Fashion.  There is a subject that I know absolutely nothing about.  I don't know as if I ever had a clear definition of the term "fashion sense".  As a kid in high school, it was 501's, t-shirt, and Nikes.  Later my style evolved into jeans, boots and a t-shirt while sporting a mullet.  Later than that, my style morphed into another realm all together.  In my mid 30's, I decided if I were wearing cargo shorts, t-shirt and work boots, I was probably over dressed for most situations I prefer to find myself in.    I'm never going to wear shorts, sandals and black socks and that is a promise.

Along with ones "fashion sense" comes the necessity to be able to kind of get a hair style that matches you.  My grandfather was a barber.  That doesn't give me the qualifications to be a hair style consultant, but at this point in my life, I've had maybe 1,000 hair cuts.  Some reflected the barbers impeccable skills but were an ill thought decision when it came to style.  Others, very well thought and planned but the barber (myself or a drunk buddy) jacked my hair up which led to me shaving my head.  Shit happens... and it happens to me often especially when I choose to cut my own hair.

There are 2 particular hair cuts that drive me crazy.  Neither of them is the mullet, however.  I do cringe when I see one, but I consider the source and then move along.  The 2 hair styles I am thinking of are the "Utah Claw" and the "May I speak to your manager" which is also known as the "Wasatch Front."  (You can take that last name, "Wasatch Front" to the bank because a professional barber told me about it.  Thanks Mike Randall w/ Teton Barber Shop!)

Scientifically known as "Utahsian-6kidsandaminivanicus" or its more traditional name, "The Claw" is in a critical stage of its existence.  Nearly extinct today, "The Claw" does make rare appearances at NASCAR events and the World Championship Snowmobile Hill Climb.  This particular coif was noted in the hundreds in the late 80's and Early 90's at the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar in Jackson, Wyoming. It's numbers now have dwindled to mere dozens.  Assumed to be a mating ritual, "The Claw" would appear on any holiday or any excuse our friends from Utah would use to come to Wyoming and get wasted because they were afraid to do it in Utah.

"The Claw" consisted of spiking out ones long bangs straight up from the forehead in order to resemble an inverted eagle's talon. As much as 5 cans of Aqua-Net and 3 solid hours of time is necessary to achieve the desired presentation.  As mentioned above, "The Claw" is assumed to be a mating ritual because it was often seen amongst mullets.  If there were an equal amount of "Claws" and mullets, this grouping is known as "Jack Mormons" and you can fully expect different levels of drunken stupidity including fights over "Who is the best driver, Junior or Tony Stewart?" or "Ford v.s. Dodge". 

Women sporting "The Claw" are often heard saying things like "Make me something real strong, like a Fuzzy Navel or something" to any bartender, bar back, cocktail waitress or random guy pumping gas near them.  As well, they will often ask for directions to the bathroom and then head in the wrong direction.  Not known for their tolerance to alcohol, "The Claw" is often found in the women's room, hugging the toilet or taking a nap on the disgusting but cool tile floors of bathrooms.  After such an occurrence, you'll hear someone wearing "The Claw" say "Did I pee my pants or is this from crying?" because her boyfriend looked at another breeder wearing "The Claw".  Often there will be a clump of toilet paper sticking to the spike of one of her high heels and this person will normally be accompanied by another girl crying because "Tiffany is having a hard time tonight."  This other girl should be coveted however because she is normally the only way to get rid of the dumpster fire known as "The Claw".

The hair style known as "May I speak to your manager" a.k.a "The Wasatch Front" evolved in the mid 90's and peaked in popularity in the year 2012.  According to numerous scientific studies, this particular hair style has numerous things in common with "The Claw" and it has been noted that former "Claws" are now known as "May I speak to your manager".  It is assumed that a maturation process takes place in ones 30's that spurs this particular adaptation. 

Scientifically known as "gonnabebitchycuz", their general attitude is considered more shitty than that of "The Claw".  It is assumed that this is because of the maturation process and the fact that this person has nothing else in the world to be upset about than in order to feel any relevance, it must seem bitchy.  While in bars, "May I speak to your manager" will often complain about the most irrelevant shit that nobody has any control over.  Most common amongst their complaints are, "Your ice is too cold", "I don't like what time it is" and "How come they look like they are having a lot more fun than I am?''. These are always followed by the words, "May I speak to your manager?".... hence the name.

Trying to reason with this person and these questions will always prove to be a fruitless endeavor.  Even the most skilled bar manager will approach with caution.  "Good evening.  My name is ______, I am the manager, so how can I be of help?"  Gonnabebitchycuz normally ends up with a "just got screwed by the neighbors bit bull'' look and then quickly shakes that off to reply with one of the above queries.  The skillful manager will then politely answer, "Miss, our ice is that cold because if it weren't, it would be water" and under his/her breath you can often hear the answer followed by "you stupid twat". 

When hit with the complaint, "How come they look like they are having a lot more fun than I am?", the most savvy of managers will say, "They are having more fun because they aren't bitchy!"  This is where one will normally encounter "gonnabebitchycuz's" favorite complaint.  "I'm leaving, and I'm never coming back!"  Although she looks as if she really means it this time, that is a guarantee that you will see her again in less than 30 minutes after she makes a scene and walks out of the establishment, but not without trying to get her friends and family to follow... and that never happens.

Upon her return from having a good cry out by the dumpster, she returns with her mascara running down both cheeks.  She will complain again that she has "never been treated that way" which is a lie because the last time she was in, ended the same way.  She will ask for a refund on her cover charge, her drinks, and an apology from the guy in the hotel lobby who looked at her boobs, because they are basically hanging out of her shirt.  When she receives no compliance, she will always begin to sob again, complete with little snot bubbles inflating and quickly deflating (like an infant) and then she will being to offer apologies.... for everything and anything not relevant to the current situation.

An encounter with either species is truly something not so special and not to be cherished.  They are sure to happen again and again.

It's been a while....

Quite some time ago, I decided to make a conscious decision to try to make the best of my life.  And really, why not?  We're only here once, so we might as well live as well as we can.  By making this decision, I understood that I would need to take an honest self inventory of whom I was and who and where I wanted to be.  After all, my life had become rather cumbersome.  I was dwelling on the past too much.  I had a friend who was the most negative person on earth who had the ability to drag me down to his level in an instant.  I realized that I had this level of anxiety that I had never noticed before.  It was almost paralyzing!  I was letting things happen rather than making this happen!

It was during this 'self inventory' that I made the most important discovery of my life.  "I was holding myself back...."  It wasn't my friend with the ability to drag me down.  It wasn't the negativity that seemed to surround me.  I was standing in my own way! 

At this very moment, I had truly my first Zen experience.  I finally knew that I could only control "me".  I was in charge of everything "me" and nobody else had that power.  Me and me only could control how I acted or reacted to every circumstance around me.  As well, I realized that I could happily take accountability for my actions as well as my reactions.  It dawned on me I could choose to keep hanging around my negative friend and I could let him control how I felt, or I could distance myself from him and let the positive energy flow.  I noticed that I could choose to find the positive in everything rather than looking for the negative! Zen!

Right then I decided to drop all of the negative things in my life and accept everything and everybody as they are and all of the pressure and anxiety left my body in an instant!  Cathartic....

I've been doing my best to stay on track, and I told you all of the above to get to this:

So, a pizza delivery guy comes through the gate at work and stops as required.  I politely ask the gentleman if he knew where he was headed and he showed me that he did indeed have the physical address and a GPS.  He said "Yeah" like I was wasting his time and added "my GPS will take me right to their front door" as he was pulling away.  He stopped at the stop sign and promptly took a turn in the wrong direction.

I couldn't help but smile.  Here I am wasting this busy mans valuable time all the while he had the latest in gadgetry that would ensure his safe and timely arrival at the desired location.  He made a turn into a short cul-de-sac so I knew he would be turning around.  I decided that I would meet him in the intersection and get him headed in the right direction.  After all, this guy is a busy man and he can't be fooling around, and I am concerned with doing the right thing. 

As he approached, he looked at me while talking on his phone and looking at the GPS in his other hand.  His pride must have been overwhelming him at the moment because instead of stopping and asking me for directions, he just drove by... again.... in the wrong direction.  What's special about this new heading the busy pizza delivery guy was taking is, it too is a cul-de-sac but its end is much further down the road.

Now, I was in a pickle.  Do I do the right thing and track him down and have him follow me in the right direction or do I wait for him to do the "drive of shame" right back to me and then ask for directions?  I zipped my coat up because it was chilly.  No way am I leaving the intersection now.  About 5 minutes goes by and I figured he either committed suicide because of the embarrassment or he was stuck in a snow drift. 

  Here comes old Magellan, limping along with his ass dragging between his knees.  I positioned myself so there was no way he could get around me.  I did this for my benefit as much as his.  Not only could I assist this guy in his journey as all of his gadgetry had failed him miserably, but I could get a real good look at this guys face.  (It's important to know stupid when you see it.)

Here's the beautiful part.  This guy rolls the window down and says, (like he's never, ever seen me before) "Good afternoon sir.  I am looking for this residence."  I'm smiling only to keep from laughing.  I said, "let me see" as he handed me the label off of the pizza box.  I scratched my chin and pretended to be real puzzled.  "If you go left, you'll leave the property so that isn't helpful.  You've been to both the north and south of the subdivision, so I guess you'd better head to the west." 

5 minutes later he had to drive by me at the gate.  I wanted to be out there waiting.  He had this look on his face that looked somewhere between the question "Who farted?" and the look you'd have if you got hit in the face with a tin foil cake plate.

When it was all said and done, I realized that I could view this chance encounter as 15 minutes that I'd never get back or I could take it as the true gem it was.  Being rather Zem like, I chose the gem.  I bet he isn't writing this shit on his blog.

Mosquito's.....

Here it is, the 8th of October and I haven't seen a mosquito in probably 2 weeks. Out of nowhere comes this giant ass, Boone and Crockett, world class mosquito that all other mosquitoes aspire to be!  Saying this thing was big is an understatement.  I swear I think I saw a combat team from the 82nd Airborne jump out of this thing!  The thing had a banner flying from its ass end that read, "29 years is a long damned time, Kansas City Royals.  God bless you and George Brett.".  When the damned thing landed, 5 minivans filled with soccer moms and toddlers pulled over because they thought it was a Chuck E. Cheese.  Fucking thing was big, okay?

Normally I'm  not afraid of mosquitoes.  In fact, I kind of enjoy the itch after getting bit by one.  I mean, beats the hell out of the itch you get from the crabs... not that I would know.  But, this mosquito said it was going to open up a feeding spot on the back of my shoulder with a drilling rig because a pick axe wasn't big enough!  This mosquito was so big, it probably needed an oil change every 3000 miles.  I mean, damn!  I got mad that it had invaded my air space, so when it landed I hit it with a rolled up news paper.  When it got up, it hit me back.

It was unreal.  A co-worker saw this thing and informed me that he saw it on the Discovery Channel.  Yeah, the crew from Northwestern (from the show Deadliest Catch) was floating on its back while fishing for Opilio crab.  You get me?  It was a damned big mosquito.

When the thing finally got done having its way with South Jackson, it took off like a CH-47 Chinook in a talcum powder plant.  Dirt and shit was everywhere.  Old women's hair was mussed.  Kids where crying.  The only thing I could think of was, I bet Pinedale Wyoming wishes it would have had this bastard when the Rainbow Family Gathering showed up in 2008.

The Maverik Station....

I don't know what it is about the Maverik Station, but I keep going back time and time again.  Maybe its the service?  Could be the coffee.  It might be all of the weird shit that happens to me there. 

Take today for instance.  Traditionally, Sunday's are weird for me.  Because of my work schedule, I don't get a lot of sleep on Saturday night so it's pretty important that I get properly caffeinated on my way back in to the office. 

Anyhow, I walk through the door this morning and I walk pass 2 women having a conversation near the hot chocolate machine.  I hear one woman ask, "So where about are you from in Colorado?"  The other woman says, "I'm from a little town named Meeker but my husband and I currently live in Pagosa Springs."  The first woman chimes in, "Oh, its so beautiful there.  One day I plan on touring all of Zion National Park." 

I kind of cocked my head like a dog does when he hears a high pitched noise, and I reeled around to get a look at these women.  Much to my delight, the woman from Colorado had the same look on her face.  Her brow was slightly furrowed, eyes squinting, and her head was tilted just enough that sip of coffee she just had partially ran out of one corner of her mouth.

It didn't stop there.  Before the Colorado woman could correct the other lady, the other lady said "I hear that Bryce Canyon is beautiful as well."  I turned and faced both women.  I had to listen to the rest of this conversation, but I couldn't do it where I was standing.  I'm sure I had a look on my face that screamed, "I lick car windows."  I stepped to the side and moved around the two ladies.  The Colorado woman says, "I think you are naming landmarks in Utah.  I am from Colorado."  Now the first woman has "the look".  Her brow, slightly furrowed.  Her eyes are squinting like she is staring at the sun, and the left corner of her mouth is drawn slightly up towards her nose. 

"What?" she asked.  At this point, I shot a sip of hot java through my nose and quickly reached for a couple of napkins.  Now both of these women are staring at each other.  It was perfect.  Neither knew what the fuck the other was talking about. 

When the Colorado woman broke the stare down by saying, "Anyhow....", I cracked up.  The store clerk asked me "Are you all right?''  I nodded and said that I would be in just a minute.  The first ladies husband walks past me near the front door and says, "what are you doing?".  She explained that she "just met this nice woman from Colorado" and  "they were having a nice conversation about Zion National Park".  He said, "Zion?  Zion is in Utah" and the woman got that face again.  I lost it....

Maybe it wasn't that funny, but I had never in my life been more lost in a store than I was in the Maverik station that I go to every day.

Paint ball guns....

Paint ball guns.  I never really got into them.  I don't know why, but it just wasn't my cup of tea.  But years ago, a buddy of mine spent a boat load of money on some of the gear and was trying to get me interested.  His initial investment was a lower dollar, previously owned unit that frankly couldn't send a round down range much further than 50 feet with any accuracy.

I don't know if any of you grew up with a Red Rider B.B. Gun, but they weren't that accurate either, but what you could do is learn the arc and or the wind-age and make corrections that would allow you to consistently hit a half dollar at about 20 paces.  Not this hunk of crap paint ball gun my buddy bought.  Each time you pulled the trigger, you were in for something new.  To me, it wasn't worth the aggravation.  For him it was a new hobby.

I walked out about 40 feet and had him fire a few at me.  He shot 4 times and one of the shots almost grazed my pant leg.  There was no proof, mind you.  I just gave him the benefit of the doubt.  He allowed me the same privilege, to send a few rounds his way and the gun gummed up because paint balls were falling apart in the barrel and again I assumed this thing was more of an aggravation.  Naturally, he came over and informed me that I was "doing it all wrong" and began to discuss the finer intricacies of this particular equipment.  Basically what I came away with was knowing what I already knew.  This thing was a hunk of shit.

Fast forward about 2 months.  This guy had gone out and actually purchased some good equipment.  I kind of laughed not taking him seriously.  He fired off a couple of rounds and those things were smoking out of the barrel and down range!  Me being the mental midget I am walked down range about 50 feet and let him squeeze off a few rounds at me.  I was smart enough to turn around and expose my back side to him, thankfully.  Blap! Blap! Blap!  He let 3 rounds loose and all of them found their mark.  Right ass cheek took two rounds in a spot the size of a silver dollar.  The third round was special.  It was the kind of special that is not so special... catch my drift?  It hit my right under the right ass cheek and more towards the inner thigh.  Its a part of the body that never even sees sunlight, so it felt like the thing ripped right through me.

Naturally he laughed his ass off, because he just blew my ass off!  I asked if I could fire a few at him and was promptly put off.  "Hell no, dude!  That shit hurts!".  He wasn't lying.

So, I told you that in order to tell you this.  As some of you may know, I'm a bit of a "hard learner".  I think another buddy of mine knew that when he employed me and a couple other guys to be "bad guys" for the SWAT team to practice on.

The scenario we were to be playing out was a hostage situation, so they had the negotiators there, snipers were set up and the SWAT Team had all of their goodies.  The good news was, we were armed with .40 caliber hand guns loaded with simunition rounds.  The bad news was, SWAT was armed with the same thing plus semi-auto .223's with simunition rounds.  At the time, that didn't bother me.  For a split second I remembered that I had to fill out a release form that said I was there of "my own free will" and that I "would not sue, in the event of an accident".  I reverted back to the thought that these guys were professionals I knew and I had good relationships with most of these guys.  Besides that, I had protective gear on... what could possibly go wrong?

I'll tell you would could go wrong.  Most of the protective gear didn't fit.  I looked like 10 pounds of shit stuffed into a 5 pound bag.  The chest protector left my chest on either side past the nipples exposed.  There was not a good way to actually wear the cup to protect the family jewels.  I asked for advice and was told to wear it and the jock strap on the outside of my clothes.  Bad idea.... the leg straps broke and the cup just kind of flopped around leaving little protection for said family jewels.  The gloves fit like the gloves from the O.J. Simpson trial.  They were so tight that I'd never be able to get them on, let alone be able to defend myself with the gun they gave me.  The shin guards, the helmet, eye and ear protection did fit so I felt slightly better assuming that I would be leaving that days "exercises" with at least my sight and hearing.

So there we are... the bad guys, holed up in the basement of a condemned dentist office.  It was hot as hell and we are wearing all of this protective gear, cracking jokes and awaiting further instruction.  My buddy comes down and tells us that they are getting things in place and that we would be in action before too long.  He also described the first drill as some kind of special entry and told us that he was going to send down the guy who was helping train these guys.  This particular guy was one of the leaders of the L.A. SWAT team, so he knew his shit and it was kind of a big deal to have him and his knowledge available for our little town's police force to be able to take full advantage of.  This guys name was Cervantes and he looked like a frigging SWAT team dude.

Cervantes goes on to say that when the event begins, "they may or may not employ "flash bangs" so if you hear something that sounds like a hair spray can hit the floor, don't look at it".  We all nodded, like we understood.  He then asked, "where will you all be" because he had to know, not so he could tell the SWAT team, but so he could monitor the entry and make sure they were clearing the building properly.  So one guy was going to be in a big closet, another was going to be behind a half wall in the corner of that particular room and I was going to be in the hallway.  Cervantes said, "the event will kick off in a couple of minutes, so hang tight."

We kept holding and holding.  As I mentioned, it was hot as hell and we were sweating like dogs.  There was no air circulation, so we all had out helmets tilted back trying to get some air and for some dumb reason making fun of old Cervantes....  We wait, and wait and all of a sudden I hear something that sounded like a hair spray can hit the floor.  What do I do?  Look at it and about the time I was going to say, "what in the fuck is that", the thing exploded!  I tried to run but ran face first into the wall that was right behind me.  Next thing I know, I have a cop standing above me with his foot on my throat, his rifle pointed at my face, screaming "don't move mother fucker".  I wanted to laugh because I think I was looking at the dude through the ear hole of my helmet.  I hear some shooting, some guys yelling as they clear the room, and all of a sudden I am rolled over, cuffed and being escorted out of the room.

We got outside and I was placed face first against a wall.  I asked if I could remove my helmet because it was so hot, and the guy told me "no talking" while holding his rifle on me.  I asked again and again I got the "no talking" thing, so I began to shake my helmet around in order to find some relief.  At this point, I realize that I was placed on an ant hill, and the little bastards are starting to bite.  Now, this particular cop was a guy who used to work for me in the bar business (I guess that explains his pleasant demeanor towards me).  I tried to make him aware of the ants and he kind of pushed me against the wall with his foot.  I tried again and was told to "shut up" as he was monitoring radio traffic and the likes.  He finally realized and asked if he could move me.  Permission was granted and I got to wipe about 5000 ants from my legs and groin region.  I was again placed in more ants which was an uncalled for treat and once he realized that, allowed me to stand up and go lean against the wall.  The cops finish sweeping the room, killed the other bad guys and were now being critiqued on their performance.

Cervantes was asking, "who was the lead guy" and other cop shit.  Other cops were saying what they witnessed and then they asked me, "what were you doing already on the floor?"  When I told them I had gone against direct orders to ignore the flash bang and looked directly at it, it scared the shit out of me and I tried to bolt and consequently ran smack into the wall.  The cop who had me confirmed and everyone got a good laugh.

We got to take a break between scenarios and grab a soda and a slice of pizza.  Everyone was yucking it up and having a good time and reviewing their critique.

As we set up the next scenario, we were actually going to have a real hostage!  Well, she was a cop but we got to rough her up a bit, like a bad guy might do.  (In retrospect, roughing up a female hostage might have been a dumb ass thing to do... you might pick that up in just a few minutes."  Anyhow,  Cervantes comes in and says that this scenario is going to involve the negotiators and we were to be as difficult as we could be.  For clarification, we bad guys asked if we could cuss and say whatever we wanted to the cops and Cervantes confirmed with "Fuck yes... you're bad guys so do what you think bad guys would do.".

This shit was going to be perfect!  We were going to get to run our mouths and say whatever stupid shit we could think of, demand all kinds of shit and we were told that if we saw anything like a sniper, to bust his balls....  The shit was getting better by the minute!  So us dumb ass bad guys are in this old ass building, giving each other "high fives" in preparation of the voyage we are about to embark on.

We were told to suit up with our protective gear and the shit didn't fit any better.  I still looked like 10 pounds of shit in a 5 pound bag, but to make matters worse, they send in our hostage.  We looked like the lesser known Star Wars figures, the short bus storm troopers....  Our hostage, who happened to be pretty good looking is laughing at us, which made it easier to want to rough her ass up but then it dawned on us that she could probably whip our asses.  The laughing quit when we were told, "ACTION!"  We were being coached from my friend who led the team, so we were making appearances at the different windows and doors, shouting demands.  "Get these fucking pigs out of here" my buddy Shinkle yelled!  "Go get some fucking donuts, you stupid ass pigs!" I hollered.  Of course we were giggling and goading each other.  My cop buddy was laughing at us, primarily because I think he knew that can of ass whoop that was about to be served up.

The cops negotiated us allowing them to bring us a phone, so we didn't have to yell and were told to pick it up when it rang.  So, the phone rings and the negotiator asks my buddy Shinkle if everyone's all right.  "Fuck no were not all right!" Shinkle yells into the phone.  "Were hungry, so we need some fucking pizza, we need a fast fucking car and we need you sons a bitches to clear out!".  The negotiator asks to "see the hostage" and inquires about her health.  So, I drag her to the door, shake her around and yell, "does she look all right to you, you stupid fucking pigs!".  Again, we start to giggle.  This shit was fun.  I think our hostage called us dorks, but it didn't matter.  We were handling this shit.

"Get that fucking sniper out of that fucking drift boat" Shinkle said when we caught the guy moving around in the boat.  The negotiator informed us that the guy would be gone and he wanted to be sure that we weren't going to harm the hostage.  We hung up on him, and giggled... as usual.  He called back!  Persistent little shit!  "Wheres our fucking car and our pizza, you donut eating piece of shit!" I yelled.  (More giggling and Shinkle and I are accusing the other of being the responsible party for the up coming ass kicking we were about to recieve.)  Anyhow, after about 30 minutes of pissing the cops off, our cop buddy told us to "take 5" and they were going to prepare for the take down.

Neither one of us knew what that really meant.  That was the down side.  When it was time for action, I was told to go out and release the hostage, because it had been negotiated.  I step out and see quite a few cops, quite a few guns and release the hostage with a bit of a shove.  As soon as she was clear, all hell broke loose and all I can tell you is, I got shot about 20 times in every fucking area the protective gear did not cover.  I found that you really wanted these simunition rounds to hit you square, rather than graze you.  Both of my fat handles got shredded by .223 rounds.  It was similar to razor burn.  I tried to return fire, but it was fruitless.  I may have hit one or two of them, but in reality I would have been finished.

When the smoke cleared, my ass was done.  I would have been dead or dying, but was cuffed.  I don't know what happened to Shinkle or Campbell but assumed they faced a similar fate.  I think each one of them got shot in a soft spot.... good!  But when the smoke cleared, we were all all right and the cops got some practice.  It made me realize a couple of things.  Compliance with directives isn't a bad thing... if you have a hostage, don't be a dick to cops because they will shoot you a lot more.

We went on to be "bad guys" a few more times for the SWAT team.  The safety equipment never really did fit right.  When all of this fun came to an end, my cop buddy talked me into taking a class in which I would be sprayed with pepper spray and shot with a tazer.  How could I ever resist?

Whoopsie Daisy!

When is the last time you heard a story about someone sneezing and accidentally shitting their pants?  Well, do you have a minute?

Many years ago, a buddy of mine and I embarked on what would officially be considered as my first "road trip".  We had a 4 day weekend coming up and we thought we would head to the California coast.  We both had a pretty good chunk of change and nothing for a plan, so we just headed out and decided the road would take us where we needed to be.

When we got to where we "needed to be", we realized it probably wasn't the best neighborhood for a couple of dumb white boys, but we tried to rent a room at this roach motel about 3 blocks from some beach.  We had to knock on the office door (which was behind a real sturdy iron gate/bars which reinforced an already stout gate that was made out of iron and expanded metal) in order to rent the room.  We really should have known that this place sucked because when the guy answered the door, it smelled like he was cooking old gym shorts and feral cats.  "39 dollars" he said followed by "1 bed or 2?'' in a dialect that I was not completely familiar with.  I wrinkled up my face trying to figure out what the guy had said and then he yelled, "$39 dollars, you need 1 bed or 2?"  I shook my head and said "2" and handed him $40.  "1 dollar change" he said as he slammed the door and walked away.

My buddy started laughing and said, "what did we just get into?".  The door reopens and the guy hands me a key, a dollar and a receipt that stated 'NO REFUNDS". He pointed towards the end of the driveway and said, "Park there, room is on the right."  Now were both laughing because we just rented a room from this guy and he is yelling at us like we just stole something from him.  We park where instructed, grabbed our bags and walked to the room.

How refreshing it was to notice what appeared to be fresh cat shit on the carpet.  The beds were unmade, the room smelled of a recent homicide.... we were off on a hell of a trip.  "Hell no!" my friend said and walked towards the office after dropping his bag.  I threw both bags in the back of the truck and drove to the office.  This guy was yelling at the top of his lungs... "NO REFUND! NO MATTER! GO FUCK YOURSELF!" and then slammed the door.  We went next door to the convenience store where we were about as welcome as two turds in a punch bowl, and asked the fine establishments representative if he could call the cops for us.  We explained the nature of our situation and he told us to go stand next door.

About 10 minutes later a couple of nice officers showed up.  The female officer informed us that we were "probably in an area of town that we didn't need to be in", which by now was abundantly obvious.  We explained the situation, showed them the receipt, gave them the motel room key and the male cop began to investigate.  He came back and confirmed that it was indeed fresh cat shit on the carpet but made us feel slightly better by letting us know that there was not a recent homicide in that particular room.  He approached the gate and knocked.  He was greeted in same manner we were, with the same tone of voice and everything.  He tried to bargain for us, but to no avail.  What he did do in return was turn us on to a killer chain motel in a far better neighborhood, next to a far nicer beach!  His brother in law was the night manager and he gave us a hell of a deal... again, $40 bucks for the room but we had a balcony that over looked the freeway to the right and the beach 2 blocks to the west.

The room was a suite and we settled in quickly but realized we were short about a case of beer short for the start of the trip.  Couple of problems... first off, neither of us were 21.  Secondly, not a fake I.D between us, so we had to "go fishing" for beer.  So, we went to the front desk and asked our new friend "where can we find a case of beer?".  The guy directed us around the corner so I just walked in and acted like I knew what I was doing.  I plopped a suitcase of extra cheap ass beer on the counter and reached for my wallet.  I pulled my I.D. out like I was going to hand it to the guy and he just rang us up!  SCORE!!!!  We went back to the room, drank some beer and laughed about how the night had started.

We wake up the next morning and head to the beach.  Now, home was full of freaks and circus acts but this place had home beat!  We found a diner to get something to eat and then screwed around on the beach for hours until we were sunburned to a crisp.  We'd been drinking beer all day, so the plan was more beer and maybe trying to find something for dinner.

We make it to a Mexican cafe and the food was fantastic!  Better yet, there were a ton of people about our age partying it up and we just kind of blended in.  Next thing you know, we are invited to a party at a condo right on the beach, so naturally we showed up.  All kinds of debauchery was at our disposal.  In fact, this was the first party I had been to complete with half naked girls.  That made the party a winner in my book.  Actually, I believe we discussed never leaving.

As the night progressed we got more drunk by doing beer bongs with margarita shots in them.  It kept going and going until I needed a break.  I walk out onto the beach with a beer and am officially greeted by some of this particular municipalities finest.  Pretty causal for cops really, wearing shorts and all.  They asked me what I was up too, so I confessed my sins.  "I'm fucking drunk...."  I had the where with all to know that they knew I was not old enough to be drinking.  "Where are you staying?" was the next question I knew the answer for.  "Uhm, shit.... I forget..." and I start pulling things out of my pocket.  I find a motel room key and handed it to the cop.  He tells me to do my best and find my way back to the motel as fast and safely as possible, or I'd be crashing with them.

That wasn't an invitation I was interested in, so off I went.  I got halfway there and realized I was a guy short, so I went back towards the party... just in time for it to be getting busted up by none other than my new found friends.  The nice officer I spoke to earlier looked at me like I had brain damage and I remember him saying something like, "Didn't we just meet?".  I explained I was looking for my riding partner and couldn't leave him behind.  Next thing I knew, I was cuffed and sitting on the curb.  I sat there for what seemed like 2 hours, watching everyone leave but saw no sign of my buddy.  Eventually my cop buddies walked me to the motel, explained that I had used up my "get out of jail free card", and that they didn't want to see me until the next morning.

I wake up from a nice sleep, face down in the bath tub when my buddy walks in and pukes his guts up in the sink.  The sound, the smell and the violent retching of course made me puke, being the sympathetic puker I am.  After that episode, I headed to a bed for a proper hang over nap.  I woke up about 2 hours later and we decided to go find some hang over food.  We managed to find a greasy spoon and were doing our best to try to choke something down.  Both of us were experiencing the worst hangovers of our young lives and discussing the fact that we'd both sworn off drinking for the rest of our lives.

As the kind soul that we knew as our waitress dropped off the check, my friend sneezed and promptly shit his pants... it was obvious by the dumb yet terrified look on his face.  The odor added to his nightmare.   He looked at me and said, "Now what do I do?" to which I replied, "Well, unless you can un-shit your pants.....". 

Honestly, I felt bad for the kid but I kept laughing at the thought of him trying to un-shit his pants.  I think he tried it.  He stands up and starts to make his way to the bathroom.  I damn near fell out of the booth, laughing hysterically, because it looked like he sat in someones chili surprise omelet. And the way he shuffled... it was a cross between the "walk of shame" and the "squeeky cheek shuffle"  It was too much to handle! Then the irony of him not being able to control himself and the subsequent loss of my ability to not laugh at this poor bastard was just too much.  He was in the bathroom for 10 minutes, and I used every bit of that 10 minutes to quit laughing and to try to come up with an exit strategy that would allow my buddy the opportunity to get out of there with a shred of dignity. 

As I walked towards the bathroom, I had no idea that I was going to bear witness to some real ingenuity.  I walk in and see him facing one of the two toilets, bear ass naked, washing his shitty swimming trunks in said toilet.  I took a peak into the adjoining stall and it looked like an atomic shit bomb went off.  He wrung his swimming trunks out, took his shit off and soaked it in the sink and then put the whole ensemble back on.  Without saying a word he walked out of that bathroom, straight to our waitress and said, "You have a horrible plumbing problem, one that frankly made me sick...."  She apologized profusely and gave him our money back and he hit the door as proud as he could wearing shitty swimming trunks.

I'll never forget that trip, as long as I live.  I learned so much in just 2 days.  Cheap hotels are cheap for a reason.  Don't do beer bongs with margarita shots in them, and by all means, never sneeze with a hang over after drinking beer bongs with margarita shots in them....

To this day, we don't speak of the events that took place that weekend.  We found ourselves at home with a day and a half to spare.  We only took one more road trip together and it was fishing in Utah where we could find no beer and nobody to drink beer with.  That was probably for the best.

Little League.....

Little League Baseball....  Some of my fondest, most pure memories come from this time in my life.  It was a time before beer and girls, so I guess that explains a lot.  So many good people were involved from the kids playing ball, to the parents and fans to the coaches.  I was real fortunate to have had some great coaches, and there was none better than Robert Fleming!  Bob had the patience of a saint, and incredible ability to teach and I think almost everyone in the league wanted to play with us.  I played with Bob and a good core group of guys for about 5-6 years, so in a sense, we all grew up together.             

                                                                                        

                                                                                                                                       

One thing that impressed me with Bob was his knowledge of the history of the sport.  One thing that I enjoyed about baseball even before I played were some of the nick-names.  "Catfish" Hunter, "Dizzy"Dean, "Hammerin" Hank Aaron, Ron "Louisiana Lightning" Guidry, Cal "Iron Man" Ripken, "Goose"Gossage (my personal favorite because of his kick ass mustache and his intimidation factor...) the list just goes on for days.  But Bob being the baseball guy he was, issued a few nick names.  I was the benefactor of such a nick name... Bubba.  The nick name made sense.  I was a bit bigger than everyone on the team and as Bob said, "we need a Bubba".  That was a badge of honor for me and it got to the point were I wouldn't answer to anything else.  Hell, it got to the point were I introduced myself to people as Bubba.  League umpires, other coaches and players, even local radio personalities knew me as Bubba.  Our sponsor for all of those years was a local radio station, KORK (if I'm not mistaken) and the morning guy (Jack London) always wanted to know how his guy "Bubba", "Bones", "Hollywood" and the rest of the boys did.  It was friggin awesome!

Anyhow, I said all of that just to get to 2 memories that are etched in my memory.  The first was one of 2 home runs I hit.  I think we were playing on a diamond that had 60' base paths.  I was not known for blistering the base paths, by the way.  But, after getting the sign to swing away, I stepped into the batters box.  The kid pitching was throwing them right were I wanted them, up and over the outside of the plate.  I screwed my front foot into place, kicked up a good spot to plant my back foot and then it happened.  The pitcher threw this pitch that was as big as a beach ball and I turned on it.  I took this giant cut and I heard the tell tale "tink" of the aluminum bat striking the ball.  I had to watch for a second because I hit the shit out of the ball.  I heard the crowd go crazy and I started to run.  By the time I hit first I was laughing because their left fielder and the center fielder were still running after the ball, so I round first and head to second.  Before I hit the bag I check Bob, my third base coach and he is waving me in to come into third.  Now I am laughing my butt off because I had never hit a triple before.  I check over my right shoulder (against everything Bob had ever taught me) and the outfielder was just getting ready to hit the cut off man.  I look back up at Bob and he is waving me around third.... I couldn't help but think, "What in the hell is he thinking?"  Then I thought, "Surely he'll change his mind before I get to the bag".  Nope.... he's till waving me around the bag.

Now, at this point I begin to go through all kinds of self doubt.  I look towards home plate and whoever was on base in front of me was yelling.  Things like, "Did Bob forget that I am fat, slow and have these stupid ass, little, stubby, crooked legs that are capable of only going so fast for so far" and "I hope I don't die from an asthma attack before I get to the plate", but I kept digging.  I hit the plate standing up and it seemed as if the world had gone crazy!  I"ll never forget that for the obvious reasons but there was an underlying caveat that most people didn't know about unless you were on our team.  Trudy Fleming, our coaches wife and our first baseman's mother would come over and tell me or any of the other guys, "Little Bubba?  You'd better hit a home run or I will come over there and kiss your little face."  Back then, we hated girls and we even hated the thought of our own mother's coming over and kissing our little faces.  It would be humiliating to have the coaches wife, my buddies mom,  come over and kiss all over my little face.  This was one of 2 times in my career at 3rd base were I didn't have to worry about that....

The other time probably isn't as warming as my "Corky" story above.  I had the perpensity to get "plunked", and I got plunked a lot.  Most of the time it was either in the left love handle because I would turn in towards the plate or somewhere on the left leg.  My thinking was, it was too high to jump and too low to duck so I would just give it the "Ole!" move and hope it wouldn't hit me.  It did, nearly every time.  The time I am speaking of now is a bit different.  The ball was headed right towards my left hip and I knew I wouldn't be able to get out of the way, so for some dumb reason I pull my left shoulder out which left me facing the pitch.  This left me and my genitals directly in the path of this kids fast ball.

Instead of doing anything, I did nothing.  I didn't stick a hand out, didn't try to move... just froze up, and the ball hit me square in the nuts!  Not a little bit either...  In the above story, the crowd went wild... in this story, everybody any where near the ball field knew what happened.  "OOOOOOH" is the last thing I heard before I landed on the ground head first, with my hands grasped firmly on the family jewels.  I don't remember but the ump may have said, "Oh shit!".  It was an "oh shit" moment, and Bob knew it right off the bat.  I heard him call "Time!" 

Now, I've been hit in the head before and didn't get this much immediate attention.  As I sat there in an inverted fetal position, Bob crouched down to me.  I heard their catcher ask, "You okay, Bubba?" then Bob asked the same question.  For those who don't know the finer intricacies  of getting hit in the nuts.... you can't talk.  I think its because your balls run and hide right behind your voice box.  But as I am laying there, I hear Bob say, "We've got to get you up...."  He and the ump are trying to get me up, but my knee's wont leave my chest area and my hands won't come off the place that used to house the jewels.  I manage to get my legs straight and Bob asks, "You all right?".  "NO" was the proper answer but I didn't say that.  We kind of kept hobbling down the first base line and Bob patted me on the shoulder and told me, "Rub some dirt on it..." 

I look at the man like he'd lost his damned mind.  He kind of gives me his nob of approval, scooped up a hand of dirt and hands it to me.  I figured that the man had never steered me wrong, so I grabbed the hand of dirt, jammed it down my pants, rubbed it all over my nuts and Bob then said, "That feel better?"  I said "No, not really..."  He patted me on the shoulder, looked at the ump and said, "Play ball".  The ump called it, and there I was on first base with dirty balls and feeling for the first time that I got conned into feeling better.  I looked across the diamond and Bob was smiling.  I looked into the bleachers, and parents were laughing and smiling.... shit, I did feel better.

Afterwards we all laughed about it... especially after I got to put some ice on them.  But its little lessons like this that I learned in Little League that I got to bring with me for the rest of my life.  I am fortunate enough to have a couple of boys who played a bit of ball, and one of them was just like me.  Frigging ball magnet!  I was an assistant coach and Wade took a fast ball right to the right of his left love handle.  The ump called time, and I ran over.  He was about to cry and I had a flash back.  "Rub some dirt on it, son" and I gave him a hand full of red clay dirt and he looked at me, just the way I must have looked at Bob.  "Is this even going to help?" he said.  "Nope, but its kind of funny isn't it." My son started laughing and asked me where I came up with that "witch doctor" stuff.  "Play ball, son." I said.  The ump hollered "take your base" and we all lived happily ever after.

I can't imagine my life without those times and without those people.  Bob and Trudy are still involved in Little League in Las Vegas.  And even though it wasn't their district, another district from Vegas just missed the finals of the Little League World Series.  It's not a mystery.  Good things happen around good people.  Get good people involved and better things happen. 

I've thanked Bob and Trudy before, but really there is not a way to thank them enough for their dedication to not only their kids and ball players but to everyone they have touched through the years.  They have to have been involved for nearly 40 years, and that involvement means so much to so many.  Not many can give like this, so it's truly a gift I will be forever grateful for. 

I've "rubbed dirt" on a lot of things through life and I never would have known that little secret if it weren't for these folks. 

"Trickle down economics....."

Jesus, more politics?  Really?  Yes... more politics.  I have a link to one of my home town news papers and there is a place where you can comment, discuss, or argue about the content of any or all of the articles.  As usual, politics is quite the hot bed and people get real mad real fast these days.

Anyhow, the original topic was something about local politics, which lead to national topics, which lead to all of the usual suspects.  Of course the President was brought up, his history, blah blah blah.  Naturally Bush was brought up along with his history.

Obama's unprecedented spending got whirled around like a pin wheel at a kindergarteners birthday party in a wind storm.  Naturally a lot of the numbers being knocked around were not traceable to any facts, as so often happens.  As equally likely, someone rushed to the defense of the President by calling "racism".

I'm not going to go any further with all of that silliness.  But I have to bring up how far back people are willing to go.  And I guess its okay, but "trickle down economics" was brought up.  Not only was it brought up but it was elaborated upon at great length.  Defend, deflect... but nobody take responsibility.

During the economic diatribe, we were told that only republicans are rich and only republicans benefit from these policies.  I simply asked, "where do rich democrats in office make their money?" and the person blew an o-ring.  This person started calling me names, tried to insult my family....  Mind you, they never answered the question.  That is normally where these things end up.  Somehow responsibility is always put on previous administrations.  (Liberals and conservatives alike did this during the last administration but just don't remember it too well.)

Here's the kicker, people.  I don't give a hairy rats ass who is in office.  You can spin it any way you want to, but I prefer to see this in a very simple manner.  As long as our politicians and media are going to be pinning us against each other, we are going to have a problem.  As long as we and our politicians sit and point fingers and lay blame without offering solutions to problems, our asses will stay right here.  We've gotten lazy.  Well, not us as much as our representatives.  We are paying these people to do nothing but throw fits like they do on elementary school play grounds.  They won't hold themselves accountable and it appears that we won't either.  Its just far easier to talk shit, point fingers and deal with the same thing election after election, day after day.

The only way we can hold these assholes accountable is to vote them out.  Here's were party line affiliation comes in.  Most republicans are going to vote republican, most democrats vote for democrats and we end up with the same turds in the same sewer.

No wonder why things don't get handled.  Look who we elect and re-elect from the bottom up!

While I'm on the subject....

A "friend" gave me a ration of shit over my post on Senator Bernie Sanders.  It appears as if I struck a chord.  The bit was full of opinion, no doubt, but there were  some verifiable facts and I think I paid enough attention to the hypocrisy that seems abundant in politics.  For what it's worth, my "friend" believes I  chose to pick on Sanders because he isn't a conservative.  That's not the case at all. I chose him because he is a politician who is full of shit and enamored with himself.  Actually, after a discussion with another friend, she suggested I write about my feelings regarding the esteemed gentleman.

In fairness, I'd like to say a few words about Senator Mitch McConnell.  Pretty much everything I said about Sanders is applicable to McConnell but of course McConnell sits across the isle from Senator Sanders.

Right off the bat, one thing that irks the ever loving shit out of me about Senator McConnell is, he too thinks he can feel what the middle class feels.  He thinks he understands.  Now, its not so much that he feels this way, but this cat is way wealthier than Senator Sanders is.  Depending on sources, McConnell is worth between $9 million and $36 million dollars.  And in my opinion, that moves him well beyond an understanding of what the middle and lower classes are going through.  Honestly, do you think this guy goes grocery shopping?  Do you think he knows what a gallon of milk costs?  How about toilet paper? Fuel?  I'd venture a guess that he doesn't know what his power bill costs.  I think someone else is writing that check and I don't think the good Senator has enough time in his busy schedule to do a personal expense audit.  I'd also venture a guess that he hates the word audit and wants nothing to do with an audit... unless he is to impose one on a democrat.

This guy has been in politics for about 30 years.  As a new comer in 1985, the Senator stepped into a then very cushy position that earned him a little over $75k a year.  Since then, McConnell climbed the ranks and nowadays senators make $174k a year.  He being who he is and the position he now holds, you can add on an additional $19k - $20k. 

Mitch McConnell is comfortable.  Way comfortable.  After all this time in office, he has a lot of insulation.  He's made connections that are making him money outside of politics.  It's a given and everyone whose been in politics this long is just like him!

Yeah, he's just like you and me.  I bet he doesn't get his suits from Mens Wearhouse, because he doesn't like their style.  His suits are taylor  made.  I bet he has more than 2 tuxedos.  I'll call my mechanic and see how many tuxedos he has... wait a second.  No I won't because Roy is a crafty man and one hell of a mechanic (Roy's Auto, Jackson Wyoming 733-6616).

And don't get me wrong.  I am not jealous of his wealth or that of the other couple hundred millionaires in congress.  This isn't about the redistribution of their wealth either.  I'll make my own shuckles.  This is about people who have no clue what your life is like and they are trying to convince you that they do.  They are nothing like you and they don't have a clue as to what real America is going through and don't ever let them fool you.

Why I disagree with Bernie Sanders....

A quote from the esteemed and benevolent gentleman, Senator Bernie Sanders (I-VT)



I didn't get interested in politics until late in life.  Now only a short time later I find myself on the precipice of not giving a shit at all.  I find all things politics becoming more and more frustrating and I'll tell you why.  It is more difficult to find the truth in anything any politician says.

As time goes on, I see less honor and less integrity in our nations politicians as a whole.  I see people who have been in politics at one level or another who have become very comfortable holding office.  Senator Bernie Sanders (I-VT) is a great example of what I am talking about.

Senator Sanders, like a lot of his constituents have been in politics for a long time.  I believe at one point they either thought they could make a difference or, they knew the job would be filled with great pay and benefits.  Often the earlier would morph into the latter and you now have a person "holding down a position" rather than a person "doing a job".  I am also of the belief, regardless of your party affiliation, the longer you stick around the more of a party line official you become.  And, its those party lines that dictate what you say (and or do) at any particular time.  Because of this and labeling, the nation will eventually become so polarized that everything ends up being a fight.  This is where we stand today.

Senator Sanders, in true party line fashion is furthering the polarization by pointing fingers.  A true leader, (if there are any from either party) would step up, acknowledge that they are part of the problem and do something about righting the ship.  But here in lies the problem.  Their party lines will not allow them to meet in the middle.  This has to be "us versus them", and we the lemurs buy into it time and time again.  We keep electing the same people and we keep expecting change.

Following a strong line for democrats, the esteemed gentleman from Vermont does what his constituents do.  He tells you (the middle class) that he knows what you are going through.  Senator Sanders has been in political  office for 40 years. He was elected into the House in 1991 and then the Senate in 2006-2007.  In the last 8 years, the guy has made at least $1 million dollars from the tax payer (and who knows how much elsewhere).  How much money have you made during the last 8 years?  Senator Sanders is going to try to lead you to believe he understands what it is like to have to make the decision between buying much needed medicine, or pay the power bill. He wants you to believe that he knows what its like to try to scrounge up enough money for gas in order to get to work in the morning.  Senator Sanders will look you in the eye and tell you that he believes that income inequality is a problem... but at the same time is doing nothing bout it.  It would go a great deal towards his integrity and honor if he donated $100k of his salary to middle and lower class families that are scraping by, and it would also put him back in line with the people he says he really understands.

In short, Senator Sanders is just like his friends in DC.  He is "fighting" for the middle class.  What that really means is, he wants you to believe he is really fighting, but has nothing to show for it...  except for his good word and that is why you should keep him in office...

It could be coincidental, but we all know that the VA is in a real rough spot.  Did you know that Bernie Sanders is Chairman for the Senate Committee on Veterans Affairs?

I'll close with this.  Politics is a popularity contest.  The longer you're around, the more people you meet.  The more people you meet, the more you realize that there are things you can do for them and in return, they for you.  All of a sudden, you're a hell of a guy within your party and everyone loves you....  These people have lost touch with all of America and they truly forgot why they went into politics to begin with, unless they are a con-artist.  Nobody wants to solve a problem.  They've convinced themselves that if they solved a problem they might be talking their way out of a pay check.

Fire them all...

What's wrong with America?

 

What's wrong with America?  I've heard a lot of people take that question on.  I didn't think I had a clue, until today.  Today, 30 seconds after walking into the convenience store, I found the answer to that very question.  (Turns out, I do some of my best thinking in the convenience store.  I should probably hang out there more often.)

30 seconds after I walk into the store and begin to pour myself a soda, I watch a young girl trying to pour herself an Icee.  Her brother who appeared to be about the same age got away with the task.  And truthfully, there is a bit of skill involved.  You can easily screw around and shoot cherry Icee all over the store if you aren't careful.  Well, the little lady was not careful and that was obvious because she was wearing about a quart of Cherry Icee.  Problem was, the cup could have only held about a pint....

That is not what is wrong with America.

As the little girl sits there with this semi frozen red shit all over her face, arms, shirt, counter, floor and Icee machine she says... "Daddy, it's not my fault...."  And she said it over and over again as if trying to convince her father that the fucking Icee machine went bat shit crazy for a minute and tried to puke red shit on everything and every body.

The problem with America is, people don't take responsibility for the shit they do.  Now, I'm not saying you have to kick the shit out of this little girl to make the point, but I do think you owe it to yourself (if your her parent) to say, "It is your fault because the lever didn't pull itself...."  No big deal, right.  Don't make a big deal out of it.  It's a spilled slurpee, but make sure she understands that it was indeed her fault that half of the convenience store was shellaced in red slurpee.






Now what kind of made me chuckle is this.  She looks at her daddy while he is busy going through about 7 lbs of napkins trying to clean her up and asks, "Daddy, can I have another cup?''  Daddy grabs her another cup and lets her have another go.....  I almost flipped my wig!

I would have told her, "well sugar, no you can't have another cup because there is nothing wrong with the other cup.  You get the other cup with only 1 table spoon of red shit in it.  You can then have yourself a good cry in the back seat of the car, tell me you hate me, and then "accidentally" spill half of the tablespoon of red shit all over my car's window and door panel."

You've got to say something other than, "I know it wasn't your fault...."  You have to say something else!!!  I don't care if it's "Jaeger bomb, pizza fart" but you do not allow this kid to think for one second, that this was not her fault.  I don't care if it takes half a day in lawn chairs staring at the slurpee machine, waiting for it to go bat shit crazy, like your little angel would have you believe happened earlier.

If you're a god damned American, you stand up as a parent and say something to your kid when things like this happen.  If you don't, your kid grows up, runs for office, gets elected, screws everything up and looks you dead in the eye and says, "It's not my fault...."

Things I don't understand....

The more I think about it, the more I realize there are a lot of things I just don't understand.  I try not to spend much time trying to figure these things out.  I really do, but some of them just get stuck in my head.  This morning's stop at the convenience store brought a few things to my attention that I really am having a hard time putting away.

I've gone off on "bikers" before, but its because I don't understand today's bikers.  I've tried to get it.  I saw a guy wearing a t-shirt that said, "Harley, if you have to ask you wouldn't understand."  I find that a tad bit pretentious...  If I understood, I wouldn't ask, right?  So me being me, I felt obligated to ask.  "So you're a biker, eh?"  I mean, he had the dumb ass, brand new t-shirt I described above which made the insinuation that he was indeed a biker.  He nodded.  He was also trying to avoid eye contact or any further interaction with me.  "I noticed your shirt.  You ride a Harley, eh?  I couldn't tell because you are driving a brand new motor coach, dragging a trailer that could be filled with anything."  He again nodded.  "So its safe to assume that when you are not driving this motor coach, you are actually riding what you are hauling around in the trailer?'  Then it happened.  He said, "Why are you asking me these questions?"  I said, "I'm inquisitive, I guess.  Perhaps I don't understand."

The guy got mad, and honestly that is what I was trying to get to.  I hadn't had coffee yet, so I had to do something to get the blood pumping.  Anyhow, the conversation did progress.  "Why are you fucking with me?" they guy asked.  "I'm not fucking with you.  I am asking questions, making small talk.  You might say that I am a town ambassador.  I want you to feel comfortable, welcome even, in our sleepy little mountain town."  At this point his head tilted like a dogs does when it hears a high pitched noise.  I continue, "So you're not so much a "Sons of Anarchy" type of biker as much as you are a "Sons of a Middle Aged Crisis" type of biker, right?"  Now, he's fully mad and I am almost fully satisfied.

Now let me back track a little bit.  Here's this guy who is claiming to be a biker.  He is wearing the dumb t-shirt that his dumb girlfriend bought for him right after he bought himself the likewise dumb "If you can read this, the bitch fell off" t-shirt.  With that, he was wearing black designer jeans, a big ass silver concho belt, and naturally.... silver tipped cowboy boots.  All of his attire screamed "asshole", not biker.

"I ride all of the time", he said.  "All of the time?  Like when you are not hauling the bike around?" I ask.  He was mad or embarrassed.  "What in the fuck do you want from me?" he said semi-confidently so I asked, "Explain the dumb slogan on your dumb shirt...."  He shook his head, finished pumping diesel into the motor coach, hopped in and fired it up.  He left without answering my question.

All of that brought me to this.  The reason why some assholes wear shirts that say "Harley, if you have to ask you wouldn't understand" is because they can't explain themselves.  Now I do understand.

Other shit I don't understand:
     *Why won't God heal amputees?
     *Why doesn't gum keep its flavor like it used too in the old days?
     *Why would you use Coca Cola (a corrosive beverage) to clean rust (corrosion) from metal?
     *Why do some women wear low cut shirts that show off their cleavage and then complain when
       men look?
     *Why are lap dances better when the stripper is crying?
     *Religion
     *Relatives
     

Jack Daniels, if you please...

Jack Daniels.... What a legacy!  Not the man nor the liquor, but me drinking the shit.  I've always been capable of questionable acts, but this fact has always been exemplified by consumption of this distilled wonder.  Honestly, I gave up drinking this particular libation because of where I often woke up.  Not necessarily in jail or anything like that, but in a position of where I would have to spend that next day trying to relive the previous nights actions and then make some kind of reparations.  If not reparations, good solid excuses....  If not good solid excuses, sincere apologies.

Anyhow, I decided to put my relationship with Jack on hold after one evening a couple of decades ago.  Perhaps many of you have witnessed this.  People who tend to over consume Jack Daniels always end up being the loudest and smartest people in the room.  This is a given and this was exactly the case in this particular story.

A couple of buddies and I were walking a nondescript street in Las Vegas drinking horribly cheap beer and of course, Jack Daniels.  For some reason, those who partake in Jack D end up being rather philosophical.  I was no exception and as we discussed the finer intricacies of prostitution, I professed that all prostitutes needed were a few more hugs to boost their self confidence.  Naturally the company I kept disagreed and I embarked on a mission to prove my point.  (I think a bet may have taken place.)  So as we walked I further professed my position.  "These women lack self confidence.  They lack love, not sex from a man.  They have no male support system in place and what can say "i love you as a person and support you", more than a hug"?

We entered a more congested area and I was set on proving my point (pointlessness).  Soon we stumbled upon such a person necessary in order to make my point.  I walked up to her and said, "Hey, what's your name?"  I imagined she would have a stripper like name, something like Cinnamon or Sparkles... she said "Ruth".  I was amazed because (I was drunk) I never met someone as young as she was, whose name was Ruth.  I went on... "Ruth, my colleagues and I are conducting a study on the oldest profession in the world, one in which I believe you are employed."  Ruth said, "Wait a minute...  You think I'm a hooker?"  I nodded and said, "well, yes..."  Ruth said rather convincingly, "I'm a Black Jack dealer, mother fucker!" and she promptly shoved me as hard as she could and made that clicking noise only a woman can make when they are disgusted.

Of course, my case study took a shot on that one.  It was obvious because my friends were laughing.  That only made me more determined.  After another slug of "liquid smart" I described where I went wrong and began to discuss not making another mistake.  (Turns out, that was my very next mistake.)

We rounded a corner on the way to a side street and standing before us was exactly the person I had been looking for.  Her name was "Jewels" and I found the name fitting.  It fit within the guidelines I set forth earlier in the evening, so how could I go wrong now?  Before I could ask her name she said, "you wanna party?".  I held my hand up in a waiving fashion and said, "I'd much rather ask you a question or two."  "Man, I really ain't got time for this shit" she said.  "What do you want to know?"
"For the record" I said, "are you indeed a prostitute?"  She answered my question with another... "Are you a fucking cop?"  Following suit, I then asked, "Do I look like a cop?".  She too made the clicking noise and rolled her eyes.  "What do you want, man?" she said in a demanding fashion.

"My colleagues and I are in the middle of a case study regarding the oldest profession in the world... the profession of prostitution."  She began to laugh before I could go on and interrupted with, "You mother fuckers ain't no doctors." She laughed when she said that, and I took a good bit of offense.  I stammered, "We feel something went wrong in your life and we stand in disagreement on what that something is..."  Again, the clicking thing and she began to mess with her finger nails.  "Man, you better hurry up before Delmonte shows up."  She added, "I need to be making money!"

I looked her dead in the eye (as well as someone half full of Jack Daniels can) and said, "I think you need a hug."  She laughed and opened her arms in order to let me give her a hug.  I stepped up, gave her a hug and then I heard an unfamiliar voice say, ''You're paying for that, boy."  I turned around to see an aggressive young man only slightly older than me, double stepping it in my direction.  "Oh shit, that's your ass", Jewels said.  "That's Delmonte and he's gonna want money for you wasting my time."  "Looky here" he said, "I gotta have some money for you wasting her time." 

Now, looking at Mr. Delmonte... I didn't have him pegged as a man who was big on conversation nor negotiations but I didn't think it would hurt to give it a shot.  "My good man..." was as far as I got before I found myself in a fist fight with Mr. Delmonte.  By some miracle, I was freed from the level of intoxication I had landed myself in.  I think it was getting punched in the mouth by a pimp that did it, nonetheless I had managed to begin to get the upper hand. 

Typical for a guy being half full of whiskey, I begin talking as I try to administer an ass whooping.  "I was just...(punched him in the nose) trying to...(punched him in the mouth) have a con...(punch) ver...(punch) sa...(punch) tion...(punch) with this young lady and you show up demanding money."  I honestly felt that I had the upper hand now....  then it happened.  BLAM!  I got hit over the head with Jewels' purse which was apparently filled with rocks and condoms.  I have to let go of Mr. Delmonte in order to deal with Jewels.  I briefly look around and my constituents are curiously missing... that too tends to happen when things like this occur when one partakes in the whiskey.

Jewels was doing her best Jackie Chan imitation with her purse, hitting me with every strike.  Out of no place I think... "Punch the hooker...."  That was the last thing I remembered until waking up the next morning in my front yard.

I don't know if I got a good shot off.  I don't know how in the hell I got home.  I had no idea what happened to my friends, Delmonte or Jewels, but it was at that point that I figured I had probably ought to stop trying to do case studies, street polls, or drinking whiskey.

I'm not for sure if there is a moral to this story, but if I had to choose one it would be... "nothing good comes from punching a hooker.... or drinking jack Daniels.... or trying to fight a pimp"

First Annual Pocket Gopher Hunt!

White Lipstick?

Remember when the "Goth" look first came out?  None of "us" really understood it and every one of us stared when we encountered someone trying to pull that shit off.  Now, many years later, we barely notice them.  At least I don't.  It's almost as good as the new normal.  And face it.  Those kids want to be individuals, unique... just like everyone else who looks exactly like them.  Let them have it.  In reality, it opens up job opportunities for the rest of us.

Any ways, I caught something this morning that I don't believe I'll soon forget.  White lipstick...  if it wasn't white, it was a very light silver.  I believe I've seen it before but this morning was different.  2 different women, very different ages, both wearing the white lipstick and they weren't even together but they were in the same place.  You know, perhaps a mother and daughter might give that a go, but this wasn't the case.  And the thing is, they were dressed normal so it wasn't really part of their "get up".
                                                                            

What they did have going on was this air of snootiness.  Both of them had their heads tilted slightly back and their noses up in the air.  It was like they ruled the valley and were among mere peasants.  They really didn't want to be troubled by waiting in line.  You could sense it.  One was right in front of me and the other one was on another line, but generally facing my direction.  She kept doing this weird breathing thing, like a real big inhale and this semi-agonizing sigh by being forced to wait in line amongst us peasants.  So after I heard that shit for the second time, I decided to do something that I really enjoy doing.

Have you seen "Full Metal Jacket"?  Do you remember Private Pyle?  Remember when he wigged out and he had that "nobody home" look?  His brow furrowed, head tilted slightly down and staring through his eyebrows with the blankest expression on his face? Mouth slightly agape? Yeah, I like staring at people with that look on my face, and no matter what happens, DO NOT BREAK CHARACTER.  Stare at them like you are trying to burn a hole through their head with your stare.  And its best if you do not blink!  Eventually, they notice it.  Eventually.....

When she made eye contact with me, she looked down real quick basically because I had busted her but I could tell that she saw that look on my face.  As soon as she thought I broke my stare, she glanced back at me.  (I cranked it up a notch.)  I had a semi smile and was doing some exaggerated breathing... big chest movements, with my eyes locked on hers.  She immediately turned her back towards me.  She was uneasy... it was obvious.  I wish everyone else in the store could turn the shit on and really freak her out, but it was just me. 

As the line progressed, she again tried to sneak a peek and I still had her locked in.  I hadn't moved a muscle in my face.  She now appeared to have a concerned look on her face.  This shit was getting to her.  Line moves again and I am up at the exact time she is up, and we kind of have to look at each other.  The clerk asks, "how are you today" and I didn't say anything... just stared at her majesty.  The clerk said, "can I get anything else for you?", so I wanted to add a little something else, you know, a bit more flavor.  (I have the worlds worst Australian accent, so I busted that out.)  "No thanks mate, that'll do" and for some dumb reason I said "polly wog, chop-chop".  Everyone in the immediate area kind of gave me the "WTF" look, but the royalty was doing all she could to get out of the store as fast as she could.  Since we more or less got at the door at the same time, I felt like laughing like "The Count" from Sesame Street but I pulled up short because she wasted no time getting out of that joint and putting some distance between she and I.

Anyhow, I hopped in the car and had a laugh.  The shit was kind of funny. 

I went through all of that, just to tell you this.  The white lipstick thing?  Don't do it.  You look like a fucking cadaver!  Not hot...dead.  You look fucking dead.  I bet you $500 bucks that if you are wearing that shit standing in a cemetery or a field, someone will bust in square in the head and try to bury your dead/undead/zombie looking ass.

Lowering student loan rates.

Recently our friends in DC decided to vote down a law that would have allowed students with student loan debt to refinance those loans at a far lower rate.  I think its a mistake to simply put the value of this argument upon opposing ideals.  Obviously liberals and conservatives have different ideals but oddly enough the potential desired outcome is the same.  Something happened with this bill.  People on both sides of the political spectrum voted against it.  Right now, its not abundantly clear how much pork was on this bill.

The talking points regarding voting this bill down are the same ones having been used for better than a decade.  The republicans are trying to protect their rich buddies and the liberals want to keep throwing money around at broken systems.  There are plenty enough rich democrats in congress that want to protect their money (not as philanthropic with their money as they want to be with our money) and there plenty of republicans that keep shuttling money to things that don't work and haven't worked.  (No child left behind comes to mind.)

So, now we get to the meat of the subject.  College is expensive.  More reputable colleges are more expensive and specialized degrees are off the charts expensive.  I hate the idea that people can come out of school with $100k or more in debt.  It happens and its wrong.  So where I start running around in my own mind with this is, who is responsible for this debt.  Part of me believes that it is the consumers job to fully know and understand what they are getting into.  Anyone going for a specialized degree, at least in my opinion, has spent some time looking down the road.  They've crunched some numbers to see if this is even feasible.  They've looked at the different schools, payed attention to the cost and had supposedly made the best decision for themselves.  They willingly entered this "contract" and I believe that they are responsible for making those ends meet.

Fortunately enough for me, I didn't accrue any college debt and I've had people tell me that I don't know what I am talking about, then.  I disagree.  I have entered loan contracts that at the time seemed appealing and 5-8-15 years down the road realized that I am getting burglarized.  Its a hard pill to swallow but it ends up being a lesson learned.  I hate taking on debt as much as anyone, but if I enter the contract of my own free will, I feel it is my responsibility to make those ends meet by whatever means possible.  I had credit card debt hanging out of my ass.  A good amount of it and I shuffled that debt around transferring one cards debt to another with a lower interest rate.  I was still getting nowhere and reached out to "debt reconciliation" and that really wasn't any better.  My fault.  I accrued the debt and its my responsibility to pay it off.  The government didn't help me.  I don't feel that its the governments job to keep bailing people out.  (Auto industry has been bailed out at least twice in my life time.  That tells me that the auto industry is not learning and they commit the same bullshit moves that put them in the same bullshit position.  How long do we keep doing this?  Banks too... too big to fail?  If the government offered to pay off my debt or to do something to make it more affordable, would I take advantage?  Probably... I can't say no, definitively.  But I feel, and this is just me personally, I'd feel as if I was on the dole.  I wouldn't feel good about it.  I don't think it is owed to me.  Perhaps I see the arms of government doing something different.

I'm thinking out loud here folks, so stick with me.  Now I can't but think about the cost of tuition and how that money ends up being distributed.  Some professors make good money.  Some maybe not so good.  Some other professors make a pretty good chunk of change, and you know what?  Their expertise is probably worth it.  They took the risk of taking on that debt and were determined to give it hell to try to get back up on top of that debt and be otherwise successful.  But what is realistic for a tenured professor to make?  Does it depend on which department he/she is in?  Do all tenured professors across the country make the same amount of money?  Probably not, so why is there no uniformity in cost from school to schools?  I looked at the prices for the nations law schools and I found it odd that they were pretty uniform, especially for the top 10 or so.  Roughly we are talking about $50k a year, give or take a couple thousand, per year, per out of state tuition.  But you get further down the list and still looking at accredited law schools, some are down to as low as $34K a year for a law degree from Temple University.  What in the world is it that causes that $16k a year difference?

By the way, do you know what you call the guy who graduates at the bottom of his class in law school at Harvard?  A lawyer...the same as you would a guy who graduated from Temple University or UNLV.  Still a lawyer.  Same degree, very different debts.  Why?  Why is there no uniformity in the cost of schools?  Everyone in this particular scenario comes out a lawyer, they've accrued different debts.

I don't know where we go with this, but I am of the impression that it is not the governments job to bail us out on this.  And again, I do feel bad about the debt, but I have my debt and nobody is helping me no matter how good of a guy I am.  And believe me, I found and own my debt.  Did it all with the space between my ears.  Perhaps a bigger, better education and more debt would have been helpful?

In closing this thought I'd like to add that I don't believe that we as a nation have been more divided as we are today.  People on either side downright hating people on the other side, and this shit train runs both ways on the track.  We disagree simply to disagree and it seems as if neither party is willing to compromise in fear of being called some kind of a defector from their own party.  I don't think a lot of our politicians have any integrity and I feel that they don't even consider the people that have voted them into office.  I think its a fucking shame that the people in DC vote themselves in for "cost of living raises" while the rest of the country is trying to figure out how to put gas in their car and groceries on their plate.  I find it a bigger tragedy what these sucks have done to our nations war veterans.... These people in DC have given themselves the best health care system out there and basically shit the bed when it comes to veterans.  These people in DC have claimed to have "stood up for and fought" for their country all the while we have boots on the ground in foreign lands and our fighting men and women getting blown to pieces and their lives changed forever!  I don't think the people in DC really know what a "fight"is, and how dare they compare what they do versus what out military does!  According to thinkprogress.org, Congress got 239 days off this past year.... Are you shitting me?  That had better be a misprint....

We don't help our veterans.  We don't help the homeless as well as we could.  We don't help the mentally ill as well as we should.  And all the while there are people trying to get into fields that could be of assistance, we cripple them with debt.?  Somethings got to change America and I am open to suggestions.