iWonder

How did the letter i become so prominent in product naming? Lower case at that. And what exactly does it stand for? Idea? "'I' can't put my name on this product but 'I' thought of it!"?

Drop an i in front of "Phone" and now everyone knows you have an Apple product of obvious utility. But how did "Pod" come to mean a music player? If Apple made a line of kitchen appliances, would we have an iFridge? Or maybe the coffee maker could be an iOpener!

i think this all started with BMW. 328i. 530i. i used to think the "i" designation meant it was something special (although there is still no obvious reference as to what it stands for) until I realized that letter i was on every freakin' Bimmer!

Hey - this gives me an idea...

Karma Chameleon

Check out my picture in Webster's Dictionary! I'm right there under "hypochondriac". If your uncle happens to be in the hospital after suffering a heart attack, please don't tell me the symptoms that led up to his attack - otherwise I'll be feeling those same symptons that evening. Those stomach pains that one tells me they're feeling after lunch in the cafeteria; poof - there they are!

You have a friend who becomes a downer with their constant complaining? I can become that friend. Tell me about that pain in the ass that won't stop making jokes and there I'll be, right next to him or her.

Why can't someone tell me about these wonderful people they know who are always engaging? Maybe I could take that on too. But wait - then I'd probably feel inadequate; you know I have those self esteem issues too.

Well is dry

As I pass through the friendly halls of my workplace, I am typically greeted by strangers passing who will smile and say "hi." Unfortunately, I am getting really tired of this practice because frankly, I feel my "smile bank" is running low. Too often I have to smile even though I don't really feel like it, and rather reserve my smiles for someone more deserving, like the pretty secretary on the 2nd floor or the cafeteria cashier who always has the uplifting "have a great day!" Somehow, I feel that there is only so many smiles that a person can offer before they are gone.

Think of it this way. Someone smart, like Yogi Berra, or at least Thad Bosley, claimed that a pitcher only has so many pitches in his arm before he becomes useless. That's why some pitchers go easy as they warm up so as not to use up those precious pitches. I liken that thought to what I am doing with smiles. If you're not careful, you may use up those smiles and that frown will be a permanent part of your face. Just look what happens when you used up your. . . well, you know.

Fashionista

As I grow wiser, I have noticed some weird fashion statements by my male peers. Why is it that I see a greater preponderence of men in white socks and dress shoes? It's still awkward in jeans, but I even see them in dress pants. Now I don't begrudge the person who is living check to check just trying to make ends meet, but is it that difficult to have the appropriate socks on? I'm even more mystified when I see white athletic socks with dress shoes. The only thing that I think would top that would be watching my neighbor down the block mowing the lawn in his black dress socks and shoes with shorts while he puffs on his cigar. At least his cigar band matches his socks.

Nature is Calling

I've been thinking lately about the Mormon church. Yes, this is a shameless plug to get those googling for info on Mormons or Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints to inadvertantly land on our blog. In any event, I came to believe that they are right about one thing. Traditionally, they have believed that a man should have more than one wife, otherwise known infamously as polygamy. Now, before you go off being all righteous on me, let me explain why there may be some merit to this idea. Think of other forms of life and how they can procreate incredibly with multiple partners. Man has billions and billions of sperm, but one woman could not possibly be expected to furnish her man with that many children or acts for that matter. I sincerely believe that nature intended man to have multiple partners. Do you think that cavemen only responded to one woman. Of course not! Their clubs in fact had the blood and hair of many women. In fact, it's only right that we do so. We should not go against the laws of nature, but live in harmony with as many wives as we can handle. Let's start a movement now! We shall call ourselves the New Age.

Asleep at the wheel

Similar to a lot of people, after a big lunch, I get drowsy, and during these occasions, am often tempted to catch a few z's in my office, but I'm fearful of getting caught since I don't have a lock at the door. This is another area that I think we've been beaten by the wiley Japanese who typically look forward to a restful nap during the work day to recharge their duracells. Why is it so taboo in American business anyway. You would think that there is so much waste during water cooler conversations and gossip visits that a 30 minute snooze wouldn't affect productivity much. In fact, I would bet that there are Japanese studies that prove such a nap would increase productivity. Next up: having sex in the office to improve the workplace blues.

Defined by Race

Why isn't that most people immediately consider race to be the primary differentiator of a person. Take Obama for example, he is a black man first, even though he is actually of mixed races. Why couldn't people seem him as that skinny guy, or that Chicagoan? Or that smart guy, or that glib person, no, we consider him the black guy running for president.

Now as he's running for the white house, a thought crossed my mind about the intense number of hours he must be spending in campaigning for the presidency. In fact, one could say that he's doing "yeoman's duty." What I beg to know is how did that expression come about? And who is that poor yeoman anyway? Did that come to be when George Bush graduated from his alma mater, and someone exclaimed that he must be doing Yale men's duty? Must have been some black guy.

Stay-cation

I'm getting really tired of overused terms and just plain dumb words, like the newly coined "stay-cation" to refer to those who prefer to stay home (likely because of the high cost of gas) rather than invest in a family (expensive) vacation. I am recommending that we create a post of these dumb phrases or words as a final call to retire them from our language. To start off our list, how about these priceless artifacts:

• "It is, what it is" (what ever the hell that means to anyone, since I've yet to understand this waste of rhetoric)
• "It's neither here, nor there" (another phrase that is about as insightful as the ever popular, "uhhh" or similar "you know, blah, blah, blah, you know"

By the way, I'm also tired of people responding to "how're you doing" with the generic "I'm fine." From now on, I'm going to add a little color to the dialogue by saying, "I'm translucent, Thank you"

General Postmaster

My mailbox has been approved by the Postmaster General. I'm not really sure why it needs approval, particularly at such a high level. It's only slightly more advanced than a waste basket. Slap a door and a flag on a waste basket, boom, you have a mailbox!

Why is this guy a general, anyway? I think this power has gone to his head if he has to go around approving mailboxes. If he wants to approve things, maybe he should take a closer look at some of the people they hire. Or even those crummy little trucks they drive around in.

I guess this guy is so flush with power that he only allows "real" mail to be left in these boxes. Now I get all kinds of fliers and crap stuck in the flag and tacked to the post. Why can't these people just leave this junk in my mailbox? Are they afraid they'll be arrested by some marauding Postmaster Corporals or Privates?

MasterCard-Bait

Amazing how overused the tag phrase has been since MasterCard successfully launched its commercial on "priceless." A week doesn't pass at work when someone tries to put together a memo with (what they believe is) an attention getting teaser at the beginning that always culminates in "priceless." Don't people realize that this is so ridiculously old that it's become passe, and the mere thought of trying to make it sound fresh only makes the author seem even more obsolete. So I plead with the world to stop this insanity, and let's rid the reference to "priceless" once and for all. Now on to the next overused term. . . NOT!

Room 101

I spent the night in Plainwell, Michigan last night. At the Motel 6.
The Westin was full.
The Hyatt had too many kids.

I got my room through Priceline.com.
I said I would like a five-star hotel.
It came back and told me it would like a user that had a clue.
I kept lowering the number of stars until I got a room at the price I wanted.
I didn't know you could go as low as .2 stars.

When I got there they gave me room 101. "Must be the front row."
I felt pretty special until I realized I was the only guest.
I got suspicious around 11:00 when the desk clerk called to say he was going home and could I make sure the front door was locked.
I didn't really mind being alone in the hotel but I really didn't like fixing the morning coffee and putting out the breakfast buffet.

Too Hip

I really don't like the way some people try to horn into conversations by trying to act like that they are already part of the team when they haven't "paid their dues." What I mean are people that are new to a group and immediately begin to pretend like they are a regular. For example, there is a person on our team who's name is Fletcher, but those that know him call him "Fletch" which actually is a pretty cool nickname to have. We have this woman who just transferred into our group who immediately refers to him as "Fletch." She is the type of person who pretends to be your biggest ally only to backstab you at every opportunity. Hearing her constantly bring up "Fletch" is so grating that I want to retch. A popular term that she tends to recite is "peeps." As in, our group needs more "peeps" if we are going to deliver this project. Did I say she gives me the creeps?

I Want to be Famous!

Not in a crazed criminal kind of way, however. And based on the readership of this particular endeavor, it won't in the blogging world either. Frankly, I have no idea how to accomplish this "famous" thing but something has to click.

Looking at my life to date, I'm finding it difficult to believe I'll be famous for anything of a serious nature. On the other hand, I'm not a Guinness Book of Records type person either. Maybe radio talk show host - that would be good. Or now that Richard Roeper is leaving that movie review program maybe I could take his place. That would be great - fame and all the movies I could ever want to see! Maybe I could finally meet Shannen Doherty! She's my favorite.

Sarbannes Oxley

With corporate america on heightened alert because of dishonesty, an outsider would think that we would now be having a period of the most open, civilized, and honest cultures, but in my company, this is very far from the truth. For example, how many times have people pretended to be on board for an idea during a meeting, only to secretly sabotage the proposal behind your back? During interviews, why do we act as if we love the candidate and string him or her along with no intentions of ever hiring the slug? Why do we tell the rude cafeteria cashier, "thanks" and "have a great day" when we know we are only patronizing her? Why do we say "great!" when asked "how are you doing? when we know we'd rather be at a Cubs game instead? Why do we claim we're so busy when we spend three quarters of the day gossiping about our idiot boss?

The Office

If you can't tell by now, I work in an office full of idiots with zero personalities. (And no, I don't fit in). Perhaps, it's because of the fact that I reside in an IT department may have something to do with it. For example, I had a brief conversation several months ago with a geek who's overweight body parallels his oversized ego. To break the ice, I initiated some small talk, and mentioned that I recently purchased a state of the art navigation unit. He immediately felt obligated to mention his new $5000 plasma screen. After spending what seemed like an eternity listening to me why his choice was better, I immediately saw my opportunity and ran like hell.

Over the course of the next several encounters with him in the hall, he immediately asks me about my navigation unit, which initially was a nice gesture to show that he remembered, but now seems so one dimensional as that is the only basis of our conversations. I typically respond back that I still like the unit, and the conversation stalls. After many long pauses, I usually make some excuse to "have to run."

My issue is why can't the imbecile come up with something original. Heck, I'd even appreciate if he asked me about the weather, baseball, rumor, anything but the damn navigation unit. It's times like these that make the old fashioned "how are you. . . fine," conversations seem so right.

What's Up? Or Across.

Summertime is here, time for all to show off our seasonally thin physiques. And while at the office this summer, grab your polo shirts and go!

But why, when we want to look our thinnest, do the shirt designers insist our polo shirts must have horizontal stripes? Don't they make one look fat? Even me in my... well, even me.

Long sleeve shirts never have horizontal stripes - always vertical. What's the deal with the polo shirts then? Finding vertical stripes on a polo shirt only happens when the summer help stacks the shirts sideways on the shelf!

Next up, boxer shorts.

Corporate Affairs

I work in a large Midwestern Fortune 50. Like large companies, we have our share of politics, but undeniably, we also have an unusual culture of enjoying being bland and about 20 years behind the times. Because we don't have a sense of urgency, we have become boring. Instead of meeting plan expectations, we meet to discuss who is celebrating the next 50 year anniversary. Average turnover is incredibly low, which on the surface hints at loyalty, but truly hides the truth of reality. We are at best, average, and likely sub-par in terms of talent. Which brings up my point. I feel that I am a "stellar performer," but feel that would be a hollow gloat. It's like claiming to be valedictorian in an inner city school. In other words, I feel like a shining star(fish) in a sea of mediocrity, and I am drowning fast. I need to find another ocean to crap on.

Gas Solution

As I was leaving work today, I came up with the most brilliant idea to solve our gas crisis. Okay, so I wasn't referring to gasoline, but flatulence. The most difficult issue is typically where do you go to "let it go?" I find it awkward to do so in the most obvious place, the rest room. Although it is expected, it is still an opportunity to giggle while your colleagues stand next to you by the urinal or in the adjacent stall. In fact, it is not uncommon for those with fine social upbringing to flush occasionally so as to disguise the aforementioned sound.

As I mentioned, I came across the ingenious idea as I was leaving to go home. It came to me like a lightning bolt as I exited through the revolving doors. Now, during the momentary spinning, I did notice that for that brief period that there was blissful silence. In fact, the person who was leaving with me was trying to continue the conversation, but lo and behold, I could not hear a thing! It was almost like the "cone of silence." I think I'll order the baked beans for lunch tomorrow. Of course, I may have to remain spinning for a while in the revolving door, but I pity the next one in line who wants to use the section of the revolving door. . .

Back Rub the wrong way

I noticed a job posting today for Stark Investments in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, land of our fellow cheeseheads, and was quite surprised to see the title of the position. Instead of seeing Senior Director of Accounting, or VP of Purchasing, I came across the enviable opening of "Senior BACK OFFICE Manager." Now I'm not sure how popular that title is, or how many people are pounding on their doors, or how to put that title down on a business card without cringing, but somehow can't imagine that to be too flattering. My mind wanders to a social engagement, like a dinner party, and imagine the conversation going towards, "so what do you do?" In between the CFO, VP Engineering, and the like, no doubt the "Back Office Manager" would stand out like a sore thumb. So what does a "B O Manager" do?

Name Change

I saw in the paper today that a guy changed his name to In God We Trust. I think it's great that Mr. Trust is so firm in his beliefs; I just hope he doesn't turn cynical and name a child of his First National Bank And.

Management by Cliche

A few years ago, HP pioneered the concept of MBWA, or management by walking around. The intent was for management to get out of their cozy offices and get to know their people by mingling. Such behaviour was expected to promote teamwork and cohesiveness, thereby improving productivity. Now, I don't know if it succeeded, but at the time HP was growing rapidly, fueled no doubt, by the growth of the technology sector, in general. Was it really due to the concept of MBWA or was MBWA just a by-product of the natural culture which led it to success. Or was it neither and that HP was just at the right place at the right time with the right product that was destined to climb.

This has led to my thought of the recent deterioration of management, or "leadership" as my company like to call it. Instead of any new, profound thought, we are deluged with Colin Powell quotes that are as dated as my HP reference or Fortran. I constantly hear "one size doesn't fit all" or "we don't want to swing the pendulum too far." Whatever happened to real leadership? I believe we have replaced any new leadership thoughts with old and tired cliches, because we have people in leadership roles who are not qualified, and resort to what is familiar. What is troubling is the fact that a large number of the herd actually responds to the rhetoric as if this is exciting! This speaks volumes of the state of the economy and civilization. While we ramble on, our crafty European and Japanese are developing more creative workforces. Oh well, if it ain't broken, don't fix it.

Blondie

Ever notice how certain names immediately convey some imagery? It's kind of like "Hubert's" give you the impression that the gentlemen is somewhat nerdy, but friendly. "Horatio" is doomed to be a milquetoast. Don't even get me started on a "Melvin."

What I find particularly interesting is how every "Sara" or "Sarah" that I have ever met is blonde. Now I didn't necessarily say that Sarah's are attractive, just blonde. Think about Sarah Jessica Parker strutting around New York in her blonde locks. Don't forget Sarah Michelle Gellar sashaying in her Buffy attire. Just thinking of Sara makes me Smile.

Power Lunch

My first opportunity in the real world was as an intern with a big (8, now 4) accounting firm. While on an engagement with a very significant client, I had lunch with the rest of the audit team consisting of a senior and two junior consultants. Since we had to pay for our own meals at this time, we chose to imbibe at Wendy's. I ordered a small meal because I tend to be a slow eater and wanted to leave a good impression with our "boss", the senior auditor, by being attempting to showcase my exemplary conversation skills. Unfortunately, I chose to have a bowl of chili with extra cheese and onions. Although the beans probably would have been sufficient to cause some minor embarrassment, the cheese actually caused me the most problems because of its naturally gooey nature. Imagine for a moment, how difficult it must have been to pull the stringy cheese out of my mouth as it continues to remain intact all the way to the bowl. It even leaves you with that weird "hairy" feeling that you didn't get all of it even after you pull the last remaining strands. Although the senior tried her best to ignore my challenge, I know it made her uncomfortable. What truly saved me in this ordeal, (yes this is a positive story with a great? ending) was the lunch choice of one of my other junior audit colleagues. Instead of selecting another great meal from the menu board, he choice to bring his bag lunch with him.

To which he got immediately reprimanded that bringing his homemade concoction was just plain "unprofessional." Not only that, but she felt, although interns, we were still paid handsomely, and should be able to afford a decent meal, even if at Wendy's. In the event that we would be eating with clients, she would immediately have taken that bag lunch and threw it out or sent the junior auditor crying home. Needless to say, I was utterly shocked that she brought up this perspective with such rigorous passion! My junior friend however continued to munch on his home prepared sandwich and seemed mildly amused, but nonetheless seemed bothered.

From this day forward, the poor sap decided to pay for his meal and never brought up this situation again. I now reflect on this story, as I have many times, and realize somehow the trauma of this situation has remained with me, because I cannot recall any occasion where I brought my own lunch to work. I also realize much too late how absurd the thought was to publicly admonish someone who was trying to save a few dollars on a paltry salary or chose to maintain a certain nutritional diet. Unfortunately, I have to publicly admit that I am now that ugly senior, and have looked unflatteringly at those who do tend to bring their lunches to work at my place of employment. I can be having a lunch meeting, and as soon as I see that lunch bag come out, I'm just ready to scream. Instead, I just cast a slight downward glance as I eat my cafeteria special while shaking my head disapprovingly and referring to my lunch-bag carrying denizen as a "plebeian" who will never advance to the next caste as long as I am able to offer my opinion during promotion periods. In fact, I would even stoop to taking a bite out of the sandwich while the person steps away to wash their hands or gets a soda while leaving the meal in a vulnerable and visible spot. When they return, they become so disgusted that they will typically through the "damn" thing away, while I secretly laugh on the inside as they generally suspect the wrong person would take a germy bite out of their artistically assembled sandwich.

I will continue to do so until I rid the world of these unprofessional bag lunch people!

Barnes & Borders

I stopped in my local mega bookstore recently, and became puzzled as to what they are trying to sell. There in the corner was a small cafe serving small pastries and coffee whilst readers were sipping their warm java as they flipped pages of, no doubt, books that they had taken off the shelf. Now, I can understand that libraries are now cutting into this line of business by offering their own cafe on premises. In fact, our local branch even offers a cup of coffee as well where the strong savory smell permeates through every wing of our library. In that case, I can understand that the books are essentially free, so why not make some extra cash by pushing the liquid caffeine? But the primary source of revenue in a bookstore must be the books, right? So why do they encourage potential buyers to sit around and read their books without having to purchase them. In fact, don't they risk that the book reader may damage one of their publications by spilling their liquid gold on a brand new Stephen King book? Yes, one could argue that then the book store just made a sale, but realize that most in this situation may just quickly close the book and put it back on the shelf awaiting the next unsuspecting buyer? I also think asking people to come in and relax somewhat upsets the entire premise of the retail world. Turnover! Shouldn't customers come in and buy what they need and get the hell out so you can make more profit? Imagine if people lined up at the Infiniti dealer only to come in and sit in the car while drinking coffee without any intentions of buying? Why, not only would that discourage other potential buyers, the dealership would rarely have a car to test drive with all the homeless people squatting in their previously shiny and clean cars!

This insanity must stop! It's just so un-American! Now leave me alone while I head over to my Starbucks so I can use their Wi-FI connection.

Shook me all night long

This early morning, I awoke to a vibrating bed, and it didn't even cost me a quarter. No, I wasn't at a cheap motel, but rudely awaken at 4:30 in the morning in the midst of a real live, crevice making, earth splitting, earthquake! Imagine my surprise to see the walls shaking like Jerry Lee Lewis while trying to get out of bed walking like Jerry Lewis. I originally thought that such occurrences were reserved for those on the west coast. My to my dismay, my world was turning. Now as I brace for the aftershocks, I'm reminded of a time when things were so much simpler, and you could count on things being there when you wake up. Instead, I can't sleep because I keep thinking my toothbrush is bounding to the toilet during the next wave of tremors. What am I going to do!

Wide Bottom Girls

With all due respect to Freddie Mercury and Queen, I do have some empathy for those overweight women out there. However, I do believe that I have run into a couple of those Lane Bryant types who may not necessarily be classified as the nicest people around. Case in point: yesterday as I was leaving the complex of my large midwestern employer, I was walking through the crowd trying to get to my car in the parking garage. There is a narrow hall that can fit approximately 20 people wide going in both directions. This allows probably 3 people walking alongside in each direction. I, along with several others, was trying to keep pace, when suddenly there she was. A large woman who happened to be going at a slower pace. Now, I do not begrudge someone who may not be able to keep up, especially those who may be elderly or potentially have some physical handicap. Rest assured, this was not the case. What was unusual in my circumstance was the velocity of her arm movements. She was rapidly flailing, yes flailing her arms around to such a degree that no one could pass her.

Now, I'm not referring to her arm movements as those of a typical speed walker. Hers was definitely of the obnoxious, "don't even think about passing me, or I'll snip off your scrotom" variety. More to come tomorrow.

The Wright Stuff

Why is one who writes plays not referred to as a playwrite rather than the seemingly misspelled playwright?

And what's with that bizarre phraseology anyway? Was John Lennon a songwright? I don't believe John Grisham is a bookwright. And yet, Ben, Little Joe and Hoss are all Cartwrights.

Can't they all just be authors? Or writers?

Just a thought.

Nathan Kinzel, blogwright

Privilege

I don't mean to sound insensitive, but ever notice how some handicapped individuals may actually have benefits not typically afforded to the general populace? Now, I am not referring to handicapped parking spots, nor bathroom stalls, which I can fully understand and endorse due to their disability. What I'm intrigued about is the ability to do what you and I, John Q. Public, cannot do. For example, just today, I was walking down the hall of my large midwestern employer and walking beside me trying to keep pace was a man walking on crutches. As he walked, he let out some lengthy flatulence, that because of the sheer duration of the sound, I admit that I was somewhat impressed. Now, my first reaction was, "whoa, that can't be what I think it is," so I paused. I kept insisting to myself that it must be the rubber on the bottom of his crutches or perhaps shoes that were rubbing together that unusual sound.

To which, he definitively reminded me that there was no mistake in that he let loose again. No, not only did he repeat his reminder, but cut loose a monumental example of why he IS the man! Afterwards, he looked at me like he was surprised that I would dare question his need to release some gas. As if, I were the one with the unusual problem. I then noticed an older woman walk past who looked at me with a serious, but quizzical stare as if I were the one with the problem as well. No doubt that she heard and noticed what HE did, but now she was staring at me as if I were the issue. So now, my friends, I am at a loss. Perhaps, I should be more sensitive to those less fortunate, and allow them this rite of passage without making them feel so uncomfortable. You could say, I suppose, that I should cut them some slack as they cut the cheese.

Ironic

No, this is not a tribute to Alanis Morrisette, but an observation. Why is it that there are so many bald barbers? Worse yet, why are there so many overweight doctors? You'd think that they, if anyone would understand proper nutrition. I thought it peculiar when I took my son in to the optometrist recently and noticed that all the doctors in the practice wearing glasses. Didn't they eat carrots when they were young? Imagine my surprise to find the local LASIK practitioner is blind as a bat!

Take Me to the Cleaners

I really don't like ironing. Part of my problem is that I'm a slow ironer. A week's worth of clothes will take me an hour. But I (strategically) have enough clothes to last me two weeks. My standard ironing session has therefore now been extended to two hours.

I have finally allowed myself to escape this grueling task by taking my clothes to the cleaners. Aside from the obvious extra expense, I have discovered a minor problem with this idea - there is a non-stop barrage of hangers entering our household.

I've contemplated taking them back to the cleaners for "recycling" but I don't like the thought of my clean clothes hanging on someone else's used hanger. I'm sure I'm not alone in that.

In trying to stem this tidal wave of wire, I have adopted far more stringent quality standards in my hanger assessment. At the first sign of bending, those wire hangers are gone. The slightest crease in a cardboard pants-hanger renders it obsolete. This isn't enough.

Hangers get sent off to school with my college bound son. My youngest son does his best to rotate the stock by yanking his clothes from the closet with barely a thought that there is some object that suspends his shirts underneath that shelf. Still, they don't stop coming.

Vacant hanging space in my closet is filled with idle hangers. The college son's empty closet is empty no more as even more hangers have filled that space. There's no more room in the laundry room. Or the youngest son's closet. Or the pantry. Or the refrigerator. We've even resorted to giving hangers to Goodwill. Please make it stop! With these cleaning bills, I can no longer afford a bigger house.

Bathroom Etiquette

Here's a topic that I have yet to find Emily Post address. What do you do when you happen to be having a conversation with a colleague, and he begins to walk into the restroom? Do you continue the dialogue as if nothing's change even though you are surrounded by plumbing? I found myself in this predicament today. First, I must say that the conversation began innocently enough. I was attending an offsite meeting, and decided to make a mad dash to the building complex because it happened to be lightly raining. As I came closer to the building, I noticed the colleague in question up ahead, and as he saw me approaching, he stopped, despite the rain, and waited for me to catch up. Because of this courtesy, I believed that I had an obligation to continue the conversation since he earnestly struck up the dialogue. During the middle part of our talk, and without warning, he entered the bathroom. He ran into the stall, and rather than stand there dumbfounded, I decided to use the urinal. After a few moments of awkward silence, he continued the conversation as if nothing was different.

Besides the occasional groans and grunts coming from the stall, nothing else was unusual and he was able to discuss the complexity of calculating the company's latest quarterly results. During this awkward spell, he let loose what could only be described as an incredible cleansing of the bowels. Not only was there the tell tale sound of water splashing and volcanoes erupting, he was still able to resume the dialogue as if nothing was happening. At this point, I am trying to wash my hands and hoping no one else were to enter to hear us keep this conversation going while he was in all his glory.

Now, my real dilemma at this juncture is how do I leave? Should I stay and be subjected to this and possibly be accused of being the perpetrator as I walk away with his stench on my clothes? Or do I leave and possibly risk that he is offended that I left him in mid-conversation? After all, he was willing to stand in the rain and wait for me earlier? Or worse yet, what if I leave and don't say anything, and he assumes that I am still there continuing the conversation with a ghost? What if someone enters to hear him talking to no one?

Bowling 101

I joined a company bowling league last fall. This is not my company's league, mind you, so over and above the fact that I'm a member, this is clearly a league with minimal restrictions on membership. Just the same, these people are serious about their bowling; makes one wonder what I'm doing there.

My first lesson on day one - bowling is done at a "house". And there are apparently vast differences between these houses because one of my teammates told me later on that at "this house" he only needs to bring two [bowling] balls. Yes, only two. This person owns four bowling balls and drags them (literally) every week to our house of bowling. With roughly 70 pounds of equipment, bowling bags can now be purchased with wheels and can also be stacked one upon another.

And if you purchase a new bowling ball, this equipment should be phased in slowly. Sort of a courtship period, if you will. It takes some time to develop a relationship with a new ball so one should proceed cautiously - perhaps using only for practice for the first few weeks.

Let me tell you, there is quite a level of sophistication for a league comprised of teams such as the "Big Johnsons" and "Minds in Da Gutter".

Bunny Job Hopping

Yes, it is that great time of the year when we scurry around looking for those golden eggs. No, I'm not referring to Easter, but an employment search. This led me to the weird thought that why are references ever requested anymore? In this age of litigation, you'd think that there are other ways to corroborate character, like credit checks, background checks, and checks in the mail. Anyway, I digress. Is it really feasible to ask for references when we know that the candidate will attempt to provide a biased sample of people to speak with. Ok, so it is somewhat disguised as Grandma puts the handkerchief over the phone to pretend to be Sally the CFO from IBM.

This is Nuts

Felix Pie of the Chicago Cubs is suffering from "testicular torsion" (or in layman's terms, a twisted testicle) that will require some minor surgery. This is apparently a rather expensive procedure because I hear that Elliot Spitzer paid over $4,000 to have this done back in February.

Breakfast of Champions

100% fruit juice. Whole grain cereal. God, I'm sick of eating healthy (well, let's ignore that cheeseburger I had for lunch today).

Seriously though, is there a better juice than Hawaiian Punch? I'm telling you, if you simply mix sugar, water and red food coloring together you get one tasty beverage. Fresh squeezed orange juice has nothing on a nice Hawaiian Punch.

And then there's Cap'n Crunch. Sort of like eating crunchy candy for breakfast. And it really stands up to milk! For that matter, it really stands up to my gums too. However, once they scab over and form calluses there is not a better cereal on the planet.

Mock Apple Pie

I suppose this does sound more appetizing than "Ritz Cracker Pie" but somehow I don't see the need for a fake apple pie. Research tells me that there was some kind of apple shortage back in the 30's so America's insatiable appetite for apple pie apparently had to be addressed somehow back then. But has anyone under the age of 70 ever not seen apples at the grocery store?

How does someone come up with this idea, anyway? "I wish I had a slice of apple pie right now - but maybe cracker pie would be just as good?" I think I might be more apt to make a fake strawberry pie with a bag of Starburst candies. I guess I'm just not a forward thinker (except for the "microwave" refrigerator idea a few weeks ago).

Then again, I really have no room to talk because I could go for a bowl of Apple Jacks right now.

Shake it up

In this day of rampant professionalism, I have to admit that I am uncomfortable with extending my hand to shake hands. Although I'd like to say that germs may be a factor in this consideration, and have had my share of standing by the restroom sink washing my hands while coworkers will "do their business" only to walk out with palms dripping with invisible bacteria, I do feel strange as people I do know well attempt to shake hands under the guise of professionalism. Obviously, I return the firm shake with a haughty "how do you do" or "good to see you again" to make it even more insincere. Am I wrong that I prefer to keep my distance with my colleagues or do I have to continue to play this unusual game of dilbert-esque interaction?

I would not socialize with these individuals, nor would I spend more time than necessary, so why must I be subjected to shaking the hands of someone and act like I really enjoy spending more than a prefessional minute with them. Excuse me while I wash my hands.

Sweeping Changes at My Place of Employment!

As an employee of an engineering firm, it's not unusual to occasionally find a few employees poring over a large drawing. This afternoon I noticed our Quality Manager gazing at a drawing with one of our machinists - not an unusual sight. What struck me was the janitor peering over this drawing at the same time. I'm not sure what input he could possibly have or, for that matter, what vital information he may have been acquiring from the conversation. I can only guess that there were special janitorial needs for this particular project; must have been an especially messy part that required an extra pass or two with the sweeper.

Hormel's Not The Boss of Me

I personally think the folks at Hormel are getting just a little too heavy handed. It's one thing to tell me heat up a pork roast in the microwave for four minutes, but what's with this "serve and enjoy" business? I'll leave it up to me as to whether or not I'll enjoy my pork roast, thank you. If I choose to serve and gag uncontrollably - well, dammit, that's my decision!

Hello Doctor

My brother had a physical recently where I understand he received shots for tetanus, whooping cough and shingles. He seems like somewhat of a do-it-yourself kind of guy so this shingles thing doesn't really surprise me. However, I think I'd rather have a shot for maybe getting a bathroom re-done.

I guess he's also been told to get a colonoscopy. That's really the kind of thing that's best kept to one's self because once you tell a few people, you'll be subject to no end of jokes. Having gone through the procedure not that long ago, I have been treated to three offerings of a viral video of a singing colonoscopy featuring Lou Rawls "You'll Never Find Another Love Like Mine" with a disco ball rotating overhead.

And if, for exampe, one or two people in the lobby area may happen to mention you look like Richard Gere, don't bother telling anyone later on because, well... just don't bother.

By the way, I think I saw my doctor at the auto show this week. I didn't ask if he remembered me; I couldn't stand anymore jokes.

I'm Too Tired to Post Something Worthwhile

I've never really contemplated street naming, per se, but as I was heading into Barrington on Barrington road today, I started a mental list of streets named for various nearby towns. In the suburban Chicago area, we have Palatine Road that goes through the middle of Palatine and Schaumburg Road that goes through the middle of Schaumburg. However, Mount Prospect Road kind of misses the center of Mount Prospect where Elmhurst Road goes right down the middle. Elmhurst Road, of course, goes right through downtown Elmhurst but, for some reason, it has been renamed York Road by then.

In the south suburbs, 159th Street is a major road that goes through several towns - except South Holland. Upon leaving Harvey for South Holland, 159th Street inexplicably becomes 162nd Street; apparently three blocks further south without moving so much as a fraction of a degree of longitude. Naturally, once you leave South Holland for Calumet City, everything is right again as the 159th Street name returns.

Perhaps the city of Atlanta has found a way to circumvent all of the confusion created by streets with multiple names. I think most of the streets there are named Peachtree.

I HATE Chase Bank and Credit Cards!!!

I'm sure my recent experience is not that atypical of most banks and credit card issuers, but I must admit they definitely try my patience. After being charged $51 for late payment fees after having the customer service representative ADMIT they did not draw the bank transfer as indicated on the due date, I am completely dumbfounded when they claimed they could not reverse the charges. After three days of frustrating calls, and having them treat me like a kindergartener by explaining to me what interest is, and how it's calculated, I decided to pay off the balance and cancel my card. Unbeknownst to me, I realized that they still miscalculated the final balance (after just checking my account online), and still show me as being liable for $2.76! After another incredible call with a poorly trained senior citizen, know-it-all, who is trying again to explain to me why I would be charged because of the time value of money, completely forgeting my point in that the charge is erroneous. In fact, several times I attempted to interrupt the bastard, named Garrett (who refused to provide his last name or his manager, I might add) but he continued to ignore my pleas to listen and instead berated me for closing the account. Finally, after this idiot's tirade, he explains that he will, as a courtesy no less, waive the fee, but discovers that I have closed the account, and then refuses to do so since I apparently have not been very loyal to Chase. To which I request to be passed on to his manager. His response this time is okay, but he will have to put me on hold. After an inordinate amount of time, he claims that his boss is still busy, but I can wait. I will say that after a slight pause, he didn't have time to interrupt me this time as I told him to shove his headset up his fat hairy. . .

Cold as Ice T

I seem to recall having an inane (insane?) conversation with a curvy blonde one day over wind chill. She somehow managed to get me to think about wind chill, and whether metal or cars would "feel" wind chill. So when the temperature dropped down below freezing and forecasters are shouting out the wind chill factor, do inanimate objects actually feel the actual temperature or the much colder wind chill factor? I immediately tried to explain to her that objects do not "feel" wind chill, but only we do because we can sense the wind against our pores. To which she asked if dogs can feel wind chill? I suddenly realized why I was so attracted to her and completely recognized the value that she brought to this relationship. Nuff Said.

Do You Have Jumper Cables?

If the answer to the above question is yes, these are five words that you just plain don't want to hear. As a young pup I made the "smart" decision to invest in a set of jumper cables. I've never used them. On my car, that is.

Funny thing about jumper cables - people don't seem to need them on a sunny day with a temperature in the 80's. Or 60's. Or 40's, 3o's or even 20's. Watch the mercury fall below 0 though - then the fun starts. That's when you'll hear the dreaded question. Regrettably, I never found it within me to lie and answer "no". I finally had to resort to completely removing this evil accessory from the trunk of my car.

If you ever feel the need to purchase jumper cables, take my advice. Use the money to join a motor club instead. Trust me, it'll be well worth the extra money - even if you never do use it.

Beauty is relative

No this is not about your voluptuous cousin, you freakazoid! I would like to make an observation about attractive women. Now, I won't get soft and talk about "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" and overused cliches, but wanted to share a thought as I sit in my high tech department full of overweight, overlooked, overdone, over-aged, and over the top females. Of course, you would say, they may not be attractive because the industry doesn't attract that type of person. Instead, we are beset with horn rimmed glass bearing, "techy types" littering the floors. The majority sex of our staff is male, and no doubt, very little sex occurs in this group, at least if another party is involved (who doesn't have a tail, that is).

Now you may ask, why do I bring this topic up on an innocent Friday night? Well, I suddenly realized as I drove home that it is relative. After spending an inordinate amount of time in this environment, I realized that the flirtatious geek who is constantly in the copy room is not that unattractive. Sure, not exactly the complement that one of the opposite sex would like to hear, but hear me out. Compared to the other females in the department, she's not bad. However, she definitely no Heather Locklear, nor even a Katie Couric, but compared to some of the smelly Roseanne Barr type beasts around here, she's beginning to look awful. . . appealing. Again, it's all relative. If I were in Atlanta, Georgia or San Antonio, Texas, I would say that Britney Spears would not garner a second look.

The Next Cool Thing

I'm just not impressed with my microwave oven anymore. At one time it may have been a miracle to dive into a burrito only two minutes after it left the freezer, but now - that is just so last century.

Microwave ovens have been commonplace for thirty years or more. What I can't figure out is why hasn't anyone applied this same kind of thinking to the refrigerator. Say, for example, that I've just arrived home from 7-Eleven with a frozen burrito and a six-pack of Coke. (Editor's note: if this were a true story, I would have grabbed a cold coke from the cooler but that would render this example meaningless.) Once I place my burrito in the microwave, I discover that my ice tray is empty; so there I am, moments later, with a hot burrito and a warm coke. I hate warm coke.

This is where we need a microwave refrigerator. Something I can place my warm coke in only to have it ice cold in just two minutes. I can't believe this isn't on the shelves at Best Buy yet. Just wait, one day I'll seem like a visionary.

One of the Good Blogs

Now that the presidential election season is in full swing, political commentary is everywhere: TV, radio, newspapers, magazines and on and on. Each of these bastions of information dissemination are naturally serious journalistic enterprises. Often times, as I listen to or read what these journalists have to say there are dismissive (or derisive) references to "bloggers" and their uninformed non-journalistic opinions that apparently diminish the election process. "Don't believe everything you read on the Internet!"

Fortunately for us, there is no way in the world anyone could possibly take our blog seriously. Yes, we may be embarassed by it's content (and to our knowledge we still are unread by anyone who knows who we are) but at least we can take comfort that our blog is not among those that are so reviled by the political press. Of course, this is not to suggest that these true "journalists" would actually approve of our blog - there's just no danger of us infringing upon their territory.

Germain to the conversation

In recent years, I have become more of a germ-a-phobe. Right around the time I had heard that Howard Hughes, the richest man in the world - pre-Gates, had this weird, eccentric concern over germs. Not that I would compare to this wealthy weirdo, but I think he was ahead of his time. I think about all these anti-resistant bacteria that is permeating the world, and how our antibiotics would one day be powerless in the face of these super-beings. That is why I chose to grip the door handle with my right pinky and then carefully place it in my pocket as I rub on some Purell hidden securely in the inner reaches of my pocket so as to not bring attention to my sudden fear of those insidious germs.

Often, I am the one who will be running to the rest room to wash my hands after shaking hands with a stranger. I will not hesitate to use paper towels to touch the faucet handles rather than risk the touch of some errant stranger who may not be as careful as me. Would it be appropriate to purchase a plastic bag in order to venture out into this strange, strained world?

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year! I must have heard that a half dozen times this morning. I used to think it was a simple exclamation good for only a few minutes after the clock struck midnight on December 31. Boy, was I wrong.

Last Friday, the drive-thru attendant at a local Wendy's wished me a happy new year as she handed me my son's dinner. This morning, six or so people greeted me that same way in rapid succession. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I figure that once the calendar shows January 2nd, we're back at "good morning" or "how you doing" rather than continuing to throw out that "happy new year" line.

Not that I'm complaining, per se. My response to the first and second greetings this morning was simply to repeat those very same words - happy new year. But I felt awkward. The next couple of greeters received a "same to you" in response. I think I then descended to "you to" or some such dismissive reply. Fortunately the greetings stopped before I dove further into "back at you" or "happy new year, my ass!".

I suppose I just need to give in to the popular lexicon and bring out the seasonal greetings myself. Let me be the first to wish you and yours a happy Martin Luther King, Jr. day!

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?

Tis the season . . .

• where carolers ring your bell incessantly and sing off key in hopes of garnering a little holiday cheer and some vintage toddy
• where normal neighbors attempt to compete vigorsly on how much wattage they can apply to their yards to bring the electric switching station to its knees
• where office workers everywhere stress at how to come up with original excuses for not having to attend that obstentatious office party where the boss's flirty wife is obnoxious and everyone has to put on the painted smile right before the .0035 merit checks are handed out
• where inflatable Santas dominate subdivision everywhere by casting an effervescent red hue across the entire skyline and chokes out any possibility whatsoever for any living creature to obtain any ultraviolet radiation
• where you attempt to find a parking spot within the same zip code as the mall despite the fact that even the handicapped spaces are triple parked by cell phone toting, able-bodied, denizens who happen to have a unscrupulous brother-in-law who can sign for the disability placards that can easily be reproduced on a 19.50 color printer. . . if you can only get a spot to buy one at the mall before the moon surfaces.
• where you can watch "It's a wonderful life" for the umteenth time and still get misty eyed over the incredible personality tranformation of George Bailey before you realize that all the bullied, arrogant, crass, and condescending remarks made by the main character seem so much meaner each year where you begin to hope just this one year Mr. Potter finally succeeds or turns into a nice guy via Scrooge transformation
• where you attempt to send that special, hard sought gift for that distant favorite friend only to realize all your packing peanuts refuse to stay in the overpriced corrugated box, but instead decide to static cling you, your dog, your lawn, and entire carpeted surface of your house
• where you can begin a lawsuit to question the need for a nativity scene in front of the local post office even though such a scene will further complicate pedestrian traffic that has crawled to a stop, but regardless will lead to an endless stream of attorneys filing claims on behalf of those who need to see a Kwanzaa display, Menorrah candles, etc. even though the holiday was somehow meant to represent someone's birthday
  
• where those who generally implore others to recycle and save the planet from some unforeseen danger decide to ravage an innocent forest by decimating the latest pine tree to dry out for a month in the comfort of their living room only to be sent reeling head first into the nearest street come January
• where we are barraged with generic christmas letters outlining the latest insignificant accomplishments in poetic prose despite that fact that Uncle Billy who was sent up the river and Auntie Anne is now Auntie Fred were somehow overlooked
• where no one amongst the sane population known as civilization has ever, ever, ever purchased anyone a Lexus as a present despite the marketing claims, but am encouraged that the marketing people truly believe there is some lonely shallow person out there who may bite at the prospect
• where you attempt to be the 15 billionth passenger waiting in line to make it through the airport turnstyles while the other passengers begin to grimace at your holiday green and red socks are on stage display as you take off your shoes through security and realize that the special cotton absorbing material does not retain the smell. . . unfortunately, of your perspiring feet, which obviously alerts the airport personnel who have been observing your awkward movements and decide to detain you and examine you only to determine that you are just "stinky" and place you to the rear of the line to repeat the "groundhog day movie" activities once again
• where you can introduce seemingly insignificant ramblings while still being perceived as the next coming of Kurt Cobain while just trying to wish every one a very happy, safe, and peaceful Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Cool Kwanzaa, Joyeux Noel, Feliz Navidad etc. and the best New Year!
  

Get Smart!

That's an order!

Or at least it could be construed as one. Personally, I'd rather construe it as a sitcom. Agent 86. 99. Who can forget the cones of silence?

This could all be mine! Mine, I tell you!! For a mere $199 that is. Yes, the entire catalogue of Get Smart episodes is available for the low, low price of only $199 from Time Life books.

Okay, maybe the price tag isn't quite as "low, low" as I would like. But I am seriously considering adding it to my Christmas list. Oh, if only Santa read my blog - or, if only anyone read my blog for that matter; but that's a whole different issue. Of course, it may be just as well that Santa doesn't come through; he seems to be using my credit card when he makes his purchases.

Sorry about that, Chief.

Time to give THANKS!

It's that wonderful time of the year that begins shortly before Halloween. No, I'm talking about that profit enhancing enterprise called Christmas. I realize that it's oft overused, but Christmas comes earlier and earlier each year. I noticed the local Wal-Mart already had the Christmas displays up before Halloween. I recall that it was considered sacroligious to begin decorating a tree before Thanksgiving. My, how times have changed! Now, what used to be a joyous occasion, now brings stress to not only the retailers as they scramble to squeeze out that very last cent, but more importantly, it's the average joe who suffers because he has to be up by the crack of dawn to get the newest playstation wiii. Now, I must remind you the most important part of my message: what the begonias ever happened to THANKSGIVING!!!!???!?!? Didn't we forget that this was an important occasion to remember our long ago ancestors who came over on the Mayflower. . . who raped and pillaged the local Indian population. . .er. Native Americans. . .just so we could eat their turkey? Isn't this a day of THANKS?!?! So, I implore you to remember this sacred holiday as you dive in for another round of Aunt Bernice's pecan pie, and think about the other 364 days that we need to appreciate what we have. By the way, I think I'll use Mayflower van lines the next time I move since they go waaaay back. Happy Thanksgiving!

I fight authority and . . .

Because of the era that I grew up, I learned to respect (and abhor) authority. I always try to distance myself from work superiors so as to not appear as the "kiss-up" of the crowd. I do notice the occasional overt "butt-kissers" who do garner some extra attention from the boss, but I sincerely believe that they eventually will be discovered for their shallow intent. Even though I may actually like my boss, I still try to keep my distance, which has led me to the thought: Is it because I do not want to be perceived as a brown-noser or is it my inate perception that a boss should be in a different league, much higher than I? I finally concluded that it must be the former when I witnessed my boss passing gas in the adjacent urinal. Damn animal, needs to find some social etiquette!

Everything I learned in life, I learned in college

If you truly think about it, you were naive, yet ecstatic, yet prepared for life when you were in school. Those formative years chasing the young nubile coeds were what life was truly about. Besides raging hormones, you were gifted with "knowing everything" and caring about nothing. No real responsibiliites to speak of; certainly no mortgage concerns, car debt, braces, etc. You had the entire future to consider and all was incredibly fun and possible. No limitations as you dreamed about learning to drive a motorcycle, skydiving, and fornicating with a million plus women. College was an opportunity to grow and transition into adulthood. No longer would you be concentrating on Power Rangers but the Texas Rangers. What is amazing to me is the sight of overaged grey haired men back on campus trying to relive those days of glory, as they mumble along the quad, thinking about what might have been. I think I actually saw a balding one driving by in his new corvette the other day.

I Just Adore a Penthouse View

Load up the wagons people, Oliver Douglas is heading to New York! Apparently he got allergic to smelling hay and is looking for Park Avenue now, baby. Please, please, please, just leave the pig, Eb and that fat Mr. whatever his name was home.

Next thing you know, he'll be movin' on up to the east side... to a de-luxe apartment in the sky. Hey, by the way, could you get me a piece of the pie?

Milestone Birthdays

No, I did not say headstone, but milestone. Amazing how we wait until we reach a milestone birthday to reflect on our achievements or rather lack there of. Think about how many people consider this the time to start jotting down skydiving, college degrees, buying a corvette, etc. when most people observing would consider that too late to truly enjoy the aforementioned activities. How many times have you seen that balding, over-aged, hawaiian print wearing corvette driver whizzing by? I think we should try to get as many accomplishments done while we truly have the capacity to enjoy them, and accept the fact that when we reach 50 that the penis enlarger just won't work.

Grab Some Bench

Since when does a baseball manager need a bench coach? Is in-game strategy so complex that the manager can't figure this stuff on his own? For 100 years, managers such as Connie Mack, John McGraw, Sparky Anderson and Lee Elia got by without the benefit of a bench coach. Of course, Lee Elia may have needed a clubhouse coach, but that's a different matter entirely.

What? I can't hear you!

Being the cool hipster that I am, you'll occasionally see me cruising the mean streets of my neighborhood wearing an iPod. Furthermore, as a music afficionado - and world traveler - I have invested in an expensive set of headphones that not only transmit the tunes directly to my ears, they also cancel out unwanted external noises. Or so they say.

The noise cancelling feature is operated by a swith on the left earpiece. I have observed that when I move the switch to the on position, the music in my ears becomes louder. Could this be the noise cancellation technology at work? A simple increase in volume to "cancel out" those harsh exterior sounds. Perhaps this technology is not all its advertised to be! Have I been had?!

Alexis Gomez

So when did the father of the Addams family get a starring role on the Tigers? What kind of name is Alexis anyway. No wonder he's had such a tough time in the major leagues. He's got a woman's name! Imagine how Brandon Inge must feel when he has to tell his wife that he's going out with Alexis after the game. What the hell kind of name is Inge anyway? Sounds like something that keeps a door swinging, not a ballplayer. Almost as bad as Neifi Perez. I mean what is that?!?! How in the world do you curse a child by naming him a "Neifi!" What were they thinking? As if, Perez dispenser is not bad enough, they have to label the poor kid with a moniker that sounds like a freaking fairy. Now don't start me on Wilfredo Ledezma. His first name sounds like a white sauce for pasta while his last name is a skin disease. Great combination. Too bad he was saddled with both and bad acne. Jamie Walker? Didn't he star in Good Times? He's just Dyno-MITE! My favorite is obviously, Kenny Rogers. Damn, he makes good chicken!

Genuine

Somewhere amongst our possessions sits a genuine Swiss Army Knife - manufactured by Victorinox. And then there's the business portfolio I carry from time to time with the Swiss Army logo; it is made by Wenger - the "manufacturer of the genuine Swiss Army Knife". In our closet we have an officially licensed Swiss Army suitcase also made by the "maker of the genuine Swiss Army Knife" - Swiss Gear.

If all these people claim to make the same thing, can there really be a genuine Swiss Army Knife? In fact, does a "neutral" country even have an army? And if there is no army, is there even a knife?

I submit that this entire Swiss Army Knife thing is a fraud. Perpetrated, I'm sure, by those same people that try to pass off the servers at Olive Garden as real Italians.

Catch a Tiger by . . .

Ok. It's late in the baseball season, and the Detroit Tigers no longer have the best record in baseball like they have all year long. That distinction now belongs to the hated New York Mets. There is the chance that this could be another subway series with dismal ratings that only a Lee Mazilli fan would enjoy. However, the season is wrapping up to be a real thrilla in Manilla as the ghost of Kirby Puckett and those surging Minnesota Twins prepare to overtake Leyland's Lions. But don't count out the Jim (Thome) Sox even though they probably stink like an old used pair of gym socks right now. I think they'll go down to the wire, and perhaps a little cheating like a dropped third strike. But then, they don't cheat in baseball, steriod boy, do they? Certainly, not on the South side of town.

Toastmasters International

I recently heard of this organization, and believe I have now heard it all. Imagine, a group dedicated to the love of toast! A global entity at that! Just imagine - we can have a Sushimasters, or a Weinermasters, or a head cheese masters, or even a Webmasters Intl! I, myself, recently joined the much heralded: Sexmaster organ-ization. Feel free to bow to me accordingly, envious folk.

They're Fake!

When I dine at a Mexican restaurant, it seems perfectly natural that the servers and busboys are Hispanic. Likewise, at the local Chinese restaurant, I have no problem believing that the staff is all Asian. Somehow, though, I'm having a hard time believing all of these waiters and waitresses at the Olive Garden are Italian.

Sure, they sound Italian. Most times they may even look Italian. But when I"m outside of the Olive Garden, I almost never run into any Italians. Hispanics and Asians are all over the place.

HIJACKED POST: Perhaps if you ate INSIDE, you would notice the Italians!

Baseball and Strategy

Whatever happened to strategy anyway? I look at the so called "strategists" in baseball today, and notice that the big league managers, like Dusty Baker, have no plan when they manage a game. Doubtful? When was the last time anyone ever executed a trick play, like the hidden ball trick? Rarely does anyone even consider stealing home. I would be happy if anyone even considers hitting behind the runner to sacrifice himself for the good of the team. Fundamentals are no longer basic. Everyone wants that next big contract or endorsement, and is in it for himself.

Now let's examine the business world. When do companies ever really carry off real long term strategy instead of pandering to Wall Street analysts. Instead of prostituting oneself, a CEO should just say, the public be damned, I'm going to do what's right for this company, and invest for the future. Perhaps, they could buy a baseball team, like the Cubs!

Chucky Baby

Little known baseball factoid: that infamous manager known far and wide as having a body far and wide, and managed the Pittsburgh Pirates to a world championship on the strength and abiltiy of Dave Parker to outrun duracells in the outfield, Chuck Tanner, is credited with having hit an Illiad, or homer, to those less educated than me, on his first pitch. What? Don't believe moi? Check out this, you mentally incompetent, imbeciles:

http://www.baseballlibrary.com/baseballlibrary/ballplayers/T/Tanner_Chuck.stm

Let those who doubt my wisdom and tenacity, cry for you mommies!

Stop! I've fallen and . . . the world keeps spinning!

Why is time going at warp speed these days? The old adage that time flies when you're having fun just doesn't ring completely true. I seem to recall the days when things would just drag on when I was in grammar school. High School in all of its charms still seemed to last forever. Somewhere between college and the REAL WORLD, I must have fallen into some kind of time warp. I occasionally feel like the arch-foe of that speedy super hero, the Flash, who was the slowest man on earth, the Turtle. (Not sure who the comic book author was, but what a dumb premise, but I digress). I still can remember Christmas like it was yesterday, and now I look up and the 4th of July is right around the corner. Now before I can savor the sound of M-80s blasting away my neighbor's mailbox, I need to go out and fertilize my lawn for the coming of leaf raking season. Before you know it, we will be tossing a few turkey drumsticks over the fence, and gearing up to bring out the artificial forest product. I think this year I'll just leave it up, right next to the Easter bunny, the 4th of July flag, and my framed picture of our Commander in Chief, John F. Kennedy.

Pomp and Circumstantial Evidence

As the school year closes, I am reminded of the number of graduation cermonies currently taking place and the increase in number of cars clogging my cities' arteries. I am sitting in my car in congested traffic wondering if they could come up with a wonder drug, like Lipitor, to clean up this mess. That's when pomp and circumstance came to mind. Just when did we ever equate pomp and circumstance with graduation? Probably the same guy who was crazy enough to first eat a lobster! I wonder if he started gnawing on a hedgehog or scorpion, and decided that lobster was more attractive. Probably a caveman version of Jackass, the movie. Now back to my original point, what is a pomp anyway? Sounds like a hooker's manager. At least, it would explain "circumstance."

Why do we mark the occasion of a graduation anyway? It's not like there won't be other challenges in life. Almost like giving a false sense of accomplishment when you realize, you've got a long way to go. .

• kissing up to the boss
• falsifying the Enron-esque statements
• serving your time
• sleeping with the neighbor's wife
• sleeping with the neighbor's dog
• sleeping with the neighbors's dog of a wife
• sleeping with the neighbor's wife of a dog
• spending your Saturday's in AA
• pledging your assets for $0.30 on the dollar for bail
• listening to your neighbor about how he has it so bad

. . .to obtain that enriching life that you so much sought after. Of course, you could while away your time keeping your sanity talking about the good old days of innocence and graduation by spending time on a blog.

Remember: Graduation is the beginning of your life. Just imagine those deadbeats who never made it that far, like Steve Jobs.

Peace.

Door Etiquette

Since I was brought up to be somewhat of a gentleman, I will usually open and hold the door for a woman to enter a room or building. I assume the gentlemanliness of this act is derived from the principle of "ladies first". However, the act of opening the door has the added benefit of relieving the woman of the effort of moving the door. This of course raises the question in my mind - what to do with a revolving door.

If the woman precedes a man into a revolving door, the man has followed the ladies first principle to the letter. The woman, though, has then been burdened with the bulk of the effort of moving the door forward. However, should the man precede the woman into the revolving door, thus sparing her some of the effort of moving the door, he has ignored the doctrine of ladies first. So I ask you, which is more gentlemanly with regard to a revolving door: the man first or the woman first?

I posed this question to a female friend that I hold in the highest regard figuring she could provide some guidance. My question wasn't answered but I did sense that she thought psychiatric help may be in order for me. Naturally I now turn to the blogging world for answers. If only we had some readers.

Stir Fired Condoleeza Rice

Ever notice that there are some favorite (or favourite) words? I prefer "persnickety", "eucalyptus", "centrifugal" and wwho could forget the perennial favorite, "jambalaya". Go ahead, and say it, it does feel good.

One Year Anniversary!

On March 31, 2005 the first entry was posted on this blog. The impact it has had on blogdom is immeasurable - largely because the impact is something akin to none. Just the same, this should be the cause of some sort of celebration. Well, maybe celebration is too strong of a word. Perhaps an acknowledgement is in order.

Our first comment appeared almost immediately from someone who now goes by Katy. I don't know who this Katy is but she only commented once and her name has changed a time or two since then. I think Mr. Huge should post a comment on her blog just as a thank you for her input, which was as follows: "Lots of pressure, unh?".

Then there is echotig. She was a frequent commenter in the middle months of this particular publication and one who even caused MH2U to fawn all over her while commenting on her blog. For obvious reasons she has abandoned reading our blog.

There was also this guy named Monkey. He was hired and fired as a "consultant" in the span of about a week. I believe both his hiring and firing were self inflicted.

And now we are left with 2 bored authors and a readership that is non-existent. Please stay tuned to this website during year 2. We might actually post something. Or not. Who really cares anyway.

Ed Farmer's Almanac

I'm sure you've heard about the snow storm that is blanketing the east coast. This made me wonder about the farmer's almanac, and all those predictions. Years ago, presumably, Farmers would rely heavily on what was contained in the almanac. But who creates these weather predictions anyway. Just like the groundhog's shadow. Who came up with the idea in the first place? Besides, just because either predicts a cold winter or vice versa, how do they know what the weather will be in your locale? Just seems ridiculous that anyone would even refer to either one even for entertainment value. Just how entertaining is it to pick up a rodent and shake him in front of a national audience for laughs? Sorry for venting, but now I need to go see Andi Macdowell while you dream of Andy Van Slyke or is it Sam MacDowell. Happy Groundhogs day, you vermint!