Q & A Monday

It’s almost Monday again and what better way to get back into the swing of the workweek, by which I mean forgetting the great summer weekend I am leaving behind and strapping myself into my office chair for another unpredictable ride of phone calls to return, coworkers to annoy and deadlines to meet, than answering questions and pretending I have wisdom beyond my years or between my ears.

Since I have been tested and discovered as having neither, I will give you my usual disclaimers. The answers I offer are neither researched or fact checked. Therefore, you’d be best not to repeat them to anyone or to attempt using them as answers in Trivial Pursuit or in a court of law. Also, I usually tend to ACCIDENTALLY leave out someone’s question every week, but please cut me some slack because I did say it was accidental. So, with that out of the way, on to the first question for the week.

The first question is from Eva who asks: ‘How is your new patio cover working out?’
Well, it’s working out up to 5 days a week now and I can really see how much more toned its 4 support columns are getting. Though I am hoping it starts paying the abs some attention.

Next up is a fellow cubicle dweller, Employee No. 3699. She asked ‘Deep Dish or Thin Crust? Chocolate or Vanilla? I Dream of Jeanie or Bewitched?’
Probably deep dish. I like the crust flaky, though truth be told, I usually don’t eat the crust. The less crust I eat=the more pizza slices I can consume. Does this actually make more sense? No, but it reduces my guilt and I am fine with that. Vanilla over chocolate or any flavor, unless that flavor is coconut or artificial grape, better known as flavor color GP584. And I’d take Bewitched over Jeannie. On what other show can you have two different men with dirty names playing the husband and supposedly no one else notices, not even the snoopy neighbor that spends most of her retirement looking through the windows. You’d think at least she would’ve noticed the hubby switch.

She also submitted these gems: ‘Would you rather your toenails grew at a rate of 1" per hour...or...live without cheese? Would you rather have a window in your cubicle or work 15 minutes less per day? Would you rather title your book "I'm An Idiot And No One Contests That Fact" or "How To Survive Global Warming And A Nuclear Holocaust (By Buying This Book)?"...nothing like throwing your question right back at ya!!’
Obviously I cannot live without cheese any more than I can do without my spleen, gall bladder or appendix, and since Howard Hughes got all freaky and paranoid and lived the last several years of his life without trimming his toenails or fingernails, I’m pretty comfortable choosing continuing my love affair with cheese while my cuticles grow to alarming proportions. You didn’t think you were going to learn anything here today, did you? I would rather have the windows. Yes, 15 minutes a day less would be nice, but since I normally get in 30 mins after everyone else, it wouldn’t be fair of me to take off 15 minutes before everybody. And besides, I really, really want a window and already try to leave 15 minutes before the rest of the staff. That full 8 hours is a real bee-otch. As for the book title, I really preferred the 2nd one, but everyone else seemed to favor the title where I admit I’m an idiot. You know, if I spent a little more time thinking about that fact, I might be hurt and offended.

The next volley of Qs comes from my Best Bud’s Wife. She asked: ‘Why would anyone eat haggis? Where do they get the meat for mince meat pies? Won't you be my neighbor? Have you ever done anything evil....I mean eeevil. Like, the froo-its of the devill...eeevil? Who's Ralph?’
I will go ahead and answer these questions here, even though I should have just answered them in person when I saw you Saturday night. But since your homemade tortilla chips were so amazing and I basically consumed the bowl in its entirety and by myself, I will answer them here. I am not sure why anyone would eat haggis. It might be because it’s a form of torture that someone was enduring or they may be inebriated past the stage where they soil themselves and are aware of what they were eating. I saw it being prepared on ‘Bizarre Foods’ once and it frightened me. Although, if I was allowed to grill it, I might be willing to try. Grilling makes everything better, except for celery.

Also, it’s funny that you ask about the mince meat pies because before heading to your house Saturday, I watched a pie competition on The Food Network and one of the guys made mince meat pie. Apparently it has fruits and stuff and pork lard, which I assume gives it the meaty flavor from which its name is derived. And no, I do not know why I am pulling out all the big boy words today. My grandfather likes mince meat pies. One day I will ask him why. Perhaps it gives your taste buds the same sensations and .pork chops and applesauce.’ After all, it is pork and spiced fruits. Now I want to go watch the Brady Bunch. As soon as my aunt wants to sell us her house across the street from you, I would love to be your neighbor. But, I’m really trying to get away from shoes that lace up and I don’t like wearing sweaters. I actually have never done anything as evil as the fru-its of the dev-ill. I’m too boring. I am not sure who Ralph is. There is a valued frequent commenter here named Ralph, but I don’t think that’s the Ralph you are referring to. I have also heard ‘Ralph’ substituted as the pronunciation of a comic-book burp. Perhaps Ralph is the guy that caused me to miss the holidays in that scary, scary dream I told you about…

The last question this week comes from Aislinge who asked: ‘If I fire people, does that make me a heartless, unfeeling wretch or just good at a bad part of the job?
Well, I am very uncomfortable calling people names, so I can’t tell you that firing people makes you a heartless, unfeeling wretch. Let’s go with you are good at a bad part of your job, which is to be commended. See, I am bad at the good part of my job, which causes me lots of issues. However to balance that out and in my defense, I am very, very good at the part of my job that requires me to take breaks, lunches and leave at the end of the day. I’m pretty sure this makes you a much better worked than I am.

Ok, those are all of the questions to be answered today. Thank you for submitting questions and we’ll do it again next Monday. Also, thanks to everyone who sent me window pictures. I’m putting the first one up on my cube in the next few days and will unveil it on Window Wednesday. Now, if I could just think up blog names for Tuesday, Thursday and Friday…

Random Stuff And Such Friday

* How do you not laugh when your children are given stuffed toy monkeys and ask you the follow morning when you wake up if you will ‘play with their monkey?’ Come on, it’s not just me, right?

* Why is it that driving on company time is such a pleasant experience? I’ve also noticed I drive much slower when I am driving on company time and am returning to the office afterwards.

* It’s time to watch what you say when your daughter gets into the pool and yells, “It’s so freakin’ cold!” Bonus points for her using it correctly and nailing the enunciation though.

* There isn’t much you can say to your boss in defense of him finding you taking a picture of your cubicle wall in the middle of the day. And I HIGHLY recommend against telling him that it’s part of a project for your blog.

* Does anyone else ever hear songs they recognize when the fax machine is auto-dialing? Moreover, does anyone else ever find themselves humming or singing the song they thought they heard while the fax machine was auto-dialing?

* I wish Facebook would make Flair for my office. Then maybe I wouldn’t be so desperate for windows. I would however become far less productive. Well, far less productive than my current level, which is sort of like comparing a negative number to another negative number.

* Ms. I Want To Go To Mime School came into my office the other day and declared that her ‘stress ball’ was missing. She turned right around and left when I started giggling like a 12-year-old schoolgirl. I think it was her use of the word ‘ball’ or her saying, ‘I checked my drawers’ that got to me. I’ve been waiting for HR to call ever since.

* Not that I am going to self-publish my writings into a book, but if I did, what would be the better title: ‘I’m An Idiot And No One Contests That Fact (Which Makes Me Feel Like Even More Of One)’ or ‘How To Survive Global Warming And A Nuclear Holocaust (By Buying This Book)’?

***This is the part where I wish you all a great weekend AND beg plead remind you to send in your questions for Q&A Monday. Have a great weekend!!

Oops, I Meant To Go The Other Way

Thursday the 17th, aside from being my mother’s birthday and the anniversary of the day Disneyland opened in 1955, is Wrong Way Corrigan Day. I wasn’t really sure what that was about, so I took to the fastidious research that got me through college with all ‘C’ grades. Actually, I got mostly A’s in college, but it kinda cramps my ‘I’m An Idiot and No One Argues That Fact’ style. If I walked around telling everyone I was an ‘A’ student in college, they might expect more of me and that goes against years of trying to lower everyone’s expectations of me so that I have more time for important things like napping and teaching my retriever Mabel to actually go retrieve something.

I read the name Corrigan and it makes me think of corrugated, which really has no impact upon this story at all, but I wanted to get it off my chest. I really do feel a lighter load now. My fastidious research, also known as ‘googling’ and ‘wikipediaing,’ gave me a great explanation of Douglas Corrigan and a little ‘accidental’ trip he took long ago in the days before TiVo, cell phones, GPS receivers and deep fried twinkies. In the late ‘30s, Corrigan flew from Southern California to New York and then was trying to fly back to So Cal. The only thing is that he ended up landing in Ireland instead. He blamed weather and fog and stuff for getting him all turned around. And that’s a little fact not to be overlooked here. I can guarantee you that the next time I go the wrong way and am getting grief about it that I will be blaming weather and stuff. Heck, I might use that excuse just to come in to work late some day. ‘I swear, I swear, the smog got me all turned around and I took the wrong freeway and didn’t realize it until I had reached Needles. Aren’t you impressed though that I persevered through all of that and still showed up to do my job and set a good example for the rest of my coworkers?’

Other than commemorating the day of his landing in Ireland, I am not sure what we are actually supposed to do on Wrong Way Corrigan Day. My first temptation is to go drive backwards down a street close to home honking and yelling something like ‘Long Live Doug Corrigan – the man who made backasswards cool!’ However, there are legal ramifications to this, not to mention safety concerns and insurance rates to think about it. Then there’s the fact that I don’t know Douglas Corrigan well enough to call him Doug, possibly because he died before I was born. Plus, if I yelled anything like that anywhere near my home, my family would change the locks. My poor family is already looked down upon by our neighbors because of my propensity to crank up the Barry Manilow while grilling on the patio or laying in my hammock, so they really don’t need the further shame that my little backwards Corrigan parade would cause.

Fortunately we have portable GPS devices these days to prevent backwarding. Well, assuming one actually follows the GPS device’s directions. Thinking that I was born with a reliable sense of inner-navigation and bearings, I tend to doubt the leadership that my GPS device seems so willing to give me. Its female voice is so pleasant and reassuring and confident that you just get the feeling it knows exactly where it is at any time and how to safely and quickly get you where you want to go. The only problem is that sometimes the direction my device wants to send me just doesn’t ‘feel’ right. No, I am not a Jedi, but I do tend to trust my feelings. It’s not really a ‘force’ as much as a notion that I need to go in the opposite direction I am being told to go. I am slowly overcoming this. Perhaps I would have built my trust and reliance in my GLAD (Getting Lost Avoidance Device) a little quicker if it had been programmed to call me a ‘dumb ass’ or ‘chemical byproduct of cow feces’ whenever I didn’t listen to the device’s directions.

So, despite the fact that I have just shared 4 paragraphs of completely useless information, enjoy your Wrong Way Corrigan Day. I trust you will celebrate it however, you see fit. But I’ve got dibs on the yelling and honking!

And while I’m giving you the Questionable Holiday 411 (to sound like the cool kids – did it work?), Friday is Wiener Day. Wiener Day commemorates the day the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile was unveiled. Does anyone younger than 80 still call hot dogs wieners? I mean there’s Wienershnitzel, but that’s a definition for a breaded veal cutlet (did that impress you? The internet rules!). Can you tell that I am continuing this post just so that I can type wiener? Wieners, wieners, wieners. There, it’s outta my system. WIENERS! Oops, I guess it’s not.

This Will Be About Wine. Or Maybe Whine. Possibly Both?

First off, thank you to those who sent or are going to send me photos of windows for my office cubicle. After posting yesterday, I was afraid I might have New Coked it; by delivering what I thought was a good idea that turned out to be something that no one else thought was a good idea. So far, it looks like we are more down the road of Angus beef burgers or stuffed crust pizza, with regards to general acceptance and all. Holy crap do I need to stop relating my ideas to food or this post will never get completed! Any way, thank you for being so willing to brighten up my little cube.

Now, onto the whine wine. Everything about wine makes it something I should enjoy immensely. There are many, many kinds, makes and brands. People can sit around and discuss it. You make going to see where it is made a destination. And perhaps most importantly, it comes in many different packages and with a ton of different labels. I like packaging. Just ask my wife when I buy a new kitchen gadget at Target. No matter how heavy it is, I walk around with the box in my arms struggling to walk and read all of the packaging hyperbole that got me to buy said gadget in the first place. I might fit the mold or profile of someone who connoisseurs wine, assuming you can connoisseur it. I know you can consume it (well I can’t – but more about that in the sentences to come), but can you connoisseur it or just be a connoisseur of it? These are the questions that keep me up at night. Well, that and planning whether I want a real wood or faux wood dock in the front yard for that time in the not too distant future when my home in Corona becomes beach front property. And whether you can serve boiled lobster at a clam bake. It’s not called a lobster bake, and since it specifies clam, I’d hate to let anybody down. I can already tell there is going to be lots of responsibility as a beachfront homeowner.

Thanks to the unusually high variety of PRESCRIPTION (I’d hate to start nasty rumors) drugs, I cannot consume, or alas even connoisseur, alcohol. Heck, I never even developed a taste for it. In fact, when I smell alcohol when out with friends and family, I instinctively begin clenching my left fist in anticipation of having blood drawn for yet another test as if rubbing alcohol had already been swabbed over my arm. Also, did my use of the word ‘swab’ just then make anyone else think of pirates? Arrrrr right, back to the subject at hand, sorry. Smelling alcohol and thinking of having a needle plunged into my flesh is quite the pleasure killer. To help you understand, although I tried to be pretty crystal clear there, I will offer up a few other examples. In a twisted way, I guess it would be like smelling manure and associating it with beef or smelling cut cheese and associating it with cheesy goodness. And I’m talking about real cheese that has been cut at a cheese factory. It smells nasty, man. But then again, so does the other type of cut cheese. I’m going to stop now.

It bothers me that I’m not a wino. Wait, it bothers me that I’m not into wine or I am not a wineologist or winist. Or is it vineyardarian? The relatives I just visited in Oregon live in the middle of a vineyard and there are wineries all over. I’ve always thought it would be the coolest thing to own a winery with some clever name (which I would offer up right now if only I hadn’t sat in front of my computer for the last 20 minutes trying to think of one and only coming up with The squeezed grape or Virgin Wineries – in an ode to my lack of drinking sophistication) and equally clever label, but a non-wine drinking winery owner seems kinda dumb. Although, it does have a great PR angle. Owning a winery just seems fun. The oak barrels, the aging process, the tasting and selling and tours, and do I really need to mention getting to act like Lucy Ricardo while stomping all those grapes into juice. And it hitches up the sophistication level a few notches, which is a good thing because I could most certainly use a good sophistication up-notch hitching. I think. Truth be told, I just confused myself quite badly.

Do you ever feel like you are missing out on something? Like when you get to work and all of your coworkers see you, stop laughing and mysteriously, but quite obviously, disband? Like Michael Scott says: ‘I like inside jokes. I hope to be part of one someday.’ That’s what the whole wine fun seems like to me. We have friends who are into wine and take weekends to visit wineries and have a wine fridge in their kitchen and give away wine as gifts. It all seems like such a blast and real grown-upy. I’ve tried alternates like Root Beers. Have you ever noticed how many root beers there are? I used to collect Root Beer bottles for the labels. Then I realized how much I could make by recycling those bottles and my collection kinda, well, liquefied. I’ve certainly tried it with cheeses. Just one problem though, there seems to be a shocking shortage of cheese factories to visit. Well, at least legal ones. On our trip to Oregon, I checked the option of our GLAD (getting lost avoidance device) GPS unit to display the little bottle logo for all the wineries in the area. Surprisingly, there was no such logo indicating cheese or root beer factories.

It’s not that I’m whining or pulling out a bottle of hater-aide for wine connoisseurs. In fact, I envy you and look to live vicariously through you. Vicarious through vino, you might say. Or since you aren’t a member of the species Dorkus Humanicus like me, you might not say that. Actually, I’d bet on it. So, I hoist my diet A&W Cream Soda in your wine loving honor. The next time you spend a weekend wine tasting; just bring me back a t-shirt. Or a really cool label…

***Here’s my little reminder to send me your unanswerable questions and window pictures. I made the font green to soothe your eyes. As a token of your appreciation, you can just send me questions and window shots.

You Make A Better Pin Cushion Than A Window

If I talked to my cubicle’s walls, that is exactly what I would say. They are made of pincushiony material that you can easily pin a photo to, but they aren’t very transparent, though if they were, I’d just see out into a hallway and then would probably want my walls back. Bottom line: I ain’t got no windows. Well, that’s not actually the bottom line, that’s my complaint. The bottom line is that I want windows, or just one window. Una window, onlyamente singularo windowrino. Yes, I did major in Spanish, why do you ask? Heck, even a porthole would do. Really, anything larger than a peephole would be quite satisfactory.

It came up while conversing with Eva the other day that her office has windows and I know of other bloggers who have windows. I’m not normally envious, but knowing that some of you have windows really causes me a lot of pane. Get it, window pane instead of pain? Yes, I’m using lame humor to mask my sadness. They say it's the worst and final stage of window grief. Would I be a better worker if I had windows? Would I be a more productive worker if I had windows? Would I be a more gruntled worker instead of such a disgruntled worker? Actually, the answer to all of those is probably still no; especially since I am easily distracted and just watching a leaf blow by is enough to stop me from my current task, but all the dramatic questions sounded good.

As I examined the current confines of my workspace and the building in which it is caged housed, one thing became painfully obvious. I will never have a window while working there. I once put up a stick of bamboo near my cube’s doorway to fill my work area with the intoxicating ideals of the tropics, but someone mistook it for trash and threw it away. I then brought in some flamingo party beads that I found on clearance at Christmastime at Kohl’s, but that only invited my coworkers’ taunts, so I took them down. And speaking of Christmastime (because I haven’t knocked out a good segue in a while), I’ve got that covered. Seriously, do you know how many little tabletop artificial trees $10 bucks will buy you at the local dollar store? Ironically, it buys 10. When they are put atop all the filing cabinets lining the outside walls of our cubicles, it creates a wonderfully foresty atmosphere. So much so that you almost forget you don’t have a window. For some reason though, our company forbids holiday decorating until after Thanksgiving and mandates that we undecorate or de-decorate or possibly dis-decorate as soon as we get back from the Christmas holiday, so we really only have about 4 weeks to not miss our windows.

I have finally come up with a solution to my window crisis though and the good news is that you, yes you, can help. I am asking you to photograph your office window or home window or neighbor’s window or airplane window or boat window or hotel window or cabana on Maui window or car window and email it to me. Basically, if you can see out of it, I want to see it. What am I going to do with that photo? I am going to post it on the cubicle wall seen up there to the left of this post (which is my cubicle wall, by the way. With the exception of Lucy and Ethel's drawings, can't you see how sad and depressing it is, all monochromatic and with no flair - whoa, way too much HGTV coming through there, sorry) and change them out each week. Yep, I am going to have a revolving window of the week.

What will you get out of it? Well, not money, so you can tune out now if you want and I will understand. But, I WILL take a picture of your picture of a window on my cubicle wall and feature it prominently on my blog. It’s like an almost endless circle of pictures of windows. It’ll blow your mind, man. And unlike most gimmicks stunts ingeniously thought out ideas I’ve tried, I’d like to continue this one far beyond my normal customary week or so. Seriously folks, I want a window or scenery to put up every week that I can look out of and pretend (in my own special little way) that my office has a fancy window.

If you are so inclined, please send me your best window shot and I will pick my first window of the week for my cubicle on Monday. You will bring joy to my work life and I will accidentally contribute to killing a tree when I print it. Hmmm, that last one isn’t really a big benefit to anyone. We’ll just focus on bringing joy to my work life and who knows; maybe we’ll have lovely conversations about the things that can be seen out of your window. Oops, I mean OUR window. That’s the part where the whole cast would laugh right before the credits roll. If there was cast. Or the joke was funny…

Many thanks in advance!!!

Q & A Monday – The Return. Or The Revenge. You Decide.

Well, I opened up another Q & A Monday. You were nice enough to do the ‘Q’ part and now I shall do the ‘A’ part. Just a few things to remember prior to starting though. My answers cannot be quoted for use within a public forum or to try and impress someone with your (which is actually my) knowledge. Seriously, I’m not that smart and quoting me will only get you in trouble, most likely because I have already quoted someone else and as many teacher told me in school ‘you cannot quote the work of others and present it as your own.’ I think doing so is called plaque or something like that.

The second thing I need to tell you is that if history is any indicator, I will more than likely forget to answer someone’s question. If I do that, just kindly remind me and I’ll get to it within a few months or so. Also, I don’t spell check or fact check my answers, which means unless it has something to do with Barry Manilow, SNL or cheese, it probably won’t be accurate. So, with that out of that way, here’s the first question…

And first up we have my real life best bud’s wife. I realize that’s quite a title, but my best bud means a lot to me, so I don’t mine typing it. Her questions were or are or possibly is: ‘AM or FM? Paper or Plastic? Coke or Pepsi? Boxers or Briefs? And the most important of all - Mozzarella or Cheddar?’
Ok, FM, although I have found a nice oldies country station at 1350 on my AM dial. Paper – because we all should do our part to be green, even though paper bags are brown. As far as Coke or Pepsi, I say whatever one they happen to be serving. I’m not particular, unless it’s Coke Zero. I do like Coke Zero and you can add almost any flavor extract to it to make it even better. Pepsi has Pepsi One, but seriously, why do I want that extra calorie when I can get a Coke Zero that has none. I bet someone at PepsiCo is taking a lot of heat for that one. Boxer-briefs (I figure if I answer this one quickly nobody will pay attention) and definitely Cheddar. In fact, I am currently enjoying a lovely block of 1 year aged premium sharp white Tillamook cheddar. It is magically delicious!

Next up is actually Best Bud’s Wife’s Sister – AmyMax who asked: ‘stick or automatic? Oh yeah, you said you raised your PLAMS in the air. What in the world are plams? : ) (can't wait to hear that one)’
Automatic. It’s much easier and you don’t have to use your left foot for that pesky clutch, although my left foot does fall asleep more now which can have dangerous repercussions as I furiously bang my left foot up and down on the floor board while driving. My first two cars were sticks and they were more fun to drive, but required more work. When I find myself missing driving a stick, I just grab the Coke bottle (or Pepsi to stay consistent with the answer to the Coke/Pepsi question) in the cup holder of my truck’s center console and pretend it is a stick shift. Try it. It really makes driving more fun. As for plams, it actually was a typo on my part, but I looked it up and it is an ancient fruit from Mesopotamia. No it isn’t. I made that up.

The Exception submitted a question this week that despite my better judgment, I am going to answer truthfully. She asked: ‘Do you know all the words to any ABBA songs? Which do you sing and dance to most frequently?
Well, here goes. I know all of the chorus to ‘Dancing Queen’ and believe that the only way to dance to it is to swing your arms out in the air and spin as you look to the sky. I mean, not that I do that, I just think that type of moves compliments the song. I also know some of ‘Fernando,’ but that’s because it makes me think of former Dodgers great Fernando Valenzuela.

Despite that fact that here number is so high, Employee No. 3699 is up next. Obviously, I didn’t choose to answer these questions in numerical order. This is partly because I cannot count to 3699. Here questions are: 1. Since I'm still fairly new coming here, what is it you do at work in between singing loudly and doing 'The Hustle'? 2. Can you describe yourself in one word?3 . And most importantly, what is your favorite cheese? 4. What will the winning lottery numbers be next week in Illinois?
In between singing and hustling, I am tasked AND charged (so you know how important that is) with selecting VP candidates for both parties. It’s a very tough job and the answer is yes, I do find the term Veepstakes very demeaning to what I do. The one word to describe myself is probably ‘lost,’ though I might need to change it to ‘wrong’ or ‘guilt-ridden-liar’ (I hyphenated it to make it appear as one single word) because I’m starting to feel pretty bad about making up the VP candidate job. In between singing and doing the hustle at work, I am usually found playing with my yo-yo or loading up a PEZ dispenser. And to answer her last question – the type of cheese that happens to be nearest me at any given moment is my favorite. The winning lottery numbers are going to be 5, 9, 0, 7, 4 and the bonus number of ‘G.’ Wait, that doesn’t seem quite right…

Mel Heth stopped by to ask: ‘If you could only have one cheese for the rest of your life, what would it be and why?'
Wow, that’s like the third question about cheese. Do I really mention the lovable dairy product that much. Yes, I’m kidding. I’ve still got water in my ears from the pool and its constant sloshing made me think that would be funny. If I could only have one, it would definitely be a basic medium cheddar. It compliments everything, except for celery. I hate celery.

Amy’s question was a good one. She asked: ‘Are your daughter's names really Lucy and Ethel? Or are those names to protect them?
No, that was how I referred to them after bringing them home from the hospital and it kinda stuck. It really is appropriate because they seem to have that same gal-pal relationship. Their actual names (and this is the first time I’ve ever used them on this blog) are Laverne and Shirley. Nah, making that up again. It’s Mary and Rhoda. Sorry, I just can’t stop. It’s habitual with me.

Natalie asked a particularly poignant question about parenting and since my daughters are far more mature than I am, don’t quote me on this answer. Natalie asked: ‘Why do people with kids get all up in arms about video games that are in no way shape or form for kids? Isn't it their responsibility not to let their kids have them?’
It is their responsibility, but I’m a little outta place answering this one because we only let the twins use the Wii. The only thing that gets me up in arms about that is when they beat me, which is on a fairly regular basis. And they still have yet to step foot in a real bowling alley. It smarts I tell ya! It is a little scary though that video games these days have to have ratings comparable to movie ratings.

Ok folks, those are all of my answers for the week, except for the one or two questions I am sure I missed. I hope it helps start your work week off right. You know what I find really helps get the work week going? Sleeping in, though not every employer thinks it's as good an idea as I do. Feel free to submit your burning questions for next Monday, though here’s a word of advice: if your questions are burning, you might want to see a doctor and seek treatment instead of waiting until next Monday…

The Holidays Are Upon Us

Well, not THOSE holidays, although there is a little of THAT holiday fun coming this weekend, but more about THAT later (wait, I didn’t need to capitalize that use of that, sorry). With the end of the week upon us, there are a few things I need to make sure you are all aware of this coming weekend. I’d hate for you to find out about them after the fact, because who likes celebrating belated holidays. More than once (perhaps 6 times, though I am just throwing out the first number that came to mind) I have been chastised for not sharing pertinent holiday happenings with you in enough advance time to be able to celebrate. Tonight, that practice ends. So, I am putting on my town crier Paul Revere hat and riding throughout the countryside to announce the advance of some pretty important, possibly illegitimate, but still fun to celebrate, holidays (and this is where I say ‘Hi Kat.’).

First up is Friday’s big holiday. You may have heard a little something about this one and I have to thank a high school friend who I reconnected with through the great new time killer, Facebook (no, I don’t do that at work. I’m a good, model employee…and it’s blocked). She advised me (advised me? Am I filling out a police report or something?). She let me know that Friday is free Slurpee Day at 7-11. This one is legit folks. I checked it out online and if someone feels strongly enough to put it on the internet, then we know it has to be true! In honor of 7/11’s birthday, on 7/11, they are giving away free 7.11 ounce Slurpees in special birthday cups. Did anyone other than me notice the symmetry and smooth connection of all the 7/11s there? It was kind of subtle. At least they went with free Slurpees instead of charging $7.11 cents, though a promotion like that would probably be doomed for failure when I spend a little more time thinking about it.

I love me the Slurpee. Yes, my high school English teacher would hate that last sentence, but then she had it out for me because I turned all of my writing assignments in with all the words capitalized and I wrote really small and she was really old, but none of that is relevant to the artic joy that is the Slurpee. Its icy, syrupy goodness cannot be denied. To me, it’s almost like cheese, albeit in a frozen, somewhat slushified state. And it’s not a dairy product, but other than that, it is just like cheese to me. Holy crap, could you imagine a cheddar Slurpee? I honestly think I just shrieked a little while writing that. Before the goosebumps or other embarrassing things start to happen, I’ll just say head to 7/11, on 7/11…

I get to take the twins to a bounce-house birthday party on Saturday and Sunday is actually the rare dual-holiday. While these present celebratory time challenges as we try to incorporate two different holidays into the same 24 hour period (or 12 in my sleepy case), I suggest that you spend the morning-early afternoon celebrating one and then the remainder of the day-evening celebrating the 2nd. Somehow in my mind that suggestion sounded much more clever, unique (or clunique) and out-of-the-box than it came out. I’ll have to work on that.

Sunday is both Embrace Your Geekness Day AND Gruntled Workers Day. I know, I know, isn’t it so exciting? I am all ready to embrace my inner geek, perhaps because my outer geek is so prominent. Much more prominent than my ears or my nose for example. I’m thinking The Science Channel was well aware of this holiday as they are broadcasting their Space Week all this week. I’ve been watching or taping every show they have been broadcasting. It’s almost as exciting as Shark Week, without the blood or water or torn flesh or shark cages, though some of the suits the divers wear could be compared to space suits. Assuming of course you were trying too hard to find a comparison between the two, which obviously I am, which is obviously a sure sign that I have run out of things to compare. I don’t want to offend anyone, but to embrace my geek, I plan on spending the first part of Sunday celebrating by watching Star Trek reruns, going to a comic book store and maybe even challenging someone to a lightsaber fight. I wonder if they still sell Dungeons and Dragons kits anywhere?

As far as celebrating Gruntled Workers Day, I have NO clue. It’s obviously the opposite of disgruntled, but that doesn’t really help me any. I looked it up on an online dictionary and it only said something about putting humor into something, so I guess it has to do with trying to be happy where you work. I have to admit the irony of the holiday’s timing as it is on Sunday. I have never, ever met a disgruntled office worker on a Sunday. Do you want to know why that is? Yep, because it’s a Sunday and they are not in the office. So, I will happily be a gruntled worker on Sunday but will go right back to a state of disgruntledness on Monday. I guess I could approach Monday as a sort of Boxing Day for Gruntled Workers Day, but that’s either too confusing or makes no sense. Perhaps both.

Right about now, you are probably thinking that this coming weekend couldn’t get any rosier or perhaps turnipier or maybe even daffodillier. You’re right! Unless you are just saying that to mock me. If that’s the case, shame on you. Mocking hurts. Well, not really. It’s actually pretty fun. It’s BEING mocked that hurts…Any way, this weekend is the Hallmark Christmas Ornament Preview/Premier weekend at Hallmark stores everywhere. Yeah, I admitted to it. I get excited about it. Seriously, who can resist the plethora of resin ornaments of our favorite pop culture icons that really have nothing to do with Christmas? OK, I realize that might sound a wee bit moc-like, but I do look forward to seeing all the new ornaments I will be paying way too much money for before Christmas knowing full well that I can buy them 50% off after the holidays. Again, not mocking.

And lastly, I am hoping for at least one visit to Disneyland this weekend. I bought a new Disneyland t-shirt that has the same images on it as the Disneyland coffee mug I use at the office and want to get the chance to wear it proudly. Wait a minute, in that really, really did not need to be shared; let’s just chalk it up to one more way I’ll be celebrating and embracing my geekness. You know, I really need to stop writing down everything little thing that comes to mind.

** Last reminder to get me your questions for Q & A Monday. Do you have a burning question, a math problem you can’t solve? Does a friend have relationship trouble? Feel free to ask away. And have a great weekend!!!

Let’s Hear Mellencamp Sing About This Town

I decided to rework an old post today in light of the fact that I slammed a yo-yo off my head while trying yo-yo tricks at work and still have a slight headache. Fortunately everyone was on a conference call in my boss’ office at the time of the accident mishap work related injury sustainment so nobody else noticed. By the same token, no one noticed I wasn’t in on the meeting either, so I’m choosing to take that as a very good sign that it wasn’t a conference call I was supposed to be on but missed because I was working…on my yo-yo tricks. Now, if you’ll please indulge me as I revisit a very, very goofy post about what I think would be utopia…

I read recently that there was a small town listed for bid on E-Bay. Apparently it was just a few buildings but because it used to have a post office it can be considered a real deal town. That just goes to show you how much times have changed. Now days, if it has a Starbucks it can be considered a real town. How cool would it be to own a town? Very, I say. I could buy a town and join the ranks of other famous town owners like Kim Basinger and, uh...Hmmm, perhaps using the plural version of owner was a bit ambitious there.

When you buy a town, I wonder if you get to rename it. I hope so. I’d hate to spend that type of money and be stuck with someone else’s town name, unless it gets me a discount. Discounts are very powerful tools; just ask Wal-Mart on the Friday after Thanksgiving. I think I’d call it something that would be easy to read on a small map and could be readily understood by everyone passing through. This is something that really deserves a lot of thought, so for now I will just assign my town the working name of Townshipvilleberry until I can devote the necessary thought to it.

I’m hoping the name will evoke images of olden, small town, middle America, back in the good ole days, with a splash of Disneyland Main Street to flavor it a little. My town would be very inviting and open to all. Where the money would come from to establish this town is beyond me, especially after paying to obtain the town in the first place. So, we’ll just assume that I have the money to both buy AND fix up the town. To help you better imagine my town, I am trying for a finished project that will be something between Mayberry and New Rochelle (bonus points to anyone who knows what show was set in New Rochelle*), although I’ve only seen both of those towns in black and white, so maybe I should shoot for Oz. That had plenty of cinemascopey color from what I remember.

That all being said, I would commission a beautiful sign at the border of my town welcoming everyone to the town. I would seek out corporate sponsorship to somehow offset the cost of the sign (and the town), so the sign may read something like: ‘Welcome To Townshipvilleberry, sponsored by Coca-Cola and presented by Procter and Gamble.’ Yeah, corporate sponsorship is always a last result, but think of what the additional funds will let me do with my town.

There would definitely need to be an old-fashioned main street in my town complete with gazebo where people could perform and public celebrations could be held. It shall be called the Bank of America Gazebo, presented by Frito-Lay. My town would also need a gas station, bowling alley, laser tag facility, mini-golf course, bounce house birthday place, movie theater, town hall, fire house, hot dog/burger dive, fondue joint and old-fashioned malt shoppe (notice the fancy ‘e’ on the end there? This is going to be one top-notch town). Oh, it would need a Bar-B-Ques galore, too. Seriously, have you ever seen a town without a Bar-B-Ques Galore? Ok, a SUCCESSFUL town without one? And a Chili’s. Every town needs a Chili’s. Maybe they can get away without that stuff over in Crapsville, but most certainly not in Townshipvilleberry.

Since I paid for the town, I believe that entitles me to mayorialship (my word, but feel free to use it). Having never held public office, I don’t know what my mayorialship would require of me, but I’m hoping it’s stuff like judging pie eating contests, beauty contests, figuring out how to spend the town’s money and lots of ‘official’ afternoon naps. And maybe a cool convertible Cadillac like Boss Hogg had. I’m also counting on an oversized pair of scissors I can carry around for official ribbon cuttings. A sash that says ‘Mayor’ would be pretty snazzy too. I’d like a top hat, but if I have to choose between them, I’ll take the sash. Unless you think the top hat would be better. I’m not too informed when it comes to fashion, except for my Dunder-Mifflin t-shirt. That one gets lots of noticement.

I suppose folks are going to want to live in my town, so a homebuilder would be necessary. And once you build homes, you need grocery stores and sprinklers and a newspaper. Then comes a police force, schools, eventually an airport, a dump, a hospital, Target, a McDonalds and then an In N Out Burger. Wow, this is going to get expensive. I think the first thing I’ll do as mayor will be to pass a law declaring that deficit spending is ok and that I will need to raise taxes. To avoid having too high a tax rate I will open corporate sponsorship up to all public facilities. The school can be sponsored by Crayola, the police station by ‘Cops on FOX’ and the airport by Jet Blue. Wait, are they still in business? For fun I could try to get Burger King to sponsor the McDonalds. And just picture a sign that reads ‘Target – Presented by Wal-Mart.’

On second thought, just thinking of all this stuff is making me tired. Perhaps I’ll just buy the town and ‘flip’ it for a profit. I watch people successfully ‘flip’ properties all the time on HGTV. And they don’t have their own Bar-B-Ques Galore. Or Chili’s.

*Disclaimer – bonus points awarded on this blog may be plentiful but are not redeemable at this time.

The White Post

I couldn’t think of anything else to call it, so I am taking a page from the Beatles’ playbook and naming this post after their White Album, (cue Cliff Claven useless trivia alert: the album was actually called The Beatles). My Tuesday got off to a stellar start when I received a text message from a good friend while driving into work. Now before I proceed, let me set the scene for you: I was driving to work and was grumpy because I was driving to work. OK, scene set. Despite the fact that cellphone use while driving is now illegal in California, I stealthily reached down to retrieve my phone, swerved while doing so, opened my phone, swerved while doing so and read the message and swerved while doing so. It stated that my buddy was by himself at Disneyland without his children and his wife. This may seem like an odd text to receive, but for some reason, my friend and I enjoy telling each other when we are at Disneyland. And yes, we are those type of annual pass holders who relish in the giddiness of having said passes.

Now normally I chuckle at the ‘I am at Disneyland’ texts, but not today, not when I am driving into the office in a shirt and tie knowing that in a few hours it will be over 100 degrees and that I will probably be asked to turn in some project I long ago had forgotten about because I was too busy happy dancing in front of the fax machine or doing Ross Perot imitations for everyone who walks by. Plus, it’s summer. Reading the Disneyland text was the moment that I dedicated myself to becoming self employed…again. For the more regular readers of this blog, you know I often try to devise schemes to become self employed. For the semi-regular readers of this blog, may I suggest more bran in your diet? So, if anyone is looking for a great co-ownership opportunity in any type of business, preferably one dealing with food, just give me a holler.

I noticed in the news yesterday that Merriam-Webster has added some new words to the dictionary for this year. And since it’s a weekly publication, I’m sure I’ll be reading about it in Time Magazine next week (for those of you who remember yesterday’s post)! There are a lot of new words about food, which the editors say reflects our fascination and deepening interest in the culinary arts. Fortunately, I can take great delight in telling you that EVOO is not among them, though rather scarily, my best friend sent me a photo this past weekend of an actual bottle of Rachael Ray EVOO. It literally shivered my timbers, which is good in a way because until then I wasn’t really sure where in my body my timbers were located and was too embarrassed to ask.

One of the new words is one I had not heard of. It is ‘mondegreen,’ which stands for a word or phrase mistaken for other words or phrases, especially those in songs. The article I read cited the example of CCR’s ‘there’s a bad moon on the rise,’ which many people thought was ‘bathroom on the right.’ We all have songs we have mondegreened (assuming I am using the past tense of the word correctly) and now we have a name to apply when that happens. And that’s going to happen, what every 3-4 weeks or so? I can offer up another example from my Lucy and Ethel who have begun singing the National Anthem. They sing it as ‘oh say can you see by the darkness daylight…’ We don’t have the heart to correct their mondegreen. Well, that and the fact that we are trying to hide our laughter because they mondegreen it with so much passion.

The word receiving the most attention is one we are all familiar with and either do on a regular basis or make fun of those who do it on a regular basis – ‘airquotes.’ And yes, for the record, I did use real airquotes when typing airquotes, which proved to be really difficult as it required me to take my hands off the keyboard in order to do so. I use airquotes often. I’d give you more examples, but I wouldn’t be able to do so without using air quotes when I type the examples and as I already stated, it’s impossible to both use airquotes and type at the same time…unless you use one hand to make airquotes and the other hand to type, but then those aren’t true airquotes because airquotes require both hands, otherwise they would be called airquote. However, just like me inadvertently having a Christmas song play out loud on my Ipod today at work, none of that is relevant. Heck, was that relevant comparison even relevant? What the hell did I have for breakfast this morning? My internal monologue has become external and that’s never good, especially when Ms. I Want To Go To Mime School asks me what I think of her vacation photos from Aruba. And why does saying Aruba also make me want to say Jamaica, oooh I want to take ya, Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama…and the rest of The Beach Boys’ Kokomo. Blurg, there goes the external monologue again.

I think my favorite use of airquotes though is by famed motivational speaker Matt Foley (played by the late great Chris Farley). He used them to describe all the unflattering things people said about him. Pretty hysterical if you remember what I am talking about. If you don’t remember, please at least chuckle politely. It’ll make me feel better.

I had high hopes that my created word ‘noticement’ would make the dictionary this year, but I guess I didn’t get enough of the academy’s voters to notice. Or was it that I didn’t get enough super delegates to join me? If only I could get Oprah to say ‘noticement.’ Or maybe even Elmo. Or Obama. Or (and I shudder saying this) Rachael Ray. Nope, even better, I’ll get Britney or Lindsey to wear it on a tight t-shirt. I’m sure that would get the noticement of a few folks…

**Remember to email or leave a comment with your questions for the upcoming Q & A Friday Monday.

Back To The Grind

Well, the post-holiday workweek drudgery is upon us. The lack of cubicle enthusiasm was palpable as I greeted my coworkers upon arrival this morning (and yes, I am choosing to ignore the fact that it might be because I was in at least 30 minutes after everyone else had arrived). Perhaps there is just something about unlimited grilled meats, pool time, fireworks and family and friend visits that makes it hard to leave for the office. For me, this morning was different. I was actually excited to get into the office. OK, I’ve already over done it. Excitement is too strong a word. Way too strong a word. Almost like a word on steroids, which as we know are illegal, unless you are Barry Bonds and used the illegalness to make a joke of the most hallowed of baseball records, you know, for example. I will just say that I wasn’t dreading it as much as usual.

To help me explain this, I’ll offer up what my parents used to tell us before going to bed on Christmas Eve: the sooner you fall asleep; the sooner Christmas morning will be here. How does this apply to my story? Well, the installation of my metal-stamped-into-wood-patterns-patio begins today. If a home is a man’s castle, then my new patio is my royal court of relaxation. Along the same lines, that makes the connection of holes dug by gophers in my backyard, at the edge of my new royal court of relaxation, my castle’s moat. For the record, I never wished to have a moat or a goat even if it liked to eat plenty of oat(s), though I would like to have a boat, provided it can float, just not in the unplanned moat. Those are all the rhymes I can think of, minus throat, which I really couldn’t fit into this story.

I have been reading a lot lately about hypermilers. These are folks that do everything they can while driving to stretch and improve their vehicle’s fuel economy. I saw a special about it on CNN and read about it in Time magazine. I started reading Time magazine so that I could appear smarter by being able to say things like ‘I read about it in Time magazine.’ So, having read about hypermilers in Time magazine, I thought I would wax poetic about it for a little while, you know, having read about it in Time Magazine, and stuff. Mental note: quit saying ‘and stuff’ when trying to appear smarter. So, where was I? Oh, that’s right, I was telling you about hypermilers, which I read about it Time Magazine. The act of hypermiling actually appears to be fun. Did I mention I read about it in Time Magazine? All right, I’ll admit that mentioning that last time that I read about hypermilers in Time Magazine was a bit over the top. Sorry. I will not mention that I read about it in Time Magazine again. Honest.

Hypermiling involves such tactics as touching the brakes as little as possible, shutting off the car when idiling longer than 30 seconds and not exceeding about 55 mph on the highway since it uses less fuel, despite the fact that everyone else is driving about 80 on the same highway. I had planned on trading my truck in for a hybrid since I drive often for work, sometimes up to 500-700 extra miles a week. But then we got ready to go looking and I broke down hysterically and sobbed like a baby who dropped its pacifier when I got into my truck, so I figured I was not yet mature enough for a hybrid. So, I am going to do my part to go green by hypermiling.

I have to admit that using my brakes as little as possible when rounding a corner or entering a parking lot or my driveway is a lot of fun. As I roar into these turns and stops much faster than I should, the accompanying bang, bounce and general recklessness really delivers a Dukes of Hazzard General Lee experience (not to mention it signals rather authoritatively to my family that I am home as I screech my brakes in the driveway just a butterfly’s whisker short of the garage door). And who doesn’t like pretending they are driving the General Lee? I feel I should tell you though that I haven’t gotten into a car through the windows since I drove my 68 VW Bug in high school. And my parents still wonder why all the old cracked weather stripping around the driver’s window was broken off. Bwahahahaha….

Now the driving 55 part is not as much fun. You do get to become intimate and personal with all of your fellow highway drivers though. When I cruise at 55 down the expressway (does saying expressway instead of freeway make me sound smarter and more mature? I think I read about it in Time magazine), everyone honks and waves and points at me. They also stare, shout and hurl obscenities my way, as well as show me how nicely manicured their longest digit is. That would be their middle finger if you are playing along with the home version while reading this. I just wave back or give them the classic ‘what me?’ pose, which consists of shrugging my shoulders and spreading my arms apart with my plams palms (someone caught my little typo there...) raised to the sky as if I am singing gospel all gospelly.

The easiest part of hypermiling for me has been shutting off my truck at stoplights, drive-thrus, train tracks, etc., though I will admit having a tinge of concern that the truck won’t restart, with having my Ipod, GLAD (getting lost avoidance device) GPS system, cellphone or blue tooth speakerphone plugged into every available cigarette lighter. I know shutting off the engine is good for saving fuel and stretching gas mileage because I watched Dale Jr. do it repeatedly while leading late in the Michigan race on the way to a win on Father’s Day. And that reminds me: never tell your family that Dale Jr. winning for the first time in over a year on Father’s Day is the greatest gift in the world, especially after they lavished you with gifts, a meal and attention, though it was fitting that one of the gifts was a new Dale Jr. t-shirt.

To put a period on the topic of hypermiling, I will just say that should you visit this blog and notice that I haven’t posted for a few days, just assume that I am recovering from an auto accident caused by me taking a turn or speeding into a parking lot without using my brakes or not getting my engine to restart because I was trying to hypermile. It really is the great new extreme sport. All the cool kids are doing it.

The Return of Q & A Fridays
Lastly, a comment was made by a regular visitor here a few weeks ago that I should open my blog up for questions to answer. With that request in mind, I am going to put my wholehearted effort into bringing back Q & A Fridays for the third time. It’ll start this Friday, so feel free to email your questions to me or just leave them in my comments section. My preference? Email, because I love getting email. It makes me feel special, unlike work email, which normally requires me to do something, usually with a deadline. So, I shall answer your first round of questions on Friday, though don’t be surprised if I quote Time Magazine while doing so…

The Appropriately But Not So Concisely Named Post About A Lot Of Stuff – Holiday Style

So much on the plate mentally speaking, thought wise and idea centric (what?) that I’m just going to start typing again and hope it all comes out in a somewhat cohesive and readable way. And the answer is yes, this is the same way I normally feel and act on Christmas Eve in anticipation of Christmas. So, this being 4th of July Eve, I am all a-flutter with ideas to share and anticipation to, uh, anticipate…

First off, I need to apologize to all of you for forgetting that July 2nd was Mullet Day. While I do not have a mullet, I feel it’s my responsibility to share such a holiday with you. Is it because I might be the least bit tempted to make 101 mullet jokes and puns? Quite possibly. Just promise me you will accept my apology for letting you down by inadvertently forgetting such a potentially great fake holiday.

However, I did not forget to tell you that today is Air Conditioning Day. I’m not sure if July 3rd has been researched and found as statistically being the most-used indoor cooling day of they year or if this day was picked randomly, but July 3rd is the day we are to celebrate our metal boxes of icey cooled-air ecstasy. If the day was selected randomly, I guess it’s appropriate given the fact that (and here is where I need to put up the Cliff Claven/Trivial Pursuit useless fact warning) July 2nd was the real day that the Declaration of Independence was adopted. Apparently one year and one day after - July 3rd 1777 - was when congress realized they should celebrate our Independence and decided to do so the following day, July 4th, 1777 to make up for forgetting to celebrate on the 2nd (are you still with me here?) and we have continued the ‘oh by the way we forgot to celebrate’ celebration every July 4th since. If you happen to be reading this on July 3rd in an artificially cooled space, be sure to raise a toast to your AC unit and wish it a happy AC Day. As my AC is quite possibly as old as I am and the people who sold my house to me worked a replacement AC into the deal, I have been searching for things to shove into my AC unit while it’s running so that I can get a new one. Needless to say, though I will say it anyway, wishing my AC unit a happy AC day won’t be as sincere as your wishes to yours. Oh yeah, July is AC Month, so you can just ignore most of this last paragraph and wish your air conditioning unit a happy AC month anytime you wish. Sorry, I guess I should have stated that fact a little earlier.

July is also Anti-Boredom month. Again, not real sure why July was given this honor as August doesn’t contain a national celebration requiring grilled meats and pyrotechnics and therefore automatically becomes more boring than July. And do I really need to state that March is considerably more boring than any other month I can think of. Obviously both of those months are boring enough to require an Anti-Boredom celebration, but the fake holiday gods have decreed this month as Anti-Boredom month, so we all just have to play along. Although for the record, any month where I have to work each Monday through Friday without a day off is by default boring, so I’d happily celebrate Anti-Boredom any day or any month of the year, but I’m easy and holiday whorish like that. While I’m not sure what the best way is to celebrate anti-boredom, I would assume it involves not being bored (see college paid off for me) to the point that you find yourself drooling or humming bad disco songs or hoping for Barney reruns because of the excitement that purple fun-loving dinosaurs can bring into our lives. I guess I’m going to need to take one of those non-paid holidays off that I talked about yesterday so that I can do something exciting. For me, that might equate to sailing or jumping off a huge sand dune or BBQ’ing without tongs and a spatula or showing up to work on time or meeting a deadline at the office or cheese making/cheese tasting or even trying to find my way home without my GPS device. Those would certainly not be boring. I would also like to computer program a fireworks show to Barry Manilow’s ‘Copacabana.’ I’m not sure a statement like that really fits into this discussion; it’s just that I watched a special about fireworks on PBS the other night and wanted to go ahead and get the thought out there with my birthday being a little less than six months away and all.

Lastly, tomorrow is July 4th, the day we celebrate being American and declaring our independence from Britain. As the day is Independence Day, I figured I should declare my independence from something. I chose work. Yep, I walked into the office this morning and declared my independence from my job. Unfortunately, a coworker actually called me out on it and asked aloud if that meant I was quitting. I chose to ignore the obvious excitement in his tone. Having to come up with a fast face saving answer, I told them that I had decided to celebrate my independence from work on Friday since we have the day off. It’s not quite the bold declaration I was striving for, but I have a brand new patio to pay off.

I guess that’s all I really have to say today, other than Happy belated Mullet Day, Happy Air Conditioning Day and Month, Happy Grilling Month, Ice Cream Month, Hot Dog Month, National Baked Beans Month and Blueberry Month. Obviously we have lots to celebrate, so enjoy your grilling and fireworks and swimming and mass televised mass consumption of hot dogs competition and cheese smelling (seriously, I can’t be the only one) and karaoking to Elvis’ patriotic medley and flag t-shirt wearing.


Happy 4th everybody and happy birthday to this great country of ours!!! Oh, and have a great weekend, too!!!

It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

I know I’m just a wee bit late on this subject, but let me declare that I love summer (which is what this post will be about, at least that’s my intention as I start writing this) or as all the cool kids say, I heart summer. The weather is warm, the sun shines longer, it’s time to swim, the kids are out of school, we get to celebrate the 4th of July, our electricity bills go up and every day in the cubicle brings another reminder that other people are out doing really fun things. I also find that my grass tends to start dying, which requires much less lawn mowing, but not everyone sees that as the plus that I do.

And as if things couldn’t get better, on the fake holiday news front, July is Grilling Month, Ice Cream Month and Hot Dog Month. I’m pretty sure that’s called a trifecta and certainly deserving of a separate post. Yes, summer is a lovely time. Now unfortunately I blew my summer vacation already and will now need to work for the remainder of the summer or celebrate one of those ‘staycations’ that everyone is talking about. Or at least that’s what I thought. Can you imagine my happiness this morning when I was reading the 117 emails I received while on vacation and came across one whose subject line was ‘unpaid time off?’ I clicked the email so hard and so quickly I think I cracked a finger nail. It turns out that my company has now approved unpaid time off whenever we want to take it. I quickly yelled out to the rest of the office to see if I was reading it correctly and they assured me I was. I then announced that I was taking the rest of the day off. Unfortunately, I was advised that the new policy cannot be used in quite that fashion.

I can tell you though that I definitely plan on taking advantage of this lovely new offer by my company, the same company who sent out a memo about how to wash my hands (sing happy birthday while doing so to ensure you washed them long enough). Maybe my employer cares a little more about me than I thought. Of course I am ignoring the fact that they are only doing this to save money, but I plan on being an exemplary employee and setting the example for the rest of my coworkers by taking off as much time as possible. Don’t worry; it’ll be the only time I ever set such an example. In fact, I may delete this post after 24 hours so that no proof of me striving for excellence will be documented. You never know when people will use stuff like that against you.

I’m thinking this summer may be better than the last few. I have no atrial fib this time around and will not be spending this summer recovering from having my chest cracked open like a king crab leg and having artificial parts sewed into me. I’m not sure what your idea of a good summer is, but those 2 things kinda top my list. I can also add to my list that after almost a year of looking, I FINALLY found Diet Grape Soda at the store. As excited as I am about this summer development, that pales in comparison to the FREE Weber Kettle BBQ I found curbside while on a walk a few weekends ago. Seriously, no matter how beat up they might be (and this one is in pretty good shape), the Weber grill is the best grill ever made. I could understand someone wanting to get rid of a rusted out gas grill or an old inflatable pool raft or an old mattress or maybe even a spouse, but a Weber grill? I didn’t question the guy’s sanity when he told me it was free, I just thanked him for the grill and sped off. In retrospect, squealing the tires as I drove away was probably not necessary. And next week I will have the colossal 406 square foot aluminum faux wood patio cover erected put up. The patio has already been extended and in less than a week I can spend my summer days and summer nights (Cliff Clavenism alert: also the title of a Beach Boys album for you Trivial Pursuit fans out there) under the lovely fake wooded shade that marks our first effort at home improvement in the house we bought which still stands as testament to and in homage of the 1970s. I’m lovingly referring to it when it’s done as ‘the hangar,’ because that’s exactly what it’s going to feel like.

So all in all, I am easing quite nicely into summer and hoping you are too. The twins have begun swim classes, or as they should more appropriately be called, the 30 minutes every morning where they get into a cold pool and scream in sheer terror for 25 of those minutes. I’ve loaded up on ingredients for the ice cream maker, which I plan to use as soon as I find where I put it after last summer and I bought some Nathan’s hot dogs to eat on the 4th. I’ll just make sure that I eat them BEFORE watching the Nathan’s Hot Dog contest this year. Though if anyone is looking for a good dietary aid, watching all you can eat food competitions is one of the best. I’ve already gotten sunburned and bitten by bugs I never even saw. Yep, it’s been a great start to summer. Throw in a severe smog alert warning or have a firework explode right in front of me when I’m doing something with it that I shouldn’t be and it’ll feel just like I’m a kid again.

Happy Summer!!

It’s A Mess O’Fun Wrapped In A Tortilla

I'm reposting today since I am too busy meditating in order to calm myself down about having to go back into the office tomorrow after a week off. With one of my favorite competitive events, the annual 4th of July Coney Island Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest, just a few days away, I thought this one was appropriate...

The AP reported Sunday that Coney Island hot dog eating contest regular Eater-X won the world burrito eating championship. In 12 minutes he ate 10 ¾ burritos. One of his closest competitors was another hot dog perennial contender and my personal hero, Sonya "The Black Widow" Thomas, the world lobster-eating champ. Come on, how did I miss that opportunity? I haven’t eaten a whole fresh (meaning non-frozen or just a tail from Costco) Maine lobster since the summer of 2001. Give me the opportunity to compete today and I’d triple the world record. Then I would collapse and have to have my stomach pumped. Then I’d wake up and cry that I wasted so much lobster. I mean a good hard ‘I can’t believe they cancelled ‘Reba’ cry.’

Well, speaking of Maine (sorry segues were never my strong point), the burrito-eating contest was held in South Portland, Maine. Hmm, does that strike anyone else as the slightest, leastest (my word, but you can steal it) bit odd? Let’s see, Maine…of course there’s lobster, maybe chowda (that’s a regional dialect), maybe even natural casing hot dogs with spilt top buns, but burritos? I would think that would be held in one of the southwestern states like the one I currently reside in. Although now I am kind of curious about the taste of a Maine burrito. See, say it out loud. It doesn’t even sound right. Ok, not that I write my posts while speaking out loud…unless I’m having a problem with sentence structure. It would be like having a Gumbo eating contest in Needles, California or the Danish tourist town of Solvang, California. Or how about a Poi eating contest in South Dakota instead of Hawaii. Heck, how about lutefisk in Rhode Island? Whoa, I think I just found the theatrical companion piece to my musical ‘Nylons in Arizona’ – ‘Lutefisk in Rhode Island.’ Email me now and I’ll give you a percentage of the licensing, like little lutefisk shaped oven mitts.

Now, back to the burrito. Hey, I should write that down. It’s a got a nice ring to it, too. Well, maybe not. I’ve already written enough today. Can you imagine that many burritos in one sitting? Can you imagine more than one in one sitting? Gheesh, think about what that would do to the stomachal region (seriously, I saw that in a medical reference book…or maybe it was MASH or Emergency or even Scrubs…it really doesn’t matter). Just think gastric blowout because that’s the nicest term I can come up with. I mean I just drank a spicy V8 and am feeling the effects!

Downing hot dogs and buns soaked with water is one thing, but downing whole burritos with rice and cheese and salsa is something entirely different. I’m assuming that elastic waistbands are necessary when attempting this type of feat. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be around the competitors after the competition as the body tries to process what was just forced into it. Just think about the noises, the…on second thought, never mind. I wonder if Eater X now makes everyone announce him as the World Burrito Eating Champion every time he enters a room in the same fashion that the President gets to hear Hail to the Chief every time he enters a room. I also wonder when Eater X is going to want to go out for Mexican food again. Something tells me it’s going to be awhile. At least I hope it’s awhile, as do those that have to spend time around him for the next few days.

Next time I’m in Maine I guess I can add burritos to the to-do list. Maybe they’ll put lobster in them! Though even if they do, I'm still only eating one...

Top Ten Things Overheard On My Family Road Trip

When I fully recover, next summer, I shall post about the mileage odyssey that was my recent family vacation road trip. Did you know that with three stops (1 to eat, 2 to see the redwoods and a third for a catnap at one of our state’s lovely rest areas) that you can drive from northern Oregon to southern California in only one day? Literally one full day. As in leave Oregon at 9 in the morning and walk in your front door at 9 the next morning. I now have a whole new appreciation for truckers, several of whom I may have inadvertently cut off during those last few harrowing hours of my zombie driving. Having seen the sunrise and sunset and sunrise again, I can’t help but wonder if the feelings I experienced are the same feelings astronauts experience with every full orbit around the earth. I’m pretty sure I saw a cow tap dancing with a llama about an hour north of Magic Mountain on Interstate 5, but then I was pretty loopy at the time and had was listening to a Spanish speaking radio station because that’s all that would come in…

10. No that’s not me. It’s the cows we are driving by.

9. Quit calling me Mommy because Mommy is driving and I’m not. Seriously girls, that hurts.

8. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, the twins want to listen to High School Musical again!

7. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, the twins want to watch the High School Musical DVD again!

6. Oh the DVD player stopped working right in the middle of High School Musical. What a shame!

5. We’re going to a cheese factory. Why? What type of question is why? Because they make cheese there. You’ll like it. Ok, here’s the deal: if you go and pretend to enjoy it, I’ll buy you an ice cream cone.

4. You know, you just don’t get to pull over on the side of the road and watch a cow give birth in Southern California. Of course if you did pull over, it would cause a Sig Alert.

3. No Ethel, that deer is just sleeping in the middle of the highway. I’m pretty sure they all do it.

2. Now that everything is all cleaned up and we’re back on the road again, I would like to state that for the record, Ethel’s elapsed time between saying she needed to hurl and the actual commencement of hurlfication was less than 2 minutes. We can now plan accordingly next time.

1. Ok, in my defense, I thought driving 18 straight hours would have more of a Smokey and the Bandit feel to it.

# 2

Ok, you have to be careful when you says things like #2 when you have young children, provided that’s the name you’ve given the associated bodily function, assuming you even know what I’m talking about here. You also have to be careful using #2 when you have twins, especially when the twins have long since figured out which number they are as it relates to who was born first or second. # 2 is also the car fielded by Kurt Busch in NASCAR’s Cup Series and Clint Bowyer in the Nationwide Series and Jack Sprague in the Craftsman Truck Series, but more importantly, it’s the number made famous by Rusty Wallace, even though Dale Earnhardt drove a number 2 for a few years. But all of the twosyness aside, this # 2 is about something entirely different.

Saturday June 28th marks the second blogaversary of this very collection of tomes about cheese, twins, being the office idiot and occasional references to Englebert Humperdink, for no reason other than his name is fun to say and ‘After the Loving’ has to be one of the coolest schmaltzy love songs ever. Yep, the Wonderful World of Nothing is turning 2. It’s been a good ride lo these last 610 or so posts. I’ve met great new people through this blog, well not that they are new, they’ve all been people for quite some time (and no, I am not saying any of you are old), it’s just that they are new to me. It’s as if I’ve got a whole group of new friends even though we’ve never met. And whenever I write about Clay Aiken, it seems I make a whole new group of enemies I’ve never met, but that’s a discussion for another time, because I don’t write about him very often. I do however write about Barry Manilow, but that’s because his music is kickawesome and Copacabana should be taught in elementary school. It really sums up life- the pleasures of youth, dealing with unfortunate events and becoming a washed up dancer in a disco, or something like that. I think she also drank herself blind and I know she lost her youth and she lost her Tony. It’s also a terrific ‘whodunit’ as they try to figure out who shot who. Plus it has a nice beat and if life has a nice beat, then you just gotta dance.

I started this blog because I have long searched for an outlet where I could be me, as it isn’t always appreciated or welcomed in the office. I had originally planned to start something like blogging a year before I did while recovering from my open heart surgery to replace my aortic valve with one from a catfish. Just seeing if you’re paying attention. However, recovering from open heart surgery isn’t as fun as they make it seem on TV, so I never got the chance to start writing and then was back to work before I knew it. I felt disappointed in myself for not beginning the writing I wanted to do, so about a year later to mark the first anniversary of my chicken heart valve (again, just making sure you are still with me here), I took to blogging. So, I will mark my two years of blogging Saturday and my 3 year anniversary of getting my donkey heart valve (yep, still checking on you) on Monday.

I find myself getting pretty hindsightful (sorry, it’s just so easy to make up words when you can’t find something better to say) each June 30th as I remember my surgery for some reason. The hindsightfulness finds me wondering about past experiences I have known. For instance, I’m pretty sure I had a Ponch action figure and his CHP motorcycle from ‘CHiPs,’ but do not remember what I did with it. I also think back to that time I lathered a bowl of ice cream with an expired can of Redi-Whip even though I knew that it was expired. ‘Seriously, what could go wrong, it’s not that old’ were my famous last words that unfortunate evening. More importantly, my wistfulness also extends to thinking about this blog.

I’ve had a lot of fun with it. I have enjoyed coming up with crappy Aprils Fool’s jokes the last two years and trying to complete memes without tagging anyone who might get angry with me. I’ve enjoyed leaving comments on everyone else’s blogs and reading everyone’s experiences and takes on life. It’s like I’ve lived vicariously through so many of you. It also makes me think I need to get out a little more, but that’s not a knock on anyone who reads this blog; it’s a knock on my Prime Grade A level of boredness. I don’t think boredness is a word, but it makes saying I’m boring sound so much less depressing.

I also remember with fondness that time I got to meet the HR folks for a little ‘get together’ about my blogging at work about work. It was a pleasant meeting with lots of professionalism, except that one part where I asked them if they at least liked what they had read, which by the way now tops my list of things NOT to say to my HR representatives. Also on that list are: ‘I really don’t like working for 8 straight hours because I am prone to chronic boredom and avoid it when I can’ and ‘if I didn’t attend the sexual harassment class, does that mean I can still get away with stuff because I haven’t been properly trained yet?’ For the record, ‘no one said I actually had to return to the office after yesterday’s fire drill, is that a new policy’ is also on the list.

All in all, it’s been a great ride and I wish I had started this endeavor a year earlier. But then again, if I had started it a year earlier it’s one more year of momentous occasions for Lucy and Ethel and work deadlines that I may have missed because I was too busy trying to de-screw up the HTML on my blog or trying to combine words to make one word (the true measure of laziness, by the way) or coming up with bad book or TV ideas or extolling the virtues of a cheese laden life. So, thanks to everyone who comes by here each day. It really means a lot, unless you only came here once and then didn’t come back. That’s a major dose of rejection right there. Seriously though, thank you!!

Not In My Back Yard!

I was shocked when my best bud and his wife sent me this story: http://cbs2.com/local/corona.illegally.processed.2.754318.html . It is about (and I can’t believe I’m even going to type this) a recent bust of people making illegal cheese in (and this is where it hurts even more) my current hometown of Corona, California! It’s shocking and it’s appalling. It’s shappaling, actually. These people are casually making cheese and as the story says, it was unsanitary and impure cheese. They were soiling the good name of cheese and the cheese itself. Well ok, soiling might be a bit extreme, but my hometown doesn’t need this type of press. Surely there must be robberies or prostitution rings or a local political scandal dealing with corruption or robberies or prostitution rings to write about instead.

And to make matters worse, and I know you are finding that possibility to be as impossible as I do, they also had 13 undocumented heads of cattle. Now that’s just sick! Who wants to carry severed cattle heads around and why would you want to in the first place. What do you gain from doing that? No wonder the cheese is unsafe. Mutilated cows aren’t really the cleanest things. Oh wait, I’ve just been informed that ‘heads of cattle’ is just how they COUNT the WHOLE cattle body. Well, I guess that’s not so bad. Just get them documented. Documenting cattle? I guess that makes the 13 heads (and bodies) illegal aliens of the bovine world? Seriously, these are the jokes…though isn’t that a song by The Police?

It’s all just too horrible to comment on. Although, if the authorities only seized the cheese and left the cattle and cheese making equipment, it must still be at the house where the arrest was made. And if I know where that house is located…I’m just sayin’. After all, at the end of this week, I will be at a real cheese factory taking a real cheese factory tour (and eating real cheese and ice cream samples, which really has nothing to do with this story but I just wanted to mention it again) and theoretically will learn the basics of how cheese is made. I’m sure I can fill any gaps in my knowledge after the tour by Googling ‘how to make cheese,’ since I’m sure there will be plenty of gaps in my knowledge because even though it’s a tour of a cheese factory, I still have the attention span of a gnat that has been successfully swatted at a few too many times.

Now I know what you’re thinking: gheesh that guy’s a big hypochondriac. Wait, no, that’s not right, is it? Ok, you’re thinking I’m a big hypocrite as I sit here and rail against the cheese crooks even though I’m planning on taking their equipment and cattle (I do have a big backyard) and making my own cheese. There are differences in this case though. I’m going to apply for all the correct licenses and all that and then start making my cheese. If my applications are denied, at least I TRIED to get a license and let’s be honest; that’s one step further than the guys that got arrested.

Also on my side (and you may not have realized this) is the fact that I have a passion for cheese, so I wouldn’t be doing it for the money. I’d be doing it for the love of the substance that is sure to take a good number of years off the tail end of my life. Don’t get me wrong, if I can sell it, I will. But the money is just the icing on the cake that is the homemade cheese I will make. Hmmm, I’m not so sure that really worded out the way I wanted it to, but it kinda rhymed so I’m keeping it in. Long story short, if cheese can be made at home, what am I doing going to my cubicle every day? I can’t make cheese in there. It’s not like this writing thing is getting me anywhere, so cheese is where it’s at.

I have to drive a lot for my job and one of the places I regularly go is flooded with dairies. And a little tip: if it stinks the first time you drive by the dairies, it’s going to stink the 2nd, 3rd, 4th and yes, 5th time too. I tell you this so that you remember to turn off the outside air before you get to them, unlike me who had to drive by them every week for 2 months before I remembered to shut off all outside air. But enough of that. This story is about making cheese, not cutting it (sorry, but you knew a cutting cheese reference was inevitable). Lo the many times I have driven by those dairies and fantasized about working the cattle and making my own milk. Does that sound dirty to you? It did a little bit to me. Just a skosh. Let me retry it. Lo the many times I’ve driven by and wondered how cool it would be to have cows and be able to produce dairy products, and stuff. There, that’s better. Do they call them milk farmers or dairy farmers or maybe even cheese farmers? I’m partial to Cheesist.

At this point, I can really only tell you that there’s no real point to this post. It just provided me with a good excuse to talk about cheese for a while. But which do you think is better – Craig’s List or Ebay for slightly used cheese producing equipment? You gotta admit, it would be fun. And producing cheese in house will be a necessary first step for the fast food fondue place I want to open someday. You know, I think I can actually feel my arteries hardening and clogging already. There goes another one…


***This will probably be the last daily post for the next week as I get my first vacation, well non-hospital vacation, in over a year. I might try to set up one or two things that will post while I’m gone, but if not, have a great week and see you a few days before the 4th!!