Say What?

I don't like ugly words.  Ugly words are the words that can't be classified as swear words but that nonetheless detract from an otherwise harmonious atmosphere.  The bad boys of the ugly words are "shut up" and "stupid".  If you say either of these words in our house then you'd better be prepared to receive a harsh lecture from the Uglyword Patrol, which consists of an 11 year old boy and a 6 year old girl.  I never realized what a serious combination that could turn out to be. 

I normally don't have a problem avoiding the words 'shut up'.  I'm not big enough to enforce that on anyone but my children anyway, and that just seems weak and bullyish.  Besides, they can be taken care of with a simple threat of grounding.  The word 'stupid' on the other hand is much more difficult for me.  Not that I call my kids stupid, but it slips out so often when I'm talking about other things.  For example, when I'm discussing the current popular social themes, it's difficult for me to complete an entire sentence without using the word 'stupid'.  Maybe I'm just not sympathetic enough with the whining, gimme this and gimme that, mentality that I hear from every stupid bleeding heart that get's their fat face on my television.  See there I go again!

What I need is to find another word that can suit the purpose.  How about asinine?  Yes, that sounds much less ugly.  It's also a little more gratifying to say, for some reason.  Let me try it out -- Maybe I'm just not sympathetic enough with the whining, gimme this and gimme that, mentality that I hear from every stupid asinine bleeding heart that get's their fat face on my television.  Oh yes, that's much better!  I'll add more asinine to my vocabulary.  I'll work on "fat" later.  (Hmm... that sounds eerily similar to my diet and exercise routine.)

I guess the other solution would be to take a more positive approach to confronting the differing opinions of the day.  I do admire those who seem to be able to hold their cool in the face of a riotous crowd that is fully engaged in a mindless chant.  I only wish I knew how to do that.  For me there is no peace until I have said something that I know I will regret later.  It's a strange kind of therapy, kind of like acupuncture.  First the barbs and then the relief.

I suppose I'll try to keep the ugly words to a minimum.  I just hope nobody is around when I tell the next stupid asinine political pundit  to shut up.  Oh dear, here comes the patrol.  Quick, what can I ground them from?

An Even Dozen

I saw the strangest thing in Walmart the other day.  (Bet you've never heard that before.)  I was walking through the mens hygiene section, as I often do, and I came across a bottle of all-in-one shampoo, conditioner and body wash.  Aren't those all the same thing?  I always thought all those bottles in the shower were just for variety.  I guess that might explain why every third day I have such a hard time making the soap lather up.

I'm just not very knowledgeable about such things.  I'm not sophisticated.  My favorite color is plaid, my favorite pants are Levis, I cut and style my own hair and, you guessed it, back in high school it was whitey tighties all the way baby.  I am the exact opposite of a metrosexual male.  Although I don't wear flannel.  I know flannel doesn't really itch, but it looks like it should.

So you might be wondering, who on earth would marry this person who is merely one step, give or take, above a Neanderthal?  Well I can tell you she is very patient.  Patient enough to have lasted twelve painfully un-color-coordinated years.  She has a sense of humor too.  The other day she was headed to the craft store and she considerately asked me if there was anything I wanted her to pick up while she was there.  I told her I wanted some denimfleece so that I could make myself a hat, with tassles, and a matching man-bag.  And what was waiting for me when I got home from work?  Yep, she made the whole thing, even down to the Magenta thread.

What a remarkable woman I got!  I can hardly believe it's already been twelve years.  But I'm sure that it has because that's what she wrote on the calendar.  That calendar has saved my bacon on more than one occasion.  Just another example of what a caring wife I have.  She is actively helping me to avoid being thoughtless.  (I'm not saying all of this because I'm in trouble right now.  Honest!  It's how I really feel.)

She walks beside me, while my knuckles drag, and together we have faced every challenge that has come our way.  Hopefully that's how it will continue.  It gives me hope for a bright future ahead.  (Hmm, this is getting too sappy.)

It's not that I'm trying to act uncivilized.  I just don't see the problem with wearing a brown shirt, brown shorts, white tube socks, brown shoes and a brownish yellow baseball cap.  The beauty of it is, she understands that I don't care and she helps me anyway.  That's devotion.  And I am getting better.  I even ventured into the womens clothing section to pick out her last birthday present.  I was certain that the Homeland Security's Masculinity and Counter Heartwarming Operations (MACHO) team would repel down from the ceiling at any moment to extract me from the premises.  However, it was actually pretty uneventful.  I picked out a couple of sweaters and a shirt.  Of course I got all the wrong sizes.

So here's to many more years of fumbling my way around the color wheel and putting myself into uncomfortable situations in search of the perfect gift.  I may not be able to find matching socks, but I know I've coordinated at least one thing right.

Happy Anniversary Melissa!!!!

Common Fugitives

I went through enough toilet paper when I was in high school to account for at least two thirds of Connell National Forest.  Fortunately for me, it wasn't all used in the traditional way.  In fact, I would go so far as to say that most of it never came anywhere near a bathroom, unless you count the bathroom window.

I was a frequent participant in the great American pastime of launching as many rolls of toilet paper as possible, in  ten minutes or less, into some unsuspecting person's yard.  Of course the houses weren't chosen at random.  I wasn't out decorating the homes of widows or anything like that.  I typically chose people that I was friends with.  You know, just to show them that I cared, in the only way that a high school teenage boy knows how.  By annoying them.

I wasn't alone either.  I won't name any names but I'm pretty sure that the vast majority of all five people who will ever read this were co-conspirators with me.  Of course I feel safe in confessing all of this because the statute of limitations on toilet tissue crimes has long since passed.  Besides, I've moved away and, therefore, no longer fear retribution.

Walking into a grocery store at 10:30 PM and buying a case of T-P is a rite of passage that every teenage boy must go through.  Incidentally, if you want to have some fun, try adding some things to your purchase.  Toilet paper and a magazine is always good.  You might score points with a cute cashier buy purchasing a tear jerker movie, like Old Yeller or Empire Strikes Back (it always gets me when Vader confesses his paternity), to go along with your case of toilet tissue.  The girls all like a sensitive man, or so I'm told.  However, my favorite items to go along with a late night toilet paper purchase are pork rinds, bratwurst, sauerkraut and root beer and then throw in a can of Lysol just to sweeten the deal.  This combination also helps to keep people from asking too many prying questions.

Picking the house is always somewhat of a challenge.  You have to choose somebody who won't get all bent out of shape when they wake up to a two-ply blizzard the next morning.  As I recall we usually chose girls' houses because, well, we were boys.  It just seemed natural. We never could keep it a very good secret though.  In fact sometimes we would even leave a trademark as a hint.  For instance, one night we left Snapple bottles on the doorstep.  They were empty of course.  Not that it matters.  The whole next week, every time we passed the victim at school, we tried to be either holding a Snapple or mentioning something about it.  Gosh, we were the clever ones!  I wonder if folks ever worried that they would someday see my face next to the caption, "Worlds Dumbest Criminal"?

There were hazards involved.  Of course we always ran the risk of getting caught.  This only happened once, and our punishment was being invited inside for hot chocolate.  Oh and cleaning up the mess the next day.  It was funny though, I could have sworn that there were four of us the night before, launching T-P grenades, but the next morning it turned out that there had only been two.  At least, that's all that showed up to clean anyway.

We also had to watch out for electric fences.  Oh how I still laugh out loud when I remember hearing the sudden shriek of pain piercing the night air.  Twice!!  The same night!!  I'm not sure what those folks were trying to keep out of their garden, but I do know of one individual who never entered it again.  And no, it wasn't me.

I guess what we were doing could be classified as vandalism.  Ancient petroglyphs were also technically vandalism when they were perpetrated.  Now they are priceless artifacts of past ages.  That's how I like to remember my late night escapades with my friends.  At least we were giving something useful.  You never know where or when that bratwurst might rear its ugly head.  We were simply making sure those folks were prepared.  So why not let the good times roll?

What is the Airspeed Velocity of an Unladen Swallow?

I can think of a thousand other things I would rather discuss than politics.  Unfortunately the massive political turmoil in our world right now is kind of like a big black hole that sucks... everything into it.  The result is that any topic, especially the price of rice in China, ends up leading to politics.

I could be talking about popsicles and that would lead to popsicle sticks and popsicle sticks look like tongue depressors and tongue depressors are used in doctors offices which are soon going to have pictures of President Obama in them, just like every other government building.

Or it could be as simple as discussing my favorite breakfast cereal, which of course has almonds in it.  More than 75% of the worlds almonds are grown right here in California, which has seen thousands of acres of farmland idled due to a combination of drought and rampant fish brained environmental regulation.

It's hopeless.  There is no topic that won't lead me on a collision course with some political mumbo jumbo.  It's even worse when I'm conversing with somebody besides myself, although I don't draw as many stares when I'm not alone.

I want to be optimistic and say that things will settle down soon and we can resume our pointless discussions about the weather without leading to a debate over global warming climate change.  I try hard every day to think positively.  I really do.  But then I get cut off in traffic and I'm reminded of birds sitting on my hand at the zoo, which reminds me that all of the animals are going extinct and, unless I live in a hole in the ground in the middle of prime farmland, then my livelihood isn't important enough to be protected.

Still, I hang onto the hope that one day I won't be enveloped in all this constant political upheaval.  I'm pretty sure the founding fathers hoped for that day too.  In fact, the hope probably stems all the way back to Adam and Eve.  After all, they were the pioneers of the two party system.  Polar opposites who simultaneously depended on each other for survival and, I'm sure at times, wished to annihilate one another.  And the debate has stirred ever since.

In the midst of all the chaos, it's good to keep in mind that life is about having experiences, both good and bad.  With those experiences comes knowledge.  With that knowledge comes freedom.  With that freedom comes the ACLU.  Doh!!!! 

Finding Outstanding New Ways to Celebrate Mediocrity

Okay, so what just happened?  Here we all are, standing on this lovely spinning ball, as it travels in an endless arc around a massive eternal explosion.  Each day of the year is nothing more than a calculated position along a well defined trajectory.  So what's the big deal?  Why all the celebration?

I understand celebrating something that has never happened before, and will never happen again.  That is a truly significant event.  But this is all going to happen again next year, and then again the year after that.  It's like watching a car race and celebrating each lap as if it were some incredible accomplishment.  The track goes around and around, where else was the car going to go?  Likewise with the earth, where else would it go but around and around?

If there were some obstacles in there, then that would be something different.  Instead of a car race, make it a demolition derby.  Now, there's excitement!  If the earth were bouncing between planets like a pinball, then celebrating each lap around the sun would definitely be appropriate.  In that case it is entirely likely that each lap could be our last.

As it is, la-dee-dah.  Been there, done that.  Here we are at the beginning, see you at the end, happy new year.