Friday

Friday, really is no different than any other day, but, and you knew a but was coming, it is the beginning of our pseudo-freedom from work, school or the monotony of the day-to-day. It's not so much that we all of the sudden become party animals with tons of cash to blow on anything we feel like, but when we finish the week and see two days in front that belong to us and no one else we get excited and relieved while in truth, nothing has really changed. We still have our jobs, our homework, our chores, but now we get to procrastinate them! But, as much as we say procrastination is a bad thing, I disagree. As long as we are doing something good with the time it's ok. I mean, we all prioritize. We'd rather chill with the crew than write a 50 page paper. Which memory will stay with you longer?

Stereotypes

Stereotypes are unavoidable. And, of course, fun. But they wouldn't be nearly as fun or funny if they weren't based on truth. Yeah, we always strive not to label people, but what would we do without blanket statements and blatantly non-PC social commentary? Some would say utopia. I would suggest hell. But if you like hell, maybe it's one and the same. For instance, if I couldn't make a general statement like, "People who live in Boston are stubborn massholes," or people in LA are "fake-baking, bling-loaded chumps," how else could we address their social backwardness while still eliciting a chuckle? The fact is, people who get labeled generally accept it and laugh along with it. It doesn't mean they'll change, and in fact might create some pride in their mocked lifestyles, but at least it's been addressed in a way that is more enjoyable than the painful truth.

Humor?

Well I've been less than regular on this blog. But, with school kicking into high-gear again I'm just trying to get adjusted. And, to be honest I don't even know if I really do have any regular readers for this little diatribe spot I do anyway. Clearly not all of my wanderings have been satirical, or even good writing. But, I hope in general I have kept those who read this entertained.

On that line of thought I wanted to write a little about what entertains people. Tastes in humor. For instance, here in Utah a lot of people are attracted to the cookies and gum drops kind of positivistic mush humor that you might find on 'Blue's Clues' or 'Sesame Street'. And, when I'm really tired, or with the right company I might even manage to wrangle up a muffled chuckle or giggle, but for the most part I just don't get it. I just would rather leave PBS and puppets for the kids. My humor, as you may have gathered, tends to be observational, practical and has plenty of sarcastic undertones. Some may think I'm bitter or cynical, but my view is that if you can't laugh at yourself and the silly stuff that happens all around you from minute to minute, you're just not gonna last that long. I'm an optimist, but I don't think we need to put tutus on cats or talk like we're five year olds to get by. What is needed, is a vision. A vision of today, tomorrow and what could be. Always looking out beyond the next hill, bend or banana peel. And, if there's still some banana left in it, then all the better.

The Good Life

Have you ever found yourself ridiculously early to some engagement? Or perhaps arrived several days to a week before a convention, summer camp, or college? If you answered yes, you then are probably familiar with how absolutely easy it is to get things done and entertain yourself. Oh, and of course, when all you have is Jesus-style transportation (sandals) it becomes all the more fun. Just think about how easy it is to get a job and talk to people who might lead you in the right direction when they're not around. Oh, and if that weren't enough to get you excited, imagine that your belongings are divided between a garage attic and your friend's pink frumpy dump of a house with no AC, and you have to wait while they "clean" out your new rental unit. Then, when you call people they don't answer their phones. You see, that's what makes for efficiency. Never a dull moment.

Driving in Utah

Driving is fun. Especially in Utah. People courteously slow down before hills, curves, and slam on their brakes a full 1/2 mile ahead of time if they see anything even remotely resembling the redness of a brake light in front of them. They merrily barrell into on-coming traffic with a comfy, affable wave, and they generally like to wait for those turning left when they are crossing an intersection. It just makes me so giddy to see them all do it with smiles on their faces, cute little poof hair-dos that look like hampster nests, and enough makeup to put Queen Elizabeth I to shame. I mean, I've seen such behavior on both coasts, but middle America seems to do it naturally, with no ulterior motives. On the east, they're in a big hurry, on the west, they just like to see how fast they can go, but here, in precious Utah they just have this amazing, innate driving ability. Where I am from, we hone and cultivate our quirky driving. I guess I'm just jealous.

Bouldering at Twin Lakes

How many times in your life have you been out-witted by a rock? If it's more than one you might suffer from serious mental issues. Or, you could be me (which is not really a distinction). As I live the high life here in the Sierra Nevadas at my family's cabin we have good times doing crazy things. One such thing was bouldering.

This morning. It looked like an easy enough rock, covered in a sweet and supple layer of lichen and with a few decent grips. My brothers and I had brought a camera, music and a crash pad along with chalk and shoes. My brother Freddy* was the first to try. After the rock ripped up his hands, and the crash pad was covered with lichen and iron wood twigs, he conquered the granite beast. However, I was not so successful. After chalking up and scrambling for grips, yelling things at the rock and surrounding vicinity that would not be appropriate for children under 17, I left in disgust and anguish. I was outsmarted by a rock.


*Name changed

Gorebal Warming

No, that wasn't a typo. That is the new turn of phrase I heard this evening and believe bears repeating. Global Warming, or the emotional science of panic and hysteria that blames mankind for any and all climate change, has been pioneered and pushed to the political forefront by none other than Al Gore. Al Gore is very good at manipulating people into hating themselves and their lifestyles, while still maintaining his own, gas-guzzling, green-free way of life.

What?! Al Gore is all talk? Yes. How so you ask? Well, quite simply, he uses offset credits. When he takes a long trip on private jets, he buys these credits to offset his carbon footprint. Now, he'll also tell you that his house runs entirely on natural gas, which is true. But what he won't tell you is that natural gas is a fossil fuel, limited in abundance just as oil is, and rather inefficient in comparison. Furthermore, the real shocker is that President Bush, supposedly the big business, environment hater has ranch in Crawford, Texas that is the model of green science. Using deep underground cisterns, he cools his home with a design that uses the land it is built on to cool it in the summer and warm it in the winter. That being said, he does not even need to buy offset credits.

Now, I am not going to say that the climate doesn't change, or is not changing. The climate is always changing! And, it will continue to do so, with or without our help(not to say that we should not be good stewards of the planet). I have read article after article of snow in places of the world where it hasn't done so in 50 or 100 years. There is frost across parts of Australia. It snowed in Buenos Aires, Argentina and Johannesburg, South Africa. Denver had its coldest June since the 1930s. People are dying in Peru of sub-zero temperatures, while the jungle hovers at 50 degrees F. Now, if that isn't a stamp of approval on the global warming alarmist agenda, I don't know what is. Of course, not to omit that obviously we release greenhouse gases, the amount we release is minimal in overall picture. And, greenhouse gases make up only a fraction of the atmosphere.

Is it likely, as some predict that the polar ice cap will melt during the summer months in the next ten years? No. And would we have reason to fear the ocean rising significantly if it did? No. Why? Just remember that when a waiter pours you a glass of ice water, if you don't touch it, he can still come back later and fill it, even if it was full to the brim. Why is that? Because water expands when it freezes, and contracts when it melts. Therefore, any melting icecaps will displace less water than they currently do. Food for thought.

Another interesting fact is that we have heard that "global average temperature" is rising. How is it possible to come up with a "global average temperature?" Do these theorists have any idea how much space is uninhabited by humans in the world? And, how are these thermometers, mostly located in urban areas, where population growth has continued, more buildings and concrete has been erected, supposed to accurately show a trend, when many are placed next to international airports, and air-conditioning vents? Quite obviously there will be discrepancies, and even with these discrepancies, the results are inconclusive, and not statistically significant.

On the whole I just want good, solid science and not this political panic attack on the public's conscience. Of course we should do our part, recycling and planting trees, and picking up litter, but we don't need to carve scarlet letter's on our chests and re-adapt our car engines to run on fry-ilator grease.

E85, on another note, is driving up the price of corn, because it uses the cob, rather than the stalk to create the ethanol. Furthermore, E85 is not a solvent industry by itself. It needs government subsidies to keep it afloat. However, there is good news about E85. Some paper forests in the Carolinas and Georgia, like those owned by Georgia Pacific, are planning ethanol plants using the waste cellulose from cuttings and the paper process to create energy. This should be viable in only a few short years, and the plant will be up and running in one year. Now, if they could use the corn stocks instead of the cobs, then E85, might be a reasonable solution. But for now let's start using our resources!

We are the Saudi Arabia of coal. We have untouched deposits in most of the lower 48 states. We also have untouched oil and natural gas deposits off the gulf coast and in Alaska. If we could tap these resources, we would reduce our foreign dependence by more than 80 percent. However, thanks to the lazy, self-interested politicians who say more than they do, these resources are "protected." Translation: un-usable; off-limits. They say the best way to reduce foreign dependence is by using solar, or wind power, which attributes to less than 2% of the nation's power needs. Oh yes, and hydroelectric accounts for another 3-5%. Well gee, that still leaves 93%. And how do we get that energy? Evil fossil fuels. And, just a question, but when was the last time an oil drill killed a seagull? Oh wait, that's wind power. When was the last time you used a plastic fork? Oh wait, you wouldn't have that without fossil fuels.

There is, however, need to panic. As China totally rebuilds itself as it prepares for the Olympics, it guzzles fossil fuels, and corners the market on construction materials. The real problem with that is simple. They are building power plants and generating industry to create steel and construction materials. The US, disabled by politicians from using its power-creating might, sees its steel industry and construction industry enter into serious decline, with material prices sky-rocketing in result. In conjunction with the devaluation of the dollar, these effects have brought about the ridiculous housing bubble, which fortunately, people are finally starting to wake up to.

The Armageddon, doom and gloom predictors who say we cannot use fossil fuels or drive our cars because of global warming, are the same hypocrites who do just what they ask others not to do. I call for something different. No more panic, but sensible, rational moderation. Let us allow for scientific discourse and not vilify those who don't buy into the global warming panic. It might be part of a larger, thousand-year trend. We cannot outlaw CO2 as some have done. Plants need it. And, let us remember who is really to blame. The cows. That's right. Cattle and sheep contribute more greenhouse gas than all man-made emissions by some 20 times the volume. It's just not as simple as the IPCC makes it out to be.

Radio America I bid thee farewell!

This is a night to be remembered. Not cherished, but stored away in the fond archives of things I will never have to do again(hopefully). This night, once over, will be unlike so many others. I will never wake, for I will never sleep, but I will leave the office jubilant of a mission accomplished. That's right. Tonight is the last time I will have to pull at all-nighter at work. I started today at 2pm and will remain here until 5am. But it has been a wonderful ride. Full of chinese food, mini-lunch sandwiches, Booeymonger, prank phone calls, incessant yelling for nothing, and hours typing, reading and filling spare moments on facebook, my only outlet other than my cell phone and the hectic corridors of my mind. Oh, and lucky me, I get to work construction all day tomorrow. I hope it rains. Hard.

Funny guys win

Whenever I speak to girls about traits they look for in a guy, ordinarily the first thing I hear is "funny." If a guy can make a girl laugh he's in. It's not compassion, honesty, intelligence, athleticism or even looks. If a guy is funny he's set. So basically, if you are one of those guys who looks like he got his face smashed seven times with a shovel and run over by a Mack truck, as long as you know how to crack a joke or drop a one liner, you can marry Michelle Pfeifer. There is hope for those of you on a strict "donut/beer" diet! Just be funny. That is the answer. You can lie, cheat, steal, smell bad, be lazy...but as long as you have that wry smile, a glimmer in your eye, and can bust out a clever stand up routine, you're home free. What are women thinking? Funny is good, but let's not overlook the other stuff.

Do the Limbo!

Limbo to some is a fun game where you get limber and get groovy with some sweet Rastafarian rifts, but for others is just a subtle, momentary temptation to sacrifice your lower back, pride, and tail bone in the name of impressing some girl in a hula skirt who you think is winking at you. But limbo is more than that. Way more.

For those of you who find yourself in between the years of 18-25(maybe older) and you haven't quite finished college yet, but are very close; you are probably very familiar with the other kind of limbo. It's the kind that enables you to get a less than sweet job, get exploited like a 5 year old Malaysian kid at a shoe factory, going with little or no pay, but bleeding your soul for your employer all the while. Yes, I speak of internships. Sure, you get a few perks, rub some elbows, maybe get some free Chinese food, but beyond that it's slave labor. And why are you so used? Well, simply put, you're a liability. If you were on the payroll, the company you intern for would be paying you to learn, and inevitably, falter. But, if they don't have to do that, why would they? Not only do they get their whole inventory marked, boxed, organized, and put in a multi-colored database spreadsheet format, but if you screw up, they don't have to pay you. They can chuckle and just give you a more demeaning task. Not to say that you don't get plenty of experience and contacts through internships, but realistically it is probably challenging to say the least to pay your cell phone bill, fill your car with gas, pay for public transport, rent, insurance, etc. So, ideally if you have an internship it would be nice if your family or institution covered your butt. Fortunately for many, they do. For you others, you have to get other jobs. Like maybe three other jobs, and then still scrape to get by. And then, on top of that you may not even go into that line of work.

That brings us back to limbo. If you go to an internship great! You gain experience and have your eyes opened. However, if you don't end up going to that company or career path, it might just be a whole lot of mucking through slop without a clean horse stall at the end. But, if life is for living, then, well, at least you lived it. Limbo can be good. A blessing and a curse. You don't want to shut the door on your options...but you don't want to end up in a career 10 years up the road that you despise. Do the limbo limbo lim, do the limbo limbo la....

The FFF

Now, from what I gather the whole internet social networking thing, is sort of "a big deal, " which brings with it a whole new world of relations and terminology. One such fun new acronym is best described as someone who adds you as a facebook friend, only to dump you and then re-add you just to keep tabs. These are the Fickle Facebook Friends, or, 'FFF' if you like. I know you all have at one point or another had something like that happen to you, be it on myspace, facebook, orkut or whatever. However, given that facebook is the most legimate of the network sites, being safest, and least whore-like when it comes to advertising and ownership, the new terminology comes from it. Don't bother remembering FFF's birthdays...they're just using you.

Stress

Stress. The beautiful word, so maligned and so absurd, raises our blood pressure and pumps adrenaline. It can make us panic, and even make us manic whacks.

Stress. Believe it or not can be necessary and even therapeutic. Without it, people would be apathetic and would have no drive to complete all the necessary tasks at work, at home or elsewhere.

Stress. It is present in everyone's life, whether they admit it or not. Now, just because it exists, doesn't mean you need to let it get to you. You can always maintain a calm front, but don't tell me you're never stressed.

Stress. It is the friend of vacation planners, and relatives you never see, as it plagues you until you take that break.

Stress. The word rhymes with mess, less, chess, dress, confess, caress, bless, and redress.

Stress. Makes your heart beat faster, makes you nervous, not unlike someone you have a crush on. Maybe you have a crush on stress.

Time to Vent

I have to spill it. I will not cite names or the specific issues, but I am pretty peeved. And that is putting it lightly. Now, you may think I'm just a push-over given my previous posts, but I am anything but. I pride myself in hard work, good work and lots of it. I believe that to such a degree that I have been working three jobs, working graveyard shifts, and been driving many miles to get from place to place.

Whether you think I'm a punk, or a cocky, self-absorbed jerk or not is not my concern. If you think that way you don't know me. I love my God, my family and my country in that order. However, as of late I have spent more time attempting to give myself a "leg up" professionally. I am happy with 2 of my 3 jobs. The other, I recently was told I would not receive any further work. It was a relief to me because I disagreed about how the business was being run, and how I was being compensated. However, having stated my reasons of disagreement, I received a diatribe email this morning from my employer telling of past wrongs of when I worked for him a year ago. I had felt that those had been resolved, but they resurfaced so he could attempt to create a pattern of non-compliance and ineptitude. Of course he spun the truth to his side, neglected the amount of good work I had done for him and failed to drudge up any of the late payments, bad communication and mistakes on his side.

But such is life. I still respect him as a person, but as a businessman I question him. Of course I could only expect an unreasonable tirade from him, being a lawyer, but I most certainly refuse to hire him as counsel in the future nor will I be able to recommend his services to my friends and family. I have come to several important realizations as a result of this recent dispute. I should have already thought about this, but having friends as employers/employees can be risky business. Often times it can become hard to reconcile after a falling out. I will say no more.

Insomniac with Michael Powers

Ah sleep I wish I knew thee! I remember those bygone days of deep REM stages and comfy pillows and horribly saggy mattress cushions. It was just you and me. I could talk to a monkey, fight with the transformers and visit friends in Florida all in one night. But now, unfortunately my nights are filled with awakedness. And although it rhymes with nakedness, it is nowhere near as good. Working the graveyard shift is bad enough, but working extra-long graveyard shifts is death to my once dear friend sleep. I hope to find him again...but you never know.

I want it, and I want it now!

Today, in this miraculous information age everyone is zigging and zagging every which way while balancing eight plates of fruit and pancakes with silverware in their mouths. It is amazing. It is fascinating. It is frightening. Of course it's good to have people busy and informed, however, it becomes dangerous when people read a couple news articles, assume they are informed, and then press for change. We are always looking for answers...which is good. But it seems we want immediate results. When it takes two minutes to heat your hot pocket, you get antsy. When the guy at the stop light takes an extra second to react, you go berserk. That is scary. I mean, what were you planning on doing in that one second that was so important? Why aren't we more grateful that we didn't have to bake the dough and stuff that hot pocket by hand? On that note, I'm going to get a little political here, however, I think you should read it slowly and methodically and try to understand where I'm coming from before declaring that I'm wrong and out-of-step.

We are some of the most impatient and ill-informed people on the planet. I am constantly seeing poll after poll of Americans who are dissatisfied with the recent war strategy and the war as a whole. Obviously we have not made the best decisions all along since the beginning, but one thing I must point out is that the strategy that we have currently employed, "the surge" has only been in effect for a month, yet senators, presidential candidates and a great deal of the general populace is already calling for a change.

How is a war that is five years old supposed to suddenly come to a perfect conclusion in a month's time? We are not giving our soldiers nor are we giving our commanders the chance to do their job. The little reported truth is that the surge HAS been effective. However, because it is still early, military leaders are hesitant to broadcast their small successes.

However, because the democrat-controlled congress wants to build momentum before Petraeus reports in September, people are of the minds that a decision must be made now. If the white house and congress call this surge to an abrupt end, it strikes me as fickle. It also sends a message to our military and commanders that not only do we not support them and their operations, but we don't think they can do their job properly.

But I suppose the thing that bugs me the most is that all involved here in the US, from citizens to senators, are not on the ground, and honestly do not care what the real situation is. If the media would rather cover death tolls and car bombs than victories and civilian parties in the streets, it does a great job demoralizing our men and women in uniform. Of course I'm not pro-war. No one in the military is even pro-war, but I do believe in logical, well-planned decision making. It wasn't done in the early days after Saddam's regime was toppled, but it does need to been done now. If we act quickly without giving our strategy and commanders time to do their job and report, we are going to suffer a much greater catastrophe. We must think logically, plan coherently and act in the best way we know how. Give our military a chance.

Age Gap and Relationships

Is there anything wrong with a young twenty-something dating a mid-thirty-something? Should we balk so much when a sixty year old man marries a girl just out of highschool? Such profound questions bring to mind the taboo and hot topics of debate that have lingered for centuries. Does appearance matter? Well, many, and most would say it does. However, is it really our place to judge, and thereby demolish the happiness of others?

Honestly who cares if there is an age gap, or a fat gap, or even a tooth gap. Love is love. We should not seek to tear down a good thing. As I have said before, let's try the lace before leather, and try to love people across the board. Don't get me wrong, we don't have to love everyone's decisions. However, we can love them and wish them the best. Of course it's a ridiculously hard task, especially when that old guy's after shave smells like yak and the skin over his knees resembles an elephant rump, but still, we must make an effort. I mean, at least if it doesn't work out, you can sell him to a taxidermist.

The Joys of the Dump Truck

Vrrrooom, vrrooooom. Clank, clank. Oh the bygone days of onomatopoeia, when cities on the living room rug were made of recycled milk cartons and blocks, and the dump truck was the enforcer! Nothing could stop the dump truck. Your brother came by with his dinosaur, you ran it over. Your sister thought her "My little pony" could save the day, you threw it in the back of the dump truck and unloaded it off a block tower. Dump trucks, like the O'Doyles, ruled.

Today I knew I was in for it. I wanted to sleep a little because I knew I'd be working from 9PM to 5AM today. Graveyard. I didn't want to be another corpse, but of course I was awoken from my slumber at an early hour to help out a family member with something that was anything but urgent. So I was off to a good start. Then, when I tried to get back to my rest I was awoken once again, by the incessant ringing of my phone. I had to make it stop, and in my incoherent grogginess I answered it. It was my former boss, and he needed a favor. I was reluctant at first, but then he said those magic words: Dump Truck. I didn't exactly jump out of bed, because he said I'd need to pay for the dumping until he could meet with me later in the day, but we resolved that, and my enthusiasm resumed.

1988 was a good year. This truck was forged into a man-beast on that fateful year. Green, dilapidated, dirty, and formerly owned by the DC Housing Authority, it was a gem. A diamond if I may, in the rough. Except, it's hard to say how much diamond was left in this rough. So my first task was to unload construction junk at the "transfer station" (a PC term for what used to be called "the dump"). So of course, as luck would have it, after waiting forever to get weighed on the scale, the lady at the window took my permit, refused to return it, and said I couldn't dump there, but had to go to Lorton, a place in the middle of nowhere that used to be a prison complex on the edge of Fairfax County Virginia. I was perturbed. I called my boss, who was also perturbed, having dumped there for the past month. So, I resolved to park the dump truck and have a word with this lady. Long story short, I got the pass back and was permitted to dump. However, I dumped in the wrong place, got yelled at, finagled out of it claiming novice incompetence and ignorance, and then got to load the beast with "free mulch" to deliver to one of my boss's projects.

Now, the construction debris was easy to dump with the hydraulic lift, but the guy who loaded the mulch packed it in with so much skill as to render my job mission impossible. So after about 45 minutes of raising the bed and lowering it, going forward, then reverse, I finally dumped it. Sweaty, and freckled with mulch, and all the while on my cell phone with a friend, I was victorious. I had lived the dream. I drove a dump truck.

Whale Watching

Humor me for a moment. Close your eyes. Imagine you are on a wharf overlooking Plymouth Bay in Massachusetts. The water is a deep azure blue and the sun shimmers on each little wave's cap. The smell of dead clams and sunscreen hovers over the scene. Then you see it, your boat comes chuggin in from Cape Cod, a pristine Whale Watching boat, steaming all the way to you, eager and filling the air behind it with smoke and leaving swells that lap the wooden dock. Of course you are excited, you're going to watch whales. For 3 hours. And you paid for it.

Well after you go out, get sun-burned, watch some whales swim, breach and flop around while munching on a tuna sandwich for 3 hours...you realize it was a fun trip, but not one you're liable to repeat any time soon.

The whales put on a show for you. Or did they? Maybe they were just minding their own business and think it's funny that all these pasty-white humans in tevas and sporting over-sized turtle shell sunglasses 'oo' and 'ah' when they take a breath and eat.

Imagine if they did the same to us.

Mac Updates Saved my life.

Here's a conversation I was trying to have amidst a mac update:

Michael: Hey Suzie*, I've got to restart my computer...some mac update thing...so if you could just sit tight for like... I dunno 2-3 minutes...I'll be back.

Suzie: haha ok

Suzie: c ya

Michael: This update is quick...but it's interesting how slow I think it is...oh, and I just restarted my computer, and now it's asking me to do it again...I'm like a monkey jumping through hoops....what gives...

Suzie: uhhhhh

Michael: I hope to be back soon....

Suzie: ok ok


Michael: oh, now here's the kicker with this update: No devices were found that require this firmware update....wtf? I mean seriously. This auto-update put my whole world on hold for 10 minutes, so it could install some garbage that isn't even relevant to my computer....that is genius. I applaud Steve Jobs for that one.

Wow. I mean wow. Updates are a Godsend. I mean, they protect my computer, keep me 'updated,' and above all, let me restart my computer and take time to text message friends, get a drink, take a nap, or possibly use the bathroom and read an article of Reader's Digest. Thank goodness for mac updates.

*Name has been changed.

Dressing for Success

Do you dress for success? No. You don't. No one does. There is a common misconception when someone says "dress for success." That misconception is that one must wear a power suit with a red tie and shiny shoes. The reality could not be farther from this pseudo-truth. Of course if you spiffy up a little bit, you'll make a good impression before you speak, but once they've gotten beyond your silk Italian tie and your Armani cologne, there has to be something tangible there.

Dressing as you feel helps you exude confidence and independence. If you feel that today is Hawaiian shirt day, then it sure is! You should dress in whatever way you feel makes you work longer, harder and more efficiently. So, if you are a scuba-dive tour guide, that probably means a wet suit. If you want to wear a tie with that, that's your bag. If you are a pro surfer, you should probably wear boardshorts a wetsuit, or a powersuit just to piss off your brother, who, while at his office job turns on the TV and sees you surfing in his $800 suit. Whatever your job is, even if you have a dress code and work at a country club, you have your options. If it has to be a polo, make it a purple one. If it has to be slacks, make sure they're tweed. If you have a uniform, make sure all your co-workers sign it with their John Hancocks.

Dressing for success is up to you. Just like your success with that dress. If you are the man, then dress like you own it. If you are the wo-man, do likewise. Wherever you go, whatever you wear, be the success that makes your dress. Make your office jealous. They'll be whistling a different tune when they see that those Winnie the Pooh slippers got you a promotion.

An Anonymous Death

Ok. I'm all for anonymous donations to charitable causes, and anonymous gifts to deserving individuals, but to an extent anonymity freaks me out. I mean, when you meet someone, generally you exchange names. To me, it's a little bit more than just a formality, but it allows me to say, "I met, or I know him/her/it." However, at least to date, I've never gone to a dinner party and had someone introduce themselves as "anonymous." Except that one time, and it was on his name tag, and he also wore a bag on his head and claimed to be mute. But that case aside, names are good. They provide comfort, not unlike a warm fire on a winter's day, or a lock on your front door before you go to bed.

Now to the point. Online people like to protect their identity. I get that. But I would prefer a lie than someone posting as "anonymous." I mean c'mon. Posting online is fun! Imagine how much more fun it could be with a new name. Let's say you hate your name, or, perhaps dislike your parents, well guess what? Now it's your chance to stick it to them. Those of you named Ug, Chesterfield, Nubby or Adolf can fight the system! Now Ug can be Sean, Chesterfield can be William, Nubby can be Chase and Adolf can be Bobby. Think of the possibilities! Liberate yourself and post with a new name. No more will you have to sit in the back of class and mumble when your name is called! No more will you bashfully write your name in size 4 font on the nametag stickers! No more are you Ug! Say no to anonymity, and live life with the name you deserve!

Self-Prescribed Skin Cancer

It's interesting how everyone seems to want their "day in the sun." I mean, thinking realistically, the sun isn't that friendly. It burns us, gives us cancer or it scars our skin to a deeper shade that everyone seems to want. Little do we realize that tanning thins our skin, makes us more susceptible to cancer and of course, reduces softness and firmness, not to mention longevity.

The sun takes its toll on us. We get all red and wrinkly. Or, as some would like to put it, in order to make their stupidity more justifiable, "distinguished." Right. Since when did leathery, wrinkled, freckled, pock-marked, tumor-ridden epidermus become "distinguished?" In all honesty you become less distinguished. In fact, being distinguished in my view had something to do with doing good and achieving success through generally intelligent means. Somehow I don't think ruining your skin's health fits into that category.

Skin cancer aside, the idea that everyone has of "a day in the sun" is generally not so literal. Unless you're stupid. Which, if you are, I apologize. But, if you are stupid and are still reading this, struggling and grappling with every other word I commend you. "A day in the sun" generally refers to someone being in the "limelight" or getting their share of fame and praise for something they did. But why do we want so much to bask in the limelight? Why do we want to be lauded and applauded by our peers? Well, to be blunt, we are all narcissists. To a point. Don't deny it, you know it's true. The ones who are denying it now are only lying to themselves.

We all have this ingrained, inborn, innate need to be loved and admired. We measure our worth by what others think of us, from our hair and wardrobe to our speaking ability or wit. While you might think that other people make really good judgments and assessments about you, and you generally take constructive criticism well, if you allow other people to determine the course of your life and the level of your happiness you're going to probably end up one of two things. First, insane. Second, unhappy. Since it requires that one must be sane to have feelings of happiness or sadness, they are mutually exclusive. However, there is not a clear divide between sane and insane.

On that note I am going to make a blanket statement. People are generally insane. That means that at one moment or another, given the right (or wrong) circumstances any normal, self-respecting ideologue will flip his lid. For other terms see: bonkers, go mental, go off the deep end, lose one's marbles, one rachet less than the full set, etc. But, why are so many people ridiculously obsessed with how the world perceives them to the point that they lose their sanity or become melancholy and depressed?

It's our nature. But it can be beat. What it calls for is a resurgence of cold, callous, insensitivity. We need to be able to let stuff roll off our backs. We need to have thick enough skin so that when the poachers shoot at us on the Serengeti to get our ivory tusks, we can whip our tail at the bullet, turn around and trample 'em. We need to be able to laugh at angry hippos and crocodiles that want to dash us to pieces and store us on the river bottom. They can't. We are humans. We can eat them. The moral is more clearly delineated as follows: Don't get mad, get even. If the world turns its back on you. Turn your back on the world. When you get an 'F' on your report card, drop a little brown flaming bag on the teacher's doorstep. If they call you four eyes, tell them they have webbed feet. And then, to cap it off pour your school milk carton on their face, point, and laugh.

Why I'm a Peacemonger

Wouldn't the world be a better place if we all got rid of our leather, and wore some nice lace? Wouldn't it be nice if we could wile away the hours and days frolicking in the meadows, picking flowers and running up and down the beach like in that famous film from 1981, Chariots of Fire? Ah, it would be so perfect and serene. No one would talk loudly or bicker over Red Sox v. Yankees, or how raving mad Osama bin Laden is...they would be calm, composed and apathetic. Oh apathy! How you make us so carefree!

Why should we curl up in huddled masses under school desks when tornados and atomic bombs come hurtling our way? Let us stand up on the desks and embrace the world with arms wide open saying: "Oh Captain, my captain." We should have an international hug day where we go over to Saudi Arabia blow kisses to the Islamic Fundamentalists and hug the sectarian conspirators. Then they would see we're all in it for the peace and harmony, and they can do what they want, we'll still love them and live in our peaceful oblivion. That'll show 'em. Give peace a chance.

We need more of those simple-minded, inebriated, sweet love fests on the national mall like those of yesteryear. Where are all those wonderfully stimulating mind-altering drugs the CIA was so keen on using for their mind control studies? We need more of that. Fill up my bottle and we can dance in circles in the sun for days at a time and never find out which way is up or down. Munching on scones and sipping lemonade we can giggle and jest and live carefree. The man will be all by himself in his office with the blinds blocking the window, and the lights off, behind his computer, grumbling about the sunshine, but we, we will be free.

Why DC is so great.

Well, if you didn't know already, like it or not, DC is awesome. Yep, you might as well just face the music, bite your upper-lip half-heartedly and dance. The reasons are so astoundingly atestable and verifiable there truly is no sensible line of reasoning that could take you elsewhere. DC takes the cake.

First. DC has a thriving job market. No where else on earth do you have such a dependable job market. Why is that you say? Well, the big bureacratic beast with lots of fangs, rabies and a leash made up of red tape lives here. Right downtown. The world's most powerful, but strangely inept government. It doles out millions of new jobs each year for all the fabulous new cubicle mice who are bound to sit in dark cement-laden bomb shelter government offices for new agencies to act as middlemen for other agencies that society already thought were middle men. Yay!

Second. Everything is free! Oh yes, you can go just about anywhere in DC and see works of art, ancient artifacts, and years worth of archives and memorials without paying a dime for admission. And how can this be? Well, surprise surprise. You pay for it. You ever wonder why you pay so much in taxes when you live out in the middle of Wyoming? It's so all the illegal immigrants who protest in DC can have a great weekend planned out with their Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents, and children who are citizens and demand representation without taxation or legal entry. It's so they can see all those monuments and museums that you paid for. Oh DC.

Third. You are surrounded by water and don't even have to deal with all the icky sandiness that you would get from other cities that have a beach close by. You are conveniently placed in between two possible entry points of the sand abyss, but are fortunately sheltered by the most wonderfully smelling and attractive bays in the world. The Chesapeake! Oh what pride. And let's not forget the Potomac. Beautiful brown and gloriously full of treasures like free pianos, tractor tires, refrigerators, bowling balls and old cars...you don't even need to go shopping here, just go fishing and hope an angry minifridge takes your bait. Oh yes, and if you do have a hankering for some blue saltiness and want to get skin cancer you can drive 3 hours north to Bethany Beach Maryland or 3 hours south to Virginia Beach. See, in DC you're lucky.

There are many reasons that DC is the best, these three are just a start. Come on down and check out what all the Peruvians, Hondurans and Guatemalans are raving about! DC! DC! DC!

My funeral

I hope when I die and people make a facebook group about me, they explain how I died, so people don't try it themselves. That, and when I kick the bucket I want the bucket to be at my funeral. That and a lot of good food and music. I mean, who wants to be remembered as the guy who had crappy food at his funeral? And oh, please for goodness sake don't wear black. Wear polka-dots, tie-dye, fuschia even, but no black, unless you wear black nail polish, then I laugh at you. Maybe I'll even roll over in my grave. And then that roll will cause a cataclysmic event that triggers an earthquake and swallows up all of Los Angeles. Then they'll remember. Not like I honestly care if they do or don't. I mean when I'm dead I could not care less who remembers me. If you want to, because you think it's polite and makes you feel better then fine, but please don't feel obligated to "remember Michael". And I want it to be like a spelling bee for eulogies. The one who screws up gets kicked off...kinda like survivor, and the best one wins. Oh yeah and I want that Billy Joel song "Only the Good Die Young" playing...because my guess is, I won't be dead for a while...

The Manly Man

What happened to the manly man? Did he die off or disappear? Did the heir to his throne become a cross-dressing, hairstyling, shoe horse? It is beginning to look that way. But whether it be a look at what was, or a glimpse into the endangered lives of the rugged few who still proclaim themselves such, we shall define what is a manly man.

A manly man is a rough rider. No, not one of those rolled up pant leg, lunch lady hair net on their head, driving out in an imported Japanese car with shiny wheels and a subwoofer as big as a Cooper Mini – rather the kind that rode out on horseback with Teddy Roosevelt in Cuba to show the Carribean why the west was won – with a six shooter and a mouth full of tabbacy.

A manly man is the king of his domain, his throne is in the bathroom. If his byproducts are not huge and smelly, he’s a wuss, a pretender…even a metro. The bathroom is his sanctuary, and as such he should have plenty of good reading material that deals with what really matters in life, not Ladies Home Journal or a cook book.

A manly man is a man so composed and controlled he can keep his poker face all day long, or stare at the crack on a wall for days at a time without flinching. If the world is falling down outside around him, he can stay still and finish his meal and turn around and give it the old lazy eye and scare it back to normal when he feels like it.

A manly man eats meat. If there were no more lettuce or green vegetables in the world, he would make a salad out of meat slices and barbeque sauce. Meat to the manly man is like oxygen to the normal man.

A manly man does not need a lot of words. Sometimes a nod, a pat or a grunt suffice. Oftentimes these simple gestures are much deeper and more meaningful than words themselves. The manly man language is mocked and is usually indiscernible to women, but if there weren’t Navajo code talkers in World War II, those pansy Japanese still would have had their hands full.

A manly man gives his coat to a lady. The obvious reason is because he’s a warm hairy beast and would overheat if he kept it. A manly man’s hands are so warm he can heat up a hot pocket without a microwave, or pop the last few kernels of popcorn left in the bowl after a movie, instead of getting up and popping more.

A manly man’s fruit roll up is a piece of leather, and his trail mix is sand and gravel. When he tells you his chili is hot, you shouldn’t be able to feel your tongue for a week afterwards.