It’s all part…

When I was younger I wanted to be a rock star. I mean, I said I didn’t. I pretended to be an artist, that all I cared about was pushing the limits of creativity. But let’s be honest… I wanted to be a rockstar. I didn’t need to be the Beatles, I didn’t want the contemporary clothing line/fragrance line/sneaker line/B-movie tie-in required of contemporary mdeia properties… I mean artists. Artists seeking services… drug rehab California type services.

No. But I did want to be successful. Successful enought to pay the mortgage without a day job. Successful enough to write and practice and play every day. Sheesh. What a selfish jerk, right?


The nickname we have for the doctor who kind of went nutbag with my diagnosis over a year ago is in somewhat questionable taste, but it sure does make me and the old lady laugh and laugh. Really, I look back with something akin to gratitude, because while he his doctoring skills are way off in the crappy part of left field where he must spend a lot of his time searching for some bedside manner, his overreaction (for lack of a better word) did put me on somewhat of the straight and narrow. So… thanks for that.

I still wish I had my old doctor, but the ridiculous games the various health management organizations play (those same games that have all but destroyed private practice among decent physicians under the age of 50) chased him away. My new doctor is great. I have seen him a couple of times in the last year and he really doesn’t disappoint. But <blank> <blank> Charlie (again, the nickname is sort of in bad taste) really soured me on the medical profession. So much so that I was almost ready to but a couple medical texts and see if I could find an ekg machine for sale. You know, really embrace my personal medical health and say “screw you” to the establishment.

I mean, I still say “screw you” to the establishment, but I do so with a documented primary care physician. So… that’s a proper, adult decision, right?

Media Wall

For a minute there I thought my little flat screen was fried, the one in front of my elliptical, and the daily grueling exercise regimen that keeps me off crazy-ass medication was about to get significantly more tedious. I was saved by a little old school CRT from the kitchen that has barely been watched since number 3 was born. I got the little flat screen working but I kind of prefer the old school TV for a couple of reasons, not the least of which is shear volume. Over the grind of the elliptical in mega-resistance mode coupled with the fan that keeps me from sweating a river that could drown the kittens, the added decibels helps.

But it all reminded me of a plan a couple months ago that I’m glad fell through. I’m not one for floor stand mounts and funky home theater contrivances, but on a whim I bought a clearance  wall mount for smallish flat screens a while ago. I had just installed the LED monster in our living room, so I have an idea how much these things cost, so the clearance one was a worthwhile gamble. It was my plan to get my little exercise flat screen off the glorified plant stand and onto the wall so I could move my machine forward a foot or so and free some extra footage for the home studio. Alas, my little flat screen was not compatible with the inexpensive wall mount. Then I saw a Black Friday deal on a smallish flat screen that would definitely fit the mount for something like a hundred bucks. But I just didn’t have it in me to risk a tramplin’ at the Kingston Best Buy at 4am with a bottle of Vinho Verde and Mom’s incredible stuffing still metabolizing in my gullet.

Ah well. Anyone need a low profile mount for a 20-24″ flat screen? I’ll give you a good deal. <wink>


I hate to go back to the Whites, but that documentary really did irritate me. I feel like I should have a term insurance without medical exam joke here, especially with all of the time they spend in the Emergency Room, but of course, they don’t even think about stuff like that.

And there I go again, being an elitist. I know. such an awful character I am. Dangblast it.

Worthy Subjects

Okay, so if the Whites are unworthy of documentary coverage by my reckoning, who should we be looking at? Turn to the work of Errol Morris. Vernon, Florida is a favorite. In this and other documentaries, he certainly outs some bizarre folks with beyond interesting outlooks and/or demeanor. But while we can marvel and even chuckle at their eccentricities, we are not celebrating their anti-social and downright criminal behavior. We are, instead, enjoying their quirks and coming away with a sympathetic understanding of their eccentricities.

No, I’m not advocating pointing fingers at people who are a little different and laughing at them. But by the same token, I have no intention of elevating the awful behavior of outlaws and human pharmaceutical fementers in a pathetic and self-indulgent pretense of folk hero worship. Seriously.

Morning Woes

Every morning I wait for the bus with my boys. We’re usually more than a few minutes early, but we fill the time with Monkey in the Middle or tossing a frisbee or… something. A couple of times a month, there is a parent from earlier in the route scrambling to get their kids on the bus. It used to be at least once a week, but that one kid is on a different bus now.

The thing is, I know stuff happens, but is it really that hard to get your kids outside in time. I mean, we’re supposed to be teaching them responsibility and leading by example, right? And I’m not trying to be a hard ass. Once or twice a year is certainly acceptable, but it’s the people who blow it a couple times a month that get me.

And understand, we’re the last in a series of three stops in a 100 yard stretch of road, so the “laties” usually get their kid on the bus at once of the prior two stops. We’re really the last hope because there is only one more stop between our house and the school, far enough away that the parent might as well take the kid all the way there. It’s either that or attempt the manic pull up close to the back of the bus flashing bright lights and waving arms to get the bus driver’s attention move on a 55 mph major road.

They often look more like prospective patients in search of alcoholism treatment centers than parents trying to get their kids to school on time.

Gift Shopping Redux

I saw lots of electronics on sale this year. TVs up the yin yang, and super-cheap Blu-Ray players leading the charge. Decent prices on lower-end laptops here and there, though I’ve seen a lot better in the past. Some jewelry sales, though the good stuff never seems to waver. Precious metals hold their value no matter what, right? I mean, you can always find bargain basement gems because an occluded yellow diamond was inflated to begin with, but you’ll never see a near-flawless diamond making it into the bargain bins.

Not a lot of booze on sale and flower discounts were almost non-existent – at least in this guy’s circles. Some movies and music on sale, but certainly not across the board. It seems the studios pick a handful of titles to rock out on, and everything else holds steady.

The best toy sales were early. By Black Friday and all the hoopla leading up to the last minute shopping, sales were frequent, but the price dips were rarely that impressive. I say buy early and get a heck of a lot more bang for you buck.

So speaketh the king of clearance.

Holly Jolly

So we went out for a little family dinner tonight at a chain restaurant with free kids meal coupons. Tis the season and all that. And for the most part, it was a lovely dinner. The kids were well-behaved and even the baby ate like a champ. Everything was tasty, the service was great. Not much to complain about at all.

Unless you’re me, that is.

Here’s the deal. They sat us at a table next to 5 women, clearly co-workers. Four of them were massive. Seriously. If there’s a halfway point drawn on the floor between adjoining tables, they totally destroyed it. I literally could not sit on the side of table that was next to theirs. Even if I could have somehow slithered into my seat without pulling it out, I would have had to such in my gut the entire me. For reals.

That, of course, has become so commonplace these days that in and of itself it would not have warranted writing about. It was the fifth woman, who seemed older than the others, and who was the only one at the table not at least 100 pounds overweight.

It started because her scarf was thrown on one of the chairs for our table. When the hostess brought us over, she politely asked the woman if it was her scarf. The woman glared at her and said “yes” in that challenging tone that suggested she wasn’t going to move it. She did, though, and glared at us as we sat down. Seriously. She got hostile because she had to move her scarf.

Did I mention that all five women were wearing reindeer antlers on their heads? And I won’t even get into some of the horrible things the old skinny one started saying about the infant at a nearby table who was a little loud. Just chattering excitedly and such. No shrieking, no screaming, no crying. Just being a kid. And boy did it piss her off.

If you’re going to go out for margaritas with your chunky-ass coworkers in reindeer antlers, don’t you think you would be leaving the humbug at home?

Set them free! Part 4

Alright, this whole tassel thing has gone on long enough. Let me end it here. and let me end it on an up note, because after a lot of thought, topless after 8 is probably not such a great idea. In a fantasy world is sounds pretty good, because you can control a fantasy. Or rather, in a fantasy you can control who takes their shirt off. In real life… not so much.

Let’s drop the whole idea.

But here’s an idea… what about equestrian helmets? Wait, wait, wait. Don’t knock it yet. Let’s just think about it for a…

You know what, let’s not. It’s a dumb idea. Let’s go back to tube tops and pajama pants on chunkies and keep the boobies on Cinemax.

Set them free! Part 3

Okay, nipple tassels was an okay idea, and bringing guys into the mix is, dare I say inspired. But… the everybody angle. I’ve been thinking about that, and about the general population in your average Chili’s at 8pm on a Wednesday night and I’m leaning toward a revision. Basically, unless we make diet pills and daily bathing mandatory, The whole drop your shirt thing needs to be optional. 

And this might not be such a bad idea. Then, the only people swinging their tassels will be hot chicks and pretty, smooth chested gay men. Yeah, you’ll still probably have that can’t-hold-2-beers-frat-boy getting naked, but until we can get a budget for nipple police I don’t think we’re going to be able to enforce the restriction I recommended earlier. 

Actually, I’m hoping the optional thing would make slightly less than hot chicks and paunchy dudes actually do a few sit ups and slap on some makeup. Peer pressure, baby. The great motivator.

Of course, the way the peer group is shaping up these days I can just imagine the topless travesty in Wal-Mart around 8:30 on a Tuesday.