I what do I know? Plus, I'm not paying for it anyway.

That was Monday. Come Friday and I still haven't heard anything. So I call and they ask me whether I kept my appointment because they never got any paperwork. So I tell them what I told you and they say that they can either reschedule me for another appointment or try to figure out what went wrong. I patiently explain to them that I have already taken a couple hours vacation time and used the gasoline ($3.20/gal. at that time) to drive across town so I figure I'm out fifty bucks already and I'll be damned if I'm going to spend any more. They agree that that might be a little much to ask and say they will try to find out what went wrong. They promise to call back later in the day.

By Tuesday it is obvious that they are not going to call. So I call them and they claim that I did not call them on Friday since there is no mention of it on the computer. So we go through the whole thing again, and again I am told that they will find out what went wrong and call me later. They didn't call. This time I don't wait and call them first thing in the morning. All they know is that they don't have anybody named Gus, other than that they know nothing.

OK, guys, I was all riled up when I started this but I have lost steam and will now just wrap this pointless post up for you. Gus was the manager of the body shop. The adjuster called out sick that day but I was not contacted. No one ever was able to determine who the guy at the insurance company car was. It took them three weeks to straighten the mess out and cut me a check. The check is for 250 bucks more than the original estimate. Near as I can tell their guy never asked Gus for the actual estimate and based the award solely on the pictures Gus took of the damage. So I might end up making some money on the deal but that just makes them seem all the more incompetent.

Ok, I'm done whining. And I apologize profusely to anyone who ignored my warning and read this piece of crap.

Dear Partypoker.com

2005-11-30T16:51:00.000-08:00

First let me just say that I have really enjoyed our time together. Over the last week we have had such a wonderful and exciting time it hardly seems real. You have taught me things and allowed me to experience so much that I would never have been able discover on my own. You are one hell of a website. I really mean that.

It's just that I don't think that we should see each other any more. Please don't be upset. It's not you, it's me. Really. I know you thought that I would always be there for you and it pains me to have to let you down. I am just not the kind of member you're looking for. I don't bluff, I fold if I don't get two facecards down, and I hardly ever go all in. No, we have to face the facts. I'm just not your type and we're just fooling ourselves trying to pretend that's not true.

I hate to have to break up with you like this but I just can't face you. Hopefully, some day you will realize that this was the best thing for both of us. I will always remember you with fondness. You have given me so much.

Sincerely, Lights in the wake

Damn you Partypoker.com, damn you to hell

2005-11-27T16:23:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I'll be the first to admit that I have an addictive personality. I have always been very fond of games. Board games, card games, computer games, you name it. If I find one that I really like I can and do play it obsesively for hours and hours. So, I should have known that trying online poker was somewhat risky. But try it I did.

It was last Sunday. The Redskins had just blown a particularly aggravating game to the Raiders and I just didn't feel like watching the afternoon games. So I got on the computer and started surfing around looking for something interesting. I have watched the televised poker tournaments and remembered a commercial for a site to play poker for free. Since I have recently become involved with a bi-weekly live poker game I thought it'd be a good idea to practice a little. That was my first mistake.

I downloaded the software and started playing in the free games. At first I was losing pretty good but I started learning a few things and soon I was winning more often than not. They start you out with 1000 pretend chips and after a couple evenings I had it up to 8000. I'm starting to think I'm pretty good at this. I decide that I'll put in some real money and see what happens. This was Wednesday evening after work. Since the following day was Thanksgiving I knew I could stay up late if I liked it. Well, I stayed up really late. And I liked it very much.

I was almost disapointed that Thursday was Thanksgiving since I wanted to play again. But I managed to suppress the urge and had a pretty good time. A couple friends from LA came up for the day. One had just divorced and the other had broken up with his long term girlfriend so neither of them had anywhere to go. There was football to watch, pool to shoot, prime rib to eat, and pie to find room for afterwards. It was a pretty good day.

But as soon as everyone went to bed I got on the poker site and started playing again. I have been playing pretty much nonstop since then. I took a break this morning to watch the Redskins lose another particularly aggravating game. Then I watched the afternoon game in an effort to prove to the game that I can quit any time I want too. But it is calling to me, I am surprised that I managed to hold off long enough to slap this post together. I don't know how long I can resist but I'll try to hang on as long as possible.

So anyway, I hope you all had a good Thanksgiving and I'm sorry I have been neglecting my blogging. I should get tired of it pretty soon and...

What? What was that?...Aww, c'mon, I'm talking to my friends here... It'll only take a couple minutes... But... But... Crap, I gotta go...

An extended response to THE Michael's post regarding submarines

2005-11-19T20:46:00.000-08:00

My father served 18 years in the navy. From 58-69 as a sonarman on various subs. I remember the names of some of them, the George Washington, the Bugara, and the Guardfish. From 69-76 he was in naval intellegence serving as a (I believe he called it) spook. During those times it was difficult since we were never told the name of the subs he was on. He has never talked about what he actually did.
I went on a tour of a sub in Portland, Oregon with him once. The Blueback, I believe it was called. It was featured in the movie "Hunt for Red October". He said he had gone on one tour aboard her. It was very interesting seeing a sub on which he had served. He pointed out were he slept, his work station, were he prefered to sit in the mess hall while playing cribbage. He said that compared to the diesel subs on which he had trained it was very spacious. I doubt I could spend a month or more cooped up in that sucker with a full crew .
In 76 the navy was downsizing and offered him early retirement. He left the navy as a Senior Chief Petty Officer. I have always been very proud of my father for his service to our country. It would have been nice if he were free to talk about the things he did but I understand that he swore not to discuss it and I respect that.

The attack of the completely indifferent donkey

2005-11-17T23:14:00.000-08:00

We had been pursuing the beast for days and were beginning to despair of ever locating it's lair. Of course we knew of the fearsome reputation of this maneater but we were very experienced in this sort of expedition. We were well prepared, having secured the use of a very sophisticated device, similar to a shark cage. It was a metal box mounted on wheels with glass panels inset around the upper portion through which we would be able to make our observations in relative safety. It was equipped with an internal combustion engine to provide locomotive power. It was called a Geo Metro and we knew that if it came down to a confrontation it was all that stood between us and certain death. My assistant, Jim, was getting nervous, if we didn't locate the monster soon our supply of Slim Jims and Gummi Bears would run out and we would be forced to abandon the hunt and return home. Bitter failure was only hours away.

We had gotten desperate and in a last effort had left the safety of the Metro to reconnoiter on foot. The devil must have been watching us and waiting for just this opportunity. As soon as we set foot outside the protective confines of our trusty conveyance the beast was upon us. Who can blame us for overlooking it? It is a master of disguise. Observe how it's natural camouflage blends in with it's surroundings. A crafty beast to be sure, but not quite crafty enough. Luckily for us we were alerted to it's presence by a pebble dislodged by a misplaced hoof. We spun about and found ourselves face to muzzle with the very terror we had been seeking. For a moment we stood there regarding each other. Oh, the horror of it still sends tremors through me. The raw animal fury in it's eye almost payalyzed us both. But we were highly trained professionals and our many hours of rigorous preparation for this expedition overcame our natural fears. Quickly gathering our wits we determined that our only chance at survival was to regain the safety of our beloved Geo. Just as we were about to break and run to our salvation the slavering menace began to amble towards us.

Despite knowing we had only 5 or 10 minutes before the beast traveled the 20 feet between us and began it's indescribably vicious attack we remained calm. We had practiced these maneuvers many times and they were second nature to us now. Yet we were nearly overcome with despair when we discovered that Jim had inexplicably left the small key, with which the outer hatches of the Metro could be opened, inside the vehicle. Fortune took pity on us however, as I had neglected to remove the clothes hanger from my jacket that morning when I put it on. Quickly fashioning an improvised hook on one end I was able to slip the hanger inside one of the glass panels and release the lever which held the hatch tightly closed on my side. Seeing that we were moments from safety the villainous spawn of hell increased it's speed to a blistering shuffle and nearly had us. We only just managed to secure the outer hatches as it made it's final lunge.

Shivering with fright and sweating profusely from our brush with death we nervously observed as the demonic monstrosity sought out some weakness in our defenses. It's fetid breath caused a slight condensation on the glass panel and set us to screaming in stark terror and clutching at each other as if only the confirmed presence of another human soul could assure us that we had not descended into the very pits of the abyss. Soon, much to our relief, the hoofed menace realized it would be unable to penetrate our sanctuary and disappeared once more into the surrounding desert. It is still there today to the best of my knowledge. I never again dared to encroach upon it's territory. My assistant Jim was sorely affected by our encounter and to this day is unable to snap his fingers or use the letter R while speaking. I have also been irrevocably altered by our brush with evil although my symptoms are less obvious and I am loath to describe them here. I will say, however, that I have never since that day removed a clothes hanger from my jacket. It's a tad uncomfortable at times but well worth it for the peace of mind it affords me.

It's my blog and I can do anything teri does

2005-11-16T20:19:00.000-08:00

So last week I posted a poem I had written as a spoof of a post about my blog pal teri's sexual experiences. A couple things have occured to me since then:

1) It might have been in poor taste to turn something as personal as that into a rather raunchy joke. I am tempted to feel bad about this. (I don't of course, but for the sake of this post let's all pretend that I do).

2)Only women ever write the sort of post that teri wrote. I am not sure why this is. Perhaps we tend to assume that women are demure and chaste and they want us to know that ain't so.

So in the interest of fair play and gender equity I have decided to post an account of my own sexual exploits. (Don't worry, this won't take very long).

I have had sex in a bed.

I have had sex in a different bed from the first bed I mentioned.

Um....

Oh, I have had sex in a water bed.

I have had sex in the back of a Ford Festiva. (I was much younger then and flexible).

I have had sex in a large tub with water jets and stuff. Well, it started in the tub but was not really working very well, so it moved to a bed. (A different bed than any of the previously mentioned beds).

I might have had sex on the floor but I'm not sure. I think I did though. Although it might have led to a bed at some point. (Probably the second bed I mentioned).

I have had sex in Maryland, California, Maine, Massachusetts, and on a ship in international waters. Mostly in beds.

I have had sex in a chair and on a couch. Neither of these involved a bed. Although the couch might have been a sleeper, I don't remember. I don't think it counts as a bed though.

The ex stripper neice of my pal Mike once gave me an enthusiastic and thorough lap dance just because she was bored.

I have blindfolded, handcuffed and spanked a woman. (Hey, it was her idea).

I have never had either phone or cyber sex.

I have had several blowjobs while I was driving. It's a delicate matter though and you have to watch out for the truckers. They have a pretty good vantage point.

Hmmm...

Let's see....

Did I mentions beds?

Ok, then, I guess that's it. I might have forgotten some but I think that's a pretty complete list. Looking back on it I realize that a third thing has occured to me.

3)When chicks write about this stuff it's pretty hot. When I write about it... Not so much.

So much for gender equity.

(A note to teri, once again I have to hope you are a good sport about this. I was not making a joke this time but I have pretty much stolen your idea two weeks in a row. My only defense is that I haven't had any original thoughts of my own.)

How even something as innocent and good as Dr. Seuss can be twisted to my own sinister purposes

2005-11-08T17:35:00.000-08:00

This post is in response to Teri's wonderful post from November 4th. In which she lists many of her most adventurous sexual encounters. As I was reading it I found myself wondering what it would have been like told in a different style. Specifically, I felt it was well suited for a Dr. Seuss "Green eggs and ham" cadence. Well, I couldn't let it go and started to compose this story. If you haven't already seen the post in question check it out first. The link is to your right "No last name". I also feel compelled to point out that this is written from Teri's perspective so don't assume it is indicative of my admittedly limited experience with the subject matter.

This one's for you Teri, I hope you don't mind.

I have had sex in a box
I have had sex up on blocks

I have had sex in my socks
I would have sex with two rocks

I have had sex in the rain
I would have sex with Mark Twain

Even though he's passed away
I'd still fuck him anyway

I have had sex with a monk
Even though he sort of stunk

I would have sex with a moose
If I found one on the loose

I don't think I'd fuck a mouse
Even though they're in my house

But I would fuck several mice
I think they'd be very nice

I would gladly blow a bear
If he'd not cum in my hair

I would have sex with a weasel
But I would not fuck Vin Diesel

I think he'd be really funky
I'd just rather fuck a monkey

He won't have to play the cymbals
Not if he's well hung and nimble

I have had sex on the roof
Yes I did, and I've got proof

I have had sex in the tub
I've had sex behind a shrub

I've gone down on Janet Reno
I just wish that she'd used Beano

I have had sex with a Jew
Fucked him until he turned blue

I have had sex with a Christian
I must admit I liked that mission

Fucked a Mormon, he was iffy
It was over in a jiffy

I have had sex with a Frenchman
His brother, mother, and a henchman

I have had sex in Japan
And of group sex I'm a fan

In a dream I'm in Sumatra
Having sex with Frank Sinatra

Yes I know that he's dead too
Still, I'd do him, wouldn't you

Yes I've sure had sex a lot
If I don't use it, it might rot

I've had sex of many kinds
And I've found that no one minds

So if you should be passing through
Just come on by, I'll fuck you too

But first one rule, now please don't blubber
You're going to have to wear a rubber

Breaking News: Thoughtmaster to wed

2005-11-07T21:48:00.000-08:00

I would like to congratulate my ex-wife, Michelle (aka Thoughtmaster) on her recent engagement. Her fiance, Jeff, seems like a cool guy and I believe they will be very good together. I have known Michelle for roughly 15 years and even though our marriage didn't take I count her as one of my closest friends. I'm happy for you Michelle, you done good. I wish you a long and harmonious union. You deserve to be happy.

Jury Duty

2005-10-31T21:26:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I report as directed to fulfill my duty as a productive and conscientious citizen. Also, it's a day away from the office with pay so that makes it a lot easier to be enthusiastic. Regardless of my motivation, however, I have always liked being called for jury duty. I'll read a book and listen to some music. We'll get about 2 hours for lunch so I'll get to go someplace better than my usual "I've only got 30 minutes so this better be quick" joints. Best of all, there is a small chance I'll actually make a jury this time.

I've come to regard jury duty as sort of a contest. A bunch of people sit around waiting for their number to be called. It's a little like a raffle I suppose. In any case I am aware that most people do not like jury duty and go to great lengths to avoid it. Me, I have always wanted to be on a jury. Perhaps I am being naive about this but I think it would be terribly interesting. Plus I think I would be a good juror. I believe I would take it very seriously and try very hard to be objective and reasonable.

The closest I ever got to being a juror was one time when I actually made it up to the box for questioning by the attorneys. Unfortunately for me the case involved welfare fraud and I am a social worker for the welfare department. I assured them I could be fair and unbiased but they thought it would be a conflict of interest and excused me. In hindsight I suppose they were right. Oh well, maybe this time I'll make it. If not, what the hell, a change in the routine is always welcome.

There's a couple of things you don't usually see at a funeral

2005-10-25T21:53:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I went up to a town called Antioch, near San Francisco, for the memorial party of my friend John. The party was held at a place called the Beer Garden, which is a dive but it was his favorite. The owner of the place closed up for the day, provided all the food and booked a kick ass band to boot. Loyal customers are remembered and rewarded at a place like this. The family provided an ungodly supply of booze so it was an open bar as well.

I'd guess that there were 50 to 60 people who showed up. I don't think there'd have been half that many for a traditional service. I would have gone regardless but having worked at a funeral home for a couple years I was very pleased to avoid some rent-a-pastor's generic sermon. I found this party to be much more satisfying as a way to say goodbye. I think most of the attendees would agree.

One item of note:

The ex-stripper adopted daughter of the deceased flashed her breasts at the crowd from the bandstand after the family had been introduced. This was greated with great applause and no small amount of admiration. Her uncle was overheard to say, "That's Mary for you, get a couple drinks in her and it's out with the tits". Personally, I thought it was a vast improvement over even the most heartfelt testimonials I ever heard at the funeral home.

He had to gnaw his own foot off to escape

2005-10-19T18:02:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to an preseason exhibition basketball game here in Bakersfield. The Lakers always play one preseason game here since there is supposedly a large fan base in this town. My friend Mike had gotten some comp tickets from his boss and although I don't really like basketball I figured what the hell, it's free. Don't get me wrong, I understand basketball and can follow a game just fine. I just don't care.

The Lakers were playing the Wizards. Now I grew up in the DC area so I know that the team is really called the Bullets. Awhile back some pinhead decided that "Bullets" carries negative connotations and they were forced to change their name. They held a contest and allowed people to write in their suggestions. Somehow Wizards won. The name sucks, but since I don't actually care about basketball it is only a theoretical annoyance.

The only player whose name I had heard was Kobe Bryant. I am pleased to report that during the entire time I watched the game he never had sex (consensual or otherwise) with anybody. Apart from keeping tabs on Kobe I didn't find the game all that exciting. I assumed that there would be a good sized crowd but the arena was only about 2/3 full. I ended up leaving about half way through the second period. They had pulled the starters and things were getting sloppy. I did notice that the Lakers have a player named Smoosh. That was kind of funny.

Anyway, my reason for writing about this: In order to get to our seats we went to the row above them and attempted to step down into them. I went first and after carefully examining the approach I chose to step on the arm rest and proceed from there. This turned out to be the correct method. Mike did not utilize the same technique. Instead he chose to step onto the front of the folding seat with his right foot and bring his left foot down on the back of the folding seat. He then lifted his right foot to put it on the floor. Naturally the left foot on the back of the seat caused it to fold up. He was now standing with his left foot on the floor and his calf pinned between the seat and the backrest. And he couldn't get it out.

The best (or worst, depending on your point of view) part was that everyone behind him had seen it happen and were now waiting to see what happens next. It didn't help matters that I was paralyzed with laughter and completely unable to assist. People began shouting out helpful advice. Things like: "Pour some beer on it, it'll loosen it up" and "You're gonna have to gnaw it off at the knee". Fortunately, calmer heads prevailed and after 5 minutes of careful manuevering he was able to catch the heel of his shoe on the seat and pry it off, allowing him to finally free his foot of it's confinement. The crowd went nuts. I believe that for many of them it was more entertaining than the game. I know I enjoyed it.

John Hopper, 1946 - 2005

2005-10-11T20:35:00.000-07:00

Today my friend John Hopper died of cancer. He was a good man and will be missed by many. He was just about the only person I knew when I moved to Bakersfield. He always made sure I was included and made me feel welcomed. He made my transition infinitely better than it otherwise might have been. For that kindness and for many others over the years I will always be thankful. Goodbye John. You were a strong and reliable friend and I'll miss you very much.

Had to come back

2005-10-10T23:00:00.000-07:00

So I had a weeks vacation to spend but I'd be doing it alone. What better way to kill a week alone than by going to Las Vegas and dropping off some money. It's a tolerable 4 to 5 hour drive from here and since I'm not overly imaginative I decided to go.

One thing I learned is that on a long trip XM radio's stand up comedy channel is fantastic. It's almost like having a passenger. Much more entertaining than music.

The other thing I learned is that I don't like the Luxor casino. It's too damned big. I got lost several times. Also, since it is a pyramid, the elevators (or inclinators, as they called them), go up diagonally. So you not only have the normal downward force but a very disconcerting sideways force as well. Luckily I am not a drinker but I can imagine the effect this would have on someone who had taken liberties with the free drinks at the tables.

Anyway, it was a fun trip and I'd like to say that it's great to get back to work. But that would be a lie.

Gotta go

2005-10-02T20:26:00.000-07:00

Going on vacation. See you all next week.

Death can kiss my ass

2005-09-27T22:02:00.000-07:00

Ok, a warning, I'm feeling a bit morbid tonight for reasons I'll get to shortly. This post is apt to be a bit depressing. If you're in a good mood and want to stay that way, you may want to read this one later.

The brother of a very close friend of mine has cancer and will die very soon. Mike, my friend, is taking time off work to be with him and help out. In effect he is going to be spending the next month or two watching his brother die. I feel terrible for him of course but I don't have any reference point. Thankfully, I have never lost anyone with whom I was very close. So while I have no problem sympathising it is difficult for me to empathize, to have a real understanding of what he is about to go through. I am feeling guilty about this even though I realize that death is horrifying and almost no one is any good at dealing with it.

But then that got me to thinking: We (bloggers) are all involved, to varying degrees, in a veritable online community. We have our favorite blogs and bloggers. Often we come to regard these essentially anonymous people as our friends. So what if one of us dies? How do we find out? What's the protocol for the funeral? It's probably not necessary to attend a funeral in a far off place but do you send flowers? If you send flowers what name do you use?

Ok, enough of that. If any of you guys die I am counting on you having the decency to post about it afterwards.

Ode to a pork chop

2005-09-22T21:43:00.000-07:00

how much pork
could a pork chop
chop
if a pork chop
could chop
pork

Some people have suggested that this is derivative. I think they just don't like pork.

Wow

2005-09-19T21:36:00.000-07:00

I promise not to do any more stuff about football. After this...

Brains

2005-09-14T23:20:00.000-07:00

Following is a response to the Micheal's very cool post "strange bedfellows" at http://accordingtothemichael.blogspot.com/ It'll make more sense if you read his first.

It seems to me it would be useful, for this discussion, to separate the higher and lower brain functions. I think that the lower functions have indeed performed equivalently to computers. Our nervous system, immune system, breathing, heartrate are all tightly regulated. Adrenaline, serotonin, and other helpful substances are dumped into our systems when needed. All of these mechanisms developed over thousands of years of refining, updating and eliminating errors. The point being that the brain is a very sophisticated and capable computer.

It is the higher functions of the brain that cause all the problems you mentioned. Intuition, art, abstract thought, philosophy, adaptability and innovation. These are the things that we cannot build computers to do. These higher functions have allowed us to become the dominant species on the planet, build complex civilizations, and adapt to almost every environment we have encountered. They have also made us very dangerous to ourselves and others. They oftentimes cause us to think that we are smarter, or more capable, or luckier than those that have come before and that their fate will not be our fate. And while the lower brain functions are dedicated to ensuring our continued survival the higher functions have no such constraint. In fact, they can sometimes cause us to take actions contrary to our own best interest. This is true whether we apply it to people singly or collectively. So a nation is just as likely as an individual to act irrationally and ignore the lessons of history.

Until we can build computers that replicate the higher brain functions I don't think we have much to worry about. The computer that serves you drinks and tries to cut you off isn't doing so because it thinks it is a good idea. It's doing it because the programmer thought it would be a good idea. What we need to watch out for is the person who wishes to control some aspect of our lives and uses the computer as a tool to that end.

However...

If we do manage to build a computer with higher brain functions as messed up as ours, I think we've all seen enough movies and TV shows to know that we're screwed. So, since building such a computer is obviously not in our best interest it is precisely what we will try to do.

Let the games begin

2005-09-10T13:14:00.000-07:00

Some of my earliest and most vivid memories from childhood are of going to Redskins games at RFK stadium with my Dad. I don't recall how he managed it, but every year he would obtain tickets to one of the games. The trip to the stadium took about 45 minutes from our home in southern Maryland. The stadium was located in the heart of a residential neighborhood in D.C. The locals would have signs out on their lawns offering parking for the game in their driveways. My Dad never went for these even though it would have been cheaper than the official parking areas. While winding our way through the traffic to the parking area, my excitement would begin to grow. There where so many other cars trying to get to the stadium. People on the streets streaming towards it. Everyone in such a good mood. It was amazing to see so many people moving together with one purpose.
After parking would be our turn to join the jostling masses headed into the game. My favorite part of the walk up to the stadium came when we all had to pass through a long tunnel under a road. As we got into the tunnel and it got darker the men would all call out "Moo, Mooooo" as if we were cattle being led down the tunnel to the killing rooms. At the time I didn't know why they were doing it but I loved it. Nobody explained why, everyone just knew. It was tradition.

At the stadium entrance is where the real exciting part started. There were just so many people, all going different directions, trying to find their seats. My Dad would make me hold onto the back of his belt and would lead me through the throng. I would pretend that he was my blocker and our program was the football. I held on to his belt so tightly during these times that the impression from it would stay on my hand for half an hour after we finally got to our seats.

Once in the seats the really impressive visuals would be apparent. The stadium is huge and completely filled with people. So many people that they are not recognizable, just color and movement and a wonderful excitement everywhere. Once in the seat you could get popcorn and soda in waxed paper cups with cellophane wrapped around the lip (I guess they hadn't come up with fitted plastic lids yet). There where hotdogs with steamed buns that would turn into rocks if you didn't eat them quick enough. You could eat peanuts and drop the shells right on the floor.

And finally the game would start. I didn't have any idea what was going on on the field but it didn't matter. The whole stadium would react as one. When the crowd got really worked up they would all start to stamp in unison and make the whole damned stadium sway. RFK is like that, itll move. It didn't matter who won. At least not to me, not until I was older. The only thing that mattered was the experience. These games instilled in me a love of football in general and of the Redskins in particular that is as strong today as it ever was when I was a little kid. I have been following the Redskins for 30 years and will continue to cheer for them as long as they or I exist. The roots are very deep.

Hmmm

2005-09-09T12:53:00.000-07:00

It ain't pink. It ain't a pachyderm. But it is a moosenut cracker.

Uh... moose nutcracker, I mean.

The saga of Petey and Bingo

2005-09-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

I spotted these panhandlers working the streets in San Francisco back in '88. Bingo (right) and Petey (left) they were called.At least that's what they claimed, who really knows? Anyway, they had this very successful photography bit going. Things were good, diamond studded collars, gold plated chew toys, and as many bitches as they could sniff.

I hear that they had a falling out a few years latter over a flirty dachshund named Fifi. It seems that Fifi had been seeing Petey for a few months when he walked in on Bingo and Fifi in a, shall we say, compromising position. (Doggie style, of course, what else)? Anyway, Petey looses it and starts to get all up in Bingos face. He's like, "dude, what the hell"? So Bingo shoots him. (Bingo has problems with conflict resolution).

Fifi testifies that it was self defense and Bingo beats the rap. He tries to continue the street performances but can't handle the act alone. Fifi dumps him when he can no longer keep her in the manner to which she has become accustomed and takes up with a police dog that walks a beat in her neighborhood. He slaps her around a little, but he pays the bills. Plus, he's a german shepherd, what are you gonna do?

And Bingo? Well, Bingo kinda drifted away from the scene and I haven't heard any news in years. I hope he's well. Sure, he's a bloodthirsty bastard who'd shoot you as soon as look at you. But he looks so darned cute in that bandana and sunglasses, you just gotta love the heartless prick. So, Bingo, if you're out there: Who's a good boy? Lot's of belly rubs, ol' buddy.

The proudest moment of my life

2005-08-30T21:11:00.000-07:00

This Sunday I realized a dream. I was awarded the coveted "The Steve" for winning my fantasy football league last year. Sure, it may not seem like a big deal to you, but I am quite pleased with myself. I've been playing with these guys since the 2000 season and it was great to beat them. I find it odd but very reassuring that we can get so much pleasure out of so inconsequential a thing as beating our friends at a game.

Why Lights in the wake?

2005-08-26T12:16:00.000-07:00

When I started posting on Shandi's site I wanted to use something cryptic but recognizable to her. Back in the day, we had gone on a boat tour together on Casco Bay, Maine. It was very nice, scenic and all, but one part really stuck with me. At dusk we happened to look down into the wake at the front of the boat. We noticed that there were little lights dancing in the wake. I assume these were some form of phosphorescent jellyfish or some such but they were beautiful and neither of us had seen this phenomenon before. Since this was a shared experience between us I hoped that she would recognize the significance of the name and know it was me posting. I was pleased to discover that she remembered. So to maintain continuity I continued to use it and when I started the blog I saw no reason to change. Plus, I kinda like it.

Old friends

2005-08-25T21:03:00.000-07:00

I just contacted by email a couple of old friends from college. I have not seen them in 12 years. I was surfing around the other night and their names just kind of came to me. I looked 'em up and contacted them last night. I was kind of nervous since I had not made any attempt to keep in touch.
Now, these were very good friends and I had every intention of keeping up with them. This is one of my faults, I think, I am not good at staying in contact with people, as my parents would probably attest.
Anyway, they replied and much to my relief they sounded very happy to hear from me. I am really excited about talking to them and finding out what 12 years has done. At the same time I dread talking to them and finding out what 12 years has done. I'm hoping it's been good.

Boob job

2005-08-23T21:52:00.000-07:00

Today at work I had an interesting conversation with a female coworker. (At least I hope it's interesting, for your sake). She's telling me about her sister in law. It seems that she's been very uptight and bitchy lately. She's mean and hateful, verbally abusive and worst of all, she has long fake nails on her fingers that she clacks together as she talk. I'm picturing a preying mantis. After telling me all this she looks at me and says "you guys would be perfect together".

Ok, now I'm curious. Why the hell would a berserk harpy like she'd been discribing be a good match for me? So I ask her what makes her think we'd be a good match. She says that she's about my age, she's pretty, has an hourglass figure and she always seems to be less irritable when she's seeing someone. I point out that it may seem that way to her because she uses up all her nastiness on her mate and doesn't have as much left for the extended family. "Well", says she, "she's got breast implants".

I pause.

Two thoughts cross my mind:
The first is "How shallow do you think I am?
The second is "Am I that shallow?"

The truth is that I was. There was a time when that would have been enough. Twenty years ago, when the hormones were in control, it would have been plenty. But not anymore. Not by a long shot.

So I politely decline her invitation to mellow out her sister in law.

But I did ask to see a picture. I mean, hey, the chick does have implants after all. Might as well have a look.

Cell phone

2005-08-19T14:04:00.000-07:00

I recently caved to societal pressure and purchased a cell phone. I had resisted for a very long time. I just couldn't think why I would need one. But people were always telling me how great they were and how they don't know how they ever managed to get by without one. So in April I bought one. I was going to be driving to Vegas alone. I thought that if I ever might need a cell phone it'd be in the middle of the desert with a broken down rental car.

Much to my disappointment the rental car ran like a dream and I was not able to utilize my new emergency capability. I used the phone twice on the trip to help meet up with people, but that's it. I haven't used it since. But I carry it around in my pocket every day. I have found a use for it though. It has a blackjack game and a tetris knockoff loaded. These make passable time killers during my, shall we say, daily constitutional. I don't know how I ever managed to get by without one.

Rocky mountain breakdown

2005-08-16T22:23:00.000-07:00

When I was in my mid teens I was really into comedy albums. Robin Williams, George Carlin, Cheech and Chong, etc... My favorite was Steve Martin. I still remember most of the bits and I always try to be obsequious, purple and clairvoyant, per his instructions. The best part, oddly, was the banjo playing. Probably because you just don't expect it. He was pretty good. I was so inspired I convinced my parents to buy me a banjo.

I'm not sure why I thought I'd be able to play a banjo. I was in the Fife and Drum corps and so impressed them with my natural ability that I was given the honor of helping to carry the banner at the front of the marches. Since this ensured I would not attempt to play an instrument everyone agreed it was for the best. I had also attempted to learn the clarinet in elementary school. At the height of my prowess I was able to emit a high pitched warble that set the dogs in three neighboring counties to howling. I did not pursue the clarinet any further.

But hey, a banjo is not a clarinet. There's no stupid reed to worry about and you don't have to constantly drain the spit out of a banjo. Also, as everybody knows, a banjo is a serious chick magnet. I could see myself at parties, you know, things'd get boring and out comes the banjo to save the day. (I hadn't actually been to many parties). So I've got my banjo and I start taking lessons. We can't find a banjo instructor so we have to settle for a guitar instructor who figured it couldn't be all that different. I get about 3 or four lessons and the guy realizes that I have a serious problem. It turns out I can't hold a beat. I've got no rhythm, or, as he so eloquently put it "You're the whitest boy I ever seen". Well, I was not gonna argue with him as I had already realized that fact. Looking back on it, I'm glad I didn't learn to play. I don't think I would have liked to experience the results of pulling out a banjo at some of the parties I've been to since.

I surrender already, get me out of this damned toilet

2005-08-12T12:54:00.000-07:00

Following is the story of the only gunbattle in which I have been involved:

Autumn 1985. A small state college on Maryland's eastern shore.

My sociology professor, a sheriff's reserve officer, asks for volunteers for a police training exercise. The SWAT teams from a number of different departments are putting together a mock hostage scenario and need volunteers to play the hostages as well as the bank robbers/hostage takers. Well, this sounds pretty good to me, so I'm in, along with 11 of my fellow students.

The following weekend, we are taken to an abandoned farmhouse in a thickly forested area. In addition to the main house there are several outbuildings and a dry swimming pool. We gather in front of the farmhouse for our instructions.

The setup is this: We have robbed a bank and taken four people hostage. We have fled to this farmhouse in an attempt to elude capture. Our group is split into bad guys and hostages. I consider myself lucky to be designated a bad guy since the next thing they tell us is that we are going to be using real .38 revolvers and 12 gauge shotguns. I get a shotgun and am very pleased. They show us how the things work and we each get two practice shots. (Which is handy since I'd never touched a gun before). Of course, the guns are loaded with blanks but it's still pretty damn cool. So we take our practice shots and scout out the house and outbuildings. Now we're ready.

There are 8 bad guys and 4 hostages. At the start of the exercise there are to be 4 bad guys and 4 hostages in the main house. The other four bad guys are supposed to start in the outbuildings or the pool area. Once we start we may move freely. (Keeping in mind that there are SWAT sharpshooters involved). There are also 10 "referees" whose instructions are to be followed by all parties. The refs are clearly marked by reflective orange vests and the hostages by large H's made of reflective tape on their shirts. The object for the cops is to rescue the hostages as quickly as possible without getting any of them killed.

The bad guys decide that the best tactic is to have everyone come into the main house, figuring that there's (relative) safety in numbers. So we take our positions and await the whistle which will start the exercise. I am in the pool area and I see that there is a small bath house nearby. It's a cinderblock construct about 10' by 12'. There's a toilet and a shower stall and two small windows set high on the wall. The water is off. I know that the water is off because I went in to check. Bad move. The door swings shut once I let it go and the it turns out the doorknob is missing from the inside. Just as I am realizing what has just happened the whistle blows.

The plan is for the bad guys outside the house to run immediately inside. We hoped the cops would not be set up quickly enough to pick us off in the open. Except I'm trapped in the crapper. Quickly assessing the situation I come to one inescapable conclusion: I'm screwed. I figure my only option is to sit tight and hope that the cops don't notice that I'm still outside the house. This hope was soon dashed, however, when my accomplices in the house start calling out for me to come in. OK, so now the cops know I'm out here but at least they still don't know where. I don't answer the calls and they soon stop. And the waiting began.

Unknown to us the cops are having a horrible time coordinating their assault. Several groups have gotten lost in the woods. And some of the communication equipment malfunctioning. This drill is supposed to go for about 3 hours. It took them that long just to get into position. All this time I am sitting in the pool house, trying to be very quiet and listening for any movement in the surrounding woods. (It's not as entertaining as it sounds). After a very long and uncomfortable time I finally hear some movement amongst the nearby trees. Suddenly I hear someone running toward the back and hear a thud and muffle grunt as a cop flattens himself against the wall. I hold my shotgun tighter, ready to go down fighting. I hear the cop whistle and two more rush up to join him. I can hear them as they slide around the corner to the side of the pool house. They pause. They whisper but I can't make it out. Then I see a hand silhouetted in the window, checking to see if there's glass or a screen. There is neither and I consider blowing the cop's hand off with the shotgun. I don't do it though because the range is too close. Even though they are blanks it could still do some damage at that range. Also it has occurred to me that I am in a small enclosed space. Since I hate bleeding from the ears I decide that if I do have a chance to shoot my way out of here I'm just gonna scream "Bang, Bang", and hope for the best.

As it turned out I never fired a shot. The cops continued on to the main house without even trying the door. They had been ordered to storm the house. See, the cops had only been authorized for 4 hours of OT and they had used up so much time deploying all they could do was rush the house and hope for the best. So they rushed the house and killed all the hostage takers. They also killed all the hostages. They even killed all the referees, who were very angry about getting shot at when they were clearly wearing the bright orange vests. Yes, the cops killed everybody.

Except me. I was still in the can. Eventually someone remembered that I was out there somewhere and started poking around. They thought it was pretty damned funny when they found me and I had to agree. It was pretty funny, but I was alive and they were dead. So the way I figure it, I won.

Words to live by

2005-08-11T12:38:00.000-07:00

I recently discovered a German recording artist named Gunter who is appearently a superstar in the Fatherland. I have taken the liberty of translating one of his songs. I hope you find it as inpirational as I have:

"I do not like green eggs and ham like I her not SAM, I am I like it not here, or there I do not like her nowhere, which did not become I her not in a boat I, could not, with a goat does not like I eat it in the rain, which I do not like her on a course, I it not in a box likes, I her with a fox does not eat I do not like it in a house, which did not become I, could not, with a mouse like I not green eggs and ham like I her not SAM, I am Becomes green eggs and ham green eggs and ham do not like green eggs and ham."

Truer words were never gesprochen.

I'm practicing Ma, I'm practicing...

2005-08-10T21:22:00.000-07:00

Hey, a Tiger. This is a good sign. I spent a couple hours trying to upload some freakin' pictures of a bunny with random objects perched on it's head and couldn't get it done. Trial and error.

I'm not sure why I am opening this blog anyway. I don't believe I will be very good at it. I'm not good at coming up with topics, you see. I'm fine at participating in discussions on topics other peopel think up but when it comes to me having an idea of my own, forget it. But it's free and I have enjoyed posting on other peoples blogs so I don't have anything to loose. I might even get good at it. I just hope no one reads this.

Tiger

2005-08-10T20:59:00.000-07:00

experiment

2005-08-09T23:11:00.000-07:00

Testing, Testing...