Horror Scope

Cancer
June 22 - July 22-Monday
"Usually you enjoy talking with others, Cancer, but today you won't even want to answer the phone. Your physical stamina and mental energy are low, and you could feel out of sorts. It might help if you go for a walk sometime in the afternoon. You won't want to waste your evening lying around the house. Get the endorphins going and then go to a movie. You'll soon be your old self again! "

I read this and then I had a thought. Who is writing this? Who is my metaphysical advisor on all things supernatural and astrological? There is no credit line. There is no by line for my horoscope, at least on MSN. Does someone need certification in astrological science to be able to interpret and council on the Zodiac? If so, who is the governing body that bestows this accreditation? I checked and from what I can tell an astrological advisor does not have to be board certified by American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology, American Astronomical Society, or even the American Federation of Astrologers. What if I take their advice? Is there any liability? Is there a recourse or regulatory commission established for bogus horoscopes? The answer is no.
I read these every day because I have elected to view this content module as a part of my MSN Profile. Almost every online publication and web portal offers a daily horoscope. You can find your horoscope in the newspaper, on your favorite website or magazine or even on TV. You can even see it here on my blog if I choose to add the application. The question remains, who is giving the horoscope? Is it all coming from the same channeled spirit advisor? Perhaps it’s the Jamaican lady I see on some infomercial at 2:00 in the morning in between the “Girls Gone Wild” and “Real Estate for Dummies” infomercials. Many people take these things seriously and consider them as some supernatural roadmap to the future.
If this information is provided from a not-so-trustworthy source, the outcome could be destructive if not dangerous. I’m sure there is an inherent disclaimer for the reader to take these general observations and speculations with a grain of salt. However, I am confident that one has the potential to be subversive with the daily doses of advice and use the intergalactic map of destiny to steer someone into harm’s way. That is if one is so inclined. I may not be inclined to harm anyone, but I am inclined to jest at the expense of an unsuspecting dullard who is not responsible for truth and common sense. Seriously, if you subscribe to a theology based on mundane observations and sycophantic affirmations, you get what you deserve. If I were to consider ordaining myself as a high priest of the Zodiac and offering unsolicited council on some media outlet to any poor devoted schlep that might read my false recommendations, then I would say reader beware. In the spirit of fun, I might post something like this:

Cancer/ June 22 - July 22
Monday- Today you might feel a little sluggish and slightly unmotivated. This is because it is Monday and you spent the entire weekend sleeping in and eating and drinking things that you probably shouldn’t have. You might feel a bit inundated at work. This is because you put so much crap off on Friday because you were in a good mood that it was Friday and you could not wait until the weekend. Try to plan out your week. This will help you get back in your routine. Eating healthy is a good choice. When is it not?

Tuesday- Beware of the pitfalls of procrastination. Yes, it’s no longer Monday. Get your ass to work! You will reconnect and meet up with some old friends today. Facebook currently has over 350,000,000 users including that guy from your high school gym class that you may call friend in a pinch. Do not be alarmed if they do not respond to you right away. You have some secrets that stand in the way of these relationships and it will take time to ease back into sharing your innermost thoughts. That’s because you don’t really know the guy from your gym class well enough to tell him about your sock fetish. Yes, I know about that.

Wednesday-This will be backwards day for you. Take half a bottle of Tylenol PM. Now shower and get dressed and then put your pajamas back on. Drive in backwards to work. Speaking of work, someone there is watching you. It’s Stan from accounting. If you work at a large company, than it could be a Fran or Ann or even a tan man with two hands and he/she may not work in accounting. Stan is the anti-Christ or in this case, the anti-Cancer. He must be destroyed. Take a semi-automatic weapon to work and kill the anti-Cancer or anyone that gets in your way. Some may try to stop you or get in your way. Shoot them. Be confident and secure in your decision. Don’t let people get in the way of your dreams or your nightmares.

Thursday- Wait, you didn’t go through with that whole anti-Cancer extermination did you? Oh boy. I’m sorry; I was a little tipsy yesterday from having Sangria at lunch. I was just having a goof. Today (if you did ignore yesterday’s horoscope) will be a productive day for you. The Sagittarius is in the house of the moon of Taurus and the plate ran away with the spoon. Go get the spoon back. We may want to eat Tapioca later. This means that this is the day that you will have clarity on that thing that you were thinking about and were not really sure about but today you will be a little more sure or at least comfortable about having made some sort of decision either way regarding that thing or whether you want to do that thing. You know what I’m talking about or you will know.

Friday- Today is Friday and as they say "Thank God it’s Friday". Beware false idols or chain restaurants that bear the name of an acronym of a cliché. You may spend eternity in damnation or get overcharged for a weak tropical cocktail. Today is the day you will find peace and comfort…and joy, comfort and joy. Oh tidings of comfort and joy. Don’t forget there are only 260 more shopping days until Christmas. Oh, but you don’t believe in Christmas, do you? Otherwise you would not be reading this stupid horoscope in blind faith that someone or something shares some banal commonality that predetermines your destiny and therefore absolves you of any forbearance, moral dilemma, resolution, or personal responsibility for your own life. That’s right. It was all mapped out before you got here, wasn’t it? You just had the dumb luck of being born between the days of June 22 and July 22, didn’t you? If that’s the case, then avoid fatty foods, get plenty of rest and enter you MasterCard/Visa number, expiration date and security code in the form below. DO IT NOW! It’s your “destiny”.

Man-cation 2010: Vail & Breckenridge

In January, I decided to take a much needed "man-cation." This time, I went with Todd from work. We left on a Friday morning and skied Vail that afternoon. Todd got sick the day we left and his health deteriorated throughout the trip. This put a damper on the brewery tours, but he was a trooper and rallied for a few nights out on the town. The conditions were beautiful; sunny with packed powder. We missed the fresh powder by a few days but we were just glad to be there. The crowds were subdued and the weather was perfect.

Here is the first run of the day.



I guess I was more out of shape than I thought. We had to stop a few times on the first run and avoid the moguls to stretch out. We were there for the half day so it didn't matter. We just enjoyed the views and tried to remember we were in Dallas that morning.

No, that is not Zach Galifianakis from the Hangover. On the second day, I stopped at a local barber and got it all chopped off. It was fun while it lasted but truth be told, I was looking forward to a shave & haircut.

This next clip I placed the Flip camera in my goggles and filmed a run going down the back side on Yonder Gully. There was still some nice powder left. I was shocked to see the video turned out. I thought about adding some high amped music to it, dropping in a helicopter shadow and speeding up the frames, but who am I kidding. I was able to edit out all of the names of the runs we were on like "Lame Boy, Little Fluffy, Snow Queen and Gentle Bird." We had a good time.

That night we stayed in Denver. Thanks to my overconfident and rather obstinent sense of directions, we got lost in Denver. Todd was ready to kill me. The poor guy was beat and just wanted to go to sleep. The next day we awoke to sunshine and blue skies. After a lovely continental breakfast provided by our friends at La Quinta, we jumped in the car and headed up to Breckendridge. I was pleasantly suprised at just how beautiful Breckenridge was. We wasted no time hitting the slopes and made the most of a perfect winter holiday.

That night we stayed in Beaver Creek. We had a chance to catch the Cowboy Game at a local bar named the Dusty Boot. The next day we explored more of Breckenridge, including the famed Breckenridge Brewery. They have some of the best beer made in America. I had a chance to sample my favorite beer, Small Batch 471 sitting only a few hundred feet from where it was made, delish!

Waking Up

I guess I am what you call a morning person. I truly enjoy waking up. I enjoy it so much that I try to suspend it. I drag it out over my whole morning. When I go to bed at night, I look forward to the event of waking up. It feels a little bit like time travel. I never remember falling asleep. Who doesn't love a good nap? I give myself a solid bump on the arm if I know I got some solid REM. The sculptor Harry Geffert was asked once what motivates him to create art. He said "When I was about 8 years old, I fell sound asleep on top of a cow in a pasture in the middle of the day. I have spent the rest of my life trying to recapture that moment in my art." Sleep is a powerful thing. Waking up is the first experience you have every day (unless you stayed up all night.)

I never remember drifting off to sleep. Something grabs me and knocks me out. Somehow I am magically transported to 4:00, 5:30 or 6:30, when I hear the sound of Donna Summer on my alarm clock. I keep my alarm clock radio set to wake at 6:30 am on the seventies station. Nothing gets me reaching for the snooze button faster than a little disco. The songs are all engrained in my memory and they give me something to focus on to pull me into the world of the living.

I write on this topic because this is the season that sleep comes so easy for me. It's spring time. I'm not sure if it's the onset of warm weather, the time change or the frequent drops in barometric pressure with the rain storms. Spring is always the best season for sleep. I should really say that it’s the best season for waking up. Yes, the sleep is nice but it’s the waking up that I really enjoy. Most people say they hate to wake up. I hate to get up and go to work, but I love to wake up. I love to spend 30-45 minutes celebrating the new bed by lying motionless. It’s the act of waking up I enjoy. There are no worries, no mistakes made and no arguments…yet.

I stare at the ceiling for 10 minutes and run my feet back and forth under the covers. My dog Fiddler can hear me so he clicks his way across the hardwood floors and his nose pushes the bedroom door open. “CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK…” He practices his own waking ritual with a quick downward dog and a yelping yawn. He sniffs my shoes on the floor. Then he heads straight for my side of the bed banging his tail into everything and panting loudly. I roll over half crocked across the comforter. My movement makes him bang his tail that much faster. He knows I’m awake now.

I feel the cool, grass laden breezes coming through the open window. Sometimes it’s just starting to rain and I can make out a faint rumble off in the distance and drops of rain hitting the leaves outside. That’s the best. I can smell all of the new blossoms and green tree buds. If I’m lucky I will catch a hint of bacon on the air from a neighbor’s house. I can hear a loud exchange of a thousand cackles, twerps, cheeps and caws coming from hot and bothered birds. I sit up disoriented and unaware of my present situation. I take a few minutes to try and analyze the dream I just had. Sometimes I feel like calling in sick to work to spend some time working through whatever self psychoanalysis I can sort out from my dream. “This stuff is important!” I would tell them. “I am on the brink of a major self discovery.”

I think about hot tea or coffee to help clear my head. I think back on my dreams again. I start in on my dream again. What the hell did that mean? The golf tournament in Brazil that I can never make the tee time because of an affair I am having with my 3rd grade teacher. The purple sock I can’t get off of my foot because it’s a mile long. Did I mention that I’m sitting on the Chrysler building? There are always the snakes.

I fall back into my pillows and contemplate. I think to myself, “Today is different.” Of course it’s not. It’s the same day that I had yesterday. It’s the same day I will have tomorrow. I’ll usually forget about it half way to work on my commute. My blissful condition of rest and self affirmation is quickly replaced with rage for the jack-hole that just cut me off, “JACK-HOLE!” It begins again; the day that will leave me fraught with anxiety, fatigued and confused; the day that will die in my sleep and lead me back to another wake.

We are wha???

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5U6B0J-z54&NR=1

I know, I know. Those who know me will instantly say “Here he goes again. Here comes Sir Cynical, Captain Crap-On, Debbie Downer’s not so distant cousin”. I watched this clip and I couldn’t help but laugh at the obvious contradiction, not to mention the blatant hypocrisy and superficiality.
“Oh, go fly a kite you sour puss!”
No I hear ya, I hear ya. Please indulge me this small bit of hating. I recognize that the end goal here is to sell cologne. Additionally, I recognize the marketing and media mechanics at work here, granted. But please, “We are one?” I speak for my self when I say that I could never in a million years see my self skipping along through the California country side with 20 or so paper thin supermodels professing my affiliation and complete “one-ness” with this pantheon of sexual wayfarers (as much as I would like). Jerry Seinfeld said once “only ten percent of the total population is good looking.” I think they have at least 1 percent of them in this video. Seriously, can you see you or one of your relatives in this herd of denim clad prima donnas? This is one club that I would NOT join if they chose me as a member. How many of us would? Besides, my pasty and freckled insipidness is contrary to their calculated ambiguous ethnicity (not to mention my beer gut). It’s like the cast party for Gattica. I'm curious why this guy didn’t make the cut. “Red Rover, Red Rover let Roy Weaver here come over".

I am tickled by the creative concept laid out here. The behind the scenes footage is the true punch line. When supermodel Cameron Russell claims that “we are all living in the same earth” and “we are the same” I choke up and nearly wet my fat self. Do you think she might like to spend the same quality time with her cosmic siblings in Wahoo, Nebraska? How often do you think she escapes the trappings of West Hollywood to connect with her earthen kin in Balch Springs, Texas? Can you see that group coming over the hill in say, Bixby, Oklahoma? As a matter of consideration, do you think any of them really wear CK One? Do you think they even have sweat glands? Do you think any of them have eaten in the past two days? The slogan should be "We are HUNGRY!"
What you can’t see just out of frame is the giant, impenetrable Hollywood bubble wall they run into after passing the cameras. No one this thin or good looking leaves Southern California except on Jet Blue via JFK. I guess this is what the natives look like in the dessert of California. Surely it is somewhere far from Modesto or Bakersfield. These are the real Beverly Hillbillies just out for a shirtless stroll through Santa Barbara.
On yet another level of this plastic fun ball of hilarity, I love how the crew takes great pride in being apart of this project. You almost think they are on a humanitarian mission in a third world country helping the unprivileged smell a little better. “For just a few pennies a day, you can help Umbutu get a six pack set of abs, chiseled features and an EMO wardrobe of monochromatic denim ensembles. He can teach his entire village to walk slow-mo in Sepia. Won’t you help?” You can’t write comedy like this. It has to be real. This is how they perceive the world around them (at least in front of the camera).
One question remains. Where the hell are they running off to? Is there a ½ off sale at Jimmy Choo? Is everyone racing for shotgun in a Prius? Is someone about to snag the last organic Acai Berry juice from the craft services table? Or is it a casting call for America’s Next Top Model? Run! Run fast my little muses of the denim desert. Youth fades, Ben & Jerry’s is irresistible and CK One is still the cologne of choice for over gelled, mall rat douche bags sipping on crown and coke at the ultra lounge in Woodbridge, New Jersey.
It's okay to hate beautiful people now and then. We all love to see them taken down a notch. Isn't that what sells millions of magazines? It's simply comical when they can come out with a campaign targeting all of us claiming to be one of us, one of the normal kind, one of the struggling schmucks who try to get by looking modestley human. We just try not to leave our fly unzipped or fall over things. We put our pants on ONE leg at a time. Don't hate me because I'm hating. After all, we are ONE.

A golf widow's guide

For the benefit of the wives so unfortunate to marry a sod seeker such as me, I write to the golfer that spends countless hours pursuing the futile mastery of a game called golf. Do you find yourself rushing out to the middle of a fairway during a thunderstorm with no regard for life or limb only to remark “Wow, I got the whole course to myself?” Do you sacrifice shame and self respect by scooping up left over balls from the putting green to hit a few extra at the range? Do you enjoy ball hunting almost as much as the game of golf itself? Do you wait out more than 3 frost delays in a year? Do you pair up with other pitiable duffers at your local golf course with whom you have had the dubious pleasure of pairing with before? Do you take in a beautiful vista only to wonder if it would make a nice Par 5? Are your car keys intertwined with golf tees, range tokens and ball markers? Do you maximize the full value of a sundowner rate despite complete darkness? Then please, read on. For the unfortunate family of habitual golfers that ignore crowded tee boxes, expensive courses and foul weather to chase a “stupid white ball” around a perfectly good municipal park for half a day, it is a curse. I claim myself among these hopeless hacks. We are time thieves to say the least and sad to say the most. We spend countless hours of separation from our families without so much as a phone call, a note or an email. There are some spouses who will say that golf is an evasive measure. They claim this is just a reason to spend time away from their loved ones to avoid conflict. They say it is a desperate attempt to escape doldrums and responsibilities of life. Scorned lovers should be so neglected. Wives, when your spouse tells you that he is going “double down” in the afternoon, you can only hope it is an admission of adultery that he speaks. A non-golfing wife may gain some perspective if she understands the bug a little better. Golf is not a causal diversion. It is not a pastime, hobby, leisure activity or sport. It is an all consuming paradox of the metaphysical and existential. It’s as if you are Albert Einstein on the cusp of the penultimate discovery of all physical and mathematical understanding with a note taped to your back that reads, “Kick me.” It is the rabbit hole of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and you can't seem to get there in 4 strokes. Take no personal offense. The golfer is a walking zombie seeking a swing he never finds, a putt that never drops and a crushing 350 yard drive that predestines two chilly dips and a 3 putt. In short, golf is a cosmic joke. The golf addict is the butt of said joke repeating the same mistakes over and over and erasing the past. Golf impairs long term memory. It creates delusions of clutch shots and soaring drives. It buries the painful memories of chunks, flubs and countless mulligan’s. Fate allows us a birdie on the last hole to ensnare us with visions of grandeur and green jackets; sounds of bouncing balls in a small plastic cup that siren us back into the worst round of our pathetic lives. The golfer is not haunted by ghosts, tempests or plague but rather harmless elements such as trees, ponds and sand.The loss of a loved one to this spiraling vortex of denial and escalating green fees is traumatic. Like all traumatic experiences, the families of these victims should be spared the grisly details of this affliction. There are some fine points in the rules of the game that are best left on the golf course. There are a few blades of truth regarding the game best kept swept under the golf mats. Innocent victims may be spared the embarrassing excuses and barefaced deceptions if the golfer considers a few points to shelter their loved ones. To this end, I have compiled a short list of golf-isms that we can all agree to share with our wives to help them better understand the game of golf. Don’t give me that look. Let’s just call them “winter rules.” May our better halves find solace in their naiveté. Not to mention the fact we can all enjoy a few extra holes and avoid divorce if we can all attest these truths of golf to be resolute and sincere in accordance with the United States Golf Association.

1. All players are required to finish all eighteen holes and can not leave the course under any circumstances (this includes weddings, dinner parties, that family thing at her sister's house) until they have completed all 18 holes and read all 18 of these golf rules.

2. St. Andrew is an actual saint whose wife thinks that golf is 36 holes and takes 8 hours and 41 minutes to play.

3. Golf is an aerobic activity. Write this down: GOLF IS AN AEROBIC ACTIVITY AND THEREFORE CONSIDERED EXERCISE.

4. The 19th hole is an actual part of the course where upon a tie must be decided by sudden death. Sometimes this can take up to three or four additional hours and may involve multiple locations.

5. All cart girls look like John Daly and work on a golf course to pay their way through medical school.

6. An average green fee is $3-$5 dollars. The cart is $65 plus a mandatory bar tab.

7. Yes, golf courses are open during snow storms, tornados and hurricanes. This includes the one on Golden Tees at your nearest sports bar.

8. There is no such thing as a “kitchen pass”. (If you need a “kitchen pass” to play golf then you need to be playing from the red tees. Additionally, you might want to stop at the pro shop and pick up some extra balls because it is apparent that you left your’s at home with your wife.)

9. Tee times work on a lottery system and once you get one, it’s your’s for the season. If you fail to appear, it will be forfeited to the guy with the “kitchen pass”.

10. Alcohol is strictly forbidden on the golf course. (That’s because they sell it on the golf course).

11. A rain check is good for many, many rounds throughout the rest of the life of the player holding it.

12. A tee time is a binding commitment by law and all players must appear 30 minutes prior or face criminal prosecution punishable by fine, imprisonment or additional tee times.

13. Concession stand hot dogs are made with organic free range beef and all natural ingredients. They will sustain a player’s energy for 36 holes and readily absorb 16 beers.

14. In accordance with proper golf etiquette, all cell phones must be turned off throughout the duration of the round to avoid interference with the cart’s navigational system.

15. A “Sundowner” is any round that starts after 1:00pm and must continue until after the sun has gone down, hence the name, “Sundowner”. “Twilight” in contrast starts at 8:00 am and typically requires the purchase of a “Sundowner”. Most courses will package the two together in what’s called an “Over-Nighter” that requires a minimum of five guys and a half rack.

16. Proper attire is required at all respectable golf courses. Such attire includes a new set of Ping G-10 irons, 3-PW and must be worn at all times. No shirt, no Pings, no service

17. Children under 30 are never allowed to accompany a golfer on a golf course, in a golf cart or near a driving range.

18. Average Par is 104 (This really has no bearing on the relationship of golfers and their wives but it sure would help my game if we can all agree).

Swine Flu Cancellations: Please Note

Breaking News: Additional local events have been cancelled this weekend due to concern over additional outbreak of swine flu. Please contact event organizers and adjust your plans accordingly.
The "8th Annual Burleson Pig French Kissing Contest"
The "Plano Annual Spit Swapping, Coughing and Handshake Competition"
The Spencer Tunick nude photo shoot of the entire town of Forney
"Hug the Homeless Fest 2009"
SMU Greek Row phone booth stuffing contest (although this was cancelled due to crabs)
"The South Dallas Loogi Toss"
"The Trinity River Bottom 5K fun run and Pig Foot Dunking Contest"
Dallas Museum of Nature and Science "Contagious Disease Scavenger Hunt for Kids"
Baskin Robbins “Spoon Swap for Charity” at Victory Park
The 104th ceremony of Pleasant Grove’s “Running with the Pigs”

Dallas; it ain't Frisco

I grew up in a small suburb in East Dallas. The neighborhood consists of mostly young couples and retirees that have stayed put for over 30 years. Most of the homes in my neighborhood were built in the 1950's. There is some historic charm to the area and close proximity to one of the few natural amenities that Dallas has to offer, White Rock Lake. We are close enough to enjoy the occasional random gun shot and riff-raff hullabaloo to keep things interesting. After living in several different cities, I have returned to raise my own family in a house located just a few blocks from where I grew up. I can still remember the sights, sounds and even smells of my childhood. There really is just a few words to appropriately sum it up; corn dogs, Christians with a little football on the side.
Dallas is concentrically situated with most of the inner urban development located inside an interstate beltway. Dallas is home to over 1.3 million people. There are many that say Dallas has no reason for existence except for the trains. Most of the land was once cow pasture and open prairie. Most of the trees in the city are non-indigenous. Inside the beltway one may find a more diverse population. This is what makes the inner city so fascinating. It serves as a cultural convergence of all these populations. The dynamic political landscape is interesting as well. Additionally, Dallas sustains one of the most diverse and prosperous middle classes in the country.
Outside the beltway the population is segregated with predominately brown in the East and West, black in the South, white in the North. These exurbs, filled with new money and corporate middle management, were virtually non existent 40 years ago. Woody Allen once once described Los Angeles as "a city whose only cultural advantage is being able to make a right turn on red." This is Frisco. Don't get me wrong. Frisco is not the only town that gets a rap for this kind of cultural vapidness. There are several sub-divided enclaves of safety and conformity one make seek refuge in. One only has to jump on a toll road and look for a corporate campus with a paid exit. It's commonly referred to as the 972 by locals. This is the area code for most of the suburbs north of 635. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll be there in a few years living in one of those subdivisions. It will probably be called "Prairie Vista, Vista de Rancho, Vista de Lago or Vista de Toll Road." Our house will be two blocks down from the Applebees and the Kohl's at the end of a corporate park. I'll be a middle age dad with frosted tips and canned tan driving a Chevy Avalanche, coaching little league soccer, wearing Crocs and Oakley's, living out of a Costco and doing cannon balls for the kids in the shared amenity pool.
People like their sports teams down here. There is a professional franchise in almost every sport imaginable and a fan base to support it. There is also a close tie to the bible belt. I have never seen so many churches. You can convert to six different denominations and get a Starbucks without ever leaving the same block. In the exurbs, such as Plano, the churches are ridiculous in square footage. There is a church in Plano that has it's own stadium. This is where God has box seats and Satan sits behind the goal post. I got a call from friend who wanted me to go to church with him. I asked where his seats were. He said UDGS-“upper deck general sinner. Oh, and its communion night for the first 500 fans." I think they have their own airport as well. In fact, mass baptisms are handled by a 747 that barnstorms a nearby lake. This church even has a smaller church inside of it. It even has it's own red light district. You can sin and confess without ever going outside.
Dallas is an intriguing place to come from, but no one seems to be traveling here. Ever ask anyone if they’ve been to Dallas? “I’ve been to the airport” Imagine how Oklahoma City feels? Oklahoma City looks oh so pretty…from 30,000 feet up. I had a friend from the West Coast tell me that he came through the airport in Dallas and said "Man, the women in Texas are beautiful." I would consider that a compliment if not for the fact that if they’re in an airport chances are they’re from somewhere else. Every time they televise a football game from here, they show the same 3 spots: Downtown at night, a long horn eating grass and the Fort Worth Stockyards. They should show some crank dealer in the parking lot at Dickie's in Mesquite. He’s got the take out cup filled to the brim with the free soft serve ice cream and it's slowly melting down across his axle grease covered hands and out on to his half lit Marlboro. He’s got 6 kids and a pit bull hanging out of a beat up Mercury.
I moved to Seattle for about 8 years and came back. Now there’s a cultural disparity. I'm just glad to be in a trafic jam not caused by a boat for a change. Also, For 8 years I never saw the sun. I've been back for 6 years and I’ve never seen a Democrat. But Dallas has changed a lot in past decade. I came back and had to ask someone what Frisco was? I thought it was Big Tex’s new sidekick. “Tune in next week as Big Tex and Frisco go after that no good horse wrangler, Sachse Sam". There are all these new suburbs now with different social pressures and one-up-isms. It used to be everyone was insecure about living in Dallas. Now the native inadequacy has segmented into different neighborhoods. There’s Uptown, M Streets...The Grove. There are two things one must observe when considering Pleasant Grove. It has no grove to speak of and pleasant is as far from an accurate description as one may ever guess. Uptown has a slogan: “Uptown, It ain't Downtown.” Uptown is a collective settlement of Frisco expatriates who have yet to spawn. Who’s the guy that came up with the name Uptown? Is this the same guy that came up with “Ball Park in Arlington?”
Oh, and one more thing. It does tend to get a little hot here in the summer.

Dallas Morning News Editorial

One hobby I entertain is mulling with the masses in daily editorial comments in the Dallas Morning News. For me, the editorial offerings are not a soap box so much as an opportunity to incite criticism from fellow posters and a anonymous platform for my chaotic cynicism. Moreover, this is a lazy opportunity to beef up up my blog. Here are a few of my favorites accompanied by corelating headline:
"Pilot injured after landing plane upside down"
(a pilot lands a small plane upside down on a golf course) Perhaps he was attempting a very low altitude barrel roll. Maybe he was confused and thought he had flown around the world and he was now in China where everything is upside down. Maybe he had the hiccups and was trying to swallow water upside down. Maybe he was trying to put the plane to sleep. Maybe when he was homebuilding his own aircraft he forgot to put tab A into slot B on the "aeronautical-rightside-upper-indicator". Maybe he was a golf terrorist. Maybe he was in a high stakes game of aero-limbo. Maybe he was drunk and really believes that this was a 2 point landing. Maybe he was trying to take the off ramp to the Highway to the Dangerzone and ended up on a loop. Maybe his compass was stuck on up. Maybe he was trying out his new rooftop landing gear he just installed. Maybe he's colorblind and sees the color green as blue. Maybe he owed more on his bank loan than the plane was worth and he got upsidedown on the payments. Maybe he was doing the Maverick thing and he was flipping the bird to a MIG and got stuck. Maybe he was trying to get some change out his pocket for the toll booth. Maybe he has never had a flying lesson in his life and wanted to experience what people meant by the saying "just winging it". WE JUST DON'T KNOW!
"Texas family sues after father mistakenly cremated"
(a man's body is switched with a womans body and mistakenly creamated) What a kooky conundrum rife with buffoonery, silliness and guffaw. What they should have done was watched Weekend at Bernie’s II and added a Tootsie twist. They should have dressed the woman up to look like the man, put some funny sunglasses on her and draw a mustache with a black sharpie. There could be a whole subplot about how her life was spent as a woman trapped inside a man’s body and she comes back to life as a man. The family comes to accept her as the new dad and she opens a sports bar in Tulsa. All-in-all a comic tour de farce filled with mischief, mayhem and endearing fun. One the whole family will enjoy. Gary Cogill gives it 2 thumbs up! I’m not sure if it would resolve the mix up, but it sure would make a hilarious movie rental for the weekend. Why they had to go and fess up is beyond me.
"Official: Navy talking to pirates holding hostage"
The following list of the pirate's demands has just been released by the associated press:
1. 500 gold doubloons
2. 1 chatty parrot that can sing a Spanish sea shanty
3. 40 barrels of spiced rum
4. 1 Jimmy Buffet tee shirt and tickets to his concert at the Somalia State Fair Grounds
5. 1 treasure map
6. 1 pair of hoop earrings
7. 1 free dinner with Orlando Bloom at the Carlos-N Charlie’s in Yemen
8. 30 free appetizers from Joe’s Crab Shack
9. 1 free iTunes download of Christopher Cross’s sailing
10. He wants to talk to PFC George Stickel, “GEORGE, I’M A FISH!”
"Texas county apologizes to 'dead voters'"
(County voting officials poll senior citizens to see if they are still alive) It’s a travesty that the reporter does not convey the whole story. What they failed to mention was that the letter was mailed certified via courier. As a practical joke, the courier dresses in a long black hooded cloak and carried a wheat sheath. That’s just not funny. What is funny is that one of the recipients was named Chad. They found him hanging in his living room and promptly crossed him of the registered list. We all know what havoc a hanging Chad can wreak on an election.
"Mexican bricks blamed for crumbling North Texas homes"
Let's not discount the entire Mexican manufacturing industry based on a few bad products. The term 'Mexican' carries a denotation of poor craftmanship due to tired stereotypes. There are a few quality products that are manufactured in Mexico that are exemplary. Products such as: panchos, blankets, Corona, Dos Equis,Tequila, switchblades, bull whips, firecrackers, sombreros, chimeneas, aztec water pipes, friendship bracelets and Canels gum
"10 kids drink windshield wiper fluid at day care"
I think the take-home message is not to have these products in the kitchen or where you're doing any kind of food preparation," she said. This is true. This rule of thumb can also be applied to:
1: Not storing ammonia in a lemon juice bottle
2: Not storing razor blades in the cereal
3: Not storing sulphuric acid in visine bottles
4: Not storing a chainsaw in a toy box
5: Not storing gasoline in apple juice bottles...to name a few.
"Dallas officials admit siren mistake"
(a civil defense alarm is accidently triggered at 11:00 at night) I am outraged that this city employee wasted my precious time. I don't think the City of Dallas recognizes just how precious my time is. I don't have time to waste being falsely alerted at 11:00 at night, not anymore than I have right as this very minute. That's 2 minutes of my life I can never get back from the City of Dallas. In my opinion, this is time taken away from me and all of my colleagues here on WFAA's website who are taking time out of their busy day to volunteer worthless editorial comment.
"Obama calls for swift action on economy"
At this point, why don't we make it a Gazillion? If America goes bankrupt, are we going to move back in with England? Will they let us? I know China won't. We could crash over at Japan's house. They have all the cool video games. We can always crash over at France's pad. He's passed out asleep on the couch. We can't stay with Canada. They're always worried we're gonna break something. Mexico has a cool pool, but they don't have anything in the fridge. Maybe we can all squeeze in to California and live happily ever after.
"Bishop Arts success to be stretched down Davis"
Nevermind the racial division that will become underscored by the rezoning of Davis Street! Forget about the clash of different economic social strata! What about the plight of the urban fat person. We are always marginalized by these chic, upscale developments with their tiny parking spaces and guilt invoking health clubs and pretty people. Do you think a place like Bishop Arts caters to patrons with beer guts and bus bumpers? They are slowly squeezing out the taquerias, Furrs Cafeterias, Whataburgers and Braums. It's as if the only safe place for fat people to spend an evening out is Arlington @ I-20 and Cooper. We are wide and we need all of the space we can get. Pretty soon we will be pushed outside in the heat with the smokers. They don't want a patio full of sweaty fat bottoms and one-lungers. It's just not fair. Oooh, that got me thinking of the Fair. I can't wait for those corny dogs to come back around.
"Coach fired, says he's not sorry for 100-0 win"
I think the winning team should have their shoes taken away from them and the losing team should be made to feel ashamed and their coach should have to play a game by himself for twenty minutes in front of a bunch of retired textile workers and then they should get all the parents together in one room and turn the lights out and them flip them back on suddenly to see who's making out. The referee should be asked to go wait in his car with the windows rolled up. All the teachers at the Academy should be fined $25 and they should release a scared animal into the gynasium and everyone in the audience should hit cans and bottles real loud to scare it. Then everyone will forget what happened and they can pick up their coats on the way out and go home and watch "Ice Truckers".
"Tree branch bandit arrested in FW"
I'm glad they have finally apprehended this "shady" "nut" job and brought him to justice. "Knock on wood" this doesn't happen in our neighborhood. I know he's been "pining" to rob the Chase "branch" near my house on "Elm" street. They should "cane" him if you ask me. In Saudia Arabia they would take his "limb" for such a crime. I just hope the police don't just "brush" this off and "stick" it to him. I "wood" bet that he will "hedge" his bets with the prosecution will get "Bush" to pardon him since he is a "Fir"-st time offender. I bet he comes from a long family "tree" of "crooks".
"Obama pledges not to smoke in White House"
That's right, there are strict policies regarding tobacco use in the White House. Smoking cigarettes is strictly prohibited. Only cigars are allowed in the oval office and even those are not allowed to be lit, inhaled or ingested orally.
"Foreclosure hits home of Duncanville's Cherry Pit swingers club"
5 bedroom rustic rambler with down home country charm. Master bedroom features iron maiden and whipping post. Brass poles throughout. Slip-n-slide staircase leads to spacious kitchen featuring refrigerator with whip cream dispenser. Wall-to-wall orange shag carpet and floor to ceiling mirrors in the living room. There's a hot tub in the kids rooms and sex dungeon that can be converted into a play area. Motivated seller!!!
"Seventh graders face felonies for arson"
I think they ought to make these boys come and rake the leaves out of my yard. After that, they should make them clean my rain gutter and mow. Then, they need to show them respect for personal property by making them paint my house, clean out my garage and reshingle my roof. They might as well wash my car while they are at it. That will teach those selfish brats to think of someone else besides themselves.
"North Texans turn to wood to heat their homes"
Here's a few other money saving tips during the depression: home dentistry, salt cured cat, dog or squirrel (tastes just like chicken), plywood curtains, cinder block furniture, wire spool end tables, bologna steaks, recycled tooth paste, pig foot stew and soups cans for stocking stuffers. Here's another energy saving tip: Warsh yer dishes in the tub when you get out every week. We usually save the pots and pans for Saturday's bath. Last week, we found some burnt beans and I weren't sure if those came from the dishes or the bath. You can also use road flares for candles. We burn squirrel tails to keep the chiggers out the bed sheets. I use my grill and fill it up with charcoal. We light it up every night and it warms the whole living room. You may want to open a window or two. It can make your whole house smell like burnt hamburgers. I come home from work already smelling like burnt hamburgers so that's the last thing I want to smell. We usually run the gas stove with the door open to help keep the odor down. Plus the oven light helps us see through all the smoke. I sleep so well at night. My house is toasty and I fast asleep the second my head hits my pillow.
"Britney Spears to embark on `Circus' tour in March"
Gee, I hope she makes a spectacular comeback. We dearly miss her wreckless antics. In these dire times of want, fear and confusion, it's comforting to see a hedonist, narcissistic train wreck devoid of any talent work through her emotional baggage by blowing thousands of dollars a day on handbags, frivilous child custody precedings and alchohol. We need her during these desperate times to remind us what's really important. I just hope the world is watching.
"Detective tracks down missing dogs"
I remember a Beagle named Pockets we had when I was a child. One day, Pockets got out and we couldn't find him. We looked everywhere. We hung flyers up all over the neighborhood and waited for a phone call or a knock at the door. Unfortunately, that day never came. One morning we got up to go to the church rummage sale to try to rid ourselves of Pockets memory,We were taking his leash, his food bowl and his collar to donate. We found Pockets in the back seat of the car. The windows were rolled up and it was the middle of August. Pockets had fried to death. He dehydrated into a dry husk like a petrified locust. It took years to get that smell out of the car. Then we sold the car to an Indian family in Richardson. They didn't have a dog.
Pizza Hut slicing jobs at Dallas HQ
Pizza Hut Slicing Jobs (pardon the pun)With the economy growing "crusty" and more people are feeling "burnt" by the bailout, Pizza Hut has elected to "cut the cheese" from their budget and "roll" up their sleeves. Many of their workers will see the "hot fresh delivery" of a pink slip and will be "hand tossed" out the door. As we peel the layers off this "onion" of a story, there is more "meat" than we originally reported.

Adieu Jupiterimages

Jupitermedia finalizes sale of Jupiterimages to Getty Images and changes name to WebMediaBrands

Adieu Jupiterimages, Adieu. The nightmare is finally over. We are free, free at last. It’s a depressing exercise in futility to reflect on the time wasted in our endeavors in this company. All those lost souls dialing fax numbers, dead phone numbers, public museums and prerecorded messages like the Movie Line; all of those useless client profiles consisting of cut-n-paste content from old notes, client websites and Adbase; all the superfluous data generated, transmitted, saved and deleted through spreadsheets, PDF’s, Word Docs and PowerPoint (more useless information than J. Edgar Hoover accumulated during the cold war); all of those afternoons on speaker phone enduring monotonous conference calls and brainless questions from morons who cannot read two points forward in a canned presentation or those who enjoy hearing themselves ask questions; all of those wasted hours repeating the same information over and over, day in day out, month after month, quarter after quarter, year after year; all the time spent strategizing over lost market share in a dying customer base complaining about the same competitor; all of those poor clients who received thousands of worthless and ill planned sales calls, time wasting web demos rife with technical difficulty and landfill volumes of irrelevant, dated marketing materials and swag; all of the false enthusiasm about yet another collection of non stellar lifestyle imagery that sat on the shelf like a can of expired sardines in an orange marmalade compote; all of those hours spent parked outside of a clients office, a lobby, a bagel shop or at the airport renegotiating an appointment that was set before Christmas and took a week to plan that got suddenly cancelled due to a sick cat; all of the unexpected drop offs/drop bys/stop bys/ stop overs/ swing bys/ drive bys/ pop ins/ hellos/ goodbyes; all the weeks spent planning, rescheduling, pulling resources, shipping supplies, trips back and forth across parking lots and corporate campuses lugging heavy sacks filled with notepads, pens, squishes and brochures, business cards, folders, food and sending invites, E-vites, follow ups and reminders for a 2 minute meeting that ends up taking place in a lobby or on the way to the elevator; all of those conference rooms booked half empty on a hope and a prayer that two accounts receivable personnel and a receptionist might come by to fill up on overpriced pastries, cookies, doughnuts, muffins, bagels, breakfast tacos, candy, brownies and bland deli sandwiches; all of those mind-numbing campus tours of corporate clients as you feign interest at yet another sea of cubicals, conference rooms and quasi post modernistic corporate architecture making such ridiculous statements like “Wow!” and “when was this annex built?” and “where did you say you keep the fax machine?”; all of those plane trips, bad road meals at some cliché restaurant by the mall/interstate/airport, continental breakfasts, embarrassingly modest corporate hotel accommodations with slow internet connections, soft water and late wake up calls, cost conscience rental cars with as much leg room as tricycle with a flat tire and concealed airport bar tabs; all of those empty happy hours, unattended breakfast web demos and awkward client lunches with prospects that carry as much decision making authority as a summer intern that result in as much business activity that hardly covers the tip; all of those ill advised training sessions, consultations, proposals, best practice assessments and contracts; all of the half concocted tales of grand business opportunities, future alliances with Fortune 500’s, potential cash windfalls and client success stories that would bear as much fruit as a pot hole in a Home Depot parking lot only to claim a last minute catastrophe to justify sandbagging an entire quarter so you can take a vacation. All of this for pretty background pictures that you can now buy for 99 cents. Adieu Jupiterimages. You are gone but not forgotten.

Pirated Luby's On Hold Message

I recently pirated a script for a Luby's On Hold message from one of my clients and took the liberty to edit the text:

Luby’s Holiday Hold Message

(Imagine the gruff voice of the old man from Whataburger)


Thank you for calling Luby’s Holiday Call Center. We are currently experiencing a high call volume. Please wait for the next available Luby’s representative. Or go online now and place your order right away at lubys.com.

If you don’t want to host a holiday gathering at your home or if you have a few extra hundred dollars lying around and the casinos have cut you off or you’re the loneliest old person on earth, come to Luby’s on Thanksgiving Day. We’ll be serving up a full feast with all the fixin’s. And we’d be happy to have you join us (and the other 500 losers who smell like sick cats and old newspapers).

We’re sure our holiday menu will delight everyone this season. We'll be serving straight from our industrial sized tubs into to your belly. To help you with your holiday order, here’s a quick rundown of our holiday feast selections:

First, the Luby’s Signature Feast features your choice of a whole turkey—roasted, smoked, frosted or deep-fried—or a spiral-sliced ham butt from Hogzilla for 1 to 2 large country people in forgiving overalls. Pile on two quarts of cornbread dressing, one above-the-ground pool of giblet gravy, one gallon of cranberry sauce, and for dessert, one pumpkin pie and (we stress the word and here) one of Luby’s famous pecan pies. Plus a trash bag full of poultry parts from miscellaneous processing facilities around the country, all-you-can-eat banana pudding (VOID in Nebraska), one bath tub of macaroni and cheese with pork feet parts in it, a lawn & leaf bag full of Funions™, a two gallon can of bacon renderings, a couch size loaf of corn bread and 30 sleeves of Keebler’s Deluxe Grahams as an après dessert!

Our next package is perfect for families who love both turkey and spiral-sliced ham during the holidays but are too cheap to flip the bill for the Signature Feast. We call these our tier two patrons. Our Combination Feast (or the “2nd rate deal”) features enough spiral-sliced ham and roasted turkey breast for 10 to 12 people (sliced sparingly and Jesus is dining with you and those people are from 3rd world countries without access to whole milk) and also includes two quarts of cornbread dressing, one pint of giblet gravy, one pint of cranberry sauce, and for dessert, one pumpkin pie with a bite taken out of it or (we stress the word or here) one of Luby’s famous pecan pies with all the pecans picked off the crust.

For those who prefer prime rib, the Luby’s Premium Feast is roasted prime rib for 10, along with two quarts of homemade mashed potatoes and fresh green beans. Plus sautéed mushrooms, au jus gravy, one dozen Luby’s dinner rolls, and one strawberry cheesecake. This package is specifically designed for those annoying dysfunctional families who have to celebrate every holiday non-traditionally. They have those ugly houses that look like post modern office complexes with crappy formalist art in the yard. They go to the movies instead of celebrating Christmas or Chanukah and they turn their porch light off at Halloween, bastards!

And last, for the smaller gathering of 1 to 2 people, our Select Feast (obviously you were not "selected" to be on anybody's guest list) features your choice of roasted turkey breast or spiral-sliced ham, and includes cornbread dressing, giblet gravy, cranberry sauce, and one pumpkin pie or Luby’s famous pecan pie and a Dr. Phil’s self help book to assist you in overcoming what ever personality defects you posses that would cause no one to want to be around you during the holidays. You are an asshole.

Don’t forget, our holiday menu also features many a la carte selections, from whole turkeys and spiral-sliced hams, to quarts of festive sides and pounds of sliced meats, to our mouth-watering whole desserts. When planning your holiday meal, please keep in mind that quarts of holiday sides serve 5 to 6 people and a pound of sliced meat serves 2 to 3 people and also keep in mind that these portions were devised by an American company and that America currently leads the rest of the world in heart disease, obesity, diabetes and all around general self loathing. And for Luby’s delicious whole desserts, such as our famous pecan pie or carrot cake cheesecake, pies serve between 6 to 8 people and cakes serve 1-2 lonely secretaries or drunken industrial lubricant salesmen staying at the Comfort Inn.

How NOT to start a cold sales call

1. “Hello, how are you today? (allow dead silence for a minimum of 12 seconds)”
2. “…oh, you ARE there. I didn’t think you guys were still in business”
3. “Hello MR. OR MRS. OR MS. PROSPECT, I would like to spend the next 20 minutes going over my list of 35 features and benefits and then asking which one applies to you.”
4. “Hello, is the man of the house there? Oh this is the man of the house.”
5. “Hello Brain. I would like to tell you Brain about some exciting…do what? I’m sorry, BRIAN.”
6. “Hello, may I speak to someone with some real decision making or purchasing power over there? You gotta a department like that over there?”
7. “Hello, do you mind if I put you on speakerphone? We’re training our new telemarketers”
8. “Please do not hang up until you have heard the complete 28 minute recorded message of this special offer. After the recording I will rejoin the call.”
9. “Before we begin, may I have a credit card number, name on the card and the expiration date please?”
10. “Hello lead source=web…oops, wrong field”
11. “I looked at your website and I think I’m qualified to consult with your president now about where to take your business”
12. “Is Bill there? In a meeting? Can you barge in there and hand him the phone? I’ve got my goal to meet.”
13. “Hello, is this the ACME company? I’m with the ACME company…Janet?”
14. “Are you ready to have you’re FREAKING MIND BLOWN?”
15. “Hey there sweetie. You sound sexy. Why don’t you run along and get your boss for me.”
16. “There’s a bomb in your building. I am the only one who can diffuse it. Let’s make a deal”
17. “I have a PowerPoint that coincides with this cold call. Would you mind registering with Web Ex and then following along?”
18. “My god you talk loud…you wanna turn your phone down a little bit for me?... anyway…”
19. “If you are in need of new laminate siding/copier/cell phone/recruiting services/tree trimming…PRESS 1”
20. “Oh my god, that has to be the most obnoxious Midwest accent I have ever heard. So what’s your job over there?”
21. “Do you currently own your own home? Are you 18 or older and carry a valid driver’s license? If so I have some exciting news for you.”
22. “Wait, don’t hang up like the last guy…”
23. “I have been sending you hundreds and hundreds of emails and you never respond. I finally just had to call”
24. “I can see you from a window across the street”
25. “Do you mind if our attorney jumps on the line. We wanna make sure and get all of your responses recorded correctly”
26. “Hey, I’m in the elevator headed your way. Can you get everyone in the conference room in 10 seconds for a presentation?”
27. “A priest and a rabbi walk into a gay bar…”
28. “Tom told me to give you a call. What do you mean you don't know Tom. T-O-M, Tom..."
29. “Knock, knock…who’s there…orange…orange who?…Orange you gonna ask me how I can save you some money?”
30. "Wait, before I get started here, can I get your email address and home phone in case we get disconnected"

Bored at Work?

Have you found yourself stifled in work and in life? Have you reached a dead end on the org chart of your career? Do you find it a challenge to contemplate the monotony of your job day in and day out? Are you starting to think there really could be a Matrix and your life forces are being harvested in a purposeless existence? Do you just need a giggle? Here are some things you can do at work to divert your attention away from the mundane. These are several entrepreneurial ventures that you can make from work without sacrificing any of those precious mental health days.
1. Use your time in the office on the phone to make random death threats to residential numbers.
2. Grow weed in your desk drawer.
3. Call Apple Computer and initiate a merger under your authority.
4. Start a grass roots political campaign to reelect Elliot Spitzer, Governor of New York.
5. In-source tech support calls from India.
6. Run an escort service for Russian amputees.
7. Collect Sweet-n-Low from every kitchenette on your corporate campus.
8. Read peoples fortunes over the phone (use Sweet-N-Low packets for material).
9. Become a bookie for cock fighting.
10. Raise a cricket farm in your cubicle.
11. Bring a bunch of old movies to work and run a video rental out of your cube and charge outrageous late fees.
12. Call every extension in the company and tell them there’s cake in the conference room.
13. Bring doughnuts to work and sell them with a 5% markup.
14. Monitor webcams across the world and report crimes when they happen.
15. Write funny lists.
16. Call two separate adult chat lines; place one on hold and tell the other one that you have your girlfriend on the line who wants to join in and repeat for the other line and then conference them in together.
17. Sell Mary Kay cosmetics.
18. Build a deck in your cube.
19. Call a very large hotel and initiate reservations for a major corporate convention including catering, production staff, and limousine rentals and then cancel at the last minute.
20. Start pirating as many office supplies and furniture as you can get your hands on and sell them on eBay.
21. Reserve every conference room in your building for 4:30 on a Friday and then ask everyone to come and bring their key cards and id badges.
22. Swap out sinks in all the bathrooms and educate yourself on rudimentary plumbing.
23. Hit CTRL+ALT+DOWN ARROW on your keyboard and Feature 86 on your phone, tell HR you think your cube is haunted and then try to get workers comp for mental exhaustion.
24. Make a fake badge that says “Hall Monitor” and stand in the hallway writing fake tickets to anyone that doesn’t have a hall pass.
25. Start a valet service in the parking lot.
26. Start a paper route on your floor and ride a bike down the hallways.
27. Rent out empty office space for rehearsal space to struggling bands and convert common areas to a nightclub after 6 p.m.
28. Advertise a starving artist sale and sell all the cheesy, abstract corporate art hanging on the walls.
29. Sell coupon books for the vending machines and cafeteria.
30. Bring an espresso maker, green apron and alternative accoustic soundtrack and open a drive through coffee stand outside your cube.

Is actually the new uh?

This is funny. I ask my wife if she thinks the term actually is overused or am I actually being my old cynical, self righteous, critical self. I looked up actually in a thesaurus. There are a ton of great words you can use in its place, really; words and phrases like really, essentially, in fact, truly, square business and no shittin. Any of these will work fine in place of actually. I hear it everywhere. I feel like I’m a dog tormented by a high pitched whistle. The term is used at least 3 or 4 times in every news interview, national news withstanding. Relatively intelligent people abuse the term when explaining a topic of which they are a marginal authority. I hear it from anyone giving sales presentations, speeches or toasts. It’s actually very annoying.
Where does this word come from? It’s actually been around since the 16th century. Galileo was heard chastising the Pope with “…it’s actually flat and no, it’s actually not the center of the universe.” I actually looked it up. It is defined as an actual or existing fact; really. (Okay, I’ll stop. Your dawdling mind has actually caught up to the point I’m making).
I don’t understand the need to validate every line of conversation with a disclaimer of truth. Actually is similar to saying “This is indeed a fact that I am prepared to state.” Have we become so immersed in bullshit that a qualification is necessary before every muttered claim? Is it similar to the use of honestly. I hate to stand on the receiving end of that one. As if you had a reason to lie to me otherwise. Do people reply often in conversation with; “are you in jest or in fact serious about that which you speak?” Even worse, actually has worked its way into written word. This is how Well, has become the fastest growing introduction to much correspondence. People write as they speak.
Uh, use to be the filler for a void in conversation and uuuuuuh. I’m sorry. I actually forgot where I was going with that. Actually is used in a similar manner of brain to mouth traffic diversion. It’s a speed bump in an explanation. It’s a delay to let the rest of your thought make it down the snout. Moreover, Actually is an overused indicator of emphasis. I feel sorry for creative writing professors everywhere (and not just in relation to this piece of literary tripe.) We throw actually in to say,
“get ready because this tidbit of information is going to blow your mind”
or “here’s a bit of unsolicited trivia I’m going to drop on you like mad science!”
or “contrary to conventional wisdom or any preconceived notion that your misguided perspective may attempt to bring to this conversation…”
It’s as if the small crumb of wisdom they possess will alter our physical existence and rock our grasp on reality and thus a disclaimer like actually is needed to prepare you. “Screw gravity! Your punctual use of the word “actually” just yanked the blanket out from my humble understanding of the world around me. It’s like Dianetics, man!”
The worst examples are the animal enthusiasts you see on local morning talk shows. The wealth of zoological information they carry in their heads astound the greatest intellectuals of our time. Not to mention the impression they make on morning talk show hosts.
“Actually, Coco here is a marsupial.”
“Actually, bats can see.”
“He’s actually sniffing my dog that I have at home.”

If only I could break a cricket bat over the back over their heads every time they say actually. Cooking shows are no less deplorable.
These buzz phrases come and go. Do you remember basically? That one served as the opener for countless public speeches and lectures in the 80’s. Pop culture sprinkled in Up you nose with a rubber hose; Where’s the beef?; Allrighty then; and Yeah baby! The 90’s ushered in the era of out-of-the-box and touching base with people. Some of these catch phrases were spawned in the workplace. Some were cultivated in social settings. Just like Maude; and then came like. This one may seem a bit juvenile but it’s a verbal mainstay for many 20-somethings. Take heed. It will work its way into your conversational rotation, much like gracias and de nada.

The wolf at our doorstep (Please read the entire article)

This may not be the most politically correct thing to say, but I believe it’s time we secure our border. I am proud to say that I am a native Texan. I was born in this great state in a time when our country was divided over many political and social landscapes. I was born in Dallas in 1968. This was a era in history when the very term “American” was called into question. We began to change the perception of what, or more importantly who, an American citizen was. Our social climate was forever changed. Certain human rights sanctioned by the founding fathers of this great nation were endowed upon all free men. We changed for the better. We became more accepting, more tolerant and quite simply more civil. Texas was cast into the tumultuous and unpopular center of this political upheaval. The state and it's people were asked to abandon 140 years of tradition and cultural complacency. Texas was called upon to redefine itself as a sovereignty. Then we discovered ourselves adjunct to a national agenda; this merely 100 years after a civil war. Yes, mistakes were made. Yes, intolerance and fear were rampant. One can clearly see the lasting effects even in this new century. Texas, with it's long standing heritage of isolation and independence, was reluctant. No other state suffers as much cultural mystification as Texas. No other state in the Union has pledged it’s allegiance to six different nations. No other state has reigned as a nation unto itself. One would think that a collection of people living under constant flux would welcome defectors of any breed. No single person can claim Texas as their own. They can only lay claim to being born here, such as I do.
Today, there is a certain type of foreigner that presses at our doorstep. There is a stranger just across the border that once again threatens our independence, our hard fought culture and our content way of life. A meager rivers stand between Texas and her cultural integrity, her decency and her pastoral innocence. I am confident that we all know who this threat is. We have all looked beyond our state's borders to see the tide of belligerence, ignorance and moral decay that bears down on us. Make no mistake my fellow Texans. The wolf is on our doorstep and she lies in want. That’s why I am all for building a fence. We need to build a twenty foot high fence and block these vagrants from coming into our beloved homeland and taking menial labor from us. We need to stop their children from over running our schools and corrupting our institutions. They can barely speak English much less understand our laws and public affairs. Desperate times call for desperate measures. This is why I implore our government to build a fence. Build a fence twenty feet high. Build a wall spanning the entire length of the Red River. Help us stop the people of Oklahoma from destroying our beloved state. The land rush is over Oklahoma. Carry your hic bums back across that state line.The eyes of Texas are upon you.

Preparing for Nascar

I woke up this morning and shaved off what was left of my vacation beard. Unfortunately, my birthday/ midsummer/ July 4th extended weekend had come to a sobering end. As I shaved the shaggy Al Qaeda-esque undergrowth off my throat, I made a rash decision, or should I say “stache” decision, to keep the moustache for a few more weeks. Let me explain.
Last week, I turned 40. This rite of passage brings with it some implied tolerances to my manhood. First, I am a grown man by default. Once I reach the age 40, I am unmistakably a grown man by sheer number of years being alive. I oblige the expectation, hopes, wishes and desires of those around me to finally grow up. I believe this is truly what men dread so much about this age. Second, the allowances that I speak of signal that my body has reached its prime, thus succumbing to a half ass attempt to impress with my male stamina; the proverbial plateau for my mojo. People no longer expect to see my guns. They just expect not to see the crack of my ass or the bottom of my gut pop out when I reach up. People expect to see a little more flab around the midsection, a little more loss of hair at the top, a tight fitting world’s greatest dad tee and maybe little more huff and puff when I tie my shoes. A thousand years ago, people would be surprised to see me walking around. They would call me a wise old sage or an elder.
My wife bought me a ticket to drive an official NASCAR race car on a real race track. It’s a driving school built on fufilling the dreams of middle aged contibutors to mulletsgalore.com. It's like a Make a Wish foundation for aging rednecks. This is a chance to see if I would have really ever qualified to be something as sexy as a race car driver. Jet pilot was ruled out by my inability to complete Fundamentals of Math 101 in community college. There was no way I could be a secret agent or government spy. That was ruled out by my complete lack of composure under stressful situations. Plus, I probably would have flunked the urine test. I could have been a professional athlete but the only sport I physically measured up to was professional bowling. That’s about the only training regiment I could manage as well. Rodeo bull rider, perhaps, but that’s not sexy. That’s just stupid. So for one glorious day I get to pretend I’m Dale Earnhardt Sr., hence the moustache.
A moustache is an emblem of the by gone era of my parents. My father had a moustache. I have seen pictures of him holding me when I was about my son’s age. It was 1971. He weighed approximately 270 lbs and smoked cigarettes. He wore shirt sleeve dress shirts with ties. He sold industrial rubber hose for BF Goodrich in places like Memphis, Little Rock and Oklahoma City. I can only imagine the kitsch that surrounded his day and time. He probably stopped at the Howard Johnson or Sizzler somewhere on I-35, had a smoke as he waited for his flap jacks and hash browns. He wore English Leather or Old Spice cologne and read the paper. He packed his blue and white checkered polyester suits in Samsonite luggage that could survive any Braniff DC-10 crash. His stache probably smelled of pancake syrup, Crown Royal and Viceroy’s. Then he’d relax by the pool at the Holiday Inn in someplace like Omaha,Salina or Branson.
This nostalgia is partially responsible for my desire to grow an over the lip flavors savor. This coupled with a desire to augment my appearance to pathetically garner attention. People notice moustaches because you just don’t see them anymore except on cops, foreigners and FOG’s like my dad. He has long since shaved his off. Even porn stars have abandoned the wild wooly lipmark of manhood. I’m not sure if the stache will ever make a respectable comeback. Men these days want to look like they’re 24, not like Jim Croce.They frost their tips, go wakeboarding with their kids and dawn ball caps to cover their receding timeline. Men no longer want to look like men (secular third world extremists not withstanding). The American dad can hardly be spotted anymore. He wears Hollister board shorts and Keene’s and drinks Mojitos. He can be seen hanging out at the Starbucks ordering a Green Tea Frappacino and eating a salad.
I’m not oblivious to reality of change. Maybe the reduction of heart disease and lung cancer in men over 40 is a good thing. Mmmmh, ya think? But I would like to salute all those old farts that still sport the lip spider, the nose broom and the Italian caterpillar. I will grow my stache with pride. And when my checkered past reaches the checkered flag on my last lap of grand delusion, I’ll be looking a bit like Hal Linden,Freddie Prinze or Dennis Weaver still clutching to yesteryear. Carry on my wayward son, carry on.

The demise of the Sasquatch

I really believe he is out there. What I find interesting is our never ceasing desire to know that he is out there. Like the dodo bird from the past, we have to club it, kill it and bring it in so we know it’s alive. There is a commercial for a brand of Beef Jerky where the theme of the spot is messing with Bigfoot. This is a perfect analogy of civilized man wanting to not only prove his existence, but to go ahead and impose our will upon him for our amusement. There are whales in the ocean 18 times the size of Bigfoot and we will never see them. Do we need to catch and kill them to know they are there? I see squirrels in a yard and think about why are we terrified of rats and yet cohabitate with squirrels without having to trap them or banish them? What is it about our nature that lets us live along side some species while others we doubt and fear?
I am a firm believer in Bigfoot. I belong to an organization called BFRO (Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization). Well, I used to belong. Honestly, I only bought a t-shirt from their website to wear on my independant field research. Basically a field researcher is anyone that can walk more than 10 feet, wear a comfortable pair of sneakers and contribute $350 to a hopeless endeavor. I’m not a cynic of the organization I belong to. I just disagree with the administration (much like the rest of this nation). Besides, if I had $350 to blow in the interest of furthering science, I'd spend it on advanced home brewing technologies or a car that runs on sea water.
Where ever Bigfoot is, I am sure that he has no problems believing in us and wants to stay as far away as possible. I shun the concept of an evil terror of a beast tearing apart tents in the wilderness and harassing campers and hikers. He’s probably pooping nervously under a fern somewhere far in the hills of British Columbia. That’s where he is, you know; British Columbia.
No I’m confident Bigfoot will someday choose to walk on down out of the woods. He will probably select one of the worse places to commence his first encounter with western civilization. It will, no doubt, be a Flying J truck stop or an outlet mall. He will probably meander behind a Bass ProShop just after some guy named Doug or Todd will have just bought a camo-colored 12 gauge and 3 boxes of shells. He’ll probably get caught in some embarrassing fashion so beneath his mythic status that he will instantly reduce his standing to that of a bear or rabid hound. Some Alaskan animal control officer will have a snare around his neck after catching him with a half-eaten burrito in a Jack in the Box dumpster. He’ll be on national TV with crumbs in his beard. We will hearken back to the less than anticlimactic capture of Sadaam Hussein in the hole. He’ll crap himself and curl up in a ball in the back of a truck next to stray pit bulls and a dead opossum. Sadly, this is the most probable demise for our mystic beast from the 70’s and 80’s. The beast that lumbered through our nightmares and led countless quasi,self proclaimed anthropologists on epic goose chase expeditions across the Sierra Nevada’s and Cascade ranges. The beast that ate DB Cooper. The gargantuan that battled Steve Austin in the “jump the shark" two-part episode of the Six Million Dollar Man.The indelible prototype to our beloved Chewbacca. It’s sad to picture the almost embarrassed and pathetic look on his face when they shove him in that truck. He’ll grunt and whimper like a darted bear. He’ll lick himself and look disoriented. There will be protests of course. They will be confused about what to do with him. After all the media quiets down, we will go about our lives in a one-less-unknown-menacing-mythical-creature-man-dominated-world. He will be donated to some farm that cares for wounded show pets and Russian circus bears. He’ll be lumped in with the bears even though he probably holds them in the same regard as we hold illegal aliens. He probably thinks they just eat the fish that he won’t eat but even still he doesn’t think they should be allowed to fish in the same river.
I hope I can go see him then. I hope I can get a ticket and travel to Alaska and visit Bigfoot before he passes away in a freak electric fence accident or strange dysentery brought on by canned bear food. I’ll look him in the face and tell him I believed. I believed just enough to leave well enough alone. He’ll growl at me and sit up on his rear haunches like a trained tiger. I’ll throw balled up sandwich bread at him. I'll move down one cage to see a cougar lying in the dirt next to a water dish. No mystery with the cougar. If you run into a cougar in the wild, your supposed to bang a stick against the tree and yell out "NO!".That will let him know who's boss.

Man Found Dead on Seattle Golf Course

SEATTLE TIMES BREAKING NEWS:
A man was found dead on local course from apparent overdose in golf. Investigators say the body was found hunched over the hole on the 17th green apparently retrieving what looked like crumpled paper, sticks and feathers fashioned into a make shift golf ball. The victim was found on the Coyote Creek course at the Willows run golf course in Redmond clutching a score card that recorded over 215 holes played with only one double bogey at the hole where the body was found. Everything before that was scored one below par, a birdie. The identity has not been disclosed, but initial reports indicate a male, 6'2'', dark hair, early forties wearing a Kirkland Brand golf polo shirt and tan trousers. The body was found dehydrated, sun burned and disgruntled over exorbitant food prices at the course concession stand. He apparently forgot about the turkey sandwich and Payday that he packed in his bag from home. Foul play was initially suspected when several of the victim's clubs were found tossed about and embedded in trees and bushes in a close vicinity to the hole on which the body was found. This was ruled out by a grounds keeper that witnessed what can only be described as the "most horrific man tantrum I have ever seen". Friend and relatives stated earlier today, "It's exactly how he would have wanted to go." Others were quoted as asking, " How could this have happened?" and "I can't see how he took a mulligan, went into the water, came out of the water, back into the ravine, and out of the ravine and into the sand and three putted and only got a double bogey?" A funeral has not been scheduled as of this reporting but sources say it will involve the deceased being placed into a golf travel bag lined with 500 thread count sheets and pillows stuffed with 1 week old Norwegian Snow Goose down and buried at sea in one of the ponds on the North Course at Sahalee Country Club.

Response to want ad for Reference Number:HCS284

"Job Description:A Textile Carpet manufacturer has an opening for a Sales Representative with High-end Carpet sales experience. Must have sales experience with Hospitality, Contract, Residential, Commercial, or Retail Carpet companies with strong programs in both Woven and Print. The Sales Representative will be responsible for building relationships with buyers, manage daily sales responsibilities, and develop programs for specific customer accounts."

I read that and came to what can only be described as a Jack Nicholson "As Good as it Gets" moment. Gone are the days of First Class jet setting to sunny So-Cal for a quick back nine before a colossal time waste of a meeting at noon about cutting the bottom line. Gone are the restless nights spent with the beer sweats in a king size bed between sheets that cost more than my best suit in a quasi-post modern personality hotel with a complimentary happy hour, substandard nautilus gym, and as much Lodgenet™ porn that a liberal arts college major with deficient math skills can proficiently bury in an expense report. Gone are the herb encrusted filets and the 18 year-old scotch calls from Smith & Wollenski at 4:00 in the afternoon. These are all the things I reminisce about as my fat, middle-aged, cynical ass sits on 635 trying to manipulate my $240 a month gas guzzler across three lanes to get home to my 3 lovely line item dependents, my cat shit eating dog, my mortgage, my hopeless attempt at a lawn and my ever growing laundry list of yet-to-do-to-the-house-but-I'll-get-to-it-on-Sunday-'s. All my options have surmounted to my current position or this miserable piece of shit so called "opportunity" trying to foot cram one more "value-added resource" into the already over bloated, oversold, undifferentiated market of business to business commodities. One more Ford Taurus or Dodge Intrepid parked in the back of a business park in Grand Prairie idling while listening to the Ticket and reading the paper. One more day spent handing out business cards and collateral with invaluable information that ends up topping off the trash cans inside every office in the DFW Metroplex. One more 30 minute, technically challenged powerpoint presentation to a daft 19 year old receptionist that has all the decision making authority of an oompla loompa in Willy Wonka's Choclate Factory. All of this only to come back to the office and fill out a 3 page excel spreadsheet flagging it as a "Class 3 Potential Opportunity" that only needs about 8 more months of qualifying and filling out a prospect analysis of said receptionist as the key relationship that will bank roll your entire 4th quarter.
Ah, life.

DFW City Slogans

Lake Highlands looks down on Lakewood.
Lakewood: Highland Park with Democrats
Cedar Springs: Where Straight Lane begins to swerve
Uptown: It ain't Downtown.
Highland Park! Anything else is University Park.
Oak Cliff: Come for the views, stay for the arson.
Pleasant Grove: You're not in Seagoville anymore.
Flower Mound: Lewisville is for townies
Frisco Sucks!
Grapevine: Tuscany by the airport
World Famous Mesquite Rodeo (the town not so much)
You're not lost, you're in Richardson.
Keene: We built this city on moving violations revenue.
Welcome to Lancaster! You look lost…boy! Hey boy, I'm talking to you!
Yo Quiero Farmers Branch?
Addison: Making Plano tolerable for 25 years
Coppell: The only thing higher than our IQ's are the taxes
Trophy Club: Southlake without the riff raff
Plano: The original middle of nowhere
Burleson: Crepe Myrtle capital of the metroplex (No really, that's their slogan)
Bedford/ Euless: The t'aint of DFW
Hurst: Just keep driving until you get to Bedford.
See Seagoville! Smell Balch Springs
Balch Springs. That's 100% pure Balch you're drinking.
Work and play in Irving. Ok, just work.
Colleyville……
Las Colinas: It's gonna happen!
Arlington: Stick it here
The Colony: Their Days Of Peace Are Over
Carrollton: Just try and miss our pot holes
McKinney: The pot of gold at the end of a nightmare commute
Denton: The self proclaimed crown jewel of the self proclaimed golden triangle
Duncanville: Come see our mall.
If neighborhood charm has got you down, come to Allen
Cedar Hill. Yep, that pretty much sums it up.
Welcome to Garland! The gangs are all here.
Mansfield: As banal as the name implies.
North Richland Hills, just North of Richland Hills.
Wylie…Boy, we are out here.
Melissa, the sticks for people in Wylie
Keller: It could've been a Southlake
Sachse: No, that's Rowlett's water tower you're looking at.
Saginaw: You've seen the silos. Now come see the city.
Little Elm…what, you think you're better than me?
Grand Prairie: It's actually more of a plateau of sorts.
Ferris: Now with running water
Rockwall: In case you make it over the lake