Dumb Paper Hats

Happy New Year From the Doc

Jump and Jive

Beards Make you Look More Scary.

Of course I love to stir up trouble...it's what I do. It's a science experiment gone RIGHT. I've also come to the conclusion that if you have a beard, you look like a scary mother fucker. If you don't have a beard, you look like you are trying to be a bad ass.

I mean look at me in these two pictures. One guy you would not want to see in a dark alley. The other you REALLy wouldn't want to see in a dark alley.


Everyone should and will grow beards. This I command.

He's Mad as Hell. By NSA JOHN

This was accidentally read and posted on an old one but it is a voice and I thought I'd share it. Here's a link to the original post that started it all.

Old Shit

After I take my Vegas vacation by driving about 30 seconds to Las Vegas Blvd. (thanks fuckhead), I'd love to address all this controversy.

This whole mainstream media vilifies Republicans thing is so much horseshit it stinks to hell. Amazing how the mainstream media that supposedly hates GW agreed to sit on the whole NSA spying story for a nice long while.

NSA JOHN point 1

The "mainstream media" didn't attempt to counter any of Bush's claims about WMDs in Iraq in the months of run up to that quagmire. Where were all the Republican haters in the media then? Where are they in covering the war protests? If you believe what you see on TV you'll probably think there haven't been any. Where have they been in reporting on the recent General Accounting Office report on the massive vote fraud from Diebold machines in the last election.

Martha Stewart is famous. End of story. Therefore, she gets treated nice by the media. Ken Lay is infamous, therefore he gets "dragged over the coals." If someone wipes out my retirement I would hope they get their asses more than dragged over any coals available. I would much rather have the media investigate that any day.

If the media were really doing their jobs, instead of reprinting practically verbatim what's said on government press releases, we'd have some more accountability in government. It's amazing how much mainstream media stuff is out there to indicate the truth about 9/11 but none of our media outlets seem able to draw the logical conclusion.

NSA JOHN point 2

We live in a Democracy that is slowly being transformed into a fascist state. Corporate control and consolidation of the media is part of this. The lib left and the cons right are just distractions to keep us fighting amongst ourselves while Bush's cabal attempts to consolidate power. Luckily for us, they're incompetent!

Whether they actively planned and participated in the events of 9/11 or just sat back and allowed them to happen, the fact remains that 3,000 + people were allowed to die so that our current administration could benefit from it politically.

If you look critically at the facts, the anomalies and the HARD SCIENCE of what went down on 9/11 you would quickly realize the official story is a lie at best and a myth at worst.

But, hey, that's not important right now. Did you hear the news is nice to democrats but mean to republicans?

It's a double standard!

The Most Over Rated Holiday in History

I've been hearing "Next year. 2006 will be my year." The thing is...how do you know this? I'm sure in 2004 the same people were saying, "2005, this is my year." It seems that some people always remember the bad things towards the end of the year that they are so anxious for the New Year. I mean, in all honesty it's easier to remember the shitty things rather than remembering the sweet, wonderful great things. It's just how most Americans think.

So by the end of the year people are so ready for a "New Year," for this "new start" that people like to remind you on how bad that year was for them and can't wait for 01-01-06. I just don't see how there is a big difference between 12-31-05 to 01-01-06. It's just another day in my life. It's just another day. I guess if people were always that optimistic about the next day, everyone would be a doctor, a Nobel Peace Prize winner or me.

The real kicker is that there is no escaping this. You can try and hide but this holiday always finds you. No matter where you are at; bar, lame ass house party, church social...that when it's close to midnight you stop what you are doing and gather around the TV. and watch other people celebrating New Year's Eve. That's another thing that always bothers me…you turn off the music, you stop talking with your friends to see someone else count down. Maybe people do this so it's an official time but for the most part I tend to go away from the crowd.

"Ok, everyone lets count."

10

9

8

7

6

5

4

3

2

1

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

And people start singing. They sing the New Year's song that no one knows the name to (I don't either but I really don't care), that no one knows the lyrics to. People hug you, people you don't know. You are supposed to kiss someone and drink champagne. Wow, it's becoming clear to me now. I think it's getting to me because New Year's Eve is the same no matter what year it is. There is a fixed formula that you go by and I think that this formula sucks. After 30 seconds of celebrating you go back to drinking, fucking or sleeping. It's really a very anti-climatic event.

I've tried really hard to understand this. I've tried really hard to understand the importance of it all and please don't get me started on New Year's Resolutions...

Last Year's Ramblings

Most people look forward to celebrating this after Christmas but in my eyes, I look forward to it being over with.

10

9

8

7

6

5

4

Is this post done yet?

3

2

Almost. We are almost done.

1

We survived another Post.

This is All I Get? What a Downer.

Hey guys...I know, I'm not writing much today. I'm going to go to bed soon and I have to get up in the morning to deal with the insurance company. My laptop got a killer virus in it and I have to start over from scartch with the web page. I still plan to have something up on the first but please don't expect much. I feel really good about the New Year. I'm sure everyone says that but this time...this time I really mean it.

Happy Holidays

Happy Holidays. I do realize that a lot of you will be spending time with your family the next couple of days and will have no time or need to read this. I just wanted to say thank you so much for a great year. Thanks for keeping me motivated to write. It's tough sometimes, wondering if you have any talent, if you have anything. This blog has really boosted my moral a lot and I see very good things for myself, for the whole crew of At The Corner Bar. Tiz the season to be jolly.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RANDY!!! 29 years ago today his parents decided they should do the wild thing and they did, only to do it at least two more times after that.

Flowing Read Waves

I don't care what you say...Writer's Block is a bullshit lie.
Telling me that you can't write.
Telling me that you can't post on this because you are scared or that you aren't as good as a writer is all an excuse.
Please, I don't want to hear it anymore.

I also don't want to hear why you are still in your dead-end job.
I don't want to hear about why you are still with that girl/boy because "there are things you don't know them."
I don't want to hear it because frankly, my ears are starting to bleed.

It is coming out of my earlobe, dripping on the pavement.
The puddle is starting to grow.
It's getting deep, so deep that a current is forming.
The waves crash against my feet.
I am falling in, trying to stay a float but it's ok because I crawl out.
I will not drown this time because of you.
I will not see my maker because I don't have a reason, an excuse to fall to the bottom as I take in the last breath.
An excuse to fail.
I will not fail.
I will not fail.
I will not fail this time because time is not on my side anymore.
I got to take that step.

The spotlight is off me as I walk out in the cold air, watching my breathe in the cool, night sky and I still love it.
It's me.
I'm leaving it all behind me.
So long, look at me waving.

This time I mean it.
This time I'm not gonna hold your hand.
It's now or never because I never know if now is right.
Scream if it's the only way I'll hear you.
Make my ears bleed, make me drown because I will not go down.
I will only know that you tried.
That you did it.
You did it because you felt it in your gut.
And I wake up.

I wake up because I want the easy way out.
I won't face my nightmares.
I try too hard to avoid them when I'm awake.
I wake up and the sun is rising and it feels ok on my face.
Just ok because who really likes to wake up?
I'm going back to bed.
I'm going back to my slumber to dream and don't wake me up.
Not this time.
Let me sleep in.

If I Wasn't A Celebrity, Would You Still Wanna Hang With Me?

I got a text message from someone I used to work with telling me that the Foo Fighters were going to be at the Aladdin Casino at eight to check in. Later on that night it was rumored that they were going to a party at the Palms and that I could probably get in and when asked if I wanted to go I said,

"When push comes to shove I'm not gonna stalk my favorite band. I greatly appreciate the info and invite."

Yes, I had a possible chance to be in the same room with Dave Grohl but I like to think that I'm a realistic person. I know that I wasn't going to walk up to him and we wouldn't instantly become best friends. I would have been in a group of a thousand other fans trying to talk to him, to make their conversation memorable so the next time they ran into him he would say, "Hey I remember you from Las Vegas. Let’s fucking rock out."

It also brings me to the point that people are obsessed with celebrities. So much to the point that they sell magazines telling us "normal" people how much celebrities are just like us.

"Britney drinks coffee just like us."
"Tom drives a car just like us."
"Julia has massive diarrhea attacks just like us."

Am I touched by lyrics and music to the point that sometimes I almost break down and cry because it brings me to a point in my life where I was most vulnerable? Yes but I won't get a Christmas card from the Foo Fighters (at this point it looks like I won't get any cards except from Randy), they aren't going to be at the birth of my first child and they aren't going to be the ones responsible for my first million.

I think that some of us look for something to hold on to, to make life a little bit easier and I see nothing wrong with that. This world is tough and to find an escape, to find some peace in something is alright. However, I don't see the need to follow someone who wrote a great song, trying to get a picture, yelling their name out loud. They are in the public eye but how would you feel if you were trying to eat dinner with someone and people kept walking up to you trying to get you to sign something because "they loved how you taught high school gym," or "How they thought that you were the best gas pumper they had ever seen." It gets old after awhile and call me crazy, I feel that I should just leave these people alone. They don't know me, I don't know them and that's alright by me because I know in the long run they are still going to make movies, music, write books and do porn and I'm still gonna watch and read it, even if they don't personally address me next time they are on TV.

Can I Ask You Something?

I don't care how you look at it, I don't care how you say it, whatever angle you use, how you write it or mime it, but "Why you are still single?" or "Why aren't married yet?" may be one of the stupidest questions on the face of the Earth. Yes I did say one of the stupidest questions and when I say it like that I don't mean it on the same level as when someone says, "This is the funniest thing I've ever seen." It really isn't one of the funniest scenes you've ever seen, it's just an over used expression. If you think that someone tripping over their shoe is one of the funniest moments in your life, the whole time you've been born, it's time to end it. My point is, those types of questions are fucking stupid.

To me, people who ask you these questions are the people who like to talk during a movie that you just spent ten bucks to see (damn you after six p.m. prices). They love brining up politics at at someone's wake. These are the same people that you always end up in an elevator, with some strange body odor and you are forced to stay on it all the way to the top floor. These are the people you don't want to grow up to be "just like."

So why is it dumb? Well, you should know the answer to that question but just in case you are reading this and you are one of those people who do ask that type of question, let me spell it out for you in as many letters as I can.

Nobody likes to be alone. I enjoy spending time by myself but in the long run I want to get married and have kids. Am I going to date any girl just because I feel the pressure from society? Fuck no. Am I gonna marry her because she's hot, I mean really hot that men get instant boners from? No (ask me when I'm drunk because I may have a different answer to that). The reason why I am on still on the "active list" is because I want to be with someone who knows me. She's not the kind of person I have to explain myself to because she really knows and understands me. I can't help it that I want quality. I can't help it that I'm not the easiest person to understand. That I don't make sense. That I can't explain myself at times, times when I really have to and the only words that come out of my mouth are, "Uh...um..."

Why the fuck do people ask that? Let me ask you a question,

"Why the fuck are you dating that shitty boyfriend? Does he still beat you?"
"Only because he loves me."

I am not sure if this is that person's chance to try and one up you, because you are so much better than they are in so many ways but I seem to get that feeling, that vibe anytime I hear it. It makes me...it really makes me want to sock that person in the face because if they really knew me, if they really KNEW me they wouldn't bother to ask that question and I wouldn't have to be writing about it right now and in the long run that's what it comes down to. So please, to all you dumb ass mo-fo's who are reading this, spread the word to all of your friends. Tell them to stop asking these types of question or the next kind of question your loved ones will be hearing is, "Is this his/her body?" which by now is not one of the stupidest questions on the Earth, it's the GREATEST.

R.I.P. Condor

Send Cards To...

It is that time of year again where the annual McCauley/Cotton Christmas Card competition has begun. Right now Lorraine is winning as she has the last two years. This year, I want to taste victory. I know a lot of you read this so I'm asking you to make my Christmas wish come true. Let me taste it again, the sweet taste of a championship title. I ask you, my loyal and dedicated readers, help a brotha out.

Dan McCauley
2951 Siena Heights Dr Apt 4511
Henderson, NV
89052

Remember...only two more weeks till Christmas.

I'm Not That Dumb But I Can Pretend

I looked down at my leg today and I noticed that there's a cut on it. It isn't a small cut, a cut that you'd get from rubbing against a branch. It's a deep cut. It's a cut I should have reacted to when I got it. I should have felt the pain. I should have acknowledged it. I should have said, "Ow." I should have said, "Oh dear God. Oh fuck that hurts." I didn't do anything. I didn't even realize that I was injured until today.

Pain does that. Pain is a son of a bitch because it picks and chooses when it will allow you to notice it. Ever sprain your ankle, a really bad sprain but you are still ok to play on it? A day later it's purple, it's swollen and you can't put pressure on it. You can't understand how you were ok the day before but today, today you are so bruised that you can't even stand up. You can only sit there and wait patiently and hope that the pain goes away so someday you'll be ok to walk again.

I look down at this cut and it's irritated. A mixture of dark and light red covers my skin as it fills in the gap. The hole that was left there by some unknown object, thing, person. At this point it's too late to cover it with a band-aid. At this point why hide it? Why hide the pain because I'd only be fooling myself. It's best that the cool air blows over it, to keep the blood dry. To make a protective wall of molecules and white blood cells.

I don't know if it will ever heal, leaving a scar to remind me of this event. I don't know if that scab will ever fall off. All I know is that I'll stare at it to remind me that I'm not as invincible as I thought I was, hoping the next time I bleed, the next time I get cut, I won't ignore it.

Such a Cold STATEment By Doc

CLOSED FOR CLEANING

Come back tomorrow when somebody cares...

Panty Raid

Why is it that men tend to have ten good pairs of underwear, plus a couple close to retirement and women have their own dresser drawer filled with silk, see through and satin panties? I sometimes wonder if they bought two pair and those two pair fucked like jack rabbits and reproduced until there was no more room. Maybe women feed their panties after midnight, breaking the sacred rule. I really don't know. I do know that women go panty shopping. They leave the house to spend hours looking for something that no body's gonna see except for themselves, husband/boyfriend/girlfriend and the occasional rapist.

It's hard to invision myself going to the mall with my guy friends, holding up a pair of boxer briefs and asking, "I think this is cute. Do you think it would look good on me?"

In no way am I saying this is stupid because lord knows I spent my fare share of time at Best Buy looking through the horror section, wondering if I would like Ginger Snaps, I'm just saying that it boggles my mind...panties that is, not the game Boggle. I do love them so keep buying them ladies. Keep up the good work.

Tiss the Season

It is here. The time has now come where we look and search for the best Christmas or Hanukah presents in the world. We search every store, every internet site, every dark alley to find the gift that best represents our feelings towards the person we are buying the gift for. In a couple of weeks I know some of you will be handing out gifts to friends and family, eagerly waiting to see their faces after they open their gifts. In a couple of weeks some of you will be getting an envelope from these same people who you got the wonderful gifts for, open them up and see...a gift certificate.

Now I don't know where this idea came around where people thought that this is a good idea but it is not. Gift Certificates should only be handed out during Church raffles and Senior Prom, not during the holiday season. I have to say that it may be one of the biggest cop-outs in the history of the world.

"Well I didn't know what to get you so I got you a twenty dollar gift card to Target. I hope you can find something you like there,"

And this would be the part of the story where I stare back at you, just staring getting angry because I had to wait in line for twenty minutes while a mother of three in front of me thought the best way to shut her bastard kids up was by saying, "Shut up you kids!"

"But it's the thought that counts. The thought."

Fuck the thought because if it was the thought you wouldn't be handing me this gift card, you would be handing me over a gift that you spent some time thinking about, showing that you actually pay attention. Here's an idea, and I’ll save you some time in the future, and just hand me over the twenty in cash. I'll go to the titty club, buy one over-priced Jack and Sprite, stare at some coke whore's tits and go home. Merry Holidays.

See You in the Morning

As you can tell I've promised someone that I would write everyday this week. It's been tough but I seem to have managed it. Some quality, some quantity. Tonight on the other hand has not been the case. I've done a lot of different things to try and spark my creativity, as you can tell none have them worked because I'm writing about how I can't write. I'm on my second Mickey's and there isn't anything. Nothing. I don't feel sad. I don't want to pour out my soul to you. The only thing I can think of is how writing is organic. I have forced a lot of things out this week, a lot, and in my eyes it has been shit. I don't care if you think that they were good because in my eyes it has not been up to par. I'm 2 over par right now and though it's not a bad score, there's always room for improvement.

I've come to realize that writing and relationships are the same. They both have to be organic or there's always gonna be something in the back of your mind that makes you wonder.

"What could be better? How can I change this?"

It's hard to force feelings for someone because you know they like you, they just have to be there. You can't force a story out on paper because you think you have to write. A story should flow on paper, like talking with a girl for an hour and not even knowing the time. There shouldn't be the pressure, there shouldn't be a bead of sweat. Yes, I do think that writing is tough. If it was easy everyone would do it and they would do it great. They would do it fucking fantasticly (yes I know that's not a "real" word"). I guess if dating was easy everyone would be doing it. There would be random acts of,

"Hey you, I'm dating you now!!!"
"Oh, ok. Thanks."

But I don't see women doing that for me or pieces of paper. So I have to approach it in a nice, non-threatening way. Let it know that I'm there to make us both compliment each other. That I wouldn't do it unless I knew I could and I ignore it. I ignore it like it was never born. Stare at the ceiling. Stare at my drink. Stare. I do that until I feel it. I dive right in, head first, knowing that it's a six foot deep pool and write. I write till my knuckles bleed. I write till I know that it's safe to sleep. That it's safe to close my eyes and that time has come. It's time for me to put my head on my pillow, dream. Dream of tomorrow when I know I have to do this all over again and I can't wait to wake up.

Does the Fun Ever Start?

Look. I mean really look at this picture. What do you see wrong? No, it's not that someone has the nerve to park a Toyota Corolla in my apartment complex, but the sheer fact that they have the balls to put something like this on their car.

At first I thought that this had to be something important. Like those yellow bands that symbolize your support for the cure of cancer. It never crossed my mind that some people are stupid fucks and would actually find this to be funny.

I needed to find the answer so I researched the net. I typed in "Katrina Survivor bumper sticker" in Google and the only sites that came up were those funny web sites that sell goofy shit. I did come across ONE article that said, and let me paraphrase this, "Katrina took a lot, but it did not take away their sense of humor." You are right. Who wouldn't find your dead brother's body floating down the street HAlarious? I know I would. I'm just waiting for "Concentration Camps helped me pass my S.A.T.'s" or "I lost my virginity on 9/11" bumper stickers and t-shirts.

So how did this happen? Dollar bills yall. I really think that people wait for catastrophes so they can cash in on them. Ever notice how many American flags were sold after 9/11? A shit load because they were everywhere. It's just some mother fucker making money off of a shitty event. I know they aren't donating the money that they get from selling products like these and if they are, it's a fraction of their profits and the only reason would be for a tax write off.

Most things annoy the fuck out of me. Most things don't bother me but for some reason this one makes my stomach sick. It doesn't remind me of what the survivors went through, or the people who weren't as fortunate to get out alive. It reminds me that this country is based on money and we will do whatever we can to make a quick buck, to get the money to buy that Plasma T.V., to take that vacation in the Bahamas. I am no saint in any means, in fact I can be a bastard at times, but when I weigh situations like these out on the scale of reason I find that my conscious out weighs anything else and that my friends is something you can never sell…well, unless I get my asking price on EBay and I’ll let you know when my auction closes in an hour.
.

Dan's Theory of Doc-eromones

Doc is gonna love me for this but it has to be told. I've gotten too many questions and comments about the Pheromones Theory and I think it's time that the story be told.

The Pheromones Theory is something that my friend John and I created. It was something we had noticed as we studied him with women but it didn’t become official until we locked ourselves in the study, reading numerous books, guides, charts and other various learning devices to come to this conclusion: The Doc is able to secrete Pheromones. I know what you are thinking, "That's really funny Dan, you're a jokester." A joke my friend this is not. This is actually true. This is something that you've only seen in movies or heard about in legend but it's true. IT'S TRUE! He's a King Cobra, hypnotizing the ladies with his magical, noise tail. Waiting until they sway in it's music until he strikes. Clinching his fangs into their tender neck. I've seen him with ex-acquaintances. Women that should absolutely hate his fucking guts but after five minutes they are laughing with him, sitting down and sharing a pint. It blows my mind every time I see it happen.

Some witnesses have said to see the Doc's neck bulge out, like a bullfrog, releasing a piercing cry and emit some type of yellowish, colored gas from his glands. Men run when they see this because they know that their fate lies in his hands. That women would never look at them the same so it's easier to hide and observe. Women inhale the gas and are paralyzed, stunned in lust, all wanting a minute with him. A minute they had been dreaming about their whole lives. The one only read about in fairy tales...

Ok...maybe...just maybe this is an exaggeration but to every exaggeration there is some truth. I have seen him perform miracles but it may not be due to the pheromones. It could be because he's charming, handsome and has a huge dick. What the fuck am I talking about, he’s none of those. I am calling you out Doc. Let the world know of your secret. The day Sasquatch comes out of hiding, will be the day that Doc finally confesses he has the ability to secret Pheromones and that’s the day I will be able to finally sleep at night. I wait for the slumber.

I Don't Care

How does one comment on an audio post? Well I just did and deal with it. That's all I have to say about that. I don't want to tell you too much because how are you going to analyze it and over analyze it until your brain swells and you can't take it anymore. Tell me. TELL ME!!!

See Attached File

Oh the wonderful world of resumes. The business world is so fucked up that you have to have at least a one page resume explaining what you have done and then you have to have a cover letter that explains your resume. To me, that don't make no sense.

It's that time of year when I have to update this piece of paper that somewhat justifies my life's work. That I have to sell myself, in ink, to someone who has too much power for their ability to work. Usually it's the fucking idiots who hire you and you have to kiss their asses. I'm sick of kissing asses unless it's a fine, Mexican whore.

Really...who came up with this?

OBJECTIVE To obtain a full time position in a professional setting

Yes...read it. Re-read it. Look at your old resume. This is the most generic thing on a resume and yet it is required. If you don't have something like this you are deemed un-professional and they move on to the next one. If you don't have this you have broken some type of business law that will have your fingers bleeding, your first born eaten by a rabid dog. If you don't have this then you don't have anything at all. You are worthless. Pointless. Scum of the earth.

A resume has you lying. Ok, not lying so much but the extension of the truth.

"How can I make my job serving burgers sound appealing? I know"

• Helped customers achieve maximum satisfaction.
• Light paper work and assisted management on payroll.
• Microsoft Word

So what does this mean?

• Made sure there were extra pickles on shit head's burger.
• Handed out paychecks when they came in.
• Looked up porn on my lunch break.

It's an art. A lifestyle to bullshit your way into a job and people are good at it. People are fucking fantastic at it. I talked my way into college. I really don't know how I did it, but look at me now, college graduate. I've even convinced you that I'm a decent writer. Ok, a mediocre writer but I still got you. I have you wanting more. I have you wanting to read my resume. Wanting to see how I've presented myself. How I come across when I want a job. If you want to know more...

See attached file.

Send in the Clowns

I love laughing. I love making people laugh. If you are capable of making me laugh out loud then you’ve done a good job. That means I find you funny because I don’t give courtesy laughs. If a kid with cancer came up to me and said that the only way that he would live is if I genuinely laughed at him and if he wasn’t funny, I wouldn’t laugh and he'd die. Not a tear would be shed and I would not go to his funeral. Where am I going with this? Stand-Up comedy. Just because you are labeled as a Stand-Up comic does not mean that I have to find you funny.

I was at a gathering yesterday (I won’t call it a party because parties are considered fun) and by livening it up they put in a dvd of some comic. I thought I’d give it a chance but I knew it was down hill after someone told me that I’d like it because “he says what people think. He’s not ‘P.C.’” To me, when someone has to tell me out loud that I will like it, it means I won’t. “Tastes better then the original,” “You’ll laugh harder then you’ve ever laughed before.” Shit like that is a dead give away that it sucks.

At first I was excited because I thought he was a telepathic comic but what she meant was that nothing was “P.C.” in this man’s eyes. No race, no gender, nothing and I mean NOTHING was off limits. He would say something “shocking,” people would laugh and turn to see if I was laughing. It was as if they wanted to see if I approved and in all honesty I didn’t find it funny. You can only say shit, fuck, bitch so many times before it gets old and lame. Murphy, Prior, Chappelle and David Cross have a gift. It comes off naturally...organic and that’s why I laugh. They tell stories, funny situations. It’s a big build up with a funny conclusion. It’s not, “The reason why Mexicans are poor because they don’t buy Chicklets in bulk.”

I did Stand-Up once at my college and it sucked. I know it's tough, trying to get the love of an audience, wondering why they don't get it. "How can I stand out from the rest? Should I use HA-larious props?" and I came to the reason that I didn't care. I don't care for 99% of Stand-Up comedy. So please just stop. Please don’t waste my time. I don’t care. You aren’t my friend and I don’t care why the chicken crossed the road. So please just Stand-Up and get out of my face...forever.

I Miss The Kiss

I miss a kiss that means something.
A kiss that makes you forget about time.
Forget about the first time you skinned your knee.
The first time you ever wanted to kiss someone else.

I miss a kiss that fills you up inside.
That makes you wish you never had to leave.
The kind they write about in songs.
The kind they try to write about in songs.

A kiss can feel so empty with the wrong person.
That makes you wonder what's on t.v. later.
That allows you to realize that she's not the one.
A key into the heart.
It's the ultimate lie detector because it has nothing to lose.
Because there are always going to be another pair of lips.

I miss a kiss with that one person.
The one that makes you want to kiss again.
To make another song.
To forget each time because one will never be enough,
No matter how many times you try,
No matter how much you lie.

I miss the kiss.

I Said Listen While the Doc Preaches.

A Winter Wonderland. By the Doc

I've Got That Love and Feeling. By Dave M.

I’ve still got it…


We’ll I’ve sort of still got it. I guess I should be honest, some might say that I never had “it” at all but that is beside the point. For purposes of this iteration let’s all assume that at one time I was able to draw women and reciprocate their attention and therefore at such time had “it”, and although I’ve been married for several years now, I have now discovered that I still possess an outward sexuality worthy of genuine response. The problem arises in the “sort of” that I mentioned above and this is when my story begins.

Today I made my triumphant return to the local YMCA after a six week absence necessitated by a nasty ankle sprain. I’ve still got joint pain and attend physical therapy, but I felt spry enough to try the stair master on a low speed. The stair master is the type that involves actual revolving steps that creates a climbing machine resembling a short escalator. It sets at the end of a long row of treadmills which are all placed forward of a room full of weight lifting machines. The stair master’s height gives me a good view of the rest of the gym and truly provides a vigorous workout. It felt good to undertake aerobic activity again.

While gently stretching my ankle and pushing it to the limits of its flexibility as I walked up the down escalator that is the genius of the stair master, I found myself surveying the noon hour gym attendance. I do this frequently, hoping to scope out and goggle beautiful scantly clad professional women. I call them “motivation.” There is nothing like a firm round ass in stretch pants with a slightly growing line of sweat encroaching the cheeks from the center cleavage of low rising waist bands to consistently draw me to the gym. One can almost determine the cut and style of the panties the “motivation” wears.

Today I craned my neck around and was looking behind me when I lost my train of thought and in my absentmindedness began starring at an individual using a weight machine. I didn’t know I was starring at someone. I wasn’t really starring, I wasn’t even looking. My legs were doing their work and my mind simply floated off into a Neverland of inward contemplation. My sense of sight was overrun by whatever thoughts I was having at the time. I was jolted back to real world when I made eye contact with the individual whom I had been looking at for what must have been a full thirty seconds. These situations can be embarrassing, it’s not good to stare and it’s even worse to get caught. This, however, was a special situation because the person I was starring at was obviously a gay man. He was very stylish, and while that may be a stereotype, it’s true. I wear bloodied basketball shorts and torn t-shirts to the gym and it’s a simple fact that if you see a man in designer exercise clothing in the Lansing Michigan YMCA then he’s hitting for the other team. This man either just got back from a “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” makeover or he is well on his way to auditioning as an expert adviser. I assumed the later when we made eye contact. I simply went back to my work out and thought nothing of it, other than absorbing the embarrassment I felt, and contemplating the fact that I was actually busted checking out a gay man. I get busted checking people out on an hourly basis; it’s normally no big deal. I just end up creeping out some woman and then go back to my business. It wasn’t until about two minutes later when I realized that I had opened up an opportunity to include homosexual experimentation to my list of worldly experiences.

The man at which I was unintentionally flirting with stopped using the weight machine he was on had apparently decided it was time to go for a jog. He walked over to the treadmill next to the stair master I was using and began his walk.

Dear reader, please correct me if I am wrong, but if I make eye contact with a beautiful woman at the gym and quickly look away and she then decides that she needs to use the nearest exercise machine to me out of the perhaps six identical and available machines that are not placed six inches from the machine I am using, she has sent a signal to me that indicates I should start a conversation.

That is exactly what this man did.

I’ve now found that my reaction to this signal is different if an effeminate man wearing turquoise work out pants and a shiny ring on each middle finger makes this very same gesture. In such instance I’ve discovered that I make it a point not to remove my headphones. I make it a point to simply look straight forward and make no further contact. I know this is an effective means of ceasing all mutual interaction and sends a clear message that the non-responsive individual is not interested. I know this because women do it to me all the time. My new potential gay friend could not talk to me because I was wearing my headphones, and I did nothing to invite his further initiative. While I do not normally shun people based on their sexuality, I do when their sexuality is derived from testosterone and is directed towards me. In human mating ritual terms, it was my obligation to make the next move and remove my headphones and ask him some mundane question about the frequency of his gym attendance. I did not take up this opportunity. After about three minutes of his feigned jogging with absolutely no body language from me other than my fidgeting with my wedding ring literally less than a foot from his face, the man stopped the machine and went back to lifting weights. I was relieved, and only hoped to avoid an awkward locker room encounter.

By awkward locker room encounter, I mean the instance where we are both standing there naked and we are obligated to make eye contact, nod at each other and know that we have seen each other penises, and that while he may have thought I was open to touching his penis and open to him touching mine, and knowing that that was not going to happen, and then silently go about our merry business of showering and getting back to work as it nothing happened. Fortunately that did not occur. I was able to shower and change without bumping into this individual either literally or figuratively. It’s comforting to know that when I make an ass of myself starring at a woman in the gym and she gives me that social silent rejection that fifteen minutes later I am not going to see her naked breasts when I go into the locker room.

As I left the gym contemplating these thoughts, I sought to touch my thumb to my wedding ring as I constantly fidget with the ring out of nervous habit. I discovered that the ring was gone. Somewhere between when I was subtly indicating to the gay man that I was married and the time that I walked out the gym my ring slipped off my finger. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. Not only did I have to tell my wife that I lost the symbolic gift of her eternal love, I also had to tell her that I lost it after I almost picked up an attractive gay man.

Team A.D.: The Best Around.

Team A.D. was formed on October 7th, 2005. It was a union formed by friendship, strength, honor and the ladies. The "Evil powers that be" have attempted numerous times to dismantle them, but the quick ability to improvise, adapt and overcome destroyed any chance these forces had. Team A.D. laughed in their face and simply said, "We have a code we live by. We are the best around, nothing's gonna ever bring us down."

TEAM A.D.'S CODE OF HONOR

1. Team A.D. knows Kung Fu.
2. Motto 2 (Only Team A.D. knows this)
3. Team A.D. loves the ladies.
4. No one fucks with Team A.D.
5. Team A.D. loves Sally Pressman.

"The Gutter" is homebase for Team A.D. Strategies and other various experimental fighting techniques are practiced and perfected. Many women have come and gone in more ways then one. Always wondering what it would have been like to date a memeber of Team A.D. That's how Team A.D. rolls. Satisfying the ladies, having them come back for more.

Team A.D. has been questioned by skeptics in the past. By the way they live their lives, their style, the cut of their jib. Has this slowed them down? Has it made them hesitate their actions? No. They continue fighting the good fight, doing what's right...for them and making sure that supporters of Team A.D. are protected and are never victimized by Anti-A.D. hate crimes.

If you have a problem, if no one else can help and if you can find them, maybe you can hire Team A.D.

I Don't Want to Go Alone.

It's Sunday.
Alone sitting in a dark room listening to a Ben Harper song and all I can do is sit and stare.
Disecting scenes to a movie that hasn't been written yet.

The panning.
The pull aways.
The straight shot.

It's there and I'm watching it.

I have no popcorn.
I have no soda.
I have no High Definition television

I just have the screen that's playing in my mind.
The picture backwards so I can process it.
The director's version; uncut and pure.
The way it was meant to be seen.

The way I want you to see it.

If That's The Way It Is, Then That's The Way It Is

There it is. The phone is staring at me telling me to pick it up but I won't. "I will do it later," I think to myself as I look at the clock. It's the same time it was when I looked at ten seconds ago. It feels that time is going backwards because I said I would call at five. Originally it was two and two fifteen and two thrity and now I find myself in a place that if I don't do it now, it will be just another excuse that I've given one too many times. I don't want that anymore. The excuses. The reasons that prevent me from focusing on the now. The right fucking now.

I have six minutes right now to turn back. The path behind me is long...dark...and cold and it's just in front of me. The light.

The phone rings, hoping it is the call that I am so scared to make. I am not so lucky. It is just a friend seeing what I'm doing, not knowing the conflict that I'm in. I still look at the clock and now the time is going faster. I don't get you time. Why are you fucking with me? You are some old retired frat boy playing one last trick on a guy who's already having issues.

It's time. It's time to pull my balls back down. They are hidden. Hiding and I'm tired of hiding. I no longer want to stand in the shadow, being a famliar face with no name. That guy you walk by and think "Do I know that guy?" Anonymity is no longer in my dictionary. So here I come, ready or not.

What Does it Take, To Get a Drink in This Place?

Let Me Get That Door for You

I was working today, doing the fun pre-production work that has taken my social life away, and I was leaving the Archives and Regional History Collections (fancy name for library) when I opened the door for a female. Being a guy, I opened the door and felt that I had to look at her ass. To see if it was worth me staring at it for a second or all the way down the hallway. In this case, it was just a second. I don't know if it's my primal urges to reproduce or that I've been living with Jeff for a month now and that this sausage party is over and need to get some poontang up in this piece.

My point is that I think I'm starting to see where Chilvary came from. I really believe that it was some horny knights way of getting a free look at some maiden's tits.

"Let me pick that up for you," as he picks up her basket of goodies that was dropped on the floor, glancing up her skirt.

Today I'm proclaiming myself as Sir Daniel McCauley. Why? Because I'm just like every other horny knight. I will get a free look. I will feel whenever I can get away with that and I will rape whatever I choose. Well I won't do that...or will I? Only time will tell as I walk down this path of "honor" and "duty" but until that time comes give me Excalibur already, I want some tail.

The Musical

My Life...The End.

Wow...what the fuck do I write about? I have been sitting in front of this screen for a good hour now and nothing. I mean I was gonna write about this Fantasia book "Life is not a Fairy Tale," and how she couldn't read but I find it funny that they give her credit for writing the book. I mean she really just told someone her story so she shouldn't get a credit for writing. She can't even read. FUCKING A.

What else was I gonna write about? Oh yeah...fucking sitcom t.v. shows that had their "serious" episode. "Give Me a Break," when little Joey Lawrence dressed up like Al Jolson and everyone freaked the fuck out. "Blossum" when she was physically abused by her boyfriend and who could forget the "Different Strokes" epsiode when the boys were touched by the bike store owner? Fuck you Schwinn!!!

The last thing I wanted to write about was how dumb people are. It seems that most actors in small towns don't have a clue. They don't know when to stop bugging the producers. They like to blame things because they don't know how to deal.

"Hello,
I would like to apologize for the lack of time that
I had to review the script and perform. I had just
started a new job, resetting the cakes and flour
aisle
at Miejer. I had been informed that it would take
from
800pm until about 1:00am; 4:00 at the latest. At
8:00am I left EARLY to download the script and relax
for a brief time before the reading. Your email had
come after I had left for work.
So please understand that I was not exactly at my
stellar best.
Thanks for the consideration.
Tim"

Get over it, just come to accept that you can't act. Spell Meijer right too while you are at it. You aren't impressing me and man those cakes were stale.

These were a couple of ideas I thought about writing about but decided it should be a buffet rather then a main course.

Tomorrow by Nina

I just saw someone realize their incapacities. The look of their face was numbing. The body was nearly frozen, but the mechanics of the pained mind moved on at a pace that let you see a frenzied scattering for answers within their soul.

Was this true? Is there no way out? There has to be a solution

So they move just the slightest to regain eye contact.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah. I was just thinking"

Yeah, you were just thinking about where you go from here, and the thing is, you don't know. You have no clue. I can't help you, either, b/c the truth is, I am not so sure I'm doing what i'm supposed to be doing, either.

So we take a silent moment. A moment that is just a second too long. That second that holds the vulnerability of me knowing the terror that you've found within yourself.

You can't succeed at what you want to.

You'll try to forget that this just happened. That it all came to you in an epipheral moment of realization that shatters your dreams. Your idea of who you are. Your hopes for tomorrow.

You turn away from the mirror.

And you walk away.

Doc-Week 2

Dan...Week 2

Put Your Shoes on Hippie. By Dave M.

Some background: I'm at work. I work in an office building. There are several offices in the building. My wife happens to work in the office right next to mine, though she works for a different company than me. I just met my wife in the public hallway by happenstance. This is where I discovered something about my wife that I would rather not know. My wife doesn't like to wear shoes. She is barefoot about 80% of the time. (That is not new, I've known about that for a long time.) But when I just met her in the hallway she was barefoot. Come on, she is at work, you cannot wear shoes throughout the workday?! But it's ok, I can get past that. The problem is, she was headed to the bathroom. I asked her if she intended to go into the public restroom barefoot. She replied in the affirmative. I don't like the soles of my shoes touching a public restroom floor, let alone my naked skin. All I can think about is those disgusting germ infested feet in my bed, it makes my skin crawl. It is just not ok to go into a public restroom without shoes on. Am I alone in this? I'm grateful that I don't have a toe sucking fetish.

Trees Lounge

On the Road

If you ever get the chance to get on the open road, letting the wind blow in your hair...DON'T!!! It fucking sucks unless you like sitting in the same spot for hours, eating fast food all day and driving through such states as Nebraska and Iowa. States that you wonder if everyone living there is suicidal due to nothing around them. It's such a weird thing to be...on the road.

Back in the days it seemed like such a fantastic thing. Living off of apple pie and whiskey. Hanging out at on on ramp with thirty people, drinking and eating and playing music. Now a days there are physical signs with a thumb up in the air with a big red mark through it. Stating,"This era is dead. Move along there is nothing for you here."

I will have to state that driving in a car for such a long times forces you to deal with issues that you've put on hold. There are no distractions, no t.v. to watch (unless you are fucking rich and can afford a dvd player in your car) and you really can't get up and walk away. You are stuck staring, looking into your soul. I will have to say that as boring as I've made it seem, it's theraputic. I've never felt better, being in such a shitty situation. So fuck it. Grab your Atlas, gas up the car and get the fuck out of dodge.

A Long December

http://www.beaverislandtour.com/the_story.htm

"Captain Owen J. McCauley, now 79 (in 1948), who retired in 1936 after 38 years in the lighthouse service, tell the story of the tragedy which took place on December 14-15, 1900. Of which he was the only survivor. The Squaw Island light on the northernmost island in the Beaver group was closed the morning of December 14. At 12:30 the keeper, William H. Shields, his wife, her niece, Mrs. Lucy Davis, of Richmond, Indiana, first assistant keeper, McCauley and second assistant keeper, Lucien Morden of Montague, along with Shield's shepherd dog, Fids, launched the 22 foot sailboat which was to take them on the first lap of their journey home for the winter months.

The day was cold and dense vapor hung over the water making visibility poor. A moderate wind was blowing from the northeast which gave the craft a beam wind and from the speed the party estimated they would be at St. James harbor in two hours. In less than ten minutes, however the boat was becalmed for a short time before another breeze blew up from the east forcing them to haul the sails in close to hold their course. Just as quickly the wind died down and the boat was again rocking in the swells.

In gazing about, McCauley recalls, he noticed a puff of wind coming from the north with great force and cautioned Shields who was at the helm and Morden who was where he could handle the fore sheet to be on the lookout. Instantly the squall hit the canvass and as the boat had no head-way it was laid over by the force of the wind. The boat was over balanced and slowly laid over until the sails were flat on the water. The women screamed and were helpless. When McCauley saw the boat tipping, he jumped on the side of it to avoid going in the water but when the others went in the icy water, he went to their aid. They pulled Mrs. Shields up on the upturned boat and tied her to the centerboard. Morden tied Mrs. Davis with the fore sheet and when McCauley saw that that would not hold he went down in the water and cut apart one of the sail halyards. After that the articles were thrown and shoved from the capsized boat to give it buoyancy.

Shortly after the accident they sighted a fish tug coming around the northeast point of Beaver Island but they were too far away to be seen by the fishermen although the squall had cleared the air. They had hopes however, that they would drift into the path of the tugs as the latter returned from the fishing grounds in the evening. About this time the dog, Fids, became exhausted and sank, the first victim. As darkness hovered over them they saw the lights of the returning tugs but they were too far away to make themselves heard by the men aboard the boats chugging along to their home ports.

Mrs. Davis, realizing that all was hopeless, wept bitterly and then seemed to sleep. She died about 6:30 p.m. Mrs. Shields kept asking for her niece and was told she was sleeping. She later became delirious and died about 8 p.m. McCauley, in relating the story said, 'It is beyond my ability to describe the horrible agonies suffered by the women before they died.' Morden then remarked that he would be the next victim. 'I tried to encourage him,' McCauley related, ' and told him that we were drifting toward High Island where the Indians would help us. But his hands were even numb and puffed by the cold. He was sitting erect, holding the jib sheet when suddenly he shuddered, losing his grip on the rope and slid into the water. I caught his arm and tried to help him but he pulled away. I heard splashing for a few seconds and then he sank.'

As dawn appeared and objects became visible McCauley and Shields found their boat still far from land. The Beaver Island fish tugs again appeared but they passed the northwest point of the island, and closest point was three miles from the overturned boat. As they continued to drift the two survivors knew they would miss Trout Island also. Their only hope was to drift into the steamer channel. Cold and hunger were already preying on them and a southeast wind which had started at sunrise had brought occasional snow squalls making conditions even worse.

The body of Mrs. Shields lay in the water under the gaze of her distracted husband. Shields moved about on the boat and retied himself and McCauley did the same, allowing a little slack so he could move about in an effort to keep from freezing. About the middle of the morning McCauley saw smoke to the east and after another snow squall a steamship was in sight. Shields could not even look up but McCauley managed to stand up and wave. He was sighted, the steamer swung towards them, lowered a small boat and they were carefully taken aboard. The ship was the Manhattan of the Gilchrist Steamship Company bound for Manitowoc with a cargo of coal. After the ice covered bodies of the two women were removed the ship continued to Manitowoc.

The next morning at Manitowoc the two men were taken to Holy Family Hospital. Shield's hands and feet were badly frozen but McCauley was in better condition. He was discharged from the hospital and arrived home at Beaver Island December 26th. Shields remained at the hospital for six months and one of his legs had to be removed at the knee. Following his dismissal from the hospital, Shields was appointed Keeper at the newly constructed lighthouse depot at Charlevoix where he served until his retirement in April 1924. He died in September 1925."

So why did I put this on? I'll tell you why. I've been down lately, depressed even. I know this may sound strange but there was a time when I thought about giving up on writing. Giving up on society and moving out to a log cabing never to talk to anyone again, becoming that old scary guy that lives at the end of the road. I had Strep throat for a good seven days, a week to recover, then I get almost a $900.00 bill to fix up my car. These are all things that came out of nowhere. They overwhelmed me to the point that my brain couldn't take it. I honestly thought I was going crazy and the thought of that...well it was driving me even more insane. I questioned everything that I have ever done. Yes, I know, I was over thinking but it's really hard to stop when you are in this slump.

I had come home one day from work and I ask my brother if he had the link to this article. I mean, it was the weirdest thing cause I hadn't thought about it at all and then it just came out. He opened it up for me and I read it. I mean I really ready it, hardcore feeling and all. My great grandfather went through hell and back. I know not everyone who reads this is from Michigan but the winters there can be brutel. Colder then Hoth...way colder and things kind of clicked in my brain. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted off of my shoulders. This man, my ancestor didn't fight for his life through the cold, Michgigan winter for me to be stressed out about being sick, or having to pay money to fix my car or not sure if I was a good writer or not. He fought to live so I could live. That I could enjoy the things around me. I know this is sounding very "cheesey" and all. Like a fucking made for t.v. movie on Lifetime but it's not. It's just the way it is and when the future starts getting dark and hard to see, I'll look for that light house, that guiding light to bring me back to shore.

I Think This One is a No Brainer.

Hello fellow readers. I'm currently writing to bigger articles and trying to organize a two month stay in Michigan...oh yeah, also trying to work on the website so it's been busy to keep up with everything. I know your taste buds are watering for new material so I'll give you this to ponder on. Even though I HATE hypathetical questions, I found this one to be interesting. Why? Well the main reason was of the response I got.

I was at work today, counting down the minutes until I'm free and I thought of this question, "Would you eat a piece of human brain for a million dollars." I of course thought that was a no brainer...pun intended and said yes. People at work said no they wouldn't. They gave me reasons that it wasn't enough money. That it wasn't the right thing to do. I was shocked. I mean it's just a piece of brain and in my hypathetical question, the brain is from a human body, of someone who had passed away in their sleep, no diseases and said it was ok for someone to eat a part of their brain. Why do I feel like I'm the only one that said they would do it?

Big Trouble, With Little Jerry.

I am not a huge fan of donating money. Why do you ask? Well the main reason is that I don’t know where it's going. Sure, they say it's going right to the victims or it's going to help buy toys for little children but is it really? I think for the most part people donate because they feel guilty. Maybe they donate because they still believe in the system. I'll donate a buck or two from time to time hoping that it will make a difference, that is, if I'm donating to what I want to be donating to.

I'm driving home from work. I had a very bad case of Strep throat and my Service Engine Soon light just came on in my car. It seems that when it rains it pours, but then again it happens to the best of us. I'm driving up to one of the major intersections...it's the last one right before my brother's apartment. As I pull up to it, I see these firefighters walking in between the lanes with a boot in their hands. They are asking for donations. In my mind, I assume that it is for the victims that were hit by Katrina.

Finally receiving my debit card and having some extra cash on me, I figure that my life has been crappy...why not help out someone whose life is worse off then mine. I pull up to the stop and throw in five bucks. The firefighter thanks me and hands me a sticker. I feel good inside. I feel like if I don't do anything else for the rest of the day, that at least I did some good. I'm hoping that the five bucks goes to help buy a blanket, or helps feed someone. I'm hoping all of this until I look down and see, "Thanks for donating to Jerry's Kids." Mother fucker! Not that those kids don't deserve money but I didn't want them to have my money. Yes, I know, I am coming across as an asshole but it's true. I have friends who love watching the telethon. I am not one of those people. I remember as a child getting upset cause I can stay up late watching TV. but nothing is on because of the stupid telethon. Oh well, what can ya do? It's not the money is going to help support terrorists organizations or even to the "shitty people" foundation. So you may have one this battle Jerry, but you have not won the war.

Written by Dave M.

I've been thinking. In a stream of consciousness sort of way. Assessing where and why I am, and most importantly, but as you will see, lease importantly; for how much longer? A couple of my friends are currently losing their grandparents. I'm sympathetic, but in a "I don't really feel your pain" way. I care, and I'm sad, but let me put it in perspective. I've lost three grandparents, and my remaining grandmother (my father's mother) waits patiently in a retirement community. Frail watching football and eternally hoping that one of her great grandchildren will run into her room falling over something and seeking comfort in her octogenarian arms. She has lived her life and she is looking for the big things. I was nine years old when my other grandmother died (my mother's mother). It was my first experience with close death that I remember. (I only remember images of the lives and deaths of two uncles, though their deaths have had a profound affect on my psyche.) When my maternal grandmother died she was 83 years old and I was devastated. I sobbed at the funeral as the congregation sang Amazing Grace, her favorite hymn. I hugged my cousin resting my face on her breast, I was inconsolable. My cousin is about 8 years older than me. She was a young woman at the time, but when I think about it she was at that time much older than I would be for another 15 years.

I didn't know pain until my dad died. Grandparent's deaths are hard, they love you, they don't judge you, they give you a crisp dollar bill when you visit, they rarely discipline you and they die. It's hard and you get over it as time goes on. I watched my father gurgle his own phlegm and struggle to breath. I begged my father to let go and I wished him dead. His pain so thorough that simply lifting his diseased arm would bolt him straight out of bed, wresting him from a morphine and cancer induced slumber somewhere between life and death. It was the only action that would bring a semblance of his former self to the surface of his face, but it was nothing you would do more than once. He died and I was relieved and I cried. I've never so fully grieved in all my life. I've never been so happy and angry and broken all at once. To think of it five years later, it still brings tears to my eyes. I miss my grandparents that have passed, but it is rarely a day that goes by when I don't wonder how my dad would resolve a situation in which I have found myself. It's rarely a day goes by that I don't wonder what he would think of my children, or what he would say when I do something stupid like hit a deer with my wife's Cadillac. He was always sarcastically comical when you needed it the most. I still needed him when he left, and I was not ready to let go. My grandmother simply stated that she would give anything to take his place so he could rise and be healthy.

I once pondered why my cousin was not nearly as upset as me when we buried my other grandmother. It dawned on me that three years before my grandma died, my cousin's dad died of Lou Gehrig's disease. She was sad to see our grandmother pass, but she knew the pain found in the absence of her father. She knew the pain my grandparents felt in the loss of their son. She was child when her dad died, orphaned at an age much earlier than I would ever be. My friend's grandfather was recently diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease. Strange for a man in his seventies. Most people die like Lou Gehrig did, in their forties or fifties. I lost two uncles to the disease, both died before their parents. I may be predisposed to developing a hereditary form of the affliction. Sometimes it bothers me. Sometimes when someone I know gets the diagnosis it really bothers me. When I allow my mind to take me to destructive self pity I can look 20 years down the road and imagine losing feeling in my thumbs and slowly succumbing as my muscles no longer respond to my commands. My grandparents all reached their eighties; I've always felt it was my duty and right to outlast them. A centurion is a proud and noble figure, but there is a simple 25% possibility that I have a gene mutation that will permit me to reach only half that age.

My point is not for you to care about me, or feel sorry for me, I surely wouldn’t and don’t. My point is that I watch my babies crawl around on the floor or run through the house screaming "dadda! dadda!" It warms my heart, and I know that they will never be ready for me to pass. But it is not my job to live forever for their comfort; it is my job to prepare them for life beyond my home. I am not the one who will leave them; it is they who will leave me. Off to school, love, and life. They will travel the world, smoke joints, drive a hundred miles per hour down a back country road. When my father died, I reacted to my grandmother's statement and realized she could never express her pain, she could never cry enough to ease her loss and sorrow. I wondered what I would give for my father's health, for his return. Of all the things that I contemplated, my own life was never bargained like she did with hers.

Every night at 9:30 I pick up my daughter and ask her if she is ready for "night, night" and she nods her head with an affirmative. I change her diaper and put on her pajamas, brush her teeth, and we give kisses to her mother and brother. We select a book to read and when it is finished I turn out the light, place her on my chest and rock her to sleep. She snuggles her little head into the space between my jaw and neck, and presses her body as closely as she can to mine. As she lays there sleeping on my chest I cannot help but realize that I don't care if I don't make it home from work tomorrow because I've already experienced more wealth and happiness in that simple nightly ritual than any one man deserves throughout his lifetime. I would die a thousand times to know that she and her brother would live long and happy lives. I would give my father's life a thousand times for their health. I long to dance at her wedding and throw her babies into the air. But I am pleased with what God has provided me to this point, and it has taught me that when your grandparents begin the long decent to death that they are happier to celebrate your life than to lament the loss of their own. Lou Gehrig was a man of talent and grace, I intend to borrow and live with some of that grace throughout my life, no matter how long it should last. With any luck at all my children and grandchildren will be devastated when I die, but not so devastated as at the simple thought of losing a child of their own.

Something else my grandmother said as we both sat in a guest bedroom and watched my father slowly die has remained with me. Blankly watching my father’s wasting body she mutter, “I’m glad your grandfather is not here to see this, he never would have lived through it.”

Wanted Dead or Alive.

There is nothing like getting a phone call from a friend which simply says, "I'm just calling to see if you're dead yet." How does one react to this? I guess some would find that it is a bad thing. I know for a fact that most women would be crying right now because they don't understand why their friend could say such a mean thing.

We aren't talking about women, we are talking about me. I am not dead but would be such a bad thing to be dead. Of course it would be but here's the nerd thinking that goes on in my head. The first thing I thought of when Dave said that to me was, "I wish I was a Jedi Knight ghost." That would be pretty fucking cool, wouldn't you think? You could walk around and push people over. You wouldn't have to wait in any lines. The best thing is that you could go to a Sorority House and just hang out.

Oh yeah, I know Jedi Knights aren't supposed to be "involved" but could they have sex? Like one night stands with hookers? I sure hope they could or then there would have been many problems with the Younglings. I mean, that's what has been happening with the Catholic Priests.

I'm losing my train of thought. What's my point again? There isn't one. That's just a random thought I had. Dave, I would have called you back but it still hurts to talk and it's still painful to just chat with you period.

I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane.

As you can tell, the Strep is slowing eating away at me inside. It's causing an anger that I didn't know was there before. In any case, I emailed The Doc and asked him if he could write me something, anything it didn't matter cause I was sick of posting about Strep Throat and in all honesty that's the only focus on my mind right now. This is a personal battle that I will eventually have it out with it and it won't be pretty.

A little prologue…

This weekend, the planets were supposed to come into alignment and I was supposed to head out to Sin City to romp with a young Dan McCockle, the proprietor of this blog. Alas, this was not meant to be. I wasted too much money prior to the purchase of a ticket, and Dan was infected with a temperamental stepchild of the ebola virus. Knowing that I wasn’t going to make my trip to Vegas, I decided to still keep the days I had requested off work, even if only to stay at home and catch up on some reading.

…

Last Monday, I received a call from an old friend from the military days. I hadn’t seen Sam Doster in about 2 years, but we’d spent a good chunk of our military service together. We’ve been known to drink a bit too much and cause a general sense of uneasiness in all those nearby.

Long story, short:

Doster: Get the Hell out here, Nate.

Doc: No can do. The shrapnel in my pocket won’t pay for the ticket.

Doster: Not a problem. I’ve got a voucher for an airline that has to be used by this weekend. You’re on a flight out of Kalamazoo Thursday morning and you’ll be here until Sunday. See you Thursday.

Doc: Apparently you will.

I scramble for the next few days to get work in order for my vacation and, as told, I hop on a Thursday morning flight, albeit feeling a little uneasy. I don’t know why I’m feeling nervous, but assume it’s simply because I’m flying. Of course, no flight has ever bothered me before, but perhaps a body changes after it hits 29. Regardless, I dismiss my apprehension with a Jack Daniels, the only whiskey that any airline seems to keep in stock. It’ll do the job though. I take my first drink of the day at 10:32 a.m., somewhere over Ohio, my least favorite state in the country. This trip was doomed from the start.

Most reunions are full of handshakes and smiles, and Doster’s and mine is no different. We make our way to Sam’s apartment and continue drinking. Apparently, Doster is living with a girl (Kim) that he’s madly in love with. She shows up. Introductions are made. I begin to feel uneasy again.

I learn a few things about Sam and Kim’s relationship during my first few hours there:

- Kim is going through a divorce.

- Sam is in love with Kim.

- Kim does not really want to rush into another relationship (naturally), but Sam is being kind enough to allow Kim to live with him.

- Sam is very much in love with Kim.

- Kim really has nowhere else to go.

- Sam is unhealthily in love with Kim.

- Sam is in love with Kim, and we will all be drinking a good chunk of alcohol this weekend.

Readers, I won’t waste your time with details. Lots of booze, some laughs, some stupidity. Much of it’s actually a haze. You get the idea. But I flew into Washington D.C. on Thursday morning with a return flight scheduled for Sunday, and by 3:00 a.m. Saturday I will be calling Northwest Airlines demanding a flight home immediately.

Friday night is a strange one. We’ve been drinking for a while, but Doster doesn’t seem to be having much fun. Anytime a guy stands near Kim, Sam whispers to me, “Watch this, Doc. I’ll bet you that guy talks to her.”

Now this kind of behavior is always troublesome to me, but it’s especially so when I’m on vacation and it involves the person that I am staying with. Perhaps it’s cowardice, but I always like to maintain an escape route out of any situation. Anyway, my partners in crime and I continue drinking and I start to get that knot in my stomach; the one that usually means the fun’s about to end.

We leave for Sam’s apartment around midnight because Kim’s a little drunk and she has to work in the morning. Sam’s angry and it shows by his driving: hugging corners and speeding most of the way.

We get back to the apartment and Sam continues drinking. I start watching T.V. and I can tell that Sam is itching for an argument with Kim. I imagine that she can tell as well, as she announces that she’s going to sleep on the pullout couch in the living room, rather than in bed with Sam. This only makes Sam angrier and voices are raised. The argument starts and I stay quiet. Sam tells Kim to get the fuck out. She begins to. Sam apparently changes his mind. As Kim tries to walk past, he grabs her arm, and she’s on the floor.

Now here’s the thing: I wouldn’t say that I’m a great guy. I imagine that there are a lot of people that consider me an asshole (and I promise that not all of these people are male). I’ve done my share of playing the insensitive boyfriend in many of my previous relationships. But I refuse to put up with any sort of violence toward women. It’s not chivalry. It’s not heroic. It’s simply a piece of some men’s character that disgusts me more than anything else on earth.

Doster is my friend. It is because of this that I’ll say nothing about the specifics of my intervention, but he grabbed her wrist only once.

Things get out of hand for a while, but eventually Doster calms down, drinks some more, and passes out. I call Northwest Airlines. After explaining my situation to an extremely understanding ticket agent, I have a flight that leaves D.C. in 2 hours. Kim drives me to the airport. She plans on moving back to her parent’s home for a while.

I get on my flight at 6:25 a.m., feeling more uneasy than I did when I came here. Around 7:00, I convince the stewardess to give me a Jack Daniels, though she gives me a wary look. I’m sure that I’m somewhere over Ohio when I have my drink. Makes sense.

Moral of this story: There’s a reason why “free” trips are free. Stay home and drink by yourself, or with friends that you know are absent of a predisposition of violence toward women.

See You in a Bit

I'm giving everyone the heads up that there will not be any new posts for awhile. I'm sick and I may have tonsillitis. I'm going to give myself one more day before I go to the doctor just to make sure but it's not looking so good. To all the people that are chasing their dreams...this is when dreams aren't cheap. Insurance...what's that? Well maybe I'll just move to Canada. No stupid posts on you hoping I feel better...you are my friends...I know this...so please don't make those comments. I'll be back soon.

UPDATED on August 30, 2005. For some strange reason, people wanted to see a picture of me and how I look. I guess cause I told them how shitty and scary I looked. I have been known to take "funny" pictures and I wish this was the case. This is an honest to god's natural posed picture. You gotta love sickness. Oh yeah...FUCK YOU STREP THROAT.

I'm 5'10'', Blue Eyes and I'm Fucking Crazy.

These are the kind of people I tend to run into. I'm not saying sometimes, I'm saying the odds of this happening are high, it's a very common thing. This was on the last night in Kalamazoo. By then, I was on my third bar hanging out with some friends. The buzz was a success. I was taking some sweet ass pics of friends but mainly of myself (egotistical here) when someone tapped me on my shoulder. In my drunken brain I was hoping it was some hot ass girl, cute even, who had heard about me from someone in some time and had to meet me. Instead I got this guy.

Now I don't remember his name but we'll call him Gary. He looks like a Gary doesn't he? Gary asked if I could take a picture of him to put on the net. He didn't ask where, he just wanted it on the net. He gave me his street address and said that he didn't care what kind of girl it was. Fat, skinny, ugly...as long as she came over. I took the picture without even looking at him. You can see to the left my hair. I didn't even see the final picture until later on that night when I was drinking on some railroad tracks (that's a whole different story)and realized that I'm a natural at taking pictures...of evil. He was happy and left me alone...or so I thought.

Gary tapped me on my shoulder again and asked if I was going to do it. I said yes. He then told me that if anyone showed up, he would give me fifty bucks. Now remember, he doesn't know my name, he doesn't know who I am but that's the face I have. I have the face of a trust worthy man, in fact I should run for President someday. Hmmm...I have suddenly become a pimp. I don't feel like a pimp on those rap videos. I don't feel pimp juice running through my veins.

I later found out that this guy is crazy. "No shit Dan, I mean look at him." No, I mean he really is crazy. After days of contemplating, I figured I better put this on my blog so he doesn't track me down and ask me why I didn't put it on the net. So if any of you ladies out there want to have a good time...go to the gutter slums of Kalamazoo and call out Gary. I'm sure he will come out from behind a dumpster, after finishing up on a freshly killed rat and show you a fantastic time. Take you dancing, to a Satan worshipping benefit, you get the drift. Oh yeah, when you do eventually do this, I mean you kind of have to cause he's so damn charming, tell him Dan sent ya...he'll know exactly who that is.

Will You Marry Me?

No.

Access Equals Asses Hollywood

WARNING: Pandora's Box has been opened and what you are about to experience may shock some of you. It may abort some of your unborn babies and worst of all...you may just enjoy it.

I'm not the biggest fan of news. Ok, let me rephrase that. I love the news, but I'm not a fan of how biased it is. They say freedom of speech but in the long run, it's all run by big time money makers who want to turn a profit. Let’s spend twenty eight minutes on war and killing and fuck you and the other two minutes will show you a clown and some rainbows.

Peter Jennings passed away today of lung cancer. Yes he smoked and he could have prevented it but he didn't and he's gone on to a better place. Now, I'm not who sits down and watches the news but I knew who he was. I've grown up on knowing who he was and what he did for a living. Even though he was Canadian, he was American, like apple pie. I was watching TV. today...I tend to do that and I was watching Access Hollywood. In a way, it was nice to see that they were paying homage to him. Even a junk show like that is showing respect to someone like Peter Jennings but here's the catch. The segment lasted a minute...with more to come later. So what was more important? "Britney Spear's Baby Shower."

It seems like Britney's baby shower was the other day and what happened? One of those pieces of shit who likes to stalk people because they say it's an "honest living" was shot in the leg by a pellet gun. They showed his injury a thousand times and it was a little bloody. This fucking pussy had to have an ambulance and fire department called because he was shot in the leg by a fucking bb gun. Then he went on to say that he's going to sue who did this. Of course, Britney's security was blamed but the Malibu Police Department is going to run a full investigation on the subject. Oh thank you. Thank you Jesus for sacrificing yourself for all of our sins so I can put up with this shit. These are the same mother fuckers who sell pictures to US Weekly with quotes like, "They shop like us. They eat like us. They bleed like us. They murder like us and get away with it." I really don't give a fuck if these "photographers" claim that it's a legit job. It’s not and I'll tell you why. All of their exclusive pictures look like shit. They are always blurry and you can barely make out what's going on and they get paid a ton of money. A fucking bb gun. People are dying in a war that is done, or so they said, and this guy is crying about a cut.

I'm getting off the subject. I tend to do that. So in a state of shock, I finished watching Access Hollywood to see remainder of the Peter Jennings story and where did they put it? Oh, it was at the end credits. HA. At that time I picked up the TV. and smashed it over my head. Luckily my brother as a decent warranty on it.

I blame myself for thinking that this big as corn filled turd was going to show some respect to an anchorman who we've all had in your living room from one night to another. I'm tipping my forty for you homie. You will be missed.

See You in Hell

A place I've never been
I'm dying to meet you here

Come break this skin
I'll let you sink right in
And show you everything
See you in hell
See you in hell

We'll gather around the fire
And I will lead the choir
Sing Farewell
See you in hell

Come break, my spell
Well down the wishing well
We'll find some time to time to kill

I'll be, right there
The buzz inside your head
The whole electric chair
See you in hell

We'll gather round the fire
And I don't need the choir
Sing farewell
See you in hell

One of the many reasons why I love the Foo Fighters. I swear to god that I've worked with women for so long that I've some how acquired a male version of P.M.S. I don't know how. You hear that when a group of women work together long enough that they all get their periods at the same time but what about the guys? Something must rub off on them...right? Besides the fact that allergies can suck out in a desert, I can't really explain it. I am so upset right now that I find it weird. The only thing that I'm not craving is some Ben and Jerry's ice cream and to watch Beaches while wearing my pink, bunny rabbit pajamas.

I'm to the point right now that everyone is on a very thin line. Well not everyone, because if that was the case I would have already burned a shit load of bridges tonight. I will say that I almost deleted someone's phone number because I like to over analyze things. Wow, I'm also noticing that this post isn't really about anything and it's just about me and what I'm feeling. Fuck, the next thing I'm gonna say is, "Today I woke up. I made some eggs. After that I went for a walk. It was a nice walk. After the walk I rammed my head into the wall so many times that I bleed and it made me smile because it made me realize that I'm alive." Ok, well most posts aren't like that, but they should be. Please, please. I know some of you guys are gonna ask me, "What’s wrong?" Please don't because there is no point. It's like asking me in the morning, "Are you in a bad mood?" Heck yes I am. Who actually likes getting up this early to go into a crappy retail job?

My point? There is no point. I thought I'd venture into a realm that I rarely go to. I figured I wouldn't bottle up this anger inside of me...just for one night and one night only. And until that day comes...I'll see you in hell.

Desperado Under the Eave. Written by the Doc

Another year.

Hiding out in an abandoned apartment is the only way to spend a birthday these days. With the newly-coined Global Struggle Against Extremism, it’s really the only safe place to celebrate the day you were crowned from mama’s birthing canal. It’s with this in mind – my deep respect for national security – that I hid this year’s annual unruliness from most interested (and some uninterested) parties.

Naturally, spending a birthday alone can be trying, at least for the first few moments. Most of us have grown accustomed to surrounding ourselves with pals, and then beating our livers to death. But there is a point to a celebration in solitude…

Some of us sputter through our years; take the safe bets, cover our bases, dot our i’s, cross our t’s. These folks walk the Right path. They will live long lives. They’ll spawn well-behaved children. They will eventually bask in the glory of a successful 401K. I have the utmost respect for these people.

But I am not one of them.

I’ve spit, shit, sucked, and fucked a good deal of the last decade away and – while it’s been a wild ride – a stiff night of self-contemplation (and strong liquor) was in order. Johnny Walker Blue sells for $212 a fifth, and since it’s my holiday, it was necessary to splurge. I recommend it highly to all of you. So, J.W. Blue in hand, I began to reminisce.

July 28th, 1976. At 3:42 a.m., an earthquake measuring between 7.8 and 8.2 magnitude on the Richter scale flattens Tangshan, a Chinese industrial city with a population of roughly 1 million people. As almost everyone was asleep in their beds, instead of outside in the relative safety of the streets, the quake was especially costly in terms of human life. An estimated 242,000 people in Tangshan and the surrounding areas were killed.

Less than an hour later, I was born. It was imperative that I came in with a bang.

What’s my point? Nothing. This was the kind of swill that I found myself daydreaming about with a head full of Johnny Walker though. Nasty thoughts…

Another one: With respect to its definition, why does the word abbreviation have so many letters?

I’m wandering here. Concentrate, Doc.

A birthday by one’s lonesome is not a necessity for everyone. The 401K posse that I mentioned earlier has no use for the solitude. But those of us with a little dirt behind our ears have to take stock in our years every once in a while. We have to attempt to right many of our previous wrongs, in our own minds if nowhere else.

So for one night, I rambled over all the toes I’ve stepped on, all the hearts I’ve bruised, all the knuckles I’ve broken, all the tears I’ve wept, and all the money I’ve spent. Most importantly, I reflected on all the people I’ve hurt over the years; some on accident, most on purpose… And for one moment, albeit a long one, I was sorry.

Of course, that was just the whiskey talking.

Cheers to my friends, my friends’ friends, and the rest of the drinkers that I respect. Screw the rest of you. Happy birthday to me.

Just a Taste Test.

Ok, so I'll get to writing in a bit. It's just been a crazy two weeks. I never thought one could drink so much but I totally threw that theory out the window. It was a much needed success. I have tons of good stories...TONS...but debating on when and where to tell them. In due time...be patient.

We Will Sleep When We're Dead!!!

It was a night of darts. It was a night of drinking. It was a night of "All Nickleback, all the time!" A night of friends. A night of enemies. All in all, it was a night of good times and good oldies.

We Could Be Hero's For Just One Day.

So grab my hand and take a walk with me into the past. I was working as a Production Assistant on location in Kalamazoo, Michigan. The hours were long, really long and the pay...well there was no pay but it's the price you “pay” to get into the biz. Got to start somewhere. There were many memorable stories from the shoot, but this one is my favorite.

We're going back one year, to the Summer of 2004. It was a humid, dark day. I know I was really worn out, mentally and physically. It was the same shit, different day, different night.

You see I never really understood the power the actor or actress has on the set until I witnessed it. Josie Davis was one of the stars of the movie. If you don't know who she is, imdb it mother fucker, we are straying from the story. She was going to read for a small role as Hot Nurse for a 20th Century Fox movie. She told me it was for a snowboarding movie. She needed a guy who was somewhat cute so she could get into the role. For some strange reason, she wanted to read with me. I don't know if it was my wit, my charm, my theater minor from college or the fact that she knew my name and when she needed to ask for me, she didn't have to say, "You know, that guy with the beard." All I know is that she was able to get me to not have to do my job, have a lighting guy do up an empty room, all while they were shooting on the floor below us. I know it doesn't sound like much but trust me, it was a big deal.

I found it exciting in a way. That some casting director was going to hear my voice. I know that doesn't seem like a big deal to some of you, but it meant the world to me at that time. Plus I didn't have to set up for Lunch and that sucks after awhile when you do it every day for two weeks in a row.

That day had been busy. They had me running around, doing the typical crazy shit you do as a P.A. but all I knew was that I wasn't going to miss out on this. Not this time. In fact, I almost did miss out on it. Josie was walking towards me with another guy from locations. She said, "I was looking for you but couldn't find you so I asked...him to do it instead." Are you kidding me? No way was I gonna be pushed aside. No fucking way. "I am free now. It's all good." Did I just say that? Who am I? But it worked. She went with me. I'm a big star now.

INT. A Small Bedroom. A small bedroom on the second floor of an old, Midwestern house. The floor is covered in plastic and is poorly lit. LOUIE, a smaller fellow, is setting up lights in the corner. MIKE MAHAR, who was shooting a documentary for the film, is setting up his tri-pod in the middle of the room to record the audition. JOSIE is rehearsing her lines, putting on the last stages of her make up. DAN, the handsome stud, is reading over his lines. Nervous and anxious, he pretends that he's done this before. LOUIE finishes up the lights and leaves the room. As he opens the door, three men from Locations have formed a human wall in the doorway.

LOCATIONS GUY 1
Hey Dan, what's going on in there?

DAN
Oh we're just shooting this thing for Josie.

JOSIE
We're shooting a porn.

DAN
No, it's not a porn.

DAN smiles and closes the door in front of him, knowing that they'll never know what went on in that room. The sex, the hardcore sex.

Ok, well there wasn't hardcore sex or even sex but I thought I'd put that last part in to boost the ratings...sex sells...remember?

When I looked over the lines, all I could think was, "This is really bad.” Josie is standing in front of the camera and Mike and myself are standing behind it. I read the lines to her but they come off as being this dirt ass snowboarding dude.

(Paraphrasing of course)

"Have you looked outside? Those are some of the sickest alps this side of the world."

So that's how I read it the first time. Josie told me to read it serious but the thing is, I was reading it the way it should have been read. Being the professional, I did what she asked me to do. I stood up a little bit straighter, deepened my voice a little bit more and said the lines.

We went on to do this a couple of more times. At least three different angles, each time I'm thinking to myself, "This will make a good story to tell." And to some extent it was a good story to tell...until now. Now, with an ending to the story...this story will be complete.

We jump back to the now. It is July 8th. It's a year after the movie is done shooting. I have forgotten the story I just told you above. I have a forgotten a lot of stories from a year ago. It's a hot summer’s night in Vegas. I'm a tad hung-over and don't feel like doing much. My friend John and I go to the movies. I haven't been to a Friday night movie in years. It's interesting to see how many people go to the movies on Friday. We waited in line and got our tickets. The theater was jam packed. I couldn't believe it. John and I could either sit together in the front row or go loner and sit in better seats. We chose to go loner.

The movie started and it turned out that I was enjoying it. The crowd was being good. The movie was loud and it was entertaining. Then it happened. It was as if someone caught me with a surprise jab. I was stunned to hear...

(Paraphrasing of course)

"Have you looked outside? Those are some of the sickest alps this side of the world."

Mother fucking Johnny Storm said that. THE HUMAN TORCH!!! Hot Nurse wasn't for some snowboarding movie, it was for the Fantastic Four. I laughed out loud. I mean, if you don't know me, I rarely do that and I was laughing my ass off. The minute I realized that these were the lines I read, it all came back to me. I even remembered the lines and was mouthing along with it.

I may never get my star on Hollywood Boulevard. I may never get to sleep with Jessica Alba. There are a lot of things I may never get to do but the one thing that you can never take away from me is, for one hour of my life, I was a Super Hero and in my opinion...that’s pretty fucking cool.