Could Be Peaches

Digby

2012-01-15T22:20:00.000-06:00

I've seen a lot of three legged dogs in my life. I've also seen a couple cats who had three legs. But a parakeet with three legs, well, that's somewhat of a miracle. That bird, was called Digby. Digby had three legs, and I can tell you this: she can jump higher than all other parakeets. Seriously. She was an astounding leaper. She had a 12-inch vertical, which is impressive if most other birds are doing four to five inch verticals.

Now what good was it to have a great vertical when you could fly? Digby would often answer that question with, "Clearly, you're not a bird." What Digby meant by that is there were many times when a bird simply has to rest her wings, and hopping was the next best thing. Not to mention the weekly game of basketball at the Y, where flying was not permitted, along with pecking, and pooping on the court.

Digby though, had a dark side. Like literally, one side of her was light blue feathers and the other side was dark brown. It didn't exactly scream, "Take me to the prom!!" To go along with the third leg, it was no surprise that Digby took more than her fair share of shit.

Digby had another dark side, and that was she kept tabs on everyone who ever gave her shit. Obviously, she had never heard that whole "forgiveness is divine" nonsense. I blame her parents. So that Tuesday, which was always the worst of days, Digby had a record 35 people give her shit. The new fad was to call her "pogo-dick," because of her ability to leap and the whole third leg thing. But, she was a girl! That didn't even make any sense!

Thirty five people! Their names were as follows: Julie, Bob, Roberta, Thomas, Mohammad, Tisha, Don, Kristen, Mickey, Cheryl, Zack, Greg, Greg, Ashish, Anthony, Monica, Amanda, LaRinda, Michael, Jameel, Allison, Summer, Autumn, Maria, Yasmin Bleeth, Jose, Hose B, Ronald, Jim, Sarenavas, Henry, Sarah, Jessica, Parker, and Sheela. Dibgy went to a diverse school. But, they all came together beautifully, to make fun of Digby.

Luckily for Digby, she knew about the pigs blood they had hidden in a bucket above the stage on prom night. She also had taught herself telekinesis in her spare time by watching YouTube.

It came time to elect prom queen, and she had known all along that it was rigged. It was rigged in her favor, so she gracefully hopped up to the podium to select her award. Using telekinesis, she stopped the blood from falling on her head, and directed at Steven, the kid with the jacked-up teeth and the Superman cummerbun.

Oh boy did everyone hoot and holler and laugh at the ugly parakeet as he struggled. Digby kicked Steven in the ass with her extra leg, spilling him to the ground soaking in pigs blood and parakeet tears. The laughter went from a 7 to a 10. "Glad I'm not that loser," proclaimed Digby.

She became the most popular girl in school, and everyone loved her.

A Christmas Story

2011-12-24T13:27:00.000-06:00

So one Christmas Day, Reba McEntire and I were playingUno. I'm sitting on 3 Draw Fours and therest reds, so I feel pretty good about myself. Well wouldn't you know it, Rebagets completely hammered. “Eggnog and Captain Morgan, hold the Eggnog,” shekept saying. She passes out before I winthe game murmuring, “Take that, Germans. I won’t have none of that!” Rebamentioned to me during conversation she’s been having dreams where she’sCaptain America, taking on the Nazis.

"There goes myshot at telling everyone I beat THE Reba McEntire at Uno." I get up to watch TV to wait out her spell tofind that my favorite Rudolph Christmas Special is on TV.

Rudolph finds himself leading Santa’s sleigh, but I wonderwhat Rudolph was like 10 years from when he was first asked to guide the oldman’s sleigh. “I’m holding out for a better contract, old man,” says thearrogant, prima donna reindeer. Sometimesfame goes to one’s head. Then there’sthis whole controversy where goes on ESPN and has this whole special indicatinghe’s LEAVING North Pole for warmer climates and a chance to pull a sleigh wherehe can defer to other reindeer when it matters most.

Maybe Rudolph develops a coke problem. He starts pulling thesleigh way too hard too fast while Blitzen, who is 108 years old, wants to pacethings. “Gonna be hard to hit 4.3 billionhomes going at 7 MPH, Blitz. Why don’tyou take a nice vacation to Charlton Heston’s back yard? He could use a 38-pointer.”

As “Rudolph” ended, I imagined how cool it would be to haveRudolph’s head on my wall. Sure, you cancount the points on your deer, but does it have a red, GE smart bulb for itsnose? That’s like the Honus Wagner baseball card of deer. Then, plates breaking.

Reba had gotten up and decided it was polite to break everyplate in my house. I maintained a calmstate, and politely asked her what the flim-flam she was doing. “That’s not a knife…that’s a knife,” shemuttered as she pulled out here machete and spoke in her best Crocodile Dundeevoice. Luckily for me, I had gotten abook on karate for Christmas. When sheran at me with the knife screaming “Die Hitler!!” I returned Reba to therightful state of unconsciousness, and called the police. It’s not every Christmas you get to karatechop a country music star.

My first show

2011-12-19T18:35:00.001-06:00

This is a video from my first show. I'll get better.

Stand-up

2011-11-30T22:13:00.001-06:00

Hey friends. This post is just a journal entry of a thingy-thang. Anyway, I got up and did standup for the second day in a row.

My dream has been to do standup. Since I was like, 8. What is weird is I've not dreamed about being rich or famous from it, I just want to make people laugh. It's really all I want to do all the time.

I'm not very good at it currently. But I feel like I CAN be good. I feel like I have the potential. You know how Robin's super power was potential? I feel like that. You know Robin, Batman's friend? Yeah. I don't know who the Batman is to my Robin, but if I could pick, it'd be Ray Charles. Oh...he's dead? Ok. I'm sticking with Ray Charles. I'd probably get to drive the Batmobile, then.

Anyway, it was great getting up on stage. Here is the thing that I felt most strongly RIGHT when I had that rush of fear beforehand: "If I COMPLETELY bomb...if I completely suck, if I do my absolute worst job possible, if I hear crickets and I get rickets, it will STILL be better than all those times I didn't try."

Tonight I when I got off stage, I realized I wasn't afraid while on stage. I also have this regretful feeling that my fear, as hairy as it looks on the outside, is kind of a little bitch when you plow through it. Having been paralyzed by that fear for so long, to not attempt this huge dream I've had for so long, made me regret having that fear...it made me regret being intimidated by that fear. Now where did I put my "No Fear" t-shirt from 8th grade?

I guess what I'm trying to say is if you have this thingy-thang you really want to do, just go and do it. Don't let something as dumb as fear get in your dumb little way.

I've typed this after two open mics. I'm currently nothing compared to the comics I saw tonight, but I honestly don't give a shit. I tried to do the thing I've always wanted to do (since I was 8!!). Felt pretty damn good being the worst guy out there tonight, because I was better than all those who wimped out.

Drinking with the Drinkers

2011-10-18T21:19:00.000-05:00

I don't drink too much anymore. When I got out with my friends who drink a lot still, it ends up being super weird night for me. Trying to go out with people who start drinking and progressively get hammered is like going out drinking with someone who learns Swahili...really really quickly through the course of the night. In the begininig you understand them. Throughout the night, you pick up bits and pieces. They start talking to the other Swahilis in the bar, enjoying themselves. Then by the end of the night, everyone is speaking Swahilli and you don’t have a translator. You are pissed off because you are thinking they are planning a party behind your back, which is probably the case.

Funcakes

2011-10-12T20:13:00.001-05:00

Sexist Cardinal

2011-10-04T21:49:00.002-05:00

Jim, the one winged cardinal, knew her problem was she had a man's name, "Jim." The capper was she totally sounded like a dude. She also had a masculine chin. The beard didn't help either. One day, Jim was wallking, yeah walking, and out of a tree falls a cardinal anatomy book right on the page that showed, she WAS in fact a dude. Total mind blow. "Thank heavens, I no longer have a smaller brain and have unreasonable tendencies!" Turns out, Jim had been lied to about about a lot of things.

Just a little Fly Bug

2011-10-04T21:45:00.000-05:00

She was a little fly bug. A little one with lots of heart. If you had to measure her heart, it was 76% of her entire body. Her name, was Shelby. Named after a car her daddy bug loved (and ironically died in) in 1968. Shelby loved to sing, and the morning was her favorite time to do so. She'd sing in her little bug shower (yes, bugs shower, it's the clean thing to do), and she'd sing while she'd make her pancakes with vomit syrup (she's a fly bug, after all). Shelby knew her strength was NOT being tough. She didn't like confrontation in the least, but the way Billiam the Bee treated the bugs around the house just wasn't right. It just wasn't. So one day, Billiam has T-bone, the gnat who LOVED hip-hop, in a figure four leg lock. Shelby had had just enough. She took a salt crystal and shoved it in Billiam's eye. Oh boy did he screech, and it made him let go of T-bone. Billiam clamped over his eye and started pointing his big bizzy ol' stinger at Shelby. He said, "That was a BIG mistake, Shelby!" Then Shelby, knowing certain death was coming, began to sing with her little booming voice, full of heart, one word: "FIRE!" She had been taught to scream "Fire" in an emergency, because "HELP!" doesn't work these days. To her surprise, an army of 76 fly bugs came around the moldy cantaloupe and stood between her, and the mean, angry bee. The bee buzzed angrily, and flew off, where he was promptly eaten by ZooZoo, the family dog.

Damn Kids

2011-10-04T21:44:00.000-05:00

"I cannot begin to wonder what pistachio ice cream tastes like," she said. Julie was a large woman, 7'3'' tall, and at 300 pounds, she had a healthy BMI. She had done well in life, from getting kittens out of trees for little old men, to pulling those trees out by the root during Christmas season (brute strength is sometimes quicker than a saw). Most men found her an absolute stunner, but she wasn't interested. She liked one thing. One thing only. Ice cream. She had picked up a tub, you know, the kind you see at the ice cream parlor, and stared at the green nutty ice cream. It looked like a pint would in your or my hand. So, she bought the tub out of pure curiosity, and put it in a reusable bag (because she was one of the few who gave a damn out the environment thank-you-very-much). As she walked home, she rescued a 2 month old baby and its 7 brothers and sisters from a third story burning building, which was sort of old hat to her at this point. She was a super hero most days, without the cape. Man-of-steel she wasn't, though one day she did pop the top off a New York gangster like one might open a bottle of IBC root beer. In her defense, he had been trying to steel her purse. Aaaaaanyway, Julie gets home and realizes the damn ICE CREAM HAD MELTED WHEN SHE SAVED THOSE DAMN KIDS! Some days just suck, she thought.

True

2011-09-22T20:55:00.001-05:00

I have come to love those in control of truth. That Shakespearean truth. That sense, "I'm here for this." We cannot confront the world's issues. Her boots are too big. But we can shout "This is me!" and thump our chests into the Nothing and hope our brethren hear it. When they do, we both will know good.

Epiphany

2011-08-26T00:05:00.001-05:00

There once was a carnation instant breakfast packet. The carnation instant breakfast packet was sad because his Yosemite Sam slippers couldn't sing. He had purchased them with that intention, and now, disappointment had set in. His great epiphany came while he was sitting on the toilet contemplating breakfast. He thought, "Wait, no purchase can truly make me happy anyway." He lived happier after that, even if he still suffered from the occasional Snicker bar impulse buy at checkout.

Carpe

2011-08-17T20:49:00.001-05:00

There once was a jackrabbit who sang nothing but Phil Collins songs. He drank Pina Coladas on Wednesdays while wearing a 10 gallon hat. He talked often of his dream: making a submarine ship out of recycled tambourines. To one day dive with the fishes, in style no less, would be just peaches and salsa. "To live one's dream," he said, "was to be successful."

Corn Muffin

2011-08-09T21:05:00.001-05:00

My Easter Sunday

2011-05-04T08:36:00.000-05:00

We went over to my pal Mickey’s house. Mickey and family made us brunch. Neat.

Mickey has a dog called Lilly. She’s adorable. She’s also in heat! Saying “a dog is in heat” is a nice way of broadcasting to the male dogs in an 8 mile radius to “give me babies now. Lots and lots of babies….or try your damnedest to do so.” How exciting, right? For a time, Lilly wore a diaper because her bidness wanted babies and stuff was coming out of places.

Who’s hungry?!

Mickey has a brother-in-law, John, who has a couple dogs. One of said dogs is called Eddie. Eddie is a male dog.

Queue “Ghost” pottery scene music. Yeah, I know name of the song, but “’Ghost’ pottery scene music” sounds so much better, doesn’t it? I like the visual of two dogs reenacting that scene too. You see two paws on the clay…then two more paws….seriously, Disney couldn’t think this shit up.

So, we are having Easter brunch on what seems like a glorious day. We’re eating outside, and Mr. Sunshine and his two scoops have pulled up a seat.

Mickey and his wife have their immediate family over, and there is a group of us sitting at the table eating our quiche. Quiche. Oh my gosh quiche. Who knew eggs and spinach and peppers and onions could get along so well together? I know now, and knowing about quiche makes me a grown-up. Goodbye overalls, I’m a man now.

Well, you have your setting. Outside. Family. Quiche.

Then Eddie, who has been fixed, pulls up to Lilly like we pull up a rocking chair to get closer to the fireplace. Now, I know dogs have different brains than humans. But we cannot underestimate pain. Eddie HAS to remember getting fixed, right? Surely he knows he’s shooting blanks, right?

No. No is the answer.

Over the next hour at brunch, Eddie proceeds to hump Lilly like the world will end if he doesn’t. Maybe he knew something we didn’t. Maybe he was in fact saving the world. He’s like the “Men in Black” of dogs. Just saving the world one humped bitch at a time, without the humans really knowing what he’s up to. I’m allowed to say ‘bitch’ here. I’m a grown-up, remember?

The over/under on how many times we stopped Eddie humping Lilly is 40. In an hour. 40 times. [Eddie humps] “No Eddie!” [continued conversation] [someone notices Eddie humping] “No Eddie!” Repeat.

Eddie must do crunches every night before he goes to sleep. My abs hurt just watching the poor fella and his exercise of futility. I bet he did 500 crunches before the day was over. Can dogs get hernia surgery?

We are to blame really. Why not separate the dogs? Well, we were having quiche, that’s why. Look, if you’re not going to pay attention to the story, I don’t know why I’m even telling it.

Ever walk into a house where someone is making double fudge brownies? They JUST put them out on the table, and THEN THEY have the AUDACITY to tell you not to eat them? You end up with a burnt roof of your mouth and brownie all over your white overa—jeans. All over your white jeans. Someone might catch you in the act, but you keep trying, right? Eddie understood the word ‘no,’ but it sure as hell didn’t register. It was like he was sleepwalking. I wonder if anyone has ever moonwalked while sleepwalking.

SIDE CONVERSATION: ("Hey look at that guy. He's moonwalking...wow, pretty good too."

"No, he's sleepwalking. He doesn't even know he's doing it...or that he's that frickin' good. Wow. look at that guy."

Sloonwalking. Or has that already taken for when you walk into a saloon. OH! What happens if you moonwalk, while sleepwalking, while walking into a saloon!?! I need a nap.)

Anyway, he was completely out of control.

The moral of the story is this: you can fix you animals all you want. But love will overcome.

Oh, yes, there's the cold

2011-02-21T21:27:00.003-06:00

I had a good run today, outside. In the cold. In the Winter, Chicago is a moody premenstrual iguana. It's just unnecessarily mean. Still, I can't fault a lion for being a lion, and so there there is only one person for me to blame: Me. Who runs on the lakefront with 20 degree winds in tights?

That begs the question: "You run in tights?" I do, sadly, run in tights in the winter. I'm not proud of this fact, but I waved bye bye to the cool gene a long time ago. Oh my gosh my bidness parts near froze off. Here is an idea. When the windchill hits the single digits, consider something that breaks the wind a little. You know. We should all insulate our vitals when running in the bitter cold.

Lesson number 872 learned, the difficult way.

Still. Oh my gosh. It was swell getting out into the air and running again. The treadmill and I had grown too close.

Death and a Brownie

2011-02-21T21:20:00.001-06:00

I’d like to talk about Death for a minute. I’m going dark, man. Deep. Dark. Death. I’m talking 86% Cocoa. I’m on a plane, and I thought that I haven’t addressed the inevitable Mr. Darkdeed Himself. Mockery isn’t my only intention, because in the end we’ll all be Death’s brittle little potato bug.

Death is scary because we are afraid we’ll be exposed for what we really represent. Maybe when we die we have this instance where we stand at attention in the face of a mirror, and challenged to keep looking like an old school staring contest. In the mirror we see our full selves. We see what we’ve done. Who we’ve hurt. What remorse we’ve felt. What have we done in the grand scheme of things worth applauding, and what really meant nothing at all. Sometimes I think our lives are a series of failures, and we have an occasional victory. Victory is a strange word, because means the overcoming of something. In this case, it should mean one’s forgetting of oneself.

I think about what it might be to die unexpectedly, like most of us. Remember when we were kids and we heard the doorbell? We were SO pumped to go to the door to see what’s the happs. We aren’t sure who it is, but we are excited. Death is us going to answer the doorbell, and instead of something neat, we get a lit bag o’ poo.

Like, we don’t know what is on the other side of the door. What if it’s one of our old friends showing up to play Yahtzee? What if it’s the reincarnated Ed McMahan with a giant check chock full of zeros who’ve brought friends? Oh my gosh, what if it’s the girl scout cookies we ordered? We run to the door thinking “It’s the Thin Mints! It’s the Thin Mints!” and instead it’s Death and all her glorious pwnage.

Because death is like that ultimate last loss to humility, right? It’s our life’s last moment of “Guess what, you lose.” It’s that one last big failure. Like, it’s a big one too, because I pretty much do it without thinking right now. I just live. I breath and stuff, and I totally rule at it. Oh my God I love Oxygen. It tastes like chocolate to my lungs. I totally have no problem with it. But then one day we forget how to breathe, and it’s sad.

Death is weird because it’s so impersonal. You know. It’s like, it just comes and kills you. You don’t get to try to talk it out of its decision. It’s a very one way conversation that’s quite rude. Like you could be just trying to be polite. Death is down in the dumps, always sad, and you are like, “Hey Death, why don’t we hang out a while. Come over for some tea sometime.” Then Death just shows up and is like, “Hey, I want your lungs to stop their relationship with air.”

Sometimes I wonder if Death has a name that’s sorta swell. Maybe He’s like the youtube “Charlie bit me” kid. His name is like Little Timmy-Tommy.

What if when we die, Death shows up as an adorable little puppy dog that only we can see? And we know it’s death. Death is Scrappy the Puppy Dog. We are sitting in our little hospital bed, struggling to breath…and then we wake to the feel of a little dog licking our face and we first think, “Oh my gosh, I’m a child again.” Then Scrappy pours you a really strong cup of Sleepy Time Tea.

Maybe Death comes as no surprise to people… you know, maybe we know it’s there. Scrappy is just sitting in the corner, resting. Not really looking at you. But he’s there, and you know it. He’s adorable…and deadly.

The truth is we spend out lives not really thinking about it. We all really know it’s going to happen eventually. We know the party must come to an end. Most of us live unhappy lives with no sense of passion. We just go through the motions because our motivation is fear based. We don’t go out thinking, “I’m going to do what I really want to do.” We go out thinking, I’m going to do what I have to do to get by. No where in that thought process is anything about anyone else.

That’s why I think we need to celebrate it. When I die, I’m buying the 3 people at my funeral a keg. I’m going to make them sit through my favorite movie (which will be a home made movie of me making fart noises for an hour and thirty six minutes). Everyone is getting half cooked brownies with ice cream. Then everyone will be asked what they really love to do, and I’ll urge them to do it.

Whew. Ok. That’s enough about death. I’m on the plane and my diaper is just about full….although my comfort level as gone up slightly. Who wants a candy bar? I sure want one.

Pearl Harbor

2011-02-04T10:22:00.001-06:00

We went to Pearl Harbor today. Pearl. Fucking. Harbor. So much history. I think

about it and realize it’s been a long ass time since I’ve thought about what happened

there. I can’t fully understand, because I wasn’t around in 1941.

We walked around, went on a submarine. We looked at how all the amazing

technology even back then came together in sweet tasting destruction hoagie. What

a surreal experience.

We get on this sub and we are standing right where they loaded a large phallic

cylinders of anti-smile which would soon be fired at other people. Then we saw

where the seamen slept, and ate. We looked at the deck and the guns. It made me

realize how much of a pussy I really am. “Really? I thought, “there is no way I’d be

comfortable in that cot…oh yeah, and the whole having bombs shot at me…that part

too.”

Seriously, this huge vessel, all these parts moving together to move under the

surface of the ocean to kill another vessel, probably similar to it, full of people who

believe in an idea contrary to the beliefs of the people in this vessel.

Maybe not beliefs. Okay. Maybe retaliation. Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. We enter

into the war. If you look at history, there wasn’t any other war in our history where

the American people were more in favor of being in a war than WWII. We had to be

there. That Hitler guy and all his mighty evilness.

We then went in to the museum. I’m looking around and they’ve plastered these

pictures of propaganda from the war, a journal of a soldier, and the breakdown of

a missile. This stuff fascinates me, but not as much as the concept of how we, as

people, are fascinated with how these weapons work. We are fascinated with war.

We love history channels full of battles, and how one color of people conquered

another color of people. That’s what war is. A battle over different stripes of the

rainbow.

Pearl Harbor is a memorial, to honor the fallen men. I respect that. I am so very

grateful to have the freedoms I do. Let’s face it. I can type this jibber jabber. I can

worship as I please, or choose not to do so at all. That’s important to me. If we lose

that war, my life is obviously much different.

Still, I felt really strange standing there as they sold hot dogs and ice cream to people

who visited. Something about that was sick to me. I thought there should have been

a sign there that said,

“Get on your knees and thank whatever God you worship that we won this

war, and that these people gave their lives to protect your freedom that

you’ve done nothing to earn.”

I felt like the kid in the Sixth Sense, where I could see dead people. I could see these

people standing around one minute and getting bombed the next. I was in 1941, my

brain’s version. I couldn’t think about ice cream (for the first time of my life). I could

only think about people dying here. A lot of people dying. I had a heavy heart the

whole time I was there. I didn’t expect that. I’m not sure why I expected rainbows

and sunshine.

I expected to be overwhelmed with fascination about submarines and all this “cool”

war (which is such an oxymoron) stuff. I was angry with myself to expect

fascination.

Instead, I was sickened with humanity. I realize I’m sort of this hippie crybaby.

Being around this stuff made me wish we listened to John Lennon and imagined

there were no country or religion…the two things I’m honored to have so very much

in the US, for the sake of stopping all the killing.

It made me question why we kill each other. Why we are right and they are wrong.

Why I have money and that guy doesn’t. I also believe in the tooth fairy. I have this

very naïve instinct that asks, “Why can’t we all just get along?” Rodney was right.

We’ll always want to kill each other. We’ll always have a noble cause.

We have this problem where we all think we know best. Or, our God knows best.

The guys there in Pearl Harbor probably had none of those thoughts. One minute

you are eating Italian Ice, the next minute you are trying to survive. They could have

been 18 year old kids who hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. Here’s a bomb for your

front pocket.

Often in our upbringing we are taught to fight for what we believe. It’s why the

whole American public was so adamant about supporting that war. We need

a cause. Men have always been willing to die for what they believe. I have a

tremendous respect for that. I just wonder, what is causing them to take a stance in

the first place?

I wish there wasn’t a reason for anyone to believe in the (any) war (we know our

government will give us a reason if there isn’t one readily available, anyway). I wish

that people had faith in each other. Because that war started with seeds watered by

a whole lot of animosity towards people who were being themselves.

Because well, the first thing I thought on 911 was, who the fuck do I have to shoot?

The second thing I thought was, “May we, as people, be forgiven for what we’ve

collectively done to each other.”

Cold Water/Hot Water baths

2011-01-15T15:11:00.002-06:00

I've noticed some of my friends take cold water baths after they run. Pros. They love the ice bath after a nice run. They say, "It helps me recover. It helps me flush waste products from my muscles, and reduce DOMS (delay-onset muscle soreness)."

I was watching a video on Runnersworld.com about Dathan Ritzenhein jumping into a Cryosauna. Yep. a CRY-O-SAUNA. It uses liquid nitrogen (um, as a gas) to cool the muscles. Ritzenhien's coach, Alberto Salazar, also jumps in and notes how his athletes maintain quicker healing periods and more energy after jumping into the sauna.

There is something really warped to me about all of this madness, and I'm a marathoner. There is something in all of this ice bath stuff that doesn't make total sense to me.

First, I'm obviously not a doctor. I'm not even a track coach. I've just done a little research and a lot of running. I couldn't find research indicating ice baths really help recovery.

In one article I found here, the author indicates: "They found that the athletes who used the ice baths reported no difference in physical pain measurements such as swelling or tenderness. The athletes did, however, report more leg pain the following day, when going from a sitting to a standing position than those who had the tepid water bath treatment."

Interesting.

I've taken ice baths, and idea is the ice bath temperature helps in the healing process. Do they though? Ice is going to reduce the swelling in the area. Running causes microtrauma to the muscles resulting in small tears. These small tears cause both muscle hypertrophy (after healing) and DOMS.

Ice is going to reduce blood flow. My logical problem with all of this is this: Don't we want more blood flow to our muscles after a hard workout? One would think our muscles need more glycogen, protein, nutrients, etc after a hard work out. Would not an ice bath slow that process down assuming there is less blow flow to the general area?

The strange part is I've decided to take a hot bath after running, and recognized I was pretty sore the next day. The one thing I didn't note however, is how did I feel 48 to 72 hours later? Something tells me sports coaches and doctors have already determined a hot bath after intense workout is probably also not a good idea.

So what then? The study I pointed to earlier does indicate cold baths over ice baths are a better idea. It also says hot baths may decrease recovery time.

The only idea I have is to ensure we are properly hydrated and we've consumed the proper amounts of carbs (for replenishment purposes) and protein (to aid in muscle hypertrophy). A bath the doesn't shockingly freeze the muscles but adequately cools the muscles and allows blood flow would be ideal.

Any ideas?

Ride

2010-08-20T20:50:00.001-05:00

The only thing I can see is that heavy door close. I choose to be afraid; I’ve made my bed, it’s time to cry in it. I saw the wave from 6 miles away. Today it tosses me with ease and disease to an unknown spot. Plotting, Life tells me I’m to go anywhere but here. Fear is my everlasting companion, a fifth limb constantly applying the front brake. If I could only find something to let go of or something to hold on to.

I met God, I think

2010-07-11T21:08:00.001-05:00

I was running in the 85 degree humid Chicago weather. The sun was working on hiding my pupils. I’m sweating like an angry water slide. I just want to get through this 8 miler.

I do an out and back, 4 out, 4 back. On my way ‘out,’ an ancient lady stops me with a creaky, crazy voice. “Hey, Mister!” I loved that she called me ‘mister.” I always feel as if I don’t deserve it.

“Hey Mister, do you see that puddle!!?” everything had an exclamation point. It was a puddle just to the right of me. It had a 5 foot radius. “That puddle is way too close to that electrical box.” She pointed at a box 25 feet away. “No wonder we lose power all the time. That electric box is too close to the puddles.”

My first thought was, “It rains all the time, who cares about the vicinity of the puddle?” My second thought was, “Damn it, this is an important tempo run. I need to get moving.” I look down at my watch, annoyed.

She follows up, “You should tell the city.”

“I’ll call them as soon as I get home.” I say. I wondered if she remembered what glaciers were like as I looked past her at the lake, still annoyed.

“The puddles are too close to the electric box!!”

“I promise I will call them when I get home. Have a nice day,” trying to sound more cheerful than I was. I really want to continue on my run. I’m already cranky, it’s hot, and I want to get it done. Now I have Great Aunt Chatty Kathleen complaining to me a puddle that did not have the ability to flow up hill towards a secure generator. I start up running and in the background I hear, “Miiiiiister!” directed to some other poor soul.

Sometimes I think about that old Joan Osbourne song, “One of Us.” In the video she says, “What if God was one of us, just a slob like one of us. Just a stranger on the bus, trying to make his way home.” This song literally plays in my head immediately following a strange encounter with someone. My next thought, “Oh dear, was she God?”

What if we encounter God, say, 3 times in our life? God literally personifies and tests us. I sure blew that one. I then hope maybe God is that homeless guy I fed that one time, or that guy I bought those cookies for at work. I wonder if those 3 chances are chosen randomly, or if they are in times when we can most likely blow it. Maybe those times are when we are already leaning toward annoyed, or angry, or evil, and it’s a test to choose ‘good’. God, I hope not.

Just, Smile.

2010-07-11T20:06:00.000-05:00

It is just a smile.
It’s not the window to the soul
A bowl of shiny Chiclets.
Has a wonderful magnitude.
It’s just a smile.
We hide our face laces
When we can show we are in this together.
Tether ball and slip and slide
Wait! I wanna go on THAT ride.
I’m with you, so come with me.
It’s not just a smile.

Victim

2010-06-07T22:00:00.000-05:00

Your eloquence sparks my dissonance
Remove that pretty smile
And that phony heart’s style
Take a minute to breath truth;
It’ll earn you a trip to the pie booth.
Life’s sweet when you admit,
Your round peg won’t fit
Into that ugly square skit
Feel through the silence,
Down fades the inner violence
Are you done being the victim?
Is it really all grim?
It’s noble to fight the Monster straight
Instead of sulking right out the gate

Satly Morning Run 1 - Cincinnati Ohio

2010-05-06T21:15:00.002-05:00

I signed up for a half marathon and ran it this last weekend. I headed to Cincinnati. Ahhh. The birthplace of racism. Sometimes when I go back to Cincinnati I wonder if a race riot will break out or I’ll see Hitler eating a cheese Coney at the local Skyline. (That’s not to say that only racist Nazis like chili, cheese, and spaghetti).

Anyway, some college friends and I decided a while back it might be a ‘good’ idea to run a half marathon or marathon in the same spot on the same day so that we might come together from separate parts of the country and hang out.

We’ve gone from drinking Natty at 7 in the morning to running marathons in the "Natti" at 7 in the morning. Running isn’t as fun. I promise.

Day before the race: We met up at Chris’s Mom’s house. She made us all din din, which consisted of pasta, Gatorade, beer, wine, salad, bread, and peanut butter cookies that were so good, they could probably cure the common cold. Or Cancer. Or a just that frown of yours. Smile. It’s Thursday.

Chris allowed me to stay at his Mom’s house that night, so that we could head over to the race easier in the morning. There were also three canines staying at the house with us. They had seen something outside that required their immediate and persistent attention throughout the night. By the sound of it, it was the Rapture, or Jesus playing a drum solo, or Bill Pullman giving his Independence Day speech on loop. As my eyes closed, they howled.

3:30 AM – The day of the race – I wake up my alarm clock, it had overslept. Lovely. I’m up. No other runner is, however. Chris’s Mom is already downstairs, looking out the window. She was up what had to be most of the night to try and calm the dogs so the runners in the house could sleep. Did I mention this woman is sweeter than your Grandma bathing in a tub of sugar cubes?

4:00 AM – I have a coffee and chat with Mrs. Howard. It was a good conversation as it kept my mind off the race. I find I race better the less I worry about the run. I have a Clif bar, a banana, and a coffee. “This combo better make me poop,” I thought. It's strange. On race day, the first thing I think about is, "I better poop."

4:30 AM – I can’t poop, and we are leaving very soon. Not good. Colleen, Chris’s sister who will drive us to the race, is running late.

We end up getting out of the house, but we are cutting it too close. We get to the race in the pouring rain about 15 minutes before start. Wonderful. Mother Nature tugs on my bowels. I don't know what she was doing in my bowels, but I had to find somewhere, fast, or else the bushes in front of Paul Brown Stadium were getting some added fertilizer. I pictured pooping on the ground in front of thousands. Ah. Dream big.

Colleen realizes, “oh shit, I left my Gu’s in the car,” and she’s running the full marathon. I give her the two I have, and Chris gives her another. She PR’d. I kind of attribute it to the Gu that I gave her. There’s no way she did that by herself.

We all ran a little differently. I ran with my friend Brian, who has the coolest job of working for Runner’s World. He had just run Boston last week. He trained for Boston, I didn’t train at all. I was happy we crossed the finish line together, although I think he ran a little slower for me. It didn’t feel slower…

My friend Matt ran his first marathon and sort of bonked halfway through the race, but finished. He looked like I did after my first one. No matter how many “attaboy’s” he got, it didn’t seem to matter. He expected better. You kind of teeter totter between, “I just finished my first marathon!” and “How come I didn’t run as well as I hoped?” Usually that mild disappointment turns into a nice little chip on one’s shoulder.

My friend Chris ran another marathon. He ran it easily. Dude collects marathons medals, like your granny smith collected apples. He has lost over 50 pounds since he started running in the last couple years. That is what you call a badass. He puts rocks in his mouth and chews them just to hear the Earth cry. It’s like 26 miles doesn’t even faze him.

Corey and Jason ran the half together, and it looked as though they had no problem. This was Jason’s first half marathon. I had the pleasure of seeing his first 5k last summer, and now I got to see his first half. One of the coolest things is being around people who are running it for the first time. They are the most excited people on the course.

We also were put a little video, shown here.

Just A Run

2010-04-20T20:45:00.001-05:00

Bluebird out for a stop, to ease that churning mind. Her heart says go but her brain just wants a sip of coke and a hammock. Unsure if motivation is her friend or folly. She puts 40 hours in 24, and asks for more. She’s quiet but it’s because her brain is talking her ear off. Her mood is apparent; she writes it in beautiful marker on her face. I’m honored to be along for the ride.

And now, she is out to clean the slate, just for a tick. To let go of her daily woes, she hopes her legs will carry her across that worrisome pond. Feet lightly tapping and happy to move at a friendly pace. In return, they only ask for air and a tickling bug.

Old Friend

2010-04-20T20:40:00.000-05:00

When you’re here the Sun tries a little harder
Mr. Bumble cloud makes himself scarce
Laughs carry a little further as you catapult their echos
My teeth are whiter, my mood more eager
And a laugh’s systems are go.
Even Schmo’s jokes on the elevators make me hate him less
The trees no longer slouch as if someone took a textbook or two out of their knapsack
And that breeze is welcomed along with that golden silence
The volume dims on my angst
And I feel a hum of good
Even that smell of hope, of excitement
That final nudge telling us it’s time to play in the sand.
I’m glad you’re hear again, friend.

I’m excited for Summer.

Grimaced Lip

2010-03-04T19:31:00.001-06:00

Hesitation is constantly on my chin, weighing my head to the floor. Show myself the door? Or is there time to explore? Hesitation gestates in me, for two or three. It controls me to a definite degree. Pushing that boulder up an endless hill is a tough pill to choke on. That poke on my shoulder, that nudge, is easy to ignore when indecision won’t budge. Just let go. Ease the grip. Maybe quit thinking, diminish the grimaced lip. Sip from faith and hope. Nope. Hesitation is the true definition of failure, without an attempt at all.

Gorilla Feet

2010-03-01T19:15:00.004-06:00

I'm super excited. I just ordered some Gorilla Feet. They just look like gorilla feet. I ordered the Vibram Five Fingers KSOs. I read a book called Born to Run, which encouraged me to change my running form, and forget all I've learned about running. So I did.

Over the past few weeks, I've changed my stride from a heel strike to a forefoot strike. Now, the transformation has only begun, but it's easier said than done (I rhyme without meaning to rhyme...some of us are just naturally poetic). I'm slower than I was before, but my form is much better. I feel like I took a step back to take two forward.

Anyway, I'm pretty jazzed. The shoes I bought are what is known as minimalist running wear. They are basically a sole of a shoe. As it turns out, our human foot evolved just fine. We don't need cushy cadillacy shoes to absorb shock. At least, that's the theory behind the book and the shoe.

When I tried finding the show at shoe stores in Chicago, they were sold out. Let me rephrase... all of the stores in Chicago that carry the shoe, were sold out of the shoe. And in Evanston. And in Highland Park. If they had stock, I'd buy it. Ya dig? As it turns out, this barefoot running with shoes (ahhhhh oxymorons make me crave grandmas wedding soup) is a bit of a faddy trendy thingy. It's basically running as if your feet were bare, with just a little bit on bottom to protect them from the sharp stuff.

I've always run around thinking what everyone has told me, "the human body is not designed to run far." Then I read this book, which shoots that whole theory to sparkling pewwwwp. It made me happy, and it made me want to run barefoot over mountains for hundreds of miles (if you read the book you know what I'm talking about).

Breath

2010-01-14T23:32:00.001-06:00

It’s hard to breath
While I’m standing on my chest.
Where is joy
When it’s a hidden pest

Push my pencil, type my email
Tomorrow, I’ll duplicate.
What a great day
What a fine fate.

Selfish fish in a school of one
Surrounded by air,
Compressing me in
How is that fair?

Tick and then tock
Time, elusively wilts
I’ll watch my watch
My bones begin to tilt.

Here’s some angle.
Most have it grim
But their cracked bulb,
Isn’t so dim.

My year of running in 2009

2010-01-03T19:55:00.001-06:00

I would like to take a minute and reflect on my year of running in 2009. I thought I had a good year of running. I ran over 730 miles last year. That’s a lot of miles. That’s a lot of thinking and a lot of stress dropped off.

I’m one of those people who is constantly worried about something. I recently realized that I’m afraid of many, many things. Here are some of them: cancer, losing loved ones, losing my job, breaking my leg, becoming judgmental, snakes, scorpions, fish larger than me, scuba diving, sky diving, people with guns, politicians, lawyers, robbers, 8th graders (they’re like raptors), the Latin Kings, combination locks (I have a reoccurring dream I’m backing High School and I can’t remember the combination to my gym locker.), rats, mice, making anyone in the world angry, telling someone ‘no,’ loathing myself and cauliflower.

I’ve recently acquired and kept a sinus infection for about 8 weeks. My running has been very sporadic. I consider myself sometimes happy, sometimes a mildly depressed person…when I’m running. When I’m not running, I loathe myself.

Still, I marvel at way my ego can expand and contract. I am the worst at taking a compliment, and I feel as though I’m somewhat terrible at nearly everything I attempt. I’m Neville Longbottom in reality. Running makes me feel, “well, at least I’m not completely worthless.” Running allows me to turn down my self-hate volume for just a minute and forces me to acknowledge that hey, I’m not too bad at this one thing.

Perhaps it’s sad my ego needs running to make me feel useful. It makes me beg the question, why do I have to be good at anything to feel like a normal human? It could be a low self image, but maybe it’s one’s innate necessity to contribute or feel useful in some way.

So, running makes me feel useful. It’s something I can control. In the world I live in, I recognize there are few things I can control (and believe me, I think on them with regularity). Anyway, I’m grateful for the ability to run.

Here is the credit I am giving myself for 2009:
• My longest month: August – 134 miles.
• I set a personal record in the Marathon – 3:11:58, missing Boston by 1 minute, but a personal record by 8 minutes, and a 7:19 minute/mile pace.
• I set a personal record in the 5K – 18:33 – 5:59 minute mile pace. I was proud to get under the 6 minute mile mark for 3 miles. I never thought I had that in me.
• I stayed healthy – Every year I’ve been running, I have hurt myself, except this year. I went with a new running philosophy: Rest is good. Who would have thought? Even with my marathon training, I ran far less than my previous training programs, and ran 8 minutes better.
• I ran 8.5 miles in 56 minutes. That’s moving.
• I failed miserably in the Columbus marathon. I was able to overcome it and run a PR a few weeks later in Indianapolis.
• I helped my sister run her first 5 mile race. I wrote her a training program and she got through it. I think I’m most proud of this bullet point.
• I ran a very hard fought race in February where I kept up with runners faster than me.

Cold Shoulder

2010-01-03T19:15:00.000-06:00

Cold is no one’s friend
When carried on one’s shoulder.
It’s dark out there but bitter in here.
Fear grips hold
He might hang around until I’m old.
Until I’m too dusty to care.
Love slumbers somewhere hidden in the fold.
Be positive, right?
After the dark the sun is always bright.
But it’s gonna be a long night.

Weather

2009-12-07T20:51:00.001-06:00

Dark angry clouds, puffed and ready for purge,
Spitting lightening like 12 steaming sprinklers.
Wind whistling an unwelcoming song
Air chokes to my finer side.
Sat on by a fat man with a Klondike.
Packaged in a blue room with no tea or Tecmo bowl
Stress rolled shoulders too tight to take it easy
My hands roll to balls too confined for happiness
And I wonder which way is up
Maybe I’ll try down.
This hiccup can’t be temporary or secondary
Nothing but a black screen at the show I paid to enter
The alarm clock and the forecast laugh in unison.
My stroll allows only a view of my shoelaces.

You sing me Bobby McGee
And smile twice or three
And everything is better than alright.
You’re an adrenaline shot,
A sparkler holding a caffeinated tea pot.
I’ll listen to you all night.
While you tell me about breakfast,
Or music or how bad the weather is outside,
Because honestly, I hadn’t noticed.

HTML code for Hip Hop AMA

2009-11-22T19:58:00.004-06:00

Near rhyme, diamonds, Bentley, abs, prostitute...errr dancer, abs (again), near rhyme (again), dancer (again), jazz hands.

Feel free to send my AMA to my home address, I don't have time to show up to that nonsense.

Sorry Hip hop, you deserve this.

26.2 Thoughs from the Indy Marathon

2009-11-08T22:12:00.004-06:00

26.2 things I thought during this weekend’s run:

1. Okay. Just stay calm. Run smart.
2. Breath. Don’t’ forget to breath. I want you breath correctly. Drink correctly. Hold off the cramps as long as possible. 2 cups, every stop. Breath. Today you run the smartest race of your life. Go.
3. Slow down. You are going too fast. Calm your ass down, right now.
4. Another one, too fast. This is going to catch up to you if you don’t stop running too fast.
5. Alright, that’s it. I’m forcing a walk break on myself. If I continue this pace, I’ll drop out again.
6. Neat. I like My My My’s new song. They really are some talented individuals.
7. I’m grateful to be here. Thank you God for letting me do this. Thank you for giving me another chance.
8. Okay, one hour down. My hip hurts a little. I have a cramp. Powerade is not tasty. I just need to water it down with water. I feel really full of liquid right now. Water Balloons.
9. I hope I can get some Skyline Chili after this. I probably won’t have the appetite. Breath. Go. Doing fine.
10. 10 down. I feel like Mr. T in the first fight of Rocky III. I’m so angry. If I saw Sly Stallone right now, I’d punch him. Go.
11. Should I feel this tired with only 11 miles in? Shit. Calm down. Go. Breath. Powerade is and always will be terrible. Breath. Nice, Technotric. I’ll Pump up the Jam, thank you.
12. Wind. Crapola. Yeah, I needed wind. Head winds make me want to trip someone short.
13. Halfway. I feel okay. I’m a bit fast on my time. Eck. Not good. I need to get better at my splits.
14. I’m happy I did this. If I forget later, thanks God, for this. Thanks for Sarah. Thanks for my friends. Thanks for Mickey driving me here. He better be at the finish line. I’ll kill him if he’s not there on time. Thanks for all my peoples who inspire me and encourage me. I’m grateful.
15. Man, Indianapolis is pretty. Mansions…wow, those are cool. Awesome trails! Downtown is so pretty. People cheering me on? These are some good looking people. Thank you for cheering me on. I didn’t acknowledge you, because I’m thinking about breathing, thank you. You guys are great.
16. Hills. Seriously. More wind? I’m too light. I feel like I’m going to blow over. I have gas. I’m glad this is outside. Next year I’m wearing a sail. Woah. Wheelchair Marathoner that’s a Military Vet. That’s one tough lady right there. Go get ‘em, ma’am.
17. Those last couple were slow. You need to pick it up. Go. I’m tired. Marathons should be 17 miles. That’s more than enough. Dancing with Myself. Billy Idol, you are way underrated. Breath. Go.
18. I don’t feel happy, but I feel ok. Gu, I love you. My hips hurt. I’m glad I decided to run with my Ipod. I miss my family. Big Macs. Cheesecake.
19. A downhill stretch. Good time for a pep talk. This for those who encouraged me. This is for Sarah. She is the best person I know. My hips hurt. Sarah, you are the best person I know. My friends. Thanks friends, for all the encouragement. Mom and Dad. I wouldn’t have started this running nonsense if it were not for Dad. Joey. Katie. Kylee. Thanks. Go. Move. Breath. Hip flexors are not happy.
20. I’m still here. I’m in pain. 6 miles. 6 more miles!? I guess, my legs are still moving. They had stopped at this point few weeks ago.
21. Shit, I taste salt on my face. Not good, but I’m strong right now. I’m strong right? Not really. I am. Not really. I am. Stay away cramps. Move legs. Wind. Great. Wind. Legs. Move. I’m not happy.
22. I hate everyone in the world. I don’t want Powerade. Water. Blue Powerade? Curse you Indianapolis. Gosh you people are ugly.
23. I might cry. 23 miles is obnoxious. Breath. Was that a cramp? Stay away. Go. Breath. My legs don’t like me right now. I don’t like them either, to be honest. This is what “to the pain” feels like in Princess Bride. Curse you, Wesly. I AM NOT PRINCE HUMPERDINK.
24. I want my Momma. Why did I want to do this? I’m an idiot. I’m giving up. No, not this time. I’m going to finish. Someone put me out of my misery. Too much training. Too much training. Shit. Was that a cramp?
25. My legs really don’t want to move. Ah, hello, ol’ friend. Leg craps. Change stride. Stop cramping. I hate my legs. Walk. Shit. No time. Go. Ouch. Go. Ouch. Breath. I hate the world. I hate oxygen. I hate all the elements. The whole periodic table can bite me. Do this. Goonies. It’s your time. Sarah.
26. Go. Ouch. I’m not going to qualify. So what I made it. I didn’t qualify. There goes 3:10:59. Damn. This is the best I’ve done by 8 minutes. So what!? You PR’d. Calm down. Go. I’m angry I didn’t qualify. I’m happy I finished. I’m angry. I’m happy.
26.2 I’m done. I’m elated. I’m miserable. I’m angry. I’m proud. Where the shit is Mickey?

My Run

2009-10-22T18:02:00.004-05:00

This passed weekend, I ran in the Columbus Marathon. I did not finish the marathon. I thought 20 miles was enough. For those who have not ever run a marathon, I'll make the following comparison. Have you ever done something every day for 4 months, only to fail miserably when you've come to the day of the test? It's like studying for a test every day, and then getting to the day of the test, and drawing a blank. I'm surprised I remembered my running shoes...

Greater tragedies have happened, although I can't think of any currently. Seriously, Columbus was 32 fucking degrees at the start of the race. Usually it's about 15 to 20 degrees warmer than that, this time a year. Mother Nature and I are not on speaking terms. I can just picture her giggling her fat ass off while she sits by the fire and drinks apple cider spiked with the Captain.

So let me tell you what leg cramps feel like. They are different than stomach cramps. You can fart and get rid of those. Too bad legs can't air deuce. Leg cramps feel like someone has taken a hammer to your legs, to the point where they don't want to move anymore.

I'm a decent runner, but I've found I struggle with the mighty marathon. I've run 4 of them, and part of a 5th, and struggle with leg cramps every damn time. All of my friends tell me, "Why don't you stick with the shorter stuff, since you're good at the shorter stuff?" It's because of the mean marathon monkey that's jumped on my back and covered my eyes and pulled my ears (he has 4 hands). Once you get that goal, and once you've had the satisfaction of running one, a half marathon just doesn't compare.

Not to discount the work that goes into a half marathon. It just doesn't do the same thing to you after you've run the big dog.

I'm so frustrated. I guess this wasn't really a story. It was more of an attempt at a story, turned horrible journal entry.

Girl

2009-09-02T19:33:00.001-05:00

Girl, standing next to the casket.
What are you thinking?
As you greet and meet
On the inside, I only shriek.

I can’t relate to your loss
Maybe it hasn’t hit you yet
It’s been a long week, I’ll bet.
I’m so sorry for you.

Girl, standing next to your dad.
I can’t imagine the day you’ve had.
Burying him.
Grim.

Girl, standing there, trying to smile
I imagine this will take a while
Maybe forever
To not hurt.
I’m so sorry for you.

Run

2009-07-05T20:27:00.001-05:00

Breath. Slowly. Just breath. Step and breathing, without seething. No thought but the sound of shining light. No fighting no fleeing, just me, being. Far, as far as I can go, the world will let me know. So, let’s pick up the pace. Breathe. Blow. Slow and steady. I’m always ready to run. It’s not boring, my weight, minus a ton. Problems are dust and every bit of self dissipates. I’m here, moving, and breathing, from A to B. I’ll go farther than I can see. Just to get lost from my life, for 5 miles, or maybe ten? Then, I welcome exhaustion. Accomplishment mattering little to the world, but the world to me.

Buggy

2009-06-29T23:43:00.001-05:00

Buggy in the road
Sittin’ all day, unloaded.
Buggy doesn’t walk, just talks.
He balks at leaves and friends and songs
Just wonderin’ where he belongs.

Baseball

2009-06-17T14:36:00.000-05:00

I miss baseball
I miss my childhood ignorance:
No steroids
No steroid testing
No one’s cheating
No Yankees and Red Sox owning the majority of the talent
All teams are created equal.
Or so I believed.

I miss going to Cleveland Municipal Stadium
With all 14 other people there.
I miss the hot dogs and cracker jacks as the only thing on the menu
No pizza, no sushi, no choices, no menu.
I miss the game when it was simple.

I miss not caring about any of the crap in baseball
I miss being disappointed that I forgot my mitt to bring to the game
I miss wondering if we might win today
Because we didn’t win a lot back then.

Let’s just stop all this cheating
Let’s throw all our cards on the table.
Let’s let everyone take anything they want.
Just shoot up, get big, and hit the ball far.
We’ll all cheer, trust me…

I just miss baseball.
Turn off the media stream.
Turn on the radio
And watch the game.
No conversations on contracts
No conversations about steroids
Just baseball…and cracker jacks.

Little Piggy Oink Oink

2009-06-13T17:07:00.001-05:00

Little Piggy Oink Oink walked down to the deli for some ham and cheese. L.P.O.O. didn’t really know he was eating himself until he came home with the sandwich and Big Pig Oink explained to him that cannibalism is not the bee’s knees, and he should think about something other than eating.

Little Piggy Oink Oink took this hard, as he was just, well, STARVING. He’d been eating ham on rye for years and felt like it’s not something you could just stop eating cold turkey. Wait. Cold Turkey. L.P.O.O. just had the greatest of all ideas he’s ever had in his 10 years. He’d start eating OTHER meat. All other meat, except ham!

What a splendid idea. Little Piggy Oink Oink rode his pogo stick up back up to Mo’s Deli and bought a nice cold turkey sandwich and a chocolate covered cherry for a dollar eighty three. L.P.O.O took a big honkin’ bite out of his turkey sandwich when his good pal Gobble Gobble Gary the Good walked out of the ice cream store, which happened to be right next door to the deli.

“Hey Little Piggy Oink Oink, what you got there!? Wanna taste some of my ice cream,” said 4G. “I sure would,” said L.P.O.O, with a big mouthful of turkey sandwich, “would you like to try some of my turkey sandwich?”

The look on Gobble Gobble Gary the Good’s face said it all. He looked as if Little Piggy Oink Oink had insulted his mother on Thanksgiving. “What the fuck?! You’re eating me right now. Right the fuck now, you’re eating me, and my family” said 4G, swearing for the first time in his childhood.

Little Piggy Oink Oink slowed his chew down, to a final stop, and let the turkey drop out of his mouth, as 4G groaned.

“I’m sorry, Gobble Gobble. Dad told me I wasn’t allowed to eat ham on rye, and I was just starving.” “I understand,” said 4G. “Just don’t eat turkey. That’s me. You are promoting the eating of me. Eat something else.”

“Like what?” said Little Piggy Oink Oink.
“Beef.” Said Gobble Gobble Gary the Good.

Both 4G and L.P.O.O come walking about of Mo’s with a couple of big ol all beef hot dogs. They’re enjoying themselves when Mooey Mary the Milk Maiden, sees them eating their ‘dogs. “Hey Mary!” exclaim Gobble Gobble Gary the Good and Little Piggy Oink Oink at the same time, happy as clams I might add. “Boys, I’m very disappointed in you. You’re eating me. You’re eating cow,” said MMMM. “Fuck, here we go again,” mutters Little Piggy Oink Oink.

“You boys need to stop eating me, and find something else to eat,” said MMMM. This news disappointed Little Piggy Oink Oink to the point where he ate nothing but peanut butter and jelly for the next week. He became extremely skinny (which is no way for a pig to present himself to the world).

Little piggy Oink Oink had enough. He thought about shooting Mooey Mary the Milk Maiden, Gobble Gobble Gary the Good and Big Pig Oink. He’d make the biggest sandwich he could, and would laugh maniacally with each bite. When he’d bite into the turkey, he’d whisper, “What’s that Gary? What’s that? No eating turkey? Is that what you said? I’m enjoying you just fine Gary.”

“What’s that dad? No ham on rye? Is that it? Ham on Rye is exactly with the doctor ordered.”

“No hot dogs? MMMM you taste MMMM. Ha!”

But no, he’d never. He decided to become a vegetarian. Little Piggy Oink Oink whithered away into nothing. When he died, his friends had a big barbeque and ate him, as a tribute to his life.

Never, and I mean never, eat your friends.

Damn Raspberry

2009-06-08T09:23:00.002-05:00

My trip to the dentist was an interesting one, last week. I like getting my teeth brushed by the dentist. I feel like it’s a trip to the spa for my teeth. That’s before they sadistically stab me with a metal steak multiple times in the gums. Still, I look forward to the cleaning part.

My dentist writes down everything that’s going on in my life. Literally, they asked me how “your comedy is going (whatever that means),” “how your girlfriend’s band is doing,” and “whether I still have that sore throat from 2 years ago.” It was no surprise to me they wrote down the flavor of toothpaste I didn’t like, and that I actually care which one I get.

So, the dental assistant cleaning my teeth, who happened to be the same 20-something that cleaned my teeth the last few times, brought out the raspberry. I talked to her for a few minutes about my girlfriend, and how proud of her I am about the band, work, classes and how she has the ability to juggle it all.

As the dental assistant cleaned my teeth, I thought about how much I liked this particular flavor, raspberry, and that it reminds me of jam. “I’d like to put this on my sandwich with a little peanut butter,” I thought.

When she was done, I said, “Man, I’d like to bring some of that home with me, to put it on some bread with some peanut butter.” …

She reacted in a way I found odd. She said, “Hey now,” but in a not so joking but more offended way. With my mind on work, I left the dentist thinking it was weird, but not really caring…until I got to my car. I then remembered her looking at me like I was a creep as I got out of the chair, but my mind could not really imagine what I could have done while laying in a chair to offend anyone.

Then it hit me. She thought I said, “I’d like to bring YOU home with me, to put on some bread with some peanut butter.” I had just gotten done blabbering about my lady and now she thinks I’m hitting on her. So, humility sets in on my drive home, of course.

I imagined all the assistants and my dentist (also a woman) gathering around after I left, talking about how twisted I am, why I would ever want to put a woman on a sandwich with peanut butter, and how they can reach out to my poor girlfriend who has a total creep as a boyfriend.

I’m never going back to the dentist.

Desperation

2009-05-25T15:46:00.000-05:00

For the man who is in his early thirties. For the man, who love’s life. For the man who tells everyone every chance he gets, “I’m living the dream.” For the man, who tells you what he does for a living as a pick up line. For the man, who says, “bro” a lot and gives his bros the “rock” hand shake in celebration of the fine scenery at this here establishment. Desperation…by CK.

Famous Phil

2009-05-25T15:30:00.003-05:00

Phi Collins and I were on a see-saw in the rain on a September morn when he asked if I had yet become a woman. "Bazooka," I said (Phil went by 'Bazooka' to all friends and family), "I feel that's hardly any of your business." I am your step dad," he replied, "and I brought you here to our favorite playground while mom is on vaca, to let you know the offer is on the table."

So, I decided to become a lady, in 1980 with Bazooka Collins. I was 17, and felt I'd like to one up my mom, and it would be nice to have this on her. Still, I never thought he would weep the way he did afterwards. Really? This was your first time too? He muttered out a pathetic, "yes," that I found revolting enough to wonder how ever in the world did he become famous.

Let's Dance

2009-05-19T21:35:00.004-05:00

I'm a bit upset at the recent, extremely relevant, news: Paramount Pictures is remaking "Footloose."

This news comes as a blow to me, as it is a crock pot full of bull and lamb shit. What's next? Jackie Chan gonna play Mr. Miyagi? Yeah, I heard about that too, and I feel as though the people who are in charge of making movies need to be relieved from their duty of making movies. Why remake two gems? Why remake "Footloose?"

Here's the thing. "Footloose" is the best song in the history of all of music. Next time you go to a wedding reception, and they play "Footloose," Your ass will be out of your seat faster than you can say "sweep the leg." When it's on TBS, and he runs into the dance and screams, "LET'S DANCE," hair stands up on your arms and you can only think, "Get 'em, Bacon, get 'em." They'll probably have Nelly remake the song...

AND HOW are you gonna go and remake "The Karate Kid?" Look, that movie single-handedly made all boys between the ages of 5 and 13 want to take karate. I have my brown belt in karate because of that movie. I can tell you those lessons have done absolutely nothing for me, except made me think I was so dangerous, so absolutely lethal, I should never use it. I got beat up a lot in high school.

Why can't they remake BAD 80's movies? Surely there are some out there. Let's face it, "Little Monsters" wasn't exactly gold. Who wouldn't love to see the Savage brothers give it another go. They look EXACTLY the same as they did 20 years ago..it's a totally believable remake. Are they really THAT busy?

Dirty Ying Ying

2009-05-07T20:21:00.003-05:00

My buddy Ying Ying, turned thirty today. I told him I wanted a rap left on my phone at some point tonight. On my way home from dinner with Z, I figured I would bust out a rap of my own as there aren't many people who would appreciate such a rap. This took 5 minutes...

Ying ying's got the Dirty
He's got the thirty
Gotta go on down to the Dirty
That's Atlanta
And take some Mylanta
Cuase he's got the stomach acid
Lake placid
Go up and over a hill
Cause he's old and bold,
I told ya.
You gotta know when to fold and hold 'em
Turn 'em in and hang em up
He's not a young pup
Z is the dirty
But angry and purty
Purty, with awesomeness
He's possom-less
Cuz he don't dig rodents
Or Charles Grodens
29?
No I'll take that and put in my hat
But I don't want the dirty
or the thirty
Nerdy
He'll drop a little turdy
on yo' FACE!
Don't bother to mace,
or wear satin or lace.
Drink your Sprite,
Or Diet Rite,
And sip it till you lean back
Like Fat Joe
With your big toe,
Change the channel.
And put on your best flannel
And watch Al Borlin
head to church
and sit a on a pirch
with Polly the bird
And we're right back to the turdy.
The dirty.
The dirty, thirty.
Z is thirty. (said with a little extra oomph at the end)

Fuzz

2009-05-07T11:00:00.001-05:00

Randy the fuzz from my Pillow Person recently found himself attracted to the Sheila, the fuzz I brought in from gawd knows where. Fuzzes normally refer to themselves the way people did in the bible. No last names, just the first name + where fuzz is from. So, Randy of Pillow Person had passed Sheila of Gawd Knows Where in the glue cave one too many times when Randy tripped over a Tylenol and right onto the cake Sheila made for Steven’s birthday. Steven was Sheila’s 2 year old kid, who happened to love Lionel Richie and playing foursquare. 2 year old belly button lint is 17 in human years. Sheila had recently improved the Hostess cupcake (vanilla, not chocolate) recipe. She found the cake stays fluffier longer if you make it while muttering a spell learned from a hiccuping bull frog named Alice. Don’t confuse Alice with Alberta the burping toad, because Alberta’s agenda is far from benevolent. She won’t give a good spell, but a very bad spell. That bad spell has turned many attempts at improving the hostess cupcake recipe into h-bombs. A very, very bad spell.

I've Decided To Become a Cutter

2009-04-30T18:50:00.002-05:00

Dear Bernie Mac,

I hope you don’t mind I’ve named you after my favorite comedian. I thought because I don’t know any black people, and since your binder is black, you’d be my first black friend! What do you think?

When carving my initials into my desk at the end of third period Espanol, I decided to become a cutter. My profesora was droning on and on about juevos, manos and lapizes when I realized I could really feel better about myself if I had some scars on my arms, and maybe I could get someone to feel sorry for me, for once. Scars are tattoos for junior high kids. I need to establish a better rep…

Mom and Dad have been really harping on my studies, obsessing about being smart so that one day I would leave the house on my own admission without needing an allowance (which happens to be way too little – Ha! Ha! Ha!). I told them I’d be happy to leave right now if they’d let me quit school and work full time at the Franky’s Flower Shop. Mr. Murrdhew frowns on 9th grade dropouts working for him, so I drudge on.

Jimmy Shonners recently pointed out in gym class; I have “no hair on my white-as-a-scared-shitless piglet legs,” as I lay on the ground trying to keep from crying. It doesn’t help that I’ve developed a bit of a belly and Mom’s too cheap to buy me new gym clothes that fit. “Let it be motivation for you to lose those 50 extra pounds you have hanging around your waist,” she’d remind me.

As it turns out, Jimmy Shonners is a pitcher on Blue Devil baseball team. I found this out today, the not so easy way, when he eliminated me in dodge ball. When the rubber dodge ball is sitting still, it is not too intimidating. Yet when heaved at what seems like the speed of thought, it feels like a jackhammer spit out of a howitzer. I was standing to the side, picking at the scab on my arm (not till it bleeds though –ewwwwe), and the next thing I know I’m knocked to the floor by a Satan’s big blue testicle.

There is no way Jimmy is really that horrible of a person. He probably didn’t realize how hard he threw it. Nothing that beautiful could be that violent. Still, he is taken by the sluttiest girl in school. I heard she gave a blow job to the Mr. Johns the shop teacher in the teacher lounge. Slut. Jimmy doesn’t care though, because I’m sure he gets his too. Eck. I’m nauseous. Oh…there you have it…scab’s off.

…

I’m back. Unfortunately, I’m now just coming to after seeing the blood from my mosquito bite. Ricky, my little brother, doesn’t feel I’m all too tough but Ricky also thinks girls like popped collars. Girls!

He’s recently gotten into the rotten habit of “tea bagging” me when I’m playing Warcraft. He knows Warcraft is my only true love. What Ricky does not know is I’ve farted on his dinner the last three nights…

I’m headed to bed now; I just need to find Glo-worm. I sleep with Glo-worm as he doubles at a pillow and nightlight if someone tries to sneak in the room to steal my Pumas. Those things are expensive. Now, where is my favorite little guy?!?

Until next time, here’s to you, Bernie.

Randy Pompah

Jerry the Laughingstock

2009-04-23T22:53:00.002-05:00

A Furbie walked into my office carrying a Mead notebook and something stolen. The something stolen was taken off the desk of one Kurt Vonegut (not that one). The something stolen was a perfectly ripe banana that the Furbie needed for his survival in our moon office. Perry, the name the furbie preferred, could live at least 14 days off of one banana. The moon office is nice, and you can open the window, but you don't get much of a breeze.

The Furbie happened to be quite intelligent, the third or fourth smartest being out of the twenty person group (we use the term 'person' with extreme caution, none of these objects like to be referred to as such). He couldn't compare to the talking telephone hand set Miss Roberta Jones of Gary, Indiana threw out in the trash last March. The handset, who went by Alexander, could pretty much talk to anyone like they were in fifth, or maybe the sixth grade.

Alexander had made an interesting trip to the moon. It's not every day an intelligent handset gets to go to the moon, and exhibit his full potential. Alexander was picked up by Jerry the Laughingstock (no man cursed with a worse name than Jerry), of the Gary, Indiana and thrown into the bed of a pickup that drove by. How did Alexander get to the moon? By jetpack, of course.

Back to Jerry. Jerry had a pinapple instead of a left arm.. He was kicked off the swim team for swimming out of lane one too many times in high school. AFter he graduated, he was fired from the plant for "ruining the bell curve” because he produced 1/3 more purple orthodontic brace covers than anyone else.

Brownies

2009-04-22T19:08:00.005-05:00

Something cool I saw recently. If you go to your local Dominicks, you can get 10 boxes of brownie mix for 10 dollars. They will give you that nice discount, if you just buy 10 boxes.

I don't know if I could handle that many brownies. I love brownies. I mean, I really have a mental and physical relationship with brownies causing the feeling I know as love. However, I could not eat that many brownies.

It crossed my brain that families might be interested in such a deal. Still, I picture a family of four with 3 big trays of brownies, and the mother screaming at the son, "You cannot get up from the table if you don't finish your dessert!" "But MAHHHM, I had 12 brownies last night for dessert, I don't want anymore!"

No family needs this many brownies. No family needs to stash this many brownies in case of nuclear meltdown. There is no need for a 10 box brownie deal.

So I bought the 10, just to make sure...

The Q

2009-04-16T22:33:00.002-05:00

Tell me something good.
Here's something bad:
You’re moving slow now
And almost through
Everything pops inside,
And I see your wear.
Just know I love you,
And I’ll miss your slithery hiss.

My 12’’ TV/VCR combo by Quasar is on the fritz...

IM conversation between myself at 17 and me now.

2009-04-13T15:29:00.002-05:00

Nickd17: What’s up D!?
Nickd29: Hey pal, how ya been?
Nickd17: I’m okay. Stressing about this AP Chem Project.
Nickd29: Oh shit! I remember that…wow. “The Production of Citric Acid”… a real hoot. Fuck that was a long time ago.
Nickd17: Whoa! You are swearing now? I didn’t think that would ever happen…I am one pathetic loser! No offense…
Nickd29: None taken. Lot’s gonna change, little man. Don’t worry about the project, you’ll get an A on it, just make sure you give them the actual chemical reaction flow because we got docked some points for that as I remember.
Nickd17: Thanks. Glad I’m still quoting Dumb and Dumber. If you don’t mind me asking, can you answer a few questions for me, if it’s not too much trouble?
Nickd29: Sure, D-low (your college nickname).
Nickd17: I always wanted a nickname…When am I going to go through puberty? Like, when is my voice going to change?
Nickd29: Next year.
Nickd17: I have to wait another year?
Nickd29: Sorry, I hated that. Oh, and to save you some embarrassment in college: www.proactive.com. That’s a website that will turn up in the next couple years.
Nickd17: Thanks. Am I gonna have some sort of embarrassing problem?
Nickd29: Well, you have lots of those, but this will help one of them.
Nickd17: Okay. I take it you’ve kissed a girl by now.
Nickd29: Ha! Yeah. End of this year.
Nickd17: I didn’t think it would be that soon.
Nickd29: I wish I could say I didn’t already know you would practice for it…
Nickd17: …
Nickd29: It’s cool man, you will do some even dumber stuff in the coming years, but you’ll have more fun. You might even get laid.
Nickd17: What?!?!?
Nickd29: Heh, I said “might”. I’m not sayin. This is kinda fun. I’m totally like god right now.
Nickd17: Not the God, a god, big difference.
Nickd29: Nice, Groundhog day. I love that movie. I have the DVD, actually.
Nickd17: What’s that?
Nickd29: Oh, DVDs are going to replace VHS tapes..pretty cool huh? You’ll see it come out in the next few months…they actually have them in Japan already.
Nickd17: What are boobs like?
Nickd29: Just as marvelous as you imagine. There is no exaggeration as to how marvelous they are. I’m working on an invention that will replace the alarm clock. It’s called, “Boobs in the face.” Instead of music to wake you up, you get boobs in the face.
Nickd17: You’re sitting on a gold mine. You’re pretty funny too. Probably good looking …
Nickd29: Totally.
Nickd17: Can you tell me something cool about the future?
Nickd29: They have M&M Mini’s now. You know. Mini M&M’s.
Nickd17: What? They’re already small. Why would they do that?
Nickd29: The population of dwarves grows exponentially from 2000 to 2009 due to the high about of people affected by cell phone radiation. Smaller mouths equals a business opportunity for the M&M Mars corporation.
Nickd17: I suppose they could have done it just for kids too…
Nickd29: No! It’s for the dwarves!

Salamander

2009-04-01T21:54:00.004-05:00

Furry fancy face wearin' kitten whiskers on a pedestal casting green demons from his Dungarees, he chomps the dew from a salamandar's sideburns and sighs, convinced the world is against him. Blue bird resting his heels on a desk doesn't bother to fly free anymore, finally feeling just fine, thank you. Remember palming that peach too tightly will lead to tripping on wires made of larry king's fingernails and hurtful and hasty hate from the mouths of the gray clouds. Reboot your brain; clear the seedless sappy soul seated behind your wrinkled ear. The milk is itchy from the stings of goblins vacuuming the cashed carpeting, feeling less smooth and more raggedy andy. And he views his life the way it used to be, less problems, more ignorance and a giant smile filled with beer and words.

Feelin' Kinda Sunday

2009-03-21T10:34:00.003-05:00

Tuesday night, I remembered I had a doctor appointment on Wednesday morning. “Blood needs to be taken,” they say. “No eating for eight hours,” they follow. Well, I ate din din at 8 PM on Tuesday night, and went to bed at about 10. My doctor appointment was to be at 10:45 in the A and M.

I woke up fine, had a little rumble in my tumble, but other than that, I figured I could go without eating for a few hours. I put some trail mix in my pocket (I put the whole bag in, not just dumped some trail mix in my pocket…I wish I was a kid, I would have never brought the bag). I wanted to make sure I had SOMETHING immediately after my blood work.

Plus, with the epilepsy, the only time I had a bad seizure was after giving blood. Needless, I wasn’t looking forward to my date with the lab rats. I don’t mean to call them rats. They are very nice rats who care, actually. Lab mice maybe. But they are smart too. Lab mice with glasses.

Now, before I head to the ol’ what’s up Doc, there is work required from me by my actual employer. Wednesday happened to be the day one of my customers chose “fire drill” as their favorite option of operating procedure for the week. If you work in a white collar prison, you know what I’m talking about. By 9 AM, I was feeling dizzy and a moderate headache. I was on the phone with my boss the majority of the morning, understanding every third word.

The words I heard most were, “need, now, please.” I always look for “please.” And the other two scare me.

My company uses a wonderful thing called Instant Messaging. Instant Messaging is a marvelous invention which allows 12 people to sync up and try communication with me all at once.

I pictured them all in a tree house too small for them, synchronizing their watches, the nerdy one trying to call to order the first meeting of, “Pile it on NickD Day.” All of them making suggestions in the tree house. My Doctor, Employer, Lab mice with glasses were all their, not caring about the lack of food in the room.

Henyway, I’m required to get on a call at 9:15. Each minute I have to concentrate on my shaking hands, and Gravitron I seemed to have stepped on to. More of just the grown-ups from Peanuts talking. We have a fire drill at work, and I’m the blind fireman in the corner who went for a swim in the gasoline pool before coming to work. No hallucinations, just the headache with each heartbeat. Heartbeat headache.Dizzy. Every fourth word, now. I tell them I need to go to the doctor. That’s it. Doctor. Go. Now. Blind Firecaveman. This blood needs out and I need food.

To the doctor I go, driving as if I’m knowingly too intoxicated. Concentrating like I’m walking a tight rope over a pit of annoying Andy Dicks. Concentrating. Concentrating like one of those nights you know you drank too much, and you are just trying to keep yourself from booting. Con-cen-traaating.

Now is about the time I tell you about a personal problem. I’m 30, but have noticed a problem with my peeing. Yep. Peeing. I start and stop a lot, not to go into too much detail. That’s all you need. So, I have my physical first. The What’s up Doc wanted me to take my physical first, in case he wanted to take more blood from me for other tests, he’d do it all in one fell swoop.

Physical Time. I tell him about my pee problem. Two Words. Mooooon River. Drop your shorts. No jokes here about wanting dinner first/getting to know each other first, do I get a lollipop afterwards, none of that. I’m playing ring around the rosy with the room, Heartbeat headache is feeling neglected, so he turns up his dial, and I have a thumb up my ass. Felt like a hammer. Just so you know.

I did not feel comfortable in this situation. It made me sad. In fact, it could have been one of the worst single 5 to 10 seconds of my life. Still, trying not to pass out from what was probably a dangerously low level of blood sugar was actually all my brain could think about. Now, brain can only think about the former.

The physical is done. After What’s up Doc gave me the thumbs up he sends me to get my blood taken. Oh thank heavens, I get to wait. Only one very kind lab mouse with glasses working right now. Take a number. I’m fourth. Spinning. Gravitron. Thumb. Dizzy…dizzzzzzy. Whoa. That was close. Breath. Dizzy. Breath.

Breathing was the only thing I could think about. That and boobs. Sadly, boobs are on my Medulla Oblongata’s list of things my body needs. Blood time. The very smart, kind, lab mouse who didn’t have glasses but probably contacts asked me to keep talking to her as she took my blood. I did. No seizures. Whew. I ping-ponged my way BACK to the doc’s office. He needed to talk to me again.

I just noticed. I’m nauseous. Really. I put one cashew and one raisin in my mouth. Swallow. They come right back up to my mouth, but I swallow them back down. Nauseous. Swallow. Don’t puke. Just don’t puke.

What’s up Doc: You…sleep….eat…brain…
Me: What’s that?
What’s up Doc: You sleep…eat….brain…
Me. Okay.

Drove home. Not one of my finer moments of carefulness. This is my third risk (2 today) in the last week of driving. I will stop now. You don’t get many of those.

I get home, on the strength of trying not to puke in my car. I do. I rush to the toilet…nothing. Calls. Pages. Work starts again. More calls. IMs lighting my computer up like a Chistmas Tree in a sequin sweater. My boss, an understanding man, tells me to chill. I try to sleep. Too hungry to sleep. Too nauseous to eat. No food for 15 hours at this point. Nauseous Blind Firecaveman.

I finally pass out, probably from my brain shutting me down, and wake up needing to feed the toilet some stomach acid. I do. We became friends. I pass out again. 17 hours, no food. Toast. Toast is good. Calls. Instant Messages. Work now. Work late. Pop Tart. Bagel sandwich.

Feelin’ kinda Sunday.

Man's Best Friend

2009-03-15T21:11:00.004-05:00

You know how diamonds are a Girl’s best friend? A&W Root Beer floats are a Man’s. I consider myself a man in that I have the parts needed to be considered one. Still, I feel all men can come together and in a unified manner proclaim, “Root Beer floats = Boner Time.”

My girlfriend, at 8:57 PM on Sunday night, said to me, “We should go to get Root Beer Floats.” I concurred, as I had not had one since the last time. When the last time was, was insignificant.

Sarah too, was excited. On the way out to the car, she said started singing a song called Daisy: Do a Dollup from the Sour Cream Commercial, she was so pumped.

We get to Walgreen's. In mine eye, they were poets. They had A&W and Edys graciously waiting for us, like a Stork at a baby store. If someone has the time, see if there's any A&W Root Beer Float Stork delivery service.

At the counter made out of donated angelic feathers from the heavens above, the checkout man named Jerome basked in a sea of thanks, from Sarah and me. I even told him about the dance I was performing, called the "Root Beer Float Dance". I could not confirm what he was thinking as he repeated "Root Beer Float Dance" and shaking his head.

But I believe he was either thinking, "Crazy White Boy," or "Damn I'm trying that when I get home." I figured the latter, so I told him he'd have his chance to learn it as it will spread as an epidemic throughout all weddings (replacing the Electric Slide) and funerals (replacing mourning). They don't get a lot of good dancers in Walgreens.

Sarah further surprised me when she paid the 8 dollars for the ice cream and A&W. I felt like this.

I skipped (yes, which is why I use the term 'man' loosely when referring to myself) out of Walgreens, singing Do a Dollup.

As it always does, the Root Beer Float lived up to its sky high hype...how often does that happen to all other things with that kind of hype, I ask, Rocky V? Tim Couch? This guy?

First, it's Edy's slow churn Vanilla, which cured Polio. Then, it's A&W (stands for Awesome and Wondrous). So you get a synergetic what whaaaat, libation rivaling Ambrosia.

Best.
Day.
Ever.

As I write this, I'm coming down from my ride on the A&W XL 200 Roller Coaster. I feel the way you do after riding a fantastic roller coaster. Can we do it again?

Church Thing

2009-03-15T20:03:00.002-05:00

So, today I went to church. Yeah, I'm one of those. Sometimes I find myself defending my religion to no one, because it seems to me, and maybe it's JUST me, that religion less and less popular among friends, family, etc.

Regardless, I'm not here to defend it. (I'd do a poor job at it, and no church would want someone who cries when watching "Move that BUS!" defending them.) Yet, I've been asked by people why I go. Do you really believe that folklore? That nonsense? That proven to be untrue bullhoggywishwashy hooey? Yeah. I do.

Yet, I'm not here to judge one who doesn't. Nor am I here to convince anyone to come over and see my side of things. I find that at this point in one's life, my telling them about what I believe will not change what they believe.

Still, I go to church, I even pray often, and I find the reason is this: it gives me necessary answers. I've asked a lot of questions, I've harbored hate for myself and others, I've judged, and coveted and been jealous, and blah blibby blah blah. Sometimes I find myself doing some of the above, and it allows me to catch myself. It allows me to realize while in the process that, "Wow, I'm being a real ass."

Anyway, today was one of those days, where I caught myself, judging. Then the Pastor in his sermon just mentally whooped me. I found it humbling yet freeing.

That's all I got for now.

Two Scoops

2009-03-15T20:02:00.001-05:00

Mr. Sunshine was out with his two scoops.
I happily picked his raisins, and his brain for a smile.
Dancing fancily on the shore of Michigan,
I licked the sky as a powerful god licking his favorite lollipop.
Shuffling on the cold sand, my eyes breathing in bricks of solid but yielding ice.
Small but feeling tall, I grabbed the big cubes with my brain and thanked Heaven.

Sports

2009-03-10T10:50:00.004-05:00

I felt the need to communicate something in the sports world I thought was a bit sick. This will reach my full audience of two, including myself. The other, is 1, made up of about 1/4th of 4 other people.

A while back, on ESPN, yes sports giant ESPN, I read a story about Michael Irvin. The wide out back in the 90's who played for the despised Dallas Cowboys. I forgot about the story a while, but then decided to do a little research. I found an excerpt from the book "Boys will be Boys" by Jeff Pearlman on foxsports.

Being a biased Bobcat, I looked to see if my favorite sports journalist, Peter King, had anything to say about it at some point. King had this to say about it. Still, not a BIG huff about it.

I first though, what if T.O. did something like Irvin, pulling out scissors and STABBING A GUY IN THE NECK FOR REFUSING TO GET UP MID HAIRCUT SO THAT IRVIN COULD GET HIS HAIR CUT FIRST. What if T.O. pulled some shit like this crap? He would be burned at the stake. ESPN would have his head on a platter.

If you didn't read the whole story, it breaks down like this: Everett McIver was getting his hair cut. Irvin wanted his hair cut, and told McIver to get "the f--- up". They get into a scuffle, and Irvin being smaller than McIver, in the after getting hit by McIver, picks up some scissors and stabs McIver in the neck. The scissors just missed McIver's cartoid artery. He lost a lot of blood, emergency procedures ensued, etc.

What arguements can be made for Irvin? Well, McIver and him settled out of court, where McIver was basically paid off to keep his silence. If you'll notice, that article was from 1998, the time of the incident. Still, the story was relatively buried. They handled it "in-house." So, he was never found guilty. Again, because he bribed the guy not to say anything. If Irvin had nothing to do with it, why hasn't he made any public statement on it? Why can't he come right out and say it? You got nothin' to hide, right Mike?

Well recently, I heard Michael Irvin had a show. I figured, someone probably gave him a deal in Dallas, you know, he's famous, it'll get people to listen, etc. Then I noticed his show is on ESPN. ESPN. Let me type those letters again. ESPN. ESPN gave Michael Irvin a show on their radio space. They couldn't think of anyone human to give a show? I find it irresponsible of ESPN to give Irvin a show. "Eh, it was ten years ago, who cares about attempted murder."

Blazed and Boggy

2009-03-06T03:10:00.000-06:00

Blazed and boggy, I slave myself, to live boldly and beautiful. Like a soap, it seems unreal. Burnt time floats as a glowing ash, an eye lash whipped and wiped away. Today I can only try to slow the fire, hire a painter to make it brighter. I’ll concede, I’m not a fighter for winless crusades. The fast hand ticks and moves the unhurried hour. Gradually the power of the clock bends and blends my mind into an incompetent masterpiece swollen of cobwebs and hope. A dope, an idiot, a fool, we all toil in the same pool of seconds. Wait a second. Gimme a minute. I’ll need an hour. As we devour our care for time to cultivate rows of insignificance, I wonder what Time thinks of us? Maybe sometime we can discuss. Can you work me in? I don’t know, my calendar’s stretched pretty thin. My brain bleeds to believe bravery and beauty will be my bounty. Blazed and Boggy, it bellows towards an invisible brick wall. Tall, the wall masquerades as a friendly second, twisting and grinning His terminal mustache.

Local girl sees things in Robert Phillips no one else sees

2009-03-05T22:06:00.000-06:00

We were able to speak with Jenna Tomkins of Topeka Kansas regarding her new boyfriend. Robert Phillips has been kicked out of two high schools and is known as a loner from the majority of sources interviewed.

Robert, 18, will be working on his second senior year at Topeka High School and feels he is not too old for Jenna, 15. “My mom is 8 years older than my dad, and they turned out all right.” Robert Phillips’ mom lives in Topeka and his dad is believed to be in South Beach Florida or Columbus Ohio.

When questioned about whether she has managed to maintain her virginity, Jenna looked away and said, “no comment”. However, when questioning Jenna’s former best friend Laura Wilson, she was of a different opinion. “Jenna gets slammed by Robert every day. Just look at her walk. She’s walkin’ funny.”

Robert is said to be working on saving money for a “promise ring” that he can give Jenna once he is sure she is the one. Robert also claims that he will be “buying a place for the two of them to move into once she graduates in 3 years.”

Further insight into how Jenna and Robert will get along after her graduation in the summer of 2012, they plan on buying a two bedroom trailer and getting some land outside of Topeka. Jenna types and astounding 47 words per minute and Robert makes 8 dollars under the table at Papa Joes Pizza Palace and furniture Emporium, specializing in vertical integration of pizza production and fake leather sofa-beds.

- CBP Fake News

Where am I?

2009-03-05T21:57:00.001-06:00

I can’t see any light in this tunnel
In this funnel, sliding down. Falling slipping
And sliding. It’s easy to frown.

Where am I going?
My life is a maze.
Type, think, type, think, but no ‘do’.
I’m in a daze.

I sit here and wonder.
I sit.
And sit.
And sit.

I need to do.
Do something. Anything.
Oh wait;
I know how to figure this out.
I just have to sit and think.

Vacation

2009-03-03T21:30:00.002-06:00

I failed, and it was good.

I recently failed at something insignificant, and it meant a lot to me. I’d like to tell you all about it…in a minute. First I would like to talk about my vacation to Clearwater/Tampa/St. Pete/Utopia.

It starts off with my cab ride to the airport. I’m greeted by a slurring Indian who was either slightly intoxicated or very exhausted. A very likeable fellow, nonetheless. My exhaustion theory was later confirmed when I ask, “Wow, so you’ve been working all night? You ever fall asleep driving,” to no ensuing response. I would have asked again, but I didn’t want to wake him. He had a long day.

His cab then malformed into the zig zag mobile. We slalomed between each dotted line on the road, for a good minute, until he chose to pull over to check out what I labeled, “Yellow Sweetness.” Nothing wrong with the cab, “the road just has something on it. Something my tires don’t like.” I did not ask questions.

I tried to keep my cabbie talking, because I preferred confirmation he was still awake. He told me about his three year old. I came to the conclusion that life is all down hill after the age of three. At 3, we are the source of entertainment for many, and we don’t remember all the times we’ve cried that year. Plus, we find forks unnecessary.

Aside from the nail filing champ next to me on the plane and the fact that I borrowed a book from my friend Dave that had a whole chapter dedicated to plane crashes, I made it to Tampa fine with only minor heart palpitations.

One of the days, I was able to take a day to sit out in the 80 degree sun. I guess, the sun is a lot hotter than that, but by the time it got to me it was 80 degrees. Sunshine makes me want to tap dance.

I even had to put on sunscreen. Remember when mom put “sunscreens” on you when you were a kid? I don’t know what it was about it, but by the end of the experience it was as if someone harpooned my puppy. I was a cryin’ mess. I was always extremely angry with my mom, until we got to the pool/lake. I’d forget about it all when we got there and all was forgiven.

While I was in the sun, I could hear one of the bands performing for the neighboring hotels. They were playing an Elton John song. I realized the older I get, the more I like Elton John. I don’t know if that makes me weird…

Later in the night, I watched a 60 minutes episode about a politician in Louisiana who pushed a bill to make corporate leadership more ethical. Hi Pot, ‘names Kettle. The piece almost made me sick. Politicians asking someone ELSE to be ethical…seriously?

Okay. So before I move onto the race, I’ll talk about the post race bottle of water. I feel it’s important. My post race bottle of water had an expiration date. First time I noticed it. I didn’t know water expired. I guess everything expires, eventually. Deep. I feel like Doogie Howser.

On to failure. So, I had trained for my 15K (9.3 mi to the lay person) with just 2 runs a week, and a session or two on the elliptical machine. I wasn’t running too hard for my training runs, and I managed to get sick about 2 weeks before the run. I wasn’t expecting much.

I get to running and I come up on these two fellas who are around 6’3’’, a buck 150, tops. Each dude has legs coming out of his neck. These guys moved effortlessly. I decided to try to hang with them. It was more of a fun run for them anyway, so they weren’t really exerting themselves.

I introduced myself, and we talked up until mile 6. One said to the other, “let’s pick it up this mile.” So, they do. I hang.

Mile 7 comes along in what seemed like an eternity, and they decided to pick it up again. Mile 8 follows with my first cramp. I named him Tyler Durden. (I am Nick’s cramp.) Still, I’m hanging on with these two assholes. They weren’t assholes at all, but two nice guys to whom I wouldn’t lose this insignificant race.

So, I pulled out all the stops. I busted out every motivational saying in my brain. I remember my favorite line from “Rocky,” “Yur gonna eat lightenin’, and yur gonna crap thunder!!” And, “You’re a very dangerous person.” I had adrenaline going and my cramp became and afterthought.

Mile 9 came, and I’m still hanging strong. I’m huffing and puffing. One asks the other if he’d like to race him to the finish. The other agrees. So these guys pick it up. I think I ran the last 1.3 faster than I ran the mile 2. I stick with these guys…until the end. My legs were failing, and my breathing was struggling. I had nothing left. I finished about 3 seconds behind #2.

The initial thought I had after crossing the finish line was not disappointment. It was, “I hope I don’t pass out.” The next thought after that was, damn, that’s the first time I’ve been outkicked by anyone in the end of a race like that. I’m not the fastest guy, but usually people in my speed class can’t keep up with me when it comes to the last kick. Whether it’s because I usually save enough to kick at the end or because I don’t push hard enough during the race, I always have that extra push. It's probably an ego thing.

This time it was the other way around. I just ran hard. I ran very hard the last half of that race, there was nothing was left in the tank for me… I lost…and I felt good about it. Yes, the race didn’t mean anything, I thought. But it did. I really wanted to beat these guys.

Still, it didn’t happen. I thanked them after the race. I honestly felt grateful. I would have not run close to 30 seconds per mile faster than what I thought had it not been for them. Sometimes aiming too high and failing is better than not aiming high enough. Sad, I’m just learning that at 29, but at least it happened. I hope I fail a lot more this year. - Doogie

Dream

2009-02-23T21:08:00.001-06:00

It is Thursday, you're asleep, passed out, not a peep. Leaping in your brain to a far off place, where dancing and talking are one in same. Motivated by cold meds, chased by the feds, for bouncing on too many #2 eraser heads. Leads and inks fill the sky, with your eye you wink, the sun shines through....22 seconds to admire the view...you're off with dash. Stashed in your pocket are pickles and pirates, perfectly prancing to the sound pitter patter of ponder. Playfully your tongue you push out with a flash, and out you breeze on a benevelot bumble bee. Watermelon water wings full of laughter, you comfortably wade in a pool of silence. Your gaze at your feet tapping so freely, each pat provides Chamomile, calmly soothing the hearts of the neighboring trees. They sway and they wave, like adoring fans, admiration feeling like rays on your flawless tan. Sneaking off to exhale you create musical molasses.

You clap and you sing and nothing comes out, but Tooti Fruiti and Beauty. Nothing you say in your dream means anything, except for everything, to me.

Atheist’s Near Death Experience puts him in a Real Pickle

2009-02-22T12:19:00.003-06:00

James Jones of Fairfield Virginia was on his roof cleaning out all the bird droppings that have filled his gutters. “My home is a haven for pigeon. I like don’t like ‘em.. I gotta get up there once a week and clean that shit out of them gutters.”

“I told Pastor Tom who walks by the house often, ‘I wouldn’t have to be up hear if you would just pull some of your Jesus-magic and pray for the shit to disappear.’ Maybe if god weren’t so lazy, I wouldn’t be up here.”

On Wednesday, James was on the roof cleaning, and fell off onto his driveway. “Luckily, a few those pigeon bastards broke my fall; otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you today.”

Mr. Jones was rushed to the hospital, where he was resuscitated by four doctors. While he was out, he feels he spoke to Jesus Himself.

“I died. I did. I died and went up to the gates, which are not pearly at all. They were actually full of Christmas lights, believe or not, and everything is automated. No angels opening up anything up there. Stuff just opens, like a garage door.”

“So I’m up there, feelin’ bashful about Dickies overalls I was wearin’. As soon as I felt bashful, I was in my most comfortable flannel, pants, no tie, ‘course.”

“My guide was a shot rapper from Jersey who saved a little girl’s life before he was shot. Pretty good, right? So he introduces me to Jesus. Jesus doesn’t talk much, though. He just smiled at me, and tapped me on the forehead, and said, ‘Your work is not done.’ He winked at me and finished with, ‘Now get your ass back out there.’”

“Next thing I know, I got four doctors and three nurses surrounding me. I’m alive. I’m thinking that Jesus might have something to do with it. I’m in a real pickle. All that hocus pocus of Jesus might actually be true.”

Anticipation

2009-02-17T12:17:00.000-06:00

Anticipate, anticipate.
Imagine that time, great.
Wonder and anticipate
Tomorrow, Today’s ugly fate.

Constant anticipation. Constant Wonder.
Who cares? Tomorrow’s excitement.
Is a tent with no Wilderness.

No wonder, wonder and waste
Start the same.

Wonder, now.
Wonder about the bouncing ball
Will it come up, will it fall.
Anticipate this breath.

Drink this very sip
Shoot from the hip
Be you, now.
Don’t waste another second.

Rat Race

2009-02-13T14:06:00.001-06:00

Oh my God, this never ending hasty pace.
Stressed under duress constantly a heel on my face
Work hard, get ahead, just survive, do your job.
Shave, tuck that shirt in, clean yourself up, slob.

Classless? Not you. You’re upstanding,
And banding with others on a perch so high,
Must cost a lot to fly.

Just for a minute let’s stop. What if it all stopped.
Your money mopped and drawn down the drain.
Would you remain?

All of us. We’re rats.

Nicky Corn Dog

2009-02-10T18:16:00.005-06:00

I just got done watching GoodFellas. Great movie. At one point in the movie, Ray L goes through a joint and starts spouting off the names and nicknames of all the cats in the joint.

I'm half Sicilian. My mom's side of the family is fully Sicilian. So, I feel entitled for that very fact. After asking my Ma whether my grandparents or her grandparents had any ties with the mob in New York, she responded with, "How about some pie?"

I don't have any ties to the mob, and I am no where near bad ass enough to be associated with any mob, gang, book club, whatever. Still I would like my own Gangster Nickname. I have a name that can easily acquire a 'y' at the end. Nicky. I have been eating a lot of Corn Dogs lately, and I ate a bunch as a kid. I just realized I missed them. So, my nickname would have to be Nicky Corn Dog.

I can see myself in a gangster movie, sitting at a table, talking business to someone about bi-weekly heist we are going to pull on Thursday at 2. I will still conduct business at a small Italian joint in the square, but they will ship in corn dogs because I'm such a honcho. I think they would come from the Strongsville carnival. They always had good ones.

I would like to have elephant ears for dessert, or just after I just waxed some schmuck for not being smart with my money, losin' his cool too soon, or eating one of my fuckin' corn dogs.

I challenge my friends to do the same. I know one should not make up one's own nickname, but I sure hope Nicky Corn Dog catches on.

Backwards Knees

2009-02-09T08:39:00.003-06:00

Many people get cosmetic surgery. Ass implants, bewbie reductions, nose jobs. I have no problem with any of these. If you need to feel better about yourself, if you choose to take the superficial path, I say do it. DO it.

With all that said, I'd like to get my own surgery, but it's more of an enhancement. It's not so much superficial, as it is functional.

I'd like to move my knees to the back of my legs. Many things would change of course, if I were to make this change. As we've discovered Skeleton has over taken the world as one of the world's premier Winter Olympic Sports. It's the soccer of Winter Sports. I would petition the Olympic committee to introduce, upside down Skeleton, where the participant will still go down the chute head first, but facing up instead of down. I feel I could be competitive with backward knees.

That said, I would also move petition the Summer Olympics for backwards running events. I would get special tights and a helmet with mirrors enabling me to see behind me.

No, I'm not worried about how tough it would be to go to the bathroom. Matter of fact, I thought of this idea while using the toilet, and I feel having an arm rest while doing my business, could make the process much more enjoyable.

Driving. I have it cleared up there as well. I'll drive backwards, everywhere. I will have to move some head lights to the back of my car, but I feel I will have much more freedom in maneuvering.

Dancing. Let's see Timberlake bring a toe up to his belly button. He'll have nothing on me. Or lets see him to the forward moonwalk.

Old Man Cool

2009-02-06T20:54:00.003-06:00

Old Man Cool

He was Old Man Cool. Fool he was not, but cool, yes cool was the man. Dated a blond in high school he did. Paper even wrote about it. A bit, here and there, about that blond, that's how cool Old Man Cool was. So too, was his lady, cool.

Old Man Cool was in the Navy. Lazy he was not, but cool, yes cool. World War 2, he went to Pearl Harbor and took care of business. Cool? Who knows, but it was what he had to do.

Old Man Cool could play into fall. Only five eleven tall, damn he'd hurl a ball. He had the leg kick. Yeah, that Feller kick. He threw two complete games...in the same day. Hey, it was a different game back then. But he'd tell you what sissies they are today.

Old Man Cool was a good man. Still is, just can't shake my hand. Old Man Cool could dance and joke. People listened, when he spoke. Yeah, just that cool.

Old Man Cool, a computer, a calculator, a word master. Faster, than you he'd solve a crossword, I guarantee. 3? 4 minutes tops, until he got passed the 'hard' question.

Old Man Cool was cool, aside from the stack of what he did, and who he was and where he went, he was cool. Cool because he was humble. Cool because he was without self. Yeah, just that cool.

Thanks for you, Old Man Cool.

Let's Burn some Flags!

2009-01-31T22:31:00.004-06:00

Lets burn some flags!

I see so many people burning the American flag on TV. The first thing I think is that it can’t be good for the environment (you know me, always thinking green!).

The next thing I think is we are never doing any flag burning over here. Never have I decided to dedicate my weekend to a flag burning rally in the square. No one is burning flags in the states. I don't even know where the square IS.

I think Xbox is the reason. If those other countries had Xbox, there is NO way they would fathom flag burning…not when they haven’t beat Halo III yet.

And I’m concerned.

We need to get this fire started immediately. The thing is, why not let all flag burners from around the world do so right here? They’re gonna burn them regardless, why not provide a safe venue? We have to have SOMETHING in common. Sure you hate the US, but I know you Iraqi men love boobs in your face as much as the next guy, am I right? I can tell you I love that kabob place down the street. I hear South Korea just loves LOST (Ben's an asshole, I know...and I just don't get that Locke guy, I think he's up to no good).

We’ll pick the ones we want to burn, they’ll pick the ones they want to burn, we’ll bring the graham crackers and chocolate, they’ll bring the marshmallows. If you’re not sure which flag to burn, pick one, I’m sure they’ve done something wrong. We could even get Gwen Stefani (sell out number 1) or Snoop Dogg (sell out number 2) to play, and maybe have a couple stages for the local bands (Japanese techno bands welcome).

Let’s pick a state that doesn’t matter to hold the event, like Wyoming, or Idaho, or any state that still has the balls/ignorance/nerve/stupidity to wave a confederate flag (we can use those as toilet paper for the event). It will be a big bonfire. We’ll call it, “Bonfire for Peace” sponsored by Wyoming.

Everyone will gather ‘round, we’ll share our favorite ghost stories. We’ll admit Bush is a bad human if the countries harboring suicide bombers would agree that there are better ways to improve the world than spraying one’s organs like Aqua Net all over the place.

We’ll talk about the hilarity of poo dollar, the shit taste of light beer, and how we just can’t get enough of that Seinfeld guy. We’ll get our boy scouts to show them how to tie a slip knot, and prove once in for all there we are grooming some our children to be upstanding people. We’ll get the girl scouts to sell cookies, because who on this green earth couldn’t go for a Samoa or a refrigerated Thin Mint right the F now?

It’s not what you’re thinking. I love my country, and I’m thankful I live here. I’m thankful I can worship freely and have the freedom of choice to express myself, much as I’m doing now. If burning a flag brings people together to stop harming each other, I say let’s do it. We’ll burn in the name of peace…

Now that I’ve got myself rolling, we could make a flag, with ALL the flags of all the countries in the entire world (except for the confederate flag, that’s still TP), and one for the moon because it’s like Washington DC, and I’m not sure if I’m really supposed to count it or not. We’ll all burn that one. Who’s coming with me?

Nothing unites like a bonfire. Who knows, maybe some Americans will hook up with someone in another country, and they’ll have babies. Then the baby will be part American and part Iranian, and the next generation won’t know what flag to burn.

Inside is Nice

2009-01-31T22:21:00.000-06:00

I don’t want to go out there.
Keep me here. Safe and sound, homeward bound.
I want to keep safe. Inside away from the wind and rain.
Pain. Tears, that all I've found, for years.

I don’t want to go out there.
Keep me here. With you and the people I know. .
Two, that’s who I can trust, when I count me twice.
I wish I could see my problems as scattering mice.

Please don’t make me go out there.
They won’t laugh when I want them to. Blue. Black.
They’ll turn their back.
Out in the cold I’m left.

I don’t want to go out there.
Like blood in a vein, breathless I move, looking for heart.
Smart, cunning, sharp as a dart.
It’s all gone up hill from the start.

So here I am, inside and safe. No risks taken, no rewards gained.
Just the two who will stay, me, and my cowardice.

World

2009-01-31T22:17:00.000-06:00

Show the world you’re fearless
Tearless
When they’re laughing at you.
Dance, when the Dark looks at you, and points.
Anoint, love will. Go full speed, all down hill.
Because you’ll know you’ve done what you could.
Not what you would, had you had to do it all over again.

Show the world your heart.
Darting in and out of you, is freedom, and be brave.
Behave. Do what you think is rightful.
Spiteful, will only keep your heat locked up and caged, raged and ragged.
Bag it. Put it away, drop it off a cliff, don’t let it come back another day.
Stay. Keep your heart here, this year, and always.
Keep the hallways of your brain clear and steer your heart right in there.
Think with your thumper, and it might lead to pain.
But better to have honor than greed’s disdain.
All you’ll need is this little spark.
I promise.

Show the world your compassion
Let them know you weep. Let them know your well is deep.
Here, keep this, I don’t need it and don’t try to repay it, take it.
Put it in your oven and bake it, don’t mistake it, it’s not a gift,
Pass it on, when someone else needs a lift.
I hear you, it’s okay, don’t worry, just cry, it’s time.
Emotional grime, it needs to come out.
And so will you, stout.

Top Gun

2009-01-28T23:11:00.004-06:00

Goose, talk to me.
My friend, shrouded in loyalty.
Will you die at 33?
Or will you be Ice...man?
Put on your hate cloak
And become my friend, only in the end?
Friend/foe, who knows.
Sometimes I'm not sure
About how pure we are.
We are mean, we are great
Please, tell me what we are, Fate!

New Slogan for Jiffy Corn Muffins tells us How Quickly They’ll Be Done.

2009-01-27T15:15:00.003-06:00

NORTH AND SOUTH DAKOTA DEBATE ABOUT OWNERSHIP OF BORDER DAIRY MART

2009-01-27T15:10:00.001-06:00

Today Governor Tony Park of North Dakota claimed to be the owner of a DairyMart that sits on the border between North and South Dakota. Where it stands now, South Dakota has been putting the only Dairy Mart existing between the two states next to corn and 5 horses on their ‘things we own’ list.

“I cannot believe for one minute the Southies think they can claim that lucrative business. 35% of it was built on our land, but that 35% is where the cash register is located. It’s just a bunch of southern liberal hippies claiming what isn’t theirs,” Tony Park insisted.

Tony Park’s brother, Perry Park, happens to be the governor of South Dakota. He insisted, “since most of it is on our land, it’s ours!”. He went into further stipulations on why he believes this issue cropped up in the first place. “Ever since we was kids he sees something I got and he tries to take it from me. He used to take my ice cream sandwiches from me. This ‘pushing me around stuff’ stops here.”

Tony Park called these accusations ‘ludacradiculous’ and continued, “he’s just jealous of me because I got the better Dakota”. We were able to tape a conversation between Gov. Park and Gov. Park.

Gov. Park insisted the Dairy Mart be property of his state. Gov. Park insisted the Dairy Mart be property of HIS state. It was suggested some sort of profit sharing idea, but the response received was surprising. “I’m not sharing no profit with you, or Gov. Park”.

In order to clear an obvious intellectual barrier, it was also suggested they build a second Dairy Mart. Gov. Park replied, “He’ll probably want THAT Dairy Mart too, along with all of its ice cream sandwiches”. The other Gov. Park dismissed the idea indicating, “we don’t have the capitol to put up another DM”.

This case could head to the local court of the county where the DM is located. The only judge there happens to be Paul Park, the father of the two Governors.

When asked for comment the judge replied, “I have no comment, except for the fact that these boys have always been fighting, ever since I brought home ice cream sandwiches one day. I vow there will be a fair and equal trial, and I won’t hesitate taking Perry down a notch.”

Church Attendance goes up when Father declares Oreos as the new Body of Christ.

2009-01-26T14:58:00.005-06:00

Father Tom at the St. Thomas Catholic Church in Medina Ohio made headlines last month when he told reporters the Church will now be serving Double Stuf Oreos as the "Body of Christ." Whole Milk also replaced the Wine.

Attendance had been dropping in recent months for the Church in the growing city. Due to church scandal and Sunday football the people have been given legitimate reason to miss Church. 8 out of 9 people on the Church's board voted in the new policy.

The one person who voted it down, Margaret Lamson, 77, found it to be "probably the worst thing I've ever heard. I will not be attending church there again. Double Stuf just has way too much creme."

Father Tom commented, "Hey, we have to compete with Sunday morning breakfast and football pre-gaming. Oreos are just a good way to make people look forward to coming to church. We plan on replacing the pews soon with Lazy-Boys next."

I'd Probably Like to See Your Nipples Today

2009-01-25T20:26:00.000-06:00

My name is Jack Tannerton, and I’d probably like to see your nipples today. Your first “whoa Jack” might be, “but wait Jack, what about some disclaimers first?” And I’d say, of course, I’m not sick. Of course, I don’t want to see them if you are related to me and I don’t want to see them if you are under 18. Jail would limit the amount of boobs I would see.

So then you say, “Whoa Jack, isn’t there a ceiling on the age, there, Jack?” No, I say. I’d sorta like to see some 92 year old nipples. I might not be turned on, but 92 year old nipples are like glacial grooves, it’s amazing just seeing them knowing they’ve been around forever. Maybe they have rings like a California redwood. Who knows?

“Whoa Jack, you can’t be telling me you ONLY want to SEE them!” That’s what I’m saying. I don’t need to touch, or play, or throw darts at those little vertical UFO’s. Jack Tannerton sees ‘em, and Jack Tannerton chalks one up in the win column. Ya see, I’m a happily married man, and I’d like to stay that way.

One amazing thing about me is I can’t remember everything, except for every nipple I’ve ever seen. I’m the Good Will Hunting of nipples. I don’t memorize them, they are just photographed permanently in my beautiful brain. I’m a connoisseur. My brain is an areola symphony.

My buddy Tom has a wife whose nipples are damn near star shaped. Madonna’s nipples aren’t as round or perfect as say Betty White’s. Terry Hatcher’s nipples point north, no matter where she standing. You should see her when she’s facin’ south. They look like a second and third belly button.

You might be askin, “How have you seen all of these nipples, Jack Tannerton?” Well, I just happen to be in the right shrubbery at the right time. You’d be surprised how far a good pair of binoculars can get you.

“Have you ever gotten caught, Jack Tannerton?” What I am doing is not illegal. I am simply picking favorable locations to look through my binoculars.

That's Deep

2009-01-24T10:46:00.005-06:00

You're Deep
Ultimately every donut drowns
Why push yours to the bottom?
You'll burn your finger.

You're Deep.
Because you dig.
Like a twig,
I prefer to surf.

Keep digging, deep.
You'll only end up in China, fine;
With language deep, you won't be understood.

Deep digging only makes you a simpleton.
Let's be honest,
Tons o' fun.

Let the water take you, I say.
May the gold chips fall?
Release your burden
In any depth, you'll float.

Deep, right?

Blink - Malcolm Gladwell

2009-01-21T21:56:00.006-06:00

I just read this book, call Blink. It was good book (Thanks Dave U. for recommending it). You should read it. It's about rapid cognizance, but on the subconscious level.

There were a lot of cool stories in the book. One of them was about a chair.

I learned who designed this chair. It was by a guy named Bill Stumpf. Bill (we aren't, but should be, on a first name basis) studied the way people sat, and didn't like how most chairs are covered in a fabric don't allow the skin to breath. He was fascinated with Wicker (who isn't?), and it's breathability. "The skin breaths, why not make a chair that allows that," is what Bill thought. I can't actually back that up. Maybe he just thought how much he hated how the smell of his farts stayed in all the chairs he had sat on before the Aeron. So he came up with the Aeron.

I have sat on said chair for a good 3 years (this chair fixes the fart problem, it goes right through, not surprisingly, but it can be both a good and a bad thing). It's the most comfortable chair my ass has ever graced. Yet, when people reviewed the chair from an aesthetic point of view they found it to be vile, like Andy Dick.

Their initial Blink (see how I did that) judgment told them the chair was uglier than your mom with a coke hangover. I didn't mean that. I apologize to all those with moms (dead or alive). It wasn't right. (Read Blink and find out why Gladwell thinks New Coke failed)

Henyway, after people sat on the Aeron a while and realized how ass-fantastic this chair was, they were then given another chance (years later) to evaluate it's aesthetics. Strangely enough, the rating went up from what was previously a 3 (on a scale of 1 to 10) to an 8. Neat huh. Gladwell goes on to note that the people initially didn't like the chair because it was different, not ugly. Thus the concern for always using these "Blink" judgments.

Lots of cool stuff like that, plus you can find out if you are a racist here. That's not true. The Implicit Association Test is designed to tell you to what side your sub-conscious (you have little control over this, mind you) leans on matters such as race, community vs. individual ideals, good and bad. Etc.

I took the test and have a slight favor towards community over individual and a strong favor of Good over Bad (who wouldn't...except for maybe Andy Dick).

Cheers.

Brush with Emilio

2009-01-19T16:42:00.003-06:00

I like to look at the birds in the morning. I stand, on the way to work, and hope I catch a glimpse. I wonder what they sound like, what goes through their minds when they are flying through the air. Are they thinking about breakfast, and how it’s not settling right. Maybe one too many worms or spiders or gummy bears they found street.

They don’t have to drink anything in the morning to get them going. They just go. You wonder if they have anything to look forward to, or if flying is the only thing they look forward to. I’d look forward to flying, pooping on things. Eat, fly, poop. If it were only that simple.

I’d have to add one more thing to the eat-fly-poop, list. It’d be Hollywood. I need pop culture like white collar soldiers need Starbucks. Birds fly south for the winter, I fly west every morning to Hollywood to find out that one of the Goonies is now doing Sunny D commercials.

I don’t want the glass or the first sip. I want the backwash at the bottom of the mug. I don’t want James Earl Jones, Clint Eastwood, or Julia Roberts. No, I want Brittney and how much weight she gained since baby numero dos (I hear she is seeing her body guard now, although does she really need one at this point?!!!). I want Lindsey Lohan and how many times she’s checked herself into rehab (lucky number 3!!!). That taste every morning, is my espresso.

This morning, I got my triple shot espresso vente Americano..my proverbial caffeine, and a free scone to boot.

On the train ride in today, I noticed a man that I had seen before. A man I’ve looked up to throughout my entire childhood and who now I still figuratively look up to. Emilio Estevez.

I look over, thinking to myself, wow, the very star of Men at Work. I tried not to stare, because I'm sure Emilio "got that all the time". More astoundingly, I could not believe how no one else noticed his presence. He's 5'3'' of terrific awesomeness. As a matter of fact, the next shirt I make is going to say, "I loved you in Men at Work".

Half of my childhood was spent golf clapping in the face of police officers. I would wake up at 5:30 AM to bang trash can lids together so often that I'm qualified for a spot with STOMP.

I had to get a closer glimpse. So I squeezed through a few people to get a closer look at the Mighty Ducks star. Maybe he could sign the hockey puck I carry around just in case I was ever to meet him. This man was my Hulkamania. This man is the Omega to Charlie Sheen’s Alpha. Hollywood began and ended with these step brothers.

I wanted to go into his personal life, and how I knew all about it. How concerned I was when he broke up with Paula, the whole nine. He needed to know I’ve been waiting for his next movie, patiently, for the last 4 years.

I clear my throat, so as to be subtle to see if he he'll look up from his Harry Potter book. Who knew Emilio read Harry Potter?!!? Could he be starring in the next film, and the book was research?!!?!? Or simply, was this his grande cinnamon dolce. I had to know. "Excuse me" I muttered.

The imposter looked up. It was not Emilio, but a mere mortal. Who the hell was this F-ing guy. Parading around with the classic Emilio hair cut, this guy, drinking his latte, lost in Potterville. The guy was wearing the blue hoodie Emilio wore in The Breakfast club. Phony.

So I "accidentally" bumped into him, trying to spill his latte all over his lap. Goblets of Fire, I thought to myself. The latte however, seemed to defy gravity, taking a JFK turn in mid air and spilled all over my suit pants. I sometimes hate everything, life, people and the phonies that matriculate amongst them.

My stop came up, and I promise you'll love this, timing it perfectly, I reach down, knock his book off his lap, and say "There's only one Emilio."

Walking to work, I think about my almost brush with Emilio. How cool would that have been had he been Emilio. The man I saw had wrinkles. No way Emilio had wrinkles. The man I saw had blue eyes, but no sparkles in them. The man I saw, wore loafers. Emilio doesn’t where loafers….or does he?

After my five minute walk to work…my dear God it was Emilio. The bastard didn’t put his make-up on this morning. The bastard went and got old. As it turns out, even gods age. Gods drink Starbucks concoctions. Gods, repel dolces and spill them on my pants.

Emilio Estevez. Wow!! Great morning.

Tattoo

2009-01-19T11:21:00.004-06:00

My friend Kevin just got a Tattoo. It was after the death of his favorite and long time friend, Koda. I don't have any tattoos, and I've always felt myself lacking in the badass department because of it. You cannot be a total badass if you don't have a tattoo. I'm sorry. I don't make the rules. Kevin, has now taken that step.

So I have been thinking about what I would do, if I were to get a Tattoo. I sometimes think of getting a full body tattoo of all of my internal organs and main veins (heh) just so I could easily tell someone where it hurts if rushed to the hospital. I've thought long and hard (refrain from "that's what she said" Office influence) and decided to get a tattoo of Tattoo. Yeah yeah yeah, Ze Plane, Ze Plane.

I recognize many people will think this guy (Hervé Villechaize) is just a silly little guy. They discount his talent. They like to "poke" fun at little people. No one ever talks about his handsomeness. They refer to him as a "sidekick," but those are only racist little people haters. It's a bunch of green balony is what that is. Tattoo IS the guy people came to watch, Mr. Roarke was the sidekick. Sidekick. I'm steamin'. Tattoo should have taken out a kneecap, know what I'm sayin'? Bad Ass.

Life is Neat

2009-01-18T18:22:00.007-06:00

Life is neat, because it’s life.
It’s not an apple, or a knife.
Life knows kempo.
Life sets the tempo.

Life is neat and tan.
Life drives a van.
A van that carries dreams.
Dreams like moon beams.

Life is neat and has big feet.
Life’s name is Pete.
Pete steps and has good balance.
Like Curly, Jack Palance.

Life is neat because it’s warm.
Life is the RA of your dorm.
It’s the frosting and the cake.
Life is Mom who likes to bake.

Life is neat, and so are you.
If I could, I’d have two.
One for when I’m great.
And one for when I’m late.

Life is neat. Treat it sweet.
Feet and Pete. Got it, Meat?

Sunny Days

2009-01-18T18:21:00.005-06:00

I woke up this morning, hearing a scream, my own. Alone, I felt. This scream silently melts my every good thought, evaporating, all I can do is try to recall. Try to breath in happiness that's dispursed. Good luck. Fuck, this silence drowns out any positive thought. It's this shred of a pebble that's good, against a silent wave of disappointment and anger. It's this fang, or, claw on a paw, that suffocates my belief in myself. Here's to your health! Stealth it sneaks up on me, this ever stalking discontent. This plastic blanket that surrounds me and shields me from the people who care...

I ask for a branch to reach for, a snorkel for air. I plead for a piece of ground to recover. I pray for safety within. To rest, to breath, and not to drown.

Eyeball

2009-01-18T00:20:00.002-06:00

I am a new being.
My blanket has been removed from me
Yet my vision is blurred.
I can breath better now
For my cover is gone.
I no longer itch
I am pure again
But I can't see you,
So I'm not happy.

It's about my eyes, after I took my contacts out last night.

What it is

2009-01-17T15:27:00.002-06:00

It is what it is
But what if it’s not
What if, It is what it’s not
Oh Dear

If it is what it is
And
It is what it isn’t.
We have a problematic paradox.
Oh Dear

An Alligator is what it is
It is an Alligator
If an alligator is what it isn’t
Then it could be anything
But my guess would be a crocodile.

Peanuts are what they are
They are nuts.
Peanuts are what they aren’t
When they talk to you.
Still nuts, I guess.

Hope is what it is
It is hope
Hope is what it isn’t
When it’s hope

Life is what it is
It is Life.
Life is what it isn’t
When you play hopscotch on the train tracks.

Welcome to Could Be Peaches!

2009-01-17T13:39:00.007-06:00

I will try to refrain from using the exclamation point regularly. I understand the extent of its overuse and sometimes abuse. It's just that sometimes I get really excited! And this is one of those times.

So here it is, my very own home in Bloggerville. It's called Could Be Peaches after a line I heard in a movie I like. That's 50% of it, really. I also like fruits that are peaches or look like peaches from a distance. I like a person who could be considered "a peach." I don't want to say that's exclusively women, or men, or dogs or chameleons. It could be anyone I think is swell. That's how I came up with the name. I hope it's a name like Radio Flyer or Dirk Diggler, that's just so tigtht and flawless. Like a diamond that too, is flaweless. Except for that it's a blog and not a rock worth lots of money honey.

Cheers to you, Peachy Britches.
Nick