Ladies and Gentlemen ... Eric Smith

To those still reading this: You are a Saint

2006-03-04T08:28:00.000-08:00

Do you hear that? Yes, that is the sound of crickets. I know it has been awhile. I have been shuffling through my Rolodex of excuses and I have found a good one. I am writing a book. No, I am not lying. It might turn out to be a large pamphlet or perhaps a typed, double-spaced page with generous margins but I am going to call it a book. As long as my acknowledgment page doesn't contain more text that book itself I should be okay.

Anyway, to prove that I am not lying I have attached a little section. This may or may not be all that I have written in the last two months. I am not going to say. Disclaimer: It is quite obvious that I need an editor. My working title is: '101 Misuses of the semicolon'. Just a warning. Here ya go:

Cattle were an inherent evil on the farm. To an eight-year-old they were a source of fear and trembling. After reading the book of Revelation I concluded that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse should come riding in on a quartet of Texas longhorns. I was willing to forfeit my entire Lego collection for a complete set of knight’s armor whenever my cow herding skills were called upon. The neighbors would have wondered why Sir Lancelot was attempting to club ol’ Bossy with a medieval mace but I would have felt better about my chances of making it out alive. My dad always told me they were not violent animals but I knew they were gunning for me. I could see it in their eyes. I would have boycotted the entire farming operation had my parents chosen to get milk cows. If they expected me to sit next to a thousand pounds of beef and start yanking on its milk handles it was obvious that I had not made my position on livestock as clear as it needed to be.

I was constantly annoyed with filmmakers for portraying cattle as genial and submissive animals. Just as every action flick pictured fast cars careening around corners at breakneck speed so every western had a handful of rugged cowboys guiding a herd of black angus down a steep ravine using some form of animal telepathy. The ease at which the cowboys were able to control the herd was just disgusting. I wanted to send a pointed letter to every filmmaker who had ever made a western.

Dear makers of western films:

I know you are probably a very busy person. Making movies must take a lot of your time. I have never made a movie but I once put on a magic show for my family. I was eventually demoted to assistant magician because of artistic reasons. (I am still bitter about that but it has nothing to do with you.) I am writing this letter since you seem completely uniformed when it comes to livestock. Here are a few tips. First of all, farmers do not use horses and if we did they would most likely be fourteen-year-old Shetland Ponies. Secondly, your cowboys have no weapons. Of course they have that rinky-dink rifle that looks a lot like my bee-bee gun but let’s be honest; you might as well have a squirt gun filled with ketchup when a raging bull is on your tail. Here is what needs to happen: the actors must spend the first half hour of the movie searching for the biggest stick or tree trunk that is still maneuverable. This is my strategy so if one of those sacks of beef comes anywhere near me I can 1) rain down blow upon blow until I pound the beast into submission or 2) run like the devil is chasing me. Thirdly, we never wear boots and spurs and chaps. My galoshes are a few sizes too big and my coat is a few sizes too small since it was my winter coat from three years ago. If I am lucky I might find a piece of Halloween candy in the pocket. You would do better to name your movies: ‘The Day the Cows Got Out and Ruled the World’ or ‘Cows and Hand Grenades: The Final Showdown’. Thank you. I hope this helps.

Sadly enough I never sent this letter.

Occasionally I would see one of those nature shows on TV about wild animals in Africa. It was always the same scenario: a leopard or lion or cheetah chasing some helpless animal. It was usually a baby gazelle or something I had never heard of. Being someone who lived in fear of a larger animal I felt a connection with the gazelle. I wanted those nature shows to do a feature on wild animals of the Midwest. The scene would open with a herd of rabid cows chasing a class of second graders through a cornfield. Depending on the speed and agility of the children the scene would end with either a class pizza party or a vacant cornfield festooned with backpacks and empty lunch boxes. The audience would wonder what a knight’s helmet was doing among the backpacks but then the camera would fade.

The first time I saw a cow give birth will be forever emblazoned upon my retinas. What came out looked nothing like the pretty calves you might see on a postcard saying ‘Greetings from Wisconsin’. It looked more like a bag full of cow parts. I could make out a couple of legs but I was certain that somewhere in the cow making process the step entitled ‘put cow together’ was skipped completely. I was going to suggest that we stuff it back inside for a few more days since it obviously was not done. But then it stood up and gave me a look that said, “give me a few days to get my bearings then I’ll be gunnin’ for you too”.

And that's it for now.

Congratulations. Life is normal again.

2006-01-02T09:29:00.000-08:00

The Holidays have always had a certain grounding aspect to them. It's the time when family gets together and you think, "maybe this will be the year they tell me I was adopted." But each season comes and goes and no one starts a conversation with the words, "I think you're old enough to know" and so you have to accept the fact that dear Aunt Agnes is swimming laps in your gene pool. I always find it a little amusing and a bit comforting as well. It's nice to come in for a landing when you live in a world in which your customer service representative lives three continents away.

It seems every family has that aunt or uncle that doesn't seem to be riding the same wavelength as everyone else. Of course they are very dear people but finding a thread of commonality can be an insurmountable task. It usually just comes back to food. "The cheesy broccoli sure is cheesy this year. I like cheese. Do you like cheese? Yeah, me too." I don't think we have to worry about food being taken out of the Christmas picture. Someone is out there making armies of Christmas cookies with reckless abandon. For three weeks out of the year the chocolate chip cookie takes a back seat to the gingerbread man (or woman) and any other cookie cutter shape that you had sitting in your junk drawer. And you can't forget the ham. Someone decided that five pounds of ham per person was a nice round number. There must be a quota of ham consumption that we fall miserably short of each year. I assume if we didn't have Christmas the ham police would show up at your door on December 31st and tell you it's time to pay the piper.

And the bars. Yes, the bars. Pans upon pans of sugary treats baked in a rectangle. I'm convinced that Christmas could go on for weeks and the pans of bars would magically appear in an endless supply. I keep looking in the back yard expecting to see a storage unit parked in front of the door with lines of people carrying pans of bars stacked five high. In the midst of all these bars there is always that one pan that no one seems to touch. It is usually a combination of two things that shouldn't go together. If you dig deep enough you'll probably find a vegetable lurking somewhere under the surface. No one wants to hurt Aunt so-and-so's feelings so we all make an excuse as to why we pass over that pan of wonder that even the dog seems to avoid. "I'd love to try some but zucchini and pineapple make my legs go numb", or something like that. And it just sits there like an orphan who never found a home for Christmas. But strangely enough if Christmas rolled around and the alien bars never made an appearance I would probably miss them more than all my favorite Christmas foods put together. Although I've never tasted them they bring me in for a landing and that's what is so great about going home to family. So now I'll spend the next twelve months hoping that Aunt so-and-so remembers to put her lack of culinary skills to use. Maybe next year I'll tell her how much I appreciate those horrible bars that even the dog seems to be afraid of.

Happy... what holiday is it?

2005-11-30T10:57:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone had a happy thanksgiving. I'm thankful to be eating normal food again. Not that I didn't enjoy the thanksgiving feasts but each meal is like a grand production. I keep expecting someone to roll the credits at the end of dinner. Instead they bring out the pie.

Thanksgiving is really an overlooked holiday. It's just one of those things we have to do in order to get to Christmas. If the holidays were a family, Thanksgiving would definitely be the middle child. No one really wants it that bad. I'm sure that someone has tried to combine Halloween and Thanksgiving just to get it out of the way. I feel sorry for the kid that got a piece of pecan pie in his bag of candy. "Happy Thanksween, kids. Who wants the Hershey bar dipped in cranberry sauce."

Thanksgiving seems to be a fitting holiday for the midwest. I doubt that people on the west coast are pouring heavy gravy over their entire plate of food. Neither are they eating three pieces of pumpkin pie and a handful of caramel bars for good measure. For some reason it just works well in the midwest. Maybe it's a subconscious thing where everyone is trying to insulate themselves for the long winter. Whatever it is, it's impossible to escape. Regardless of whether you like the green bean casserole you will eat it. (Whether or not you can taste the green beans is another story.)

That's all for now. I'm gearing up for the birthday bash. This blog is a year old on December 15.

Will you be checking any bags today?

2005-10-12T08:47:00.000-07:00

We all have baggage that comes from life experiences. I like to think that I carry mine in a Versace handbag. If I run out of space I can put it in my Dolce and Gabbana backpack. I should probably get a large one in case some extra baggage shows up that I previously didn't know about. Baggage has a way of doing that. It just appears at your doorstep one morning like a forgotten college roommate looking for some breakfast. In the time it takes you to make bacon and eggs they've already moved into the basement. Then your Versace handbags are bursting at the seams and you think, "I wonder if Ralph Lauren makes large wagons?"

We all try to dress up our baggage so that it looks the most presentable. In fact we try to present it in such a way that it doesn't look like baggage at all. "I'm just watching this for a friend. They said I could try it on if I wanted to. I'll give it back in a few weeks. I swear it's not mine." You would think the longer we have our baggage the easier it would be to hide but it still feels like walking your pet elephant around the lake. No matter how many times people watch the nature channel they will still be staring when it's hosing off in the water. Then everyone will want an elephant ride and before you know it you've got a full blown circus with clowns and trapeze artists and some bald guy eating fire.

I think we need to come up with a better name. The word baggage conjures up images of fifteen suitcases filled with phone books and pipe wrenches. Who needs that? I would like to propose the word 'accessories'. History of rejection? No. That's a Rolex. It matches my suede jacket of disappointment. Do I see a shawl of bad relationships? Well then, you're going to love my alligator skin boots full of broken dreams. You see, that sounds much better. Go ahead friends. Accessorize all you want. And don't be afraid to use some color. Just remember not to wear white after labor day. And if you're taking the pet elephant out for a jog, remember to bring tickets.

The Dentist: A narrative

2005-09-29T08:51:00.001-07:00

I went to the dentist last week. Slamming my hand in the car door would of had the same effect and it wouldn't have involved a vacuum cleaner and a miniature ice pick roaming through my mouth. I’m not a fan of the dentist which is why it has been six years since my last visit. I just don't like my teeth. The thought of someone staring at them for an hour just makes me a little self-conscious. I’m sure they’ve seen worse teeth than mine, but what if mine are the second worst? That’s just as bad. I wanted to mumble something about eating rocks as a kid but I didn’t want to give the dentist any more ammunition than he already had.

I sat in the waiting room (which was really just a waiting hallway) and filled out my medical history. Who really remembers their medical history? I’m sure some people remember every sliver and black eye they received from the time they were in diapers but the rest of us just remember the major points and make up the rest. “I broke my collarbone a couple of times and I got some stitches and I think I had lupus for a weekend. I was abducted by aliens at which time they probed me and implanted homing devices in various places. I don’t floss very much, I had a hamburger for lunch and I ate a lot of rocks as a kid.” Okay, so I didn't actually put in the alien thing but I wanted to so I could see if they were paying attention.

So I finished my medical history and had a seat in the waiting hallway. I wondered if dentists knew how much they were feared by the general public. How did they develop such a reputation? Was there ever a time in history when people wanted to go to the dentist? Whenever the world’s first dentist opened his clinic someone probably walked by and said, “Dentist? That sounds kinda fun.” Of course this was the last time anyone ever said fun and dentist in the same sentence.

The dentist finally called my name and flashed me a smile that said, “Hi, my name is Miles. I want you to completely relax and trust me. I’m going to lull you into a tranquil state and then stick sharp metal objects into your mouth when you least expect it.” So I follow the friendly dentist deep into the bowels of the office and he tells me to have a seat in the chair and make myself comfortable. Comfortable? As I surveyed his array of weapons I wondered if skinny dipping in a pool of electric eels would have been more comfortable. Don’t these people believe in drawers? This must be the first lesson in dental school. “Okay class, I want everyone to get out your tools and line them up in order of how scary they look. Make sure the mirror on a stick goes at the beginning. No one is afraid of that. Put the drills on the opposite end.” At any moment I expected Miles to saunter into the room with a grin and a thick german accent. “Ve have vays ov making you talk, Dr. Jones.” But he didn’t. He merely scraped on my teeth for a half hour and told me I needed to floss more. Then he looked at the x-rays and told me how many cavities I had. I stared at the x-rays for a long time and I couldn’t see anything that remotely looked like a cavity but I wasn’t going to argue with a man who had access to so many power tools.

When I was ready to leave I received my free tooth paste and floss. I thought about asking if I could exchange them for a box of milk duds but I was afraid Miles would strap me back down to the chair and start drilling some more. And that feels like slamming your hand in the car door.

Jobs are for the birds

2005-09-09T12:01:00.000-07:00

I think many more people would be employed if it wasn't for the job interview. The job interview seems a bit backwards to me. How am I supposed to demonstrate my ability to do a job that I haven't been hired for yet? "Why would I be the right fit for this job? Well, I need a job and you have a job." That seems to be as good of reason as any. Of course you can't say this at an interview. A typical response goes something like this:

"There are a numerous reasons why this exciting position would fit me like a glove. First of all, I just want to say that this coffee is excellent. Secondly, I really like your tie. Thirdly, I'm an over-achiever. If I were to have this job I would do more than just achieve. I would achieve and then I would achieve some more. How much more? That's for you to find out once you hire me. All you have to know is that I will do a lot of achieving."

A job interview is really just an opportunity to say as many good things about yourself as possible in twenty minutes or less. The first five minutes are pretty easy. "I'm a hard worker. I get along well with others. I'm a good team player. I have extensive experience in the field." The last five minutes are usually the hardest. "Well... I floss five times a week. My rash seems to be going away. I can order the seafood special in five languages. Did I mention that I'm a hard worker?" Maybe this is why interviews can be so intimidating. You have to sit in front of a complete stranger and give an account for your entire life. The interviewer then sits in his or her office chair like a Roman Emperor weighing the importance of your existence.

I would like to apply to be a garbage man. How hard could that interview be. "Can you pick up trash? Yes I can. Can you hang off the back of truck looking incredibly bored and frustrated with life? Yes I can. Can you change your name to Rick since we're too cheap to buy new uniforms?

Butlers and Anarchists

2005-08-29T20:34:00.000-07:00

I always feel a little guilty whenever someone bags my groceries for me. It feels like a nonverbal way of telling the world I’m too good to do the menial tasks of life. That is why I could never have a butler. If I did have a butler I think he would be extremely bored. “Well Geeves, why don’t you pour the Raisin Bran this time. I suppose you could iron my t-shirts next. Heck, just take the day off.” Most days would consist of my butler and I sitting at the coffee shop. He could get me a refill when I needed one but then I wouldn’t have anything to do so I bet we would take turns getting each other refills. I would probably have to hire another butler just so the original butler would have more things to do. Between the three of us we could either make enough of a mess or have enough issues to keep everybody busy most of the time.

I think you would lose touch with the rest of civilization after a few months of having a butler. There is something about doing laundry that grounds you to reality. If I meet a well dressed business man in an elevator I think, “This guy runs in some powerful circles but he also washes his own underwear. And so do I.” The same grounding rule is true in the supermarket. There is something very humanizing about trying to pick out produce. A few days ago I was standing next to a guy dressed head to toe in black with an anarchist symbol on his t-shirt. Normally I wouldn’t have much in common with an anarchist but I felt a connection with him as we stared at the zucchini. I had no idea which one to pick and it was obvious that he was equally lost. I don’t even like zuchinni and I’ll bet he didn’t either but by some strange force we were drawn to them, wondering what it would taste like on a salad. So I just stood there for a while in perfect harmony with an anarchist, relishing the moment I would have lost had I sent my butler.

I'm betting the anarchist didn't bag his own groceries. He probably didn't even use a bag. He most likely stuck them in his shoe or something crazy like that just to make a statement. Better yet, if he was a true anarchist he should have taken someone else's groceries. I don't think he has a butler either. He probably has an anti-butler. I'm not sure what an anti-butler would do but the next time I see my friend in front of the zucchinis I'll make sure to ask him.

The Line Starts Here

2005-08-22T13:09:00.000-07:00

I had to go to the Department of Motor Vehicles last week to get my license renewed. Two things are for certain when you visit the DMV. 1) You will wait in line. 2) Your picture will remind you that you are not as good looking as you thought.

We always seem a little surprised when we have to wait in line. "A line? How can this be? I woke up early. I skipped breakfast. This can't be happening". No one is very good at waiting in line either. I look at my phone every thirty seconds hoping that somebody calls me. Anyone with a pulse will do just fine. Wrong number, telemarketer, it doesn't matter. "I'm so glad you called. I'd love to buy some siding for my house. Gutters? Sounds great. Steak knifes? I'd be a fool to pass up that price. So, how are the kids doing? How's the wife? Wait, don't hang up. I'll buy something else. Magazine subscriptions? Chia pets? Vacuum cleaners?"

Everyone seems to avoid eye contact so you don't get stuck in some conversation about the weather or the price of gas. Those are the two most common topics since you can't really disagree. "Yes, the price of gas is going up. No, I am not happy about it. Yes, there is a chance of rain tonight. There is always a chance of rain. It will either rain or it won't rain. Those are the two choices."

I think 'the line' played a big factor in our fear of the Soviet Union. I remember pictures from the Cold War that showed hundreds of people just standing in line. It didn't really look like they were waiting for anything either. They were just standing around looking really depressed. No wonder everyone was scared to death of communism. I'm guessing that every time the photographers came by they all jumped into formation. "Okay everyone, the Washinton Post is here. Let's go people. Yesterday we did youngest to oldest, today we'll mix it up and go tallest to shortest. And remember folks, no smiles. We're supposed to be the Evil Empire so let's try to put some feeling into it this time."

(kathryn will you please take me off your 'worst blogger' list... again)

What? You went to Space and didn't bring back any aliens?

2005-08-09T15:54:00.000-07:00

Well... NASA is making us look like idiots again. I checked my email, they went to the International Space Station. I hope no one left their Ipod behind. That would be a long flight home without any tunes. According the BBC, as the shuttle re-enters the atmosphere it actually flies backwards for a bit and then flips end over end so that it continues upside down as well. I'm guessing that NASA has a couple thousand New York cab drivers signing up for the next mission.

I feel a little better knowing that NASA is not perfect either. They wanted to land in Florida and had to land in California instead. Why was Florida the first choice? That's easy. Everyone knows what Florida looks like from space. If I was the pilot, Italy would have been my second choice. Rhode Island is dead last. The entire northeast was probably out of question because no one really knows what states are over there anyway. I would just be happy that I found the right planet. I'll bet that someone from NASA really wanted to land in Moscow just to rub it in a little more. "In case you didn't know we just got back from space... again. The weather is gorgeous this time of year. You really should try it sometime."

I feel that I am somewhat of a space expert now that I've been reading about the shuttle mission for the last week or so. I'm sure you are as well. We know that many of the shuttle problems stem from the incredibly fast speeds that occur as the shuttle re-enters the atmosphere. I say they recruit all of their new pilots from the retirees in southern Florida. I guarantee they won't top forty. Of course they'll have the left turn signal on for half of the flight but traffic isn't too heavy up there.

Happy XXVIIIth Birthday Eric

2005-08-06T13:00:00.000-07:00

Why thank you. I'm glad you remembered my birthday. I like to consider it my birthday weekend. I figure that it only comes once a year (unless your a dog) so why not make an occasion out of it. If Lincoln and Washington get a three-day weekend I don't think it is too much to ask for one myself. I also feel like I'm trying to make up for lost birthday time since I have a summer birthday and I never got to celebrate during the school year. All of the lucky kids had a mini-circus at school on their birthdays but the summer kids were lucky to get a high-five as they got on the bus when summer vacation started.

The birthday cake was also a big deal. When I was a kid the birthday cake was not just food it was like an elaborate resume. All of the things that I liked were somehow assembled on that cake. The older I got the more crowed the cake became. Had I wished to apply for a job at the age of eight I could have just taken my cake to the interview and not said another word. "Well Mr. Smith, this is quite impressive. We've been looking for a sales associate who likes soccer, G.I. Joes and Matchbox Cars. Is it okay if we pay you in ice cream sandwiches?"

At any rate, there is more birthday weekend left and I'm going to do my best to enjoy every bit of it. Now I've got to go feed a cat that I agreed to watch for the week. I hope that four-legged pathogen appreciates it.

And we're back

2005-07-27T12:06:00.000-07:00

According to the news we have had the longest streak of weather above ninety degrees since 1891. That's good to know. I thought it was hot out but now I know for sure. The guy back in 1891 must have felt the same way.

I have always found the Guinness Book of World Records to be a bit humorous. Someone actually spent significant brain power calculating how many people can fit inside a Wolkswagon. “World hunger? Just a minute. Now if someone wrapped their legs around the steering wheel two small children could fit in front of the driver’s seat and the world's shortest man could fit in the glove box." Genius.

I have no problem hearing about the tallest woman or the biggest newborn but can we draw the line there. Do we really need to know how many quarters fit inside the human mouth? It seems the world record ultimately goes to the person with the wildest imagination. I would like to know what these record breakers are trying to gain? Can you put 'worlds longest ear hair' in a resume? Hmm. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I know you have your doubts about my brain surgeon credentials since I have never been to college, but might I remind you again that I am the worlds fastest hot dog eater."

According the Guinness Book of World Records, Charles Osborne holds the title for the 'longest attack of hiccups'. Charles hiccuped for sixty-eight years before he died. That's what you call a slow killer. Hiccups are strange. They are the only human ailment you can have for which the cure is saying the alphabet backwards or drinking a glass of water upside down. I could be a doctor if that was all it took. "Lupus? No problem. I want you to go home, stand on your head and drink a Pepsi. If that doesn't work I'll put my gorilla mask on and scare your pants off."

I suppose that will do it for a month. Just joking. I'll be back in a week. Call Guinness now, it'll be a world record for sure.

You can't spell NASA without NASCAR

2005-06-20T10:36:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know. It's been a long time. I will try my hardest to do better. If everyone else would follow my example and blog once in a fortnight, I'd be right in the middle of the curve. Message to blogging overachievers in the world: you're making me look bad.

Since we're on the subject of making me look bad, I have a bone to pick with NASA. I really think space exploration has skewed the achievement scale for the rest of us. NASA is like the really smart kid in algebra that ruined the grading curve. Changing the alternator in my Dodge gives me a sense of accomplishment until I think about someone driving a remote controlled car around Mars. Why do the people at NASA feel they have to inform us every single time they make another earth shattering discovery?

NASA: Hello everyone. We have just landed a satellite on an asteroid. We are now ready to commandeer the astoroid's navigational systems with the intent of using it as a remote base for determining the gaseous content of Pluto's core.

Everyone else: Yeah... we just balanced our checkbooks down here. We're feeling pretty good about that.

I wonder if life would have been easier in the Stone Age. It is no wonder they couldn't make a decent cup of coffee, they couldn't even make a decent wheel. I would imagine the best part about living in the Stone Age was making anything you wanted and calling it a new invention. "Excuse me, everyone. I'd like to unveil my latest creation. To the untrained eye this may look like a normal rock but I call it the 'paper weight'. You will thank me profusely when somebody invents paper." If Stonehenge had been built during the time of NASA I doubt it would have gained as much attention. Building an international space station versus building a pile of rocks. Hmm...

I would assume life in the Stone Age was probably a bit dull at times. It lasted thirty thousand years and, judging from the name, rocks seem to be the prime achievement. I'm sure a group of cave men were standing around the water cooler at some point reflecting on life. "You know Sog, I just don't feel like society is going anywhere. I've been staring at these rocks for twenty-five thousand years and they don't seem to have much more potential. Perhaps we should give metal a try." They must have had a bender of a party when someone finally invented bronze. Their spirits might have been dampened had they known the Bronze Age would take another two thousand years to get through. It must have been better than the Stone Age and now they could make as much cheap jewelry as they wanted. (Cue the Home Shopping Network. End Scene.)

The Summer (part 2)

2005-06-13T09:22:00.000-07:00

I have never been a fan of the '...to be continued' TV shows. When I sat down to my favorite TV show I expected the hero or heroine to successfully deal with the problems laid out before them in the hour time slot which they were allotted. As the show progressed I would grow increasingly agitated as I watched the clock. A feeling of dread came over me as I realized the mine shaft was collapsing and not even MacGyver could get the people out in the remaining five minutes. I tried yelling at the TV and that didn't work. Now I would have to endure an entire week of not knowing who makes it out alive. I thought that was terribly cruel on the part of the TV writers. Normal life doesn't happen this way. "I hope you have all enjoyed the soup and salad. Come back next week for a delicious entree and a lovely dessert."

Anyway, back to the summer. I enjoyed family vacations. I have some very good memories wrapped up in my summer getaways. Only one bad memory remains. Spending fifty-seven thousand hours in the car. I remember pressing my face against the glass and staring at the other kids who were trapped in their back seat minimum security prisons. Our souls were knit together in the two seconds that our cars passed on the interstate. In the split second that our eyes met we knew what the other was saying: "your suffering is not alone, my walkman batteries ran out five hours ago as well." I would feel a special kind of envy every time we passed a motor home. I had no idea what was going on inside those tinted windows but I was sure it was some sort of mini circus. I pictured kids swinging from a trapeze. There were dancing clowns and free candy for everyone. I had no idea what champagne was at age ten but I'm sure they had a few bottles of the bubbly as well.

I was fascinated by the motor home. It was the only place on earth where I could jump out of the bedroom and land in the kitchen. Another two steps and I was in the dining room. I pretended that the rooms were normal size and I had super-human powers. I was king in my miniature house on wheels. Now that I'm an adult, motor homes seem a bit odd to me. It's like trying to live on an airplane for a week. You have tiny closets and tiny beds and tiny bathrooms. Now I jump from the bedroom and land with one foot in kitchen and one foot in the living room. I've got one hand on the stove and the other on the toilet so I don't fall head first into the dining room table. I feel like a rhinoceros walking through the Pottery Barn trying not to break anything.

I'm not sure why everyone is so disgusted with Hummers. We could be driving houses down the interstate. The next time your caught in rush hour remember it could be worse. We could all have Winnebagos.

The Summer (part 1)

2005-06-07T12:57:00.000-07:00

I'm having a hard time believing that it is actually June 7. Summer has lost the excitement that it used to have. When I was a kid i would start my countdown to summer a week after Christmas. Now it seems like summer waltzes in the back door and sleeps in the basement for a couple of weeks before you even notice him. After a while you start to notice old bags of chips and overdue movies lying around and it finally hits you: summer must be here. By the time you realize this summer is half over and winter is already at the bus stop waiting to move back in with an arsenal of twinkies that he will force you to eat in order to combat seasonal deficiency disorder. It's just not fair.

The best part about being a kid in the summer was the last day of school. The only thing that stood between me and freedom was a couple hours of signing yearbooks. I never care much for this. I just wanted to get my summer started and I knew that was the price I had to pay. When you're in third grade their is not much you can write that's worth remembering. "I'll never forget the time the when the class hamster got strangled in his little running wheel. Sorry about gluing your hair to desk. Best wishes." It's not like we were planning for world peace. I just wanted to survive the bus ride home.

I don't think I ever had a good year book picture. It really didn't matter though because all the photos were in black and white. We could have all dressed up like pilgrims and you wouldn't have known it was 1986. The one exception was the sixth grade. Their photos were in color. The sixth grade was the envy of every kid. Q: What do you want to be when you grow up? A: I want to be in color. The only real purpose of color pictures was to show how badly our hawaiian shirts clashed with the blue background that everyone had to stand in front of. We really didn't care. With braces and glasses and other apparatuses fused to our heads, we had bigger concerns. Besides, it was summer.

Guys and Mirrors

2005-05-27T12:49:00.000-07:00

When a doctor delivers a baby determining the sex can done two ways. The first one is obvious. The second method is to check for any egos that are attached to the newborn. If there's an ego, you've got a boy. It's the truth. Guys always have an ego. Some have more than others but none of us are immune. If their is a guy sitting in a room with a mirror, at some point the guy will nonchalantly look in in the mirror to check his hair. If he has no hair he'll check his teeth to see if any spinach got lodged between his bicuspids. He believes that spinach will give him the muscles of popeye and popeye is the dream that lives inside of every guy. This is why weight rooms are wall to wall mirrors. This is the only socially acceptable place where guys can look at themselves for hours and flex their muscles without being completely harassed.

I've never understood why prisons and weightlifting always go together. If I was a warden, I'd be a little worried watching convicted felons bench press 500 lbs. Instead, I would institute a doughnuts and Mountain Dew diet. If everyone was a little pudgy they would be less likely to overpower the guards. I would also install round the clock episodes of 24. "Jack Bauer is legwrestling terrorist insurgents while juggling nuclear warheads. I guess the prison riot will have to wait. Pass me another apple fritter."

Of course we can make fun of guys and their egos but society would not be as far along if it wasn't for the power of the ego. Might I remind you what Neil Armstrong uttered when he stepped on the moon. "That's one small step for man, and one giant step for me 'cause chicks are going to think I'm so hot." (That statement was eventually edited by a woman.) On the other hand if Neil Armstrong had been a woman they would have arrived five hours earlier because they stopped for directions and the statement would have sounded like this:

Woman: Hello moon. With a little help we could make this place look pretty nice. We are going to have to do something with all these rocks though."

The Moon: Hey. Don't change me.

Okay, it's only going downhill from here folks.

Trust me, I'm a doctor.

2005-05-14T12:20:00.000-07:00

I went to the doctor last week. He agreed with me that I was sick. This confirms my theory that 90% of being a doctor is possessing the observation skills of a third grader. The other 10% is being able to pronounce the names of all the new drugs constantly spewing out of the pharmaceutical giants. I'll take any drug the doctor gives me as long as he can pronounce the name. I have no idea what it's doing the inner workings of my body but when the doctor says the name with so much confidence, how can it be bad for me? Besides, he is wearing the white lab coat. The white coat makes a doctor look so official. White is the very last color that I would pick for a lab coat. If I was working in a lab I would want something that would hide any 'specimens' I accidentally spilled on my medical garment. "Well sir, your lab test came back fine. Please stop starting at the yellow stain on my coat." Eventually con artists will figure out how easy it is to impersonate a doctor. When this happens, they too will possess the power to make people sit in little rooms with their pants off.

I am continually amused by all of the side effects that accompany these wonderful new drugs. I wish they had testimonials on some of these commercials. "Hi, my name is Jerry. I used to be depressed until I took zoloft. I might still be depressed but I really can't tell anymore since I have been stricken with violent attacks of diarrhea." I guess the plan is to twist your body around enough so that you can't remember what was wrong in the first place. It's like the game shows where you have the choice to trade your prize in for the chance at something better. "I'd like to trade in my chronic back pain. If I'm lucky I might get some minor leg cramps." That's what I call good medicine.

It has only been ten days.

2005-05-10T09:54:00.001-07:00

My apologies for slacking on my blogging again. I do feel a little pressure to blog so as to avoid being labeled 'worst blogger ever'. That's a very harsh title.

I flew down to Texas last weekend. The airport always proves to be an interesting time. Watching people run through airports is always amusing. I suppose it’s funny because they never have the proper running attire on. They carry awkward things like luggage and boxes and large bars of Toblerone chocolate. Cameras are draped around their necks swinging about like a medieval mace. They run with intensity, knowing that a fate worse than death awaits them if they miss their flight: spending the night an airport. I really think they should have a running lane in the airport like they do in marathons. That way we could stand on the sidelines and cheer them on. Someone could use a luggage cart as a pace car and the rest of us could hand out gatorade.

I’d root for the guy in the Hawaiian shirt. That has always been my favorite. It’s like tropical camouflage. It would be quite useful if you ever wanted to hide yourself in a cageful of parrots. I would imagine the Hawiian army looks like a group of disgruntled tourists with flame throwers. Not surprisingly, people adorning themselves with Hawaiian wear don’t know much about fashion. Nothing else explains why they choose to wear khaki shorts and black dress shoes. Are these the only shoes they own? Maybe so. Moral of the story: if you're ever engaged with the Hawaiian army in a flock of parrots don't look for the whites of their eyes, look for the blacks of their shoes.

And the last shall be: second to last?

2005-05-01T15:14:00.000-07:00

I am breathing sighs of relief knowing that the title 'worst blogger ever' has been expunged from my record. Although I'm still a bit troubled. Does this mean I'm in next to last place?

It's rather hard to put a positive spin on being the absolute worst at something. Maybe that's why we call it 'dead last'. It's about as hopeless as being dead. The one exception is Jeopardy. If you're dead last on Jeopardy, you're still smarter than 99.99% of the population. Anyone who knows the atomic number of manganese can afford to be dead last. Unless your Alex Tribek. He doesn't know the answers. Any numbskull can read off the telepromptor and then give a smug look that says, "you nimwit, everyone knows Mikhail Feodorovich was the first Romanov Czar. How did you get on this show?" If I ever got on Jeopardy I would would show up with casts on each of my thumbs. I would look really smart because I would try to push my buzzer each time but what can I do, I've got thumb casts on. Then I would nod in agreement with each right answer and act really frustrated as if the money should have gone to me for that question.

Being dead last in the New York Marathon is not so good. Why don't the sports networks interview the guy who finally staggers across the finish line after twelve and a half hours? "Well, I started out well but I became a little frustrated around mile thirteen when the guy pushing the hot dog stand was gaining on me, but I knew I had to stick it out." This would be the person we most relate to. Unlike the human anomaly who won the marathon without breaking a sweat, the general public wants to hear about the guy doubled over in the bushes. We can sympathize that person. It makes us think, "you know, if this guy can eat four chili cheese dogs and run the New York marathon, maybe I can too?" Although we are continually nagged by the lurking fear that we might come in dead last. And we don't want to face that fear if by chance it might be true.

Why is it snowing on May 1? What egregious sin have we committed to warrant this punishment? Search your souls.

The Worst???

2005-04-27T11:53:00.001-07:00

I have recently been accused of being 'the worst blogger ever'. Hmmm. The worst ever? Let me get this staight. In the entire history of blogs, mine is the worst. If we were to line all of the blogs up in order of importance mine would be dead last. If their is a Sherpa living in the mountains of Tibet and he just happens to blog, his blog is better than mine. If their is an overachieving five year old who happens to be blogging at daycare, this blog is better than mine as well. Likewise, a trained monkey living in captivity, banging away on the keyboard would surpass my blog. (Of course he would need a blogger login name and password but monkeys are becoming increasingly smart. I would assume that this trained monkey would use a free blog and not actually pay for one. Unless this monkey was featured in a recent Superbowl commercial and had money to spare. If this is the case I'm guessing he has TiVo as well.)

Well it appears as though I've got a reputation to live up to. I best get to work.

Ladies and Gentlemen... (the worst blogger in the world) Eric Smith

What? You didn't notice I was gone?

2005-04-25T10:20:00.000-07:00

Alright, I'm back. Yes I know it's been a month. My sincerest apologies. Then again who am i kidding? I doubt that anyone realized I was gone. I assume this is similar to the NHL strike.

Q: What do you think about the hockey strike?

A: I'm sorry, was someone playing hockey?

(Alternate answer: Will this make gas prices go up?)

At any rate I'm back from my sabbatical. This term is really synonymous with "I was too lazy to write anything", but sabbatical sounds like I was doing research. Of course I'm using the phrase 'doing research' quite loosely but it can mean something other than finding a cure for cancer. Because of my recent road trip to Chicago I spent a bit of time 'researching' gas station bathrooms. I don't know much about pathogens and the spread of disease but these bathrooms are not helping. You would think the plague would have taught us something. Buying toilet paper from the lowest bidder is one thing but what genius conjured up the cloth hand towel that keeps circulating through the metal box hanging from the wall. Am I supposed to assume that since this towel goes in one side of the dispenser and out the other side it is now cured of all bacteria known to man? What's in that box? A tiny robot with a Febreeze canon? Never mind that I'm wiping my hands on a high school science experiment, it went through the box. It has to be clean.

If this box is so great I'm going to get one for myself. I'll never have to do laundry again. Oh, did you spill red wine on your new white shirt. Not a problem, I'll just run it through my box. I don't know why everyone is so worried about Ebola. I say we all walk around with hand towel dispensers on our heads.

Now that's what I call quality research.

El Bueno Vida

2005-03-22T14:08:00.001-08:00

Buenos Dias mi Amigos. My sincerest apologies for my slothfulness in posting for the past week. My only excuse is being a bit jet lagged as I adjust to the Spanish time zone. This really isn't an excuse though since I've been up until four in the morning with nothing better to do than watch womens curling on Eurosport. The commentators are German so even if they were trying to make the game exciting I wouldn't understand it. Curling is the sport of the common man. It's the only sport where the spectators and players could switch spots and no one would really know the difference. But what do you except in a sport that was most likely invented by janitors. Maybe tonight they'll be showing that sport where some guy cross-country skis and then shoots a gun. That makes a lot of sense.

Well it was eighty degrees and sunny today. I know what you are thinking, "Eric, are you wearing plenty of sunscreen and drinking plenty of liquids?" I can assure you that I am doing plenty of both. I do appreciate the concern. You can not be too careful. Safety always comes first. You might think that you have a full pitcher of Sangria, but do you really? What if it's only half full? Do you really want to take that risk? So put your concerns aside and know that I am taking every necessary precaution. Now if you'll excuse me I think I missed a spot on my back.

El Bueno Vida

2005-03-22T14:08:00.000-08:00

Buenos Dias mi Amigos. My sincerest apologies for my slothfulness in posting for the past week. My only excuse is being a bit jet lagged as I adjust to the Spanish time zone. This really isn't an excuse though since I've been up until four in the morning with nothing better to do than watch women's curling on Eurosport. The commentators are German so even if they were trying to make the game exciting I wouldn't understand it. Curling is the sport of the common man. It's the only sport where the spectators and players could switch spots and no one would really know the difference. But what do you except in a sport that was most likely invented by janitors. Maybe tonight they'll be showing that sport where some guy cross-country skis and then shoots a gun. That makes a lot of sense.

Well it was eighty degrees and sunny today. I know what you are thinking, "Eric, are you wearing plenty of sunscreen and drinking plenty of liquids?" I can assure you that I am doing plenty of both. I do appreciate the concern. You can not be too careful. Safety always comes first. You might think that you have a full pitcher of Sangria, but do you really? What if it's only half full? Do you really want to take that risk? So put your concerns aside and know that I am taking every necessary precaution. Now if you'll excuse me I think I missed a spot on my back.

Use your words, if you can

2005-03-05T14:32:00.000-08:00

I don't claim to understand the inner workings of the human brain. I remember the pictures in my science textbooks but all they really told me was that the brain resided in the head. That's not really brain surgeon credentials. One thing I do know is this: the part of the brain that allows us to speak in an understandable and rational way automatically shuts off whenever an unexpected or traumatic event occurs. This was obvious to me on saturday morning as I stood under a geyser of water in the bathroom while I clutched the cold water handle which had just popped off of the sink. In my attempt to construct sentences I managed to utter a combination of sounds and semi-words, "ahh, water, wet water, aahh, ooohhhh noooo, wet, waaa!" So I stood in my self-made water park until someone of a more sane mind came by and turned the cold water valve off under the sink.

I think the bathroom is home to many of these traumatic events. Things like standing in the shower when the hot water suddenly goes out. Even the most athletically-challenged person transforms into an olympic gymnast as they straddle the sides of the bathtub while dodging the icy water bullets. The kind of maneuvering and contorting that we do in order to avoid the icy chill would put a circus performer too shame. Even more traumatic than the shower would be dealing with an overflowing toilet. I think toilets are intelligent beings. They sense fear. Imagine the worst possible situation for a toilet to overflow and that is most likely when it will happen. For some reason it makes sense to begin a conversation with the toilet as it begins to well up from the depths of hades. We plead for a stay of execution but our words are useless. The only thing we can do at this point is set up G.I. Joes on the floor and stage a reenactment of Pompeii and Mt. Vesuvius. This is the only time when jumping out the bathroom window and running away is a perfectly viable option.

Maybe this is why we put peaceful pictures and candles in the bathroom. It's important to remain calm in the bathroom because it's usually the place you go in case of emergency. Ate bad chicken? Bathroom. Slipped on the floor and cut your lip? Bathroom. Sitting at a party where no one is talking to you and you want to look like you have something to do? Bathroom. Be careful though because the toilet loves to prey on unsuspecting people who are enjoying the lovely landscape paintings and vanilla scented candles. Before you know it you'll find yourself doing a Rambo roll out the bathroom window in attempts to flea to scene of the accident.

One dozen boxes= my life

2005-02-27T12:07:00.000-08:00

Well, it's moving day. This day rates up there with tax day and the times that you have to wake up at 4am to drive your friend to the airport. Moving is probably one of my top five least favorite things to do. It lands right between eating a napalm sandwich and a do-it-yourself lobotomy. Maybe I dislike it so much because it reminds me of how much crap I have that I somehow continue to carry with me from place to place. It's also a little despressing that I can size my life down to a dozen or so haphazardly packed boxes.

On a better note, (for those of you that are interested with the mind-numbing minutia of my life) the barista finally remembered my drink. Which isn't hard because it's just plain coffee. My motto has always been: if God intended for caramel and chocolate and hazelnut and grand marnier to be in coffee, He would have created it that way. Fancy coffee seems to be another way that we can add adventure and excitement to our ho-hum lives. Some adventurers climb mountains and dive to depths of the ocean. But then their are those truly brave souls who choose to test the palatable limits of the black bean. "Cup of coffee? I think not. Put some of that minty stuff in there and throw in a couple squirts of the orange goo. What is this you say? No one has ever dared to combine those before? Ha! I look danger square in the eyes and laugh. Let's go crazy and put some chocolate shavings and candy sprinkles of top of that frothy steamed milk. It's just waiting to burn my tongue but am I scared? Never. Now I'm going to weave in and out of traffic while talking on my cell phone and sipping my sweet frothy goodness. Of course talking and drinking are not adventurous enough so I'll steer with my knees. Oh yes, I've danced with the devil in the pale moonlight. He was a drinking a caramel mochachino."

If people need candy bars and chocolate covered espresso beans in their coffee to add a little adventure to their life that's okay with me. I'm not one to judge. Awhile ago I read that their are over 10,000 different ways to order a cup of coffee at Starbucks. I would say this makes baristas the smartest people in the world. Perhaps we could solve that Middle East peace thing if the White House added a few baristas to the cabinet? Until then they'll have to be content mixing coffee with french liquors and fine chocolates. I'm just glad they remembered my drink. Now I can go deal with my dozen or so haphazardly packed boxes.

Wishing a happy Presidents Day to all of you Presidents out there

2005-02-21T11:54:00.000-08:00

Have you ever noticed how dependent our society is on alarms? Have you also noticed how much we ignore them? Who actually checks their engine when the 'check engine' light comes on? This has to be a massive conspiracy between the auto makers and the mechanics. How vague can this alarm be? Apart from looking under the hood to make sure no one has stolen my engine, I have nothing else to go on. It's kind of like having a 'check wings' light on an airplane. What we need are useful alarms. I need a light to go off when ever I'm parked in a tow zone. I need a big light for this one. It would be best if the whole car could light up and start flashing. Then somewhere from inside the car a voice would say, "move now you fool, the parking Gestapo are coming!" That would be a useful alarm.

Generally though, alarms are never good things. The alarm clock is the most hated of all alarms. Nobody wants their alarm clock to go off. I hate setting my alarm because it means that I have to wake up at a time that I don't want to wake up at. Nothing is worse that waking up two minutes before your alarm is set to go off. You're still in bed but you can't enjoy it because at any moment the icy fingers of death will reach out from your clock/radio and strangle your ear drums. It's in those few moments that we truly see what kind of resolve we have. Much like the FBI informant sitting under the bright lights about ready to crack under the pressure we cry out, "Alright! I can't take it anymore. I'll get out of bed." But every so often we muster the courage from the deepest parts of our being and we throw our fist into the air and say to society, "You can't make me get up! I've got ten sick days and as long as the Popes Catholic I'm going to use every stinkin' one of them!" It's in those moments that we really experience humanity to its fullest.

I really think that we should bring the back the school bell in our adult lives. Now that was an alarm you could look forward to. We should have school bells ringing whenever good things happen. Birthdays, holidays, new Sting albums, the entire nine seasons of Seinfeld arriving at my doorstep, these are good things. I think they're alarm worthy. Why should fires and burglaries and cardiograms get all of the alarms? I think we should all start carrying large bells around with us so others can know of our good fortune. "Hey everyone, I just found 75 cents in the couch cushion. Giddy-up!" Having a good hair day? Go ahead and give that bell a ring.

Guess What? It's Monday.

2005-02-14T09:18:00.000-08:00

I'm sure that we all know what day it is today. It's monday. Okay, it's not just any monday, it's Valentines Day. It's seems that we have perfect weather for it as well. Cloudy, cold, dreary, with lots of wet sloppy snow on the ground. Who could ask for more?

On this, the fourteenth day of February I thought I would list some of the facts of Valentines Day. This is not an exhaustive list but I'll try to hit all of the main ones.

Fact #1: Valentines Day is not a neutral holiday.

Presidents Day, St. Patrick Day, Groundhog Day, Chinese New Year, Bastille Day, these are neutral holidays. (So France got their independence, wow, are they still going to be snooty when I visit?) Valentines Day is a cesspool of emotions mixed together with the right blend of spices so that we're not sure which way is up. For those who have taken a swig of love potion #9, Valentines Day is day of giddiness, jubilation and contentment. For those who have been scourged by the whips of love and had their heart ripped out only to be replaced by an icy chasm, Valentines Day should be renamed: I will die alone; where's the chocolate and ice cream.

Fact#2: Being single on Valentines Day is like being the Jewish kid on Christmas.

Of course your mother/roommate/sibling can make you heart shaped pancakes for breakfast, but it's not quite the same. Of course, I'm not at all bitter as I write this I'm just stating the facts. Valentines Day is for couples, New Year's Eve is for everyone else.

Fact#3: Every guys thought on Valentines Day: "how much will this cost me?"

I don't know who St. Valentine was but I'm pretty sure that he didn't foot the bill for a three course meal with a couple bottles of wine. Then again I doubt St. Nicholas gave tickle-me Elmos to his grandkids for Christmas and I'm sure that St. Patrick didn't get plowed on his holiday either. Perhaps Val, Nic and Pat should band together and start an organization called 'Saints and the exploitation of the holidays that followed them'.

Fact#4: Tomorrow we can buy really cheap, heart-shaped candy.

Now you have it. The facts of Valentines Day. Here's to all of the Jewish kids on Christmas curled up on the couch with a bucket of ice cream. Have another scoop because you deserve it. Just make sure you save enough for me.

Short and Sweet

2005-02-11T11:45:00.000-08:00

For two years in a row now, I am completely befuddled. It appears that the city has decided to put snow into the streets and have a cross-country ski race. Yeah, that makes sense. Wasn't it just a few weeks ago that we were getting towed because the city was getting the snow off of the streets? Why do I feel like I'm the only one taking crazy pills? Is this God's way of punishing me? I guess we'll ice down 35W and have speed skating next week. Serenity now.

That's all for today folks. It's been a slow week for inspiration. I know you're all saddened to the point of tears but you'll just have to get over it. I will give out a good musical recommendation though. Citizen Cope is some tasty shizzel. Check it out if you haven't already.

A Million Dollar Training Scene

2005-02-05T10:35:00.000-08:00

Last night I saw Million Dollar Baby at Southdale theaters (a.k.a. the Mecca). This was a good film for many reasons. I have always enjoyed Morgan Freeman and Clint Eastwood even though he's been playing the same character for the last thirty years. Here's the problem: it's a boxing film and their are only so many things you can do with a boxing film. Obviously the boxer-to-be will fight against overwhelming odds at the beginning and no one will believe they can become the champ. Half of the movie will be training scenes and finally they will make it to the championship fight. From that point on they will either win or lose. That doesn't leave much room for any sort of plot twist. It's not like you can discover the prize fighter was dead all along.

I do like boxing movies (even though I hate looking at all the broken noses and bloody faces) because I am a big fan of the training scene. It has everything that you could ask for. Cool music, lots of action and their is usually a clip where the love interest in the film is giving some sort of pep talk. Of course we can't hear the pep talk because the cool music is playing so we can just imagine what is being said. "It doesn't matter that no one believes in you because I believe in you. Now go out there and box/fight/ice skate/dance/blow up a tank/rescue the endangered sperm whale (or whatever the movie happens to be about) and show them that no one can mess with the champ." This is why I'm a huge fan of all the Van Damme movies. You're guaranteed at least three or four training scenes in any of his movies. Better yet, he's always hanging from some strange chinese torture contraption. That is some pretty sweet training. Of course to find the best training scenes you need only to pick any of the Rocky movies. Watching Dolph Lundgren work out in a state of the art gym and then watching Rocky lift tractor tires and paint buckets is just about as good as it gets. Training scenes are always better when the underdog doesn't have the right equipment. The Karate Kid wouldn't have been nearly as cool if you didn't get to see Ralph Macchio pounding nails into Mr. Miyagi's shed and painting his house and waxing his floors. I bet every junior high kid in America started doing household chores in preparation for warding off any would be assailants in search of their coveted milk money.

I would like to see a director work a training scene into a chick flick. What if Renee Zellwigger did a few stomach crunches in the next Bridget Jones movie? The amount of guys who would like to see Bridget Jones Diary 3 (instead of being dragged along) would definitely increase. Here's the bet. If anyone can find a genuine chick flick with a genuine training scene then I will take you to the movie and buy you dinner beforehand. Of course I will be the judge of what qualifies as a training scene and a chick flick. FYI, grabbing a taxi and racing to the airport only to fight through crowds of people because the main character in the movie had a change of heart and they wanted to catch their soulmate before they flew away forever, does not count as a training scene.

One simple request

2005-02-03T10:30:00.000-08:00

We all have a short list of goals for our life. These things include employment, relationships, family and so forth. I will divulge one of these goals for my life. I don't think it's to much to ask for. All I want is to walk into my regular coffee shop and be remembered by the barista. I've been coming here at least three or four times a week for the past three or four months and I use my check card every time so unless they're blind they've seen my name. All they would need to say is, "Mornin' Eric, you want the regular today." That's it. Just seven words and I would be floating around the room. Is that too much to ask for? I just want to go where everybody knows my name. Perhaps I need to draw a little more attention to myself. Every morning I'll come in and order lobster. Eventually they would get so fed up that they would see me coming and say "Listen, ERIC we don't have any #$%^& lobster today and we never will!" At least they would remember my name that way. I only have twenty-six days until I am forced to move again so I better make something happen soon.

This will be the eighth move I've made in four years. I'm getting pretty good at it. I just don't unpack anymore. If the rest of the world was like me the moving business would go bankrupt tomorrow. I have this hunch that Ikea is in cahoots with the movers union. They all met in the basment of some seedy chinese restaurant and made a blood oath that kickbacks would go to the store that sold the largest quantity of clutter. Ikea should have a new marketing campaign. Instead of setting up display rooms modeling the furniture they should set up display trucks showing how you can fit an entire dining room set in only five cubic feet of space. Because the question we should be asking before purchasing another ottoman or chest of drawers is not, "can I fit this through my front door?" but, "can I fit this in my friends pickup since I'm too cheap to rent a U-haul."

Perhaps we should learn a lesson from the hunters and gatherers of ages past. It seems that they moved all the time and they looked pretty happy in the history books. This is probably because they didn't have to haul around sectionals and china cabinets every time the buffalo got restless. I bet the chief probably slapped down the kibosh on any wanton spending spree. It would be hard to balance an armoire on your horse at a full gallop while you were chasing down that evenings dinner. I'm sure that somewhere in the course of building the pyramids Pharoah turned to wife and said, "you know dear, I hope you really like the neighborhood because once these silly things are done we're not moving them."

Okay, I'm going to go order some lobster.

The color of everything

2005-01-27T10:19:00.000-08:00

We are currently in the longest three months of the year. This is the time between the second of January and the thirty-first of March. This three month period can be extended depending on how long the snow falls in April. This snow fall is of course punishment from the Almighty since we live in a blue state.

What colors are we going to use when we have more than two political parties? Who is going to pick these colors? If I was starting a political party this would play a leading role in creating my platform. Puce would be right out. If I made a list of colors that sounded like dirty words, puce would be in the top five. No one really knows what color that is. We act as if we do but we really don't. The same is true about fuchsia. I think political parties need to stick with well known colors. People in Kentucky have probably never heard of puce. Although I'm sure their are enough color snobs out there so that someone will pick an obscure shade known only by the most elite of artists. Whatever happened to normal colors? Life was so easy when all I needed to worry about were the sixteen colors in my crayon set. Now we live in an age of color elitism where it seems that if you can invent a new color you can name it after yourself. It's like searching for a new element to put on the periodic table. "I have painted my living room burnt champagne with a hint of goats milk. From now on this color will be known as Greg." I doubt that developing countries are too worried with with the world of hues. I think that food probably trumps whether or not you can combine mustard and magenta. Maslow should amend his hierarchy of needs. Self-actualization does not really come until you can identify the difference between bisque and lemonchiffon. Then next time I have lunch with Ralph Nader I'll give him a little advice. If you vote for Nader you also get to vote for the color of your state. I think that would really drive people to the polls in this age of color infatuation.

I heart 89.3 The Current. Can I get an Amen?

You can't define my art

2005-01-21T10:15:00.000-08:00

Okay, I agree that my attempt to liven up this blog was not that exciting but who are you to define art? Maybe I meant for half of the picture to get covered up by that other stuff on the side of my blog. Perhaps I was trying to show how the souls of men and women are eclipsed by the trials of life that lie in the margins of our lives. Hmmmm. Let's think about that for a while. And then we can think about the dancing polar bear that trots across the screen on my phone every time I open it. Sometimes he wears a pumpkin on his head. Those of you with Sprint picture phones can enjoy that one with me. Sprint owns my soul. I'm afraid that Macintosh now owns my soul as well. (Although I'm afraid that Steve Jobs might give my soul back to me if I don't become a little more computer savvy.) I've thought about breaking up with Sprint but I'm just not sure what I would say. I'm afraid that I would crack under the pressure.

Me: "I think I would like to see other cell phone providers."

Sprint: "Why, Is it something I've done?"

Me: "It's not you, it's me. I just feel like I need some space right now."

Sprint: "But we're so good together. Remember all those lonely drives through Iowa when I connected you to the rest of the world."

Me: "Yes, but what about the time when you 'accidentally' shut my phone off and screwed up my bill?"

Sprint: "I think that goes to show the power of our relationship. If we can make it through that we can make it through anything."

Me: "Yeah, I suppose so but why did you make me sign another two year agreement in order to receive the rebate on my new phone? Don't you trust me?"

Sprint: "Of course I trust you. Now I trust you even more."

Me: "Okay, but will you promise not to shut my phone off again?"

Sprint: "Yes, I promise. But I reserve the right to test your loyalty if need be."

Me: "Hey, do want to go grab dinner and a movie?"

Sprint: "Umm... No, I've got a headache."

Well, it's snowing outside. I hope all of you winter-lovers are happy now.

Give me something I can't do

2005-01-18T09:24:00.000-08:00

Okay so maybe it doesn't fit. But it's still a picture.

This is the sound of frustration: @#%&*

2005-01-15T13:54:00.000-08:00

Alright, I've been trying to do this picture thing for the last half hour and as you can tell... it's not working. Please be patient. I think the odds are turning in my favor. I can only get it wrong so many times before I finally do something right. (Wait, are we talking about my blog, or my life? Oops, inside voice.)

I have a confession to make. Yesterday I went to the Mall of America. I'm not proud of it but I'll be man enough to admit it. I think that place is alive. It's an oppressive being that asserts it's will on any soul daring enough to enter it's gauntlet. Much like the Borg. I did get sucked into a good sale going on at Express though. It's one of those sales where everything is so cheap they throw it all into a big vat and make you dig for it. It is amazing to watch people search through the abyss of clothing. They actually believe they're going to find something that was missed by the last one hundred shoppers that came through before them. In there mind that pile of clothing holds the key to complete life change. The perfect shirt that will simaltaneously boost there self esteem and land them in the perfect job where they find the perfect relationship. Sadly enough though, unless you're three feet tall and built like Bilbo Baggins you'll try on the only sweater that fits and decide like everyone else that firehouse red is still not in style. If you do find something that doesn't make you look like the kool-aid man, you then have to do what I call the 'fitting room dance'. We all have our own routine. It's looks good, but can I accessorize? Will I need new shoes now? Then you have to check whether it makes your butt look too big because this is really all that matters. Colors and patterns are fun but they can't touch the veto power of the posterior. I think we're so worried about it because it's one of the only things that we can't make direct eye contact with. Who invented pants anyway? The Romans really had a good thing going with those togas. The toga does away with the whole issue altogether. Trying to conquer the known world was probably a tough job so I bet they were glad to get a break when it came to clothing. This is why no one was ever able to the beat the Scottish. The kilt is really just an upgrade from the toga. Not to mention the whole underwear thing. Maybe if the Romans had done away with there fruit of the looms they might still be in control. Or maybe not.

Attention all interested Conquistadors

2005-01-11T09:59:00.000-08:00

Today is a good day. I say that because I have just purchased my tickets for a Spanish vacation. Ah yes, sipping sangria on the beach, putting my feet up on a Spanish ottoman like the Conquistador I've always wanted to be. Do you think Conquistador was ever a plausible job option for Spaniards? Perhaps career counselors used it as a possibility? "Well, you describe yourself as brutal, savage and someone who has an affinity for traveling. Have you considered Conquistadoring?"

Maybe Columbus was just leaving Spain because he had to go 'find himself'. Once he found out they didn't have any good hostels he probably got mad decided to burn everything. I would assume that Columbus had quite a domineering personality. You would probably need it if you were in his line of work. A passive Conquistador would probably send mixed messages to the people around. Conquering a civilization would be hard work. And it's probably a thankless profession as well. I doubt Cortez got many Christmas cards from the natives. And if he did they probably didn't have frosted cookies and hot cocoa drink mixes with little marshmallows. They probably said things like "Merry Christmas, thanks for destroying my village" or "Seasons Greetings, I hate you." I'm sure the job had it perks though. They got to wear those really cool hats that you see in all the pictures. And you could claim everything for Spain by just sticking a flag in it. I wonder what Columbus was like as a kid? "I claim the last cookie for Spain." And then he would unsheathe his toy machete and gallop around the room and club everyone in the knees.

I suppose I'll stick with music for now. Maybe Conquistadoring isn't all that it's cracked up to be. I'm still going to Spain though. The first round of Sangrias are on me. Maybe I'll try bull fighting?

T minus 10 days.

2005-01-09T13:00:00.000-08:00

Only ten days to go before I need to have a picture on this blog. I've got all the time in the world. If I wanted to I could get it done early and then just sit back and stare at my shiny new picture. Or I could wait until the very last minute and do the home plate slide and score the final point to win the world series. It's my prerogative. I have yet to decide. I'll just wait and see what happens.

It seems to me that we are in the midst of new generation of people who don't deserve the technology that is given to them. Much like those first owners of VCR's who couldn't even set the clock on those simple machines. As long as they could tape Magnum P.I. they were happy. Now if I was the mastermind behind the VCR I would be just a little indignant. If I poured my life blood into creating a machine that would allow the common man to go about his or her robust social life and still remain afloat with all thirteen subplots of 'As the World Turns' I would expect that it be properly used and appreciated. Sadly enough, I would guess that only twelve out the of 500 million VCR's in the world have the correct time on them. The other 499,999,988, lead us to believe that it is eternally midnight. Now that we have DVD players I would guess that not much has changed. Perhaps Samsung and JVC and Sony and every other Japanese company should rent out a life coach as well with the purchase of every new electronic item? Eventually I would assume that all of our electronic devices and appliances will be satellite operated so they will pretty much take care of themselves. We can then focus on the important things of life rather than setting the clocks on our DVD players and toasters. Important things like making sure that the TiVo is working properly. And when you're sure that the TiVo is working, perhaps you could send your life coach over to my place to teach me how to post a picture on my blog.

Yes, I am a productive person.

2005-01-06T10:44:00.000-08:00

Can a laptop be an idol? If so, coffee shops are the new Mecca. I love sitting here in the coffee shop looking so intense yet in reality I am doing nothing of consequence. I am somewhat sure that if I took an informal poll, everyone else would probably be in the same boat as mine. The key is to use the correct mannerisms. I have found that staring thoughtfully out the window for extended periods of time works really well. Every now and then I will take a couple sips of cofffee. As long as no one sees my computer screen they must think that I'm on to something big. For all I know, everyone else is probably playing tetris. At least I'm filling the cyber world with pointless rambling.

I'm afraid that's all I've got folks. Too many shiny things to distract me. I guess I'll just have to play tetris as well. Or maybe I'll lose at chess for the 54th time against the computer. But really, how can you beat a computer? I'll pretend that I'm Neo and the computer is the matrix and I must protect zion from complete annihilation. Whoops. Did I just say that out loud? I think I'll go make some friends. (Cyberfriends? hhmmmm, interesting?)

Taking the blog to the next level

2005-01-04T20:50:00.000-08:00

It has come to my attention as I peruse the blog world that the appearance of my blog is rather dull. I don't have any snappy pictures or cartoons to catch the eyes of the blogheads. I would like to think the superb writing and quickness of wit would be enough to attract attention but alas, I would only be fooling myself if I believed that. Therefore I am setting a goal. Perhaps you could even say a resolution. I resolve to post a picture on this blog within one week. Okay, let's say two. That will give me time to find a really good one. Perhaps my seventh grade school picture where I was donning square glasses and a shoulder brace which at first glance looked like a bra. That was touching. It was a good look for me at the time. I believe braces and head gear were the only things I was missing. I thought of myself as a work in progress. At least that's what I would say to the girls I asked out to the junior high dance. I'd pull out a picture of Danny from New Kids on the Block and say, "if all goes according to plan, this will be me in five years." Surprisingly, that line never worked too well.

Of course school pictures were never for the students benefit. Our parents made us take them each year so they could hand them out to the aunts and uncles and grandparents. The whole time we were feverishly praying that our picture didn't end up taped to the side of a urinal with horns and a mustache crudely drawn upon our innocent face. This is why I practiced my picture taking face in the mirror. Am I the only one who did this? (If I am, then I feel rather awkward right now.) I imagined that if my head was at just the right angle and my smile showed the perfect amount of teeth then angelic beams of light would encompass my face and I would be heralded as the most photogenic person in the history of mankind. I suppose I was rather delusional but I still practiced my picture taking face nonetheless. Eventually we all realized that we could never compete with Glamour Shots so we did the best to avoid all contact with cameras. There just so honest. I'm going to invent a camera that a) makes you look 15 pounds lighter b) fills in bald spots c) corrects any fashion no-nos and d) makes us all look like 1) Ice Man in Top Gun or 2) Jennifer Garner.

Okay, I've got to go practice my picture face.

Wait, don't leave, I'm still here

2005-01-02T13:27:00.000-08:00

I know it's been over a week since I have made a post and for that I apologize. The holidays have a way of throwing your entire schedule into a salad shooter and spitting out an order of events closely resembling that of a circus performer. I am fairly certain that Thursday happened twice in the course of the week. The amount of material that I could write about closely rivals the amount of data acquired by the human genome project.

The two constant truths about family get togethers are: 1) they will happen 2) I will leave with the haunting suspicion that I was adopted. Whenever I'm at family gatherings I don't use the accepted forms of timekeeping. I prefer to use food units. A food unit begins when you start eating and ends when you've gone a half hour without eating. Whenever you start eating again, after that half hour, the next food unit begins. A typical Christmas will consist of 10-15 food units. Time telling takes on a whole new form. "Well, it's three food units since the ham sandwich and gravy debacle so I would guess it's around fiveish."

I'd better not over do it on my first day back so I'll continue this one-sided conversation later.

Mr. Governor, please raise the speed limit in Iowa

2004-12-24T11:18:00.000-08:00

Well Christmas is here. Just in case you've missed all the hints for the past two months. I thought the inflatable Winnie the Pooh statue in someone's front yard was especially touching. That really gets me into the Christmas spirit. Although I find it rather difficult to be in the Christmas spirit right now since I will end up driving through Iowa tonight while everyone else in the world is dining on figgy pudding. I have already chosen the new Green Day single as my theme song for the ride home. When asked how I spent Christmas Eve 2004 I can truthfully say that I drifted slowly into madness. Sorry folks, I don't mean to sound like the Grinch. I'm sure Christmas will be fine. Soon I'll be in central Nebraska. One of the few places that time has forgotten. I can sip my egg nog while staring out over the platte river. What a great river that is. You could cross it in a wheel chair if you wanted to.

I suppose I should go pick out my favorite Christmas sweater so I'll be ready for the festivities. I think I'll go with the pullover that has the detachable nativity set. It can be hours of fun. It came with three different changes of clothing for the wise men.

I think that's enough. I've got to go work on my stand-up material to keep myself occupied so I don't drive into a ditch somewhere around Ames. "So what's the deal with gas station bathrooms. Why must they lock the doors? Are they afraid someone's going to break in and clean it." Okay, I'll stop.

Soup and hair and then more soup

2004-12-22T23:51:00.000-08:00

I think I'm on a chicken noodle soup high. I made a batch on Tuesday and I've now had seven bowls in two days. Is that excessive? I'll tell you what I should do. I should take a pint glass full of soup down to The Purple Onion and show them how ridiculous that is. Maybe then they would finally serve coffee in a mug as God intended. (Refer to the first posting to get the necessary background. Or just go to The Purple Onion and see for yourself.

I finally ended up at The Hair Police today. I like going there. There's just something cool about the combination of mohawks, fake dreads and someone's pet pig roaming around. My stylist's name is Satya (pronounced SOT-ee-a, or SOCH-ee-a, but I really don't know how to phonetically spell words so let's just pretend that never happened). I don't know if this is her real name. I only say this because she is the only Satya I know in the world. For some reason I think that someone named Satya will a better stylist than someone named Barb. Barb is great a name but not the first name I'd think of when I think of a stylist. Unless you go to Great Clips. Of course I won't chastise you for going to Great Clips. I sort of figure that your hair cut will be punishment enough. (I'm just kidding. You should know better than to take anything seriously that I write on this blog.) I admit that there have been a few times when I have brought a picture along with me to show the stylist. I always wonder what the stylist is thinking when I pull the picture out. "Oh, here we go again. Listen here chief, it's going to take a lot more than a hair cut for you to look like Brad Pitt." I'll be honest though, there is always a part of me that thinks I might actually look like the guy in picture if I just had his hair cut. That's why stylists are so good at using conversation as a distraction. They foolishly assume that if they keep talking we'll eventually forget about the picture. But that is not possible since the picture was the only reason we came in the first place. The whole time we're looking in the mirror trying to squint just right, longing to believe the transformation is actually working. Of course we always bring in the picture of the really good looking person. Just once I want to bring in a picture of the guy in the Mills Fleet Farm catalog who is modeling the garden hose.

I think the soup is calling my name again. Perhaps with crackers this time? Yes, I think so.

And then there were two

2004-12-21T11:31:00.000-08:00

If it wasn't for the generous comments of a certain few people (both names start with a K, one is referred to by her initials, and the other ends in 'atie') this blog might possibly have ceased to exist. Actually it probably would have kept going anyway. This well-oiled machine will keep spinning out the hits. That is until the next shiny thing comes along and distracts me.

So I'm still not done with my Christmas shopping yet. The second round of Christmas shopping is always the hardest. I suppose it's a bit like standing in front of the prison warden after a repeat offense. "Back again? Obviously you didn't learn your lesson the first time. Oh, you will this time. We'll see to that." Now I'll have to park in the lot that's ten stores over from Walmart since all of the good spots have been taken up by RV's waiting for the after Christmas sales. That's alright I'll just take my team of sled dogs with me. If only Walmart had a drive-up window. Why don't they? Does anyone actually enjoy the part where we have to roam around aimlessly for an hour trying to find a coffee mug with two teddy bears hugging? And it seems like everyone gets a little more disgruntled as we get closer to the deadline. I think most stores put in the third and fourth string checkers as well. And why not? There are only a few minutes left in the fourth quarter so it's time to protect the starting line in preparation for the new spring collection coming out a week after Christmas. One of these Christmas's I'm going to make all my gifts. I would avoid all the shopping entirely. Of course this seems like a good idea now. There is the small problem of what I would make for everyone. Since I have no crafty, artistic abilities in me (at least not the artistic abilities needed to make gifts) I'll probably end up making bean bags or something of the sort. Those wouldn't go over so well. I think most people would see right through it. Unless I made bean bags full of $100 bills. Those would probably go over a little better.

Now don't think that I'm not a fan of gifts. I love giving gifts. Finding the gift is the part that turns me into a twisted bundle of nerves. But I suppose that is what makes the gift so special. Anyone can go through the drive-up window at Walmart. It takes an extra amount of care to find that perfect gift that says, "I went through shopping purgatory because I think you're worth it. Merry Christmas."

I can't feel my legs, is that normal?

2004-12-19T13:20:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I had my weekly family conference call with my parents who live in southern Spain and my brother who happens to be vacationing in Hawii. How cruel can this world be?

Supposedly the 'experts' are saying that if global warming (due to greenhouse gases) continues at the rate which it presently is at, the climate in the Twin Cities will soon be like that of Florida. By all means keep driving! In fact I'm never shutting my car off again. Sure I'll pay a little more in gas but I think it will be worth it in 30 years when I'm water skiing in February. Of course that does mean the glaciers will keep shrinking and eventually Hawii will disappear. Ah, yes. The glaciers. Who is up on those glaciers with a tape measure? "Did you hear the glaciers shrunk another two centimeters last week? Oh, sweet Mary! No wonder my coffee's cold this morning." And since we're on the subject can someone please tell me what is with mankind's insatiable urge to measure everything? Are we somehow better off knowing that the sun is 93 billion miles away? "Those of us in the scientific community, after years of intense research, are pleased to announce: the sun really is... a long ways away." I guess the weekend trip is probably out of the question then. Of couse we had to invent the nanometer just so we could measure the atom. And it's not even a whole nanometer. It's .3 nanometers! I know, let's start measuring everything in nanometers. Shoe sizes will now start at 3 million. You want to drive through Iowa? It's only 764 gazillion nanometers. I guess 93 billion miles doesn't sound so bad after all.

This ones for all you scientists out there. Boldly go and measure everything you can get your hands on. And somethings that you can't.

You came back! I'm so happy!

2004-12-18T13:06:00.000-08:00

My head hangs in shame knowing that I have been defeated on the retail battlefield. Much like the Native Americans of yesteryear had to return from the buffalo hunt having to explain to the women and children why there won't be any food for the long, punishing winter.

I have succeeded in adding two gifts to my war chest so far. I'm afraid both of those come with a feeling of guilt since they require batteries. Of course I purchased the appropriate batteries for both gifts because ignoring this detail is cruel and inhumane. I would say it's equivalent with giving a dead puppy. Sure you can pet it but it doesn't really fulfill it true purpose. And I might add that both experiences are probably just as traumatic on the life of an 8-year-old. "Merry Christmas tiny Tim, enjoy your new firetruck. Of course for the time being you'll have to make the siren noise by yourself and pretend that the romote control actually works. The fire hose is supposed to spray out real water but why don't you just use the super-soaker you got for your birthday last year. That requires batteries too and since you dad works for Mr. Scrooge you're probably too poor to buy batteries so your best bet would be to go in your room and cry for a while. Merry Christmas." No one in there right mind could do this to a child so obviously you have to include the batteries. But now I'm sentencing them to a life of battery buying. Very soon they will have an entire drawer full of batteries ranging all across the spectrum of usefulness. Time goes by and now they want to use their electric tooth brush. Which ones are dead, which are alive? Proceeed with the battery roulette. Whoever thought of this freaky game? Is there really no better way than LICKING the battery? "Excuse me, my car won't start. I think my battery might be dead?" "Oh, really, why don't you lick it, I hear that works well."

So I'm going to make chicken noodle soup today. I'm making the noodles from scratch. So my question is, "does soup constitute a meal?" If it doesn't what do you need with soup to make a meal? A sandwich? Would a sandwich by itself make a meal? I don't know. Chips? Perhaps.

For my next trick I'll need a volunteer

2004-12-16T08:44:00.000-08:00

First off I'd like to thank all four of you who commented on yesterday's posting. Or perhaps I should thank the lone reader who commented four times. Either way I am inspired to try round two. I will give you this warning though: the amount of comments on this blog will be directly proportional to the amount of writing I do on this blog. So ask yourself this question, is this blog effective in bringing about the betterment of mankind? Afterwards you may comment at will. After three months of reading the mundane minutia of my life you might change your mind. (Like those crazy pint glasses at The Purple Onion. You have no idea how much time that occupies in my brain.)

So I'm going to try my hand at Christmas shopping today. I already know that I'm terrible at it. This year will be no different. And since we're on the subject can someone tell me how much the greeters at Walmart make per hour? I was told the other day that it was a volunteer position. If that's the case then Walmart executives have a special place in hell waiting for them. I've come to believe that Christmas shopping has become a battle of the wits. How many times have you shopped for people who say, "Oh, I don't need anything special. You really don't have to get me anything." Of course you have to get them something because they're getting you something. And that is the social alcatraz that we are forced to live in. And so I find my self sojourning down the aisles of Walmart poking needles into the imaginary voodoo dolls of the Walmart executives and searching for the latest kitchen appliance. Perhaps a bread machine/sandwich maker/cheese grater/fruit baller. I hear those are in this year. I'm tired of hearing the line, "I don't know, just surprise me." Just once I want to show up at the relatives and say, "Merry Christmas uncle Larry, I got you a kidney transplant, SURPRISE!"

Cover me, I'm going in.

Okay, what do we do now?

2004-12-15T13:00:00.000-08:00

With the purchase of my new laptop, which some say has ushered me into The Kingdom of God, I feel that I must justify it's existence. I also feel that I as sit here in the coffee shop (surrounded my other laptop-wielding hipsters) I need to have the appearance of being very deep in thought. These deep thoughts will be occasionally interrupted by a flurry of typing. So while others think that I am developing more effiecient fuel cells I'm really pouring out the pointless drivel that you are now reading. Which brings up another point. If you're reading this just to pass the time and you have no idea who I am, I'm afraid you have reached a level of boredom achieved only by lighthouse operators in Antartica.

I would also like to set forth a few liberties that I will take with the exsistence of this blog. I reserve the right to make as many Seinfeld references as I want. Speaking of Seinfeld the episode on Monday night was a good one, but then again, it's hard to find a bad one. I also reserve the right to make as many pointless observations as I want. For instance, why does the Purple Onion serve coffee in pint glasses? What team of monkey's thought of this brainstormer? Have you ever tried to drink coffee out of a pint glass? The glass is so blazing hot you can't touch it for at least ten minutes. They should hand out welding gloves with each pint if they were really serious. Are coffee mugs really that rare? Are pints more cost effective? Such is my life.

Okay, I think that enough for right now. If I can actually get this thing to post it will be a miracle.