I Can't Find Auntie Em!

Ok, seriously: Last night sucked. Between the storms and my situations there in, it was a bad night. Was my house destroyed? Thankfully no, but it still amazes me how stupid people can be...including myself. So, kids, it's story time with Uncle Leab.
Last night, I took my wife's car to the dealership to have it's warranty-covered work done. Yes, I could do my own oil change, but it's covered by warranty and such, so if it's free...go for it.
Anyway, I'm sitting in the waiting area (this is Iten Chevrolet off of 694/94 West in Brooklyn Center (or is it Park?) when the sky goes black. Not a good sign. First things first, the wind picks up. Then the rain comes and starts to go horizontal. Well it looks like we're going to be hit hard. Hooray! One of the women sitting next to me forgot her child's diaper bag, and the kid is only 6 months old. Like a brave idiot (or just an idiot) I say, "I'll get it, where's the bag?" It turns out that the bag is in her minivan...which is across the parking lot. I count it off. It's 22 cars away from the door I have to run out of. So, I book it.
The first thing I notice is that the wind is really strong, and the rain is making it hard to see. I make it to the card, but I have this funny feeling like I'm being tugged. It's weird. Imagine someone has thrown a lasso over your mid section and is pulling. That's what I felt. I grab the bag, lock the car and start back to the door. Right as I get about a two feet from the door that tugging feeling gets MUCH stronger. In fact, I am now having a hard time moving. It could be the 60-80 mph winds, or maybe I was stuck with a petrifying ray (I choose the former). Luckily, one of the Iten guys saw me and grabbed my arm. Once inside, I handed the bag over. Now, I've just done this woman a favor and gone through a natural car wash as it were with the spinning and the pushing and such, and the first thing out of her mouth isn't thank you, but, "Where are my keys? Give me my keys!" Maybe she was panicked, but oy vey! I still didn't even have my bearings yet. Now comes the stupid people part.
What are you supposed to do in a storm such as a tornado? Move to a safe spot, right? Well, the people there wanted to watch the storm, so they stood in front of the glass! That's right: With a wicked storm hitting the area, they are going to stand in front of the glass windows to watch. Come on people!
The teacher in me (or maybe the annoying know it all) started barking orders at people. No one knew what to do. How do you not know what to do in a storm? I grew up in a city where we didn't have tornados or crap like that, yet I know what to do. I made everyone move to the back where the employee bathrooms were. Thankfully, the manager of the place knew what to do as well, so together we chained the doors and then moved to the back. Still, one guy refused to go. He didn't want to miss a TV program and decided he would sit and wait. Not on my watch, Buster. There was a TV in the back (it was the manager's, but he shared). It was at this point, that the corner of the roof started to rattle. At first it sounded like hail, so no biggie, but then there was a little peek of something. The roof pulled back ever so slightly. It wasn't major, not like Carol House Furniture when I lived in St. Louis (the entire roof of the warehouse was lost in a tornado). Then the lights went out. Luckily the interior of the dealership has a generator. But the second stupid person then came in and said, "I want to watch," and he attempted to open the now chained door to get a better view.
What's even better was that as others were panicking, one of the workers finished my car. So, as the storm died down a little (just before the second one hit), I left. I drove home in the dark (a lot of power out). I saw trees down, cars crashed, buses pulled over that were filled with people. It was crazy. When I got home, my cats were scared, but they were in the basement. I raised them well. The second storm then hit.
This morning I still don't have power (I'm writing this at school.) I didn't sleep well, because I had three furry cats huddled on me thus making it very warm. Great in the winter, not before then. Alot of places still don't have power (like my whole neighborhood for one). Still, so far only one person died, which is, though sad, very lucky. Hit was hit by a tree branch.
All of this, however, has made me think about Katrina and such. Were there people who said, "Oh I have to see this, " and went outside during the storm, only to be swept away? Is that a form of Natural Selection then, or is it just plain stupidity manifested?
If you don't know, I implore you to learn what you are supposed to do in a storm. It's necessary and it can save lives. I didn't save anyone's life yesterday, but they all calmed down when they were someplace safe. Learn what you need to do folks.
Of course, what do I know? I was the guy in the silver Impala racing home at 80 mph in the dark.

Hmm, I guess the father should be there, right?

This is yet another reason why America is embarrassing. We are putting in spectator seating for live births. WHAT?! What the hell is that about? What's next? Will there be hot dog vendors?(who could eat at that moment?) Will there be a board with slo-mo replay of the crowning? What about if you have a large family or divorced family? How do you decide who gets to come in to the room. My father wasn't in the room for any of his children. It really wasn't done then. I just cannot believe that this is where we are heading. How about a webcam? Wait! What am I thinking? We already televise celebrity weddings, right? Why not televise celebrity births? Sure, it could make millions.
Pepsi, in conjunction with Pizza Hut, brings you the birth of Katie Holmes baby! See the doctor tell her to push. Awe at the miracle of birth. Cringe at Tom Cruise eating the placenta to stay young! Stay tuned to see who gets to watch the birth with you. Tonight at 8, don't miss it!!!
I'm telling you this is only going to make things worse. What if someone you invite is late, so they lose their seat? It will be goodbye Best Friend for Life, hello awkward moments in the delivery room.
Maybe I'm overreacting. I don't know.
Then again, what do I know, I'm the guy who was left out in the waiting room. They gave my seat to Carrot Top.

Pair of Aces

This picture is the perfect epitome of my parents. My mother is a lovely woman who is usually composed in the face of insurmountable odds. She's a good WASP. This is what happens when you grow up in a political family (her father, my grandfather, was the Deputy Secretary of Defense). My father on the other hand, though incredibly bright, never wanted to play by "The Man's" rules. Therefore he would decide what was necessary, not what the public thought. Here is a simple photo that shows a couple that has been married for an amazing 41 years. When you look at their story, however, it's amazing that they ever got together, let alone stayed together. It's a testament to the power of love.

My mother, as I mentioned before was born into a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant family. My grandfather was the executive vice president of GM and was Deputy Secretary of Defense. It's very odd, but I have all these photos of presidents and pilots (such as Buzz Aldrin) signed to him. It makes me feel very small. Anyway, she is the third of four sisters. Her two older sisters have both passed on. I have mentioned before that my mother is a genius of the first order. At some point I expect her to get a MacArthur Grant. Yes, she's that smart. Anyway, she's always had to fight to be considered an equal in this male dominated world (I would know, I'm a man).

While my mother was growing up in a pretty well-to-do situation, my father (we all remember the secret agent) was a holocaust kid. Most of his family was killed by the Nazis (Yes, Virginia, there was a Holocaust. Those naysayers are...well...idiots). He grew up in New York and had to travel around alot because his father and mother couldn't take care of him. At the age of 15, he went to Columbia for college. This is a man who, desperate for a place to live while in college, lived behind a boiler in a small room. He, too, was a genius. It was the ultimate buddy movie pairing: My mother was book smart, my father street smart...but I'm getting ahead of myself. Dad was known for two things: He was a heavy drinker who could outdo anyone, and he was a ladies' man. At one point, my father had a rival he disliked very much. This rival talked WAY too much trash talk to my father. Now, my father had this talent, he could look like he was going to walk down a flight of stairs and then take a whole flight in one step. It sounds odd, but I'm told it was amazing. This rival was talking to my father and staring at him while they walked down the steps. Fed up, my father decided to take the last flight in one step, the rival, tried to keep up. Not smart. The rival tumbled to the bottom while my father was fine. I don't think the rival ever bothered my father again.

The story of how my parents got together has passed into legend in my family. The story isn't fully clear, but it's as follows:

Mom had broken off an engagement to a nice preacher's son. He was, "boring," at best. Oddly enough, he called my mother shortly after my grandmother died. It was creepy, to her anyway. Anyway, newly single, my mother wasn't sure she was ready to re-enter the dating pool. Enter Betsy, her best friend. Betsy was going to a party being held by my father and his friends. The invite said to bring a bottle of alcohol, which is genius because most people forget to take it home...not that I would know...er...yeah. So, instead of the alcohol, Betsy decided to take my mother. Once at the party, my mother and father hit it off. He has an acerbic wit which my mother could match. He would quote books only to find my mother correcting him. They were perfect for each other, because they liked the same things and could out talk anyone else in the room. Still, my mother had some reservations about my father. As I mentioned before, he was a drinker. This is a man who once got a grade he didn't like in a class and dared the professor to a drinking game. If my father won, he received a higher grade (such as an A), but if my father lost, he would fail the class. Several drinks later (legend has it that it was two full bottles of whiskey) my father had a higher grade. BUT...he couldn't walk or sit down for two days. He just crawled around his abode puking.

So she had reservations (which were justified). However, my father really liked my mother. So, one night, he took her to the White Horse restaurant in New York. For those of you who don't know, this is a famous place where Dylan Thomas drank all the alcohol that later killed him. There's a plaque marking where he fell down before he schlepped over to the Hotel Chelsea to die. Anywho, Dad really wanted to show my mother that he would change for her, so he ordered (oh I wish I was kidding) 17 whiskey sours (17!!!!). He then drank them all and stacked the glasses up. He turned to my mother, knocked all the glasses down and said, "Nothing will ever come between us again." He then quit drinking. He has the occasional drink, but they are few and far between now. He loved (and still loves) her so much that he willed himself to stop the things she didn't like.

While they were happy, their families were not. My father's parents weren't happy that he was dating a schiksa. My mother's family thought my father was a grifter. Both sets of parents were mortified. It was because of this that my parents eloped. One day, they went to the justice of the peace and got married. No fanfare, just married over a lunch break. They told no one, but were discovered by my aunt Carolyn in a most embarrassing fashion. Carolyn was in town visiting and was at my mother's apartment (unaware that my parents were now living together). She kept waiting for my father to leave as the night went on, but he didn't. Finally, she was told the truth, and she was utterly shocked. To compound things, the cot she was sleeping on that night broke and pinned her into the wall. She was not happy. When their parents found out they were married, their parents were mortified. My mother's father almost disowned her. My father's mother cried. It was not a happy time. Yet, they persevered. Even though people around them said it wouldn't last, and even though their parents were mortified, my parents made it last. For 41 years. It gives me hope in my marriage. Oh, dear reader, there's nothing wrong in my five year marriage, but you never know what lies over the next bend, do you? When my wife and I first got together, alot of people and family members just weren't sure it was going to last. Yet, we have (so far).

I look at my parents now and that despite all the crap they've been through (my father's heart and gall bladder surgery, three kids, the loss of their parents and two siblings/in-laws), they still have this bond that no one understands but them. That should be what people strive for when they look for love: It's not about Prince Charming riding in on a white horse to sweep the woman off her feet. It's not about finding that girl you saw on the train. Love is about finding someone who understands what you are telling them and responds in kind. Love is finding a person who helps you roll with the punches that life will inevitably hit you with during the course of your life. My mother and father are now older people (I even get mail about their senior citizen years here in Minnesota. Why is that a problem? They live in New York). Still they care about each other. They have little in-jokes that only they get. I've watched them walk with each other arm and arm and discuss things that no one else understands. They have a bond that is simply unbreakable.

Let this be a lesson to you, dear reader. Just because the world tries to break you apart, doesn't mean you aren't right for each other. If there is a spark that holds you together, then hold together.

Hopefully this story fills you with a sense that anyone has a chance at happiness. I've probably sounded a little too down recently, and this is my chance to make up for it.

Oh and Mom and Dad, if you ever read this: I love you very much...and no more book jokes please.

Fun with Pilot and Passengers

I'm back. Dammit, what a long day. More and more, the modern airline industry is incredibly frustrating. Once upon a time, flying was a privilege and a new and wonderous experience. Now...well...it sucks. It powerful sucks. Airplanes are slowly and surely turning into buses in the sky. I love to travel, but service, people, and vehicle are turning me away. I'm starting to feel that I need to learn how to fly and buy a crop duster like this one on the left here so I can fly myself. If I hate the service, then I have no one to blame but me.
This is how my travel day went. I am warning you up front: Everything I am about to tell you is true. I wish it wasn't, but it is.
There were no problems at security this time. My bag was sent through the machine three times because the guy was having a hard time reading something (I have no clue what). Fine, no big deal. The real fun began on the plane.
I am sore, and my knee and ankle have been hurting a great deal lately. So I took an aisle seat. I love the aisle, because I can stand up and stretch and move around. From the moment I sat down, I knew life was going to be difficult. First, there was a woman sitting two rows in front of me that was directing traffic for the entire plane. This is a passenger, and she's telling one guy where to put his bags, then another woman to keep moving. It was very strange. I knew she didn't know these people, because the AA (Airline Attendant) quietly told the woman to sit down and stop. Shortly after this, a group of people show up to my row. "You need to move," I am told. (Notice it's not, "Are you sure you're in the right seat?" or "Could we switch?") "Excuse me?" I respond. "My two friends are sitting next to you, and we want to be together, so you're going to take my seat so we can be together." (Again, no "please," or, "Would you mind?") "Sigh, where are you sitting?" I decide to ask. Turns out it's a middle seat...in the back...by the bathroom. "Nope, sorry. I paid my money for this seat, and I want to keep it. See if you can switch with someone else." This does not go over well. First the group swears at me and calls me names. Next (my favorite part) Bossy Lady stands up and tells me I have to move. That's right: Another passenger is TELLING me I HAVE to move. "Excuse me, this is none of your business." This is not enough to appease her. "They want to be together. You have to move. A good person would move. Obviously you're not a good person." Let's remember, boys and girls, that I am VERY tired. I feel drained to the very core of my being after the last few days. I politely respond, "I'm sorry. I paid for this seat, which I chose. I will not move to a middle seat, because they didn't plan their travel correctly." This sets of Bossy Lady, who, while the rest of the plane is boarding stands in the aisle and berates me (She's a Minnesotan, no less). "I will not move," I repeat. Now the AA comes up. "What seems to be the problem?" (I know feel as though this little lady wants to be a cop. "Well, Officer Andrea, these people are disturbing my peace.") BossyLady begins to lay out a story where I am a tyrant who vowed to spill the blood of those who would have my seat. Even the woman sitting across from me is rolling her eyes. Bossy Lady's husband is grabbing her arm and trying to pull her down. I explain the deal to the AA. The response is not what I expect. "You should move," she tells me, "just take the seat." I take a deep breath and show her my foot, then I explain that I have not been asked nicely. "If they had asked nicely instead of telling me to move, I might have. However, because they were rude, I'm not moving. Sorry." Finally, another couple moves and everything works out.
The flight is horrible. There are not enough drinks or food for everyone. They serve the older passengers first, then the younger ones. There wasn't even water. I asked for a glass so I could get water from the bathroom and was told they were, "out." Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't.
We went up and down the whole flight as well. At one point we dropped. I don't mean a bounce, I mean engine noise whines, and we go down a few hundred feet. That wasn't fun.
I hate complaining about it, but it just feels like the passenger doesn't matter anymore. I mean cutting pillows and blankets? That's cruel. The guy who sat next to me tried to sleep on his tray and was told he was, "not allowed to do that." Why? What is it hurting? The food is atrocious. Instead of giving us pretzels or even a bad sandwich, we now have to see which of the four color boxes is on our flight and which food is in said box. We had grey, and the cheese was expired. That's a bad sign.
Oh and the electrical system was, "screwy," according to the AA. Several cabin lights and overhead lights would click on and off during the flight. One woman thought it meant that the plane would crash. She was really scared.
Look, I get that I'm a bad person for not moving. Maybe you agree, maybe you don't, I don't know. That's not the point. The point is that the consumer, who the airlines should answer to, is being screwed. As long as the shareholders get their cut, who cares about us, right?
Then again, as Worm says, I'm just a intellectual rambler.
So, check into that airline before you fly it. Think of it this way: NWA is losing money everyday, cutting pilots, and about to cut more out of its in-flight service. Southwest? Looks fine. They're running very well. Continental? Made a huge turn around. Many industry insiders say that ALL airlines should be run the same way.
Then again, I'm just the ass in 20-D, who won't move. What do I know?

Ramblings for the Evening (9/19/05)

I'm still on the East Coast. Well, let's just get to it, so without further ado: NO WHAMMIES!
East Coast vs. Midwest...Coast:
The thing about the Midwest is that everyone is very reserved. East coast people, not so much. I was over at Home Depot (I may be here to help my family, but I can also help my sister with her housing issues), and I didn't make the turn because too many cars were coming through the red light. The person behind me was not happy. In the Midwest, there would be a honk, followed by a person just muttering to him- or herself. Here, this is what happens:
The person honks several times. Not enough, he gets out of the car and walks up to the driver side. After a 30 sec, profanity-laden tirade (in front of his children no less), he makes a rude gesture and gets back in his car. After taking turn, he is unable to get a parking space, so he does the same thing to the next person who has taken his desired space. Gotta love the East.
How to tell you're tired: (a la Jeff Foxworthy)
You know you're tired if you repaint something twice, because you can't remember what you did before.
You know you're tired if, when you're replacing a lamp post, you try to lick the wires to make them fit (Trust me, DON'T DO THIS! It really hurts).
You know you're tired if you walk into a door TWICE...in one minute.
You know you're tired if you can't remember that person in front of you is called, "Mom."
You know you're tired if you lock a door and then try to open it.
Home Improvement:
It's amazing to me what can be done (and occasionally needs to be done) to homes. Right now, I need to finishing painting my home. My sister, however, has a house that needs a lot of work. Over the weekend, I painted her deck fence, a few parts of the house, the railings, a table, and then fixed the tile in my parents house, replaced a lamp post, and more. The fun (or not fun) part of owning a home is that the "improvement" NEVER ENDS.
Wow, that's all I got. Sad. Shows how tired I am. Have a good night folks.

The Frustration of Flying the "Friendly" Skies

I have said it before, and I will say it again: I hate flying. Maybe it's just America, but flying is now akin to having a prostate exam: just bend over and hope it doesn't hurt too much. Why am I so angry? Well, I had the WORST traveling experience I have had in a LOOOONG time yesterday. That's why I was so tired. I started at noon in Minneapolis and finished at 3 am in Connecticut. Between dealing with annoying (and slightly hand-happy security people (I'll get there), long delays, horrible seatmates and long travel time, what should be enjoyable becomes amazing frustrating. So, here's the deal:

I had to come east for a family emergency of sorts. I don't really want to go into the details but suffice to say: I had to come East. So, with a 3 o'clock flight and no seat, I arrived at the airport early to get setup. From the moment I walked in, I knew there would be trouble. There were only two security lines open and in between them was a man with a camera (from WCCO as it were). He took one look at me, and all of a sudden, Leab had a camera in his face and was being asked questions about Northwest. I answered them honestly: "They suck, this sucks, Shelby sucks (the last I really didn't say), and I'm not surprised NWA is going under. They cut pillows for God's sake. PILLOWS to save money." The cameraman almost started laughing, because everyone else had been, "Super PC and nice about it." That's just not me. With the interview out of the way, I headed into the security line. After what felt like hours (really was around 45 minutes) I put my bag on the conveyer belt and went through the checkpoint. I didn't beep, but I had the mark on my boarding pass that said I needed to be searched. That's right: I was pulled into the little black box and had to open up my bag and be searched by a wand. The bag search wasn't a problem. Granted, they weren't happy I had a bottle wine with me, but they let it go. The problem began with (and I wish I was kidding), "a bulge in my pants." I swear to good it sounds like the beginning of a porno, but it's true. They made me take off my pants. Let me say that again: They made me TAKE OFF MY PANTS. Why? Because I had a mysterious bulge. Once the pants were removed, the bulge turned out to be....my chapstick. I forgot to remove it from my pants, and the guy was suspicious. Maybe he just wanted to see if I was boxers or briefs (boxers, thank you very much), but still, I was pissed just standing there in my underwear. A few seconds later, I was dressed and on my way to the gate.

Ah, the gate. I was in the C terminal, but no too far down. I waited there for hours. HOURS! Damn, it still pisses me off to think about it. 3 o'clock came and went, and they would not tell us why the plane was delayed. Finally, at 4:15, they tell us, "You're plane is delayed due to air traffic control in Newark. Hmm, every other flight to Newark was fine. The weather wasn't a problem, but our plane was half full. As a "convenience" to the passengers of the next flight, the two planes were merged to make a totally full flight. Sounds a little too convenient to me. Finally at 5, we board the plane. I'm in the Exit Row (great for leg room, bad should the plane go down). Unfortunately, I am sitting next to a Sex in the City reject. A short, thin brunette wearing a designer label, Manolo shoes, and a HUGE scowl. It seems that little miss investment banker was on the wait list for first class, but did not get a seat up there. So she had to sit with the rest of the plebians. Halfway through the flight, she began bitching to me about her life. I don't know this woman from Eve, but suddenly I am her therapist. She would not stop talking. I was reading, I was looking over documents, but it didn't matter. The most interesting part (to me anyway) is that she never asked me anything about myself. She couldn't have cared less who I was. I know her husband is a lousy lay, but she couldn't care less that I'm married, or tired, or even breathing.

Finally, we land, and the next part of the adventure begins. I have to get to Manhattan from Newark airport and the easiest way is (usually) to take the train to Penn station. To get to the railway, you have to take the tram to the last stop. It sounds simple, but last night the tram was completely FUBAR. That's right, FUBAR! You see I came into Terminal B, and it is 3 stops west to railway center. Sounds easy. Well, when we got to P4, the second stop, they forgot to announce that one of the trams was busted, so instead of continuing to the railway stop, we started going backwards. Now the car I'm in is pissed. We get off and run across to the other tram (which is now running) and ride back to P4. The tram stops short of the station. We're stuck. I have now missed the first train to NY. Five minutes later, the train pulls up to the station. We get out and have to run across to the other tram to continue on. The doors shut and...we go nowhere. The tram is stuck. The doors opened, and we're told to get out. Three minutes later the other tram pulls back up, and we start to get on it. An older woman moving a little slower is trying to get in my car when the door shuts on her. She's stuck, and that annoying voice is saying, "Get away from the door." She can't! So another rider and I grab the doors and force them open to help her. The conductor (or whatever she is) starts yelling at us. "Stop that! You'll break the tram. She'll be fine." The other passenger and I take a quick glance at each other and pretend we didn't hear her. The door finally opens enough so the older woman can squeeze in. After all this time, I finally get to the railway station.

Part III: Wherein I have a hot, hot, hot ride and then can't find my ride. The train was late. It's now 9:40 at night. Finally, ten minutes late, it arrives, and we board. There's no A/C, and it's a hot and humid night in New York. With a ton of people on the train, we start sweating like crazy. After getting to Penn, I attempt to contact my parents, who I will be driving up to Connecticut. No luck with my mother's cellphone or the apartment number. The plan is that If I can't reach them, I need to go to the restaurant where they were having dinner, then check the apartment. With the subway line I need down for repair, I walk to the restaurant. Tons of sweat is pouring off of me (I know, such a sexy image) as I beat the street. At the restaurant, I am told to wait outside while they check for my parents. Why? Well, between my backpack and my sweating, I would not be good for the pretty people inside. Plus, the waiter tells me later, "a darker-skinned man with a backpack who is sweating profusely kinda looks like a terrorist." Ok then. My parents aren't there, so now I have to hoof it over to the apartment. I don't have keys, so I have to wait outside the building until someone comes out and I can catch the door (takes about 15 minutes). My parents are, in fact, home. It turns out that my mother's cell phone is dead (not battery-wise, but rather the chip inside is fried), and the apartment's phone isn't working. My parents thought I never made it. Now, after a cheerful (SARCASM) reunion, I began the two hour drive to CT.

The drive was...uneventful. There was a deer that was almost hit, two cars chasing each other at over a hundred miles per hour. Oy. Still after all that crap, it was still necessary to be here. I love to travel, but man, I hate (using hate folks) days like yesterday (and this morning). Hope you all have a nice weekend (though I'll write again).

UUUUGGGGHHHH

Ok, I am way too tired to post tonight. Sorry boys and girls. I promise a big full story tomorrow.
For now, think about this:
Local anchor man Jason DeRusha left a comment on my blog. Hot damn I feel important.

Ramblings for the Evening (9/14/05)

Ok, I know: I've been doing alot of the "Ramblings" lately, but that's because so much happens during the day. At some point, I'll do what evey good blogger does and make some sort of schedule. So, with out further ado: SMOKE EM IF YOU GOT EM!
Britney Spears Gives Birth:
This one's too easy. Take your pick.
1. Christians: It was a boy....The Anti-Christ is here, so you should begin preparing.
2. Name that baby: No name has been released yet, so I thought I would throw out a couple names for her and Federline to mull over before choosing. (Feel free to leave your own ideas in the comment section.)
Welfare Check Federline (It makes sense. Her career is over)
Cheeseburger Spears Federline (She did say that was her favorite food, and food is hip now.)
New Orleans Federline (She loves her home state. Why not show pride for its fallen city?)
George Bush Federline (She did say we have to follow him no matter what.)
Justin Gigolo Federline (Like the song. She could call him that way. Every where he goes...)
Confederate Spears Federline (Cause the South might rise again.)
Madonna Spears Federline (She says she wants to be Madonna...)
3. Will anyone really care about her anymore? Seriously?
Delta and Northwest File for Bankruptcy:
I don't know about you, but I'm really not surprised. Now the two airlines can merge into one ginormous (that's for my wife) company, and Northwest can use Delta's mechanics. Problem solved for them. Seriously though, it's not surprising. The question is this: If Northwest goes all the way under, how screwed up will Minnesota's economy become? I've been saying for years: Fix the freaking railway systems. One of the best parts of Europe is riding around on the trains. Same thing in Japan. Come on America, let's wise up.
Chess Teacher Arrested:
Look at this man. Can you seriously tell me that anyone is really surprised that he was arrested for possible child sexual assault? How did he do it? "Pawn to Queen 7....King to Rook 4....My hand to your pants 2....Don't tell your parents 6...."
I mean seriously, his chess students sometimes spend the night at his home. How can you not see this coming if you're a parent. They saw it coming with Michael Jackson. Yet this guy, who's a dead ringer for my buddy Worm (Oh I kid, Worm, I kid. Worm's a handsome guy...or so I've been told by Tara) was just kicking it with students in his home, and no one thought, "Gee...Timmy sure is spending the night over at Bob's an awful lot. Oh well, must be practicing." Oy vey!
Finally...
The Most Evil Cat in the WORLD!:
Ok, he's not the MOST evil cat in the world, but he sure is darn close. Every morning before my alarm tells me it's 5:30, this lovely cat sticks a wet nose on my face. If that doesn't get me up, he goes to his "B-Move" (as my wife calls it) where he gets on my face and tries to suffocate me while digging his front claws into my neck. It's the kind of move that, were he not a cat, would probably be done by S & M lovers (or dominators) everywhere.
Now, if that move doesn't work, this lovely cat (and he is quite lovely, and hopefully will make it into the Bad Cat calendar coming out next year) will then go to the wall and begin picking at it using his claws while meowing. Even if a pillow is thrown at or around him (or even hits him) he will not stop. The sad part is that once I get up and he gets his drink from the faucet (yes, this is all about me turning on the bathroom faucet) he then goes back to sleep WHERE I WAS! He's clever, cute, and conniving. If only he were a woman...oh I kid the female species, I kid.
Well, special guest Sir Winston Churchill, how do you feel about tonight's ramblings?
Ms. Spears' baby still looks better than Prince Charles. That family was definitely hit with the ugly stick.
Thank you Sir for your cheeky British humour, as it were.
Good night Ladies and Gentlemen.
UPDATE
Apparently, the kid has been named Preston Michael Spears Federline. Um, I got nothing.

Ramblings for the Evening (9/13/05)

This will have to be quick as I have a lot to get to, and it's after ten. So...LET'S PLAY THE FEUD!
The Aggregator:
Somehow and someway, my little stupid blog has made it into The Aggregator. MN Speak's directory of blogs. I am utterly flattered, though I don't understand why. You see (and this is not a compliment grab or anything like that) I'm not as funny or poignant or whatever as alot of the other blogs on that site. Slanderous Minneapolis, for example, is on The Aggregator, and they should be. They are very funny. I'm not saying that I don't want to be, because I have received a few new readers from MN Speak, but I just don't feel worthy. It's a confidence thing.
That's it for this evening. Former Mayor Ed Koch...do you have anything to add? No? All righty then. Night folks.

An Open Letter to the White Trash at Alleygators in Plymouth

(If this offends you, get over it. I may not necessarily mean you, but if you think I do, then you deserve that feeling. No suing.)
Dear White Trash,
Oh I am ever so sorry that my friends and I were so overly loud for you. You see, we were just enjoying our drinks and stories like normal people would. That's right, that's called camaraderie. They may have been utterly killed on the volleyball court, but off the court, they were enjoying the stories about "Patch," and even puke and such. Perhaps we shouldn't have been sitting in the bar talking about the times we were thrown up on, but that's what happens when you start sharing stories.
So why do I bring this up to you, you idiotic trailer dwellers? Well, rather than tell my little band of merry men and women that we were too loud, you threw napkins and bottles at us. Then, like high school kids, you pretended that it wasn't you while snickering to each other.
I noticed it first, so I was the one who asked, "Am I supposed to check 'yes' if I like you," then made a mark and threw it back. There's no reason for you to get all defensive and call the manager when YOU made the first move.
If the whole thing is about the fact that it was "Karaoke Night", and we were too loud, then you STILL have no reason to be upset, because NO ONE WAS SINGING. That's right, no one was butchering a Jon Bon Jovi or Toby Keith song. You had no reason to be upset.
When you were asked about your behavior, you acted like you hadn't done anything, yet the waitress even noted that you were acting like children.
If you have a problem, just come over and tell us. We're reasonable people. You can tell we're reasonable, because we didn't, "start a brawl," like one of you suggested.
So here's my proposal: You go back to doing your Meth in the bathroom with your female mullets and "Tickets to the Gun Show," t-shirts, and my crew and I will just continue having a good time and not bothering anyone else. Did you notice that the other tables didn't care? It was just you punks who were missing teeth and had (oh I wish I were kidding) tattoos of the confederate flag.
So the next time you throw a bottle or napkins at me or my friends, you will see retaliation. If not physical, then the kind you hate the most: verbal. We'll use big words you don't understand and call you names. You seem to like calling people, "Gay," so how about we call you, "stupid," or even just, "homosexual," now and then?
Then again, if you're signing Karaoke every tuesday night at Alleygators, perhaps your life is a little boring.
Hope you don't ever breed. Have a nice day.
Leab

Ramblings for the Evening (9/12/05)

Wow. It was a long weekend with a lot of crazy stuff happening. So, without further ado, LET'S PLAY THE FEUD!
Coincidence...or Fate?:
A friend and co-worker of my wife had a hot tub party this weekend. As I drove up there, I was listening to the radio and one of my favorite songs came on: Burning Down the House by the Talking Heads. Great song, go listen to it. Anyway, right as it got to the chorus, I came around a corner on Highway 252 to find two police cars and some sort of automobile that was completely ablaze. That's right. As I passed by this burning car, the radio blared, "Burning down the house!" It was a strange coincidence...or so I thought. As I approached Stacie's house (the co-worker), I noticed Jill's (the Party Girl) car. As I pulled up next to it, the radio started to play, "One Bourbon, One Scotch, and One Beer." It totally fit. And, as it turns out, Jill was a little sauced. So was my radio a prophet...or was it all coincidence? Only my hairdresser knows for sure.
Stacie:
Ah Stacie. She's an interesting character. First of all, Stacie is about 5'9", maybe 110 pounds and looks like she belongs in the 1950s. Secondly, beyond the fact that she's a light weight when it comes to drinking, she has this uncanny knack, when she's drunk, to blurt out something that makes everyone in the room turn their head. Need an example? Ok, one time while we were eating at Nami, Stacie had a little too much to drink. There was a lull in the noise around us (we were in the center of the dining room) and Stacie, who had been quiet for awhile, suddenly blurts out (and I'm quoting here folks), "This one time, when I was giving this guy head..." Immediately every single person in the room (ok, it WAS mostly guys) turns and stares at us. I thought it was great, so I started with waving to the room a la Queen Elizabeth (even threw in a few, "Helllllloooos," here and there). Without giving you the whole story (unless you really want it), I now call Stacie, "Patch," when I see her. Have fun with that one.
Roommates:
Ok, so the lovely Meridita is getting a new roommate, and she wants HORROR STORIES. Now, I am lucky in that I have never had a psycho roommate. My freshman year of college, I lived in a single. Sophomore and junior year I lived alone. During my senior year, however, I did have a roommate, sort of. See Caroline and I did essentially live together senior year (though we had our own places). What I'm talking about, however, is Cecil. I know I've mentioned him before, but it bares repeating. Cecil was (and still is) a dance teacher at the university I went to. The department learned that I was living alone in a house (also known as bliss) and told Cecil he could live with me. I returned from a trip, and there he was on my stoop. So, he lived with me for three months. It was difficult at times (as most roommate relationships can be), but he's still the best roommate I ever had. The best thing was that he kept the place spotless. He was even more of a clean freak than I was (that's saying something). However, the worst experience came when I returned from a night out, and Cecil was on my couch inebriated (of sorts) and watching gay porn. With no homework (and the fact that it was already playing and charged to my cable account), I joined him in watching. I learned two things:
1. Gay porn is even funnier than real porn. Real porn has some sort of plot, gay porn doesn't.
2. Anything is funnier when you're out of it.
That's about the worst thing he ever did.
So I've never had a psycho roommate, but my wife, my sister, and my friend all have. Let's go through each one.
During her freshman year, Caroline lived with an art student, who, for some unknown reason, would start playing "The Girl from Ipanema" over and over again at two in the morning while she worked. That's right. The beloved elevator tune that's really no longer than about three minutes over and over again for hours. HOURS! However, the worst came one night when the student procrastinated too much. The roommate returned to the room at 9 PM and cut cardboard ALL NIGHT LONG during finals week. Never asked, just snip, snip, snip. No wait, sorry, I've been corrected. It was crunch, crunch, crunch.
My sister had a roommate that was literlly psycho. One night my sister woke up, rolled over, and discovered her roommate standing over her with a knife talking about having to "sacrifice (my sister) to her God!" Suffice to say, that didn't go over well. This roommate also stole money and clothes from her.
My buddy may have the worst stories however. He let a friend move in with him, because, "he was desperate." Well, the friend said he had no money, but he would make it up. After a year, the following happened:
1. The friend always had excuses why he didn't have the rent, but he had the money to get drunk every night AND do things like gamble or see strippers.
2. Clothes and other items disappeared from my buddy's closet only to wind up in his friend's room.
3. The friend's girlfriend was given a key (without permission). My buddy comes home one day, drops his stuff, and heads to the bathroom. He opens the door, and there's the friend's girlfriend shaving her body hair off (he pointed to a certain part of the anatomy) with HIS razor. Her response upon seeing him enter? She asked if he, "wanted to help her?"
4. The friend needed to get to an apointment one day and paniced, so he grabbed my buddy's car keys and took off with his car. His note read something like, "Took car. Back later." That didn't go over well and was the last straw. My buddy called the cops and reported the car stolen, then he moved all of his friend's stuff out and called a locksmith. There not friends anymore. Want to guess why?
So to Meridita, I wish you luck. Plus, if the roommate is no good, we'll "remove" her for you. Seriously.
Finally...
My Diploma:
I finished my Master's program in July. So, here it is midway through September, and I STILL DON'T HAVE MY DIPLOMA. Come on, St. Thomas, send me piece of paper. I just want to frame that sucker and put it up on the wall and think about the good times in school....Yeah...good times...or something. When I graduated from college, my diploma was right there. They handed it to me. It wasn't a fake piece of paper. Is this because I didn't attend your full-on, hardcore Mass that you call graduation? I didn't want to pay all the money for tickets and gowns and such. ANNND you held it on a weekday. A WEEKDAY! Some of us have jobs that we don't want to leave. Seriously. I was teaching that day. So, St. Thomas, here's a tip. If you want Grad students to attend your ceremonies, have them on the weekend or make them at night. It's simple. Sheesh.
Have a good night folks.

Ramblings for the Evening (9/9/05)

(The following is my opinion, if facts are wrong then I apologize, but no suing.)
The Miseducation of Students:
This is utterly depressing to me. With the recent events of Hurricane Katrina, parents and "concerned citizens" are once again trying to change what can and can't be taught in our schools. Forget the whole Intelligent Design debate, this is much worse. After 9/11, these same people tried to change what could be taught in Social Studies and English classes. They believed that high school students were being inundated with too much imagery of death and war, so they wanted all aspects of war (such as Vietnam) removed from the curriculum. A teacher I know in California told me that the school board was actually thinking about removing World War II from the curriculum. WORLD WAR II! Hey, let's forget the last major conflict between multiple nations and the whole Holocaust thing, because, well, students are seeing TOO much right now.
Well, with the aftermath of Katrina, schools in Kansas are seriously trying to change the curriculum. No more Vietnam and don't talk about the Chicago Fire, the Great San Francisco Earthquakes, or the 1927 Hurricane in Louisiana. No, no, no, that would frighten these kids.
Look, this falls into the whole "abstinence sex education" thing. Regardless of how you feel about sex, the students need to learn about how sex works and how to protect themselves. If you want to tell them, "DON'T DO IT!" that's fine, but they need to understand what it is they could be doing. History is the same way. If we forget the past, we are doomed to repeat it. One teacher I know was told off by a parent, because he talked about 9/11. Wow! Should students just bury their heads in the sand whenever this happens? Another teacher told me that he was told by his administration not to talk about what happened to Nixon, because it's, "too political." Come on!
I don't know if I've talked about books being banned in a previous post, but I will be talking about it again. The fact that MacBeth was banned recently in certain parts of this country, because it has witches in it is preposterous. If I read Harry Potter, I am not a Satanist. Same thing with Shakespeare. Kids see alot of death in their video games and TV, so let them see it in books too. No wonder more kids are becoming illiterate.
Minnesota Drivers:
I've talked about this before. No offense, Minnesota, but no one here knows how to drive. Period. Today, as I drove home, a woman moved all the way from the right lane to the far left (going across two other lanes to do so) then slowed down to 45. I'm not kidding. The guy in the pickup truck with the Arctic Cat sticker (which, honestly, kinda screams white trash) and the whiskey plates (paired with the Arctic Cat sticker, that defintely is white trash) got upset. After almost rear-ending me, he zooms by on my right screaming AT ME, then (and this is my favorite part) he rolls down his window and throws a plastic bottle at my windshield. Granted it was empty, but that's hardcore....AND it's not my fault we were going so slow. Sheesh. Add to the fact that I witnessed an accident while a car was trying to merge on to the highway (big surprise), and I wonder what the heck people are learning in Driver's Ed? Hell's Bells. This is the only state I have ever been in (and I am a freaking NEW YORKER) where the drivers couldn't care less about the pedestrians. I was once tapped and knocked down by a cab driver in NY. He stopped, got out, apologized, and offered me a free ride home. Two months after moving here, I was bumped in downtown Minneapolis, and the driver got out and asked for my insurance card (if I had one) and my license in case there was damage. Not to me, mind you, but to his car. It was one of those moments where I looked for a big stick in order to hit him with...hard. I never found it. I say unto you, Minnesota Drivers, LEARN TO FREAKIN' DRIVE! Learn to merge, look around, and for God's sake: Leave you anger outside when you drive.
A Little Hypocrisy
Just a few hits of hypocrisy. Ok?
Jim Rome: You cannot talk smack about a guy making a homophobic and/or mysoginistic comments when you are still proud of the fact that you refered to Jim Everrett as, "Chrissy," called him, "a woman," and talk about how great it was. As I recall, that's what got you fired from ESPN the first time. Whenever you talk about that moment, you're being a hypocrite.
Americans: Countries around the world have donated a great deal of money toward the Katrina Relief fund. You may no longer sit there and bitch about how evil France is, when they have given money and you haven't. A colleague of mine talked about how the French are bastards. When I explained that they gave money, he said, "So?" I asked if he had given any money, and he hadn't. That's hypocrisy.
Oh, and I gave money, so if you try to tell me that I need to give more or give again, you can just shut up.
Christians: When you sit there and talk about how the "Islamic Extremists" are crazy and then you pray to a water mark on a wall that, "looks like Mary and the Baby Jesus," you're just as crazy. That water mark? I made it when I peed on the wall. The fact that it looks like Mary is coincidence. Granted, Christians don't blow people up (unless you count starting a war), but the fact that you give money to a guy on television saying that God talks to him shows how crazy and hypocritical you are. Oh, and at least the Muslims don't believe that they are literally eating the body and drinking the blood of the man they pray to.
The 20 Million Dollar Man: No. You cannot use that money to go to a space station. You must turn around and give that money to fixing our country. Sorry.
Waiter, My Soup is...Floating: In Orlando, Florida, a landlord is suing two restaurateurs for not moving into their new building. Why aren't they moving? Well, they claim the building is haunted. That's right, HAUNTED! People have seen apparitions around the building. The lawsuit wants the judge to decide if the building is haunted, aand if it is, then he or she has to decide if it would interfere with business. Come on! Make it the theme of the restaurant. "If you're soup floats on it's on, it's free!" "Ketchup seeps from the walls!" The fact that 2.6 million dollars is at stake here is even sadder. If you were the judge, what the heck would you think? "Ok, prove to me it's haunted...without using The Ghosthunters." Would he or she have to spend the night? Could this be like a Scooby-Doo episode, and it's really Old Man Caruthers? This is ridiculous.
I hope everyone has a nice weekend.

You're Spoiled

In today's Star Tribune, people wrote in to complain about writers, TV, and people in general ruining the ending of books and movies and such. For something like Harry Potter, you really can't avoid hearing about things. This is usually why most people go out right away and read the books...otherwise you learn aspects that you don't want to know.
I personally don't see this as a problem. Maybe it's because as a reader, I'm not goal-oriented, but process-oriented. Let me explain:
1. Goal. Ok, when you read, you have the goal of getting to the ending. For example: you read a murder-mystery, and all you want is the name of the killer. You also want to see what happens to the killer.
2. Process. You want to see how the detective/hero/heroine solves the crime. You want to see if you can piece the clues together before they do. For example, in one current extremely popular novel (ok, DaVinci Code), all the clues for who the bad guy is are in the text. If you read the book looking for them, they pop out. If you just read to get to the end (and the identity), then you miss the subtle clues.
Film does the same thing. One of the most famous films that people either go for the process or go for the goal is The Usual Suspects. Is you just want to know who Kaiser Soyze is, or you try to figure it out before Agent Kujan.
At the same time, many people hate the process people. Why? We're the ones who, during a poorly written mystery, figure out everything quickly and say, with oh...an hour left, it's this person.
The angriest I ever saw a goal-oriented person was at my wife's company Christmas party last year. They went to the The Mystery Cafe and watched a dinner theatre show (and quality) about a boss being murdered. Sadly, I knew what was going on by the appetizer. When someone asked me, I told them my opinion and thoughts. It turned out I was right...and she was pissed.
There are other ways, however, people get to the answers they want. When my father, for example, gets a book that he just wants to get to the point of, he reads the first 40 pages and the last 40 pages. "Everything," he tells me all the time, "is answered in those 80 pages. It doesn't matter how long the book is. The first and last 40 pages."
Some books and some movies, however, no shun this idea. Occasionally an author or film maker gives the audience the ending and then the rest of the novel or film is piecing together how that happened (I like those stories). Examples? Memento is a great one.
I understand that it's really frustrating when someone gives away the ending, but look at this way. If you know what's going to happen (or in certain think you know what's going to happen), then start looking at how the author or director (or writer) is guiding everything toward that ending. Are their clues or signs? Does someone or something foreshadow? Make it interesting. I'm sorry if so many people are upset by learning the ending of the new Harry Potter book, but start looking now to see if there are clues.
Have a great day.

Reading's Labor Lost

If you need proof that people don't read anymore, then I have a story from my Labor Day that will enlighten you.
As I mentioned before, I spent most of my weekend painting my house. I couldn't finish due to the weather as well as my ankle (my foot, today, is mostly purple....I could be a Vikings fan I guess). Anyway, I needed more primer and a taller ladder in order to due the higher portions of the house. So, I went to Home Depot to procure those items. When you walked into the Fridley Home Depot, there was a giant sign. When I say giant, I mean 11 feet tall and 7 feet wide with huge lettering. You could not miss this sign when you walked in. You couldn't. The sign dealt with the Home Depot State Fair Coupon Sale. Essentially, you go to the fair and bring a coupon from the Home Depot Center at the fair, and you get a bunch of money off of certain items. It was just that simple. Explained just like that on the board.
So, with hurt ankle and a wee bit of exhaustion, I grabbed a heavy ladder and went to get in one of the two lines that were open. Now, it's Labor Day. Most people are off from work, yet HD had only two lines open. So as I stood there halfway down the plumbing aisle, I listened to stupid conversations around me. Fast forward to fifteen minutes later. Finally, there is one person in front of me, and she is checking out. She finishes, and I step up. Just as the cashier is about to scan my ladder, the woman returns with a popping vein in her forehead. The man behind me steps up and pins me in. Now, there's a frothing mad woman in front of me, a man who's pinned me in behind me, and no place to put this ladder without possibly hurting myself. I asked the woman to move and was told, "In a minute...Wait your turn!"
Here's where the reading part comes in to play. It seems that the woman was charged full price for some solar lights that she was sure were on sale. The conversation went as follows:
Cashier: Miss, they're on sale if you have the coupon. You didn't give me the coupon.
Lady: What coupon? What are you talking about?
Cashier: It was on the sign with the sale prices Miss.
Lady: No it wasn't.
Cashier: Yes it is, Miss. It's right there on the top. (He points.)
Me: Please, could you just move a little so I don't drop this ladder on you?
Lady: Could you please not be so rude!? God! (She moves to look at the sign, the cashier moves with her. After a few seconds, she returns and talks to the cashier again.)
Lady: That's not very clear. It expects you to read the whole sign. Most people would just look at the numbers.
Cashier: Regardless, Miss, it says that you must have a coupon to get the discount. You didn't give me the coupon.
Lady: I want to speak to your supervisor. You have done a terrible job here today, and I think this is your fault. Not mine, yours.
(The cashier shrugs and looks sheepishly at her. Then he pages the supervisor. The Lady continues to berate him as he starts to check me out.)
After I paid, I heard the lady explain that she was mad because of nine dollars. NINE DOLLARS! She treated this guy like crap, held me up as well as the rest of the line for nine dollars. Beyond that, however, the cashier told me that more than half his customers that day had not read the sign carefully. They all complained (not as much as her, however) that the sign was unclear. It wasn't. From the moment I walked in, I could tell the sign was talking about the coupon. It said, "Bring your coupon from the State Fair Home Depot Center and save on these items." It said that TWICE. No one reads anymore. We glance over it. The only way it would have worked is if it was on a TV screen.
That's not only place where I see this anymore. Forget that most students don't look at the board unless told to, people just don't look at things unless told. Life has to be turned into stereo instructions for alot of people now.
At least that's my opinion.

Too Hoite Toite?

Ok, so I wasn't going to post anymore this weekend, because I was supposed to be painting. However, the rain, hail, and my ankle are creating problems in that department. Yes, my ankle is still the size of a grapefruit, but I'm trying to "walk it off." There's no real pain anymore, just a swollen foot and ankle that hurts when it's touched, but not when it's moved.
On to the point of this post. I went out on a double date last night with another couple. Jill and Derek (you may recall Jill from a previous post) met us at Chiang Mai Tai (obviously I mean my wife and I....You know, because my mistress and I don't go to Uptown...sheesh). The highlight of the evening, however, came after dinner over at The Brave New Workshop. They are currently running a show I recommend called Shut Your American Pie-Hole; or Discount Family Values. It was brilliant. Sure, it was only their fourth preview, and at times the show was rough, but overall it was extremely funny. The audience learned "What Would Terri (Schiavo) Want", that Dr. Laura did porn (sadly true), and many other funny aspects of our society. BNW usually uses word of mouth to help people go see the shows, so I am sending it out there to you, my dear readers, to go and see this show. It's brilliant.
Very few people truly understand satire. I myself have a section of my Senior English class dedicated to teaching the students about the literary technique. What's interesting, however, is that a great deal of people (because of beliefs) don't find much satire funny now. I remember watching The Simpsons with my mother-in-law, and she didn't like that they were making fun of the current government. I believe satire is also the greatest form of comedy, because it assumes that the audience is knowledgeable about the subject. Fart jokes can be funny. Slapstick a la The Three Stooges? Sure. Satire, however, is lost on a great deal of people, because the humor is too "high." The greatest example of this is Huckleberry Finn. Twain wrote the book to be a satire of 1840's Southern America. After being published, Twain (nee Clemons) was already being accused of racism. At one point in the 1930s, Twain's "views on blacks" were used by racists to explain why minorities needed to be "put in their place." Even now people ban Huckleberry Finn in schools and libraries, because they see it as racist. Yes, the character is known as "Nigger Jim," but again, in 1840s America, he would have been known that way, aaaannnnnddd the book is satire (Remind me at some point to discuss my feelings on banning books).
I could go on, but I shouldn't. In conclusion, I recommend Shut your American Pie-Hole, I recommend reading Huck Finn again, but seeing it as satire, and I recommend everyone doing something super-fun today and tomorrow before the school year begins.

Ramblings for the Morning (9/3/05)

Unfortunate By-Lines:
In today's Variety section of the Star Tribune, there is a story about three people using a GPS system across France (thought of Michele). The problem, however, is the by-line of the story (under the headline). The story touts: "When another woman joined them on a driving trip through France, this married couple experienced a special joi de vivre." Folks, maybe it's just me, but that sounds like a tag line for a porno. Now, the "woman" in question turns out the be the female voice of the GPS system, but if you don't read the article, it sounds like something a la Skinemax (or Cinemax for the uninitiated). Still, it's not as bad as a New York Post by-line which was about a girl going to DC to argue for housing rights, and the by-line read: "Girl goes down for freedom."
Pain in the Ankle:
So I'm painting my house. It's tan and lacks a certain...joi de vivre. So, we picked a new color: Behr Paint's 240F-4 (or Tiny Fawn). If you want to see it, go to Behr, go to their color workbook and look it up. I like it, but that's not the story. Last night, I wanted to hit all of the corners and such with primer before wrapping up for the day. Well, I was tired, and on the ladder, annnnd not paying attention. As I was coming down, I fell. I landed on my right foot, which rolled. I managed to save the paint and the brush, but my ankle swelled up three sizes. My wife said it was now (from top to bottom) the size of a softball. I, being the macho idiot I am, refused to stop until I was finished...a half an hour later. This morning the swelling has gone down, but it's still hard to walk. My saving the paint from spilling reminded me of another time I went off a ladder. You see when I was in college, I did a great deal of theatrical lighting. Why? Well it was my major. Anyway, I was working on a light, and the clamp broke. For some reason, it didn't have a safety chain, so it started to fall. I, in a moment of idiocy, or bravery, or whatever, dove off the ladder, caught the light and rolled so that I would hit the ground first instead of the light. That hurt. I don't know how high I was, could have been fifteen feet or so, but the light was saved. It did not break, and neither did I. There was a giant bruise on my back, and I was very sore for a few days, but, to me at least, the important thing was the light. The painting was the same thing to me. I had to get the job done before I would allow myself to relax and deal with the pain. Is it a macho thing? A goal-oriented thing? I don't know.
That'll be it for now. I will be taking the long-weekend off to prepare for students and to paint.
Have a fantastic end of summer party, folks.

The Power Napper

I've said this before, but it bares repeating. If Arm Wrestling, Poker, and, even now, Rock, Paper, Scissors (RPS) are considered sports, have their own leagues, and are televised, then I want to create the next big sport: The Power Nap Challenge. It's either that or we do construction as sport (though we have the Great Outdoor Games already). So, here's how The Power Nap Challenge works:
1. There are two contestants and various "classes" of the challenge.
2. The classes could contain the following:
A. Fastest to REM sleep
B. Quickest to sleep in fifteen, ten, or even five minutes.
C. Longest amount of sleep in obstacle filled course (this includes car alarms, screaming babies, etc.)
3. Each contest has to have a wacky nickname a la Boxing. So it could be Drew "Sandman" Smith, or "Snoring" Ana Gamble. Feel free to chime in with your own nicknames.
4. There will be no use of illegal substances (such as Nyquil or other medications with drowsy side effects). However, stuffed animals or "blankies" will be allowed.
Oh I know, dear reader, you're wondering, "Leab...what the hell?! How could watching a person sleep be exciting?" Think about Poker? It's the strategy and the commentators that make it work, right? So we get John Madden to do the sleep commentary:
"So, he got in the bed here (circle). Ok, not the way I would go, but it works. He pulls up the blanket, and BOOM, he's in the ready position. He lost a few moments when he moved the pillow (circle and draws arrow), which allowed his opponent to settle. Not good. This one's going to go to the clock.
5. If the sport takes off, then eventually, like football, a male-oriented knock-off staring former Playboy bunnies will be formed. ANNND, this will definitely appeal to all peeping toms and lovers of voyeurism out there.
Not liking "The Power Nap Challenge"? Afraid it will be won mostly by teenagers? Then what about construction as a sport. Fastest to put up a skyscraper! Quickest with the nail gun on dry wall! Best painting job!
Yes, I get that both sound boring, but how is it any different from Poker, Arm Wrestling, or RPS? Well, those three "sports" can be done drunk. Seriously. You may not necessarily win, but you can get plastered and try. Look at this article in the City Pages, which talks about RPS. It used to be that you had to be good-looking, rich, or a smooth talker to get free drinks. Now you have to win a few rounds of RPS. Life has sure changed. I blame the young people...
Seriously, though, why wouldn't "The Power Nap Challenge" work? We already televise drivel like Poker (which is incredibly boring), Pokemon battles (on ESPN 2 at 3 in the morning), and Cricket ( a sport, though interesting at times, can last several days...DAYS!). So let's move to napping. We can even use a cool "night vision" look just like on reality TV.
Who's with me? Anyone? No? Ok, then how about Competitive Egg Toss? The Bachelor Games (these include taking random cooking ingredients and making dinner, most beers in a minute, and the brat toss)?
Let me know what you think or give me some ideas of your own. You know the drill.

Do You Mind If I Take This?

Here's the thing about all the chaos in New Orleans that I find unbelievable: Look beyond the fact that members of the government and weather services have been warning about this day. Forget the fact that gas is about to almost double in price (though it's still less than, say, Ireland where it's $7 (U.S.) a gallon). The thing that I find unbelievable (and slightly funny) is that police in New Orleans are ignoring the (and I quote), "peaceful looters." Is this going to become a trend? Could you imagine a person breaking into your home and being told by the police, "Well, they were doing it peacefully. We need to concentrate on the gangs." So, I have come up with a plan.
Hey, we all need some extra cash to pay for gas (and I agree with Chris Rock: gas is going to be hellaciously expensive very soon), so why not take a road trip to the French Quarter and do some "peaceful looting"? Think about it:
1. Go to a bank: Well, officer, I believe that I will be entering that bank and procuring some fiduciary means for myself. Have a nice day.
2. Go to a Wal-Mart, "borrow" a few gas cans, then go to a gas station: Well, officer, with the gas prices so high, I figured I would head down and to the local petrol station and give myself a supply which would in turn save me money and allow me to spend more money on saving the rainforest or even lovely New Orleans.
3. Go to a jewelry store: Officer, with my anniversary coming up, I would like to give my wife something special to show her how much I love her. That's why I dove underwater, smashed the case, and took the $21,000 necklace. Wouldn't you do the same?
I figure that all of those are pretty peaceful. Sure, I had to use the word, "smash," but I figure that the rest are nice and docile.
Anyone up for a road trip?

Praise Meatball!

I absolutely love (and I'm using the word love here) this. It's very funny and very original. If you haven't heard of Pastafarianism before, check out this selection from Wikipedia in order to understand how it developed. I mean ending every prayer with "Ramen" instead of "Amen"? Every college kid could get behind that. Those of you, dear readers, who have been to college know the importance (and affordability) of Ramen Noodles.
It just goes to show you: The lack of pirates in this world is what is really destroying the environment. Come on oil companies! Get behind this initiative.
Hopefully you enjoy the Flying Spaghetti Monster as much as I do.

Randomly Overheard

Before I tell you about the most random conversation I heard tonight at Alleygators, I want to make two announcements:
1. Welcome to my new reader only known as Suzie. We're glad to have you and hope to see you around more often.
2. AFFL. I'm stumped. How about some more clues?
(Warning: The following conversation contains profanity. Get over it...no suing either.)
So tonight, while my wife was playing volleyball, I was reading and listening to the people around me. Two girls at the next table had, what had to be, the conversation of the night. Here's how it went:
Girl 1: It's just so hard to date now.
Girl 2: I know! It's like he was making fun of me just because I don't like single guys.
Girl 1: Seriously?
Girl 2: Yeah! Ken was the first single guy I have ever dated....And you know what? I don't like it.
Girl 1: You don't?
Girl 2: No, I really like the married guys better because they pay more attention and give more stuff.
(At this point, I have almost spit my drink out.)
Girl 1: Really? I've never been with a married guy.
Girl 2: It's SO much better. You get the attention you deserve. I don't think I'll ever date a single guy ever again. They're not as predictable. Married guys are EASY. They have to bring gifts and stuff. It's great. If they start to fuck up, you can threaten to talk to the wife. It's great.
Girl 1: I've never done it, but maybe I should. It sounds great.
Girl 2: (muffled name) gave me that new TV. He also helped me get the car.
Girl 1: Seriously?! Damn! I HAVE to try that.
At this point my wife's team is finished and returns, so I can't hear the rest of the conversation.
Does anyone else see a problem with this conversation? Is it just me? I don't think I'm a prude but that conversation really bothered me. She's proud of dating married guys....That's so crazy. I can be very understanding, but choosing to go after married men because of the gifts they give is super shallow...at least in my opinion.

Ramblings for the Morning (8/30/05)

Kinky Friedman:
I find it hysterical that Kinky Friedman is getting buzz for his bid for governor in Texas. I like his music, and I think he's a smart guy. More than that, however, I like the fact that he is running a campaign that is unlike most politicians. For example: his slogan is: "Why the Hell Not?" That's brilliant. If he keeps this up, he could win in the same way Ventura did here in Minnesota. College kids voted for Ventura, because he was someone different, and people fed up with all these career politicians wanted a breath of fresh air. Friedman could win in the same way. One of the major points he is hitting on is the need for Bio-Diesel so that we aren't, as he puts it," dancing to the Saudi's jukebox." Sure, he'll get slammed by his opponents for many things. You want a list?
1. "You're not a politician." That's a typical arguement.
2. "You're Jewish." That's been already thrown at him. He can't run Texas, because he's a major minority.
3. "You're Bio-Diesel idea is a bunch of hippie nonsense!" Just wait for it.
Why do I think Kinky would be good for Texas? Because he asks, "WWWRD. That's What Would Will Rogers Do." Look him up and read about his feelings toward politicians. It makes sense.
Online Dating:
I promised a friend I would talk about this. Ok, how do I feel about online dating or dating on the internet? Well, it's a double-edged sword...just like real dating. Yup, you can meet someone online, and they seem absolutely great. At the same time you can meet someone in "real life" and discover he or she is insane. The arguments against online dating usually come around to the same argument: You don't know who you're talking to. But even face to face, you don't really know who you're talking to. Sure, I believe in face to face, because I read people better. I see their body language, their eyes, the way they say things, and that helps determine who they are.
It's extremely hard to date in modern society once you leave school. Why? Well we have to work. It's really hard once the grind gets going to go out and meet people (wow, alliteration). That's why online dating is great for some people. Hell, USA Today just ran a story this morning about senior citizens using online dating. Old people in retirement homes are using online dating to meet each other. If nothing else, it can give someone companionship. Sure, there are psychos out there, but there are psychos EVERYWHERE.
The bottom line: I, personally, wouldn't use online dating, because I can't read a person then. At the same time, someone might (and I really stress the might) be more honest when online versus in person.
Stale Popcorn:
I'm getting really sick and tired of the people who equate low box office grosses with moral values. It's not because of the "lack of moral values in films," people have stopped going to movie theatres. No, the answer is two-fold:
1. Most movies are not fun and original anymore. Dukes of Hazzard and Bewitched were TV shows. Mr. & Mrs. Smith, Herbie, and The Longest Yard were all remakes. Were there no good films this summer? No, there were some great films. Crash, though it makes mountains out of coincidences, was poignant and beautiful. March of the Penguins was a great look at nature. Overall, however, it was all sequels and remakes. If we've seen it before, we don't want to see it again. A broken down car with a fresh coat of paint is still a broken down car.
2. This is more important. Why pay between $18-25 bucks a person (that's a ticket, popcorn, and a soda) to sit around with other people who may treat the experience like TV, when you can pay $4 to rent the film three months after it comes out and watch it in the privacy of your own home. You need food or bathroom break? Just pause it. You can't do that in the theatre.
Just stop trying to say that it's because of the moral values. Oh we hate the violence...except when it's happening to Jesus in The Passion. Look, Mel Gibson recut the film and re-released it, and no one really came out to see it. Was it morals then? No, it was because of DVD.
And while we're on the topic of morals and such, don't use The March of the Penguins to extoll the wonders of marriage. Don't use a documentary about nature for political reasons. The people arguing this forget about two things:
1. The penguins are only monogamous for the year, then they switch partners. Would that be ok with us humans then? "Sorry, honey, year's up. I'm going to Candace."
2. They forget that there are documentations, real documentations by scientists, that show penguins have instances of homosexuality. That's right, males with males, females with females. Many Americans don't want gays to marry, but it's ok if penguins do? Come on.
Hope everyone has a nice day.

The Rage of God

It was believed, once upon a time, that severe weather was, "God being angry at the people who did not believe in him." That's right: You don't believe in the awesome power of God? Shazam! You get swept out in a flood. However, I find it fascinating that if you really look where severe weather hits in this country, almost all the spots are where hardcore Christians live. Seriously. The entire South is susceptible to hurricanes. Look at Louisiana and Mississippi yesterday. Wildfires anyone? They hit Wyoming and Utah hardest. You want a tornado to rip off your roof or blow away your trailer? Go to Texas or most of the midwest. What happens in the Northeast? That whole "Godless" area, as it was once described, where the heathens live. Well, there's snow.
I just find it absolutely fascinating. If, in fact, weather is created by God, then why hit those areas only? You ever hear about Maine getting hit by a tropical storm?
Maybe I'm oversimplifying, but last night on one of the cable news stations, they had a person on who was rescued from a house, and he was quoted saying, "Why would God do this?"
I have mentioned before how I feel about the whole Intelligent Design thing, and I'm not going to go into it again. However, why, why, why do so many people feel that God has done this to them? "Hey my house burned down, well it's God's fault." No, it's because you left that cigarette burning on the couch. Many people are so quick to blame God for the bad, ask God for the stuff they want, and thank God for the good. I cannot stress this enough: God is not a cosmic bellboy. God doesn't hear you and go running to answer your prayers.
You want my honest opinion (and if you're still reading this: you do)? I think the very essence of God came from an episode of Futurama. Seriously. Bender, the robot, gets shot into space and as he's flying, he picks up a colony of aliens that live on him and think of him as God. They eventually die (nuclear holocaust). Along the way, he is pulled into a star cluster that talks to him. It is conceivable that this is God (a question posed by Bender). His advice? "When you do it right, people won't think you've done anything at all." Isn't that the best idea? God is a force that is away from us, and we can look to for guidance, but he doesn't answer (no matter what signs YOU think you get) and instead looks to you to make your own way.
It's free will. We make our choices. God doesn't push us around like a chess piece. If that were the case, then what's the point of bettering yourself when God has a plan for you?
Now back to my original point: God doesn't create the weather. We know how a thunderstorm works. It's not God bowling, it's pressure meeting. Yes, it is funny, to me at least, that the most devout areas of this country get hit the hardest. Maybe I'm just mean.

A Bullet-Ridden Knight

So Marion "Suge" Knight got shot. Is anybody surprised? The Game, a noted hip-hop rapper (and member of the G-Unit, I believe), said, "the shooting devestated hip-hop culture. It's real tragic, and I wish him (Knight) the very best." Knight has spent time in jail for, well, bad deeds as it were, Tupac and Biggie have been killed (or so we're supposed to think), and "Street Life" is still glorified. My favorite thing, however, is that 50-Cent, who has a film coming out about his "thug life", said, "People have to change." Hey, that's all well and good, and I agree with Mr. Jackson, but then how can the culture change when most of the songs deal with pimping, killing, stealing, or women? I like hip-hop. I listen to Outkast (even before they were super popular), De La Soul, Fugees, and more. Yet, it takes the shooting of a record producer for them to think about change? Forget that the people buying their albums may be shooting each other. Who cares about the consumer? Heck, when two of the biggest stars died, did it stop then? No. In fact Diddy (then Puff Daddy) rewrote a great song by the Police for Biggie, while others did Tupac tributes.
I just find it sad that people will say, "This must change," but they will never make the effort to fix it. Not while it can make money. Kids want to be pimps and gangstas, because that's what's "cool" now (or poppin or whatever you want to say). As long as someone pays for the CDs and goes to the concerts, they don't care if a person here or there dies.

I'm Back (8/29/05)

I have returned. What an interesting trip, which is a nice way of saying that it had good times, bad times, drama, and even comedy. Of course that's what always happens when you see family, right? We ended up spending more time in Connecticut then New York, but it was worth it. So let's hit the highlights:
My Father: You remember him. The man who may or may not be a secret agent. Well first of all, today is his birthday, so happy birthday Dad! My father was the source of the trip's funniest moment. You see, he's been working very hard on prepping his classes for the new school year (you'll recall he's a professor) as well as keeping up with his other ventures. So, he wanted some ice cream for nice break. Well, my wife and I were heading out to pick up dinner for the whole family, so he tagged along in order to get his, "chocolate ice cream with chocolate sprinkles." There is a little ice cream shoppe on the way to the pizza parlor, so we stopped. It was warm, and there were a great deal of people in line to get their frozen treats. One group waiting was a bunch of mentally challenged kids from a nearby camp. Extremely excited about ice cream, the kids were happily waiting in line and singing and laughing. Well, my father wanted that ice cream, so he walked in, looked around, and when he heard them ask for the next person in line, he stepped up to the counter in front of all those kids and ordered his ice cream. My wife, the good midwesterner, was shocked and turned red with embarrassment. The kids didn't really seem to notice, but the counselors did.
Later that night, as we sat around dinner, I recounted this story to my family. Here was a distinguished professor of history pushing mentally challenged kids out of the way in order to get ice cream. It would have been funnier if it had been some captain of industry. (Lee Iacocca pushes little kid out of the way in order to get hot dog...FILM AT 11!)
My Sister and My Neice: My sister is moving to a house in Connecticut. This was the true point of my trip. My wife and I are somewhat savvy when it comes to carpentry and other home improvement aspects. The house my sister is moving into is from the early 20th century (maybe 1907 or 08). It needed some work. My job, beyond moving boxes and such, was to repaint the outside of the house, which I did. However, we should begin in New York with the moving company.
Leaving her apartment in NY was tough for my sister, but she believes that her daughter should be raised outside of Manhattan. So to get her (and some of my parents') stuff up to Connecticut, they hired Moishe's Moving Company. Now the funny thing about Moishe's is that here is a company with an incredibly Jewish name and out of the truck came a Hispanic crew. It was strangely funny. Only one guy spoke English which meant that my rudimentary Spanish came in handy.
My neice, who loves people, flirted with every single one of the guys. If she dropped her pacifier, they would drop the box they were carrying and get it for her. (Who says women don't have power?) When they arrived in CT, the guys wanted to see her. They asked about her. It was cute (and slightly creepy).
Back to the house, however. It needed some work. I spent an hour scrapping off old paint from just one side of the house, then I had to prime it. When I finally could paint the house with the color we matched, it was after 9 PM. There are no lights outside the house, and it is in the middle of a forest. Thus, armed with painting equipment and a flashlight, I figured out how to do it. I held the flashlight in place using my shoulder and neck, then I started painting. While I doing that, my wife and my mother were cleaning the entire house (which looked like it hadn't been touch since 1907)from top to bottom. If I were a little kid again, I would love this place. It's in the forest, it has a huge lawn area, and it has all these hiding places and nooks in it. It's perfect for a kid.
I wish my sister and my neice the best of luck and happiness in this new place. I think that as soon as you can make it your own (meaning live in it for a while) you'll love it.