Saturday, January 10, 2009

Doesn't blogging sound dirty


I love cake.

I don't know why, I was born this way. Cake is greatest dessert ever made, and dessert is the greatest meal ever made. There are many flavors, and many ways to create cake. All of them delicious. You can have cake at parties, at home, and at work. In fact, sometimes it's not a party unless there is a cake. You can frost it! You can add to the delicious texture of a moist cake by adding frosting. You can change colors of a cake. You can add frosting a completely different color than the cake, and that would not only be socially acceptable, that would be praised! You could add something between two cakes and it gets intergrated into the cake. You can stack two or three cakes on top of each other, and then it's stilled considered cake! You could stack two or thee cakes on top of each other, spread chocolate between them, and then even cover it with chocolate, and it's a wonderful cake! You can express yourself artistically with a cake. You can paint on cake. You can write meaningful dialogue on a cake. You can give cake as a present, and the recipient will be thrilled. When you declare your love to someone in a public ceremony, you are expected to make that real by doing so in front of God and cake! Cake us there at all the milestones. Cake us served at birth and at every anniversary of that birth thereafter. When you die someone will bring a cake. When you have a baby, guess what's in it for you? Cake! When you see on a really good date, cake and coffee is the best way to make that happen. There is even a cake made just to have coffee with! There are cake competitions. Cake sales. There are cake books! He'll, there's even a rock band Cake!

So, I repeat. I love cake.


Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Redux You

Here's a scary thought...

If you retain a good amount of your lifelong personality traits before the age of 5, what's the possibility that you retain your lifelong emotional traits as a teenager? Very likely, according to Dr. Drew. He's on TV, so you know it's true!

We develop the personality before 5. That I can agree with. I knew a lot of assholes at 5, and guess what? That's right, still assholes. But things got better when I was able to expand my world, in kindergarten. Then, I knew a lot of emotionally warped assholes in high school, and guess what? That's right, I'm still an asshole...oh....I mean...uh... Things got better when I got to college (or should I say, the first college). I was able to pour all that no good emotional crap onto a whole bunch of other people who poured all that no good emotional crap onto me. Why? Because college is the cesspool of no good emotional crap. Nobody needs to admit it, cause it was fun. And wrong. But fun! And we immoral. And fun! And when our minds finally plugged in, we pushed all that stuff deep down inside where no one can remember or find out about it. I'm told.

But this is about High School drama. The idea that all of that stuff was new, and our parents hated us enough at that point to not give us any guidance in that field. It was all icky and they didn't want to soil their clean white shoes. So, we turned to the next logical source to educate us in that matter: each other. We learned about love, hate, good, bad, evil, kindness, rudeness, and most of all, funny. And we put it all to music. There is more music about being angry in love teenager angst than any other form of music, including Classical (sorry Lynne). And Classical has had a good 800 years head start! There is a song and a mood for every one of the teen pains, and teenagers are the only ones with the time to listen to it!

That said, most adults have two or three albums that define their teenage lives. Think about it, you know if you had to sum up your teen years with some music, what would it be? There are probably three of four significant albums that were so important! That were indispensable! That were listened to so many times that the needle wore the grooves down or the tape stretched.

But what if that was the development? What if that is how you related to your life ever since? That that piece of music encapsulated the feelings and associated the very tension of your painful emotional development within it's layered notes? It makes send if you think about it. You're teenage emotional angst could be found within Pink Floyd's The Wall. Or perhaps you connected your youth to Michael Jackson's Thriller. Maybe you were a little shallow and you found peace in Paradise Theater by Styx. Maybe you were over dramatic, and Journey spoke to you. Or melodramatic and it was REO Speedwagon. Perhaps you were a bit disconnected and
Led Zepplin was your twist. Could your angst get any more of a workout with Motorhead or Scorpions?

If you were to go and put them on now, I bet all that emotional termoil would come right back, be very familiar, and also be very present. Hearing those songs are now anthems to you development. They are the soundtracks to your disfunctions, the musak to your mood, the tempo to your termoil. And most adults have three that they still hear the hook, basic riff, or drumbeat when things get tense. I know that I hear the piano of Quadrophenia following me around most every day. Or the violin from Love Reign O' Me as the 'how did my life get like this?' question kicks in (but only about noon, 2, 4, 7, 9, 11, and only when I wake up in the morning). Sometimes I hear the sound of Clash when I get philisophical, or the Talking Heads when things get surreal (what is that beautiful house? Where does that highway go? Am I right ... am I wrong? My God! ... what have I done!). I hear the Ramones when things pick up, and The Kinks when they start decending down.

There are many teenagers where Linkin Park and the Weezer will hold that for them. Then there are the deeper guided kids where the Diddy Bops and Gershwin will hold that for them.

Why should I care? Whyyyyyy should I care? Bewwhew bweeeheww beweehwoo bweeewhoooweeee.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

note to self:

If Dick Chaney were your father, what to you the think the bedtime stories would sound like?

Sunday, January 4, 2009

The Best of Times

The 'best time' of an event is really the anticipation before the event. Nothing can live up to that anticipation. The moments or event will never be as good as that anticipation.

Think about it. The moments before a vacation are exciting, thrilling, and positive. The vacation will have positive moments, but not as much as had been anticipated. It can never live up to the excitement as the anticipation of it. Lewis Black says we just shouldn't do it. If it can't live up to that anticipation, just don't do it. Then you have the best part of it without the disappointment.

That brings us to the end of the vacation. Most of us are going back to work tomorrow. And the anticipation of the vacation is gone and the reality of 'oh shit. I have to go back to work' is sinking in. Most people will be cranky and want to get the job done with very little socialization. Because they have nothing to anticipate! It's done! Over! We're in it!

Well, I offer a solution. Book a vacation on the last week of January. I know it's nearly impossible in your mind, but think about it. Spring Break comes for schools in March (three months out) and the rates are low to encourage people to travel (who travels in January?).

The beauty of this plan is that you get to tell people that you are traveling in the last week, and they are so deep in their monochrome work beta-state that you could pull of Robert Blake's murder. They agree and you get to anticipate for another month while the zombie's get to live under the green fluorescent lighting popping Diet Coke's like they are Ritalin for Adults.

The Anti-anticipation depreciation.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Chim Chim Charoo

A few nights ago, we discovered our fireplace. It has been apparently just sitting in the living room and no one noticed.

Well that's not true. A possum noticed. It not only noticed, it did it's best imitation of the Grinch Santa and crawled down, only to get caught a few times. Now, aren't possums the critters who when scared, play dead? Isn't that where 'play possum' comes from? Because this possum didn't play dead at all. It freaked out like Robert Pattinson in a Wisconsin mall. It flailed around, slammed it's little possum head against the bricks, scratched, clawed and tapped danced it's way up and out after three hours.

Well, after a few days, when the chairs with additional furniture stockpiled upon it to block the opening were removed, we realized that a fire would be good. We knew the odds of smoking a possum, but decided to live an adventure. All went well (read: no crispy critter), but I thought this would be a good time for a chimney sweep. Once the company was called, it was a matter of just waiting for the sooty man in the top hat to arrive.

Today, he arrived, on time and ready, sans top hat and black clothes with the slightly too short pants. He was covered in soot. In fact, he look exactly like Sock on Reaper. A transplant from Boston, this appeared to be the natural job for him. He's a musician. As he did know what he was doing, describing in detail the procedure, he mentioned that he had been doing this for about a year. There is a high turnaround for Chimney Sweeps (all the soot make the doctors tend not to believe that they don't smoke 17 packs a day), but no shortage of musicians to take the torch from the previous employee. It was disappointing until he brought out from the truck the long chimney sweep brush. Once there, I applauded and beamed. He knew I was waiting for it, as everyone waits for that. That is why he didn't bring it out of the truck until 30 minutes later. This brought out the awkward disclosure that seems mandated by the company: he doesn't sing the song. You know the song, and he doesn't sing it. I noted the irony (musician who doesn't sing) and we got passed that moment.

When I explained that I owned a record company in Boston in the late 80's, he broke character and told me that he was thinking about learning the words to the song, to see how many additional clients he could get, as well as extra tips. I told him that I would purposely send him to people's houses if he did, even if they don't have a chimney. He pondered this, and then said he just may. I'm hoping he did. While he was up in the chimney, I could have sworn I hear the song. Slightly humming progressed into a light Coldplay style singing. Creepy and kooky.

I tipped $20 extra (I knew I would write about it) and even sootier, he was off. Sock knew when the job is done, you exit, before Scary Mary enters the scene.

Friday, January 2, 2009

Clubbed to Death

Starbucks just enrolled me into the new exclusive 'Starbucks Gold' program. It's exclusive to anyone willing to pony up $25. They send you a black card with a gold Grande cup on the front.

This is basically another 'club' or a loyalty rewards points program. Its the most 1984 Big Brother we-are-watching-you marketing monitoring system there is. If they apply a camera directly to your head, that is the only way they could track you more!

You get rewards, points, level advancements, loyalty or whatever to gain bonuses. So, the more you spend, the more you get a portion of what you were going to get anyway.

I hate this very much, but the worst part, the part that bugs me the most, the part that sends me on this rant, is the size of the reciepts I'm now getting.

Every one of these things have a receipt 8 times the size of the receipt identifying what you bought! You have the George Castanza wallet if you go to CVS to buy toothpaste! The reciepts are so big, not only are there grinning teamsters with their bulldozer engine revving on the edge of a rainforest, but Al Gore has a closeup tear slowly dropping down his check when you buy bubblemint gum!

I'm as much of a product of TV marketing as the next insomniac, (I gave Shamwow's as Christmas presents!) but the LoJack supersize receipts have to stop!

Although, I'm really saving bundle with the Starbucks savings, however. Damn.



Thursday, January 1, 2009

All is quiet on New Years Day

How many bloggers are using that title? Well, just to ensure that someone is using it, I will, so I can unequivocally know I'm right. And that's what it's all about.

That's what this blogging will be about. Not the ability to put every thought into an essay style passage for the world to see demonstrating my brilliance, wit and oh-so-fun personallity (that's what the facebook status is for). Rather, it's an attempt to know that there is a connection to the real world. I have been questioning what the real world is for so long, and also why am I not part of it. For years, I've questioned everything. From politics, to educational instruction, religion to relationships, from society to media.

I think I've questioned everything so much that now I question what I do know as real. I do know that there is not one 'real world'. That there is, in fact, a real world for everyone, thus no such thing as a real world. This I get. And my real world seems to be forged from ideals influenced by movies and television, which are already not real worlds, but artistic versions of real worlds. It's all such a questionable mess. Enough to create a comic blog? Uh, yeah.

So this is small moments of junk. Tidbits of questionable thoughts, to be questioned. All questionable. Thought junk.


And Just When It Hit Me....

Ok, the resistance is futile.