I Don't Care. Chewing On a Cookie.

It took me long enough to figure this simple equation out but now I can leave your drunk voice mail messages to me on here. Thank you technology. Also, if you want to hear some samples of the newest sensation across the nation please go to...

The Moice Vail Album

Saving Grace

Three Cheers for Success

What's the best thing to do at a bar? Drink? Check out hot ladies? Did I say drink? Ok...I have to rephrase that question because the first three are all really important when going to the bar. I wanted to say that finding a good bar is hard to do in today's society. So what are the ingredients to finding one of these bars?

1. Jack Daniels. It has to have Jack Daniels in the bottle (If you don't drink, some bars/casinos think it's wise to put the J.D. in a dispenser, like a fountain dispenser and I hate that. It defeats the purpose of tipping the bartender well because there is no exchange for it because they click a button and a certain amount comes out.) To some of you non-drinkers you may think that this isn't a big deal, but it is. It really doesn't taste the same. Some people may like it because I’ve found people to like soda from a fountain over soda from a can. Those people are crazy.
2. Jukebox. It must have a great Jukebox. Most bars play music but it's got to be the right kind. Some have c.d.'s that are c.d's that not even I would own but yet they keep it in there, with the rare chance that a multi-millionaire will come in and want to listen to Aaron Carter's "Oh Aaron." I'm finding out these days that many are switching to the kind where you can download but even these are a bit shady because not all of them will allow you to download certain songs. If a bar has one of these downloadable machines which allows you to download "Trees Lounge," go and never leave. It's a gem and it probably means you will find the man/woman of your dreams.
3. Dart Board. The third and final step in finding a great bar is if it has a dart board. Doc got me into darts a long time ago. I wasn't really a big fan but after playing with him I realized how much fun it can be. You drink more, you get loud and for some reason you feel like you own the place because you are throwing plastic tips (I like the electronic boards because I don't like keeping score) at a board. For all of you non-dart playing mo-fo's...I suggest you start. It's addicting and once you play it, you will not care about pool or Game-A-Tron 2000. It's the bar game of champions.

These are the three things that make up a successful trip to a bar. Three things that will guarantee you a great bonding experience with your friends. I must also add that two of the three are non-drinking related so you can bring your Mormon and Straight Edge friends too…everyone wins. If you think that a bar is great because you get laid all the time...get the fuck out of this Corner Bar. You don't belong here because that's not what it's all about. It's all about the community, the stories, the friendships.

Detox Mansion. By The Doc

I am a man of addictions. I imagine that it started in college. Booze was an early and faithful standby. From there, I began a short love affair with pot, followed by ecstasy, and then ‘shrooms. Cocaine lasted a while, but then I graduated from college and life became less conducive with the habit. So liquor took the reins, peppered with the occasional visit with Vicodin.

But now I find myself relatively clean-cut: a decent-paying job; a respectable apartment; a few employees that slightly depend on me. And in the midst of my (relative) sobriety, I finally realize what it was that I was truly addicted to. My friends’ company.

I played hopscotch across the country over my years. The military afforded this luxury, but it also supported the lie (that I told myself) that I was a loner. When you’re constantly on the move, there’s a lot less time for introspection. Hell, in my early twenties, there wouldn’t have been much depth to a bout of introspection anyway.

But as I slowly set down a few roots in college, Vegas, and finally Kalamazoo, I became spoiled by some truly amazing people. So this little rant is for you guys. (Yes, I’m boozy. And yes, I’m listening to Warren Zevon.) Scott, Dan, Bram, and John: you gentlemen are giants among midgets. I miss the hell out of all of you, and I’m half the man I was when you’re not around to play wingmen. Cheers, fellas.

Operation 66

I was watching Revenge of the Sith tonight with my brother and his girlfriend when I realized how defensive Star Wars fans really are. For some reason she didn't catch on until the end that Chewbacca was in the movie and when she did she commented, "Well he aged good." She was of course referring to the original trilogy and how he hasn't changed much. In my mind I thought that was a dumb question, he's a Wookie for Christ sake. Wookies can live up to 350 years, so what is a 20 year time difference in the movie going to make?

My brother paused the movie to let it sink in. To let he realize that it is a Wookie and not a human but she didn't catch on. That's how I knew she wasn't a true Star Wars fan...when she questioned it, rather than just accepting it. That's when I realized how personal I take Star Wars. It's really odd because I'm not a die hard fan. I do enjoy it, but I can't quote the movies, I can't tell you what planet is which and I am not very good at identifying what race each creature is. I can tell you that if you try to deny that Star Wars isn't a part of our culture or if you refer to it as stupid, I will get defensive as hell.

I know it's just a Sci-Fi movie...I do realize this. I'm not saying that you HAVE to watch it, worship it and spread it's word on to others. I just want you to respect it and what it has done for pop-culture. I want you to stop asking me if I like Star Wars because I have a Storm Trooper on the rear view mirror of my car. I want you to stop thinking that Star Wars fans are complete fucking goons (I will have to say that there are a lot of people out there that keep that statistic high. GOONS!!!).

It is a two way street. Star Wars fans...get over the fact that the new movies didn't live up to your childhood experience. Remember that you are an adult now and that there are a million kids who LOVED them, like you did the original trilogy. Get over the fact that he's not going to release "your version" of the movie EVER on DVD and that it's his movie and there's nothing you can do or say to change that.

We have a long distance to go before both sides of the Star Wars battle field call it a truce. So until that time gets here, let us go about our way today, enjoy the sunshine, our friends, family and neighbors and may the force be with you. Yes, you person who is too fat to dress up like Darth Vader…you are ok too.

Has Anybody Seen My DVD's?

One day before going into work for Kalamazoo? one of the producer's had called me and asked if I could rent this from Video Hits Plus. Apparently the director of the movie hadn't seen this yet and wanted to watch it. I told her that I had owned it and he could borrow it.

The first reason is a two part answer; Why pay to rent this when I own it and why rent this on my account when there is a chance of late fees? The second reason is that I figured it would be a good lead way into getting to know the director on a more personal level. "Oh, hey thanks for letting me borrow those DVD’s, let’s talk about movies." It's been a year and a half since I let him borrow it and it still is not in my possession.

The life lesson I learned is "Don't lend things to people." I should have known better. I've lent out DVD’s to two people in the past and they both got fired from their job. I was to never see them again or my DVD's. I've also let someone borrow the new Weezer c.d. and that same day she was fired for stealing money from the company. What the fuck is wrong with me? I've emailed him, I've had dinner with him and I've even worked with him for two months and still nothing. So I'm writing this...

David O'Malley, I want my DVD's back!

I don't care if you send them on a boat, a goat, on career pigeons or use a catapult. If I don't get them back soon, I fear that the McCauley Curse will be heading your way and you will be fired from all jobs. We can't have that, now can we (Evil laugh)?

I Love L.A.

In all honesty, who really cares about what Julia Roberts did to get where she is now? That's old fucking news. Here At The Corner Bar, we want fresh faces. We want people who we think are gonna make a difference. Who are gonna make something of their lives. We want it before anyone else gets it.

I interviewed an actress who currently lives in L.A. named Shauna (We won't give her last name to protect her from the scum that show up right before last call). I've known her for over a year now and I've always wondered what it was like to try and be an actor. From my theater experience in college, I've found that there were too many cocky people that claim they are the shit and ending up being mangers at Steak N' Shake. With her, she brought a big plate of honesty to the table. It was something that I know will seperate her from all of the stacked actors in L.A.


ME: What brought you to L.A.?
SHAUNA: I've always wanted to be an actress....on film more than anything else and L.A.'s the place to go, but what made me crack and just do it was the fact that if I didn't chase this crazy dream, I knew I'd regret it for the rest of my life…and being incredibly naive and stubborn didn't hurt.
ME: How has that turned out for you so far?
SHAUNA: A LOT harder than I first anticipated, more because of what I've kept myself from doing as opposed to L.A., yet I blamed my problems on LA
ME: You were blaming L.A. for not finding work?
SHAUNA: No, just for my misery. It was my fault I didn’t find work, I've always known that.
ME: Was there a time when you realized that it was you and not the town that was holding you back?
SHAUNA: When I went home for a month in the summer.
ME: Was it because you separated yourself from the town and realized that you were still upset?
SHAUNA: Yes.
ME: Would you say that the market out there is really competitive?
SHAUNA: Yes, but I've always known that....I just never thought I would be such a pussy about it.
ME: Are you still a pussy?
SHAUNA: Yup.
ME: Is it still holding you back from pursuing your dream?
SHAUNA: Yup.
ME: Well if it's holding you back...why even try?
SHAUNA: Because I have to get over it. I'm confident that I can get over my fears
and I'm trying to better myself.
ME: Have you fallen into the pressure's of the biz; How you look, act, etc?
SHAUNA: No, unfortunately the opposite.
ME: Why would you see that as a bad thing?
SHAUNA: It's not necessarily a bad thing, it’s just that....the harder I try to maybe go towards it, I'm going the opposite.
ME: Do you feel that there is a certain way that you have to look or act to get into the industry?
SHAUNA: Yes.
ME: Would you rather make it in the biz by changing who you are or would you be yourself and not succeed?
SHAUNA: Be myself but sometimes I don’t know who that is anymore.
ME: But what better place to find it in a city where half of the population is looking for the same thing.
SHAUNA: I guess, but if most of the population has no self identity then isn’t that a bad influence for someone with the same problem?
ME: Hey now...I'm the one asking the questions here.
SHAUNA: (laughs)
ME: If you knew what you know now...would you do it all over again?
SHAUNA: I'm afraid that question is not very useful considering the whole point of life is not knowing.
ME: Well if that is your view on it, I'd have to say that you are living your life to the fullest, considering you don't know.
SHAUNA: Yeah, I guess but there’s so much I want and sometimes I don’t feel as though I’m smart enough to get it.
ME: Do you think being smart has some advantages at making it into show business?
SHAUNA: Being smart is everything in show business, contrary to popular belief.
ME: I'd have to say I've worked with some real dumb asses that are in the biz.. I wish someone would tell them that.
SHAUNA: (laughs)
ME: Would you consider what they do in porno's, not the sex part, acting?
SHAUNA: Noooooo!
ME: What do you consider acting?
SHAUNA: The suspension of disbelief.
ME: So when I think that I can have any woman I want...I'm acting?
SHAUNA: (laughs) No it’s not yourself suspending the disbelief, it’s making others suspend it, but porn isn’t acting. You can’t define acting.
ME: So I tricked you?
SHAUNA: (laughs) No.
ME: I think I know what you are saying...it's hard to define acting because there are so many different levels to it that it's hard to pinpoint one thing.
SHAUNA: Right, Joaquin Phoenix is an actor.
ME: Would consider someone like Bob Saget, who can only play one kind of character an actor?
SHAUNA: (laughs) Well he's a comedian. He is talented and he's probably had a moment of acting in his time, but he's not a chameleon which actors, respectable ones at least, need to be.
ME: So no one respects bob Saget?
SHAUNA: No, I respect him but I don’t think many respect him as an ACTOR…comedian, sure.
ME: Ok...I see where you are getting at. Do you think you need an Oscar to be considered a great actor?
SHAUNA: Nooo! Does Johnny Depp have an Oscar? Or Joaquin? Even though he’s getting one.
ME: Would you consider an animal to be a great actor, if they have many layers...like let’s say Lassie?
SHAUNA: (laughs)
ME: Would you say that you are capable of being a chameleon?
SHAUNA: Yes.
ME: So wouldn't you say that since you consider yourself an actor, isn't that something that defines who you are?
SHAUNA: Yes, well being hyper sensitive with my emotions is something that defines who I am. Being an actor is what I do.
ME: Would you say that your emotions are what makes you a good actor?
SHAUNA: Being able to channel them makes you a good actor, well it helps. I can’t tell you what makes someone a good actor.
ME: I know…too hard to define
SHAUNA: Yes, like with writing.
ME: Well good thing we can't define what makes someone a good writer or I'd be in trouble.
SHAUNA: (laughs) But can I tell you one of the things I love about acting growing up? Being an actor was always my dream, how ever, I would think about other jobs that I found interesting; Paleontology, Doctor, Lawyer...but when I really thought about it....all of those other professions are things that I just really wanted to try out, not be committed to day to day...so with acting I can do all of those things. I can still study and learn about the profession and understand it well enough to look like i know what I’m doing, but when the part is over, I can go on to the next one. That’s what I love about acting.



I always find it interesting that people who say they don't know who they are, that say that they aren't that smart, always turn out to be the ones who really know what the fuck is going on. They are the ones who can hold a good conversation, that are the ones that makes the most sense, even when they deny it. I'd like to say that Shauna, and all of you that read, At The Corner Bar (ok, most of you) fit into this category. Each day I want to write because you all inspire me and I thank you for that. It's never easy finding something that makes you happy but when you find it, no matter how much pain it will bring you, no matter how much you doubt it at first, I suggest that you hold on to that and don't let go, no matter how much of a fight it gives you.

A Late X-Mas Follow Up

Did you ever wonder who won the Christmas Card competition? No? Crap. Well I better tell you anyway...it was your's truly. Thank you guys so much for the victory. I was worried there for a second but on Christmas Eve I got two more cards to put me over the top and this year's VICTOR!!! Someone sent me a mother's card and I was worried that he had sent me the wrong one and his mom got a card saying, "Merry Christmas Mother Fucker." After a frantic call to him, I found out that it was all a trick. I never forget so watch your back.

Lorraine created a new category this year which was "Best Card." Jeff won that by sending a Yoda x-mas card. There's a high chance that you would win that every year if you sent a Star Wars related card.





I got a lot of fantastic gifts this year, including the War of the Worlds TV show from the late 80's (It's very badass and I used to watch it on Saturday's on channel 50). If I had to pick a favorite gift I'd have to say that it was the One-zie that a friend sent to me.

Back in October I was talking with her about how I was upset that they didn't make these for adults and that kids had all the fun. Of course she proved me wrong and sent me a link to a site that had them. Two months later, what did Santa bring to me? My very own adult one-zie.

Let me tell you that this isn't a novelty present that I would only once so I wouldn't feel guilty. This motha fucka is awesome. It's like wearing a very warm, comfortable blanket around your body the whole time. I suggest that not only should you keep growing your beards, but get one of these as fast as possible. You wouldn't regret it.







To top it all off, I had a friend send me a Thank You card for the gifts I had sent. It wasn't enough to call and say, "Thank you," but she had to write it out and spend the postage. Some guys may find this pointless, but I'm all about the little things. I wonder if her husband signed the card himself or if she did a bit of the magical wife signing?


All in all I had a great Holiday. It was the first time in many years where I had the X-Mas cheer. I look forward to next year and the good things it will bring me. I also look forward to defending my title and with a little help from my friends, everything will be just fine.

No Porn Stars For Me

Today I was watching TV when my brother's girlfriend told me that my phone was talking. This meant that someone was calling me with an unknown i.d. (I put the sample ringer which includes various people talking and random bits of music, for unknown calls). They left a message and a half hour later I checked to see that it was a producer for the AVN Awards. If you don't know what that is,

Don't read at work

Not only would I have gotten paid money to work as a Production Assistant, I would have been hanging out with porn stars...pun included. This story has a sad ending to it for I could not take the job. I played every angle possible but I could not do it. Moral reasons? NO. Wasn't paying enough? NO. Well what the hell was it? No car.

You see being a P.A. means having to be able to drive around whenever someone needs something. You are the one who provides for people who can't leave the area; directors, producers, etc.

"Hey you, I need you to get me lunch."
"Ok, what do you want?"

"Hey you, I need you to buy me some more anal lube."
"I know right where I can get some."

In the end, it would have just been another job, which is something I would have loved and I'll always wonder what kind of conversation starter it would have been for future employer’s who have looked over my resume. In the grand things of life, I feel that everything happens for a reason and this one just wasn't for me.

Viva Las Vegas

If you ever wondered if I hold back when I write on this. If you thought I would write differently in my journal because I would be the only person that would read it, you would be wrong. When I write, I bare my soul and I don't hold back. Here's the last thing I wrote in my journal. I was talking to someone very dear to me last night and I said I would email it for shits n' giggles but I read it and I figured I'd share it for everyone. I sure do talk a lot of shit...even back then.


4-16-04
Out of work and gone from Michigan for six months. One would figure that my friends lives would have crumbled because I was not there to set things straight. This was not the case. Their lives move on, like mine. The familiarity is gone but not forgotten. Tenacious D was right, "The road is fucking hard, it's also really fucking tough," but they also said, "Quit your day job. Focus on your craft one time." So I've tried doing such things. Writing doesn't come to me as easily as it once did. Writing used to be quick, fly by the balls, let it flow but in my age it's become more of a thinking process. I know what I'm capable of and yet I still hold back. Like when I play a pick up game of basketball with my friends. I know I'm good but I don't play as hard because I've already proven myself to them. It's an ever going battle with myself and though i don't show it, I know I have four aces in my hand and maybe I'm waiting patiently until I get them to bet it all and then I've got them right where I want them and that's all right with me.

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.”