Rants from Graceland

To Blog, or Not To Blog...

2007-02-24T10:51:00.000-05:00

Alas, gentle reader, I have awaken to find the world still turns, unyielding to my attempts to slow its spin and stop that Mother of all Mistresses, Time. I have returned from the underground again, much like Lestat after growing weary of the times. Perhaps I shall take to the adornment of this webspace to reflect the new time here at Graceland, and perhaps I won’t.
I can’t say that much has changed from my last posts, thus the lack of activity here. The Spawn have grown larger and louder and picked up how so many more idiosyncrasies that betray the genes of origin. The hairs that remain on the scalp have been assimilated further by the gray collective it is becoming. The bones and joints creak a little louder. But – I survive! I eat, I cook, I drink, and that, in itself, is Good.

Let me not keep you, webcrawler, from your duly appointed Tube rounds by your pause here at the ‘Land. I feel a growing need inside to display that passing evil thought and feeling more commonly feared and expressed as Opinion, and let the wrath fall where it might from its release. As I’ve heard it said, “If they can’t take a joke, f*&k ‘em.”

Response

2006-05-10T16:59:00.000-04:00

Gotta love the kid.
This time, I refer not to my spawn as usual, but my original "kid" – the sis.
She has always been and will always be my kid sister, and today she worked her normal blog magic to wake this sleeping giant to post again.

Here was the deal: quoted from her site:
1. I'll respond with something random I like about you.

2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.

3. I'll leave you a quote that is somehow appropriate to you.

4. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.

5. If I do this for you, you must (please) post this on your journal so you can do the same for other people.

So here was the kid’s response:
1. Despite being a callous asshole at times, your love and support for chosen people is limitless.

2. "Come Sail Away" as sung by Cartman. That, and "Crying" by Roy Orbison.

3. People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built.
Eleanor Roosevelt (1884 - 1962), My Day

4. Dude... what was UP with that whole Harry-Krishna episode?

Allow me to answer her question.
I never had a “Hare-Krishna” episode, however I must admit to seriously turning my back to the Catholic Church. It’s amazing what happens when you open yourself to other thoughts and ideals, in that you may just begin to understand what or why other people do what they do. You may appreciate the finer things, or be disgusted at the vast majority of ignorance and apathy that surrounds us all.
In my case, I went on an exploration. I learned about who other folk pray to and why, or why they don’t at all. Never along this journey did I ever lose my personal conviction, faith, or dialogue with God.
Before this gets hairy, I must point out that you, gentle reader, must not confuse the terms faith and religion. Religion is a man-made set of rules. Faith is a personal understanding.
I don’t want or have to write a thesis here, but let it be said that my episode is not yet finished. I don’t fully agree with the doctrines of the Catholic Church. Our catechism is a fun bunch of rules du jour that can easily be changed with a cash-based indulgence system, without any real biblical basis. How many rules do we have to adopt from pagan religions to convert more to “our” side?
The basics are essentially real, though. One God and Father Almighty? Check. Lord King, Messiah and Savior JC? Check. We’re all waiting for JC’s big return for final judgment and Earthly cleanup? You betcha dupa.
So, kid – Hare Krishna? That dude’s a mess. Me? Yeah – I’m a mess, too, but dammit – I’m proud to be straight up callous about the stupid shit that gets us bent outta shape and diverts us from the real stuff that life should be made of.

Last note: Roy Orbison was teh kewl.

She's really Rosie...

2006-04-24T13:19:00.000-04:00

I believe it was Mr. Yasko that turned me on to the Illuminatus action. Within that work I discovered the crazy number theories of Discordia and all that, but mainly that the number five is something mystical and very very special.
Well – that all might be 23-skiddoo nutso, but I can concur that the number five has got some extra value in it today. Today marks the fifth birth anniversary of my second born, Delaney Rose.
The middle child is an interesting breed, as I’ve come to know, and Delaney is truly in a class all to herself. She finds her way to stand out, go beyond unique yet fit in with her brother and sister, and shine brighter than any star in the sky.
She captures anyone who glances into her blue gray eyes, and I truly fear for the hearts of men future, for they know not what lies behind those gates. Even I cannot stand against her gaze, as I find myself lost in those eyes and broken to her guile. It is too easy for me to take pause and simply watch her do the smallest of tasks, and the thought of her growing any older sends me to panic, my treasure is slipping away.
How she has grown! It is without doubt the most amazing thing of parenting, to suddenly notice the changes that day by day go without care, and by total have transformed a toddling thing into a little girl that has stolen her daddy’s heart.
From penguins to dancing to Care Bears to spaghetti and meatballs to Tinkerbell to drawing to suddenly tennis, today my ‘Laney gets whatever she likes, because it’s a special day. She’s Five.
Notice all the fives today, because they’ll stand out just like ‘Laney.
Happy Birthday, Delaney!

EDIT: There will be a pic appropriate later today to accompany the post. Check back later.

It's Roundup Time

2006-04-11T14:02:00.000-04:00

Will somebody PLEASE tell why we don’t have the fleets of Greyhounds ready to pack up and ship off most of the illegal immigrants, now that they’ve decided to pack themselves together at convenient locations? They’re bitching about the costs of doing the “radical” thing, where most of the cost is tracking down and finding them, but hey Mr. Law Enforcement – THERE THEY ARE.
These leeches are rallying and protesting all over this great nation for their rights. Whose rights? OUR rights – the Americans’ rights.
Here’s the guy who may just have the last bit of common sense to be able to get something printed in Big Media:

Peter Lanteri, director of New York's chapter of the Minutemen, a volunteer border watch group, said he thought it was "ridiculous" that illegal immigrants were protesting for their rights.
"Illegal is illegal, and they break our laws to come here," Lanteri said by telephone. "We want the illegal immigration stopped and the borders secured."

Damn, but that brings it home nice and simple – simple enough for maybe even hippie liberal tree hugging dem to understand. Call me a fascist if you want to – but only if you have the First Amendment rights to. If not – the year is 1984 – and you should officially be an unperson. But even then, this is only if you can read and understand English.

Happy St. Pat-Trek's Day

2006-03-17T15:50:00.000-05:00

I’ve been catching a few episodes of Star Trek:The Next Generation on one of the higher digital cable channels as of late, and the Trek stuff has been on the mind.
So, in honor of it being March 17th –
I wish everyone a Happy St. Pat-Trek’s Day!
Most of all – watch out for Leper-Khans!

NASCAR 2026

2006-03-16T14:28:00.000-05:00

Last year, while driving to the golf course, I had the opportunity to use one of my favorite comments concerning a growing threat in this country as Billiam and I were witnesses and almost victims of the mad driving skillz of a blue-haired bingo crazed card carrying member of the AARP. After hearing a stream of language usually reserved for sailors and inmates come from the seat next to me, I let loose with the phrase that we will be hearing more and more about those Gray Panthers :
“One foot in the grave, the other on the gas.”
Granted, along the way, they’ll have the left or right blinker going, a line of hats and tissue boxes across the rear window, and maybe even in a few years the windshields will be specially designed to be bifocaled – the bottom half for the street and the top half for the signs.
I was all about this article on MSN that gives some numbers behind the nation’s great threat. Absolute truth. The ancients are everywhere, especially in front of me, wherever I go, or more specifically where I WANT to go. Like – the freaking bread aisle in Shop-Rite, any McFastFoodPlace, any kid function be it CCD, Scouts, dance, bowling, weapons camp, or, heaven forbid, the pharmacy (this could spawn a whole new blog entry on the possibility of America’s pharmacies being in reality alien spawn points, where all these aliens take the form of senior citizens – it is more plausible after you think about it for a while).
If our government is truly the overlords we take them to be, these liver-spotted highway clotters may be doing us all a favor and be on a federal mission to enforce the speed limits. By sacrificing themselves as speed drones, they force the rest of the traffic to work with them, of course at this juncture since they are not recognized as helpful they are performing the ultimate sacrifice of causing accidents to prove the point. One can even take the point of calling them Freeway Terrorists.
Sorry dad, but you ARE one of them, and if it’s not because you’re driving too slowly, it’s the complete opposite, and it may be a good thing you’re already home before some schools let out. I give you less than a decade before 65 mph is considered light speed, and you join the rest of the Empire of the Old. Hell – all truth be told, the day that the Porq slows down is the day that my buds and I all settle out and join in on yelling at the kids to get off the lawn.

Tunes During Class

2006-03-13T22:03:00.000-05:00

2 trailer park girls go round the outside round the outside round the outside
guess who’s back? Back again
shady’s back
tell a friend

The brotherman and Billiam banged out some recent posts on what was up on their mp3 jukes. I’m currently sitting through one of my online courses, and I have my happy Real player cooking through my library of goodness.
Sure enough, the eminem came to represent. It was backed up by Guster’s What You Wish For.
Right after that came Pocket Full of Kryptonite from the Spin Doctors. I grabbed that piece for my Superman-themed playlist.
The shuffle kicked into high gear and brought me Cake with Love You Madly. Sweet.
Just when I thought I was getting into the class discussion, Taste The Pain was cooking from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Yikes.
To give the speakers a break, my happy go lucky randomizer cued up Wheels by the String-A-Longs. It then snapped up a few decades with Bowie’s Blue Jean. Of course, the mood was getting too happy so it hit me with Lou Reed’s Dirty Boulevard after that.
It’s like the pc knew I was downing, so it blared the horns at me, straight from Perez Prado. Yeah – we’re talking about Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom. Cha cha cha…
My class session was drawing to a close, and with it came one of my favs – Nothing But Flowers by the Talking Heads.

So – that was my quick aside from normal ranting about nothing. I was reminded about the tunes blog right before class when I zipped onto the new myspace site put up by TMBG and they were playing a little from their Spine album (which I do have – sweet) as well as Ana Ng. That got me into the music mode and I fired up the realplayer. The first song I heard from it was really Cliff Richard’s We Don’t Talk Anymore. When eminem came on I had to keep track and let y’all know what may be a typical random in my world.

March 8th

2006-03-08T10:54:00.000-05:00

As all of my gentle readers would know by now, I am not one of a sentimental nature. It’s not that I can’t feel emotions, per se, but it has always been my style to be one of a stoic position.
With this freshly renewed in mind, let’s just say that the calendar is making a grand attempt to play upon my heart strings. It’s March 8th.
Big freaking deal. Caesar still lives. But wait – there’s a reason. Let me show an excerpt of something I’m working on:
“Whoever designed the fire alarm’s siren must have either done his research on what works or was a true sadist. It wasn’t so much a siren as a grating unforgiving buzz that has the frequency that resonates in your lower spine. This is the sound that clawed its way through my keg-induced coma and threw my zombie form into a crowded quad of brethren dorm-undead.
Somewhere upstairs my 300 pound roommate laid still sleeping. Not even the alarm sadist took into account the amount of alcohol needed to take a giant down, and no simple noise or shove short of a pimp slap from Jesus Himself was waking that guy. Truly not a hero, or at least not at that moment, I had declared that man “Duraflame” before my drilled sojourn into the night air.
That air was wet and cold, with the hint of spring just hiding, kept at bay by the early March wind. It proved just a shock enough to cause a few synapses to fire up again, and the first few thoughts or memories weren’t real, or at least I could make or place them to be. I certainly wasn’t in a Sultan’s harem chamber, and it was very unlikely that I crash drove the Popemobile into the campus dining hall. It was the memory flashes that came after that fueled the mental marathon that was to come.
I knew something had happened that night. Somewhere, some time amidst the innumerable trips to the keg(s), I met someone…”

Yeah – way back when on this calendar date – I officially met the gal who would turn out to be the Wife™. I seriously don’t think there are many stories like ours, so the next time you have anywhere from five to fifty minutes, I’ll give it to you as thick as you can handle it.
Not that I’m counting, but it’s fifteen years today.

I got a fever...

2006-03-07T23:25:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, you just NEED more cowbell.
In this case – you HAVE to go HERE.

Send in the JV team

2006-02-23T14:12:00.000-05:00

Welcome to today’s WTF from right here in sunny New Jersey, land of 1000 toxic waste sites.
I’m going to take a break from my recent rablings and grumblings about the personal relationships we’re all forming with the Islamofascists, and flip back over to my other biggest peeve – our uninvited guests.
I’m not a xenophobe – I don’t fear them. After all – they’re just people. Of course, these are people that are sucking our systems and fundings dry. We cater to this crowd, a lot like we do to the Islamos as the dhimmi we are, and it kills me.
And then, just when I think I’ve slammed enough Seagram’s product and Clydesdales to get past the reminders that the Brotherman posts, I stumble across this gem of an article.
I’m not going to badmouth Joe Vas. I’m no democrat, and I don’t live in Puerto Amboy, and I don’t recall ever having a conversation with him. But, if what the dude in the article said is true, the Vas Deferens is gonna have some explaining to do.
I will not accept any rational explanation to do this outside of the same logic used down in Tennessee to license the crack dealers. Essentially – the TN folk decided to hand out stamps to those that wanted to deal the crack. Here’s the instant tip-off to the law enforcement community of who is distributing (and absolutely dumb enough to do the lemming thing and get in line). If the Vas had this in mind to get the illegals to line up and try to get a license – if only for the purpose of rounding them up for immediate deportation to say, ANYWHERE ELSE – then maybe – MAYBE – I can cut him some slack.
But like I said, I’m not going to bad mouth JV here. I’ll paint the picture for you and let’s see if you come up with the same verdict I have. It doesn’t matter what office JV holds, the basic facts are this: he’s a politician in New Jersey. The politicians in New Jersey make the stereotypical politico seem noble. Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be patting the Vas on the back for this action any time soon.

Sarandipity

2006-02-22T11:23:00.000-05:00

There is nothing in this world that can take the place of plastic wrap. I realize this piece of news may come as odd or surprising to the common folk, but indeed, this is pure wisdom as passed to me by my hero of youth, SandwichMan.
Where my fellow classmates would pull from brown bags and trademarked boxes their PBJs and bourgeois cheese slices between bread slices, I would shock and amaze the other gradeschoolers with edible constructs that redefined what should truly be a sandwich. This art of sandwich should come as no surprise, as I have writ this topic in the past. In this case, the sandwich is nothing more than a vehicle for the topic du jour.
How often have we given a gift to a young one, only to have the toy left idle and the tot immersed in the imaginative playland courtesy of the box or packaging the gift came in? The same principle applies to the wondrous sandwiches of my youth. Where the other lunchroom denizens released their fare from zip-locked baggies or garish Tupperware squares, I unpeeled my delicacies from the taut clear grasps of plastic wrap.
This just wasn’t any kind of plastic film, mind you. No, it wasn’t the gaudy colored variety we find in stores today, and it wasn’t the large industrial kitchen sized roll either. Most importantly – it wasn’t the brand name Saran. It was Shop-Rite plastic wrap.
In short, and affectionately called “plassic.”
Decades have come and gone, and I have used the great plassic for any and every kind of wrapping and sealing there is. All kinds of foodstuffs, including uses in the preparation of said foods, were subject to the plassic. And in all this time – the Shop-Rite brand reigned. Until now.
I have just recently come to use a different manufacturer’s roll of wrap, and I find it stronger, easier to rend sizable sheets from the roll, much more manipulative, and best of all – it clings better.
“Heresy! Blasphemy! How can you make such claims?” ah, but I am the Son of SandwichMan, and I know the secrets. And I say – this is a foretold sign of the end of times, as the brand that has beaten our champion is none other than A&P’s America’s Choice. The Four Horsemen ride, and their lunches were wrapped in America’s Choice plassic.
GASP
Indeed. I am a converted true believer in that which is plassic and now from A&P. Much like Paul had his personal revelation on the way to Rome, I have become enlightened with the ultimate Pravda in plassic. Try it yourself. Become one with the plassic. Do not use in cribs or as a toy for children under 3 years of age.

I'm not (un)dead... yet.

2006-02-20T14:37:00.000-05:00

Ok, it’s official. I spend a lot of time in front of a PC. Therefore, I’m staring if not clicking in some browser, bouncing around the interweb. I’m selling an email product, I take classes online, and I’m sucking at some online fantasy sports leagues.
But – in the spare moments when nobody’s looking – I kill zombies.
Yup – I stumbled on this low-tech, no real mission online role-playing game by the name of Urban Dead. I just started, and I got my bro Ed into it. Since we’re just starting, we may get a few others involved and try to defend our little virtual suburb of all zombie infestation.
Why? Because I for one do not welcome my new zombie overlords, and it’s a kick. Check the link to the right, sign up, and look for DCzski in the game. I might start posting updates to my character’s survival and progress. Wahoo!

se7en

2006-02-16T10:44:00.000-05:00

Man, that was quick. It’s amazing how fast seven years can go by. You see, seven years ago today, the Wife™ finally and after much effort and an extreme amount of controlled substances pushed out our first born, pictured above at present age.
It was, at very limited description, an amazing experience, even not doing the actual pushing or carrying or whatever the womynly terms are nowadays, but down at the Johnny Bench position – things were surreal.
The precious wisdom gained from this experience was doled out to others, and some may even attest to the greatness of that wisdom, such as – if and when the doctor says, “hey, take a look up there,” you decline that offer. Especially when your diet in the previous 24 hours consisted of coffee and M&M’s.
But I digress from the present, when I’m not holding a baby, MY baby for the very first time, but I’m with a little girl that I can converse and reason and laugh and joke and read and plot and play and learn with. She’s my walking talking experiment, as she represents every parental thing I’ve tried out for the first time (this may be argued, as not all kids are the same, stay tuned for another birthday type post in April where I know I’ll really delve into different) and can easily be called special. What first born isn’t? I know I am.
So the point here is that this kid has notched her seventh rotation around our middle sized star today. According to her, this is her day, and expects calls of congratulations and cheer, cakes and sweets, songs of praise, parties of honor, and generally big time attention. Cue spotlight, warm up the amps for the microphone, testing one, two, three.
Dara’s on stage today. She is everyday, but it’s like she has an excuse for doing it today, so like Prometheus unbound, she’s running amok full of fire.
So sit back and enjoy the show. Clink a glass and say it. HBD.

D-Man thought: today also marks seven years of the Wife™ and I playing parents. Not exactly surprising of a thought when you consider what the Wife™ brings to the table, but I have enough character witnesses that still show amazement if not fear that I am responsible for the care and upbringing of a child, nay THREE children. That I’ve kept this going somewhat well for SEVEN years – well, I know I’m surprised.

Mo' Better

2006-02-14T13:20:00.000-05:00

Kids – no lie, the good folks at Fark have beaten me to it. I’ve been brainstorming a good Prophet Mohammed comic thing, and what do I come across? A whole photoshop thread of hysterical instances of using Mohammed in a sitcom.
Not to say that this is stifling my comic strip idea – if anything it’s fueled it nicely. I think I may use PS or GIMP to make a South Park-type of image for the comic.
Check back soon and look to the right for new links. I will probably create a whole different blog site dedicated to the strip. I just need a catchy title, like “I’d Like Some Mo’ P-Mo!” or “Jihad To Be You.”

HBD

2006-02-09T12:52:00.000-05:00

My boy turns three today. Not even the Islamofascists can get me down. This little man is everything, and it’s his day today.
When I say everything – I mean it. He is single handedly a pirate (Cap’n Hook, but smaller), a train, a strongman, a Space Ranger, a cowboy, a dancin’ fool, a singer, an artist, a demolitionist, a Casanova, a brother, and a big momma’s boy.
I see myself living quite vicariously through him in the years to come. But for now – it’s just awesome like it is.
He’s three – and so am I.

Say it.
HBD

Mohammed - modern day Jester

2006-02-03T13:49:00.000-05:00

So the Prophet Mohammed walks into a bar. He glides up to the bartender, and proclaims in a grand voice, “Proprietor! I would like a Molotov Cocktail!”
The bartender looks all confused and a little worried, and responds, “And what in the Hell are you gonna do with that?”
So Mohammed jumps the bar and strangles the bartender. As the last breath escapes the man, Mohammed says, “I find your lack of faith disturbing…”

Ok, maybe it’s not so funny. But guess what? I don’t care. The joke is just about on level with the latest “outrage” by all those folks of the “Religion of Peace.” If I had the time I would have made my own Curious Mohammed comic strip, and that I can guarantee you would have been funnier than the Monkey Heist. Seriously, I am farking nuts over this. It is obviously the sign of the end of times, because I actually agreed with the French. No shit – fucking FRANCE has the right view on this one and has actually stopped eating cheese for the few seconds in time to stand up to the Islamofascism du jour.

Here’s another try:
The Prophet Mohammed walks into a bar with a frog on his head.
The bartender says, “What’s that?”
The frog quickly replies, “Well, it started as a wart on my ass and then THIS happened.”

I’m getting there. Meanwhile, because I’m posting outright blasphemous Mohammedisms, some head-wrapped nutjob is composing his latest death threat because of the above content. To which I have this reply:
“Hey Sandy – if you want your people to be treated as equals to and by the Western world, welcome to Free Speech 101. I’ll be your guide, if not your human alarm clock to wake you up after centuries of ignorance. It’s the 21st century, and we drive cars, not camels. You should know this of course, because most of our money goes to a few of your caliphs that own the land you hold so sacred yet dusty. Lastly, bad news: heaven has run out of virgins, so don’t bother with the bomb. Get a job. Rebuild the reception hall your brother just blew up.”

If it ain’t the illegals getting me crazy, it’s the Islamofascists. Grr.

Get Phil

2006-02-01T16:25:00.000-05:00

This one is for the Brotherman, because tomorrow is his most favorite holiday. I thought of creating the above pic since he has me all cranked up about our unwanted guests.
So here’s hoping that Phil doesn’t see his shadow, or at least escape the domo-kun.

EDIT: The 'hog (the TRUE 'hog, Paux Phil) saw his shadow. We've got six more weeks of the cold stuff. Happy Anniversary Col. Potter.

Divine Wrath (I hope)

2006-01-25T16:44:00.000-05:00

So the whole swampy state of New Jersey is sick. At least my corner of the hole is, anyway. I just finished my ‘script of antibiotics and I’m still swilling a bottle of tri-tussy syrup like some bowery wino. Oh yeah, I might feel better, but I still continue to cough the cough of a decade-long smoker, even though I don’t smoke – yet.
I was diagnosed with some form of a sinus infection last week. The drip got down into my chest and messed me up, gave me a fever and chills and sweats and faintness and all kinds of horrible things and actually got me to shell out a few petrodollars in the form of a primary physician’s visit copay. In my throes of illness, I think I managed to spread my pox upon my backup band (Dawn and the Spawn) because there isn’t one of them that hasn’t hacked, dripped or fevered since.
Now – I’m all about Old School Wrath of God. By all means, bring on the brimstone and destroy a city for me. Turn a river to blood. Shit, turn that bee-yotch into a pillar of salt ‘cuz she looked funny at ya. I’m down with that. But man, of all the tools that the Big Man has in his belt, I have gotta hate Plague the most. Sure – famine is WAY up there, but I live in a nice place where bacon is everywhere, and thanks to a few can-can sales, I ain’t worryin’ about the starvation thing quite yet. Sickness though – watch out. Being sick is the worst. Struck down by the invisible. Eaten away from the inside. Drowned in snot. Young, old, it don’t matter to a new strain of bug that has no antibody with its name on it.
“Hey, man, how are ya? I haven’t seen ya for a while, put ‘er there…” ZAP. You got it, and it’s that easy.
Now – I’m not going to go all Monk on you, because you know better of me. I’m just telling you that 95-99% of us are sick right now, or are about to be, and that is too high a number for it be outside of Divine Will. (and no – I said Will, not Wil) I mean, as cool as it is that Divine Wrath is upon us, I just can’t help my nature and complain that He didn’t choose someway else. Like maybe frogs.

Indians 1, Cowboys 1

2006-01-18T15:03:00.000-05:00

Right now, Tonto is laughing.
I’m not one for following any form of movie awards, like emmys, globes, Oscars, whatever. That overhyped drivel is nothing more than a statement to the world that we Americans have our heads completely up our asses with totally messed up priorities. Besides that obvious revelation, I couldn’t escape the media blitz on one of the recently aired Hollywood spectacles. Hearing the theme over and over again, I’m brought to a trans-generational institution of America – the cowboy.
Ok – get your mental picture of what a cowboy should be. Thanks to Big Media (which is an earthly subsidiary of Satan’s empire) we’re in serious danger of losing that image. C’mon, a cowboy is some open-ranged, bow legged tobacco spittin sun burned horse riding sonofabitch that loves only one girl and can keep that Marlboro lit even during a spring torrent. We’re talking about John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Slim Pickens, and even those other Hollywood cowpokes like Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and dare I say it Clayton Moore (a.k.a. the Lone Ranger). Let’s get real and talk about the really bad asses like Jesse James, Wyatt Earp, Billy the Kid, Wild Bill Hickock and whole Dalton Gang.
Those M-F’ers were cowboys.
Bad news, pardners. Welcome to the 21st century where we no longer are allowed to play “Cowboy and Indians.” Back when it was cool to do that, because you got the least favorite kid in the group to be the Injun and you ganged up on him and kicked his ass. It was American. Well, we boomers and gen X’ers grew up, we saw the Red Man crying on teevee with all those pollution commercials, and some of us went gay.
Yup – some of our generation looked a little too close inwards and fell in love. They went on to be people like everybody else, and closets everywhere got a real spring cleaning. Whatever. It don’t bother me.
But – as we all have noticed that Hollywood has nothing new in the ways of a conscious or a semblance of anew idea when it comes to material, those pesky film makers have tread upon an institution. We come to the crux of my dilemma – since when are gay cowboys cool?
I just don’t see the Outlaw Josey Wales holding back on his .45 to give a little nod and wink to yonder cowpoke. Slim Pickens rode an H-bomb, not a young Tom. I’m not gonna touch the Lone Ranger inferences, they’re just too easy. All those Hollywood cowboys from pre-1965 were by today’s standards a little weak on the testosterone.
But damn – the whole world is enthralled with this Humpback Mountain movie. I dare say even the Microsoft Assistant could have helped the viewer find a better movie.
“I see you want to watch a cowboy movie, do you need help?”
OR
“I see you want to watch a romance, do you need help?”
I see a few million of you should have clicked YES.
Cowboys plus romance equals the lead female dying at the end. Done. End of plot twist.
Am I too conservative here? It really doesn’t matter, because with the way the weather has been and the global political climate as of late, it’s probably the end of the world. No need to stock up on canned goods. TP, maybe.
/me shakes head in shame
What’s next? Gay pirates? Damn. Penzance.

King Day, epilogue

2006-01-10T09:31:00.000-05:00

As a follow up to this weekend’s Holiday of Holidays, I bring a small snippet of perhaps someone’s overreaction to a loyal King’s celebrants’ activities.
How apropos that both stab wounds and love figuratively and literally burn? It’s only too real for a couple down in Sydney.
Over the top? Oh yeah.
Here’s hoping that your King Day didn’t result in such disaster, but a grease-laden, soulful and rockin’ Sunday.

E-day Prep Mach II

2006-01-05T13:14:00.000-05:00

Update to the King’s B-Day preparations!
Thanks to the good folks at Fark.com, I have the ultimate in what every aspiring Elvis acolyte should be a part of:
The BOM, or Bacon of the Month Club. This is a dream come true to those of us who really have no self-value in terms of nutrition or general health, least of all gastro-intestinal.
Now that you’re hip, sign up now, or give the ultimate gift on the King’s day. Make it a E-Day that your personal Elvis will never forget, or at least be reminded of once a month for a year.

Stock up!

2006-01-03T16:42:00.000-05:00

Lessee. Gotta check the cupboards.
Peanut butter? Check.
Bacon? Check.
Butter? Check.
I mean, several pounds of butter? Mega check.
If you, gentle reader, aren’t following along, you had best check your calendars and look not too far ahead. This coming Sunday is a holiday. It’s almost like Christmas, as we will celebrate the birth of a King. The King.
Elvis Aaron Presley would have been 71 this Sunday. I figure if he hadn’t “bowl”ed over back in ’77 and he carried on even at half pace, he would be around 423 lbs. and blind and mostly deaf. Not a pretty picture, so it’s up to us as survivors to rejoice that we are still here rockin’ to kick it up like the King did.
So get out to the local food emporium and stock up on the essentials. Bacon, butter, bananas, butter, gravy, butter, peanut butter, bacon and burger! And don’t forget the biscuits!
Oh yeah – the King liked dessert, too.

CIA NJ

2005-12-13T15:58:00.000-05:00

The reports on CNN and such are absolutely true. There ARE secret CIA prisons, and they’re not just in Europe and Asia. They’re right here in the USA, as pointed out by the above pic. Now, I don’t have to go about telling you all about how I got this info, because if I do, then I’ll end up hunted and dead.
Just be aware.

Lest We Forget

2005-12-07T08:59:00.000-05:00

‘nuff said.

Ha! the Kid is OLD!

2005-12-01T09:06:00.000-05:00

So it’s my sis’s birthday today. As pictured, she’s getting old. Maybe not that old, as it would be that she is my little sister, and that would make me older than her. Drat.
Maybe I should send her a card or something like that. If I did, she would probably doubt its source, since I’m not a birthday kind of guy. I’m not a holiday kind of guy, period. I have something against most if not all Hallmark holidays, including but not limited to Valentine’s Day, Christmas, Mother’s and Father’s Day, Easter (only a little bit, because Easter is real, man), Thanksgiving, President’s Day and Dr. Martin Luther the King Day.
I prefer to commemorate days like Cinco de Mayo, Bastille Day, St. Patrick’s Day and December 7th (the official I Hate Japan Day). Hell, I’m even open to remembering that it’s Haggis Season.
But – I digress. It’s the Kid’s b-day, she’s old(er), and I love her, even though she has proven time and time again to be a royal pain in my ass. Happy happy!

Here, kitty kitty...

2005-11-03T17:01:00.000-05:00

In lieu of anything better to say to the unwashed masses, check the pic, and let’s eat Chinese tonight.

Time for new glasses...

2005-10-04T13:47:00.000-04:00

Yikes.

Now - I seem to remember that Cameron Diaz was hot. At least, some small synapse upstairs used to flicker when her name was mentioned. After seeing a quick pic on msn.com - I couldn't help but think that I saw Denis Leary in her place.

Am I insane, or is it just the grief brought on by my man Nipsey passing?

Basket Case

2005-09-29T12:07:00.000-04:00

It’s official. The Wife™ is officially a basket case. Last night marked her first show as an Independent Longaberger Consultant and from all aspects – it went pretty well. Of course, it came with a cost.
As I’ve come to realize, most people automatically think in terms of money when “cost” is mentioned. We can’t help it. Money is the universal evil, and evil spelled backwards is LIVE (pronounced with the short ‘i’, as in the verb, not the adverb). However, in the Wife™’s case, it’s all about time and health.
In leading up to this glorious event all kinds of hell erupted around Graceland, from kids’ extracurricular activities to school crap to family functions, time had this way of slipping away and bam! It’s last-minute crunch time to prepare for the home show. The candle got burnt at both ends way too hard for the missus, and now she’s sporting the cold-like symptoms to prove it.
So let’s recap here. I’m talking about cost, and what the Wife™ recently paid to start this entrepreneurial exercise. The number one payout is health. With the addition of all the time spent running around with the crap and the lack of sleep to catch up on the homestuffs, plus the stress and ignorance of decent diet, we’re looking at the beginning to mid-stages of exhaustion and minor dehydration. With the weakened immune system the seasonal change is rapping a slight to moderate sniffle, which is making her sound like a chain-smoking Kathleen Turner – and that ain’t pretty.
One last cost before I have to play work – I’m gonna pay by having to live and breathe basket crap for as long as this gig runs. I’ll support Wife™ Inc. as long as she does it, but it will certainly put me farther away from my goal of regaining any semblance of my lost manhood any time soon. \me sighs.

Holy Equinox...

2005-09-22T16:41:00.000-04:00

So I must turn to the keyboard and pour forth from my less than great mind of minds the lesser intricacies of a life that from most perspectives would appear and be most ordinary.
Shizzle: It be about time I blog the world about the banality of my life.
Yeah – I haven’t said much lately. Billiam put it best by saying that it just ain’t worth bitchin’ about stuff, because even I don’t want to hear it. So, not having worthy things to say, and not turning into some gushing parental fountain of kiddie love, I kept my yap and my keyboard quiet.
There is no real reason why I break my revelry, except the air is filled with change. The season switches upon this equinox, and I find myself anticipating the frozen sport, re-addicted to Magic, talking to once lost brothers, and digging a new workplace.
Even the Wife^TM has got all kinds of new activities going on. She’s selling baskets and those damn school Kid Stuff coupon books and in a monthly book club and all in all doing the Mom Taxi Service for brownies, dance classes, preschool, and other related activities du jour.
Things are pretty hectic, but it’s like that for everybody, so it ain’t no different for me than anybody else. I need to get into a good Hold ‘Em tourney or go online and blow somebody up or go make some sauerbraten.

That's one small step...

2005-07-20T08:17:00.000-04:00

Today is the anniversary of the Apollo 11’s landing on the moon. We’ve done some cool stuff since then, but we’re still not even close to ready to leaving this rock.
It may be my imagination, but I think I’ve stumbled onto something. A conspiracy maybe. You find out yourself.
Go out to Google and check out the Google Moon link that’s there. They’ve added some moon surface images to their gallery, and are showin’ them off. However, we all know about the government conspiracy of us never actually going to the moon and it was one big hoax. So – to see what I’m talking about – go to the Google Moon and click, drag, and zoom all the way in to the moon surface.
Share and enjoy.

Oh, Those Crazy Arabs...

2005-07-19T10:14:00.000-04:00

Got a spare kid? Well – you’re too late to make a few petrol-dollars for him/her. Those crazy A-Rabs were buyin em up to pilot their camels to glorious Jihadlike victories. That’s right – camel jockey jokes just took a whole new wrong turn.
Click the pic to go to the story. It’s all about how the Islamomos like to race the camels, but now are forced to use the next wave of robot overlords to jockey them, rather than going with the old pinsetter reserve.
Hey – we race horses and dogs and all kinds of critters – who are we to throw stones at Allah’s Chosen because they like to enslave kids to race their desert ponies? Don’t bother answering – because I know who we are.

Office Space

2005-05-13T08:27:00.000-04:00

Gotta give a mondo shout out to the powers a la Management for the recent placement of yours truly’s arse. As of today I am officially working from home.
I went out and got me the wireless router, hooked that bad boy up and I’m now slammin’ my own bad coffee at the kitchen table while VPN’d in to the corp network.
Lotsa goods and bads here.
Let’s start with the goods.
I now get to see the kiddies a lot more, I get paid to take a dump on my OWN shitter, no more hassling with the Jersey traffic, by product thereof is I save some petrol-dollars, I’ll save some lira on lunch tabs, I’ll BE ON TIME for dinner, and no more wondering if I have clean clothes back from the LaundroWife^TM.
Here come the bad.
I now get to see the kiddies a lot more, I almost feel obliged to work harder and maybe longer hours (big ALMOST here – not yet – but it might creep up on me), I run the risk of becoming the uber-hermit, and I just may fall in love with this so much that I’ll never go back to a real office setting.
Now – when I say real office setting, I’m talking straight out of a Dilbert cartoon box strip, which we have all come to know as being too real. Not to say that I’ll miss the office thing, but I do have fun in the office. I could have fun pretty much anywhere, but the office setting provides only all too much material.

So – I need to finish up this mug of genuinely bad coffee (note to all: Savarin SUCKS – even if Shop-Rite is giving it away, let them keep the dirt), finish breakfast with the remaining non-school spawn, work the bowl, and oh yeah – get to work. love it!

19 Years and Still Glowin'

2005-04-26T16:52:00.000-04:00

Somebody get Debbie Boone over to the Ukraine. Stat. There are a few thousand Reds over there that NEED to hear “You Light Up My Life” as today marks the anniversary of the Chernobyl nuclear reactor explosion.
What’s a Cold War without some serious nuclear happenings? C’mon, kids – just think about it and go back to the crazy ‘80’s. That reactor leak gave those repressed Russkies a chance to glow like Olivia Newton John’s leg warmers and run around all willy-nilly like the college grad cocaine-infused NY stock brokers of the time. It was like one big American gift!
Sure, you may say, “D, that’s pretty cold – those people suffered a fate almost worse than those of Hiroshima…” and I would respond with, “OK…”
Sure, there was enough radioactive material spread over there to give Hiroshima their one-time dose over 200 times. And – it might have, well, affected the soil somewhat. I say – they knew the risks! And even if they didn’t – at least they now had something to talk about other than what happened in yesterday’s bread line.
Don’t get all bleeding heart on me. Boo hoo hoo! People got hurt! Boo hoo hoo!
Bah! People survived! I’ll even bet that some mutations occurred, creating one or two genetically altered super-kraines! We may not even know they’re there… It may take two more gene mutations… One more deviation… and bam! There shall rise from the glowing hills a savior! The new Czar! Maybe super advanced intellect, allowing a new Mother Russia, one that will surpass the dominant West, in space, war, or at least able to grow a freaking potato or make a clock radio.
So – back to my point. Let’s help mark the anniversary of the Chernobyl Glow, and go on home and cook up something in our SAFE Asian-made microwave nukers!
Or – check out where YOUR local reactor is, and stay the hell home and slip into something lead-lined.

"I don't care!"

2005-04-08T09:51:00.000-04:00

Caring. I guess we have to. I couldn’t help but remember that I read this book to the spawn the other night, and since then I’ve been scouring the Interweb for free mp3’s to the Carole King album.
In retrospect – Pierre held his ground pretty hard until the Lion called his bluff and ate him. After the alleged King of the Jungle coughed him up alive and unhurt(?) Pierre changed his tune faster than John Kerry and we are all supposed to gain wisdom from his tribulations. Bullshit.
We all know that Lion is gonna look back and realize that Pierre’s family, after beating on him and making him look bad, needs to pay the price. So you can bet hard dinero that he’s going back for a full family feast Pierre-style. And that’s just to save face. He’ll go and drag the doctor back to the den for the rest to chomp on, or to maul in front of his friends. Gangsta-Lion style.
‘Nuff said about the little Frenchy kid. Might as well have tooted on about some Aesop fable, ‘cuz it be like the Man talking in parable all over again. Those folks didn’t listen, either.

So what?

2005-04-07T10:55:00.000-04:00

I really don’t think I could have put it better than what is depicted on the strip above.
Yeah – I haven’t posted for a while, and I’m listed as being static content, and I’ve done some interesting things in the past month. Take a note from the Chili Peppers : Taste the Pain.
First up – the trip to Mouseland was way freakin cool. Not so much in the “I came, I saw, I conquered” way, but more in the parental “live through the kids” way. Watching the spawn struggle to wave higher, faster, and more emphatically than the other kids to get the characters’ attention was worth more than any thrill a Space Mountain could provide in 30 seconds or less. After going through the hundreds of pictures – the fact that I’m not in more than four of them only belies the truth of it – I wasn’t there as much as the KIDS were there. Mission accomplished.
Second up – back to the cartoon pic. There is nothing outside of general kid stuff to talk about. Perhaps I’m feeling the opposite of what normally happens in spring time, but I just couldn’t care less what is happening on the face of this rock. Is it the maniacal dervishes that call themselves upper management at work? Could it be post-trip depression? The fact that some work buds got the axe? Poor diet/health? Bad teevee programming? Whatever.
All I know is that I got me a big case of season-opening attitude. Trouble is a-brewin. I need to find a healthy distraction, and I really don’t think the kid’s T-ball parental slavery is going to do it.
Of course – I can’t make it to Bill’s gig due to “other” things going on. Yippee.

Soon.

2005-03-11T09:34:00.000-05:00

Yeah – so I was going to post up this 80’s Hey Iran pic of our pal Mickey flipping the bird, but I remembered that I was trying to keep this place somewhat PG-13 in ratings.
In two short weeks the fam and I will be strolling about in Mouseworld – and that simply KICKS ASS.
I really don’t know what I’m looking forward to most. It could be watching Dara go through bitter disappointment when we tell her that she isn’t going to school that day to an excited giddy state when we put her on a plane, to absolute child Nirvana when she realizes that she ended up in Disney.
Yup – the spawn have no idea we’re going. The boy, being only of two years of age, won’t give a shit. Granted – he’ll have a ball when he’s not being terrorized by large suited characters that get too close. But for the most part – he’ll simply be there, and forget about the whole thing in about a year’s time.
The middle child will go into a state of wonderment as well. As long as she doesn’t wet her pants (which is a distinct possibility, even with the eldest) we’ll do just fine.
Back to what I’m looking forward to. Yeah – the kids will make this trip what it is supposed to be. But – I gotta tell ya – it’s gonna rule going round the Epcot world with the Porq. Not only to we get to abuse every culture this planet has to offer in one day – but we get to drink while we do it. What a way to introduce the kids to the “other” people on this rock of ours.
And when we’re not cajoling about Epcot – you KNOW el Porq and I will have the stash back the hotel. So much for a dry Magic Kingdom…
Breakfast with the characters, dinner with a Princess, lunch with the masses. I wonder if I can get a good deal on one of those evil queen outfits for the Wife^TM…
Lots of preparation yet – so I’ll let you know when I hear the faint tune of It’s A Small World. Only when I can practically SMELL it – will I know I’ll be close.

Kiss me gently...

2005-02-03T10:29:00.000-05:00

You gotta love faith-based rituals. We all have ‘em. It could be Christenings/Baptisms, Marriage, Bar/Bat Mitzvahs, Penance, Last Rites, even Mardi-Gras or a somber belt at the 19th hole. But when you get into some of these self-mutilation deals like FGM and Ashoura – you tread on some pretty thin ice.
I awoke the other day to the clock/radio shouting about some wonderful local news to one of those rituals gone bad. A centuries old tradition, the Briss is not something I think I would want to celebrate. I figure – it doesn’t matter at what age you get this done, the results are the same – you cry like hell and you probably don’t walk right for a year or so. At least those of the Jewish faith end up getting some gifts out of it. And you would think a nice savings bond or some cashish would suffice as an offering to the little bugger that just got sliced, but when as the presiding Man with the beanie and blade goes all Old Skool on the kid and gives the Gift That Keeps On Giving, we have ourselves a big problem.
Being a proud dad of a boy, especially after having a couple of daughters, I want this little man to have nothing but the best care for his very first tool. And when it comes down to his first oral application, I’ll be mortgaging my house to fund Michael Moore’s next project before I hire some old religious guy to do the job. I’d be on the line with the cousins Eric and Vin for recommendations to the best that particular industry has to offer and then take bids.
Bottom line : /me shudders

Horsehockey!

2005-02-02T07:29:00.000-05:00

Wisdom that I have gained from my endless hours in front of the American God (TV) is correct date placement. How you ask? From the veritable sherpa of soldiers Col. Sherman Potter from the later years of M*A*S*H. This brilliant cowhand had arranged to get married on a date that was a known holiday and so would be thus reminded of it by the media (and I still curse them – don’t think I’ve let those cretins off so easily). And what holiday would that be? None other than the dearest to my Brotherman’s heart – Groundhog Day. February the second, a day of true American idiocy, and yet one more reason in the Babel Tower of instances of why the world laughs at us.
So chances are you, gentle reader, are reading this pixilated script while in the shadow of Lady Liberty. Enjoy our day of phantasmal weather prediction in pagan ecstasy! Go on out and stock up on MD 20/20 in all your favorite flavors to not only consume yourself but share with your mirth-filled neighbors and friends! Toss a few back for ‘ol Phil, who has to put up with all of Punxsutawney’s slack-jawed yokels and screaming city folk.
If you do it right – you’ll be able to enjoy this all again with the Groundhog Hangover on February the Third.

and He would come from Toho...

2005-01-31T15:36:00.000-05:00

Ok – what I may be treading on here might be considered “blasphemous” so I would suggest to the light of open-minded religious conservatism to take a powder rather than reading on.
I had the greatest of pleasures this past weekend of exposing the offspring to a real institution, the genre of the Japanese Monster Movie. More importantly and directly, the introduction of the King of all monsters – Godzilla. In an early afternoon showing of Godzilla, Mothra, et al. (2001) my little ones summoned up the nerve to peek through their tightly clenched fingers to witness the giant reptile wreak havoc upon the far eastern Toho constructed miniscapes of Japan. Amazed they were, although a little extra soothing and reassuring of their fictitious state was needed for the middle child. From this short exposure I could never have imagined the reaction and observations that would become from my eldest, shy less a fortnight of her 6th birthday.
She questioned the peoples’ abject fear and betrayal of this creature who was obviously trying to help them by staving off the marauding invaders of Mothra and the three headed Gihidorah. When those drill missiles blasted into Godzilla’s hide she actually cried out for him to get away. Who knew a mere child could have empathy for a special effect riddled man in a rubber suit?
Now that I have preambled long enough to the setting of this amazing observation I must get to the crux of this matter. Those innocent questions brought forth by my child had forced me to compare the imaginary lizard to someone whom we may all have some connection with. This person I refer to is no one less than our Lord and Savior, JC Himself.
I asked myself the uneasy question – can these characters have anything to do with one another? Surely this could not have been the intent in 1954 with the original filming! In this movie the giant Godzilla came, wrecked Tokyo, and died in the harbor. Although – there WAS an underlying message of human frailty and environmentalism… AND – he DID rise again some three film generations later…
This reptilian beast had come and shook up the Japanese world, caused great anarchy and self-reflection, and went away to come again. Godzilla saves, he destroys in doing so.
I admit JC had a different style – not so much with the radioactive fiery breath, but he did destroy! He tore down immorality and sin, threw some tables around in the temple, and was not to be shaken by so much as a storm at sea. Each have had to battle. JC was in the desert with ‘ol Beelzebub and cast out fleets of lesser demons, Godzilla stomped around Monster Island at will, and came to mainland to really beat down the evil ones. Both of ‘em got people riled up. Where they might be opposite in that Godzilla had folks running away and JC had ‘em standing around him for miles in every direction, they both led to social upheaval. I’m telling ya here – the similarities are uncanny.
I’ll let you be the final judge here, as I can ramble on about the similarities for pages. In my best Leonard Nimoy voice I would ask the question – “Is Godzilla the Savior of Japan? Next! on In Search Of…”

Shake it up...

2005-01-21T11:22:00.000-05:00

Yeah – I’m alive. I seem to have survived the dreaded pox that stripped me of my insatiable hunger, only to find myself wary of my own futile existence. The article I linked to talks about global events, specifically around our rock’s sporadic killing off of its inhabitants. I took a step away and mentally slid a few ring on my abacus and came out with a quick estimate that it was about time we had us another Earthen Cleansing.
I can’t say I would be big on it – I still have a lot to get done, but if it’s time – it’s time. I sometimes have the notion that God has the Earth on his mantle, almost exactly as some freaky airport hoppers collect trinkets from every nook they’ve ever traveled. In this case there is a wall of snowglobes, but to the Big Man that little souvenir is US. And just like us – we all know what’s gonna happen when we shake it up, but it’s irresistible to do it nonetheless. So every few million years, Yahweh gets Himself an itchy trigger finger and gives the Earth globe a rattle, just to see how the dust settles that time.
Are we really due for a shake? Look around. I think so.

Blech.

2005-01-19T13:32:00.000-05:00

I think I just need to die.
I can get along just fine with all kinds of different bodily pain. I’m definitely at home with mental pain, but I seem to have fallen to my very best hated type of malady. Gastrointestinal.
I awoke this morn at the great hour of four to the irresistible urge to purge. From everywhere. Things that were in needed to be out. It took several hours of contortions and revolving door tactics with el bano, but I now find myself a spent shell and probably quite dehydrated and most certainly afraid of everything solid.
I hate it when my guts get out of whack. The bitch part is that it happens from time to time. But this one was worse than usual. I’m thinking viral. I actually had to pull over on my way into the office so I could effectively dry-heave. You all know how much THAT had to suck.
Now – I’m hunched over in my office freezing and staring at a container of spongy Nissin Cup Noodles thinking that I would prefer mustard gas to this feeling. Maybe even a sweet laceration or hell – gimme a good ol fashion headache. Toothache even. I know how to handle them.
Alas – my Achilles Heel is none other than my stomach. And intestines. Hell – it’s my entire alimentary canal.
Bottom line : I’m hating life right about now. If only my phone would stop ringing…

Dreamtime

2005-01-18T09:32:00.000-05:00

So I had me a dream last night. Perhaps inspired by all that ML the K Day talk and all – but that guy had a pipe dream of equality of all men – I just had one of my typical way out there dreams. So siddown, gentle reader, and put on yer seatbelts for this one.

So there I was, rollerblading around ShopRite. I’ve had this dream before. But this one was nice – there was a sale on pizza. A HUGE sale on pizza. There was all kinds around. Round, square, long, short, thick, thin, and toppings of every color and taste. These pizzas were just about everywhere. And that was me, zipping around checking out all the pies that I knew I needed, man.
Lo and behold – something was going down. I was alone in that supermarket of pizza. Somehow a hockey game broke out – USA vs Russia, wearing the same uniforms as back in ’80 in Lake Placid. It was brutal. Guys were all over the place, and the score was tied up one apiece. From outta nowhere, a shot came flying by and nailed the USA goalie in the side of the head. Our goal was in the bread aisle. The shot came right down and after a super quick action – it was in the net. They waved it off at first, but after the review on the Dexter Deli order monitor, the goal had to stand. Damn. It was cool – the shot came down and bounced off the dude’s skate, but a quick slap of the stick put the puck homewards – not the skate. The Russky didn’t have much time to do this before our D came and plowed him into the Entenmann’s rack. Normally I would say great play but I was pissed since hey – who wants the commies to win?
I woke up just about after that with the alarm clock being the final buzzer. This wasn’t too messed up in that I don’t need any dream therapist or some freakin Technicolor Dreamcoat to figure out what’s up in me brainbone. I can break this down into a few key points.
1. we all need more pizza. Preferably with meat products on them.
2. I spend too much time at ShopRite.
3. I freaking MISS good hockey.

Let’s get this straight too. I miss GOOD hockey – not necessarily the NHL. Shit – I would pay money to rewatch some of the SEGA ’94 games we played on juiced up Wednesday evenings in Piscataway. There is something inherently wrong with it being January and no talk about the All-Star break and who would’ve won the 8-goal club pool. I’m stepping up here and telling you that Bettman had better take a page outta the ultimate leader’s handbook (a.k.a. Reagan’s memoirs) and flat out FIRE everybody. Unrecognize the player’s union. Go on teevee primetime and rip up whatever contract was in place. Then burn it. Then wiss all over it and laugh as he puts the final shake on the stream.
We need a whole new world. I’m all for management here. I don’t care how much they skim off the top or how much they spend on whatever – but this “union” thing is pure crapola. Fans will complain about ticket prices, and when we stop paying those prices, they will come down, and owners will stop paying inflated salaries. The espNHL had some good ideas, like killing the advertising all over the place. That would drive the owners to scrimp in the right places, like the salaries. Marketing? Let’s get some better coverage on the ice and mic up some of the replacement players. You start recording what comes out of a juiced up Theo Fleury and you can make Tenacious D look like a church choir. I’d tune in for that action in a heartbeat. Oh – the players no like? No soup for you! Out! Next! There will always be somebody who WANTS to play.
Bring on the scabs – there will be some good play soon enough, because those egomainiacs in the nhlpa will eventually come around and realize we really didn’t miss them that much.
Bring on the NASCAR. February 20th – be ready.

I'm back.

2005-01-13T17:41:00.000-05:00

That’s it.
This template BLOWS. I know it does. I’m TRYING to get something together that is a lot less similar to scraping off your cornea with a paring knife, but it will take a little longer than expected, since I’m as talented as a tap-dancing mollusk in that department.
I wanted to have this fresh kick-ass revitalized Elvis shrine for a blogspot, and just in time for the King’s 70th – but no. I suck too badly for that.

So I end my months of silence with none too atypical attitude about my lack of progress on anything. As Life Rule #2 states – Deal With It. I think I needed to get back to how my blog title implies – this be a Rant page. I’m gonna get back to the roots, kids. I’m angry. About everything. Be ready to hear about it.

I might post some links to the things I will rant about – I might not. But as the King would state – I’m taking care of business. And when you gotta prioritize – this web stuff kinda sinks to the bottom of the well of daily crap that has been building up.

Here goes to the New Year and what would’ve been the 71st Year of the Elvisian calendar : “I’d rather be angry than bored.”

Lucky for me (and you, gentle reader) – there’s plenty to be angry about.

Don't forget...

2004-09-11T13:10:00.000-04:00

Missing Pic Link Here
There aren’t words to express the anger. Sure, there’s heart-wrenching sympathy for the families and loved ones of the thousands that were lost on this day. That our friends and heroes gave their lives as innocent victims to ideals of hatred from a world away drives my ire beyond measure.
The pic shown is that of a Pakastani leader, Fazalur Rehman, inspiring his hate of America. I want you to remember that he is by far not alone in his stance. Don’t forget that. Don’t forget what happened on this date three years ago. Don’t forget how afraid you were, and how angry you were, and how you wanted revenge. Don’t try to fool me with your idealistic fantasies of a peaceful resolution, because that takes both sides to work.
I’ll be right here to remind you how you felt. Then I’ll remind you what has to be done.
Don’t forget. Stay angry. We owe that to those that aren’t here anymore.

Mother!

2004-09-08T15:30:00.000-04:00

Man – I just can’t believe my eyes. Oh wait – yes I can. It’s Big Media again, desperately searching for anything that might help the Kerrykause. In this case, Roger Waters must have strolled by the CNN office and struck some analyst with some Oedipus complex to put a microphone to this unemployed has-been’s yap. Seriously – look at the pics to figure out which one was Albright and which is Pink’s mother. Can’t do it, eh? Maybe the whole Democratic Party are a bunch of stage props. Then again – there’s no maybe about it.

Big Media SUCKS

2004-08-31T10:13:00.000-04:00

I have to break my blog silence to give due props to the Brotherman for dealing with the absolute garbage we’re being assailed with from Big Media in respect to what’s good for John “Where’s my spine?” Kerry and what’s bad for George “Leader” Bush.
An article form the AP via Yahoo! News just lit me up white hot this morning. The best part is that it only took the title, which has no backup from the body of the article.
Read it here and tell me if I’m wrong. I’m not, so don’t bother juicing me up with your tree-hugging liberal hippie crap. The GOP convention in downtown Liberalville is gonna be great. I hope Maria joins Arnold on the stage to publicly back Bush, and then spits on Moore’s crumpled corpse after he gets officially Terminated.
As for me – I’ll be watching Hockey on ESPN2 tonite. Mario is playing, and so all else gets blacked out. At least for a short while, anyway. Then the Icemen will go back to their whiny Union ways, and we’ll have a great 2005-06 NHL Season.

Middle Child

2004-08-19T11:24:00.000-04:00

I’m pretty much resigned to diverting any college funding for my second-born to extensive therapy sessions. The classic middle-child has shown us yet once again that she is a mental mess, and our abilities as parents are vaudevillian attempts to lead and educate her to be a well-rounded little person.
Yeah – Delaney is a trip. I need to divulge her recent display of oddity, and I don’t want to hear the adage “Oh, she’s a chip off the ‘ol block” because even when compared to me – this kid is OUT THERE. She LOOKS ok, but that’s pure evil for you. What goes on INSIDE… whoa.
Here’s the tip of the iceberg of evil. Waterfowl. I don’t know why, but the kid has something for them. For a while here ‘Laney has had a fascination with penguins. It started off with death-like abject terror, but then migrated to some type of idolatry. No – it’s got nothing to do the weak-ass hockey team. I’m talking REAL penguins. As parents we used this fear as a tool, getting her to comply with dinner and bath orders with threats of penguin invasions and such. Now she would welcome a large group of penguin visitors, and has been bugging us to visit them at the zoo. But what else?
The next bird of prey would present itself at the breakfast table. Quite non-chalant over her Rice Crispies the Child^TM tells us all about her dream she had that night. She dreamt of a pelican (and probably a large one) that swept down to her, chewed her into pieces, and ate her. Not quite done, the pelican announced that she did not taste good, and promptly spit her out. At that, she smiled, and went about finishing her breakfast, leaving the Wife^TM and I in parental shock.
Dream interpretation? Screw that – I don’t want to know how bad I messed up in parenting. I think we even started previewing the Animal Planet for a while. Visions of Dante’s ninth circle played in my head, and I had to remind myself that the kid just doesn’t or shouldn’t know about that yet. You boil all this down and what do you get? Typical middle child. I really wonder what bird will come out next though…

"Child? Halo reservation for one..."

2004-08-13T13:34:00.000-04:00

Alas – if there was anything redeeming about the French – it might be some of their food, or at least the art of the sauce. And who came along to show the general meatloaf lovin’ Americans how to use the saucepan for something other than braining their cheating spouses? None other than dear ‘ol Julia Child.
She was a tough broad, and in her prime I bet she could beat the hell out of any stunad to criticize her quiche too harshly. If not then drink him under the table and take his wallet.
So – in honor of the Mean Queen of French Cuisine – let’s all go and make a big mess in the kitchen, cut ourselves, and finish the bottle of wine we were cooking with.
I miss her already.

Cash Update!

2004-08-04T17:08:00.000-04:00

Yo!
A voice from the Great Divide gave me a link to some AM radio action that seems to have the Man in Black on quite often. If yer sittin' at yer PC and have some available bandwidth - give 'ol KCUV a listen.
Share and enjoy.

Listen!

2004-08-02T09:53:00.000-04:00

It only took a month, but I finally got off my keister and got me one of the best cds EVER. That’s right – I got me the 16 greatest from the Man in Black himself – Mr. Johnny Cash.
Now – I am one that just does NOT advocate both of those kinds of music, and when I say both kinds, I’m talking about Country AND Western. This is different than that Reba Barf Brooks crapola you instantly retch and look for a dog to run over whenever you accidentally hear four strummed chords of. This is raw, pure and simple story tellin’ re-fall in love with beer kinda music. It sure ain’t the Beastie Boys, but the rhymes do me just right.
When I was just a baby my mama told me. Son,
always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns.
But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die
now every time I hear that whistle I hang my head and cry…

Ok – if you can’t appreciate the Cash – then maybe you should check out my other great parental purchase in terms of kids-based music. What makes this one of the greatest picks ever for the kids was the fact that the Wife^TM was responsible for finding and buying it. Props deserved.

Keep listenin’ kids…

Hello, Neighbor...

2004-07-23T08:46:00.000-04:00

Here is an 'actual' profile of one of the registered offenders in your area…
Last Name: Cavanaugh
First Name: Richard
Middle Name: E
DOB: 1967-11-23
Alias 1: EDWARD CAVANAUGH
Address 1: 240 EAST WESTFIELD AVENUE APT A9
City: ROSELLE PARK
State: NJ
Zip: 07204
Hair: Brown
Eye: Brown
Height: 6' 1"
Weight: 195
Race: White
Scars and Marks: SCAR LEFT ANKLE
Sex: M
Offense Description 1: AGGRAVATED SEXUAL ASSAULT
Conviction Date: 1987-12-04
Victim Sex: F
Source: NJ
Convicted: Yes
Address information is that of the Courthouse: No

Ok – I’ll say it. The worst thing I possibly could have seen next to this profile was – “Sorry… Image Unavailable”. Of course, I tried the ‘ol white pages, and Mr. Cavanaugh wasn’t listed. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t exactly help me sleep better, now that I know that Eddie C. lives THREE BLOCKS AWAY. So let’s get to the chaser to this nice drink of reality…
I got this info from the US Protection and Care Society’s web page. On the home page you can do a ‘sample’ lookup and from this I got Mr. Offender’s info, sans picture. After reading a little deeper into this organization’s page, it occurred to me that this non-profit gets its funding from you and me in terms of membership dues. Um – what? Ok – I’ve done some work for non-profits and every one of them – I mean – EVERY ONE of them gets some kind of grant or other subsidization for their operations. If these guys were true to their value and mission statement, I would only think they would have the grey power to ask Uncle Sam for small slice to help the rest of the law abiding citizens from each other.
Yeah, yeah, yeah – it’s a great idea and cause. Man, I almost sound liberal here, but I just don’t think that because I have an extra $20 a year I am entitled to info that I am already supposed to be getting from the enforcement of Megan’s Law. Here’s another kicker – the USPCS isn’t the only folks doing this – the National Alert Society (probably the same folks) are charging the same thing for the same info and alerts.
Check it out, learn a name, and try to sleep better. If you can, let me know how.

Hungry?

2004-07-07T11:26:00.000-04:00

Hot Damn I love to cook. No, really. The firecrackin’ national holiday of the fourth of July has come and gone, and I took good use of the Monday off to seriously abuse both my grill and my liver.
Thanks to the fruits of my Thai hot pepper plant, I kicked this weekend off to a vat of my oh-so-amazing chili. For those interested – check the history – the recipe is there. For those really enterprising individuals – I still have some left. Hoo boy…
Sunday and Monday brought two racks of ribs to perfect completion, thanks to the glazing of the homemade BBQ sauce. What’s so good about the sauce? It’s the fact that it has a base of strong black coffee. You heard me – java. Dark, bitter, and jacked up with the sugars and spices to make simple ribs KICK ASS BONED PIG FLESH. I’m talking about wanting to laminate your greasy sauced fingers when yer done jamming as much food in your craw so you save the flavor and memory sensations for later. I mean, this pork was so good I had a delegation from the Union/Elizabeth Al-Qaeda at my door to renounce their misguided notions just so they can enjoy the fruit of the pig and my grill. Damn straight…
I will only disperse the BBQ sauce recipe upon demand. And I will make more, to possibly accompany me to various friends’ cookouts (if the invites come) to help their gatherings turn into legend. Good thing I’m modest about this action, or else it could get ugly.
Bottom line – I need to cook. Fire plus meat plus hunger equals some kind of preternatural instinct to create foodstuffs el mas bueno. And to Hell with baking. You want a cake? Go to Shop-Rite. You want to spend too much on the cake? Go to the Italian bakery on the corner with the lines and attitude. Or – if you’re good – ask an Aunt that digs that crap. But – if you want to eat – and I mean EAT – you knock on my door with an eleven pack and you’re in for it. Cicero was wrong – you don’t eat to live, you live to EAT.

Moore Scum...

2004-06-22T13:32:00.000-04:00

Oh yeah.
In my passings – I have noticed that the Brotherman has changed his site, and all the images I have stored over there are presently boned. Alas – mon freund shall bring from the ashes the new Phoenix, and this Rants page will be sparkling as it has before, particularly with Rich’s head over on the sidebar.
Anyways – all you truebelievers MUST check out MSN’s Slate column right over here as it is a wonderful rip on Mike Moore’s celluloid liefest. It really backs up my previous statement that Moore is a complete scumbag. Wait – no – the Brotherman beat me to it.
Remember. Don’t forget. Stay angry. And don’t think about Polar Bears.

Kneel before ZOD....

2004-06-03T13:23:00.000-04:00

Ok – I’m a punk. I’ve posted squat, and you all have found other things to do with your time than point your browsers at my aged bilge. It’s not like nothing has been happening to yours truly; I’m a lazy fool. Plain and simple. Let’s see what I can do to rectify my absence.

Let’s start off by my stating that I think I need to rule the world. I’ve always thought of myself as an idea man, with a tendency to take charge at times. This trait may come in handy, as there is a lot to do and change with the world at present status. Although one might think that this is the perfect forum for discussing my takeover and ruling plans, I’ll have to pass on that for now. Let’s just agree that you’ve been all warned. It’s mine. All of it. Maybe not right now, but sooner or later you’ll just have to hand it over. So, in light of the fact that you really never had a choice, let’s make it easy on everyone and give it up now. Let’s move on.

So as the planet starts its capitulation, much else transpires. My backup band is getting bigger. I mean, physically bigger. Not so much Dawn – she’s looking pretty good for producing the rest of the band – but the Spawns are growing like weeds. You feed and water ‘em, what do you expect? I need to post a comparative pic or to of the Spawn development. Mental note : do that later. I keep pushing down on the head of the oldest, but she keeps on growing. She’s still quite a long way from being Amazon stock, but the trend is there. I’m ready for her to pick up a spear and claim the second floor of the domicile as her realm. I’m pretty careful to stay on the kid’s good side, because I’m sure she has the memory thing going like her mother. Needless to say – it’s a walking rolodex of doom. Lesson here? Be good to the sprouts.

Last up – I’m looking for grill recipes. Summer is knocking down the door, and that means grillin’ and chillin’. Everybody has their own idea of the best summer food, and I want to hear what y’all want to see most of all. Who knows? Maybe – just maybe – what you submit might get served from the grill cz’ski sometime soon. So send away!

Fact!

2004-05-18T15:40:00.000-04:00

Alas! Time has flown! After much pressure from folks – especially Porq - I now make my glorious return to the blog scene. No excuses or reasons for my lack of posts. I don’t want to explain – and therefore by my relative view – you don’t need to know.
I am in certain belief that the world is very much nearing its expiration date. Somebody had best pack up the dogsled and check the label somewheres in the Arctic Circle, ‘cuz this mudball is about to go all bad, and the Big Man will throw us away like the half-eaten bag of Lay’s you left in the cupboard with the snack clip (a.k.a. clothespin) loosely attached.
Now – I ain’t telling everybody to drop to their knees and loudly beat their breasts and lament as the sinners we are (not that it’s that bad of an idea) but in the immortal words of Steve Dallas from Bloom County – “Something must be done.”
Over the past couple of weeks I’ve read the news reports, heard the commercials, the bulletins, the statements – and I think I’m about ready to make some real basic conclusions.
1. Tap water has more character and flavor than John Kerry. I mean – you can taste the chlorine sometimes, maybe some mineral aftertaste, and it’s all about where you are as to what kind of flavor you pick up. But Kerry – this jazbo is floating along, lighter in content than my kids’ birthday balloons. I would love to catch him on the money trail and introduce him to Jesse, my 24-ounce waffle-head framing hammer so I can nail him down to something solid. Welcome to a platform, you semi-liberal vote-sucking apparition.
2. It sucks getting caught. Ok – we are all just plain shocked and appalled by how our kids in uniform were treating the prisoners in that Iraqi Alcatraz of sorts. Yeah – it sucks being humiliated like that. And it shouldn’t be done. I think we should have news conference to publicly add this to the list of things that are bad. And while we’re on that subject – let’s go up a little higher on the list of bad things, or more aptly titled “Things Not To Do”. Hmmm. It would seem that purposely flying a plane full of innocent people into a skyscraper filled with thousands of other innocent people is there. Yup. Supporting an international terrorist organization responsible for the deaths of thousands – there. Despotic leadership of a government that uses death squads to “remove” freethinking individuals – made the list. Quick glance shows murder, rape, maim, theft, arson, insurrection, and couple of others that the inhabitants of that Iraqi prison were there for. I don’t know what I want to do first to finally push me over the edge – go ask a Vietnam POW what kind of treatment he received and whether or not his captors were brought to “justice” or go find the CBS exec that ok’d the mass release of those images and just ask how CBS isn’t held accountable for triggering the recent waves of violence towards Americans, all blatantly derived as responses to the negative media campaign. You don’t think there was a correlation? Let’s go ask some of Nick Berg’s family. I’m sure you can get them to understand that we had to pay a price for making some murderers, thieves and otherwise terrorists feel uncomfortable. I think you get my drift.
3. Michael Moore IS the biggest scumball on the planet. No doubt, I would rather deep fry his twinkie-eatin ass and feed him to a pack of hungry killer whales than support anything that lines his pockets. Him or Spike Lee, the Urban Film Napoleon. At least Eisner had the balls to nix the latest bilge Moore was about unleash on us. Mickey 1, Moore 0. Shame on us for getting that idiot an Oscar.
4. There’s no turning back the clock. Yes – time is in itself a perpetual motion machine, and it’s challenging me on a daily basis to spend time with the kids – while they ARE kids. I don’t know how my parents dealt with it, or still do, because my little monsters haven’t grown up yet and it’s killing me already. It would explain the insanity that my folks have and do display, but it’s only because they’ve cared for too long. I push down on the kids’ heads and tell them I’m trying to keep them from growing up. They laugh and tell me that they can’t wait until they’re big. Yeah – I can’t wait either – that’s why I won’t and I’ll play and read and run and jump and draw and pretend and make funny noises with them NOW.

Bottom line – life isn’t fair. Uncle Roy is heads on right about that. That’s his number one rule. Rule two says deal with it. And that’s the magic. We’re all out there – and we set ourselves apart from the rest of the simians in HOW we deal with it. Oh yeah – his optional third rule? Kids ain’t cheap. Word.

Bush? Why, Thank You...

2004-04-27T17:17:00.000-04:00

Yes – we DO live in a crazy world. Well – it’s pretty crazy in these parts – it’s absolute bedlam over there. When I mean over there, I’m talking about Islamofascist country again. Yet again, just a few news headlines to get me bloggin’ about how lucky we are to live where we do, in a land governed by us, the people. Well, maybe not by the people but by elected representatives of the people. Well, let’s just say that our electoral system is pretty good, and it’s better than living moment by moment in the shadow of fear of a bloodthirsty tyrant.

Okay – maybe I like ‘ol Dubya. Okay – there’s no maybe about it. Damn straight I do. It kills me that I live in one of those ‘Dem’ states that will undoubtedly give its precious electoral vote to the left, like chaff in the wind. Debacle!
My mind cries for diversion of my dear Ottawa Senators FAILING again in the Cup Playoffs, unable to prove superior to the dreaded Maple Leafs (die!) and as a result we have let Mr. Martin go, undoubtedly to aid another of our rivals to levels unmatched. I seek revenge for such a travesty as I have seen on the ice; a team, nay, a collection of ‘professionals’, that has gone so far to give up so fast. And where, gentle reader, would you expect this blogger to find solace? Why, in no place other than the creation of a New World Order, led by the conservative right, and stomping out all that oppose us! Kids – jump on board, there’s plenty of room here on the right bandwagon! What’s that? Mom and Dad won’t let you? Ha! We have agencies on call to set that straight!
Well – maybe I’ll just have another beer and hope there’s a 2004-2005 NHL season…
That – and America wakes up and realizes that Bush rules. Don’t forget it.

Breathe Deep...

2004-04-27T11:13:00.000-04:00

Breathe deep the gathering gloom,
Watch lights fade from every room.
Bedsitter people look back and lament
Another day's useless energy is spent.
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one;
Lonely man cries for love and has none;
New mother picks up and suckles her son;
Senior citizens wish they were young.
Cold-hearted orb that rules the night
Removes the colours from our sight,
Red is grey and yellow white
But we decide which is right
And which is an illusion.

Kids – you just don’t get this kind of thing from your RIAAnazi cd mills these days. Your bubble headed pop “stars” have as much artistic value as a Guadalajaran basement cock fight. I heard the MB’s “Nights in White Satin” on the trek to the office today, and the good radio folk decided to play out the last vocals (above) as well as treat me to the happy gong ending. Which proves my point about music these days – if you can’t successfully use a gong – why bother trying in the first place. I mean – you gotta branch out the percussion to REAL instruments. Timpani, glockenspiel, triangle, castanets, cymbals, bongos! Damn – even Christopher Walken in an appearance on SNL can be quoted as saying “I need more cowbell!”

Baby, Light my Fire

2004-04-20T15:54:00.000-04:00

It’s springtime, folks. I spent all weekend outside, whittling away at the massive Honey-Do list in hopes of making darling Wife^TM happy with yours truly. I would have to say I was successful, and the Herculean efforts towards the beautification of our domicile’s outdoor area were not in vain. But all that time I spent digging, cutting, pulling, etc. my mind wandered to its happy little place – cooking with fire.
Amen and Hallelujah, I’m talking about grillin’ and chillin’, smokin’ and pokin’, drinkin’ and stinkin’ in the glorious warm weather months that are upon us all. Forget the oven, y’all – fire up the grill. Ya got all day? Stoke the coals, fill the water basin and spread the wood chips in the smoker. Let’s all go out right now and buy the biggest slab of brisket and marinate that bad boy in the most favorite blends of herbs and juices.
Sear and fear, true believers! Put me in charge of that flame! Our Creator put the beasts on Earth for the prime purpose of feeding us with the ultimate gift of their flesh. Luckily, He also put herb gardens about for seasonings. As we might know from experience – He didn’t put any of those herbs in South America – all they do is salt the meats before grilling. But who’s complaining about that? That’s why He gave us lisinopril!
My question is this: Why are you reading this when you can be outside right now cooking up a snack on the open flame? Never mind a snack – how about a feast? A festival of flame! Work the finishing sauces! Perfect the marinade! Revel in the rub!
Check back next week – I guar-an-tee a grill/smoker story…

Ouch!

2004-04-14T16:48:00.000-04:00

My first-born is a hero. She probably displayed more strength and courage today than I have in the past decade. But how, noble web writer?
This little kid sucked it up and let the doctor give her four (count ‘em – FOUR) booster shots today.
And when I say ‘little kid’ I ain’t kidding. This peanut weighed in before inoculation central at a hefty 34 pounds, and 42 inches tall. That’s 15.5 kilos to you metric-minded chaps. With that weight in mind, I don’t have to be too descript of what her arms must look like. Yeah – my golf clubs are thicker. Each of those pencils with hands took two for the home team.
I don’t know how she stayed put long enough for the doc to administer the last three. I mean, after you get jabbed with a stick of metal relatively as long as your spine you work like a junkyard dog to get away from the next one coming your way.
Her courage did not go without reward. Soldiers receive medals and commendations, kids get cool stuff like in this case – Happy Meals. After that torture, I would set her up all week with nuggets and fries, and I wouldn’t worry about her getting sick – she’s got enough anti-disease juice coursing through her tiny veins to fend off the most wicked viral permutation. She doesn’t even know it, but she stands like a tiny Amazon, brazenly challenging the invading bacteria to mortal battle. Ok, maybe her arms just hurt enough to make climbing the ladder to the top bunk difficult. Bottom line – she’s tough, loves hockey because Daddy does, and isn’t afraid to root for the visiting team. As a matter of fact – she always does.
Next angle, same topic – I wonder how the Wife^TM handled it? I have this feeling that there will be a few more gray hairs on her head by the time I get home today… You hear that? That hum is the stress on those apron strings…

Die, Maple Leafs, Die!

2004-04-13T07:42:00.000-04:00

weak weak WEAK WEAK WEAK Glove Hand!
It’s amazing – but you know you have it bad when you can’t watch your team play and they lose – you blame yourself for the loss.
Thus my pain. O-Ottawa lost their second straight last night to the freakin’ Maple Leafs (Die, Sundin…) and the salt in the wound is that this marks the second game in a row that the Sens couldn’t get anything by Ed “the Elbow” Belfour.
Rather than go into one of my spastic rants about how badly I need the Sens to beat these chumps, I just need to remind all those out there that this match up has that taste of a little history repeating.

Passion

2004-04-08T16:35:00.000-04:00

There are just a few things out there that get my ire up. Let’s start off with some of the obvious ones. Anything – I mean anything in the sense that includes all under God – that dangers my family (especially my kids), idiots at the Shop-Rite, Islamofascists (and right here – I have finally crossed to the point where I don’t believe in that Islam is at all a religion but one big hate group. Those placid Islamites are such a minority I would almost attest that one under that guise were really a part of a terrorist cell, waiting for the orders to poison my water supply. But – I digress, as I am swayed by the political mood of such Mid-Eastern idiocy where my moral fibers are strained.), mung beer, and rolling gutter balls and the ilk.
But let’s get into some brain ringing emotion action here. Welcome to the right side, readers, because we’re back on the topic of religion.
I can’t escape the fact that in RC world (and in a lot of ‘other’ Christian sects) it’s Holy Thursday. The whole world has recently received a nice dose of the next few days thanks to Mr. Gibson and his flick. I’m sure this was his interpretation of what transpired a couple of thousand years ago but what we have to keep in mind is that THIS HAPPENED.
Go ahead you leftist self-righteous atheist – tell me it didn’t. I need a good pick-me-up by proving you wrong. I’m reeeeeeeeaaal touchy around this time of year – because we as a people are just as (or give me the strength) MORE ignorant than the folks who were there to witness the ultimate sacrifice. And that’s enough to irk even the most stoic of folks.
Let’s recap. A couple of thousand years ago, a man was going to have dinner with his friends, only to have one of them betray him. The next day this man would be ruthlessly beaten and humiliated, finally to be nailed to a tree and left to die – which he did. Imagine now – this man was your friend. Your brother. Your son.
Good news – he came back three days later.
Better news – he’ll be back again. Get ready.

DAMMIT!!!

2004-04-06T17:07:00.000-04:00

It freakin’ figures. The damn Pens go out and suck up the NHL so badly that even Barry Melrose feels bad for them, and what do they do? Lose the damn draft lottery and let the LeonsisMonster get the best thing the draft has seen since Super Mario. Anybody but the Caps… DAMMIT!!!

Trivia?

2004-04-06T14:02:00.000-04:00

Just don’t call me Cliff. Mr. Clavin was the Keeper of All Things Unimportant, and we’ll let him keep that title. I just love trivia, and for some reason, useless knowledge comes to me more easily than mostly everything else. It would also seem that tidbits of info seem to stick with a greater part of all my acquaintances. Maybe it’s one of those subconscious things that help people ‘click’ and form friendships and such. Maybe it’s the fact that I tend to hang out with geeks. Let’s move on.
Lots going on these days – and not at all trivial things at that. On a posting about useless knowledge, I have to sway the opposite and say that there must be something in the water. Now I’ve posted about springtime and gettin’ twitterpated and all that - but I think a bunch of my friends really took it to heart, or loin. Seems that everybody’s making babies.
I’m up to four expectant couples as of this time. Actually – five if you count some at work. That’s some serious production.
Also – I’m pretty happy with my current domestic situation, and the Hotel Cz’ski isn’t posting any vacancies. What bothers me is the conversations that Wife^TM has been initiating, and I’ll give you three guesses as to the topic. First two guesses don’t count. Luckily – yours truly has been able to keep the faith if you will in terms of the happy status quo. Somehow – I know that there is somebody out there taking odds on when we’ll see the next installment in the Clan Cz’ski.

I am...

2004-04-01T16:44:00.000-05:00

So it’s been suggested on many an occasion that I am crazy. I won’t go into the Catch-22 of the situation by the inability of my own to self-diagnosed mental illness, as it would discredit the original analysis on the terms of not being insane and be able to make the determination in the first place. Follow me here? Good. Let’s move on.
No, I won’t dissertate on the particulars of the voices in my head and how sometimes they come out, but I will touch on how, sometimes, I fool them all by being someone else for a while.
Y’all see, I’ve had a bit of an identity crisis for a while, maybe just short of all my life. Yeah, I’m sure we’ve all put on a cape and flew around as our favorite superhero, but I took it to levels higher than Calvin. I can probably blame the comics I read and adored and committed to the far recesses of my memory. I watch Smallville these days and can pick it apart for the abusive creative license they use. But talk about deep fascination with the comics – I still have recurring dreams that I AM Batman and literally wake myself lashing out at criminals. Gotta feel for the wife here. Let’s just say the sides of the bed have been defined as danger zones come dreamtime.
And then there’s that alias thing. Not the show – I’m talkin’ about the myriad of names I go by, depending on what crowd I’m with. I owe this to dear ‘ol Dad. He might have me beat in terms of names and identities. Daniel, Dan , Danny, Chuck, Bone, Porquead, Porq, Johnny, Johnny Bupilini, JHON (spelled just like that, for emphasis of course), are some of the aliases that mi padre goes by. Me? Over time I’ve had a few for various reasons as well. Bone, Son of Chuck, D, Big D, D-Man, Johnny Bandman, Man-Kai, and Rosetta. Rosetta? Yeah – I was abusing this kind of Live-Aid donation scam. Rosetta needed help. I needed help. Help came in terms of your donations. Let’s move on.
Why am I thinking about this? Because it’s the Big Bone’s birthday today. Go figure – April 1st. Just more proof that my God has got the best sense of humor going.
So heads up folks – my old man might have notched one more orbit around that medium-sized star called the Sun, but he’s still my number one partner in crime. And that means no one is safe. The voices told me so.

Mr. Wrong

2004-03-31T16:59:00.000-05:00

I think I’m going to be wrong today in my post. I’m hearing and reading too much about our government is responsible for this and that all over the nation and world that I’ve pretty much had it. So sit back and enjoy, because even good ‘ol Pat B hasn’t expressed it like this yet.
I just read about how an entire village (and I have to use the term ‘village’ – it lends to the idea of small and out of date) in Iraq decided it was a great idea to dance and parade the charred and smoking bodies of some folks that went too close. We don’t know who these poor souls were, but the media has a good idea that they were Americans, and probably journalists. Ok – mental note – cancel plans for family trip to Fallujah. I know we have some tree-hugging leftist bonefaces out there that think our presence in Iraq is all so wrong since we didn’t find any WMD. I personally sleep a little better that we didn’t. Saddam was way out of whack to start off with – now just imagine the possible state of things if he actually DID have something to drop on us infidels? But I digress. Bottom line - it’s a freakin SHAME we don’t do the right thing now and essentially take all the oil away from these sandpeople and leave them alone in their settlements to kill each other in the name of their god. Yes – I DO believe God is Greatest except I don’t chant this over someone I just personally returned to dust. If I didn’t have this personal aversion to getting shot at or more specifically I have no desire to kill anyone, lest I would be tempted to join the forces over yonder to put down this resistance to what? Oh, wait – they’re resisting the creation of personal freedoms they haven’t the capacity yet as homo sapiens to understand, never mind socially accept. Even if we don’t usurp the oil, let’s give the dems what they want and leave town in a cloud of dust. Of course – we’ll just get blamed by the rest of the world that we destroyed their precious country’s system and left them to rot. Personally – I can live with that. At least they’ll only be a danger to themselves now. And maybe – just MAYBE – some of the Islamofascist neighbors will think twice before screwing with Uncle Sam.
Blood for Oil. Whatever, hippie. Do us all a favor and stand by that statement and stop using oil products. Please don’t drive your VW bus on my roads, because it’s your sorry arse in my way when I’m trying to get somewhere to stimulate YOUR economy. Like the King once said, “I’d rather be angry than bored.” And boy – I’m not bored with writing this right now.
And while I know I’m probably oh-so-wrong in some of your eyes, enjoy this other piece of wrongness – or should I say – Wongness.

Idiot!

2004-03-29T16:00:00.000-05:00

It never ceases to amaze me that I don’t have to go far or long to encounter idiocy. Even when I can’t get out of doors I put on a good enough effort of my own to produce some class action stupidity as well. The crank of it all is that I abhor having to deal with it, most of all my own. Of course, we all like dumb humorous things, how else would guys like Ben Stiller have such a career? But, when you get folks that are seriously TRYING to go about their life in general and are just plain in the way of human progress – we have a problem.
You know who I’m talking about. The miscreant that leaves their shopping cart completely in the middle of the aisle, the boneface that doesn’t turn off their blinker for twelve miles, the marketing schmuck that calls my house at 10:30 PM on Sunday night (that poor bastard had the balls to call again – I almost made the kid cry), the folks that are trying to grow crops in the desert (and we’re not talking about scientists here), the idget that had five miles to get into the right freakin lane before the toll or exit came up and now has to cut across six lanes to get where they have to, the person that thinks the “less than 10 items” checkout lane is their personal cashier, and maybe even every pop singer or actor/actress that attempts to say something intelligent or seem into a political opinion.
So what makes me want to post about the greater average of our surrounding community? Why not? Leave it to me to point out the obvious… Hey – send me your favorite idiot story or profile – I’ll compile them and post my results! “Paging Mr. Stupid… Mr. Stupid…”

LDBMCs

2004-03-26T15:53:00.000-05:00

Folks – I never would have thought that something as simple as a snack cake could bring so much joy to my heart. It all started in the outskirts of that quaint village of Lake Placid, NY. The male clan makes its pilgrimage to the Ausable River each year in search of some fly fishing and over all a week of unabashed debauchery and idiocy. Good ‘ol Uncle Armand got us gents a great deal up there by locking in a low low rate for lodging and meals. Those meals included a stipend for a daily breakfast, a big ‘ol dinner and most particular to this story a bag lunch complete with sandwich, fruit and yup, you guessed it – a snack cake.
Now, this snack cake varied from day to day – but most usually it took the form of those oatmeal cookie and crème sandwiches. Most yummy. Of course, none of these guys were the dieting type so the cakes were instantly recognized as the work of our baking icon Little Debbie.
It is also common knowledge that the level of maturity is inversely proportional to the number of men gathered in one place. Since we had half a platoon of drinking bucks engaged in what was considered to be a “manly” activity, any mention of a female in any form was instantly degraded to simple perversion.
Enter poor Little Debbie. She never knew (and never will, thanks to simply being a corporate icon/logo) what abusive language and references she would endure from this gang of hooligans, and still does. I can’t pass by her shelf at Shop-Rite without adding the extra suggestive remark when saying her name. Poor Deb got caught in the middle of a male contest of wills and dander, as we all would taunt each other with the crudest of insults, and use whatever we had at our disposal as fuel for further displays of adolescent offences. With Little Debbie around, you can only imagine how she was put to service to meet the needs of our desires of achieving Alpha male status. Each one of her cakes were labeled forever onwards as a symbol of that day’s tomfoolery. Yes – they were now the Little Debbie Blow Me Cakes.
Go ahead – say it out loud. It’s so crude you might not get it right the first time. Of course – you ladies out there probably won’t be able to. It’s just not right. Guys – deep down you’re chuckling because it’s so stupid your y chromosome takes over and makes you laugh.
I gave the kids a LDBMC last night for dessert. The kids, just like poor Deb, are too innocent.

What Rich Thinks!

2004-03-23T13:41:00.000-05:00

I told y’all it was a-comin’, and so there he is, my bro Rich, in all his prejudiced glory. Check out the right side of the page and you can see the little chrome dome with his special addition to Rants from Graceland with “What Rich Thinks”. I figure it was time to share with the world of how I might think that Rich perceives some topics, because man, sometimes it’s too good to keep to myself. I may rename the link at some future time to “The Tao of Rich” but we’ll see…
Those of you that are familiar with the ‘cuz should be quite excited about the new feature, as you all know how Rich stands for what he thinks is right. Granted – what’s right to Rich might not stroke some folks the right way, but that what makes it so great. I back the man 100%, so be warned, webcrawlers!

Brains...

2004-03-22T11:45:00.000-05:00

Everybody loves Zombies. This might be due to the fact we ARE all zombies, or at least have been for a while at some point. It being Monday morning – I was a zombie four cups of cawfee ago. But what gets me writing is the headline I eyeballed. There is something inherently wrong with the mental picture attached to some brain-jonesing undead junky laying hands on good ‘ol JC.
But hey – zombies by far might have the right idea. Could you imagine existing as a zombie? “Sorry honey, but I can’t stay, I’ll pick up some eats on my way home…” Like a zombie would need anything in the way of home. It would seem all they exist for is to consume more and more brains… Eventually there might be a shortage. Then again – there probably is right now…

Family Ties...

2004-03-19T13:54:00.000-05:00

So I’m Polish. You know it – kielbasa, pierogi, babka and all the jokes to fill volumes. Here comes the perk. Me and the Holy See are like, brothers. Cousins at LEAST.
Yup – good ‘ol PJPII solidifies my claim to the Throne of the True Prince of Warsaw. Click on my beanie wearin’ cuz to see for yerself.
I figure my relation to Karol is what has kept me from receiving Holy Wrath from all my past endeavors. I’m sure a few souls have petitioned the Big Man to lay down some brimstone on me – but no – I’ve got relations…
It takes some work on my part though. I gotta keep up the rep the fam has built up throughout the world. That means not getting caught. Not that I’m up to anything illicit enough worth the Weekly World News, but no need to tarnish PJ’s style… You all have to admit that Karol is one smooth cat, and he knows it. I mean – he practically IS history.
So next time y’all catch me out and about – let’s toast the cuz with a little Jez.

Game on...

2004-03-18T16:27:00.000-05:00

Maybe my love for gaming has gone a little too far. I love board games, word games, puzzles, video games, RPG’s, and of course, a myriad of card games including the most majestic of all games – poker. But what sits me down for hours in fits of paradoxical exasperation and glee is that on-line shooter called Counter-Strike.
I personally blame one of my former customers for getting me hooked on this. Well – him and the brotherman’s then amazement and tortuous obsession with Half-Life. After I started playing I realized the only thing better than killing people on-line was killing peeps you know. Then rubbing it in their faces the next day. Joy.
Let’s take it further by getting the most obsessive people you know hooked on it, and letting them take it up several notches by creating an organization, no, a clan, who challenges the punks we find on the ether to mortal battle. Yeah – we’re there. We even have a nifty (if not masculine or threatening) name. We are the Purple i clan.
I’ll talk about the origins of the name another time. Some of y’all might know, or are a gun-totin’ member. All I can say is really we’re just a bunch of kids pretending to be adults by day. At least some of us pretend…
It might be tough gaming tonight since the ‘lil Bone has contracted the Ailment du Jour.

Erin go Blargh!

2004-03-17T17:22:00.000-05:00

Folks – on this day of any other – you have to appreciate the power of drink. Yes, maybe I call the power of alcohol a little too often, but this is the DAY, man! St. Patrick didn’t just blow his bagpipes and lead the rats and kids and snakes out of Wonkaburg, he taught them all how to get the Lucky Charms, boil meat, and imbibe enough stout to make the boiled meat appealing. Maybe that’s why I have to call special attention to today’s Ailment du Jour. Then again, maybe it’s just that 90% of my friends are Irish today. Gotta go check on the boiling pot ‘o beef and cabbage. Sliente!

Bless My Soul...

2004-03-16T15:11:00.000-05:00

Oh, man – I just couldn’t keep this action to myself. Ever since I almost drove off the road seeing one of these kinds of church signs, I’ve had a soft spot for “Holy Marketing” if you will.
Give it a click and enjoy this dude’s collection. And yes – when the goats are separated from the sheep, you’ll find me selling directional maps to the Lake of Fire.

Jolt!

2004-03-16T10:05:00.000-05:00

Sometimes there is just TOO much to post about. Recent disappointments, that tight pain in my chest, political debacles, kid stuff, and of course – my personal favorite – food. Let’s get on the absolute importance of a subset of my favorite topic of food – coffee.
Java, brew, joe, jolt, juice, cawfee, mud – you get the idea. Man – I can’t live without the stuff. And I need it black, bitter, and Titan strong – just like my women. Well – not really. I like the women a little differently. Woman. Wife. Ok, bad analogy.
What? No milk, no sugar, no nothin’? You ain’t going for the lattes, cappuccinos, and other frothy milky permutations? Nope. I’ll take my espresso with a little lemon rind, please. Make it a double. What’s that, Ms. Waitress? No, hold the plastic cows – no need for them to clutter my saucer.
It’s been a LONG time since I liked my sugar with coffee and cream. Oh yeah – it used to be light ‘n sweet all the way. Then I got into High School, and I weaned off the moo juice. But I needed that sweet stuff. I added the cane all the way to a certain hung over Saturday morning at Rutgers…
My dehydrated compatriots had the energy to brew a fresh pot to revive our apartment’s living dead, and I was quite happy to receive a hot cup without having to leave the comfort of the recliner. Alas! Mein freund had forgotten the sugar! Upon requesting some granules, my cohabitants turned upon me, as they were java purists, taking it black as their cold evil hearts…
With fire in his eyes he returned with my sugar – all of it. He rained down the stuff in my mug like a frenzied bezerker – it had to be about twenty spoonfuls – and they made me drink it.
Since that dark morning – it’s just like Mom likes it…

Just ain't right...

2004-03-11T14:37:00.000-05:00

Ok – it ain’t right. “I went to this fight, and a hockey game broke out…”
Whatever, you hockey noob. I love hockey. I mean – I LOVE it. I can watch games at two in morning when the teams are as far from local interest as the price of figs at a New Delhi market. Watching it on teevee ticks me off since I want to look at other things than what Mr. Cameraman is zooming in on, like the defense formations and who the coach is yelling at and who’s cherry-picking at the red line…
Then – something idiotic happens. Yeah – I’m talking about Bertuzzi. I loved watching this guy play. If your lunch and him went into the corner together – you’re officially on a diet. If he wasn’t smacking you around, he was burning you on his way to your net with the biscuit. Simply a marvel, especially on the line with the other master, Naslund. Looks like he had some anger management problems.
I can’t defend his actions here. He deserves everything the NHL throws at him, and maybe even local authorities in terms of criminal charges. I believe in fighting in the NHL, but not this stuff. This wasn’t fighting, and it was WAY beyond paybacks for going after your star player.
This won’t keep me from loving the game, nor will I stop condoning fighting. Let’s see what the “authorities” do here and let’s build from it. More importantly – let’s all hope Moore comes out of this ok.

Amazing!

2004-03-09T10:22:00.000-05:00

Ok – just when you think that all might be peachy-dandy in the world, something wacko happens and you have to start second guessing everything. The best part is that it doesn’t have to be life altering, like surviving a bear mauling or having a safe fall next to you on the sidewalk. I’m talking about reading a small headline that makes you think.
Sorry reader – I used the five-letter word – think. It’s hard for a lot of us these days but I’m out on the limb already and there’s no going back now, so…
I read this quick update on the Mars action, and what would you know – they got a rock.
Literally. Seems they can’t drill into some rock they rolled up to. Couldn’t even scratch the surface.
Of course – this made me flash to almost every sci-fi flick I’ve ever seen, since the “scientist” tries to analyze the alien substance and it’s ALWAYS something he/she has never encountered and is neigh invulnerable. Much like the Tick.
“Oh, now we’ve done it…” I say to myself… "We’ve gone too far this time. We’ve found God’s Play-Doh and He’s gonna slap our hands for messing with His stuff…"
That’s right – and you left-wing idgets thought the space program is/was a big waste of tax pesos, well – you’re WRONG. We found the hardest substance in the universe and our propellerheads are gonna mass produce it into everything we all need not to break. Coming soon to a Wal-Mart near you – indestructible toothbrushes and toothpicks and shopping carts (which you don’t have to worry about smashing your SUV, since THAT’s armored, too) and RC cars with their own black boxes (you know kids love to drive them off cliffs) and flatware and plates and by golly buildings and roads and churches that will never fall. Well – maybe not churches since we DO have hindsight here, folks…
You catch my drift.
Alas – ‘tis all fantasy since the jetnerd forgot to carry the one.

Worryin'...

2004-03-05T09:59:00.000-05:00

Ok – I’m worried. Maybe even a little upset. But what about, Mr. Blogman? The future of the NHL.Well, maybe not just the NHL. Let’s throw in the economy, my job security, job path towards might be called a career, personal relationships – friends AND family, our uniforms out taking fire from the Islamofascists, the GOP, the evil left side, not knowing what the big deal is over gay marriages, modern music, my lack of education, my kids’ future education, reality teevee shows, my complete ignorance of fashion style, my obsession with food, American beer, the stability of my pc, rebuilding the kids’ pc, the lack of maintenance on my car, the necessity for some serious landscaping, admitting to loving the Harry Potter books, what ailment my wife will diagnose next, insurance rates, taxes, religion (let’s not even start here), my lack of exercising, blood pressure, Girl Scouts, soccer coaching, data security policies, fly fishing, deck repair, water filtering, that eventual first date, drugs, new glasses, parents’ longevity, contracts, cell plans, the Mars mission, government “intelligence”, traffic, deep water, sewer grates, fad diets, my missing patience, and maybe the volume of the voices in my head.
Needless to say – I’m thinking about a lot these days. I miss the good ‘ol days when all I thought about was sex. And beer. And food.

Cirque de Pain...

2004-03-04T10:33:00.000-05:00

Every so often something occurs that causes you to do a double-take, to make sure what just happened really did. I had one of those the other night on my trek home.
While radio-surfing, I paused to listen to a current traffic report, as if it would help me choose other than the one way I travel. 30 minute delay here, backup there, accident here, and delays due to the moving of circus animals.

Um, say again?
Now I didn’t think I heard that one right. So my surfing was darn right frantic to hear another traffic update. Sure enough, about five minutes later – there it was again – delays caused by the moving of circus animals.
I knew the circus was in town. My dear sis-in-law was taking the first born to the Big Top. But the mental imagery of the possible pandemonium caused by the wild beasts let loose on the highways of East Rutherford… glorious.
Think of it – elephants illegally parking at the Candlewyck so the trainers can go to Shakers Lounge… monkeys tearing Steve’s Sizzling Steaks apart… lions and tigers mauling fake knights at Medieval Times… bears placing bets and sipping coladas at the Pegasus…
The possibilities kept the brain-bone working ‘til I got home – to my own circus.

Exodus 20:4-5

2004-03-02T15:26:00.000-05:00

Go ahead check it out, according to King James. We’re talking False Idols!

Uh-oh…We all have our idols – whether we realize it or not. I was reminded of this today by the first born. Her carved image was that of the teevee. ...

You see – our aging and creaking Swede Björn entertainment unit was about to fail. Thus – we ordered anew, and today it was to be delivered. To make way for the unit, the old had to be disposed of, resulting in an empty space where the child’s beloved once rested.
Needless to say – the child broke down in biblical agony upon the morning discovery of its disappearance. Alas – the pain didn’t last, as with any young person, the attention span is only slightly longer than the lifespan of a tsetse fly, and she was happily bounding about in the newfound space. Amazing turnaround, only to turn yet again when the teevee was discovered lying about in the other room, dark and lifeless. “Why, Daddy, WHY?!?” Back to the tears, bereft of her soul’s companion.
JUST when I was thinking I was doing a decent job at the parent thing. Drat.

Fork You...

2004-03-01T14:30:00.000-05:00

I love the fork. It’s really as simple as that. I love it so much that I have difficulty eating anything without one. A few of you out there are nodding your heads right now saying to yourself, “yeah – he IS odd like that” and maybe I am borderline OCD but I NEED the fork.

It’s gotta be like my mealtime security blanket. With the fork in hand – I can handle anything from the Colonel’s Extra Greasy to a Fuddrucker’s half-pounder. Sandwich and platters alike – you need a fork. What’s that? The sandwich is a two-hander? No problem. Cut the bugger in half and don the fork.
“Why fork?” The main reason we use a fork nowadays is either to not burn our fingers on warm food, or simply be a little more civilized than our Middle Ages knife and spoon predecessors. Me? I use it to keep at least one hand clean.
“Why keep one hand clean? Is this topic getting kinky?” No. It’s simple. You have a drink, right? If you’re slobbing it up and you need to take a swig of that nice cold root beer – you don’t want to slime up your glass. You’ll just get your hand dirty again when you take your next drink. Bummer. Also – suppose you’re chowing down and you spot Lisa Marie over by the raw bar. It would be bad taste to have a flavored handshake after you drop everything to go run and meet her.
How about to simply answer the phone? Yeah – you WANT BBQ sauce on yer brand new Motorola…
Use the fork… Love the fork…

Remember!

2004-02-26T11:11:00.000-05:00

Hey kids – what happened eleven years ago today? In case you forgot (shame on you) the Islamofascists took their first shot at the WTC. I guess the death toll wasn’t enough to get Uncle Sam into the Middle Eastern strip mining business. Maybe it was due to the beginning of America’s Debacle – the Clinton Administration. Yeah – we eventually tried a scapegoat for the bombing, but it wasn’t enough. They eventually succeeded.
Yeah – I’m still pissed. I still remember that day. The horror, the images, the fear.
I won’t forget it. Our generation has let Pearl Harbor go from memory. Granted – we dropped two serious bombs that settled the score for some – but we have forgotten how we were brought into the war.
News flash folks – we’re at war right now. It’s just different now because it’s a virtual battlefield and the danger can very well be right next door.
Don’t forget. Stay angry.

Ashes to Ashes...

2004-02-25T10:38:00.000-05:00

First up – a little kudos to the brotherman for the kickin’ changes to the blog’s style to allow better text flow around images. Bravo, Mr. Apropos.

I wasn’t going to get into it – but today’s the day and I just can’t let these things go. It’s a PACE day in the RC world. Let me explain.

RC world – Roman Catholic, not Royal Crown cola. PACE – Palms, Ashes, Christmas and Easter. There are a few types of Catholics out there. We have our devout practicing type, never missing a Sunday or Holy Day of Obligation and possibly even doing extra credit Masses in Lent or maybe an hour of Adoration. Then we scale down to our Sundays ‘R Us, and even further down to the Sundays of Convenience, and even further to the PACEs. Those are the folks that come out specifically on Palm Sunday to get the palms (usually intent on making those nifty weaved crosses), Ash Wednesday to join the Dark Forehead Club, and of course Christmas and Easter because – well – that’s what you do.

I’m not trying to make fun of Catholics – I don’t have to, as so many have already done so – so don’t bother with the unwashed heathen comments. I know I’m a heathen of sorts. Anything y’all might say is sort of old news.

So – As Mel Gibson might say – welcome to Lent. Let’s all help set the PACE…

Polar bears are OUT there...

2004-02-24T13:43:00.000-05:00

You KNOW they’re out there. Just recently the first born was shouting that they were wandering around the house. Great. My place at the top of my personal food chain has just been bumped.

‘Ol Yahoo Strange News brought this back to memory with a little diddy about some polar bears learning how to stretch their dominance to warmer climates through the clever use of algae for camouflage. Well – the article didn’t talk about them branching out – but they COULD. I can’t wait to see the news story.
RIO - “Carnivale Attendee Strays Too Close to Jungle – Mauled by Polar Bear”
Talk about Fat Tuesday…

Hey, Hey, Hey...

2004-02-20T10:27:00.000-05:00

Man – I think I ate WAY too much last night.

There are limits to what Man can ingest, and I pushed those limits all the way. What can I say? I’m too much like a dog, who when presented with meat, will continue to eat until it is gone, not looking back to see if he shared with the others around him or contemplate the possibility of saving some for later or even room for “dessert.” I’m talking about the South American meal of Rodizio.
My compatriot and I were in the fine village of Newark, and after a long day of meetings and such, we needed refueling. So – we hit the Ironbound and went to the Brasilia Grill. Monroe Street, in case you were wondering.
If you hit the link you would have read about the “journalists” experience – let me tell mine.
We came in, sat down, handed back the menus as soon as we were handed them, and promptly ordered a pitcher of Red Sangria and of course – the Rodizio. We were early, so the side buffet wasn’t quite open yet. To supplant the table, we ordered up some garlic shrimp. The garlic is good for the heart, I hear. We would need it.
The next hour is blurry. We ate and ate and ate, as soon as they could bring it out, including the side dishes of red beans, rice, fries, collard greens and fried bananas. Skewers of freshly grilled chicken thighs, pork loin, turkey wrapped in bacon, beef ribs, sirloin tips, kabobs, pork ribs (we begged for them, as they only do them on weekends), and huge filets carved from the skewer to our plates. And chicken hearts. Yup – I ate a few of ‘em. I couldn’t resist – they came out hot – and were eaten just as fast. Not bad. It was neat seeing the little ventricles before gobbling them down, but tasty nonetheless.
Everything was simply salted and grilled. Delicious, but man – I am now effectively cured.
We wrapped it all up with an extra order of fried bananas and some flan. The extra caramel went well with the bananas and good cup of joe, to jump start the bod to drive home.
The fine staff informed us that they have live music on the weekends, and a dance club downstairs that the patrons gain admittance to. Yeah – I’ll be back, but there is no way I’ll be able to move around to the Latin beat after another meal like that with out making a mess.

Kid question.

2004-02-13T14:51:00.000-05:00

Don’t worry – this won’t be a kid story. It’ll start that way – but end way off of it. Here goes.
Last week Dara (the one on the right) and I were on an extended mission. First – computer help to Uncle Rich, then appliance purchasing at Sears, with a surprise visit to Wendy’s for a snack. Snacktime proved to be most thought provoking, as conversations with a nearly five-year-old can go just about anywhere. And this one did. It was my fault – I succumbed to my own weaknesses of parental mollycoddling and purchased the “kiddie” meal, complete with cartoon character-themed meal bag and Asian mass-produced toy. The cartoon character in the spotlight was Clifford. The Big Red Dog was all over the bag, in puzzles and pictures and other methods of child distraction. After working out a couple of the word games, Dara made the announcement that I’ve been thinking about since.
“Dad, Clifford needs a girlfriend.”
Stop right there. I’ll let you, casual web-reader, figure out some of the implications of such a statement before I proceed.
Deep breath.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why does Clifford need a girlfriend?”
“Oh. Because he’s probably lonely, and he needs someone to be with.”
I can respect that answer. Not bad for a 5 year old, either. It’s been on my mind since – I can’t quite get the picture of this giant red beast looking for a mate and possibly settling with whatever might come close enough to fulfill the needs. After all – we all know that Clifford was unique. Bad news, pal – yer it. Go find something else that looks big and red. Firefighters everywhere just locked the garage door. They even stopped calling Engine 4 “Bessie”. Dogs hear real well, y’know. I would hate to be an elephant with a rash, too. But let’s just contemplate the idea that there was some other genetic happenstance out there and we have ourselves another big red dog. The odds were crazy enough that we have one, but we have to skim the odds by half to the fact that it came out female. I’m making that supposition, because the other condition makes for bad reading here.
Ok – Clifford meets Claudia. If we know anything about dogs – we know that they don’t do things small, especially in this case. What comes just isn’t a puppy – we get puppIES. Litters. Lots and lots of BIG RED PUPPIES. Never mind the noise pollution from the incessant yelping – the actual pollution from big red puppy waste. We can only pray that they receive discipline from the very beginning much akin to that which Clifford received, or there will be rampant destruction. Somehow, though – I really don’t think that Dara thought of all this. Good thing she has us parents to help out. Good luck, Clifford – Happy Valentine’s Day – which you’ll probably endure alone – again.

Locks. They’re there for a reason.

2004-02-13T13:32:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it’s as if there was a camera crew following me. It all started normal enough. Alarm goes off, struggle outta bed, get to the bathroom. Start the shower, wait for the hot water, take a look at the mug in the mirror. Then we veer off course. Enter, stage right, soon to be five year old. She’s gotta pee, like all five year old girls do at 6:45 AM. She immediately chats up a storm about how great the weekend is gonna be since she’s having her Princess Party on the morrow. Yeah. Now get out and let me use the hot water. She exits, still talking, and I try to get the bus back on schedule. Mid-lather I hear knocking on the door, and thus - `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door’ - Only this, and nothing more.' “Lenore?” nah – something more.
The door opened and I heard a clunk, then an announcement of some kind that this was for you, Daddy. The music of the King filled the bathroom. Cool, but it doesn’t end there. The first child left me to the music, but the singin' and tunes had this Siren effect on the second child, who promptly woke to come into the bathroom to plop and enjoy the concert. Half thrilled that they enjoy the tape player, specifically for Elvis as opposed to mindless kiddie tunes, yet bothered by the realization that my privacy (which I thought I would be able to hold on to until at least the first one turned maybe 10) is now forever GONE, I finish my shower. The day hasn’t slowed down since. Welcome to the rest of my life.

The Zen of Text.

2004-02-10T15:22:00.000-05:00

Y’know – there’s just something about communicating via text message. A simple conversation that, using the spoken language via traditional make noise methods, would normally take about twenty seconds. Maybe even ten, or at most thirty, depending on how well you’re able to truncate the words in an effort to save characters sent.
It’s a throwback to childhood, playing Secret Agent or Dick Tracy or even for that matter Fort, sending private, coded messages to your remote scout.
I’m waiting for the DNRC to pick up on this, but you can picture it – it’s the board or conference room, there’s some “meeting” in progress, and what are you doing? Having an insult-war with your brother-in-law, or “innocently” flirting with a pal.
My cousin is a Master of Text, not for his ability to write amazingly complex messages, but for his timing of his bleats. I would swear – I can be in the middle of a heated debate on how I’m going to keep my job with the employer du’jour and wham! New Message – Read Now? Well – why not? The beep already disrupted my flow, oh, perfect “monkeynuts” and with that little happy thought I get to salvage what’s left of my composure. Needless to say – I’ll be sure to reply later – I’ll wait ‘til he’s bowling to send him “nad juggler”…

Let's count to... One.

2004-02-09T23:26:00.000-05:00

So the Kid made it to ONE today.
And we have this gig that we as Polacks do, or at least Cz’ski Polacks do, almost as a test to see how messed up we’ll end up later in life.
So here’s the deal : we place a hammer, a shotglass, a set of rosary beads, and a dollar on the floor about four feet in front of the kid. We let the kid go, much like a retired greyhound, and he crawls to the objects before him. Whichever thing he picks up first will be a focus or at least a major part of his later life. Good news – he went for the money.
Me? I did a double. I got the shotglass and the rosaries. Great. Y’all know what kind of love affair I have with Mr. Bottle and the personal “agreement” I have with the Almighty. Yeah – Mr. Yahweh likes me as entertainment, but all in all He treats me quite well. You just don’t throw away your favorite movie, right? Yeah – I might complain when He gets me in this rewind mode to laugh at me fall down a few times like a good part of a Stooges festival, but sooner or later we get to the good parts. And I gotta say – today was all right. Check the pic to see what I mean.

Nightmareville.

2004-02-06T13:59:00.000-05:00

Good news? Never, unless it’s from a personal source. Why should the car radio give me pleasant news from the world just because the weather sucks, as if to make up for the gray cold soulless wetness conditions with a bright spot or two of happiness from others?
No can do. I was greeted this morning with words describing another person’s nightmares come true, the story of a 11-year old girl’s body found. You’ll notice how I say that just her body was found, and not the girl herself. We do that sometimes to distance ourselves from the reality that a real person is now gone, no, taken from us. I can’t even bring myself to type her name, because that might hurt too much.
You see, I stepped up on that “grow up” challenge my parents threw at me so many years ago, and I became a parent myself. Doing that created and destroyed old and new values, and brought on new meanings of fear and wonder. The news today played on the worst kinds of fear.
Now – I live on the right side of the political scale. Just from that I’m sure you’re going to expect me to rant on about how I won’t feel justified until the creature that caused the news today breathes his last painful breath and exits our world. But I can’t.
It’s not the solution. I really can’t support the death penalty. I never could. But I really can’t support the idea of us happy taxpayers putting this miscreant up with room and board for the rest of his miserable existence. What bothers me is the world that created the monster in the first place. You know that this isn’t the first time we’ve heard a story like this and knowing it won’t be the last time we hear it keeps us awake at nights. Are we advanced enough to figure out the source of the evil? No way. Will we get there? Eventually, so folks tell me. I hear we’re gonna get some help from a higher source. If you ask me – and I can respect that you haven’t – that help couldn’t come quick enough. I can’t take much more of these news reports.

Ack! Loser!

2004-02-05T11:54:00.000-05:00

Vices. We all have them. I seem to have perhaps more than your average Joe, but they do make life interesting. There are two that stand out, and when they get together, nothing but trouble comes out. You can guess which two they are : drinking and gambling.
So there I was, enjoying the company of one my buds, complementing the company with the liquid refreshment of a pint or three of Bass. The establishment sported a pool table, in which we pumped a few quarters, and in no time we felt the urge to raise the level of game play with the introduction of a wager.
Wagers can and have taken all forms, and I am one to stray from the mundane monetary form of wager, as I feel nothing creates more problems than issues of money between friends. So – it became a contest of objects. What objects? Soon, reader, soon…
Some of y’all might know that I am no stranger to the game of pool, and I have been known to shoot some mean stick. It’s those Bass Ales that get in the way of a straight shot, and the banks, well, the banks were closed. I struggled in the games, and I came out with few victories and the prize tokens. I am now in debt, where I must produce the objects in which I lost.
What was wagered? If I can sift through my muddy memory – I am now the future owner of a new bottle of hot sauce (loser’s choice), and a six-pack of AB’s World Select. My losses are pretty big, though. I need to come up with a personal mix cd, and a dish of my infamous nacho layer dip. I threatened to lessen the quality of my guacamole, but I just can’t do that. It’s food, and you should know that food is sacred to me. I’ve been meaning to put together a new mix cd, as my last compilation, entitled “the System of Things” needs some serious updating. All those who would request a copy – go ahead. Be prepared for what might be some eclectic tunes.
So, Aesop, whatcha tryin’ to say? It’s easy – if yer drinkin’, don’t play pool with someone who has game. You’ll end up givin’ away the dip.

You CAN'T do it!

2004-02-03T20:37:00.000-05:00

Right now – DON’T think about Charo.

Man - I would normally put a polar bear up against any "non-thought" challenge - but I accidentally thought about Charo at dinner, and she just won't LEAVE MY HEAD. My pain is now yours, or at least pity me.

New Plan.

2004-02-03T09:34:00.000-05:00

After some careful review of Life so far – methinks it’s time to get back to basics. Book time. I need to get some letters after my name. So – I’m gonna burn some oil and prep for a big test at the end of May. What test? We’re talking about the CISSP.
A couple of gents here at jobland have recently taken and passed the exam, and man – I KNOW I can do it. Bad enough I’m already doing some consulting around this field anyway – I might as well make it official, and start collecting for it.
I’ve got a TON to learn, or at least re-learn, or maybe remember. I almost forgot what it takes to study, but luckily this is a topic of which I have interest, and if it is anything remotely like useless knowledge – I’ve got it made.

Weather Report : Chili Today, Hot Tamale…

2004-02-02T09:40:00.000-05:00

Ok – this is stolen from the numerous billboards along Route 1 in the direction of South of the Border, the tourist trap of the East Coast. For real weather prediction, we have good ‘ol Phil out in PA. I heard a conflicting report from some rodent out in Staten Island going by the handle of Chuck that says we’re in for nice weather soon. Right. Typical of those Islanders. Always against the grain. Bottom line : Sham. Punk. Charlatan. Whatever.

In other news : My need to create has gone to the kitchen. I went to my neighbor’s for a Super Bowl bash and it would have been in bad form to go empty-handed. In my closing thoughts Saturday evening the brain-bone worked hard, thinking what to make or bring that would be worthy of a Super Bowl gathering… Super Bowl… Bowl… I’m hungry… Cold… Bowl… Chili.. Super Bowl of Chili… done.
So – as a public service, I present to you my recipe for what is a superior tub of the meat-slop. You may substitute the beef for whatever meat you feel appropriate.
Ingredients :
2 -28oz cans tomatoes
1 - cup water
1 -TBL brown sugar
2 - beef cubes
2 - TBL Cilantro
2 -TBL hot paprika
4 -TBL cumin
7 -TBL chili powder
2 -TBL cayenne pepper
4 -Bay leaves
1 -TBL minced garlic
5 - whole jalapenos, stemmed and pitted
2 – red peppers, stemmed and pitted
1 – green pepper, stemmed and pitted
1 – small onion
1lb. sausage (chorizo)
3+ -lbs beef
tobasco as needed

ok – you pick out whatever beef – I use Top Round Roast. Add all the liquids and spices to pot – get simmerin’. Meanwhile grind all the meat, peppers, onion, garlic, then brown it all, add some salt and pepper. Throw in that simmerin’ liquid stuff, and simmer some more until you just can’t take it anymore and need to eat it. Probably at least 90 minutes. If you want – open up a few cans of Red Beans and add ‘em to the mix for the last 40 minutes of simmer – some folks don’t like the beanage. I sure do.

I like this stuff over rice, with some cheddar on top. Accompany with some nacho chips. Maybe even some Pedron. Definitely cerveza. Share and enjoy.

oh yeah...

2004-01-30T14:44:00.000-05:00

Love the Red Planet

2004-01-30T11:51:00.000-05:00

I might be sounding a bit like the brotherman, but Mars kicks serious ass. More specifically – the peeps responsible for getting up there are achieving the new levels of coolness. I too cannot tolerate the ignorant complaints of the costs involved with sending those rovers to the War planet, especially given we blow serious dough on absolute pork crap. Cue the Holst for proper setting - Hey – if we decide to take a page out of Young Hickory’s playbook, we’ll end up declaring a new nation – the United States of Mars. And that’s right after the Lunar United States. Manifest Destiny, baby. I’ll personally invite you all to my villa outside the Sea of Tranquility, for a meal of hot dogs and apple pie.

Defining bliss.

2004-01-29T10:21:00.000-05:00

By the title you would think that I’m going to get into some transcendental sexual experience – but no. Even I wouldn’t force that upon anyone else.
I spend too much time in the Taurus, driving from Point A to Point B and back to Point A again, usually with various combinations that sometimes include Points C, D, and/or E. This turns into free thought time, which is just plain dangerous. This is just one of the results of such a time spent in the automobubble.
I usually wind up contemplating on the level of suck that life is at the moment, the state of flux in this yin and yang dance with the really great things and the absolute misery that wakes me up at night. So was this car ride. Hey – like any parent out there (except perhaps for the ones that make the news for the wrong reasons) I dwell on how I can make the kid’s lives better – and that’s cool. But I digress on how I in turn can make MY life better. Even worse – what I’ve done wrong so far as to why my life isn’t better right now. Then it hits me hard. It’s the question that really burns me. Why are all these people able to subsist with a smile on their faces? The answer is just as burning. It comes down to two words : ignorance and apathy. I may very well found out the secret to a happy life. I’ve been told and experienced time and time again is that the problem with raising your consciousness is that you can never lower it. The millions of slobs that clot our highways and go through the motions have no idea that life can be better, and really couldn’t care if it could. I would almost PAY to be ignorant of the cruelties of the reality of living, but that’s a big cop out. I just looked up and read this load – and it’s time to bail. I meant to get into some ground rules I’m trying to set for myself in terms of what and what not to blog – but I’ve got issues – and they’re coming on OUT.

Must. Create.

2004-01-28T10:57:00.000-05:00

Ok. The internal alarm clock has been going off and I couldn’t figure it out until now.
I figure it’s creation time. For those of you that have somewhat tuned into the Cz’ski Life, you would know that I have been creating quite an ensemble, not much unlike a backup band the size of ELO. Elvis had the Jordanaires, I have Dawn and the Spawns. Well, the Spawns have grown in number at a rate of one every couple of years. If Math hasn’t completely failed me, it would seem that if another Spawn was to enter the Cz’ski group in the same fashion as the others, it would need some creative input right about NOW. This is the internal flashing yellow lights that keep me awake as I try to fall into blissful unknowing slumber. Realization has come after a few drops of conversation around the dinner table, more than a few relatives (sin-laws) asking more and more fervently at whether we can expect more dependant output, and maybe just plainly that glint in the eye, if you catch my drift. Shit. It’s not even springtime. Thank God I’m not twitterpated.
Anyways – I do feel the need to create, except I’m not about to help in the further creation of my own personal hellish poverty. This blog helps, but it might only be the start of something that has been destined to make its way to the www – stay tuned to the possible beginning of the digital Slug vs. Snail.

Weather or not...

2004-01-27T11:50:00.000-05:00

Ok - mental note : if I am ever to be reincarnated, please let me remember to be a weatherman/meteorologist/soothsayer. These guys/gals try to predict when and how much the storms will come and destroy the very fabric of our lives. Right. We all have a better chance of picking up the 1937 Farmer's almanac and turning to page 4356, referenced "2004 - weather" and seeing if it will be cold or really polar out there. And, of course, what phase the moon is in - because it matters.

The evil alliance of weather.com and yahoo has recently informed me that the great nor'easter will be sprinkling the tiny droplets of icy death which will turn to flaky fallout, biblical heavy at times, later this evening until the early morn. What do I say of this? Poppycock. Yeah - the icy rain is correct, since I looked out the WindowTM and verified the precipitation. As for later - yeah - it might snow a little, but my life won't end. Hey - I know I'll even make it back without incident on the treacherous NJ roadways, because as everyone who knows me will attest - my death will come only after Dawn allows it.

Stay warm folks.

2004-01-26T13:46:00.000-05:00

Lo! and behold! An angel by the name of David has led me to the wonderful world of Blog, and I have found that it is good. By this post I not only test the waters of blogdom but I leap forth to new ways of spreading all that is Czski.

Gotta love it. Just another way to increase my form of entropy.