Time to Go Worldwide!

We need to stop wasting our time with private (and occasionally esoteric) nonsense and go mainstream. I'm talking Nickelback of the blogging world. After all, how long can we hide our blog in shame because we're embarassed by the content? Some of it isn't bad. Perhaps we just need to do a little pruning or editing before approaching the masses.

What am I suggesting? That the writers actually tell someone they know about this blog (well, I actually already have told two people - they both claim the blog wouldn't display on their computer; I'll pretend they weren't merely trying to spare my feelings). I'll even dare my partner to publish the URL of this blog as part of his Linked In profile (and I'll further pray that he actually won't).

However, we both must have an appropriate co-worker or two that can be trusted to find some redeeming value among all this gibberish. Or maybe a neighbor. A relative? There must be someone! Let's get our act together and take it on the road!

That Shell Guy

My local Shell stations have installed flat-screen televisions on all their pumps thus providing quality entertainment as I fill my tank. However, aside from the occasional weather forecast I don't really find much of interest; and truthfully, I don't care that much about the forecast either. Since I'm already standing outside I already have a pretty good idea of the current weather conditions. I just figure that, most likely, more of the same is on the way.

I do find the greeting rather interesting though. Some Asian looking guy in a lab coat welcomes me to Shell and claims that it's "good to see me". Unless there are hundreds of this little guy scattered about the country, standing inside of each pump, I'm pretty sure that he's never actually "seen" me. Maybe he should say something like "It's good to have you here" or "Thanks for visiting" or "Bend over, you're about to get it in the ass again as we charge you $3.00 for a gallon of gas!" Or, for those gullible enough to think this guy actually does see them, maybe he could try that old trick of "Hey, look! That guy is trying to run off with your car!"

How are you, How are ya, Hawaii!

Notice how age tends to follow music genres? When I was growing up, the 50's seemed so old and unfamiliar. It was the music of your parents and grandparents generation. As I was musing about music, I suddenly realized that the youth of today probably think the music of the 80's are probably antiquated and boring. So I decided to go out and pick up a cd of a popular contemporary group, the pussycat dolls. "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me," blares from my car stereo as I drift on by with my radio blaring and my windows down, impressing the young'uns that I may be aged based on the calendar, but I'm still young at heart!

Linc in Abraham

I recently discovered the incredible power of the web in using Linked In. In the short span of less than 24 hours, I was able to connect with some long ago colleagues and learned to impress them with small talk and drivel, no doubt honed from the long wasted hours spent on this blog. But I digress. What is truly amazing to me is how the network constantly expands with each new connection. I feel incredible as each contact grows exponentially. I feel the power surge as each Aunt May leads to another Peter Parker, and more importantly, a new Mary Jane.

I got the POWER!!!

Goodbye Doctor Post!

I've officially adopted a new moniker! Something more akin to a real pen name. And something less akin to the nickname of a 70's basketball player.

Doctor Post was an okay blogger name; and it garnered some serious respect when leaving phone messages with administrative assistants. But it was really nothing more than the further evolution of a derivation of Dr. J.

For a brief period of time, I was Dr. Pool. As in billiards. Not that I was any good at pool, but it did provide just a little bit of an intimidation factor. Miniscule.

Nathan Kinzel, on the other hand, just a good solid name. And not readily identifiable with any other nicknames, past or present. So goodbye, Dr. Post. All those prior references to Dr. or DP will now just sport an archaic feel as Blogger simply applies the new name to every prior post and comment.

Now if only the co-author could follow suit with an appropriate pen name. Maybe Rube something.

I Think I May Have Been an Underachiever

As if this blog weren't evidence enough.

I'm finding that my offspring receive report cards that, well, exceed my own at their age. This became apparent yet again as I attended the annual parent-teacher conferences only to be told what an excellent student my son was. While I certainly take pride in my son's achievement, this can't reflect well upon my own accomplishments - or lack thereof - while I was in school. I suppose I could escape this underachiever thing if I simply chalked this up to "he got my wife's intelligence"; but seriously, do I really want to do that? I think I'll keep the underachiever label, thank you.

Horn Broken, Watch for Finger!

Yes, it's been around for awhile, but every so often there are clever lines that just withstand the test of time. I was behind a truck with this bumper sticker today and it's just so subtly funny I still have to chuckle.

Of course, then I blew right by him and flipped him off as I went past.

I'm Going Mad

Taking a walk on a bright sunny day, my shadow was outlined in front of me. With an iPod and headphones around my ears, the silhouette of my head was startlingly similar to that of Alfred E. Newman!

Middle Age

I had the privilege of spending the weekend investing my hard fought compensation in a water-park resort at the Wisconsin Dells. Not only did I feel the speed as I hung on for dear life on one of those slippery inner tubes as I glided through those Teflon tube slides, I began to wonder about those middle aged folk that hovered around me like zombies in their faded speedos. My initial thought as I walked by in my svelte hardbody was the old expression "old tire" in reference to the mid-section. And that was just the women! So where did we come up with that expression? Does the mid-section actually resemble a Goodyear when one hits 45?

Britney Spears Naked!

Okay, this was really just a cheap ploy to get someone, anyone, to read our blog. But seriously, after all that was written about our Brit after the MTV awards, you would think she was the second coming of Roseanne Barr. Say what you will about her (and there is a long list of shortcomings), she still looks fine. There's just no reason to have the audio turned up.

Shacking Up

And how exactly should we refer to a person's co-habitant without the formality of marriage? Somehow the use of "live-in" in my last post seemed somewhat vague. Using the term "live-in lover" seems a little over-the-top and frankly paints a picture I don't want to look at. And once people are in their 50's, "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" should no longer apply. Ladyfriend? Manfriend? I'm afraid they're simply dating. Husband and wife are clearly incorrect because these people have made a conscious decision to not be exactly that.

Oh well, I'll just ask my roomie.

Show Me the Money!

I work with someone who tells me that their "live-in" is an excellent investor. Mind you, these people have received a few million dollars (outside of investing) in recent years - I think that may have gone a long way toward this "excellent" investing track record.

I'm always rather skeptical of people who brag of their own success or the success of those near and dear. However, as I contemplated my own investment skills, I came to a conclusion. I'm an excellent borrower!

I may not invest much but I sure can bring it in! Well, there is that minor catch of having to give it back some day but for now I'm a regular debt magnet. Mortgage? Got it. Line of credit? All over it. Car loans? You know it! And credit cards? I think there is a forest in Washington designated for the exclusive use of sending me pre-approved credit card offers.

Oh yeah, don't bother telling me about your financial prowess - I'm right there with Warren Buffet. Well, maybe across from him - with a loan document placed in front of me.

If I Stole the Memorabilia

What you are about to read is entirely hypothetical...

Let's say I'm a famous former professional athlete. And let's further say that certain mementos of my career had fallen into the hands of others - and I wanted them back. How would I go about going to get them back? Hmm.

First I would have to develop a plan. Let's see, as a famous former professional athlete, my face would be familiar to thousands. Perhaps a covert plan would make sense. After all, bursting into a room to confront the scurrilous thieves would be foolish since they would all know who I am.

Next, I guess I would have to assemble a team. Perhaps a gang of gun-toting thugs is in order? No, I think I need more of an intellectual bunch. Someone who could disarm security and sneak around without detection.

I think that should cover it. Yes, if I stole the memorabilia, I think I would organize a gang of gun-toting thugs to shout obscenities and generally bully people around in a crowded hotel room until I get what I want.

But again, this is all strictly hypothetical.

Seasons in the Sun

Amazing how things change, yet they are so different. Take cars, for example. It's that time again to begin thinking of the new models that are rolling off the assembly line, and also how you got cheated from buying what you thought was a great deal last year, only to find out that the new version is $500 less than what you paid AND includes dual sunroofs AND a nifty feature where you push a button and your seat turns into a massager! But this is life, and just as the seasons must change, so too must the old cars. I used to think that the car I bought would be timeless, and even would go as far as ridiculing the new style, being smug that I made the right decision. However, as time marches on, I've become enamored with the advances in technology, and find myself growing to like the new style! Am I just the by-product of sophisticated marketing or is this something more sinister?

All I know is that the Prius is beginning to look more attractive to me. Perhaps, it is because of my fascination with how the hybrid works, the incredible gas mileage, or the number of coeds I see driving by in them.

Mad Scramble

It was amazing to watch the historic event of Barry Bonds' record breaking steroid induced home run shot. I happen to be watching it live on TV, and realized that steroid or not, that ball would be worth a few Winnebagos when the dust settled. What was most amazing was to see the inhumanity of the fans as they pummeled each other to just trying to grasp the precious tar laced, leather stitched ball. As people literally jumped on and bloodied each other, the sheer pandemonium struck me that humankind and sports have regressed into the dark ages. Planet of the Apes is no longer just a strange movie, but it is here. Think about the macabre soccer matches when the fans storm the field ready to wreak havoc. Take for example the violence that occurs in the streets after any major world championship. Is it the media, the greed, the competition that says we must win at all costs? Or is it a sinister gene that lays dormant from years past that is steadily emerging? Why can't I just live in peace in my Infiniti G38 while savoring my banana knowing that some sucker out there bought a G35 for the same cost with less horsepower and frills?

When in Rome. . .

Ever notice that the most articulate speaker becomes full of over used cliches when he joins a baseball team? Why is it that during an interview, a Stanford grad like Mark Prior spews "we'll just take this one game at a time." Just what does that mean? Perhaps, that's been his trouble all along! Somehow, good ole Stanford boy got confused and was playing thirteen games at a time? How about my personal favorite: "you have to keep your eye on the ball." Duh?!?

Great Moments in All-Star Game History

I can't believe about 35 years have passed since Pete Rose bowled over Ray Fosse to score a run in the All-Star game. One of the most memorable plays in baseball history and one that effectively ended Ray Fosse's career.

Quite the contrast this evening as Alex Rodriguez pulled up in front of Russell Martin as Martin grasped the ball in front of home plate. With both hands facing forward in front of him (as if to say "don't hurt me"), Rodriguez came to a stop as Martin gingerly tagged A-Rod out.

What a difference now that the game "counts".

Welcom Back

I hate to admit it, but after taking off for two weeks in what was like Haiti, and just as hot as Hades, I really missed posting. Kind of like missing Heity Cruz who used to play for the Cubs, I think in the Eighties. Speaking of the Cubs, I'm amazed that they are on this incredible winning pattern. In fact, their inspired play has allowed my attention to expand beyond the game. For example, I was watching today's game against the Nationals, and noticed that their first baseman, Dmitri Young, looks alot like a cross between Linc Hayes and Bill "mad dog" Matlock. Who has afros these days anyway? He looks a little pudgey, but they you look over in the dugout and see Ray King who looks like he hasn't many Whoppers in his lifetime. He must be carrying close to 300 pounds with that overhanging gut of his. I wonder if Rafael Belliard is just keeping a spot warm until they can get Prince Fielder's big ass over to Washington.

Cheap and Lazy Bastards!

Whatever happened to honoring someone on their special occasions by getting off one's lazy ass and taking a trip to the local Hallmark store (with those cute names they used to have like "Gertrude's Hallmark")? People can't plunk down $1.50 for a nice card anymore? Well, maybe not $1.50 but perhaps $2.49 might do the trick. But I digress.

No, nowadays, we all just log on to the Internet and send someone some lame e-greeting for no charge at all. No time spent driving to the store. No spending half an hour reading each and every card (especially the racy one's for the guy's even if it's your wife that you're buying for). Oops, I digress again.

I long for the days when people cared! Cards were cards! People were people! Hookers were cheap! Damn, there I go again.

Anyway, I suppose a nice blog posting is as good as any card would be.

On The Road Again

Open Road Tolling has come to Illinois! And along with this advancement in technology comes appropriately new signage - a series of delightful pictures that only the artists themselves can truly understand. Sort of like a drive-through museum I suppose!

However, I think I'd prefer that drivers unfamiliar with the Illinois highway system be more focused on proper lane usage rather than assessing the merits of "fine" artwork. Lately, newer signs have appeared based on research conducted by our local toll authority. Apparently this research has yielded an astounding result. Drivers find the use of words on these signs to be helpful! Who'd have thought!

Nice to know that a species that advanced from Hieroglyphics to language thousands of years ago can now... well, do the same thing yet again. Let's get to work on reinventing that wheel thing now.

Shock Jock Don Imus

Why are people named Don or Donald so "nappy headed" anyway? Think about it. One one hand we have the always mundane, and wacky mane, but somehow a guilty pleasure, Donald Trump, affectionately referred to as the Donald. On the other, we have crazy Don Imus, current mascot for the Rutgers womens basketball team and his flowing brittle, electric shock, grey "do" that he claims is his real hair. Donald duck, for instance, is another character, literally, that has unusal locks. And let's not forget that perpetual Hawaiian idol himself, Mr. Don Ho, who somehow keeps getting dragged into the Rutgers controversy. . . but I digress, who happens to have that tropical unkept style that the islanders all tend to mimic with more passion than a kiwi fruit. And finally, somewhere out there is Don Corleone who likes like a horse's ass or is that a horse's head? Ever look at Don Henley lately?

Less we forget that universal icon of boxing promotion and oversize Smurf, my personal favorite, and Mike Tyson's savior, the efferscent and ebullient, the King of Dons, Don King!

I rest my case.

Oprah Winfrey

Why do talk show hosts make so much money, and have so much influence? Is this indicative of how warped society is that it values the ribald likes of Jerry Springer by awards him gobs of money to showcase lesbian midgets gone wild while doctors and lawyers have to skip their lobster cocktail appetizers because they cannot afford it? Aren't ambulance chasers worthy of a little amenities now and then?

This leads me to the conclusion that Jed Clampett was really the father of Anna Nicole Smith's daughter. I didn't even know Zsa Zsa was married to that cad. Didn't she settle down with Big Ed Albert in sunny Hooterville? Or did I miss that episode since I was too busy watching Maury?

Baseball, Hotdogs, Apple pie, and HGH

There's pine tar in the air and hypodermic needles in the trash bin, so it must be that time of hope again that is affectionately known as spring training. We have several of yesterday's superstar players trying to make it back to the fame and glory of big league baseball. First, a personal favorite of mine is Eric Gagne who's name no one can truly pronounce correctly, and is the son of the infamous former world wrestling champion Vern Gagne who is trying to come back, yet again, from a couple of miserable years spent recuperating from arm surgery. After countless years of incredible success, and a Cy Young award to boot, he is trying to prove he still can outwit the hitters he made look so hapless in the past. Someone, please tell him to lose the old dorky, Chris Sabo-type, aviator goggles. He looks like a Japanese zero. If it's supposed to be intimidating, then someone should tell him Chris Sabo's nickname was Spuds Mackenzie. Hardly, the moniker that could strike fear in anyone's heart.

And that us back to doe. I mean dough. Or is it fame that brings us the enigma known as Slammin' Sammy Sosa? After repeated denials that he took steriods, he was embroiled in controversy in Chicago who previously claimed him as their hero. But after walking out on his teammates during the last game of the season, and claiming he was misquoted for outright lying, he tried to prove all his critics that he was wrong as he was shipped out on his ego inflated ass to Baltimore where he made Corey Patterson (another Chicago Cub's castoff) look like a star. After bailing out, like he does with any inside pitch, Sosa decided to retreat to his palatial home and stare at his 20 foot likeness of himself that adorns his foyer. Now, why would anyone claim his ego is as big as his ass? So here he is in all his glory, and is hitting .500 for the Texas Rangers. Of course, spring training doesn't count, and there is a long season ahead of us, but hope springs eternal. And hopefully, for Sammy, some of those springs contain a little human growth hormone or steriods if he is to truly compete against the big boys. All it would take is one brush back pitch, and I would bet, Mr. Sosa, decides to high tail it back to his safe abode, and remember when he had the city of Chicago in his clutches. I'm hoping that in a few years they start a steriod league and have the Palmeiros and Bonds represented. My fear is that we would be fielding a double A ball team in Chicago, and would risk ending up with the worst record in the National League. But, hey!!!!

Only two things that you can always count on. . .

Taxes and Jock Itch. Yep, it's that time of the year again when we shed our cycle of excuses and sit down for a lonely weekend with nothing but dried ketchup stained receipts and our trusty ten key calculator. Uncle Sam is asking for another donation, and I aim to please. By the way, I wonder if Uncle Sam ever gets lonely? Isn't there supposed to be an Aunt Samantha to keep him warm during these cold winter days? But I digress. Anyway, here I am plunking away trying to figure out how I can keep the "revenooers" from taking the farm. Or taking me to the cleaners. I guess I should be taking one for the gipper. Why is the tax code so damn complicated? I sincerely believe that they instituted it to see which one of us has the fortitude to actually study the details and spend countless hours trying to determine if I can save 32 cents on that alleged business call to Aunt Myra. After sheer frustration, I will eventually give up and decide to let the federal government take it. I suppose it is good fiscal sense to get people frustrated in order to make more money. Of course, I would rather be frustrated with an image of Britney Spears, but that's another story. Enough! Now I must be a good patriotic citizen and do my civic duty. Can I claim that deciduous conifer that shaped like Aunt Myra as a dependent?

Speak Out for Change!

I'm not one to turn my back on technology but I'm starting to long for the days when cashiers actually counted the change they returned to their customer. I think those days left when the electronic cash register came on the scene and simply indicated the exact change to be returned.

I remember selling a cheeseburger, fries and a coke for a mere 89 cents when I worked at the local McDonald's. After receiving a five dollar bill for payment, the proper procedure was to drop eleven cents in the purchasers hand ("that's one dollar") followed by 4 singles ("two, three, four and five dollars"). And those were the days when virtually all transactions took place over a counter inside the restaurant.

Nowadays, when drive-thru lanes are common practice, I get handed my change bills first with the change on top. Invariably this leads to a balancing act with the coins to keep them from sliding out of my hand. Of course, with the currency between my hand and the coins, I have no feel for the change as it skates across the bills like Michelle Kwan at Rockefeller Center.

I say it's time for change! (no pun intended - for once.) Can't someone train these people to hand out the coins first? How hard of a concept is this to grasp? I think the fast food restaurant industry must make up for razor thin profit margins with all of the lost coins customer lose in the drive-thru lane. I, for one, am mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!

The Colorado Emissions Test

I spent about an hour at one of Colorado's emissions testing facilities recently. This no doubt is one person's attempt at eradicating the brown cloud that occasionally hangs over the city of Denver. I wonder if it really works. Consider this:

• I spent about half an hour in line, with motor running (I would advance a few feet every so often), along with a steady stream of 25 or so other cars waiting in line with me.
• The test itself (again, with motor running) took another 30 minutes or so.
• With nothing better to do than watch the various monitors scattered about the facility, I noticed that there were frequent delays because the "ambient" air was often above "acceptable" levels. Do you think that may have had something to do with all of those cars at the facility, engines idling away?

Perhaps there may be a more efficient way to reduce Denver's air pollution. Maybe closing the emissions testing facilities would help?