OK, I admit it, there are some things that I am just no damned good at. Waiting in line is one of them. In my mind waiting in line is a complete bloody waste of my time. And a serious threat to the health and well-being of any poor soul unfortunate enough to be ahead of me in said line. I have about a half a nano-second worth of patience on a good day but if you make me stand in line all bets are off. My fuse is about as short as a handful of fireworks in the pocket of a drunk in a trailer park.
My first experience with standing in line was in kindergarten at milk break time. Not a pleasant experience. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to make 5-year olds queue up for milk??? Milk!!! What the hell was up with that??? I felt like I was trapped in some unholy pre-school Auschwitz!!! I was so pissed off I just wanted to kick that nun right in the nuts!!! And the lunch line wasn't much better. I just saw no sense to be made to stand in line for 5 minutes for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a couple of squares of hospital jello and half a bloody apple. And then to be forced to say grace to give "thanks" for that feast was the final insult. By that point the Wonder bread had dried out, the jello had congealed and the apple had turned a rather muddy shade of brown. And I'm supposed to be thankful???
I remember standing in line to get my drivers license. By the time I got to the counter they had actually changed the design of the application. I remember standing in line to get my state I.D. card on my 18th birthday. By the time I actually left the building I was 19, had a mustache and looked nothing like the picture. Don't even ask about the time I went in to pay my first speeding ticket. By the time it was all over blood had been shed and the Feds had actually raised the speed limit back up to 65 mph. I wanted to go back in and see if I couldn't get a refund grandfathered in somehow but I knew that by the time I finally managed to make it to the counter I would be using a walker and cars would actually be able to fly.
To this day things have not improved. If you are in front of me in line you will hear me groan, you will hear me grunt my disapproval, you will hear that "sound from the back of the cave noise" that I am famous for. Hell, you may even get spit on. I do not care how long the line is nor do I care how many people are in front of you. You are in front of me. YOU are holding ME up. ME!!! That is all that matters...
Only one thing riles me more that standing in line. That is when someone becomes my own personal human tope. Ah, yes, a tope. It's a wonderful Spanish word that is pronounced "toe-pay". It means speed bump. Or, as I like to translate it, "Hey, you mind-numbing turd, are you seriously going to plant your ass right there if front of me???". Today while grocery shopping I was tope'd at every turn. With reckless abandon, if you will. I was forced to give one shopper my cell phone number so she could call me when she was done squeezing ALL of the avacados. I was forced to ask another shopper who left all of her crap piled in the scale so she could start a conversation on her cell phone if she would mind if I used HER scale to weigh my apples. I graciously tossed 3 cans of imported white asparagus into the cart of the bitch that was blocking my access to my favorite brand of horse radish while she read the label on a bottle of French's yellow mustard like it was something on the NY Times best seller list. But I truly hit my stride when I got tope'd in tuna. Did you know that I can belch at will like a longshoreman? Not only that but I can follow it up with that noise that sounds like I'm getting ready to cough up a lugey the size and shape of Cuba. What can I say, it all boils down to one thing: MOVE!!!
Now, where did I put that monkey???
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
GENTLEMEN, I HAVE TAKEN A BRIDE AND HER NAME IS HYPOGLYCEMIA...
OK, is it just me or does hypoglycemia sound like the name of some ancient Roman Goddess??? Of say, stupidity. Or self inflicted injury. Or perhaps something akin to brain death. But I digress...
So, picture this: 7:15AM this morning, me bounding (shuffling) out of bed to go pee. Now picture my last half a nano-second of consciousness as I go "Hey, I'm kind of dizzy." Then picture me flat on my back, half in the bathroom and half in the hall way, covered in blood (as well as the doorway, the wall and the carpet), completely incoherent, slightly convulsing, frothing at the mouth a bit with Sea Squirt kneeling over me going "Oh, shit! You're gonna need stitches." Oh, yeah.... add on buck naked and still peeing. About the only thing this scenario was missing was a WalMart shopping bag, a bit of "chew" and a couple of missing teeth. Needless to say it was NOT a pretty sight. As I have oft times said, if you're gonna hit the pavement like a turd from a tall cow's ass at least have the good sense to do it with a bit of style and grace. Did I hit the pavement? Hell, yes. Did I do it with any sense of style and grace what so ever? Hell, no!!!
Sea Squirt finally managed to get me pseudo upright (I admire his courage) and I saw myself in the mirror. I'm bleeding profusely from several head wounds, I'm missing a patch of skin on my right elbow big enough to reupholster a cantaloupe with, my eyes don't match, I'm sweating like a glass of ice tea in August and I'm the color of a piece of typing paper. And I'm not only mumbling but I'm actually asking him who I am. Again, not pretty. And then he asks me "Are you OK?"
It's 7:17 AM, I'm covered in blood and my own urine, I've taken out a towel rack, I've knocked a picture of a Mexican drag queen off the wall, I look like the wrong end of a bludgeoning in an alley in Hanoi and you're telling me that I'm going to need stitches. WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK KIND OF A SHITHEAD QUESTION IS THAT???? No, honey, all is right with world. BTW, when you're done getting me my cup of coffee would you mind calling 911???
Oh, just fuck me to tears...
About 20 minutes later I finally stopped bleeding. Well, sort of. I'd managed to bleed through two towels, the front of me, the side of me, the back of me, a puddle under my ass was well on it's way to coagulating and I had a blood clot in my hair about the size of an avocado. I was well down the road to dehydration and starting to crave popsicles. And vodka. As well as Vicodin. Not necessarily in that order either.
Somehow, Sea Squirt was able to get a cup of coffee, half a dozen cookies and a cheese Danish into me so I was at least regaining my ability to communicate in complete sentences (kind of) again. After he counted my teeth and checked to see that my pupils were both of matching size he asked me what had happened. As I recall, my response was something to effect of "Grynispsle mo mo este mui mucho mas. Duarte.". At this point that still makes no sense to me but apparently at the time it at least let Sea Squirt know that I was still in there somewhere.
I spent the rest of the day in a bathrobe and bandaids (fuck that stitches shit, I'm a butch little motherfucker!!!) never wandering far from popsicles, vodka and the "occasional" non-prescription prescribed narcotic pain killer (what can I say, Pablo Escobar ain't got nothing on me!!!). Hypoglycemia sucks rocks!!! Especially for a sugar junkie like me. I've been this way my whole life. I was officially diagnosed with it in 1988 when I had an "episode" (I HATE that term) while I was sitting in a doctor's office and actually melted and flowed off of the exam table and puddled onto the floor like yesterdays gravy. A gallon of IV-push glucose later I was fine. I freaked the shit out of that doctor.
What can I say, I have the pancreas a diabetic would sell their soul for. I'm considering subdividing mine and selling it off in lots on eBay to the highest bidders. What ya got dude? Time shares? T-bills?? Blue chips??? How about a watch wiz a beautiful Swiss movement????
So, picture this: 7:15AM this morning, me bounding (shuffling) out of bed to go pee. Now picture my last half a nano-second of consciousness as I go "Hey, I'm kind of dizzy." Then picture me flat on my back, half in the bathroom and half in the hall way, covered in blood (as well as the doorway, the wall and the carpet), completely incoherent, slightly convulsing, frothing at the mouth a bit with Sea Squirt kneeling over me going "Oh, shit! You're gonna need stitches." Oh, yeah.... add on buck naked and still peeing. About the only thing this scenario was missing was a WalMart shopping bag, a bit of "chew" and a couple of missing teeth. Needless to say it was NOT a pretty sight. As I have oft times said, if you're gonna hit the pavement like a turd from a tall cow's ass at least have the good sense to do it with a bit of style and grace. Did I hit the pavement? Hell, yes. Did I do it with any sense of style and grace what so ever? Hell, no!!!
Sea Squirt finally managed to get me pseudo upright (I admire his courage) and I saw myself in the mirror. I'm bleeding profusely from several head wounds, I'm missing a patch of skin on my right elbow big enough to reupholster a cantaloupe with, my eyes don't match, I'm sweating like a glass of ice tea in August and I'm the color of a piece of typing paper. And I'm not only mumbling but I'm actually asking him who I am. Again, not pretty. And then he asks me "Are you OK?"
It's 7:17 AM, I'm covered in blood and my own urine, I've taken out a towel rack, I've knocked a picture of a Mexican drag queen off the wall, I look like the wrong end of a bludgeoning in an alley in Hanoi and you're telling me that I'm going to need stitches. WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK KIND OF A SHITHEAD QUESTION IS THAT???? No, honey, all is right with world. BTW, when you're done getting me my cup of coffee would you mind calling 911???
Oh, just fuck me to tears...
About 20 minutes later I finally stopped bleeding. Well, sort of. I'd managed to bleed through two towels, the front of me, the side of me, the back of me, a puddle under my ass was well on it's way to coagulating and I had a blood clot in my hair about the size of an avocado. I was well down the road to dehydration and starting to crave popsicles. And vodka. As well as Vicodin. Not necessarily in that order either.
Somehow, Sea Squirt was able to get a cup of coffee, half a dozen cookies and a cheese Danish into me so I was at least regaining my ability to communicate in complete sentences (kind of) again. After he counted my teeth and checked to see that my pupils were both of matching size he asked me what had happened. As I recall, my response was something to effect of "Grynispsle mo mo este mui mucho mas. Duarte.". At this point that still makes no sense to me but apparently at the time it at least let Sea Squirt know that I was still in there somewhere.
I spent the rest of the day in a bathrobe and bandaids (fuck that stitches shit, I'm a butch little motherfucker!!!) never wandering far from popsicles, vodka and the "occasional" non-prescription prescribed narcotic pain killer (what can I say, Pablo Escobar ain't got nothing on me!!!). Hypoglycemia sucks rocks!!! Especially for a sugar junkie like me. I've been this way my whole life. I was officially diagnosed with it in 1988 when I had an "episode" (I HATE that term) while I was sitting in a doctor's office and actually melted and flowed off of the exam table and puddled onto the floor like yesterdays gravy. A gallon of IV-push glucose later I was fine. I freaked the shit out of that doctor.
What can I say, I have the pancreas a diabetic would sell their soul for. I'm considering subdividing mine and selling it off in lots on eBay to the highest bidders. What ya got dude? Time shares? T-bills?? Blue chips??? How about a watch wiz a beautiful Swiss movement????
Friday, January 20, 2012
OMg! "PEACHES" HAS LEFT THE BUILDING...
Earlier today America lost one of its premier songbirds and the world became a quieter place with a lot less soul. Miss Etta James, aged 73, passed away today after a long and brave battle against both Alzheimer's and leukemia. Peaches, I will miss you with all of my heart.
With a career that spanned 58 years she saw unbelievable precedent setting highs coupled with crushing lows that would have broken a lesser person. She won 6 Grammy's, charted on Blues, Rhythm & Blues, Rock & Roll, Soul, Gospel and Jazz charts, had a truly groundbreaking debut album in 1960 and single handedly changed the way white bread America listened to music. Ain't nobody could wrap their heart and soul around a song and own it the way she could. She was still out on the road and touring until about 18 months ago when a little voice inside of her said, "Girl, you gotta slow down." Knowing Etta James she probably told that little voice to go fuck itself. But still, the little voice won out. That battle has been our loss.
Her eldest son recently described her in a way that made me smile. He said, "Mama never sugar coated anything. If she had an opinion you were gonna know it." I love that.
Today, we are missing a Diva but heaven has a brand new soloist. Peaches has gone home. At Last...
With a career that spanned 58 years she saw unbelievable precedent setting highs coupled with crushing lows that would have broken a lesser person. She won 6 Grammy's, charted on Blues, Rhythm & Blues, Rock & Roll, Soul, Gospel and Jazz charts, had a truly groundbreaking debut album in 1960 and single handedly changed the way white bread America listened to music. Ain't nobody could wrap their heart and soul around a song and own it the way she could. She was still out on the road and touring until about 18 months ago when a little voice inside of her said, "Girl, you gotta slow down." Knowing Etta James she probably told that little voice to go fuck itself. But still, the little voice won out. That battle has been our loss.
Her eldest son recently described her in a way that made me smile. He said, "Mama never sugar coated anything. If she had an opinion you were gonna know it." I love that.
Today, we are missing a Diva but heaven has a brand new soloist. Peaches has gone home. At Last...
Thursday, December 29, 2011
I Don't Know Who I'm Gonna Miss Most, Kim Jung-iL Or Cheetah.
OK, it's probably going to be Cheetah. After all, he and I had more in common than I did with Great Leader. (Refer to the illustration at the left, it speaks volumes!)
I just don't know where to start with Uncle Jung-iL. No, wait, yes I do. How about a little humor to brighten up the worlds loss. Ahh, poor Kim Jung-iL. But at least he no ill no more. He dead. HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I swear, sometimes I just kill me.
I'll give the balding little Asian pear credit for one thing though, he sure knows how to make an exit. I mean, c'mon, THREE 1976 Lincoln Continental stretch limos (where the bloody hell did he get those things???), a fleet of Mercedes S-class sedans that stretched back to the horizon (how did he manage to keep all of the garage door openers organized???) and enough hired mourners to cast an Andrew Lloyd Weber musical with (all of whom were wearing brand new Western-style clothing. When did UPS start servicing Pyongyang???). I did think the Lincoln's were a nice touch even if the media did keep screwing the funeral cortege description up. They kept referring to him going to his last rewards in a Lincoln hearse. As in INSIDE a Lincoln hearse. What he actually did was go to his last rewards ON a Lincoln limo. As in strapped to the roof of it. I don't know about all of you but the only thing I could think of when I saw that was how the Griswold family strapped poor Aunt Edna to the roof of the Country Squire after she died in "National Lampoon's Vacation". All it would have taken was the driver slamming on the breaks to avoid a stray dog running across the street (yeah, like that's ever going to happen in North Korea) and the People's Glorious Republic would have had a dead despot, nipples to the wind, cascading down onto the hood of the Great Satan's vintage land yacht while children fainted, women wailed and vendors sold the local North Korean delicacies of dirt clod on a stick, dirt clod in a cup and dirt clod on a rope. As an aside on the Lincoln's, Ford headquarters has refused all requests for a comment. Something tells me someone in Detroit got a train load of kimchi back in 1976...
Have you noticed that there hasn't been a single word about how he died? That can only mean one thing: EMBARRASSING AS HELL!!! I'm opting for a scenario that includes a whore house, a three-legged mulatto conjoined twin hooker, a Hennessey cognac enema, a leather umbrella and a bit of auto-erotic asphyxiation that took a turn for the worse. I can only assume that the mop and bucket brigade that got sent in to "sanitize" the situation are all now pulling double shifts in a salt mine somewhere and their families have all been relocated to a communal farm where they are happily planting next years crop of dirt clods. Arbeit macht frei, as they say...
More than anything I will miss his fashion sense (OK, I've stopped laughing now) which was always about as exciting as beige. Well, now that I think about it, it actually was beige. He single handedly brought new importance to the polyester leisure suit, the comb-over and vintage Jackie-O "spot welder" sunglasses of which he was reported to have had over 500 pairs. He once told me that he had so many so he could keep a pair in each of his Mercedes'. Spoken like a true fashionista!!! Thank god Gianni Versace is dead, this would have killed him!!!
I just don't know where to start with Uncle Jung-iL. No, wait, yes I do. How about a little humor to brighten up the worlds loss. Ahh, poor Kim Jung-iL. But at least he no ill no more. He dead. HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I swear, sometimes I just kill me.
I'll give the balding little Asian pear credit for one thing though, he sure knows how to make an exit. I mean, c'mon, THREE 1976 Lincoln Continental stretch limos (where the bloody hell did he get those things???), a fleet of Mercedes S-class sedans that stretched back to the horizon (how did he manage to keep all of the garage door openers organized???) and enough hired mourners to cast an Andrew Lloyd Weber musical with (all of whom were wearing brand new Western-style clothing. When did UPS start servicing Pyongyang???). I did think the Lincoln's were a nice touch even if the media did keep screwing the funeral cortege description up. They kept referring to him going to his last rewards in a Lincoln hearse. As in INSIDE a Lincoln hearse. What he actually did was go to his last rewards ON a Lincoln limo. As in strapped to the roof of it. I don't know about all of you but the only thing I could think of when I saw that was how the Griswold family strapped poor Aunt Edna to the roof of the Country Squire after she died in "National Lampoon's Vacation". All it would have taken was the driver slamming on the breaks to avoid a stray dog running across the street (yeah, like that's ever going to happen in North Korea) and the People's Glorious Republic would have had a dead despot, nipples to the wind, cascading down onto the hood of the Great Satan's vintage land yacht while children fainted, women wailed and vendors sold the local North Korean delicacies of dirt clod on a stick, dirt clod in a cup and dirt clod on a rope. As an aside on the Lincoln's, Ford headquarters has refused all requests for a comment. Something tells me someone in Detroit got a train load of kimchi back in 1976...
Have you noticed that there hasn't been a single word about how he died? That can only mean one thing: EMBARRASSING AS HELL!!! I'm opting for a scenario that includes a whore house, a three-legged mulatto conjoined twin hooker, a Hennessey cognac enema, a leather umbrella and a bit of auto-erotic asphyxiation that took a turn for the worse. I can only assume that the mop and bucket brigade that got sent in to "sanitize" the situation are all now pulling double shifts in a salt mine somewhere and their families have all been relocated to a communal farm where they are happily planting next years crop of dirt clods. Arbeit macht frei, as they say...
More than anything I will miss his fashion sense (OK, I've stopped laughing now) which was always about as exciting as beige. Well, now that I think about it, it actually was beige. He single handedly brought new importance to the polyester leisure suit, the comb-over and vintage Jackie-O "spot welder" sunglasses of which he was reported to have had over 500 pairs. He once told me that he had so many so he could keep a pair in each of his Mercedes'. Spoken like a true fashionista!!! Thank god Gianni Versace is dead, this would have killed him!!!
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
I'm So Damned Old That I'm Analog!!!
OK, so a couple of weeks ago I got my car mushed. By a monster 4x4 creature about 22 feet long and 9 feet high. In a parking lot of a grocery store. In all honesty, the damned thing literally backed up completely over my car. Stop laughing, it's true. It flattened my hood and killed my grill. I was not amused. Pleasantries were NOT exchanged to say the least. I never knew how liberating it is to stand in the middle of a parking lot and scream "FUUUUCK!!!" at the top of your lungs 5 or 6 times. But I digress.
So, I take my car in to be fixed (at the 4x4's idiot owner's expense) and they hand me the keys to a free rental car. Very cool. A brand new 2012 Toyota Camry. VERY cool. And that puppy is loaded up to its tits with toys. Happy dance! I wasn't in the car more that 2 seconds when I went all deer in headlights though. I realized that I honestly didn't know how to drive it. Seriously, I was lost in the technology. Now I know how my great-grandfather must have felt when he retired the horse and got that Model T.
First, I couldn't find the parking brake lever. It wasn't on my side of the console, it wasn't on the passenger side of the console, hell, it wasn't even IN the console. I finally found it down in the foot well, to the left of the brake pedal. The same place they used to put them way back in the 1960's. Ahh, those wily Japanese, always something new to confuse us with. When I figured out where to put the key and started it up all hell broke loose. Lights, buzzers, bells and whirly-gigs started going off like crazy. Basically, everything short of a disco ball. The instrument cluster went nuts. It has 5 analog readouts, two multi-function digital ones and a total of 27 diagnostic idiot lights, including tire pressure, oil pressure, air pressure on Mars, MY blood pressure and one that told me that I was putting too much pressure on the steering wheel. One of the multi-function displays started giving me a choice of odometer, trip odometer, my average mpg rating, how many miles I had left on the tank or how many miles I had left to drive to my preset destination. Personally, I don't give a rats ass about any of that shit but thanks for the offer anyway. ALL of the controls for the windows, locks and the mirrors lit up on the armrest. ALL of the controls for the phone and the stereo system lit up on the steering wheel. As did the control arms for the lights, the wipers, the turn signals and the cruise control that were protruding from the steering column. The controls on the center stack looked like something out of the Starship Enterprise. I had heated and air conditioned seats, dual front climate controls (I could actually have the heat going on my side and the air conditioning going on the passenger side. Don't ask me why...), air bag controls and a 9-inch touch screen thing that was my radio, cd player, equalizer, phone, Blue Tooth, Blue Ray, Blue Meanie, Blue Danube, GPS, satellite navigation system and EKG moniter control command center. It was a bit like being trapped inside a 270 horsepower Christmas tree, for chris' sakes!!!
It has a floor mounted automatic and I couldn't figure out how to shift it into drive!!! You didn't do a straight line P-R-N-D-L shift, you had to jog it around like you were shifting a manual transmission. Then I noticed that it had one more position after the "L", something labeled "S". Huh??? Ahh, yes, that would stand for "Speed Shift". Huh??? It seems you put the car in that "gear" and it allows you to shift gears like it was manual using the two other paddles on the steering wheel. Left paddle, clutch. Right paddle, gear shift. What cretin thought that that makes any sense??? Give me a leather wrapped short shifter and a clutch pedal any day!!! I quickly found out that when you take the car out of Park all of the doors automatically lock and the trunk lid puckers.
The outside mirrors have a control signal that lights up to let me know if someone is trying to overcome me from the rear in my blind spots. I'm sorry, I just can't say that without blushing. And giggling. The inside mirror has 3 separate controls to work the 3 separate garage doors it apparently thinks I should have. I can't for the life of me figure out how to use the wipers but I have the cleanest front windshield you have ever seen because I somehow keep managing to mist it with solvent.
Cubby holes. Oh god, does this car have cubby holes. Everywhere!!! 5 in front and 3 in back. And they all have power plugs and USB points in them so we can all happily play our hand held games and listen to our iPods in peace. My god, don't people talk to each other in cars anymore???
I spent half an hour reading the manual for the touch screen thing just to learn how to work the stereo and I have to tell you that it was SO worth the effort!!! That bad boy ROCKS!!! It not only shows me the name of the radio station and the song they're playing it also tells me the title of the cd I'm listening to as well as the artist and title of the track. It has 4 front and rear mounted mid-range speakers, a front center mounted super tweeter, two front door mounted bass speakers and a SUBWOOFER IN THE TRUNK!!! It makes the mirrors vibrate, the trunk lid rattle, the fuel door to pop open indiscriminately and my ears bleed. In a Toyota!!! I'm in heaven. People next to me at stop lights just shake their heads. Not so much because of the noise but because they have been following behind me in the left hand lane for the last 5 miles afraid to pass me because I don't know how to turn off my right blinker.
Yes, I am an old man. In a big car. Sitting on the yellow pages so I can see over the steering wheel. With my turn signal in perpetual blinking mode for no good reason. With the radio tuned to "La Movida" 1480 AM and the volume cranked up to air-raid siren level while I sing "My Heart Will Go On" by Celine Dion. And thinking that all is right with the world while I cruise down the street doing 27 mph in a 40 mph zone during rush hour. In my Toyota.
So, I take my car in to be fixed (at the 4x4's idiot owner's expense) and they hand me the keys to a free rental car. Very cool. A brand new 2012 Toyota Camry. VERY cool. And that puppy is loaded up to its tits with toys. Happy dance! I wasn't in the car more that 2 seconds when I went all deer in headlights though. I realized that I honestly didn't know how to drive it. Seriously, I was lost in the technology. Now I know how my great-grandfather must have felt when he retired the horse and got that Model T.
First, I couldn't find the parking brake lever. It wasn't on my side of the console, it wasn't on the passenger side of the console, hell, it wasn't even IN the console. I finally found it down in the foot well, to the left of the brake pedal. The same place they used to put them way back in the 1960's. Ahh, those wily Japanese, always something new to confuse us with. When I figured out where to put the key and started it up all hell broke loose. Lights, buzzers, bells and whirly-gigs started going off like crazy. Basically, everything short of a disco ball. The instrument cluster went nuts. It has 5 analog readouts, two multi-function digital ones and a total of 27 diagnostic idiot lights, including tire pressure, oil pressure, air pressure on Mars, MY blood pressure and one that told me that I was putting too much pressure on the steering wheel. One of the multi-function displays started giving me a choice of odometer, trip odometer, my average mpg rating, how many miles I had left on the tank or how many miles I had left to drive to my preset destination. Personally, I don't give a rats ass about any of that shit but thanks for the offer anyway. ALL of the controls for the windows, locks and the mirrors lit up on the armrest. ALL of the controls for the phone and the stereo system lit up on the steering wheel. As did the control arms for the lights, the wipers, the turn signals and the cruise control that were protruding from the steering column. The controls on the center stack looked like something out of the Starship Enterprise. I had heated and air conditioned seats, dual front climate controls (I could actually have the heat going on my side and the air conditioning going on the passenger side. Don't ask me why...), air bag controls and a 9-inch touch screen thing that was my radio, cd player, equalizer, phone, Blue Tooth, Blue Ray, Blue Meanie, Blue Danube, GPS, satellite navigation system and EKG moniter control command center. It was a bit like being trapped inside a 270 horsepower Christmas tree, for chris' sakes!!!
It has a floor mounted automatic and I couldn't figure out how to shift it into drive!!! You didn't do a straight line P-R-N-D-L shift, you had to jog it around like you were shifting a manual transmission. Then I noticed that it had one more position after the "L", something labeled "S". Huh??? Ahh, yes, that would stand for "Speed Shift". Huh??? It seems you put the car in that "gear" and it allows you to shift gears like it was manual using the two other paddles on the steering wheel. Left paddle, clutch. Right paddle, gear shift. What cretin thought that that makes any sense??? Give me a leather wrapped short shifter and a clutch pedal any day!!! I quickly found out that when you take the car out of Park all of the doors automatically lock and the trunk lid puckers.
The outside mirrors have a control signal that lights up to let me know if someone is trying to overcome me from the rear in my blind spots. I'm sorry, I just can't say that without blushing. And giggling. The inside mirror has 3 separate controls to work the 3 separate garage doors it apparently thinks I should have. I can't for the life of me figure out how to use the wipers but I have the cleanest front windshield you have ever seen because I somehow keep managing to mist it with solvent.
Cubby holes. Oh god, does this car have cubby holes. Everywhere!!! 5 in front and 3 in back. And they all have power plugs and USB points in them so we can all happily play our hand held games and listen to our iPods in peace. My god, don't people talk to each other in cars anymore???
I spent half an hour reading the manual for the touch screen thing just to learn how to work the stereo and I have to tell you that it was SO worth the effort!!! That bad boy ROCKS!!! It not only shows me the name of the radio station and the song they're playing it also tells me the title of the cd I'm listening to as well as the artist and title of the track. It has 4 front and rear mounted mid-range speakers, a front center mounted super tweeter, two front door mounted bass speakers and a SUBWOOFER IN THE TRUNK!!! It makes the mirrors vibrate, the trunk lid rattle, the fuel door to pop open indiscriminately and my ears bleed. In a Toyota!!! I'm in heaven. People next to me at stop lights just shake their heads. Not so much because of the noise but because they have been following behind me in the left hand lane for the last 5 miles afraid to pass me because I don't know how to turn off my right blinker.
Yes, I am an old man. In a big car. Sitting on the yellow pages so I can see over the steering wheel. With my turn signal in perpetual blinking mode for no good reason. With the radio tuned to "La Movida" 1480 AM and the volume cranked up to air-raid siren level while I sing "My Heart Will Go On" by Celine Dion. And thinking that all is right with the world while I cruise down the street doing 27 mph in a 40 mph zone during rush hour. In my Toyota.
Monday, November 28, 2011
The Catch-22's Of 'sconsin...
When the bloody hell did this state turn into Gomerville??? 'sconsin used to be sensible. And safe. Or at the very least a little bit sane. Not any more though. We're so clustered here we couldn't fuck if our lives depended on it. I swear to god, every time you drop the soap here you've got an elected official sneaking up your ass just to hit you with a new turd tax!!!
We recently passed a new state law that makes it perfectly legal to carry concealed hand guns in public. As in EVERYWHERE in public. Schools, hospitals, stores, churches, town hall meetings, bars (never a good idea), public buildings and government buildings. You name it, if you can GPS it then you can pack heat in it. Needless to say, license applications poured into court houses from one end of the state to the other like a tsunami. It seems like every one and their grandmother wanted to get in on that ride. So much so in fact that the State Attorney General just enacted an official order that resends the mandated 4-hour training course that was required to qualify for the license. Why? It was going to cause an "undue financial burden" on the state and would be a "constrictive and invasive burden" on the applicants to have to schedule the time to learn how to properly use a hand gun. Huh??? A one week waiting period for purchase? No problem. A background check? No problem. Four hours to learn how to not shoot yourself or your kids? Now THAT'S a serious violation of your god given right to be stupid!!! And of course, the local police are dumbfounded at the recent increase of arrests of suspicious individuals in and around the county courthouse. Who, BTW, are all packing heat. DUH!!! Hell, I'm gonna start packing heat myself. And using it too. I've got the perfucked alibi now. I didn't know it was loaded. This thing has a safety??? I didn't know that it was a gun. Don't ask me, I couldn't see it either. Ah, yes, four hours very well saved...
As an aside to the above mess, we have the newly elected governor from hell. He's a bigger ass wipe than Charmin. He's fucked up every thing he can get his hands on since the day he took office and has driven the citizens of 'sconsin to protest in numbers not seen since the heady days of the late 1960's. He's so bad that even the Republicans who put him in office hate him. Of course, he's in the process of being recalled. His latest "cost saving" maneuver has been to remove all of the metal detectors and security at the entrances to the Capital building. Which is where he works. Hmmm... Please refer to the previous paragraph...
Necrophilia. Yes, I know, I hate to keep harping on this one but it just sort of riles me a bit. It's not against the law in 'sconsin. Yep, you heard me right. Humping a has-been is perfectly legal here. Just as long as you can manage to figure out how to jump through all of the states legal caveats that is. Want to date a corpse? No problem. Want to become engaged to a corpse? No problem. Want to marry a corpse? Again, no problem, just as long as the two of you are of the opposite sex. (More on that little catch-22 later.) Want to possess a corpse? That's a no-no. Want to dig one up? That's another no-no. Want to "defile, defame or degrade a corpse? (Yes, they actually do word it like that!!!) MAJOR no-no!!! Now, correct me if I'm wrong but to be defiled or defamed don't you have to have something to lose to begin with? You're a corpse. You're dead. Psychologically, isn't your bank account already empty??? And as far as degrading goes, don't corpses already sort of do that one on their own without the need for any outside help??? This is the most convoluted set of laws and non-laws I have ever seen. It's like a hiring a security force of eight year olds to guard the Hershey's factory!!! Here's your badges, boys, just make sure you don't touch anything...
Marriage. OK, personally I don't believe in it. Straight or gay. Legal marriage only leads to legal divorce. Trust me, the last thing we really need to see is a couple of pissed off, lawyered up queens on opposite sides of the net going after each others Cuisinart in court. In a valiant attempt to make sure that us gay folks don't try to muscle in on the straights side of the pie we passed a resolution that legally defines marriage as a civil or religious based, performed and recognized contract of union between one man and one woman. In their minds this does not discriminate against gays it merely takes us out of the running. Marriage is not a "right", it's just a "service" that we don't biologically qualify for. Disregard the fact that sexual orientation is one of the many things that cannot be used for the purpose of discrimination or the denial or rights and freedoms under our state constitution. At any rate, Sea Squirt and I granted and guaranteed each other all of the rights and protections of marriage that we needed just by sitting down with a lawyer for an hour and half and filing some legal paperwork for things like powers of attorney, executorships, inheritance, etc. Bases covered. And it still protects my right to toss his ass out onto the street if he doesn't stop leaving those damned used teabags on the counter without the need to hire a lawyer and start claiming dumb ass shit like alienation of affection, he's a whore or that I have just decided that I want someone who is taller.
In 'sconsin we actually have a law that says individuals are not legally required to carry car insurance. Odd, I know. It is followed by a law that says if an individual is involved in a accident, no matter how minor, and does not have insurance that the state has the right to fuck with you for the rest of your life, literally. Why? Because you are an ignorant shit head that was stupid enough to take the first law seriously. This is very akin to the conundrum that a hungry fish must face as it stares at the worm. Yes, that worm looks damned good but is it good enough to make you want to spend the last few hours of your life in a cooler with the Old Milwaukee???
Why am I required to show any law enforcement officer that asks for it, for any reason, a valid photo ID but the concept of having to show a valid photo ID at a polling place is considered, by our state legislature, to be some sort of attempted communist take over?
Why does the city council think raising the small business license fees of family owned resale shops from $66 a year to over $500 is the perfect way to keep crackheads from stealing stuff to pawn?
I swear, I'm gonna run for public office. I think my campaign slogan will be "C'mon, How Much Worse Could I Fuck Things Up?"
We recently passed a new state law that makes it perfectly legal to carry concealed hand guns in public. As in EVERYWHERE in public. Schools, hospitals, stores, churches, town hall meetings, bars (never a good idea), public buildings and government buildings. You name it, if you can GPS it then you can pack heat in it. Needless to say, license applications poured into court houses from one end of the state to the other like a tsunami. It seems like every one and their grandmother wanted to get in on that ride. So much so in fact that the State Attorney General just enacted an official order that resends the mandated 4-hour training course that was required to qualify for the license. Why? It was going to cause an "undue financial burden" on the state and would be a "constrictive and invasive burden" on the applicants to have to schedule the time to learn how to properly use a hand gun. Huh??? A one week waiting period for purchase? No problem. A background check? No problem. Four hours to learn how to not shoot yourself or your kids? Now THAT'S a serious violation of your god given right to be stupid!!! And of course, the local police are dumbfounded at the recent increase of arrests of suspicious individuals in and around the county courthouse. Who, BTW, are all packing heat. DUH!!! Hell, I'm gonna start packing heat myself. And using it too. I've got the perfucked alibi now. I didn't know it was loaded. This thing has a safety??? I didn't know that it was a gun. Don't ask me, I couldn't see it either. Ah, yes, four hours very well saved...
As an aside to the above mess, we have the newly elected governor from hell. He's a bigger ass wipe than Charmin. He's fucked up every thing he can get his hands on since the day he took office and has driven the citizens of 'sconsin to protest in numbers not seen since the heady days of the late 1960's. He's so bad that even the Republicans who put him in office hate him. Of course, he's in the process of being recalled. His latest "cost saving" maneuver has been to remove all of the metal detectors and security at the entrances to the Capital building. Which is where he works. Hmmm... Please refer to the previous paragraph...
Necrophilia. Yes, I know, I hate to keep harping on this one but it just sort of riles me a bit. It's not against the law in 'sconsin. Yep, you heard me right. Humping a has-been is perfectly legal here. Just as long as you can manage to figure out how to jump through all of the states legal caveats that is. Want to date a corpse? No problem. Want to become engaged to a corpse? No problem. Want to marry a corpse? Again, no problem, just as long as the two of you are of the opposite sex. (More on that little catch-22 later.) Want to possess a corpse? That's a no-no. Want to dig one up? That's another no-no. Want to "defile, defame or degrade a corpse? (Yes, they actually do word it like that!!!) MAJOR no-no!!! Now, correct me if I'm wrong but to be defiled or defamed don't you have to have something to lose to begin with? You're a corpse. You're dead. Psychologically, isn't your bank account already empty??? And as far as degrading goes, don't corpses already sort of do that one on their own without the need for any outside help??? This is the most convoluted set of laws and non-laws I have ever seen. It's like a hiring a security force of eight year olds to guard the Hershey's factory!!! Here's your badges, boys, just make sure you don't touch anything...
Marriage. OK, personally I don't believe in it. Straight or gay. Legal marriage only leads to legal divorce. Trust me, the last thing we really need to see is a couple of pissed off, lawyered up queens on opposite sides of the net going after each others Cuisinart in court. In a valiant attempt to make sure that us gay folks don't try to muscle in on the straights side of the pie we passed a resolution that legally defines marriage as a civil or religious based, performed and recognized contract of union between one man and one woman. In their minds this does not discriminate against gays it merely takes us out of the running. Marriage is not a "right", it's just a "service" that we don't biologically qualify for. Disregard the fact that sexual orientation is one of the many things that cannot be used for the purpose of discrimination or the denial or rights and freedoms under our state constitution. At any rate, Sea Squirt and I granted and guaranteed each other all of the rights and protections of marriage that we needed just by sitting down with a lawyer for an hour and half and filing some legal paperwork for things like powers of attorney, executorships, inheritance, etc. Bases covered. And it still protects my right to toss his ass out onto the street if he doesn't stop leaving those damned used teabags on the counter without the need to hire a lawyer and start claiming dumb ass shit like alienation of affection, he's a whore or that I have just decided that I want someone who is taller.
In 'sconsin we actually have a law that says individuals are not legally required to carry car insurance. Odd, I know. It is followed by a law that says if an individual is involved in a accident, no matter how minor, and does not have insurance that the state has the right to fuck with you for the rest of your life, literally. Why? Because you are an ignorant shit head that was stupid enough to take the first law seriously. This is very akin to the conundrum that a hungry fish must face as it stares at the worm. Yes, that worm looks damned good but is it good enough to make you want to spend the last few hours of your life in a cooler with the Old Milwaukee???
Why am I required to show any law enforcement officer that asks for it, for any reason, a valid photo ID but the concept of having to show a valid photo ID at a polling place is considered, by our state legislature, to be some sort of attempted communist take over?
Why does the city council think raising the small business license fees of family owned resale shops from $66 a year to over $500 is the perfect way to keep crackheads from stealing stuff to pawn?
I swear, I'm gonna run for public office. I think my campaign slogan will be "C'mon, How Much Worse Could I Fuck Things Up?"
Friday, November 18, 2011
Sea Squirt Is Convinced That I Am The Anti-Christ...
I suppose it had to happen sooner or later so I resigned myself to my rightful destiny and wear the title proudly. At the moment I am still waiting for my crown, scepter and cloven-hoofed feet to arrive...
For reasons unknown (I decided not to ask for fear that I would receive an answer) Sea Squirt has recently decided that it would be "fun" to go grocery shopping with me. Keep in mind that in the 7 years that we have been together he has never accompanied me into a grocery store to do the weekly shopping or as I refer to it, my sojourn into hell. I do not know where his decision came from but I can only surmise that it is linked to some form of recent blunt head trauma. Once the shock of his announcement wore off and I had a chance to think about it I actually thought that it could be a good thing. After all I could plant him at the end of an aisle to guard the cart (with an end cap of bright shiny objects to keep him occupied) while I ran the gauntlet of stupid shoppers, screaming children and cell-phoners on foot to grab the single jar of marinated artichokes from the far end of the aisle that I needed without having to maneuver the cart through the log jam. Please, don't ask me what I was thinking.
So, off to Woodman's we go. With me on a mission and him completely lost at sea. Just so you know, when I go shopping I have a plan. And a routine. I have been shopping at Woodman's for 16 years and I know the place like the back of my hand. My shopping list is organized by the aisle. I am also armed with my recycled shopping bags, a pen, a calculator, a stack of coupons and more attitude than one human should ever be legally allowed to have. Sea Squirt, however, was not so prepared. Did he offer to push the cart? No. Did he offer to manage the list? No. Did he work the calculator? No. The coupons? No. What did he do? Tope me at every opportunity and get smacked in the face with sticker shock:
"Honey, is butter always this expensive?"
"Yes, dear."
"Honey, does orange juice always cost this much?"
"Yes, dear."
"Honey, is peanut butter really $5.49 a jar?"
"Yes, dear."
"Honey, how come cookies cost this much?"
"Yes, dear." As my eyes glazed over.
Did I neglect to mention that we had gone shopping on a Tuesday? Tuesday is "Senior Day" at Woodman's. Don't ask me why, it just is. And they don't even offer any senior discounts. But the store is always a sea of little blue hairs with their totally disinterested retired husbands in tow who are always just totally lost in the whole adventure. It was also apparently a school holiday of some sort because every child in the free world was there with mom. All of them kicking, screaming, running, tearing into boxes of cereal or just wandering around in their pajamas. Yes, their pajamas. WTF??? Log jam!!!
So, we turn into the ethnic aisle and it's just a cluster-fuck of confused gringos blocking the entire aisle. I groaned. Then I barked. Then I got ugly. I loudly announced "Comin' through! Comin' through! Old guy with cancer! Clock is running! Comin' through!" and launched the cart into the fray with no concern for the casualties that might ensue. When I finally made it to the section that I needed I found it blocked by Edna and Earl. Edna was 112 if she was a day and was having difficulty seeing over the handle of their cart and Earl, who was about 115, had come to a screeching halt directly in front of her and was staring straight up, scratching his head totally confused by the pinatas. This did not amuse me at all because they were blocking my access to the Maria's, the cajeta and the Crema Media. I was close to exploding and I turned around to let Sea Squirt know that I was going to kill them. What do I find? Sea Squirt pointing up and asking me if we can buy a pinata!!! OMG. I had my own personal Earl!!!
For seven years Sea Squirt has heard me bitch like crazy when I get home from shopping, complain about the brain dead people that block aisles and gets a play by play of who I cussed out and who I decided to play "secret shopper" to. He always thought I was kidding. He now knows better. He has heard me tell a 5-year old to shut the fuck up, seen me toss expensive weird shit into other peoples carts just to piss them off after they get home (this last trip the recipient got 3 jars of saffron, total value $58.00), ram someone on a cell phone with my cart and has experienced me letting loose with that "noise from the back of the cave" sound that I learned from my mother when the lady blocking the aisle in front of me thought it would be a good idea to let little Jimmy take his damned sweet time deciding which size box of Coco-Puffs he wanted. He is amazed that I have not had security called on me or at the very least been punched out a time or two. I explained to him that as long as I don't touch them then they have to make the first move and that keeps me in the enviable position of being able to claim that I am the innocent victim of shopping-rage and elder abuse. That, coupled with my amazing ability of have nose bleeds on command should pretty much cover all of my bases...
When we go shopping next week I am going to use one of those motorized carts, wear my sunglasses, pretend to be blind, run the cart into every end cap of stacked canned goods I can find, have Sea Squirt follow me around the store and every time he asks me a question I'm going to look in the other direction and scream "I DON"T LIKE CHEESE!!! IT BLOCKS ME UP!!!". I should be back to shopping on my own before the end of the month. :-)
For reasons unknown (I decided not to ask for fear that I would receive an answer) Sea Squirt has recently decided that it would be "fun" to go grocery shopping with me. Keep in mind that in the 7 years that we have been together he has never accompanied me into a grocery store to do the weekly shopping or as I refer to it, my sojourn into hell. I do not know where his decision came from but I can only surmise that it is linked to some form of recent blunt head trauma. Once the shock of his announcement wore off and I had a chance to think about it I actually thought that it could be a good thing. After all I could plant him at the end of an aisle to guard the cart (with an end cap of bright shiny objects to keep him occupied) while I ran the gauntlet of stupid shoppers, screaming children and cell-phoners on foot to grab the single jar of marinated artichokes from the far end of the aisle that I needed without having to maneuver the cart through the log jam. Please, don't ask me what I was thinking.
So, off to Woodman's we go. With me on a mission and him completely lost at sea. Just so you know, when I go shopping I have a plan. And a routine. I have been shopping at Woodman's for 16 years and I know the place like the back of my hand. My shopping list is organized by the aisle. I am also armed with my recycled shopping bags, a pen, a calculator, a stack of coupons and more attitude than one human should ever be legally allowed to have. Sea Squirt, however, was not so prepared. Did he offer to push the cart? No. Did he offer to manage the list? No. Did he work the calculator? No. The coupons? No. What did he do? Tope me at every opportunity and get smacked in the face with sticker shock:
"Honey, is butter always this expensive?"
"Yes, dear."
"Honey, does orange juice always cost this much?"
"Yes, dear."
"Honey, is peanut butter really $5.49 a jar?"
"Yes, dear."
"Honey, how come cookies cost this much?"
"Yes, dear." As my eyes glazed over.
Did I neglect to mention that we had gone shopping on a Tuesday? Tuesday is "Senior Day" at Woodman's. Don't ask me why, it just is. And they don't even offer any senior discounts. But the store is always a sea of little blue hairs with their totally disinterested retired husbands in tow who are always just totally lost in the whole adventure. It was also apparently a school holiday of some sort because every child in the free world was there with mom. All of them kicking, screaming, running, tearing into boxes of cereal or just wandering around in their pajamas. Yes, their pajamas. WTF??? Log jam!!!
So, we turn into the ethnic aisle and it's just a cluster-fuck of confused gringos blocking the entire aisle. I groaned. Then I barked. Then I got ugly. I loudly announced "Comin' through! Comin' through! Old guy with cancer! Clock is running! Comin' through!" and launched the cart into the fray with no concern for the casualties that might ensue. When I finally made it to the section that I needed I found it blocked by Edna and Earl. Edna was 112 if she was a day and was having difficulty seeing over the handle of their cart and Earl, who was about 115, had come to a screeching halt directly in front of her and was staring straight up, scratching his head totally confused by the pinatas. This did not amuse me at all because they were blocking my access to the Maria's, the cajeta and the Crema Media. I was close to exploding and I turned around to let Sea Squirt know that I was going to kill them. What do I find? Sea Squirt pointing up and asking me if we can buy a pinata!!! OMG. I had my own personal Earl!!!
For seven years Sea Squirt has heard me bitch like crazy when I get home from shopping, complain about the brain dead people that block aisles and gets a play by play of who I cussed out and who I decided to play "secret shopper" to. He always thought I was kidding. He now knows better. He has heard me tell a 5-year old to shut the fuck up, seen me toss expensive weird shit into other peoples carts just to piss them off after they get home (this last trip the recipient got 3 jars of saffron, total value $58.00), ram someone on a cell phone with my cart and has experienced me letting loose with that "noise from the back of the cave" sound that I learned from my mother when the lady blocking the aisle in front of me thought it would be a good idea to let little Jimmy take his damned sweet time deciding which size box of Coco-Puffs he wanted. He is amazed that I have not had security called on me or at the very least been punched out a time or two. I explained to him that as long as I don't touch them then they have to make the first move and that keeps me in the enviable position of being able to claim that I am the innocent victim of shopping-rage and elder abuse. That, coupled with my amazing ability of have nose bleeds on command should pretty much cover all of my bases...
When we go shopping next week I am going to use one of those motorized carts, wear my sunglasses, pretend to be blind, run the cart into every end cap of stacked canned goods I can find, have Sea Squirt follow me around the store and every time he asks me a question I'm going to look in the other direction and scream "I DON"T LIKE CHEESE!!! IT BLOCKS ME UP!!!". I should be back to shopping on my own before the end of the month. :-)
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