Trick or Treat

(Intro)
So I'm sitting at my daughter's 1st grade Halloween parade this morning... (insert typical glowing comments about how cute my kids are) and I'm sitting next to a young, healthy looking man who apparently has a child in kindergarten. When the hoopla was coming to a close, my daughter's old teacher makes a quick announcement over the p.a. "One of the fathers of a child in my class is going back to Iraq tomorrow and want you all to wish him the best." I fell apart.

(Set up to poorly worded attempt to express how I feel about the war)
Unlike my spouse, I don't feel comfortable expressing political views in this arena. Frankly, I'm not up to date enough to participate in healthy debate and, though I don't fear confrontation, I'm more effective when face to face with my adversary. I also enjoy keeping it light; at least here.

(Poorly worded attempt to express how I feel about the war)
Can anyone remind me why we're taking young men like the one I was eighteen inches from and sending them to a hell? The man we attacked was a dictator. Dictators are usually pretty bad dudes that just want to be left alone. Yes, they are generally bad to their people, really bad, like sick bad. However, when did it become our job to decide to send our troops into a country that doesn't want us there to oust a dictator that we put into power, to ultimately, so far anyway, kill over a thousand of our men. Don't give me the "eminent danger to our safety" bull shit... Saddam was happy to sit in the big chair in his little country. He doesn't even get along with our friend Osama, had no stockpile of weapons of mass destruction, and couldn't put a bomb together for more than ten years, if he even had the desire to. Chemical and biological weapons are a joke. You could detonate a mustard gas bomb a block from my house, and aside from the hole it left in the ground, the chemicals blow away in the wind. Sure it would hurt or even kill a few, but so do the RPG's that are fired at our troops every day. What the fuck!

(Conclusion)
Okay, so I expressed some angry political views. Couldn't help it. When I saw that young man, with a kid a my daughter's school, all I could think about was his kid and his wife waiting for him for him to come home when there is a very real possibility that he may not. Sorry, I'll try to keep it light from now on...

Did you ever hear the one about the nun, her chimpanzee, and the three-legged camel? I'll tell you another time.

Riders ready, Pedals ready, GO

What is funny? No, not the stand up, eloquently conversing, or seeming to converse with our late night talk show hosts when in all actuality, they're simply setting punch lines up for each other accordingly. Each punch line meticulously following a precisely written script. Funny is... Well, funny is as funny does, I suppose.

My wife finds herself hilarious. We've been together for quite some time. I don't find her hilarious. Scratch that, I do. I find her funny when she's not trying to be. Emotional, heart felt rants. Yep, funny. An ucomprimising, unending, unbelievable love for Stephen Patrick Morrissey. Funny. No wait... Her love for Morrissey is beyond funny. It's kinda scary.

Now, I don't think she gets my sense of humor either. I've got 'em rolling in the aisles out in my fakey fakey life; (fakey-fakey: the act put on when we're not at home, or is it just me putting on an act?) at work, to passers by in the supermarket line hoping to shake from the misery, to a couple or so friends. Maybe I used up my funny trying to get her into bed early on. Hmmmm. She certainly didn't have to utter one funny sentence to get me into bed early on. That's kinda funny, isn't it?

I was a bit frightened...

Whew... I'm in the clear; I don't have 3 close friends...

Not what I expected

You are Woodstock!


Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

I secretly wished I was Snoopy. I'm not nearly cool enough to match up to Snoopy status however. I was, without a doubt, absolutely certain I would have been Charlie Brown. I must admit, (perfect time to out myself) I have walked Mr. Brown's shoes much more often than anyone else's. Woodstock... A pleasant surprise. Random and poor flight path, a good friend to his pal Snoopy, laid back, yellow, and chirpy. Fine by me.

Tree City U.S.A.

Cerritos is named Tree City U.S.A.; it does have a lot of trees, I suppose. I however, have driven across the nation a couple times and have seen substantially more trees in cities other than Cerritos. Now I don't mean to be critical of the city we chose to purchase our first piece of property, (a 900 square foot condo priced as much as a 4 bedroom house outside of California) so let's just assume Cerritos is a city with a propensity for foliage growth.

All this talk of trees seems odd considering the two pictures looming overhead are not trees. I apologize. I'm just attempting to justify the fact that this, "growth," pictured above is hanging down in a somewhat flacid state from our neighbors patio. Is it there because it was intentionally planted? Do these things grow in places other than in Tree City U.S.A.? What is it used for? Is it actually food? I'm dumbfounded...

Aside from the obvious phallic comments, can anyone help me understand what the hell that is and provide a theory for how it got there?

Shhhhh... I'm trying to Work!

Be careful what you wish for. I can't remember which genius uttered those words to me for the first time. So... I experienced, "a spell." Not really sure how long a spell is these days. It's kinda like the price of gold. I think you can watch the rise and fall of the time period of a spell on the NASDAQ. Under: SPL

I digress... Drowning in complacency, for a brief "spell," (refer to the NASDAQ) motivational levels sunk to a bagel rating. If I could have gotten away with going to work barefoot, I would have gladly foregone the monumental decision of which shoe to pick. Not to mention the effort required to apply shoes to each foot, get them onto the correct foot, and remember to slip into sockies beforehand. I resorted to the ounce of panache I had saved for a rainy day. It was "go time." I made a wish, "Golly, I sure hope this whole job thing picks up," I administered the ounce of panache to the wish, and the next day, received the extremely rare ride-along with the C.E.O. In a few short hours, he clearly pointed out what I had to do to insure the "picking up of this whole job thing." Since that day, my job thing has picked up, taken off, and exploded. Early mornings and late nights. I'm productive, weeeeeee! I'm providing excellent service, weeeee! Holy shit, I'm tired, weeeeee!

Be careful what you wish for...

Green Day, Age and Growing Up

In 1994, I worked for the Hard Rock Cafe. The Hard Rock, at that time would cater the KROQ Weenie Roast, so I was on staff, backstage at these awesome music festivals. Working or not, backstage at any concert is an experience I'll never forget. I had the opportunity to sneak away for a bit to watch this "up and coming" band, Green Day. I wasn't a fan then, nor am I truly a huge fan today however, when Billy Joe and his two buddies played, they rocked. Billy Joe ran around the stage with his pants off and they were as good as anyone on the bill. They were teenagers, and little did I know, I was about to face a tough decade . The point is, here we are, Green Day and I. I'm a little older, and so is Green Day. I was listening to one of the nine minute songs on thier new album this morning, and Jesus, they sound fucking great. After listening and appreciating them as a mature, solid, influential band, I got to thinking. They've come a long way from peppy pantless teenagers to the men they are today, and honestly, so have I. Some of my first experiences with the concept of aging are happening right now, and, in some strange way, today I felt like I had grown up with Green Day.

A "Guy's Guy"

Stop... Allow me to set the record straight. Take your pick of terms: a guy's guy, a man's man, a man among men, macho, dude, stud; I am not included on that list. You won't find me glued to the tube on a Sunday afternoon, suited up for the game, watching the Raiders. I don't watch Sportscenter. The only thing more ridiculous and time wasting than lounging around with a group of guys debating about who the best hitter in the American League is, is lounging around with a group of guys watching another group of guys on the T.V. debating about who the best hitter in the American league is. That said... I do look forward to the Triple Crown every year. Horse racing is majestic and low bottom seedy in the same breath. The Triple Crown has been in existence for almost 130 years, and I have a blast watching it. I'm taking a trip to Kentucky some day for the Kentucky Derby to digest it live. As for other sports, I played football for a very long time. Scratch that, I lived football for a very long time. The experience one feels during the three to ten seconds between whistles on a football field is beyond description using my vocabulary. The ball is snapped, and in the same instant, the player on the field becomes a different being reacting solely on intuition, almost without any conscience thought. In a few seconds, he finds himself clutching the ball carrier void of the knowledge of how he got there exactly. It's like nothing I've ever felt. Even today I wake from an occasional dream, playing the game again. I loved being a part of that game. Watching it? It's okay, but seeing others play still stirs deep memories. No, I'm not a man's man. In college, I once scored dead even on a sex trait test that determined masculine and feminine personality traits. Even so, I used to hit opponents on the football field real hard.

What was once mine... or was it?

There must have been a point and time in my life when I represented myself with my own likes, dislikes, interests, inspiration, being... I'm 36 years old. I look good for my age. I have my health. (After all, you still have your health) I'm motivated to do well at work, at parenting, at husbanding, and at being a decent son and person. And that's it. All she wrote. My being ceases. Now bear with me, it gets better. I'm reluctant to post these thoughts, fully aware they reek of self pity and insecurity. I don't feel like I got the raw end of any deal, nor would I describe myself lacking confidence. The description leans towards a loss of self. In college, I had the misfortune to learn that decent looks and the tremendous ability to charm opened countless doors to new people and appeared to help acquire many things I desired. Unfortunately decent looks and charm became what I was. I transformed me to fit you. I discussed what you wanted to discuss. I was interested in your interests. I was a chameleon. A fake. The "many things" I desired and received turned out to be fleeting. The "new people" I became acquainted with were never friends. Yes, they adored the charm but never knew, nor truly wanted to know, the young man behind the facade. I played to them like a job interview and got the job. Rewind to the first few lines of the post. It's fairly clear how I got here. If my goal is to get there, I need to start somewhere.

I like the band Modest Mouse, a lot. Eels, (the band, not the eels in the ocean) are great too. My job is okay and improving. I actually get excited three or four times a week when I lose myself in an interesting conversation with my wife, children, or one of my parents. I don't like too many people a great deal. I don't dislike them. I'm just somewhat apathetic to their existence unless their participation in my day is of absolute necessity. I like cell phones. The idea you can presently pick up a phone anywhere you stand, (excluding Nextel customers, their coverage sucks) and call someone is fantastic. The H.B.O. show The Wire is, in my opinion, the best show on the television. I wish I was naturally adept as an athlete or an intellect. Or at dancing. I play the same numbers in the lottery twice a week and actually believe I'm going to win.

Timestamp: 9:57P.M.
Monday, 10/4

It's a start...

I can't seem to avoid Quizilla

Your eyes should be Light Blue. You.. are.. well..
insane. Your hyper and a pycho, a threat to
yourself and society. You have an obsession
with imaginary penguins and hippos, as well as
sporks. You despise spoons with all your heart
and your parents sometimes locked you in the
attic as a child. In otherwords, your just like
me! ^^


After all... Any quiz pointing out my lunacy is worth posting.

Starbucks

Back in the late 80's, I attended the prestigious San Diego State University, (known the world over for the incomprehensible amounts of beer consumed by it's students in a single weekend). Jesus, that was a long time ago. Aside from the unbearable week I spent as part of a fraternity, I spent much less time in the bars and clubs and chose to study instead of consume massive amounts of beer and liquor. I had to study more than your average bear because, though I hung out with some very smart, motivated individuals in high school, I enjoyed socializing and playing football. Hence, good study habits were not included on my list of virtues. When I miraculously realized the direct correlation between studying and good grades, (I know, I'm a genius) I took to studying at a seedy little coffee house in downtown San Diego, appropriately named, "Java." (I'm finally getting to the point of this post) I adored espresso, scones, the art on the dirty walls, the homeless populating the street outside. When I graduated, I moved to Orange County, (I despise Orange County by the way) and I heard about Starbucks. Instantly, the thought of a McDonaldsized, cookie cutter coffee house made me a little sick. I reluctantly entered a Starbucks a few years later. My order was simple, (unlike the pretentious dumbasses ordering vanilla half caff lattes) and I desperately hoped to hate the "fastfood coffee" Starbucks offered. Unfortunately, Starbucks Arabica fucking coffee tasted fantastic. Gone are the days of my Java. It was torn down and made into real estate offices years ago. College life has been replaced by AYSO soccer, back to school night, PM bath time, parent-teacher conferences, making lunch for my little first grader... And between thoughts and post key taps, I sip on a triple tall iced white chocolate mocha from our friends at Starbucks.

Yaaaay! I love the Pixies!

You rule. in 15 years, you won't be as known as you
are now, but most of the people that will know
you then will like you (or else I'll beat them
with a stick). You're nice to listen to.

What band from the 80s are you?