I had a long hard day at work and didn't get home until 10:30. This is not the best way to spend a Sunday holiday. Some would argue that it's not the best way to spend any day but, sadly, I'm used to it. So when I finally drag my sorry ass to the couch for some quality TiVo time, I realize that I haven't written in my blog today. That sucks, because I don't really feel like it now. For the first time in years, I actually consider skipping a day.

Until I turn on the television and see Dr. Daniel Stein M.D. telling me how he has devoted his professional life to improving the sexual health of others. "Holy crap!" I say to myself as images of this creepy doctor instructing people how to have sex fill my head. But it turns out he's selling penis enlargement pills called (hah!) ExtenZe. Actually, they're MAXIUM STRENGTH Extenze (I guess when it comes to giving yourself a bigger penis, there's no half-way, so "regular strength" ExtenZe is not an option).

But penis enlargement pills are not the reason I decided to blog, however.

It's what Dr. Daniel Stein M.D. said next...
"I have personally researched the formula in ExtenZe, and found it to be truly effective."

Which is another way of saying "I've tried the stuff, and now I have a massive, massive penis."

"Well that explains why they only show him from the waist up" I say to nobody in particular. Suddenly I wonder if this is the secret to Lil' Dave's own massive endowment, and consider offering him to the Stein Medical Institute as a spokesperson (spokestoon?)...

There's a part of me that actually wants to call for the free sample to see if it actually works... and then blog about it. I can picture it now...

"DAY 10: My penis is now so big that I had to buy a larger pair of pants today..."

In other news, I got an email from somebody a few weeks ago which I thought was spam offering to "increase your search engine position" and was about to trash it when I realized it wasn't an offer, it was a question. A guy was asking if I was preventing Google from indexing my site, because he was having problems Googling my blog. I go check it out and, sure enough, Googling "blogography" shows no results for my "Blogography" (yet at Yahoo, Ask.com, MSN and other search engines I show up fine). I have no idea why. Signing up for Google's "Webmaster Tools" reveals nothing and provides no way of finding out. I guess it doesn't matter, because it's not like I'm getting money for visitors or anything... but it is strange how dozens of sites that link here show up while the actual "blogography.com" does not. Oh well. It's not like anybody at Google is going to care about a blog like mine.

And then today I read where Boing Boing, one of the biggest web sites in existence, is having the same problem.

Now that I know a site like Boing Boing has also gone missing, I have to wonder if Google's search results are worth a crap anymore. Perhaps it's time to go back to Yahoo? If I were running a business, I would be totally screwed, because Google IS search, and there's doesn't seem to be anything you can do if you disappear.

On the bright side, I should be grateful because I don't really want my site popping up when people Google "massive penis."

Wah! My (usually) most-excellent web host, Media Temple, has been having problems all day. Sometimes you can get to Blogography, sometimes you can't. Sometimes you can leave comments, sometimes you can't. Do these people not realize who I am?? When my blog is down, the very fabric of the universe is in jeopardy!

After being buried in snow for the past week, today we get... rain. Lots and lots of rain.

On the roads that have been plowed, the rain isn't too bad. It helps melt away the bits of snow that are still hanging on. But on roads that are not plowed, everything turns to a giant slushy mess that's absolute torture. Driving in it is exhausting, because it's a minute-by-minute fight just to keep your car on the road.

Here's me driving home after dropping off some work for a client...

The even worse news is that I left my laptop power adapter at the office and was too terrified to go back and get it. This means that I can use what's left of my battery to either surf for lesbian porn... or write a blog entry.

And here I am.

SEE? SEE the horrible sacrifices that I have to make in order to keep YOU entertained? I'm totally giving up my nightly lesbian porn fix for this! And it's entirely possible that my site will be down and I won't even get to post this crap anyway!

One could assume that my dedication to lesbian porn must not be very strong if I would allow a little thing like slushy roads to keep me from retrieving my power adapter. Yet this is simply not true. I can always surf for lesbian porn using the browser on my mobile phone. Sure the tiny screen makes it difficult to tell whether I am looking at a naked breast or a peanut butter & jelly sandwich, but the roads are really, really bad. As in Clay Aiken "singing" bad. Or even David Caruso "acting" bad. Yes, that bad!

But the blog must go on.

And now I'm really hungry for a peanut & jelly butter sandwich...

It has been suggested that my frequent battles with insomnia may be a result of a bad mattress. This would not surprise me, because the mattress I bought is total crap. And I owe it all to letter-turning-game-show-sidekick Vanna White.

It all started when my old mattress was falling apart and I needed to replace it. So off I went to the local furniture store to buy one. But, once I got there, I realized that I don't know the first thing about mattresses and had no idea what I wanted. But then I saw a cardboard cut-out of Vanna White smiling over a mattress and decided to go for it. I figured that if the bed was good enough for Vanna, it would certainly be good enough for me (even though it was more money than I wanted to spend).

But Vanna was full of crap. The mattress was sagging in the middle after only a few months.

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who has been f#@%ed by Vanna White over a mattress, but I'm probably one of the few who hasn't enjoyed the experience...

So here I am 10 years later needing to buy a new mattress. Again.

The one I really want to try is a Sleep Number bed. Since it is filled with air, it probably won't be sagging anytime soon. If it does, I'd imagine that you just blow it up again. Much like an inflatable companion (ahem... or so I've heard). Besides, Lindsay Wagner endorses it and she's all bionic and stuff! But then I read complaints about poor customer service and the air mattress filling up with mold and such, and start having second thoughts.

So now I am flirting with the idea of buying a Tempurpedic mattress.

Yet, I am hesitant because, well...

The following is a fictional account of events that never happened. Stories like this are far too embarrassing to be published on the internet if they're true, so it's not true. I'm making it all up...

Fictional Dave: (answering phone) Hello?
   
Fictional Former Girlfriend: Hey, I'm working late! Rather than driving all the way back home, let's just stay in town. I've booked us a room at "Inn At The Market" on 1st & Pine.
   
Fictional Dave: Cool. Call me when you're ready and I'll pick you up on the way.
   
      (LATER THAT EVENING AT THE HOTEL)
   
Fictional Dave: (after having flopped on the bed) Whoa! This mattress doesn't bounce! It's weird!
   
Fictional Former Girlfriend: It's not weird. It's a Temperpedic mattress. After you get used to it, it's super-comfortable.
   
Fictional Dave: I still think it's weird that a mattress doesn't bounce when you sit on it.
   
Fictional Former Girlfriend: You're weird.
   
      (STILL LATER THAT EVENING)
   
Fictional Dave: It's not me... it's this weird mattress! The foam... it's like... it's absorbing my moves or something!!
   
Fictional Former Girlfriend: (sarcasm) Sure it is.

So, as you can see, in the unlikely event that I ever need to use my new bed for something other than sleep... like...ohhhh... let's saaay... an exercise mat... it doesn't work so well.

But for actual sleeping it's pretty sweet, so I dunno.

Awwwww... maybe I should just sleep on the couch from now on. It's like an "exercise mat" for one.

Thanks to my good friend Harold... a longtime Blogography supporter, former co-worker, and ruler of Las Vegas once I conquer the earth... I was tipped off that the local ShopKo had Nintendo Wii in stock. I didn't have my hopes up, because last time I heard they were available at Target, they sold out in the 15 minutes it took me to get there. But I decided to take a stab at it, and asked my mother to stop by when she was in Wenatchee and see if they had any left. Luckily, they had two, and one of them was going to be mine.

MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE!!

When I got home to hook it up, I had just over an hour before I had to get back to work. This was fine, because all I wanted to do was send a WiiMail to Avitable to let him know that I got my Wii on the same day he did... so he could feel MY Wii-ness.

So I unwrap everything, get everything set up, turn it on, configure the internet, and then.... wait.

Wait for 20 minutes while the Wii updates itself.

Then wait ANOTHER 20 minutes for it to perform ANOTHER update.

By the time I construct my "Mii" avatar and punched in Avitable's "friend code" I am running late for work and am starting to get pissed off. Then I find out that I can't send Avitable WiiMail after all, because he has to enter my "friend code" on his machine too. Shit!!

After I get back from work, I'm finally able to send my WiiMail and play around with my new Nintendo...

The first box is the Mii avatar for myself (The Chad created an avatar for Lil' Dave that I'm going to have to get him to WiiMail to me). The second box is a WiiMail with Avitable's Mii on it (it looks JUST LIKE HIM!). The third and fourth box show that Blogography renders perfectly on the Wii web browser... which is no surprise since it's built on the excellent Opera browser. The fifth box is Wii's Global Weather Channel. And the last box is the Wii Photo Channel displaying an image loaded directly off my camera's SD memory card.

Overall, the Wii is pretty sweet.

I am looking forward to the day I can sit down with my Wii and play games with fellow Wii bloggers over the internet... I'm sure it's not too far off. In the meanwhile, I'll have to play by myself. Right now my favorite game is "Elebits" where you tear apart your house searching for tiny electrical creatures that hide everywhere and in everything...

Images taken from the incredible IGN Wii site.

The game is a total riot, and showcases how truly unique a Wii is from your "typical" video game systems.

I just wish I was going to have time to play it.

Anyway, in addition to making cool Mii avatars, The Chad also makes memes. You can see my answers to his latest in an extended entry...

I'm not a nostalgic-type person. I don't sit around waxing poetic about "the good old days" and wishing I could go back in time to relive moments in my life. Sure it's fun to reminisce, but I don't choose to live in the past.

But there are things I remember as being fun that I think might be fun again, so sometimes I bring the past to the present. For instance, ShrinkyDinks. When I was a kid, I loved ShrinkyDinks. Nothing made me happier than to take pieces of frosted plastic, color them in with colored pencils, cut them out, and bake them in the oven until they shrink down to useless pieces of hard plastic.

So when I saw that ShrinkyDinks are still around AND available for inkjet printers, I just had to buy some. Fun!

First you print something out at 50% lightness on ShrinkyDink plastic...

Then you bake it and it shrinks down (after some mildly entertaining acrobatics)...

Wheeeeeee!

Yeah, not quite as fun as I remember.

Things so rarely are.

But you have to consider that stuff like home computers, video games, and the World Wide Web didn't exist back when my ShrinkyDink infatuation was underway. Turns out it's not that ShrinkyDinks were ever that great... it's just that there was nothing better to do back then.

Like create Mii characters on my Wii! For those who asked, here's what "MiiLizabeth HurWii" looks like...

Given the limited options for Mii creation, I think she turned out pretty good.

Bleh. I have to work all weekend. Considering I woke up with a migraine the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, this does not promise to be a fun day. Still, it's better than waking up with a migraine the size of a Hummer (the giant H2 model... not the wimpier H3) because those are the days I just want to stick my head in the Whirling Blades of Death and be done with it.

Who knows, by the end of the day I just might anyway.

• Bullets... If I thought about it long enough, I'd probably be taking today's bullet points and shooting myself in the head with them. Yesterday was a disaster. My migraine kept getting worse and worse despite my taking The Special Pills. But The Special Pills just made me nauseous on top of feeling like my head was going to explode. So I was hurting and puking while trying to work, which did not make for a very productive day. Now I'm way behind, and will probably have to work straight through the next 36 hours. Still with a headache.

• Relationship... I finally managed to scrape together the money to pay off my "90-days-same-as-cash" Apple credit balance before the deadline. So I call to be sure that I have the pay-off amount correct (last time they tried to screw me by slapping on a $2 "billing fee," not telling me about it, then slapping me with $130 in accumulated interest). While on hold, a recorded voice kept telling me that a "Relationship Manager" would be with me in a moment. "Relationship Manager?" That sounds like somebody whom busy yuppies hire in order to work out their complex schedules so that they can find time to have sex. I don't know about you, but this is a much closer relationship than I am wanting to have with a bank.

• O RLY?... And, combining my first two bullet points, I am reminded of a time I attempted to build a relationship while battling a migraine headache AND being nauseated by The Special Pills. It all started when I was set up on a date with a girl who I really, really liked... but from a distance. I didn't know her very well at all. A mutual friend asked her if she wanted to go out with me, and she said something like "oh, he's funny!" and agreed. But, on the day we decided on dinner and a movie, I was hit with a huge migraine. Desperately not wanting to break our date for fear I would never get another one, I doped up on The Special Pills and went on my way. Dinner was painful. She talked and talked and talked about... well, nothing, really. My head was throbbing, and she simply would not stop talking. After paying the check I went to the bathroom so I could throw up. Then we drove to the movie with her talking all the way... I was SO looking forward to the film starting in anticipation of finally getting some peace and quiet. Alas, it was not to be. She talked through the entire film...

*Those unfamiliar with internet-speak can get an "O RLY" explanation here.

It was the longest night of my life. Puking in the bathroom was actually a hilight. The funny thing was that she thought the date went great, and asked my friend if I would be asking her out again. Sure she was fun to look at, but the thought of having to endure another night of her non-stop talking without guarantee of a sexual return was more than I could take. I didn't make just one excuse to get out of asking her out again, I made five.

• Hindsight... YOU IDIOT! Do you know how rare it is to find a woman who would be willing talk to you... AT ALL?!?

• Memes... What's with all the memes lately? This latest one comes from Neil, and I've put it in an extended entry...

If you want to know why I will never, ever, ever purchase another product from HP, it's explained in an extended entry. Never before have I been treated so badly by so many. It's not very entertaining, but it is critical read if you are ever considering buying something from Hewlett Packard. But don't be too depressed for me... I've kept the call open on their toll-free support line and am running up quite a phone bill for them.

Apparently revenge is a dish best served long distance.

Speaking of idiots though, I finally got to watch my DVD of Idiocracy this morning...

It's by Mike Judge (who also created the brilliant Office Space) and was never given a theatrical release by 20th Century Fox for some reason. It's a pretty good flick in its own right, but fell way short of my lofty expectations... still, it's better than a lot of the crap in theaters, so I remain vexed by Fox's decision.

Anyway, Luke Wilson gets frozen for 500 years and wakes up in the future where everybody is stupid (the most popular show on television is Ow! My Balls! and fast food corporations rule the earth). Apparently this was because complete morons cluttered up the gene pool and eventually won out. Given today's events with HP, it seems like science-fact rather than science-fiction.

If you keep your expectations in check, don't compare it to Office Space, and want a few laughs, then Idiocracy is worth a rent.

Now back to your regularly-scheduled rant over the dumbasses at HP...

For dinner tonight I had a Four Cheese Pizza Hot Pocket. It was good.

I love pockets. When it comes to buying coats or backpacks or suitcases or whatever, the number of pockets is a major selling point for me. I've lost count of the number of times that I've been comparison shopping and made my decision based on which item has the higher pocket-count. That's how I decided to buy my new Swiss Army Synergy backpack... it has an abundance of pockets. I found this kind of strange, because Swiss Army is famous for combining bunches of tools in a single item, which would actualy require less pockets.

When "painter's pants" were in fashion, I was in heaven, because of all those extra pockets. I especially liked the pocket that was perfectly sized to hold my fat-handle comb. I secretly hope that one day painter's pants come back in style. Not because I want to start carrying a fat-handle comb again (the 80's are over), but because I'm sure I could find cool stuff to put in all those pockets.

My Helly Hanson jacket is ten years old, but I just can't bear to get rid of it because I like its configuration of pockets. There's a pocket in the collar which is meant to hold the rain hood, but I put all sorts of crazy stuff in there. Like the time I bought a $5 boxed lunch on a plane trip. It was pretty good, except there was a little beef stick that I didn't want. I was too embarrassed to slip my little beef stick to the stewardess, so I stuck it in my collar pocket instead. It turned up six months later when it was raining and I needed my hood. I threw it in the garbage, but I kind of regret it now... what if I ever need to distract a guard dog? That little beef stick would have come in handy.

Secret pockets are the best though. My Timbuk2 Courier Bag has tons of pockets, but my favorite is the full-length front-interior secret pocket because it's not easily noticed. I owned the bag for two months before I found it.

That was one of the happiest days in my life.

Because pockets are good...

I still have no idea what that tiny pocket in a pair of Levi's is for, however.

I woke up more depressed than usual this morning after receiving some very bad news in an email from a good friend last night.

Things only went downhill from there.

As the morning wore on, all I wanted to do was drink a fifth of Jack Daniels, take a fistful of sleeping pills, crawl into bed, then just wait for the world to go away. It's not a solution that you can wrap a bow around and get all happy about, but it does work... albeit temporarily. But this kind of resolution doesn't really solve anything, and can become dangerously addictive and destructive over the long-run. Having been there before, I know.

So I decided to do what I always seem to do now-a-days when depressed. Visit Any Soldier, request a couple of addresses for some poor bastards (or bitches) stuck in Iraq or Afghanistan, then make some care packages to send out. It may not solve my problems, but it will make me feel better that I am making somebody else's miserable life a little better.

Though it's not easy for me. I do not in any way support this war. I never have. I don't buy into the "fight them over there so we don't have to fight them here" mentality because nobody can define "them" in any meaningful way. I have been conditioned to distrust our political leaders. When other countries were saying "hey, wait a minute, let's look at this WMD data a little more closely before we do something stupid," our leaders threw 9-11 in our face and went ahead and did something stupid. No real plan. No exit strategy. No sense.

But how is that the fault of someone sent off to fight and die in our name?

Who can say what makes somebody sign up to be a soldier.

Maybe they signed up so they could get money for college. Maybe they are running away from a life that's worse than a war. Maybe they want to belong to something bigger then themselves. Maybe they are true patriots and believe defending this country is worth risking their lives. Maybe they just want to help out. I don't know.

But what I do know is that they are risking their lives on my behalf and are far braver than I am for doing it. They didn't start a war, they're just trying to do their job the best they can and make it out alive.

So I make care packages.

I send things from home in the hopes that I can brighten their spirits and warm their hearts. I hope my generosity will inspire generosity in return. I hope they represent our country well and treat victims of war with caring and dignity.

I drop everything in my busy life and I go...

I buy snacks. Not shitty snacks that taste like crap and nobody wants to eat. I buy name-brands I know will be appreciated. Snack-Pack chocolate pudding. Campbell's Chunky Soup. Planters Trail Mix, Nature's Harvest snack bars. I find candies that won't melt. I grab a large variety of gum flavors. I buy Oreos and Doritos. I find "to-go" packs of Pringles chips. I seek out luxury foods that I miss when I am far from home. I go to three stores to find a big-box of Red-Hots. I don't really like the idea of killing animals for food, but this isn't about me, so I buy bags of real Oberto Beef Jerkey.

I buy only the best personal hygiene products. Military guys have to shave everyday, and nobody wants to do that with a cheap-ass razor. So I buy the best, most comfortable disposables I can find. I ignore the bargain brands and purchase Neutrogena shave cream. I make sure I have real Q-tips cotton swabs, authentic Kleenex tissues, super-sweet individually-wrapped rolls of premium toilet paper, and only the best toothpaste, toothbrushes, foot powder, lip balm, sun-screen, and everything else I can think of.

I buy magazines. I want to send Maxim with a naked Eva Mendes on the cover (hey, that's what I would want to look at if I could die at any time)... but nudity and partial nudity are forbidden. Instead I buy puzzle books, sports magazines, and some good comics.

I read that soldiers like to watch DVDs in their off-time, so I buy some. And not the discount crap that's old and everybody has already seen... I buy brand new releases of top movies and don't even look at the price tag. And, because opening a DVD is almost impossible under the best conditions, I pre-open them and remove all the tape and crap. I then write "ANYSOLDIER.COM" in permanent marker on the cases and DVDs to try and make sure they aren't stolen and sold.

I buy Beanie Babies. Maybe the soldiers can use them to make friends with the most innocent of victims in this war: the children. I hope such small gestures build friendship and compassion with future generations. I hope it brings a smile to somebody's face when they have nothing to smile about. I hope for so much from something so little. I send hope because, when all is said and done, it's all I really have to give.

I write a note of support and well-wishes because sometimes knowing somebody cares about you is better than an Oreo cookie.

Then I come back and box everything up. I am careful to double-bag any liquids. I am careful to send the shipments of food in separate boxes from the toiletries... because nobody wants Goldfish Crackers that taste like deodorant. I take time I don't really have available to make sure everything is packed perfectly so no space is wasted and everything is protected. What fun is a box of smashed cookies?

I've spent $300. I'll spend even more in shipping charges. It hardly seems adequate.

And now I feel a little better. Maybe even better than if I had taken Prozac.

Tonight I am going to go see The Queen. I hope the movie is as good as people say, because I can't afford to be depressed and visit Any Soldier again until my next paycheck.

Thanks to everybody who wrote such kind emails and comments during a tough day yesterday.

And many more thanks to those who are considering sending letters or care packages through Any Soldier. I honestly did not anticipate that, yet hundreds of you are clicking through to the site which means quite a lot to me. If only I had mentioned it sooner!

For those who have questions about this very worthy organization, I urge you to visit their site and read as much as you can. But, on top of that, I'll go ahead and add some things I've learned...

First of all, it is not necessary to spend $300 like I did. I was buying for four people, and went overboard because I was able to and wanted to. Anything you send is appreciated, and spending a fortune is not required. Even if you can afford to send nothing at all, you can still write a letter because all it costs you is a stamp. It has been said over and over again that the most requested items from soldiers are letters. Not everybody overseas gets much mail. Knowing that somebody... even a stranger... cares enough to write does more for their morale than you can imagine (hand-written letters show that you put the time in to care, and seem more personal than laser-printed letters or photocopies).

When it comes to what to say to a serviceman or servicewoman, it's always best to remember who you are writing to... somebody living in very dangerous conditions, far from home, who is missing their family and friends. It's also important to remember why you are writing... to offer encouragement and support. With that in mind, you can just put aside your personal opinions about the war being all f#@%ed up. Nobody knows this better than they do, and they don't need to be told that. Instead, try and realize that most of the people serving are doing the best they can to make a better, safer life for native Iraqis or Afghanis whose lives have been torn apart by war. This is what keeps them going through these very confusing times, and acknowledging that is a good place to start. Tell them what's happening back home. Tell them they are appreciated. Let them know you care.

When I send care packages, I usually don't have time to write, so I enclose simple notecards (with Lil' Dave dressed in Army, Navy, Air Force, or Marine attire as appropriate)...

It's nothing extravagant, just a little note to say that I'm thinking of them, caring about them, and wishing them well along with sending a box of stuff. Hopefully it's enough to give a soldier a smile.

I always include my email address, just in case a soldier wants to write back and say "thanks" or even request something special they need. But it is critical to remember one thing... not all soldiers are able to write back!! They say this over and over on the Any Soldier site, yet I still visit forums and read about people complaining because they never got a thank-you note. This kind of thing drives me nuts, because these people have no clue as to what they are talking about. Just because you don't hear back doesn't mean your thoughts and gifts are unappreciated. It's nice when it happens, but I never expect it.

If you are interested in helping out, I've put further information in an extended entry. Otherwise, I will be traveling for the next 10 days, so entries may be posted late depending on whether I have internet or not...

Last night as I was killing time before my flight home, I came to the conclusion that the vending machines offered better dining options than any of the restaurants at the airport. Once I had decided on a bottle of Gatorade and a bag of Cheddar Chex Mix, I wandered around looking for a quiet spot to eat dinner. Eventually I found a deserted area and did my best to disappear. It was nice and peaceful for about 5 minutes... but then some guy sat down around the corner to make a call on his mobile phone... apparently unaware that I was there.

Not that I was trying to listen in on his conversation or anything, but I did get the gist of what was going on... the poor bastard got dumped by his girlfriend just before he flew to Seattle to visit his parents.

Nice.

He had just landed and was calling up his now-ex-girlfriend in an effort to win her back. From the fifteen-minute call that ensued, I gathered it was a futile effort. Despite professing his undying love and devotion, she was unmoved. Their relationship was now over.

Needless to say, the guy was devastated. Having been there myself, I could totally relate.

And now he had to put on a brave face and go meet his parents for dinner with a broken heart. The thought of it still haunts me, so when everything that could go wrong did go wrong on my first day back, I tried not to let it get me down.

Because somewhere in Seattle, somebody is having a much worse day than I am.

I just knew that no good could come from installing Microsoft Windows Vista. It has set off a chain of events that will certainly lead to catastrophic death and destruction for the entire planet.

And the reason I know this is true is because I just got off the phone with the Coca-Cola bottling company of Northern California to verify that Coke with Lime has been discontinued here on the West Coast. You can still buy the diet shit, but the regular stuff is no longer available.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

F#@%ING COCA-COLA BASTARDS!! Get people addicted to your shit, then take it away! I hate it when that happens!

Why, it seems like just yesterday that I discovered the joys of Coke with Lime...

And Mooselet led me to discover the sweet asses of the Coke with Lime Girls...

And I found out just how much better life is with a little lime in it...

Now that it's gone, I hope that I don't end up selling myself on the street for a taste of that sweet, oh so sweet, nectar of the gods...

I'm probably going to have to start smoking crack now in order to ween myself off of my Coke with Lime habit. Thanks a lot Coke f#@%ers! Crack is expensive, and I've got bills to pay!

Crap! I can only guess that my installing Microsoft Windows Vista will cause Golden Oreos to be discontinued next. Followed by U-NO candy bars. And those Cottonelle pre-moistened ass-wipes I like so much (wiping my ass will never be fun again!).

I WILL AVENGE YOU MY COKE WITH LIME!!

Clearly, Microsoft must be destroyed.

Oh great, I just got a call telling me that there is a safety recall notice for my motorcycle.

WTF?? I wonder what's going to happen next?

UPDATE: Well I guess I got my answer... Anna Nicole Smith DEAD after staying at my beloved Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Hollywood, Florida.

People don't take the time to listen anymore. There are simply too many distractions in this modern world for them to concentrate on what other people say.

A prime example of this was provided to me in the parking lot of Office Depot this afternoon. As I was exiting the store, I notice a man and a woman unloading the car parked next to mine. The man said "Have you got the keys?" The woman replied "No, they're on the seat." The man then slammed the door anyway, thus locking them out. This got him the Stare of Death from the woman, to which he could only reply "What?"

And the problem only seems to get worse with each new generation.

It's for this reason that I am dreading being a speaker on "Career Day" at the local high school this Friday...

I used to do this fairly often for local schools, but then I was ignored for the past four years. I had guessed it was because the teachers finally figured out that I was the last person who should be advising today's youth on their future. Apparently they either forgot this, or somebody new was put in charge, so here I am again.

The very first time I spoke at Career Day, I dressed up in a nice suit and tie and was all professional and stuff. After my presentation, the first question I got was "What do you like best about your job?" I then realized that the best part of my job was that I didn't have to wear a suit and tie. Oops. But subsequent Career Days got easier and easier for me, and I never minded showing up when asked. If nothing else, it allowed me to dispel the illusion that graphic designers have an easy job because they just sit around drawing pictures all day (yeah, if only).

The problem is that very few of the kids that show up to learn about being a graphic designer have any interest in graphic design. They're only there because teachers force them to choose four careers to investigate, and "graphic designer" sounds less boring than say, ohhhh... "accountant" (with apologies to any accountants out there, because I'm sure it's a fascinating career to those who like being creative with numbers all day... something that terrifies me).

But the hardest part is knowing that most of the kids who show up that are interested in graphic design probably don't have the talent to be successful at it. This is because most working graphic artists are commercial artists, which is a freaky kind of mind-set to try to work within. Being consistently creative under pressure in a way that sells is not always as easy as it sounds.

So, given all that, why do I bother volunteering to speak at Career Day?

Because there might be one or two kids who have the desire, talent, and ambition to actually be a good graphic designer one day. Maybe something I have to say will be helpful to them.

If only they choose to listen.

Ah yes, another Valentine's Day.

Even if I didn't know this from looking at a calendar or cruising the blogosphere, I would probably be able to guess because of the search referrals showing up in my blog stats. For the past couple of days I've been hammered by people searching for "romance" and "love" and such.

One of the more popular entries returned is from a meme question I answered back in May 2005...

How would somebody go about winning your heart? Don't try to change me. Don't lie to me. Don't make me be the one to always decide what to do. Don't smoke. Don't expect me to read your mind. Don't smother me. Don't buy me stuffed animals. Don't obsess over my every move. Don't demand to know what I've been doing every moment of every day. Don't ask me to like your friends that don't like me. Don't ask me to forgive you for making out with your ex-boyfriend because "nothing happened." Don't get upset when I don't feel like going shopping. Don't be cruel. Don't play mind-games. Don't think you can't talk to me about it. Don't get mad at me for something without letting me know why. Don't go to bed angry. Don't think I don't care. Or, if all else fails, iron my shirt and buy me a beer.

Yeah, I know... I know... I'm a total romantic. But that pales in comparison to the heart-warming story I answered for another meme back in September of 2004...

What's the most romantic gesture someone's made to you? A girl I was dating completely disarmed me once when she gave me new shoelaces. Yes, shoelaces. I was flying out on a trip, and she stopped to see me off on her way to work. After giving me a goodbye kiss, she handed me a package of shoelaces with a bow on top. She had noticed that my laces were a little "mangy," and thought I should have a new pair for my trip. The fact that she paid attention to such a tiny detail in my life really meant a lot to me. No other romantic gesture has ever come close.

Awwwww... a pity she ended up going psycho on me because, other than the feeling that she was going to kill me in my sleep one night, she was a keeper. And, on that happy note, here is this year's Valentine Card from me to you...

Uhhh... you'll have to forgive Bad Monkey. He's been kicked in the teeth by love one too many times.

Anyway, Happy Valentine's Day. My cards from the three previous years are in an extended entry...

A couple years ago when they were electing a new Pope, I decided it would be a good idea to sign up for the position. It seemed like a sweet career move and, if nothing else, I thought it would be cool to drive around in the Popemobile and pick up women.

I don't know if you heard, but I didn't get the job. The Catholic Church instead decided to go with somebody who has a little more religious experience (as in 78 years old experience). This is a darn shame, because I think I would look most excellent in that Pope hat...

Well, today I discovered yet another reason that I really need to get that job the next time around... as Pope, you have the ability to render a decision as infallible. According to a Wikipedia entry I found, Popes rarely exercise this privilege. It is an extremely uncommon event, and one that the Pope (and the Church) take very seriously.

This would not be the case if I were Pope.

If I were Pope, ALL OF MY DECISIONS WOULD BE RENDERED AS INFALLIBLE!

Maybe it's because I'm a certified genius, but I think it's more likely because I am never wrong*. I have a track record of being infallible already, so why not take the logical next step?

It would also be incredibly handy for those times that people argue with me for no reason other that to be irritating. As Pope, I would simply decree my decision INFALLIBLE and that would be the end of it. No more arguing. No more drama. No more wasted time. Just the bliss that comes from being inarguably correct in every way, all the time.

In the event that (heaven forbid) a new opening becomes available, I'll be sending my resume off to The Vatican tomorrow.

* Misunderstood, perhaps, but never actually wrong.

Despite the fact that I have to teach classes and speak publicly from time to time, I don't consider myself to be very good at it. It's one of those things I would probably avoid at all costs if it were an option. But showing up for career day at my graduating high school seemed like the least I could do, so I bit the bullet, slapped on a name-tag, and off I went.

As expected, it seemed as if only a handful of the students who showed up had any real interest in graphic design, and I doubt my presentation was going to win any converts. I can barely explain what I do in 15 minutes, let alone answer questions or offer advice. To compensate, I had hand-outs to give away that would (hopefully) tell everybody what they needed to know for filling out their mandatory questionnaires...

Anyway, I was anticipating a major disaster because, well, it's me we're talking about here... but the audience was attentive and thoroughly nice throughout the entire ordeal, so it was relatively painless.

I mean, hey, I didn't get shot at, wet myself, puke, or die, so I guess that's about the best I can hope for...

Still, going back to my high school is a strange experience.

Mostly because I have mixed feelings on having served time there. The best I can say about high school is that my experience was "average." I didn't love it. I didn't hate it. It was something I had to do and so I got through it the best I could. Sure I had friends, participated in extra-curicular activities, and somehow managed to get good grades... but 90% of your time is spent in class, and I always found the classes to be incredibly boring.

Being a computer geek back in the early 80's didn't help much. Personal Computers were so new that most people didn't know what to make of them. I was just another one of those freaky nerds who liked sitting in front of a glowing green screen at the library all day long punching buttons. And, despite what college recruitment ads like this say...

...girls only dig "guys that code" if the guy in question A) Is a millionaire, B) Looks like a Greek god, or C) Has an 11-inch penis (and is preferably possessing a combination of all three).

Setting aside my own massive penis-size for a moment, I'd have to say that there is no "little known secret" in the fact that the hottest girl in school is far more likely to be dating the captain of the football team instead of some geeky nerd who likes computers.

They may have changed the carpet and the paint on the walls of my old high school, but I'm fairly certain this universal truth still holds.

I hate to sound like a broken record, but mobile phone idiocy is getting completely out of hand.

There was a time when people at least tried to be discreet and polite when talking on their mobile, but most of them just don't give a crap now-a-days. These idiots talk at FULL VOLUME while discussing stuff nobody wants to hear. Even worse, they seem to have absolutely no qualms about screaming profanity or discussing intimate details of their life. It's as if they think nobody around them can hear what they're saying, and I don't know why that is.

Today I was treated to some moron laughing it up while screaching "SHIT YEAH!" over and over again as he yelled into his Bluetooth headset... WHILE STANDING IN LINE FOR LUNCH... WITH CHILDREN PRESENT!

It's times like this that I wish I carried a baseball bat with me at all times...

Why? Why? Why would somebody act like this? And I'm not talking about me smashing somebody in the face with a baseball bat... I know why I would act like this. I'm asking why somebody thinks it's okay to scream profanity in a public place just because they're talking on their phone. Why does having a phone stuck in your ear suddenly make this okay? If the phone wasn't there it wouldn't be okay... would it?

Maybe from now on when I see such a serious breach of etiquette, I'll commit a breach of etiquette of my own.

Like farting in their face or something...

Sure it's smelly, but it's a lot more convenient than carrying a baseball bat around all day.

Why is it that crazy crap always seems to happen on my birthday each year? Sometimes it's a good thing... the first version of MacOS X was released on March 24 back in 2001, for example. But usually it's bizarre crap like a fish-painting festival* back in 2000, or the Jonesboro Massacre back in 1998, or the Exon Valdez oil spill back in 1989. Not the best birthday material.

Today I find out that this year, March 24, 2007, it's going to be INTERNATIONAL SHUTDOWN DAY. The idea is that this will be a global experiment to determine whether or not people can cope without computers for just one day. They ask you to "shut down your computer and find out!"...

To which I reply "go frak yourself."

Seriously. What kind of stupid-ass shit is this? The entire world is run by computers now-a-days. Are air-traffic controllers supposed to shutdown their computers for the day to see if airline pilots can "cope" with crashing into each other? Do hospitals shut down the computers controlling heart monitors and crap to see if patients can "cope" with going into cardiac arrest? Even if they are just talking about shutting off your personal computer for the day, what is this going to prove? Could I go a day without my computer? Of course I could. Would I ever want to? No. What would be the point? To find out how many people can manage to be computer-free without going insane? Who cares?

I mean, I suppose I could spend my birthday getting drunk off my ass so I wouldn't care about turning on my computer, but it would be kind of rude to ignore the thousands of birthday wishes emailed to me that day. Besides, some of my best blogging is done when I am drunk off my ass, and I can't imagine denying my millions of fans such a treat. It happens all too rarely.

This year it's "International Shutdown Day" — what's next? International Don't Eat Tacos Day? International Don't Flush The Toilet Day? International Eat With Your Feet Day? Who comes up with this stupid crap, and why does it always seem to happen on my birthday?

I feel very strongly that March 24 should instead be "International No Stupid Shit Day"... in perpetuity... so I never have to face this ridiculous dumbassery on my birthday ever again...

That would be the best birthday present ever!

Of course, the one benefit to not turning on your computer for a day would be that you don't have to hear about stuff like "International Shutdown Day." Maybe I've acted too quickly here...

*At first I thought it might be kind of cool to have a painting created by a fish from the fish-painting festival. You'd take a fish, dip him in water-soluable, non-toxic paint, then let him flop around on the canvas to create art. After he had created something suitably interesting, you'd wash off the fish and release him back into the wild. Unfortunately, this is not quite what the organizers had in mind. They were quite adamant that the fish used to create the art would be DEAD. Oddly enough, you do not paint ON the fish as the name implies, but instead use a dead fish to paint WITH. Why anybody would want to do this is beyond my ability to fathom, however.

I don't know what happened.

Last night when I went to bed, everything was okay. It had been a good weekend. All the various problems that had been thrown my way during the week had been handled. I was... dare I say it... "happy" with the world and my place in it. None of the dread that usually overwhelms me on Sunday nights could be detected. When my head hit the pillow, a rare sense of optimism had settled into the core of my being and all was right in my world.

Then I woke up.

I am used to everything going wrong on a Monday and having to dig my way out. I can handle that. But I quickly found out this morning that "everything" is a relative term, and there is a certain level of "everything" that simply cannot be dealt with. Overwhelmed with one horrific dilemma after another, I was assaulted on all fronts. My telephone. My mobile phone. My work phone. My email. My mailbox. My car. My work. My life.

The entire universe decided to rain shit down on me for some unknown reason.

I don't know what I did to deserve it. I can only guess that this is some kind of retribution for going to bed happy on a Sunday night.

It's at times like this that I feel the need to develop a line of T-shirts to explain my life in a way that can be easily understood. Since I'm fairly certain I'm not alone in being shitted on at one time or another, I can only guess that this is my ticket to making a million dollars. My advertising campaign would feature myself wearing T-shirts with various slogans while standing in a pool of some kind of unsavory substance... like urine or raw sewage or toxic waste or something...

Things can, of course, always get worse. It's as if the laws of physics demand it. There's probably some Einsteinian theorem floating around describing how once you start sliding in shit, you will continue to slide in shit until you land in a big pile of it.

The question then remains... is today my "pile" or am I still sliding towards it?

It would seem that I'm not quite finished with being karma's bitch yet, because the horror show that is my life lately continues. I just got off the phone with somebody I don't even know who has apparently made it their mission in life to irritate me as much as possible. This leads me to wonder... since dumbasses like this seem to serve no useful purpose, shouldn't Darwinian evolutionary theory dictate that they should be become extinct? And, if you don't believe in Darwin, and instead believe in some kind of divine architect, isn't the creation of dumbasses a waste of materials?

No matter what your belief structure, the existence of dumbasses simply makes no sense. Yet they're everywhere and their numbers are growing. Even worse, they're getting even more stupid. It's getting so bad that I'm almost thinking that I need to release one of my Dumbass Books so that those idiots who aspire to be a dumbass have a place to start...

As an example, since complex thoughts like "drive right - pass left" are simply too difficult for a prospective dumbass to grasp, I'd fill the book with handy flowcharts to explain the process...

Such a chart, naturally, would be preceded with 40 illustrated pages explaining what a "passing lane" is, because I understand how some dumbasses might get confused about such things if they are driving down a one-lane road or, heaven forbid, they try to look for a passing lane at a McDonalds drive-through or while parked or something. Dumbass books work because they assume nothing.

Anyway...

In an valiant struggle to cling to anything good that might be happening in my life, I was very happy to get a thank-you letter from a soldier who got one of my care packages for AnySoldier.com. I never expect this (let's face it, they've got a lot more important things on their mind), but it's always a real treat when it happens...

Yeah. I don't care how bad of a day your having, getting something like this in the mail is an amazing experience. I think I must have read through it a dozen times, because it has such a wonderful way of putting things in perspective. Sure my life may be shit, but this guy is stuck in the middle of Baghdad feeling lucky just to live another day. It's not like anything I've got going on can really compare to that.

As the end of the month approaches, I've already got most of the items for my next round of care packages to send. If you are able to help out, here's all you need to know.

And who knows what tomorrow will bring...

After two days of life beating the crap out of me, today there was finally daylight... both figuratively and literally (so THAT'S what the sun looks like!).

The good news is that I no longer want to microwave my head. The bad news is that the events of the past two days will take weeks... perhaps months... to resolve. I'm a fairly private person, so I won't be going into details, but suffice to say that absolutely everything that could possibly go wrong in all aspects of my life decided to happen over the course of 48 hours. It was like experiencing TWO seasons of "24" but without the benefit of having Jack Bauer around to kick some ass. Just a lot of things around me going terribly wrong and shit exploding every fifteen minutes.

One thing I will say is that I have come to really, really hate my car.

If I was any sort of wealthy, I would crash my car into a gas station so it would become soaked with gasoline, toss a lighted match on top so I could watch it burn, then throw a massive party where everybody could hold hands and sing songs while urinating on the smoldering remains. Once the auto was thoroughly destroyed, we'd watch Elizabeth Hurley's masterpiece Bedazzled on a big-screen TV and eat chocolate cake...

Amazing-looking chocolate cake recipe can be found at Southern Living Magazine.

Because it's not really a celebration unless there's chocolate cake at the end.

In other news, "massive penis" has entered my top-ten search referrals for 2007 despite the fact that it appeared only 12 days ago in my blog. Helpful hint for blog traffic whores: nothing will service your needs better than a massive penis. This does present a dilemma, however, because I don't know what the female equivalent should be. I would hate for it to appear that my blog is sexist, and want to be sure that filthy Google Search Results at Blogography aren't gender-biased. I'm leaning towards "tasty vagina" but think it might be difficult to work that into a popular blog entry without supplemental video of some kind.

Not that I'm unwilling to try, mind you.

Eyes... won't... stay... open.

It occurred to me as I approached my 16th hour of work today that I need a new line of work. Preferably a career that doesn't exceed an eight-hour work day... with a three hour-work day being optimal.

Perhaps being absolute ruler of a small country might be a good job for me...

I'm thinking a typical day would include making sweet love to super-models, watching television, playing video-games, partying with foreign heads of state, walking amongst my adoring subjects, and dedicating statues, libraries, museums, buildings, and other stuff that has been named in my honor. And in-between all that I'd make time to fly off to exotic locations and visit foreign leaders so they could bask in my presence (and give me cool presents).

Sure being the exalted ruler of all I survey would be a 24-hour job, but I'd manage somehow. Probably by delegating all the boring stuff to my lackeys.

Hmmm... I have 287 blog entries stacked-up in my webfeed reader, and around 40 emails to read. That wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have at least another two hours of work ahead of me (and eight hours of television on my TiVo).

I wonder how I go about getting a lackey to read my blogs and reply to my emails for me. Is that something you can get on eBay?

Thanks to everybody who sent me e-cards and kind notes over Elizabeth Hurley's wedding today. Thirty-six of you were nice enough to send your condolences, which was a bit unexpected (that's more people than usually comment on an entry!).

In an act of sublime selflessness, I wish nothing but the best for the happy couple. If Elizabeth Hurley is happy, then I'm happy... I love her that much. I mean, it's not like I am wishing for a building to fall on her new husband or anything. I'm sure he's a terrific guy, and I'm glad she found him. I suppose I could sit around hoping that Arun Nayar gets attacked by a pack of wild hyenas, but what would be the point? Elixabeth Hurley has made her choice (misguided as it may be) and I will just have to live with it. Best of luck to the happy couple!

Okay, maybe I don't wish "the best" for them... that's a little much. But I do wish that good things come their way. Just because Elizabeth Hurley decided to marry a guy who is not me doesn't mean that she should be cursed with unhappiness the rest of her life. Does it? Maybe he's not perfect or anything, but he seems nice. So good luck you two!

Alright, you got me. Being completely honest here, wishing "good things" for Liz and Arun is probably a stretch. How about I just send happy thoughts with no well-wishing at all? Sure Elizabeth Hurley just made the biggest mistake of her life, but it's not really her fault. If she had ever met me, she would realize that I was the perfect guy for her... but since she had the misfortune to never even know I exist, well, it's hardly appropriate for me to be wishing Arun fall down a well or something. That would just be wrong. He doesn't seem like the nicest of guys, but I'm sure he's not too bad.

Okay... okay... okay... sending "happy thoughts" is probably going too far. Because doesn't Arun Nayar look like a total bastard? I've never met him or anything, but doesn't he just seem completely wrong for her? He's probably a puppy-kicker. Yep, I'll bet when he sees a puppy he kicks it as hard as he can just because he likes it. And the perfection that is Elizabeth Hurley just married him in an unholy union that will wreck havoc throughout the known universe. Why should I wish anything "happy" for their marriage when there's nothing happy about it? We're all doomed.

OMG! What has she done? RUN LIZ! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! YOU JUST MARRIED A PUPPY-KICKING ASSHOLE!! Oh the humanity! I suppose I'll just have to hope that Liz manages to break free of Arun Nayar's evil spell before something horrible happens... like her sleeping with him. Oh! Oh! Oh! That would be just terrible! Like the worst day ever! Is it too much to hope that Elton John has a gun in his purse and will destroy the Ultimate Evil that calls himself "Arun" before the incomparable Elizabeth Hurley is lost to the world forever?

Gee... I hope that nothing happens to the plane that is taking Elizabeth Hurley and her new husband to India. It would be just terrible if it crashed and Arun were to perish while Elizabeth Hurley were to miraculously escape completely unharmed. Yeah, let's all hope that doesn't happen.

Ahem.

Speaking of pure evil on earth...

I finally got to sleep around 2:30am. Most of my work was finished, and I simply couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. So guess who decided to come calling three hours later and wake me up? That's right. THE EVIL GEESE FROM HELL ARE BACK AGAIN!

Just look at the cheeky bastards all honking and riled up! Clearly minions of the devil.

And to make the entire situation even more scary, their numbers keep increasing. At first there were a dozen... then around 26... then about 40... NOW THERE ARE 67! SIXTY-SEVEN!! And I realize people think I am exaggerating here, but I'm not. There were so many of them that I had to take a panorama of seven pictures and then stitch them together so that all of the little bastards would fit into the shot...

Click on the image to enlarge. WARNING! May frighten small children!
(you will have to scroll to see the whole thing)

Between Elizabeth Hurley getting married and the startling increase in the goose population, can the Apocalypse be far behind? I'm telling you, geese are going to take over the world.

I, for one, welcome our new geese overlords.

Back to work...

For the past couple of weeks I've been occupying what precious little free time I have by working on my book. It's been over a year since I stopped writing Daveology, and I could never seem to get back in the writing habit. After parting ways with my publisher, my enthusiasm for the project had slowly dwindled to zero, and nothing ever inspired me to take it up again. There's also the drama involved in finding a new editor I can work with. As you have no doubt surmised from reading my crap at Blogography, having a strong editor will be essential for anything I might publish. Sure people are willing to ignore my weak sentence structure and total misuse of punctuation when they are reading for free, but something tells me they will expect all the various grammar bits to be in their proper places if they have to pay for it.

When I was originally approached about turning my blog into a series of books I had no interest in attempting it. A previous movie project (based on a comic book treatment I drafted) had nearly destroyed me. Sure it started out great, but after eighteen months and a dozen trips to L.A., all I got out of the deal was heartache and disappointment. And a fat paycheck. But when you put your heart into something, the money can't wholly compensate for the desolation you feel once everything has turned to shit. With this in mind, the idea of going through it all over again for a book deal with no fat paycheck didn't seem worth it. Much like being very protective of your testicles after having been smacked in the balls by a shampoo bottle, my creative heart is guarded.

But eventually I was convinced to give it a try. I guess this means I'm not very good at guarding things. Which is why you should never ask me to keep an eye on your stuff while you go to the bathroom. Not only will it probably end up missing, but I won't be very apologetic about having screwed up. You should have known better.

The outline for the book project seemed simple enough: repackage and expand my favorite entries with a narrative thread. But after a month of back-and-forth, it became apparent that my publisher and I had very different ideas as to how the book should take shape. They didn't want the cartoons, photos, and illustrations, just the words. This didn't make any sense to me because I'm not a very good writer... to me the cartoons, photos, and illustrations ARE Blogography. Eventually a compromise was reached, but it was just the first in a series of many concessions I'd have to make. Finally seeing the Big Picture as to how things would end up, I wanted out. If I couldn't create the book I wanted, I didn't want to create a book at all. Fortunately, my soon-to-be ex-publisher liked me well enough to end things amicably, which was pretty swell. Had I been in their position, I would have shown up in person to collect the advance money, then kicked my ass.

And that was the end of that. But with a third of Daveology completed, it seemed a shame to let all those weeks of hard work sit on a shelf. Unlike the failed movie project, I harbored an illusion that something could still come of it one day, even if I had to self-publish. I didn't care about making any money, I just didn't want my time to have been wasted. But, like so many things in my life, this ambition soon faded as more interesting projects (i.e. those that paid money) came calling.

Then I woke up one morning around Valentine's Day and suddenly decided I wanted to try writing again. True to form, I didn't start until a week later, but the decision had been made. Whether this new-found compulsion will last long enough to actually finish the book, I have no idea. I'm fickle that way.

In the meanwhile, I blunder onward in an attempt to fill the pages of a book that may never see the light of day.

This morning I started a new chapter which begins thusly:

Do you know that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you're pouring a can of Coke into a glass and the foam starts to rise up? That utterly helpless feeling when you suspect that you've poured too much soda too quickly and don't know if the Coke is going to overflow and make a mess or settle back down into the glass? That's the feeling I get at the moment I realize sex is in my immediate future.
   
When I'm pouring a Coke for myself, there's nothing to be nervous about because nobody is watching (at least I certainly hope not) and I can make a mess free from judgement. But it's an entirely different situation when I'm pouring that same Coke in front of an audience.
   
Most of the time I'm able to channel this nervous energy and put it to good use. Everything works out okay, the glass is filled to mutual satisfaction, and everybody walks away a winner (have a Coke and a smile!). But sometimes things don't go as planned, everything ends up a mess, and all you get for your embarrassment is a sticky residue that never seems to disappear off the kitchen counter entirely.
   
This is a grossly unfair situation because, by comparison, women have it easy. All they have to do is decide if they want to have that Coke in the first place, then leave the pouring to some poor bastard looking for a caffeine fix. Fortunately for them, men are born with a caffeine deficiency and always happy to serve up a glass. The insanity of it all is enough to make me want to drink straight from the can, but I'm just not that flexible.

...and so on.

As you can see, the book is a bit more personal than my blog ever gets. Apparently my writing is not quite so private when I know people are going to pay money for it. Well, except those cheap bastards who borrow a copy from the library.

Alrighty then! One hour until my connecting flight home, and boy am I thirsty. I think I'll go guzzle a bottle of Coke and try not to think of what that implies.

"Dude! I didn't know you were writing a book! Am I in it?"

Getting a call from Bad Robert is always an adventure because you never know what's going to be on his mind. Was his poop a funny color this morning and he's just dying to tell somebody? Did he discover a new curse word that he needs to try out on a friend? Has his Super Deluxe Girlfriend finally come to her senses, realized that Robert will never change, and moved out? You just never know.

"Oh yes, absolutely you're in it." I said. "Why? Do you not want to be in it?"

"No, that's cool," Robert said almost in a whisper. "Nah, I was just wondering what you're going to say."

This was a bit puzzling to me, as Robert is not the kind of guy to care about stuff like this. Whenever I've asked if he minds being written about in my blog, he's always blown it off as no big deal. But maybe Robert feels being mentioned in a blog is different than appearing in print, and I'm suddenly hesitant to mention that not only is he in the book, but there's an entire chapter devoted to him. I don't get to see Robert very often, but he's had a huge impact on my life. I can't imagine him not appearing in Daveology, because the stories are just too good.

"How about I promise to send you anything I write about you, and you can tell me if I can put it in the book," I say.

"Oh yeah! That would be great!" Robert says, his relief audible.

So last night I emailed him an outline of his chapter, then attached the stuff I had already written. Just in case anybody is interested, I've reprinted the first part of our Las Vegas adventure, where we've just passed through airport security at Seattle and I've headed off to use the restroom...

Completely ignoring the unwritten rule that dictates you should leave an empty urinal between yourself and any guy already peeing (if possible), Robert trotted up to the urinal next to mine and set about his business. This was a bit unnerving, but I was able to cope by amusing myself with the entertainment at hand. But since the only thing in my hand at that moment was my penis, my options were limited. I would have looked around for something else to distract me from this uncomfortable situation, but there was nothing else in my viewing angle except other men and their penises. Since amusing myself with my own penis or watching other guys using theirs is frowned upon in any public restroom outside of Los Angeles, I instead decided to concentrate on my shiny white urinal, noting how its manufacturer, American Standard, became Nacirema Dradnats when spelled backwards. But just as I was thinking how “Nacirema” kind of sounded like “Macarena,” and how I haven’t heard that song in a while, the inevitable happened.
   
“Holy shit!” Robert exclaimed at full volume. “Dude! There’s a pube on top of the urinal!”
   
Before leaving on our trip, I had worried about the strange things that seem to happen whenever Robert is around. He’s like a magnet for trouble and weird happenings, and going to a city like Las Vegas with such a person is bound to be somewhat problematic. I had consoled myself by thinking my past experiences of hanging out with Robert would prepare me to deal with any situation that might occur. What I didn’t expect was having to deal with a situation while my dick was hanging out of my trousers.
   
Mortified beyond my ability to express, I tried to concentrate on more pressing matters and pretend I didn’t know this deranged man peeing next to me. But such efforts are futile when Robert is involved.
   
“How does a pube get on top of the urinal?” Robert said, transfixed by the errant pubic hair. “Did a 10-foot giant pee here?”
   
“Uhhhhhhhh...” I stammered uselessly, “I guess so.”
   
“Well that doesn’t make any sense!” he shouted. “Because wouldn’t a giant have giant pubes? This one is normal sized.”
   
At this point I was considering whether I should continue to stand there urinating while an entire restroom of guys stared at us, or zipping up and peeing my pants so I could flee. In my mind both options were equally embarrassing.
   
“Look at it! Just look at it!” Robert cried, his face getting closer and closer to the object of his newfound obsession.
   
Using all the force I could muster, I managed to expel the remaining contents of my bladder in record time. Unconcerned as to what damage this might have done to my urinary tract, I practically ran to the sink so I could wash up and escape.
   
“Dude, this is seriously fucked up!” Robert shouted over his shoulder, ignoring the stares of guys desperately trying not to stare in a place where staring can get you in serious trouble. “Where’s your camera?”
   
Sweat pouring down my forehead, I exited the bathroom with my hands trembling. We were only twenty minutes into a three-day trip and I was already a nervous wreck. With an hour left until we boarded the plane, I quickly began calculating how much alcohol I could consume in the time available. The only way I was going to survive this weekend was if I were drunk or Robert were sedated.

Then this morning I get another call... "Did you read it?" I ask.

"Yeah. Yeah. But where is the time we nearly got beaten up by that trucker at McDonalds? That was pretty funny! You should put that in there too. Oh! And what about my cat? How come my cat isn't in the book? Oooh! Don't forget about the Skittles! You've got to tell the time about the Skittles!"

So I guess Robert doesn't have a problem being in the book. It would seem his only problem is that the book isn't entirely about him.

Continuing on with TequilaCon Week here at Blogography...

While having breakfast the morning of TequilaCon, I spoke about a concept I call "Dave Numbers."

It's kind of a personal ranking scheme that determines your place in this world based on your proximity to the center of the universe (which would be me). In simple terms, I classify my relationship with other people by assigning them numbers. Called Dave Numbers, this classification system is built upon how close others are to me based on certain criteria. The further you are away from me (either physically or by definition), the higher your number...

Here is a sample list of some things that can get you a Dave Number...

1. You've had intimate contact with Dave.
2. You've touched Dave.
3. You've met/spoken to Dave in person.
4. You've had a phone or IM conversation with Dave.
5. You've had mail/email communication with Dave.
6. You've received a blog comment from Dave.
7. Dave knows who you are.
8. You've commented at Blogography.
9. You've read Blogography.
10. You know who Dave is.

If your Dave Number is 0, you ARE Dave (lucky bastard!). Dave Numbers can be negative (e.g. a Dave Number of -1 implies you've had sex or some other very naughty contact with Dave, a -5 means you've performed open-heart surgery on Dave). Some other known number assignments follow. Note how drastically things decline once you get past the point where you don't even know who Dave is...

22. You hate pudding.
98. You think Bill O'Reilly actually knows what the f#@% he is talking about.
163. You are Jared the Subway Sandwich Whore.
176. You are "actor" David Caruso.
220. You drive in the passing lane without passing anybody.
319. You are pseudo-religious nut-bag Pat Robinson.
481. You are skanky media dumbass Anne Coulter.

Base Dave Numbers range from 1-500, whereas 500 is reserved for inanimate objects not capable of being aware of Dave at all (or anything else, for that matter... kind of like a cheese sandwich or Dr. Phil).

Sometimes Dave Numbers are assigned arbitrarily. For example, I have not had sex with Elizabeth Hurley, but she still rates a Dave Number of -1 because I feel her deep inside my soul. Sometimes Dave Numbers are arrived at by averaging. For example, if you have touched me (2) but you drive in the passing lane without passing anybody (220) your Dave Number would be 111 (2+220 divided by 2). This may seem harsh, but your not knowing how to drive properly makes me feel that much more distanced from you. In some rare cases, Dave Numbers are reached through cumulation. For example, if you hate pudding (22), are Jarod the Subway Sandwich Whore (163), and you drive in the passing lane without passing anybody (220), your total Dave Number is 405 (22+163+220). With a number like 405, you might as well not exist.

That's why events like TequilaCon are so special when I am in attendance. Just walking through this door is guaranteed to significantly decrease your Dave Number...

This photo shamelessly stolen from Postmodern Sass.

Since a low Dave Number is highly coveted, I live in constant fear of random people running up and talking to me or sticking their finger in my ear in hopes that their number will go down. One time a guy who wanted the bank to give him a better mortgage interest rate had knocked me down, farted in my face, then ran off declaring that he now had a Dave Number of -2 because I had "breathed in his essence." Unfortunately for him, he didn't realize that his Dave Number actually increased because that -2 had to be averaged with 496 (You cause physical, mental, or spiritual damage to Dave), which resulted in a 247. Not only did the guy not get a better interest rate, but the bank then refused to give him a loan at all, he was fired from his job, his wife left him, and he ended up being forced to live the rest of his life alone in shame. It's sad, but that's the price you pay for having such a high Dave Number.

This is why you should be clearing your calendar for TequilaCon 2008... since I am planning on attending, your happiness in life may very well depend on it.

Yaknow how you get that feeling in your nose and down your throat just before you're going to catch a cold? It took me a minute to figure out what was happening, because I get maybe one cold every three or four years and forget. Well, today at around 2:15, I got that "feeling." After screaming for a few minutes, I choked down vitamin C in quantities that are equivalent to the Recommended Daily Dosage for a small city, then shoved so much Zicam up my nose that I thought I was going to drown. When this happened a few months ago, it turned out to be nothing. It had better be nothing this time as well, or I might be upset.

Yaknow how you're washing clothes and you've run out of soap, so you put water into the soap bottle and swish it around to make more soap? But you forget to buy a new bottle of soap, so you keep trying to get more soap out of the empty bottle with even more water? Then suddenly you realize that you've been doing this for three wash-loads, and there just isn't anymore soap in that bottle? So then you add dishwasher soap in the hopes that it will be good enough to clean the underwear you so desperately need? Uh huh. Well, I hope I don't have an allergic reaction on my happy bits tomorrow, because that would suck ass.

Yaknow how you're blogging about maybe catching a cold AND possibly having an allergic reaction on your crotch, then realize that tomorrow might not be your day?

Yaknow how you look at your blog stats to make sure that you're not going to run over your bandwidth limit, then happen to notice how almost NOBODY visits your blog on the weekend? And then you start to wonder if perhaps Kevin has the right idea, and maybe you should just start skipping the weekends? Yeah. But I am so undisciplined that if I did start skipping weekends, I'd probably start skipping every day and never blog again. Why do I ever look at my blog stats? No good can ever come of it.

Yaknow how you've been craving taco pizza all day, so you get home and toss a frozen cheese pizza in the oven, then get out the lettuce, the tomatoes, the hot sauce, and grate the cheddar cheese that goes on top? But then you see that the lettuce has gone all brown and squishy, and you don't actually have any tomatoes? But since you've already grated the cheddar cheese and still want that pizza, you decide to just have a pile of cheese on top of your cheese pizza for dinner? This can't be healthy.

Yaknow how you've got a dozen things you want to blog about, but you're tired and don't feel like it so you just stop?

I have abysmal eyesight. Mostly because my vision got very bad, very fast when I was young. The good news is that once my eyesight plummeted to a -6.75, it stayed there and never really got any worse (thankfully, or I would have gone blind years ago). I've been fluctuating between -6.5 and -6.75 for the past 25 years, and seem to be stuck there.

I started out in glasses. But when my eyes reached their apex of badness, I switched to contact lenses because the glasses were just too thick to be comfortable. I had what were commonly referred to as "Coke Bottle Glasses," and hated them. Soft contacts had just come out, and they were fantastic. I felt transformed...

Well, not THAT transformed. I still had years of fashion therapy, braces, and vats of Clearasil before that would happen...

But lately my contacts have been increasingly uncomfortable. Where I used to be able to wear them for days at a time, I'm lucky to make it 9 hours now. I've thought about having that laser surgery where they slice your eyeball open and then zap your vision to perfection, but then you end up with reduced night-vision and problems seeing things close-up. On top of all that, I've got lots of little floaty things in my eye, and laser-zap-o-fix-a-vision might make them noticeably worse.

So now I've come full-circle and will probably end up wearing glasses again.

Getting old sucks ass.

And I'm totally pissed that my optician just laughs at me when I demand a prescription for Retinox 5. Where's Dr. McCoy when you need him?

I don't get sick very often, for which I am most grateful. On those rare occasions I do get sick, I don't like to talk about it. I can't stand listening to somebody else's health problems, so why would anybody want to listen to mine? I've just never understood these people who like to get together and discuss all the bizarre crap that's wrong with them. Especially in public. I'm always the guy wanting to scream "NOBODY CARES IF YOU HAVE HEMORRHOIDS, BITCH!" whenever I come across these absurd conversations which people happily have in restaurants or the mini mart. Some things should be kept private.

But I just can't help myself.

Last night I had the worst case of flaming diarrhea farts ever...

Seriously. There were moments I didn't know what was going to happen, and other moments where it felt like my ass was on fire. The entire evening is a blur of one horrible moment after another. And the worst part is that I have no idea what caused it. Nothing I ate could explain the drama going on in my bathroom. No Super Bean Burritos. No Cabbage Milkshakes. No Double Prune Danishes. No Pints of Guinness. It was a total mystery. My ass was rebelling against some unknown offense that I still don't understand.

When I finally went to bed, it was because there was nothing left in me to expel. The only thing I was filled with was dread at the thought of waking up and having breakfast the next morning. What if it started all over again? As a safety precaution, I consumed a bottle of Pepto Bismol and a half-box of Imodium.

But everything turned out akay in the end (heh heh). I woke up, had breakfast, and my day was pretty much normal.

If only I could erase the memories.

In less nasty news, OMFG! Geeks of Doom is reporting Variety as saying that we're going to be seeing a Lego Batman videogame in 2008! Just when I think that the Lego Star Wars videogames were about as cool as things can get... this happens. The Lego Batman toys are super-sweet (combining two of my favorite things ever!), and I can't wait to see how they translate into a game. Just hearing this makes me want to start playing Lego Star Wars all over again.

I mean, holy crap! It's Lego F#@%ing Batman... IN A VIDEOGAME!!

And that's all she wrote.

Unless you want to read about how confused I am by the configuration of Adobe's new "Creative Suite 3" bundles, which I've put in an extended entry...

I'm running out of ways to say "kiss my ass."

And it's a darn shame too, because there are some people I know right now who are in desperate need of a nice "kiss my ass" shout-out. But I've found that there's only so many times you can say that in a day without starting to sound like you are, in fact, wanting some lip-action on your posterior. In some cases, this may be true. But, in general, most of the people I'm telling to kiss my ass I don't really want anywhere near my butt.

In lieu of a good "kiss my ass" replacement, I suppose I could just skip the verbal assault and go around bitch-slapping the idiots...

Alas, physical assault is frowned upon by the police, and I'd imagine that there's only so many times you could go around bitch-slapping people before you're being hauled in for your mugshot...

And since the idea of somebody arresting me while I'm eating my Cheesy Fiesta Potatoes is not cool, restraining myself seems to be a good idea. No matter how much the moron deserves it.

Eh. Maybe I'll just start telling people to "bite me" instead.

Last night was worse than most in that I didn't get ANY sleep. I had taken a quick 45-minute nap before The Daily Show & Colbert Report, and that was enough to totally f#@% up my sleep schedule. Since my poop schedule had already been messed up by my flaming diarrhea farts from two days ago, I can only assume that all my bodily functions are now attempting to sync-up again... badly.

After having "woken up" (ha ha ha) I had a raging headache and decided to take an aspirin. I stumbled to the kitchen medicine cupboard and downed a couple Excedrin, then went to the bathroom so I could put in my contact lenses. Once I could see again, I went back to the kitchen and noticed something very, very wrong. The Excedrin bottle I had left on the counter was not actually Excedrin... it was Excedrin PM, which is a combination pain reliever/sleeping pill.

Great. So now, on top of being exhausted from lack of sleep, I had just taken some sleeping pills...

Red pill? Blue pill? Whatever. Am I in the f#@%ing Matrix or something? Holy shit, Morpheus... I just took the blue pill! Now I won't get to have sex with Trinity in the sequel!

The day was getting off to a really interesting start.

On the way to work I had a panic attack thinking that I would fall asleep at my desk, so I decided to stop at the mini-mart and buy a 4-Pack of Red Bull. Perhaps drinking a bunch of energy drinks would counteract the sleeping pills? It was worth a shot. As I was paying for my Red Bull, I was exactly $2 over the total, so I decided to do something I never do... buy a Lotto ticket.

It may be the combination of the Excedrin PM and Red Bull talking, but I am feeling very, very lucky.

I have decided to win the Lotto.

I'M GOING TO WIN THE F#@%ING LOTTO!!

Maybe if I win the 2.7 MILLION DOLLARS, I won't have to worry about my poop and sleep schedule being all f#@%ed up. With 2.7 MILLION DOLLARS, I can poop and sleep whenever I want! And I certainly won't have to worry about people making fun of my new Sanjaya haircut...

Bleh. My head is feeling all mooshy. I wonder if it was a lethal combination of Excedrin PM and Red Bull that killed Anna Nicole Smith? I had better take some Pepto Bismol so I can get this all sorted out.

Because is there anything that Pepto Bismol can't fix?

I just got through beating the crap out of a vending machine so I could get the Hershey's "Take 5" candy bar I just bought, only to discover that it is stale and doesn't taste very good. I should have gone for the "Snickers" bar, because those bitches last forever.

But enough about my lunch.

Last night after I had cried for a few hours because my internet is dead, I decided to do something constructive... like wash clothes and clean out my bedroom. It was while doing the latter that I noticed that the circular polarizing filter for my camera had a nice crack running through it. The last time I used it was when I was in Italy over a year ago, and have no idea how it happened. This was depressing, because a good polarizer costs around $124, and I really don't have that kind of money to be tossing around. But the idea of life without a circular polarizing filter fills me with dread, so I decided to buy a new one anyway.

Which is really difficult right now.

Because just about all of the big camera places are closed for Passover.

This comes as a bit of a shock to people like me living in the uncivilized parts of the Pacific Northwest, where the Jewish population is close to zero. Of course I know what Passover is, having been raised Catholic and seen The Ten Commandments, but my understanding of the Jewish celebration of the holiday is limited to an episode of Sports Night I once watched. I think it has to do with drinking lots of wine, eating matzo bread, and chewing bitter herbs in remembrance of the Mel Gibson anti-semitic tirade of 2006...

Anybody know where I can get a veggie shank bone?

You also get to wear those little hats and get off work for a week, which sounds good to me (even though I don't look particularly good in a yamaka because my head is shaped like a peanut).

Unfortunately, I inadvertently violated Passover rules when I had my bread machine churn out a yummy loaf of leavened bread a couple nights ago. This wouldn't have been a big deal, except I blogged about it. That makes calling in Jewish at work a risky proposition, since I'm pretty sure there are co-workers who read Blogography. Thus, no Passover for my secular ass.

I'm seriously considering drinking those four glasses of wine anyway though. It will help me to deal with my DSL connection celebrating Passover without me.

My DSL is back, thankfully, because I was about ready to wean myself off my internet addiction by getting addicted to something new... like hookers and cocaine. Sure it's more expensive, but maybe I can pay for the whores and blow with my credit card so I can rack up the frequent flier miles?

Two years ago I decided to stop charging anything to my credit card and pay for everything in cash or via debit card. My thinking was that this would keep me from running up debt, and force me to buy only the things I could actually afford. This was a big change from the "charge now and ask questions later" strategy I had been using for decades, and ended up being a real eye-opener as to my spending habits.

Today I was checking my frequent flier mileage balance to see what trips I would be taking later this year, and came across another eye-opening discovery... my mileage balance has been slowly shrinking. Since I used to charge absolutely everything on my airline credit card, I received a substantial amount of miles from everyday purchases. Buying a can of fruit cocktail on credit was just another step towards a free ticket.

But no more.

So last night I went back through my old credit card statements and found, to my horror, that I have been screwing myself out of thousands upon thousands of miles annually by paying with cash. As the color was draining from my face, I came to the realization that my lazy attempt at financial management had ended up costing me several hundred dollars in airfare. Had I simply decided to keep better track of my spending instead of eliminating my credit card, I would have been much better off.

So now I'm back to charging everything again, but this time I'm being careful to create a budget and control my spending. Except now my old plan, which was based on not having internet ever again, is in need of revision...

Though I don't suppose there's any harm in trying out this plan for a month or two and seeing how things go...

Bleh.

Is there anything more sad than sitting around drinking martinis in your boxer shorts while waiting for The Office to start because you just can't get motivated to do anything else?

Including writing in your blog?

Yeah. That's what I thought.

Finally. Finally the praise and recognition I so richly deserve has started to come my way. It may have taken a bit longer than I expected, but my plan for world domination has been set in motion at long last. As more and more people celebrate my greatness, my influence will grow and my destiny to rule the earth will finally be realized.

Today I was bestowed the great privilege of becoming a "Paul Harris Fellow" by the local chapter of Rotary International. It was awarded me in recognition of service to Rotary and the local community, which is a real honor. I got a medal and a certificate and everything...

I'm thinking I'm just going to wear my medal constantly so everybody will know how great I am. It's not like I do things for the community to win prizes and get medals but, so long as they're giving me one, I might as well take advantage of it.

To celebrate, I went to dinner with my mom at Applebee's.

I had the Tuscan Cheese Spread appetizer as an entree, which tasted so good it was like a full-body massage, complete with a happy ending...

You get grilled ciabatta bread slices that you top with warm, gooey Italian cheese and a tomato-garlic salad. It's pretty amazing, especially if you like garlic. I wanted very much to spread it all over my waitress and have a party, but I try not to do inappropriate things like this when my mother's around.

I guess I'll have to save that idea for another time.

I wonder if you face jail-time for spreading hot cheese on a waitress?

I suppose it all depends on how big a tip you have leave.

And if you're wearing a medal or not, of course.

I am wearing a thong and am entirely too drukn to blog.

Honestly, it's not as bad as it looks. I actually did realize that I had misspelled "drunk" as "drukn" in last night's entry. But instead of posting an edit, I accidentally posted a duplicate copy. After I realized that I had made two entries, I went to delete the one with the misspelling, but accidentally deleted the one that was corrected instead.

Okay, I guess that actually is as bad as it looks.

But what's surprising here is not my drunken behavior. It's the fact that everybody in the comments wants to see a picture of me wearing a thong. I'm guessing this would not have been the case had I mentioned is was a ladies thong. Naturally, this being the age of digital cameras and such, photos were taken...

And yes, I was wearing the thong over my jeans because, even in a drunken state, I realize that nobody wants to actually see a guy wearing a ladies thong. It's not even remotely "cute" because your junk would be all hanging out...

Now, had it been a mens thong with a proper pouch for my kibble and bits, then I probably would have taken my jeans off first.

I'm classy like that.

It's the time of year when little critters that belong outside start waking up and finding their way inside.

As I was unpacking my suitcase I noticed a small spider skittering away. I felt bad for the little guy, as he was obviously quite lost and, if he hitched a ride from Seattle, far from home. Yet, as sorry as I was feeling, I was not quite ready to have him as a roommate. The quick and easy solution to my problem was to grab something heavy and smash him. But that always seems so senseless and cruel. It's not like he knows any better, and it hardly seems fair to kill him because he isn't aware he's trespassing...

So I do what I always do... try to take him back outside.

But first I had to find him. This involved ten minutes of tearing apart my bedroom and chasing the fastest spider on earth. But eventually I managed to catch him under a glass and slide a card beneath. Once caught, he didn't put up much of a struggle, and sat there motionless on the card awaiting his fate.

Which was to be put on a nice shrub just outside the building where, hopefully, he'll be happy.

In a world where it is increasingly more common to kill a life than save it... where it's far easier to destroy something than to create it... it's the little things like this that help me feel better about my place in the grand scheme of things.

Even though a bird probably flew in and ate my spider two minutes after I set him outside.

I prefer to think that he spun up a nice web and is even now picking out wallpaper and curtains for his new home.

Today I received probably the strangest phone call in my life.

Well, there was that time Bad Robert called to ask me if I knew how to get baby oil stains out of a fabric car seat, but this one was pretty strange.

My friend Natsuki called because a plumber couldn't understand her. Never mind that she speaks perfect English, the guy she hired to install a sink claimed he didn't know what she was saying. Natsuki was calling to ask if she could explain what she wanted to me, then have me explain it to the guy. Bewildered as to how this could possibly be happening, I agreed. After I had gone over everything with the plumber, he thanked me and then added "I wish these people would get educated before they move here."

Needless to say, I came unglued.

"Oh really?" I replied. "Natsuki not only holds a design degree, she also speaks Japanese, Chinese, French, and English... how many f#@%ing languages do YOU speak? Maybe YOU'RE the one who needs to be educated in how to listen to people!"

Seriously, WTF? I understand that some people have difficulty understanding an accent, but that wasn't the problem here. Natsuki's English is perfectly understandable, and there was no reason at all for a comment like that... the plumber was just being a lazy asshole who apparently has a problem with foreigners... or women... or, more likely, both. I'd bet serious money that if the plumber ever went to Japan, he wouldn't bother to learn a word of Japanese first.

Jerk.

My day was made better when I got home and saw a television ad for Dancing & Singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider-Man!!"

Probably one of the cutest toys ever. He can really dance! Bust a move, Spidey...

Somebody I know needs to have a baby so I can have an excuse to go buy one (then play with it before I give it to them).

This is one of those things where I'm going to get drunk one day and order it off Amazon or something.

At least that's the excuse I use when people catch me playing with my Star Trek Barbie & Ken dolls...

Beam me up, Scotty... I want off this planet.

I'm not one to think about death very often. I don't fear it, I don't dread it, I don't get upset over it. I've done quite a lot during my lifetime, and if I were to die tomorrow I would be okay with that. I'm not saying I want to die but, if it happens, that's fine by me... no regrets and all that. Usually the only time I'm bothered by death is when somebody I know dies. My own death is no bother at all.

But ever since I opened the Artificial Duck Co. store, I'm starting to think about it. I've charged people money for pre-ordered merchandise which is 4-6 weeks away. What happens if I drop dead before I can ship it to them? What if I'm on a plane that goes down? What if I get run over on the street by somebody talking on their mobile phone instead of watching the road?

For the first time in a very long time, I've been thinking about dying. Who will take care of Herbert (my plant) when I'm gone?

With apologies to Neil Gaiman...

And so now I've started to plan for my demise.

I've asked somebody to take care of Herbert. I've left detailed instructions on how to refund the money to everybody who has placed an order at my store. I've made sure my insurance policy is current. I've backed up my hard drive.

(Not that backing up my hard drive is important when I'm dead... but if it were to die while I was alive, I'd probably be more upset than if I myself were to die).

Bleh. It's raining this morning. The sound of it on my roof was enough to wake me up at 4:00am. It's not the worst way to wake up... except I didn't get to bed until 1:30am. Something tells me 2-1/2 hours of sleep isn't going to cut it.

Maybe I'll die from exhaustion.

But that's okay... I'm covered for that.

As I was driving home from work last night, I spotted a war protest rally going on in front of our local bank. This was a bit surprising given that I live in the conservative backwaters of Eastern Washington. Nobody ever protests anything here. But there they were.

All three of them.

But I don't think it was their diminutive numbers that was sabotaging their cause... it was the tragically bad signs they were waving around. They were barely readable. I nearly ran into the hippies trying to read what the heck they were protesting. As a designer snob, I felt the need to stop, hop out, and critique their shit, but I was just too tired.

Helpful hint to hippie protesters... USE A THICK MARKER WHEN CREATING YOUR SIGNS SO PEOPLE CAN READ THEM!

Things didn't get much better this morning. There I was stopped at a two-way-stop waiting for my turn to go. The truck whose turn it was to enter the intersection couldn't get out right away, but there was an opening coming AND a police car was heading towards me, so I decided to wait a second.

It was then that the bitch behind me decided to honk her horn.

Never mind that I didn't have the right-of-way. Never mind that a cop was coming. Never mind that I hadn't even been stopped 20 seconds yet. This impatient, ignorant, dumbass bitch decides to honk at me.

Needless to say, I was enraged.

I rolled down my window, flipped her off, and screamed some horrible things. And didn't feel the least bit bad about it. If I wasn't running late, I would have been sorely tempted to walk back and have a chat with her. Then slap her stupid face. Heaven only knows she needed it.

Argh.

Fast-forward eight hours and I'm in Seattle looking for socks. I have to walk through the women's section and notice something new...

Mobile phones take crappy photos.

When did they start putting protruding nipples on the mannequins?

And, more importantly, do these nipples actually encourage women to buy more clothes?

I usually hate shopping, but if I was with a woman who felt the need to constantly ask me "do my nipples look good in this shirt?" - I may just change my mind.

Great. My DSL is down. Again. When the highlight of your day is getting a call from Bad Robert wanting to know if your "poop cycle" is back to normal, you just know that there is something seriously wrong in the universe.

The "poop cycle," for anybody who is insane enough to be curious about how Robert's mind works, is his theory about crossing time zones and pooping. Having never traveled more than three time zones in his life, one might wonder how Robert could come up with something like this, but he insists that a trip to Walt Disney World five years ago has permanently damaged his health, and who am I to argue?

Robert claims that his morning run to the toilet became synced to Eastern Time while spending a week in Florida, and never entirely synced back to Pacific Time once he returned. This means he has to wake up three hours early each morning so he can take care of business. Needless to say he's a little upset by that, and hasn't left our time zone since. I argue that this is his body telling him that he needs to move to the east coast, but he worries that failed poop syncing adjustments are cumulative, and has no desire to poop at 2:00 AM unless he's paid to get up that early.

Maybe the answer is a trip to Hawaii to move things forward, but I refuse to get into a conversation with Robert about his pooping habits because I am terrified as to where it might lead.

Alas, I have no such problems. I don't even get jet-lag. For some mysterious reason, my body just adapts to whatever time zone I happen to be in with no questions asked. Of course, as an insomniac, I only sleep 4-5 hours each night, so maybe it's because I'm already so messed up that I don't have to worry about jet-lag or my poop cycle.

Anyway...

I stumbled across a nifty photo I took when looking through my vacation photos. While I was in Santorini, I went to the Prehistoric Thira Museum there. It's small, but well appointed. One of my favorite exhibits was a wall painting of blue monkeys from the 17th century (and that's B.C.)...

Big chunks of the mural have been reconstructed and reinterpreted, but it's still pretty cool. My theory is that it was really painted by actual monkeys...

Kind of a post-impressionistic interpretation of ancient monkey times in blue.

UPDATE: WTF?!? This morning I wake up and have internet, but now my blog is down? I guess that's what I get for blogging about poop and blue monkeys.

This morning I woke up craving Spaghetti. And not just any spaghetti, but the crappy Chef Boyardee spaghetti that comes in a can. Never one to deny myself anything, I found some in the back of my cupboard and heated it up. But canned spaghetti seems kind of weird and squishy to be having for breakfast, so I dumped some corn flakes on top and it was all good.

The problem is that I didn't eat enough of it, and was still hungry as I was heading out the door to visit my dentist for a teeth cleaning. Since I had already brushed my teeth, I didn't want to eat any Chef Boyardee leftovers for fear of having spaghetti-breath. So instead decided to have a lime popsicle.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I immediately realized my mistake when I pulled up to the dentist office and looked in my rear-view mirror to make sure I didn't have anything stuck in my teeth...

Well fuck.

Can't... catch... a... break...

Faced with the embarrassing prospect of having my dentist see me with a bright green tongue, I search for anything I could use to wipe it off. I started with a few napkins I had in the glovebox... moved on to some tissues I found in my side-pocket... then ultimately ended up scraping my tongue with a Swiffer Duster I found under the seat.

A lot of the toxic color came off my tongue, but I still had a nice green cast as I walked through the door.

I'm fairly certain both my hygienist and dentist think that I am completely insane now, despite not having said anything about my freakishly green tongue... but what else is new?

Still unsatisfied after Chef Boyardee Spaghetti and a lime popsicle, I decided to drop by Denny's for some kind of brunch-type meal. If you've never been, I can tell you that nothing makes you appreciate getting older than eating at Denny's at 10:30 in the morning. The place was crawling with the elderly, and I'm guessing the median age must have been at least 85 years old.

It was the most entertaining meal I've had in ages.

These crotchety old people bitch about everything. They fight about everything. They get away with everything.

Take the couple sitting behind me...

OLD MAN: I want bacon!
OLD WOMAN: You like the pancakes! Order the pancakes!
OLD MAN: I WANT BACON OR HAM, DAMMIT!
OLD WOMAN: THEN ORDER YOUR DAMN BACON, BUT YOU'LL NEVER EAT IT!
OLD MAN: I'M HUNGRY AND I'LL EAT IT!
OLD WOMAN: No you won't.
OLD MAN: YES I WILL EAT IT, AND I'M ORDERING IT!!
OLD WOMAN: Then get the Grand Slam, you get bacon with your pancakes.
OLD MAN: I'm going to get the Slim Slam so I can get some eggs.
OLD WOMAN: BUT WHAT ABOUT YOUR PANCAKES?!? YOU DON'T GET PANCAKES WITH A SLIM SLAM!
OLD MAN: YES YOU DO GET PANCAKES!! IT SAYS SO RIGHT ON THE MENU, DAMMIT!
WAITRESS: Hello there! Have you decided what you'd like to have?
OLD MAN: I WANT THE SLIM SLAM WITH SCRAMBLED EGGS, HAM, AND STRAWBERRIES ON MY PANCAKES!!!
WAITRESS: Errr... okay. And for you ma'am?
OLD WOMAN: Oh! I don't know what I want yet!
OLD MAN: HAH!! YOU WERE SO WORRIED ABOUT WHAT I WAS GOING TO ORDER WHEN YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE!! STUPID WOMAN!
OLD WOMAN: OH SHUT UP! SHUT UP!
WAITRESS: Why don't I give you a few more minutes...
OLD MAN: BUT I WANT MY HAM!!

People dread getting older. They fight the aging process every chance they get. I'm just the opposite. I so totally can't wait to get old so I can act like a spoiled two-year-old in public without having to worry about what people are going to think. Once I turn 85, I'm not going to give a fuck about anything... A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G. I'm going to do whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want to do it.

Which is pretty much how I am right now, but I'm betting I won't feel nearly as guilty about it.

Sometimes things happen in life that make a person feel so very small and insignificant...

As somebody who tries to live larger than life, this is not a happy feeling for me.

This is a pre-recorded episode of Blogography from Thursday, May 31.

I just don't get the massive excitement over the annual Scripps National Spelling Bee. Heck, I don't understand the excitement over any spelling bee. Because, when you think about it, the fact that the English language is so f#@%ed up that they can build contests around how to spell words is kind of embarrassing. You would think any language worth its salt would have words you could spell just by hearing somebody pronounce them. The fact that you can't do so with English leads me to think that something is broken.

And, as if the embarrassment wasn't bad enough, I find spelling bees incredibly boring and artificially dramatic.

Take for instance the mind-numbing routine that contestants go through for even the simplest of words...

ANNOUNCER: Your word is "cat."
CONTESTANT: Can you repeat the word please?
ANNOUNCER: Cat.
CONTESTANT: Can you use it in a sentence?
ANNOUNCER: Mrs. brown liked to stroke her pet cat.
CONTESTANT: What is the origin of the word?
ANNOUNCER: It's Middle English derived from Old English and Germanic languages.
CONTESTANT: Can you repeat the word again?
ANNOUNCER: Cat.
CONTESTANT: Are there any alternate pronunciations for the word?
ANNOUNCER: No.
CONTESTANT: May I have the definition?
ANNOUNCER: A small carnivorous mammal which has been domesticated since early times.
CONTESTANT: That's pronounced "cat?"
ANNOUNCER: Yes.
CONTESTANT: May I have the extended definition?
ANNOUNCER: Any of the various mammals of the family Felidae, including lions and tigers.
CONTESTANT: Can I hear it in a sentence again?
ANNOUNCER: Mrs. brown liked to stroke her pet cat.
CONTESTANT: Can you repeat the word?
ANNOUNCER: Cat.
CONTESTANT: What part of speech is that?
ANNOUNCER: It's a noun.
CONTESTANT: Can you repeat the word one more time?
ANNOUNCER: Cat.
CONTESTANT: K-H-A-A-T.
ANNOUNCER: =DING!= I'm sorry, that's incorrect.

In contrast to that bullshit, here would be the Dave National Spelling Bee...

DAVE: Your word is "cat."
CONTESTANT: Can you repeat the word please?
DAVE: WHAT?!? It's cat! Your word is f#@%ing CAT! You are in a national spelling bee and can't spell cat?!?
CONTESTANT: Can you use it in a sentence?
DAVE: Get the f#@% off my stage, bitch!

Now I would absolutely tune in to watch that shit... but to watch the ESPN coverage of Scripps would make me lose my mind. Because, seriously, now that all the computers have spell-check, what's the point? And it's not like anybody uses even a fraction of the words they make you spell anyway. Trapanasomiasis? Cephalalgia? Appoggiatura? Are you serious?

How about they start having a GRAMMAR competition? Watching somebody who knows the difference between "their" and "they're"... now that's exciting.

OMG! I TOTALLY FORGOT HOW TO BLOG!!

But if that doesn't frighten you away, I ramble on for quite a bit in an extended entry...

It occurs to me, after having spent the last two days scheduling the next three months of my life, that every single day from now through August is completely booked. I sure hope I don't get sick or something... I just don't have time for that kind of nonsense. Even more disappointing, I don't have room in my schedule to play video games.

It was then that I started taking a look at my daily activities to see where my time goes. I figure if I can identify wasted minutes in my routine, I can apply them to something more worthwhile... like unlocking "Bounty Hunter Mode" in Xbox Lego Star Wars 2.

Here is what I came up with to add more time in a day...

• Wear "Depends" adult diapers to eliminate time spent going to the bathroom (15-20 minutes).
• Don't shower or clean up in the morning (15 minutes).
• Don't wash clothes (30 minutes).
• Stop reading other people's blogs (1-2 hours).
• Stop writing in my own blog (15-20 minutes).
• Stop eating (1 hour).
• Don't sleep anymore (4-5 hours).
• Stop replying to emails and delete them instead (1-2 hours).
• Stop watching The Daily Show and The Colbert Report (1 hour).
• Stop watching everything else on television (2-4 hours).
• Stop surfing the internet for porn (4 hours).
• Quit working (11-18 hours).

The beauty of this plan is that even the worst-case scenario frees up 27 hours in my schedule every day... while the best-case scenario gives me a whopping 36 extra hours! Just think of all the fun stuff I could do with 36 free hours in my day! Not only would I have time to completely finish Xbox Star Wars Lego 2, but I'd also finally have time to play Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess on my Wii.

I suppose the alternative to such a drastic change in my lifestyle would be to multi-task. Perhaps I could go to the bathroom, surf for porn, eat, and watch television all at the same time? I'd do all that while taking a shower, but I don't think my MacBook is waterproof.

And now I'm off to Seattle. I think that I will drive double the speed limit so I can cut my travel time in half. I prefer to think of this as "time management" as opposed to "illegal."

I'm sure the police will feel the same way once I explain how I've finally unlocked Lando Calrissian as a playable character in Xbox Star Wars Lego 2, and need to rescue Han from the bounty hunter.

I took a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup bar to work today so I'd have something to eat for lunch. Unfortunately, I left it in my car which sat out in 80-degree heat so, instead of peanut butter cups, I had warm peanut butter goo. I ate it anyway... well, not so much "ate" as "sucked it out of the package." While I admit that's pretty sad, the idea of peanut butter and chocolate going to waste just doesn't seem right.

In other news, my gun finally arrived today.

When my T-shirt order is printed at the end of the month, I have two small orders that are being shipped to a shop. This was kind of unexpected, as I had only planned to sell them in my Artificial Duck Co. store, but the shop-owner who contacted me was really cool and so I agreed to give it a try. Wanting to be all professional-like, I decided I would tag the shirts just like you see in actual clothing stores.

To do that, I had to buy a gun and some tags...

The tags, which were printed by Moo, look great. But it's the tagging gun that is super-sweet. It's got this giant needle on the front that you can punch through just about anything and put a tag in it. And I have. About the only thing that I haven't tagged yet is parts of my own body. I'm trying to work up the courage to tag my ear, because I think it would look cool...

Something tells me it would take a lot of alcohol before I would be capable of stabbing myself with a needle gun though.

Fortunately I have a fifth of Jägermeister in the freezer, so it's all good.

The drive back to Seattle was fairly uneventful. About the only interesting bit was when I hit a wall of fog coming down from the top of Snoqualmie Pass. It was so dense that you were lucky if you could see two car-lengths ahead of you. This made for some tricky maneuvering past vehicles that decided to stop in the middle of the highway.

After work it was time to hit Johnny Rockets for a veggie burger dinner, and then pick up my new hat. One of my blue Helly Hansen caps had gone missing, so I special-ordered one to replace it...

H/H hats always start out this beautiful deep blue color, then eventually fade to a nice dark navy. But the best part is that they shrink to a really good fit after getting wet a couple of times. Nothing quite so nice as a good-fitting cap!

Fortunately I escaped Helly Hansen with my wallet in-tact. I am not much of a shopper, but I could easily blow through $1000 in about 10 minutes there. I guess everybody has their shopping kryptonite.

I just wish mine was at someplace less expensive.

Oooh! I just noticed that my hotel room has a different view than last time! This time I'm overlooking Fantasy Unlimited...

Fantasy Unlimited... home of "Provocative Playthings!"

This is kind of a surprise, because I thought that Fantasy Unlimited had gone out of business. They used to be located downtown... I have fuzzy memories of getting totally drunk with friends and goofing off with all the crazy crap they sell there. I'm pretty sure that we were asked to leave once when we decided to have a strap-on cock-fight.

Hmmm... perhaps I won't sit here and watch television for the rest of the night after all...

With my numerous projects and everything else that's been going on, I have been sleeping worse than usual... three to four hours tops. This makes for a very challenging day, because I am a wreck before we even start the job. By the time noon rolls around, I'm totally trashed and have to really struggle to finish up my work. But things are going very, very well on the project, so I guess I can't complain.

Tonight I had it in my mind that I would try my best to make up for lost sleep.

After a totally awesome dinner at Il Fornaio, I walked around downtown Seattle past the new Seattle Art Museum (which looks great!), and then down to the Pike Place Market. Everything is closed, of course, but I thought a long walk might tire me out and help me sleep. To make sure of this, I took a handful of sleeping pills, a muscle-relaxer, and a hit of melatonin before hopping into bed at 9:00pm. I wrote a ten-minute blog entry about pasta but, since my hotel doesn't have wireless, I decided to not get out of bed and plug into the internet, but instead go right to sleep and post it tomorrow.

Come morning I would be either well-rested or dead.

But since this entry is not about pasta, you can probably guess that something went terribly wrong.

I dropped off into a drug-induced, coma-like sleep around 9:30 with a decent night's rest practically guaranteed.

Unfortunately, I was rudely awakened around 11:40pm by somebody knocking on my door...

GROGGY DAVE: (opens door in his underwear) Yeah?
MAN IN SUIT: (stands gaping, holding an ice bucket) ?!!???
GROGGY DAVE: YEAH?!?
MAN IN SUIT: Uhhhh... I don't suppose my wife is in there?
GROGGY DAVE: What-?
MAN IN SUIT: Er, my wife is --
GROGGY DAVE: GIVE ME A MINUTE TO WIPE THE PEANUT BUTTER OFF HER ASS AND SHE'S ALL YOURS!
MAN IN SUIT: Uhhhh... I guess I have the wrong room.
GROGGY DAVE: YA THINK?!? DOES YOUR DOOR HAVE A FRICKIN' DO NOT DISTURB SIGN ON IT?
MAN IN SUIT: Ah, sorry about that...

What the hell?

And, of course, now I can't get back to sleep.

Shit!

I wonder if The Lusty Lady is still open... I noticed as I drove by that the shows running are "FANTASTIC 4-play" and "HAIRY SPOTTER." Sounds like down-home, wholesome entertainment to me.

Though I might be better off watching TV-On-Demand's "Pornotopia, because... well, I dunno... it just sounds classier.

I am curious to know if I take another couple of sleeping pills whether they will give me some sleep before I have to get up in six hours, or just totally f#@% me up so that I can't function in the morning?

Holy crap does this suck.

UPDATE: I took just one sleeping pill and managed to get 4 hours sleep. When added to the 2 hours I got before I was rudely awakened, that's probably the best night's rest I've gotten in weeks! Though I still feel like crap, which kind of sucks.

Avitable has just announced that donations have topped $1700 for the Puppy Monster Memorial Fund. Thanks so much to everybody who helped out... it's nice to know that our blogging community steps up to take care of their own during tragic times like this. Money is a soulless thing without conscience. But this money will help a father with the financial burden compounding an already unimaginable situation, and there's nothing soulless about that. If you have even $5 to spare, every little bit helps. Visit Avitable's donation page if you can, and know that what you give goes directly to help out our own NYC Watchdog.

This morning on the way back from Seattle, I had probably the most frightening experience on the road since I started driving.

I was on the single-lane stretch of the 522 heading towards Monroe, when a pickup truck came roaring up on my bumper nearly plowing into me. At the last minute they turned sharply, cutting across the centerline. Thankfully it was 5:30am and there was no oncoming traffic or else there would have been a horrible accident. The driver eventually gained control of their vehicle and made it back into our lane, but continued driving erratically. At one point, he tried to pass me... despite the fact that I was already 5 miles over the speed limit AND this was a well-defined, highly-dangerous, no-passing zone.

I was scared out of my mind... not knowing whether this idiot was tired, drunk, or high. My first instinct was to pull off and let him pass me, but there was a motorcyclist ahead of me. If the guy ran into me, I had thousands of pounds of metal to protect me. If the guy ran into a motorcycle, the rider would be dead. So I stuck it out, watching in horror as the driver weaved all over the road, accelerating to horrific speeds, then fading back.

When I finally made it to Monroe, I followed the motorcycle into the slow-lane and came to a stop light. I then immediately took out my mobile phone and was ready to call the police once the crazy driver stopped and I could read his license plate. But he didn't stop. He tore through the stoplight going at least 20 miles over the limit in the fast lane, and sped off through town. I fully expected to catch up to the guy in a bad accident, but never saw him again. I hope he didn't kill somebody before he got to where he was going. Asshole.

The good news is that I went to a screen-printing check for the new Blogography shirts yesterday...

They're pretty sweet, if I do say so myself. Printing on dark colors is notoriously difficult, because you've got to print a layer of white ink first, but everything seemed to work out okay. Probably because my printer kicks ass. The actual print-run is on Monday, and they should be delivered by the end of the week so I can start shipping orders.

To those who bought stuff from Artificial Duck Co. and have been patiently waiting for their order to ship, there is now light at the end of the tunnel. Thanks to everybody for your patience as I worked through some personal stuff this month, and sorry again for the delay.

I think my home is haunted.

For weeks now, I've been having terrible problems keeping track of stuff. Tonight I set down the television remote control, left the room to get another serving of chocolate pudding for dinner, then came back and the remote is gone. GONE I SAY!! After searching for a good ten minutes, I finally gave up my search so I wouldn't go insane. The bad news is that I'm then forced to watch The 700 Club because I don't know how to change the channel without the remote.

But then it gets weird...

I leave the room again so I can get a Choco Taco for dessert and, when I return, THE TV REMOTE IS SITTING ON THE COUCH WHERE I LEFT IT THE LAST TIME WHEN I WENT FOR CHOCOLATE PUDDING!!

Cue the "doo doo DOO doo - doo doo DOO doo" music...

The only logical conclusion I can draw is that I have ghosts.

Malicious, sadistic ghosts who force me to watch The 700 Club!

If there's any better evidence that Pat Robertson is a tool of the devil (and Karl Rove), I don't want to know about it...

So now I have to perform a ghost exorcism.

My list of exorcism supplies to buy at Target tomorrow after work...

• A Duraflame fireplace log.
• A can of Lysol brand disinfecting spray (Garden Mist scent).
• A Ronco Inside-The-Shell Electric Egg Scrambler.
• An 8oz. bottle of Bonide Ghost-Away.
• A gallon of goat's blood.
• A copy of Girls Gone Wild: Doggy Style on DVD

I also have to paint a pentagram on my carpet, but I've already got a can of Easy Cheese in the cupboard, so I don't need to buy any spray paint.

Wish me luck!

I am growing more and more depressed over the astounding lack of compassion in the world today. It seems every time I turn on the television, pick up a magazine, or surf the internet I am subjected to hurtful, hateful behavior that has me questioning how much longer we can survive. If it weren't for random flashes of kindness I stumble upon from time to time, I'd probably lose hope for humanity altogether.

And, thanks to the shining stars of today's hate-filled media, things just continue to get worse and worse. First they profess to care for us, fight for us, and believe in us...

• NANCY GRACE: "I'm not pretending to be anything but a crime victim who went to law school and tried a lot of cases."
• PAT ROBERTSON: "I pray that I might be in the center of God's will. I pray for wisdom that He might lead me and give me wisdom in the tasks that I have ahead of me."
• BILL O'REILLY: "Our philosophy is we call it as we see it. Sometimes you agree, sometimes you don't. Robust debate is good."
• ANN COULTER: "I take the Biblical idea. God gave us the earth. We have dominion over the plants, the animals, the trees... God says, 'Earth is yours. Take it. Rape it. It's yours.'"

Then they turn right around and demonize people for the sake of ratings and power, advocating violence and hatred with a recklessness that isolates us, divides us, and destroys us...

• NANCY GRACE: "You know what, Kevin? I'm so glad they didn't miss a lacrosse game over a little thing like gang rape!" —— "Guilty, guilty, guilty!"
• PAT ROBERTSON: "Many of those people involved in Adolf Hitler were Satanists, many were homosexuals, the two things seem to go together." —— "The feminist agenda is not about equal rights for women. It is about a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism, and become lesbians."
• BILL O'REILLY: "Shut up. SHUT! UP!" —— "...the most unattractive women in the world are probably in the Muslim countries." —— "Will African-Americans break away from the pack thinking and reject immorality? Because that's the reason the family's breaking apart... alcohol, drugs, infidelity. You have to reject that, and it doesn't seem, and I'm broadly speaking here, but a lot of African-Americans won't reject it."
• ANN COULTER: "My only regret with Timothy McVeigh is he did not go to the New York Times Building."

Why? Why are dumbasses like these even on the air? Why do people listen to them? I don't care if you are Conservative or Liberal... Republican or Democrat... Christian or Athiest... who could possibly want this kind of hateful crap into their lives? Isn't the world in bad enough shape already?

All I'm asking for is a little compassion. A little caring. A little hope.

And it would be nice if some of that compassion, caring, and hope can come my way...

• Milk prices are skyrocketing. On the surface, this is not so bad... just don't drink as much milk anymore, right? But the tragedy is that milk is used to make such things as chocolate pudding, cheese, and Choco Tacos. Without those three things in life, is life really worth living?
• The nearest place I can even see an iPhone is 60 miles away. For some reason, the local AT&T store in Wenatchee isn't a "real" store, but an affiliate store, which means they won't have iPhone at launch. Instead I have to drive to Moses Lake or Seattle or something. How horrible that the coolest thing to happen in like, well... forever... and I'm going to miss out.
• The brilliant Veronica Mars is still cancelled. And yet mindless crap like The Bachelor gets yet another season. Now what am I supposed to do on Tuesday nights at 9:00?
• The US National ID Card is not dead yet. There are people in this country who can't afford to eat or go to the doctor, yet there are still those who want to spend TWENTY-THREE BILLION FUCKING DOLLARS on a USA-wide ID card system under the pretense of national security. Why are clueless old men making decisions about stuff they know nothing about? Nobody who is actually smart enough to understand this program thinks it will work, and many think it will actually make us less safe. I am totally terrified that some stupid crap like this will happen in my lifetime.
• I can't find the power adapter for my MacBook Pro. In 10 minutes my precious laptop's battery will be drained and I will no longer be able to blog or check email while on the toilet. What kind of sad existence will I be leading where toilet computing is not an option?

Argh. I've been working all evening and now it's almost midnight. I sure hope I can manage to get even a little bit of sleep tonight. Looking for compassion in planet filled with hostility and abuse is a tiring way to spend your day.

It's iPhone Day! IT'S iPHONE DAY!! HOLY CRAP, IT'S iPHONE DAAAAYYYYYY!

Of course, there's not a single iPhone coming to the entire valley, so I won't even get to see one until the next time I next visit civilization, but it's still kind of exciting for a total Apple Whore like me.

But the iPhone is not the only thing that's starting to ship today. Now that the new merchandise is starting to arrive, Artificial Duck Co. orders are going to start shipping too...

I'll be working through the orders as quickly as I can... but with nearly 300 of them, it will take a while before everything is shipped out. Wheee! Good times! At least I know what I'll be doing in my spare time for the next several days. Still, it's nice that people will finally be getting their stuff. Hopefully everybody will find it worth the wait.

So suck it, iPhone!

And in local news... last night an airplane trying to land at Cashmere's airport came up short and crashed into the High School's parking lot instead...

Map taken from Live Search because Google Maps doesn't have satellite for us!

Unfortunately, the pilot was killed. Luckily, nobody else was hurt.

As you can imagine, when something like this happens in a small town, it's a topic of major discussion. Was the pilot a local? Was it an emergency landing? People heard his engine sputtering, did he run out of gas? Just where did that plane come from? AL QAEDA!!

There hasn't been this much local hype since cherry harvest started!

UPDATE: I am now hearing that the pilot killed in the accident was the former CEO of Alaska Airlines. No word on what he was doing in the area, or why he crashed.

UPDATE: It now seems as though the pilot clipped a tree on the way in, which may have contributed to the crash.

And I'm back home.

Unfortunately, magical elves didn't come in while I was away and pack up Artificial Duck Co. T-shirt orders, so that's what I've been doing for the past five hours. Out of over 320 orders placed, I now have only 108 left to ship. Wheeee. I'm on target for having everything shipped out by the end of the week. Almost.

The mailing tubes for the prints finally arrived this morning, but there's a problem. They were out of stock on the tubes I had ordered, so the supplier called and asked if I could use a tube that was 1-inch SHORTER, which I assumed meant shorter in LENGTH. What they ended up sending were tubes 1-inch shorter in WIDTH. Unfortunately, this curls the prints too much. So I'll be sending 47 orders without their prints, and mailing them separately when the correct tubes come in. It's a bummer, but the last thing I want is for stuff to be ruined before it even arrives, so there you have it.

In the meanwhile, I am beginning to forget what it's like to have a living room, because there are boxes of shirts and pins stacked in every corner...

Crazy. Why am I doing this again?

And, in news that makes me go "squeee!"...

OMG! THE CURE ARE GOING TO TOUR THIS YEAR!!! They'll be in Seattle October 8th. Sweet!

Why in the hell does Larry King still have a job? I've never been that impressed with his "interviews," but the ones I've seen lately have just been awful. Horrendously tragically awful. Half the time I get the impression that he doesn't even know who he's interviewing, or even what he's doing there. Tonight he was interviewing Al Gore, so I tuned in to see when the world is ending. At one point Larry was creeping me out, and I couldn't figure out why... until I realized it was because he had turned into Mr. Burns from The Simpsons. It was only for a moment, but I couldn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the show. And it turns out I'm not the only one who thinks so.

And, in news that makes me want to beat the crap out of somebody...

Monkey Justice is never blind... it just closes its eyes when convenient.

I sat on the news of Scooter Libby's prison sentence being commuted by President Bush in the hopes that my all-consuming rage would abate. But it hasn't. WHAT THE BLOODY F#@%?!? Bush had no problem EXECUTING prisoners left and right as governor of Texas, but he considers 30 months in prison to be "excessive" for a criminal convicted of a serious (if not treasonable) offense? How can this be looked at as anything except a strategic move to keep Scooter Libby from testifying at his appeal... and potentially implicating Karl Rove, Dick Cheney, and other top-level administration officials in the crime? What a f#@%ing joke. President Bush said that if anyone in his administration was involved in leaking Valerie Plame's name that they would suffer the consequences. Well, here was his opportunity to live up to his word. Libby was prosecuted by a Republican prosecutor. The judge in the trial was a Republican. The jury was vetted by the Republican defense. "The consequences" of the guilty verdict involved Libby serving 30 months in jail. But not anymore. So much for "suffering the consequences." Next time I have jury duty, I'm just going to vote 100% innocent at any trial I serve on no matter what happens. Why should I bother believing in justice and convicting criminals when a guilty verdict and subsequent sentencing doesn't mean shit to the President of these United States of America?

Just 563 days left...

Everybody just loves Bad Monkey.

I had to go to the grocery store for a few things today, and was wearing my new Bad Monkey T-shirt for the trip. While I was in the cheese aisle, a little boy who was helping his mother pick out yogurt turned to me and started laughing. "Monkey!" he said, pointing at my shirt. "That's right," I replied. Then there's that awkward moment when I have to explain to his mother that the shirt can't be bought at a store, that it is one of my own creations, and isn't available in kids sizes. I just don't have room to store them.

And now I feel bad, because what kid wouldn't want a Bad Monkey T-shirt?

After cheese, I had to go buy sugar. I used the last of mine when I got a craving for Tropical Punch Kool-Aid last night around midnight. In retrospect, it was kind of a stupid thing to drink before bed, because I ended up battling a bad case of heartburn while trying to get some sleep...

Right now I am taking a break from filling Artificial Duck Co. orders to write in my blog. From the looks of things, I only have 38 orders left to fill. Tomorrow I'll process the postage so I can send the last remaining packages on Monday, and that's that. I'll finally be able to reclaim my living room.

And stop hurting myself.

I finally injured myself with my new tagging gun yesterday. It felt very much like having stabbed myself with a large needle. Mostly because my tagging gun has a very large needle on it. Lesson Learned: If you are going to sell T-shirts and want to label them, use stickers instead of tags.

Back to work...

Uhhhh... yeah... I don't even know where to begin.

This morning I started organizing all my T-shirt boxes so I could put them up in racks and reclaim my living room floor. Except I found out one of the boxes was NOT filed with T-shirts, it was filled with 28 boxed orders... all needing postage so they could be shipped out. Unfortunately, I had overlooked them yesterday. So I grab the box and head downstairs to my car. But somehow I miss the last step, and end up wrenching my back in an attempt to not fall on my face. The pain is so great that I can barely breath. In agony, I limp back upstairs so I can take a Special Pill to get through the day.

Ten of the orders I manage to get processed on my lunch hour. The remainder I saved for after work so they could be processed and be shipped out first thing in the morning.

So there I am tonight, four orders into my remaining 18, when the USPS web site comes up and says that my credit card has been declined. "Well that's freaky!" I say to myself. "This puppy has a limit of like $10,000 and there's no reason for it to be declined." So I call up USBank to see what's going on.

The ensuing asshattery resulted in my awarding a DUMBASS OF THE WEEK trophy, and it's only Tuesday!

DAVE: Hey. My card was declined as I was trying to buy postage from the online post office.
   
USBANK: Yes I see that. You've processed a lot of payments from USPS Online, and so your account was flagged as a possible fraud risk.
   
DAVE: Ah! Well, it's not fraud. It's really me! So if you'll fix that, I'll get back to work.
   
USBANK: I can't fix it. You have to get the post office to call in and get an authorization code.
   
DAVE: Er. I can't do that. It's a computer program. There's only tech support, and they can't process charges.
   
USBANK: Sorry. There's nothing I can do.
   
DAVE: Uhhhh... really? Well can you transfer me to your fraud department so I can tell them to stop declining charges?
   
USBANK: No. You have to get the post office to call.
   
DAVE: What?!? Why does the post office have to call? YOU'RE the one that is wrongly declining charges! Transfer me to the fraud department!
   
USBANK: They won't even talk to you because there's no actual fraud involved. There's nothing we can do.
   
DAVE: Are you kidding me? Transfer me to a supervisor before my brain explodes.

The supervisor goes through the exact same spiel about not being able to turn off the fraud flag, so I change gears...

DAVE: What if I was trapped in a foreign country and needed to charge a plane ticket back home on my credit card? Or what if I was deathly ill and the hospital wouldn't treat me until the charges went through on my card? Would you just let me die then?
   
USBANK SUPERVISOR: We do have the ability to authorize charges for an emergency.
   
DAVE: Great! I am using USPS online to send life-saving medication to sick children in Africa. So if you'll just fix this and approve my charges, I'll get back to work...

Of course, nothing I said made any difference. USBank simply refused to assist me at every turn.

Now, don't get me wrong, I think fraud detection is wonderful thing. It's really great that they have a system to monitor risky behavior so they can prevent fraud. But how utterly stupid is it that you can't call and get it turned off when the charges are, in fact, valid? How could anybody think this kind of moronic shit is good customer service? Does this make any sense what-so-ever? What good is a credit card that can be declined because of possible fraud, yet cannot be fixed when fraud is disproved?

Thus USBank has rightfully earned my DUMBASS OF THE WEEK award for being really stupid in their fraud control department.

And we'll see what tomorrow brings. I guess if my credit card is still being declined I'll have to go stand in line at the post office and buy postage the old-fashioned way.

"USBank Five Star Service Guarantee" my ass. I don't even give them one star tonight.

"Do you find me sexually attractive?"

"Yes, Robert. Yes I do. You are a very sexy man."

I was up working until 1:30am this morning, so when my mobile phone woke me up at the crack of dawn, I wasn't really in the mood for The Bad Robert Experience. It takes a certain kind of tact and mental clarity to have a conversation with him, neither of which I possessed at the time.

"Seriously. I'm emailing you a photo..."

"No. No. No. No. No. Do not email me a photo, Robert. It's too early for me to see a picture of your ass or whatever."

"Hah! Funny. No, check your email. I need you to look at something."

Knowing I would regret it, I hung up the phone and started groping for my glasses on the night-stand. Once my spectacles had been properly situated on my face, I then grabbed my MacBook and waited for Robert's 1.2 megabyte attachment to come through. With each passing second my mind was racing with speculation as to what I might find when the download was complete. Porn? A new tech gadget? Porn? A new motorcycle? DONKEY PORN?!?

After a few moments, the photograph had arrived. It looked something like this...

The ensuing conversation went something like this...

DAVE: You've grown a mustache?
   
ROBERT: It's cool, right?
   
DAVE: In a kind of 70's porn star way. I was kidding before, but with that mustache you actually are a very sexy man!
   
ROBERT: I know! But Super Deluxe Girlfriend hates it. She says she doesn't find me sexually attractive now, and won't let me have sex with her again until I shave it off.
   
DAVE: Oh well, it was good while it lasted then.
   
ROBERT: No! I want to keep it!
   
DAVE: Are you insane? Why would you give somebody as hot as Super Deluxe Girlfriend an excuse not to have sex with you?
   
ROBERT: Eh. She'll come around.
   
DAVE: Dude. You are seriously mentally impaired.
   
ROBERT: Yeah, but I look totally awesome!

Spoken like a man who hasn't yet been denied sex long enough to miss it.

I give him a week before he's willing to shave not only his mustache, but anything else she asks him to...

Whenever I have a bad day, I watch the last five minutes of the film Millions because it never fails to put a smile on my face. For convenience' sake, I have it cued up on my TiVo for immediate viewing at any time.

The fact that I am watching it most days now is not lost on me.

Today was filled with a non-stop parade of nasty surprises, so I just finished watching the end of Millions twice...

Things that make me go ARRRRGH!

• Best laid plans... Today I found out that all my intricate and carefully-scheduled travel plans may have to be completely changed. The thought of having to spend hours altering reservations and rescheduling my life fills me with a dread beyond my ability to articulate.

• Steve Jobs is a cruel mistress... I received a package from Apple this morning. Thinking it was my new iPhone, I ripped into the box with a glee usually reserved for a tub of Snack Pack chocolate pudding. But it wasn't my iPhone. It was the car charger for my iPhone. Apple says PSYCHE!! The current scheduled delivery date for the DavePhone is while I am out of the State, which is what makes this little tease particularly cruel.

• A pain by any other name... My back is still jacked up, necessitating that I spend every waking hour medicated and every sleeping hour drugged. My life goes by in a hazy blur and it feels like zombies have eaten my brain. Fortunately, I have a T-shirt for that.

• Master of my domain... Some guy is starting up a blog indexing service site (or whatever) and emailed to tell me that they had chosen "Blogography" as the name. Since it would be "confusing" for people to type in "blogography.com" and have my silly blog pop up, they want to acquire my domain. So I do what I always do when this happens, I write back and tell them that the very least I would be willing to accept for it is $500,000. Apparently, this was taken as some kind of joke, because he came back with a "maximum offer" of $750 and a hint of legal entanglement. Maybe it's the pills talking, but I find this really funny.

• It doesn't get much worse than this... The most watchable thing on television just now is Garfield: A Tale of Two Kitties. Since I am doped up on pain killers and beyond caring, I'm just going to leave it running (despite the film being abhorrently bad). How could anybody watch this crap without being medicated?

Now, if you don't mind, I'm just going to lay here and moan in agony for a while...

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDGE!

I am trying my best to think of something that hasn't gone wrong today. Turns out there isn't anything. Despite my hopes, I didn't sleep AT ALL last night, and it's all been downhill from there. To list everything that's gone wrong would depress even me, so I've decided to just list the top five...

• In my sleep-deprived state, I grabbed a bowl for my Captain Crunch cereal and knocked a coffee mug off the counter where it landed on the top of my foot. I now have a big welt there and can't tie my shoe. This wouldn't be a big deal, except my shoe keeps falling off, causing me to fall down and embarrass myself a lot. It's like being drunk... but without the benefit of being totally wasted.

• I am sitting here with a sticky-wet lap because the bottle of Coke I had on my break decided to overflow all over me for some reason when I opened it. It came straight from the refrigerator, so I have no idea what made it explode. I must have angered the Coke gods or something.

• Artificial Duck Co. store orders are starting to be returned to me with an "insufficient address" notice. Yet when I look in tracking, the address is complete (heck, they won't let you ship anything WITHOUT a complete address!). Apparently the postal service's Click-N-Ship is, in fact, Click-N-SHIT... because it generates bad labels. The glitch appears to be random, because when I track packages before and after the faulty label, they've been delivered. So, if you've been waiting for a T-shirt order and haven't gotten it... that would be why. I am re-shipping them immediately after I get the return, and will generate a new tracking email so customers will know what happened...

The even worse part of the deal is that I can't simply re-print their incorrect labels... I have to buy a NEW label, then request a refund for the original label. I'm not holding my breath that I'll be getting my money back. I'm sure they'll somehow make this my fault.

• A critical Fed-Ex package I am waiting for is lost. The only thing that tracking shows is a departure scan, then nothing. Nobody has any idea what's going on. It's as if the thing just evaporated in mid-air. In the meanwhile, I'm screwed. There's no way to meet deadline on my current project now, and I have no idea what's going to happen.

• Due to some stupid crap I didn't understand, the cost to change my airline tickets to my new itinerary was outrageously expensive, so I ended up keeping my old ticket and just adding a second ticket. So now I fly to where I am no longer working, then fly to where the new work is, then fly back to where I need to be so I can fly back to where I don't need to be so I can fly home. The airline industry has got the biggest scam going with their complicated, incomprehensible fare calculations. Why can't everybody just abandon this antiquated way of doing business and switch to more simplified and easily understood fare rules like Alaska Air? With Alaska, every segment is selected with full knowledge of EXACTLY what's going to happen if you need to make changes to it. And, since every segment has separate rules, you don't f#@% up the rest of your fare when you only need to add or change a single piece. I love this because it's a straight-forward way of doing business, and doesn't screw customers when their travel needs change. I mean, seriously, LOOK AT HOW SIMPLE IT IS...

When I fly Alaska, I simply choose "value" fares for segments I am sure about... then pay a little more for "full flex" on segments I'm not. Simple. It frustrates me that other airlines can't be this honest when you shop for fares, and makes me wish Alaska had more routes. Because, seriously, how logical is it that it's $1200 cheaper to buy an additional new ticket than adjust an old one?

• And here's the worst part of my entire day so far... it's only half over! Now that my lunch break is done, I've got an entire afternoon of even more horrendous crap to look forward to!

Bleh.

I want to go home now, climb into bed, and start the day all over again.

Or drink a fifth of Jack Daniels.

One of those two things.

I ended up working all day, escaping only long enough to grab an early lunch before being picked up for a meeting an hour-and-a-half away. Ordinarily this wouldn't give me much blogging fodder, except fate decided to intervene along the way.

And everything began with Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five.

For some reason I woke up this morning wanting to re-read Slaughterhouse Five for the hundredth time... probably because I've been getting lots of "friend requests" from GoodReads, and books are on my brain. I already have a copy of the novel back home (doesn't everybody?), but wanted to read it on the flight home Sunday, so I made a mental note to pick up another copy at the Border's down the street.

When lunchtime came around, I headed out to the book shop, making a stop at Jimmy John's along the way (I don't particularly like their sandwiches, but they build them really fast, and I was in a hurry). Rushing through Border's, I find a copy of Slaughterhouse Five, then grab a copy of Nick Hornby's A Long Way Down (which I've been meaning to read, and noticed was on sale for $4.99 in hardcover!). After paying for my books, 25 minutes of the half-hour I gave myself for lunch have evaporated. I resist the urge to run back to the hotel, but start walking as fast as I can.

With my mind focused on what I have to get done this afternoon, I round the corner on to North Water Street... and get sprayed with... water. Not a lot of water, but enough that my arm is wet.

In a mild state of shock (and irony, this being Water Street), I turn to where the water originated and see a guy standing there with a water bottle and a smile on his face. He then screeches "WOOF! WOOF! BYE-BYE! BYE-BYE!" at me. Obviously the guy is mentally challenged, and suddenly I don't know what to do. Part of me wants to rip the bottle out of his hand and dump it on his head with the hope that he learns it's not polite to spray people, but I just stand there. Ultimately, I conclude that I have no idea what the etiquette would be for the situation, and start walking back to the hotel. No harm was done, my shirt will dry, and life will carry on.

Except I keep reliving the moment over and over again in my head.

And now I am really upset with myself for not having said anything.

But not for the reason you might think.

I am worried that this guy is going to spray somebody who won't care that he is mentally handicapped. Somebody who decides to beat the crap out of him. I thought I was being kind by ignoring what he had done, but now I am thinking that it might have been kinder to have said something.

It's decisions like this which define us, and I think today I failed myself.

My hand brushes lightly down the length of her thigh, resting just above the knee. A cloudburst had come earlier that morning and the smell of it had clung to the length of her hair, teasing me of summer rains from better days. Feeling very much at home I draw myself closer until it feels as if she was breathing for the both of us. Happy now, I close my eyes and drift away. As I leave the waking world behind there's a sound, subtle at first, keeping me from crossing over. Driven to distraction by something I cannot name, I hover short of unconsciousness, the ears of my mind's eye alert. Louder now, the sound comes to me. Crying? The enchantment of my hope for slumber broken, I awaken. The crying turns to a wail and saddens my heart. "Baby, what is it? Why do you cry?" But words do not come, just more cries of her anguish that grow louder and more painful as the minutes crawl forward...

SQUAAAAW! SQUAAAAW! SQUAAAAAAAAAAW!

I awaken for real this time, and scramble for my glasses on the bedside table. Who the hell is in my room and why are they crying so loud?

But there is nobody in my room, and I quickly realize that the cries are those of birds flying outside my window.

AT ONE O'CLOCK A.M.!!!

What the hell? Don't birds frickin' sleep in Milwaukee?!?

I never did get back to sleep. I tossed and turned for hours until 7:30 rolled around and I decided to get up and go to Bruegger's Bagels for some breakfast. They're not "real" authentic New York City bagels, but they don't suck too badly (and NYC is a fourteen hour drive from here).

After a couple of hours spent following up on emails I figure I might as well write in my blog and then see if I can take a nap. There's a lot to do today, and being well-rested would help matters considerably.

Ohmygawwwwd!

I've been desperately trying to get caught up with the massive pile of work that accumulated while I was away last week. This involves me working from the minute I get up every morning until a pass out from exhaustion every night. Ordinarily, such unending torture would be bad enough... but this morning things became further complicated when I awoke with "severe intestinal distress." A disappointing development to be sure, but I've got pills to fix such horrors.

Except the pills didn't work.

At least not completely.

Which meant on top of my huge load of work, there was another potential huge load to worry about all day...

I'm afraid to speculate as to what might happen next. Am I going to wake up tomorrow and start projectile vomiting? I'm sure if it's contagious and will make my work day even more miserable and unproductive, I'll come down with it.

Bleh. This is the second time I've been inexplicably afflicted this year. I can only guess that my colon is finally starting to stage some kind of rebellion against my love of chocolate pudding.

Stupid colon.

Is it too much to hope that this is the Norwalk virus, a parasitical infection, or some other kind of non-chocolate-pudding-related ailment?

This morning I woke up, rolled over, looked at the clock, lost my mind.

Given my insomniac-nature, I stopped setting my alarm clock a long time ago. I'm always awake long before it goes off, so why bother? Which is why I freaked when the first thing I saw after waking up was a clock that said "10:08" on it. "Holy crap!" I exclaimed, as a shot of adrenaline surges through me and I start bouncing wildly around the bedroom trying to get ready for work. Wanting to grab a slice of leftover cold pizza before hopping in the shower, I dash to the kitchen. And that's when I notice something odd.

Turns out my clock wasn't displaying 10:08... it was flashing 10:08.

The power went off last night, and my clock decided to display some random number on it.

The actual time? 4:30am

I'm not two hours late for work, I'm three-and-a-half hours early.

The odds of me being able to fall asleep for any meaningful amount of time before having to get right back up again is effectively zero, so I start in on work. And I work and I work and I work. Until I notice that it's 9:10, and I am over an hour late for work. Again. Kinda.

Can't. Catch. A. Break.

Except today was the day my new comic books arrived, and the current issue of The Brave and The Bold had George Pérez drawing both Batman AND the Legion of Super-Heroes, which is like a comic geek's dream come true. So I guess it's all good.

Oh yeah... since I've (obviously) decided to keep my beloved iPhone, I went to AT&T today so I could have my old Verizon phone number transferred over. Right now I feel like I should say something mean like "suck it, Verizon!!" but I really don't feel that way. I have no complaints over the quality of their mobile network at all. About the only complaint I do have is that their phones are always older generation crap (when I bought my first phone there, they had ONE Bluetooth model, whereas all other carriers were swimming in dozens). And when Apple approached them to partner-up for iPhone, they refused. This was a huge opportunity for them to leap ahead of the curve, and they blew it. Well, I wanted a damn iPhone, and so I was given no choice but to switch carriers. And, despite all the warnings, I have been very happy with AT&T... from the backwaters of rural Georgia to Atlanta to Minneapolis to Milwaukee to Seattle and back home to the backwaters of rural Washington State... AT&'T's network has performed no worse than Verizon ever did. I'm sitting here with 5 bars and loving it.

And now, if you will excuse me, I've got to go install new backup batteries in my alarm clock in case the power goes off again.

UPDATE: EXCEPT I BOUGHT THE WRONG KIND OF BATTERIES!! Can't. Catch. A. Break...

This is one of those rare days when I didn't leave the house. I've been home working all day long, despite the fact that it was an absolutely beautiful day out. Sadly, this doesn't give me much to blog about.

Unless I were to write about the potato chips and Coke I had for breakfast. Cereal just seemed like too much work with all the pouring of the milk and finding a clean bowl and stuff... but hey, the bag of chips was already open. Anyway, I got to the bottom of the bag where all the crumbs were. Not wanting to waste them, I poured them into my mouth so I could finish them off.

And nearly choked to death.

It's funny what goes through your head as you are struggling to breathe. Things like "how do you do that self-heimlich thing again?" and "I wonder if my face is turning blue?" and "oh dear, I hope I don't crap my pants when I die... that would sure be embarrassing!" and, lastly, "what do I care if I crap myself? I'll be too dead to be embarrassed!"

But eventually I managed to cough my way out of my death throes and live another day.

At first I was glad to be alive. But then I looked at the pile of work I had left to do and was kind of sad. Being dead is an excellent excuse to take a vacation.

Oh well.

In other news across the blogosphere... ooh! ooh! ooh! Brandon finally spilled the beans!

2008 seems so far away...

Last night proved to be a productive evening for work, but a disastrous evening for catching up on sleep. The hotel was packed and people were slamming doors, running up and down the halls, and being overall obnoxious well past 2:00am. I remain dumbfounded as to why people act like such inconsiderate assholes at hotels... I am paying money so I can get some SLEEP!

After dragging my exhausted ass out of bed, I was heading back to work when a parking enforcement scooter went zipping by me, lights blaring. At first, I was curious as to what would constitute a parking emergency, but all that vanished once I saw the model name of the vehicle...

INTERCEPTOR?!? At what point has anybody ever needed to "intercept" a PARKED CAR? The first laugh of the day is always the sweetest.

Lunch, no surprise, was once again an orgasm-inducing pizza experience at David's. This time I tried a new photo composition, laying the Stewart's Orange Cream Soda on its side and flipping the pizza 180°. No matter how you shoot it, it still tastes amazing...

After lunch I had some free time, so I stopped by The Comic Book Shop to see what's new. Nothing could prepare me for what I found there...

ESSENTIAL DAZZLER?!? Dazzler? Seriously? I always thought that the character started out as a joke. A sad attempt to capitalize on the fading popularity of disco music at a time when disco backlash was gaining momentum. Redemption finally came when Jim Shooter retooled Dazzler in the now infamous Marvel Graphic Novel #12... "Dazzler: The Movie." Outed as a mutant and unemployable as a singer, Dazzler finally came into her own and ultimately joined up with The X-Men in a series of fairly good stories. By the time she ended up with my favorite Marvel character, Longshot, I actually ended up liking her a bit (she was, after all, one of the few people to escape disco alive). I was afraid to even touch Essential Dazzler out of fear that I would have disco flashbacks and go insane.

After work, the three-hour drive home was uneventful, as usual.

But when I got there, my new toy was waiting for me... an ION iTTUSB 05 USB Turntable!

It's kind of weak in construction... just a big heap of lightweight plastic... but for $99, I'm not complaining. The important thing is that it actually works. The included Mac/Windows "Audacity" software isn't very intuitive (and only rips into WAV format), but I did manage to rip a few of my vinyl albums and 12-inch maxi-singles with decent results. I am most pleased. Now all I have to do is find the time to rip my entire collection, and I'll finally be able to have the last bit of my music in digital format. Sweet!

Well, it's now 10:15 and my DVD of Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle just ended (how frickin' hilarious was Neil Patrick Harris in that flick?), so I'm off to bed early.

Hopefully to get some sleep this time.

Who is the sadistic bastard responsible for designing the air conditioning in cars?

As I was driving back over to the coast in the heat, I noticed that my air conditioner has four fan settings: dead air, light draft, wimpy breeze, and HURRICANE ASSAULT!! And then I started thinking back to the cars I've owned, the cars I've rented... basically every car I've ever driven... and realized that they were all the same. For some reason, they skip 2 or 3 steps before you get to "HI" which means you either bake or freeze...

I spent most of the trip trying to come up with that magic combination of fan speed and temperature that would make me comfortable, but never managed to find it.

Eventually I shut the thing off and just rolled down the window.

Well crap. Mike Wieringo has died.

I'm a regular reader of his blog, and loved the way he treated his fans to numerous sketches and drawings on a regular basis. So imagine my shock and sadness when today's entry was a notice that Mike had passed away.

I realize that 99% of people are going to be saying "Mike Wier-who?!?" and have no idea who he is, but to comic book fans, this is a crushing blow. Mike Wieringo was an incredibly gifted artist who I envied on just about every possible level for his talent. If I were to describe his drawing style, I think "economical" sums it up nicely. The guy had this uncanny ability to use just the exact amount of line-work necessary in his art, and was never compelled to scribble in anything unneeded to camouflage his shortcomings... mainly because he didn't have any shortcomings. This stylistic approach gave him a beautifully clean style of drawing, which he enhanced with an exaggerated perspective that made everything he drew leap off the page...

Mike's Art for Fantastic Four #509

My favorite work by Wieringo was his collaboration with Mark Waid on The Fantastic Four. I treasured every issue they worked on, and consider their run to be among the best FF stories ever made... right up there with the Lee/Kirby originals. I've re-read my trade paperback collections of those issues numerous times, and it is never lost on me just how much humor, imagination, and humanity that Wieringo managed to inject into those stories. Boy will he be missed.

I'm feeling lazy, so it must be time for... One Sentence Commentary!

The new iMacs... Sublimely beautiful, fairly powerful, and ultimately well thought-out.

The new Apple keyboard... Initially confusing, ultimately delicious... I love mine!

Karl Rove is retiring... Good riddance, you evil fucker.

John From Cincinnati cancelled... Did anybody like this horrible mess of a show?*

Merv Griffin dies... "So I came to Europe to kill... and it's really worked out very well for me!"

SCO doesn't own Unix... Sucks to be you, losers!

Ta dah!

Ugh. I am really, really behind in my blog reading. And my email. And my work. And my comics. And my television shows (BURN NOTICE!!). And my snail-mail. And my laundry. And my life, I guess. Where does the time go?

*And wasn't that like the WORST season-ending episode ever? I still think that John Monad was actually Shaun Yost from an alternate-reality future with a scrambled brain, but that's just the comic book geek in me talking.

So there I was minding my own business, trying to decide which flavor of popsicle I wanted for dinner last night, when my mobile started ringing. This made me happy, because iPhone is still new enough that it's funky maramba ringtone gives me a shudder of delight whenever I hear it.

At least until I look and see that it's a "Number Blocked" call, at which time I have to decide whether or not I am going to answer it. Odds are, it's going to be a wrong number or somebody I don't want to talk to, otherwise they're number would be in my phone. Seeing that the only flavor of popsicle left is dreaded CHERRY, I close the freezer door and answer the call...

DAVE: "Hello?"
GUY: "Hey, did you lose your bag?"
DAVE: "Huh?" I say, looking over at my backpack on the kitchen table.
GUY: "I found this bag and there's no name in it... just this number on a paper. Is it yours?"
DAVE: "Ah. No, my bag is here with me. Where did you find it? What's it look like?"
GUY: (describes bag and location)
DAVE: "Sorry, I don't know anybody who has a bag like that. What's in it?
GUY: "Uhhh... like a sports bra type-thing, socks, ladies running shoes, and..."
DAVE: "Wait a second... you thought this bag was MINE?"
GUY: "Hey, I don't know what stuff you're into..."

As I stood there with what's left of my manhood fleeing the scene, the guy says "this six could be a zero" and hangs up. I then start thinking of any attractive lady joggers I might have given my number to, realize I haven't given my number to a woman in years, then open up the freezer and grab a cherry popsicle I know I won't enjoy.

Somehow it seemed appropriate.

In other news, I finally caught up on my television tonight.

Isn't Gabrielle Anwar totally scrumptrellescent in Burn Notice?

For those not watching one of my favorite shows on television, Burn Notice is kind of like a dirtier version of MacGyver with more guns and overall nastiness. And it's got Gabrielle Anwar playing ex-IRA operative Fiona Glenanne, which is really all you need to know. What's amazing about her character is that she's totally raw, wears minimal makeup, and looks kinda rough. But she still manages to come off totally hot...

It must be the way she kicks ass and is always wanting to shoot everybody.

Or, more likely it's her body, which is fantastic. I would totally give her my number. Lucky for all of us that Burn Notice has been given a 13-episode second season order. Thank you USA Network!

Now I must get back to work.

And decide if I want to eat the last yucky cherry popsicle.

=sigh=

"No. No. No. No. Nooooo..." I said quietly to myself, hoping the mantra would offer some protection... perhaps by rendering me invisible or causing the bitch to go temporarily blind.

For the most part, I am a pretty social guy. But there are a few people that I just don't want to socialize with. Ever. One such person crossed my path quite unexpectedly as I was heading to the bakery for a donut with chocolate frosting and sprinkles on top...

"Hey Dave!" she squeals.

"Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill meeeee..." I scream in my head.

Alas, no heart attack or drive-by shooting interceded, and I was forced into a conversation about inconsequential crap with somebody I despise. Ordinarily I'd feel bad about it, but she hates me enough to have screwed me over (alas not literally) on a couple occasions, so I don't.

The fun part is that she doesn't know that I know. So I have to play nice in public.

Errrr... unless she reads my blog.

In which case I hope she leaves me a comment letting me know, so that I can stop pretending to be nice in public.

Which sucks.

Karma's pendulum of fate swung back in my favor, however, when I got to the bakery and snagged the very last donut with chocolate frosting and sprinkles on top.

Proving that life is okay every once in a while.

Why is it considered "cute" if a cartoon penguin pulls out a gun and threatens to shoot somebody... but if I were to do that I'd probably end up arrested?

Feathers McGraw from Wallace & Gromit in The Wrong Trousers

I need a Davecation.

It's 9:00pm and I'm already in bed. DYING!!!

I think I'm coming down with something. Perhaps the ebola virus or the Black Death or whatever other plague-like horror is in fashion these days.

It all started this morning when I awoke in a haze, not feeling myself at all. It was kind of like my mind was off sitting on a shelf somewhere, and my body was moving around all independent and zombie-like. Such as when I found myself standing in the shower trying to remember if I had already shampooed my head or not, then deciding to shampoo anyway just in case. Everything went downhill from there. I think the worst part was when I stopped at a stop sign on the way to work and then forgot how to drive my car for a minute. By the time I remembered how to engage the clutch, I forgot where I was going and how I got there. At first I thought that this was a good excuse to go eat ice cream, but then a vague recollection of having to go to work floated across my mind, ruining an already bad moment.

It must be time for some... oh crap... I just remembered that I dropped an Airborne tablet in a glass of water a half hour ago and forgot to drink it.

Excuse me for a minute...

Well that tasted lovely. Kind of like a cross between 7-Up and battery acid, I'd imagine. I wonder if Airborne can cure an ebola virus outbreak? Hmmmm... probably not. I would think you'd need Pepto Bismol for that. Pepto Bismol can cure anything.

One last thing before I go... if I should happen to actually die from this, please everybody remember to follow my last wishes as to how I want to be buried. Thanks!

I thought it would turn out to be a cold or whatever, but that's not the case. If it's not the ebola virus or the bubonic plague... maybe it's the flu or something. It's pretty frickin' miserable to be me just now. I may not be dead, but I am almost to the point of wishing I were...

It's at times like this that I realize just how much I take some things for granted... like being able to sit upright without falling over. Or being able to turn my head without feeling like my neck is going to snap off. Or being able to stand up to pee.

Some holiday weekend this turned out to be.

As somebody who has been a chronic insomniac for the better part of a decade, being sick this past weekend has opened up an entirely new door to me: that of a full-night's sleep.

And a full-day's sleep as well.

I've been doing pretty much nothing but sleeping for the past three days. And, given that I usually average a measly 4-5 hours per night, this is an unfamiliar situation to me. Absolutely nothing got done this weekend. Not even any work, which is going to make for a painful week since I was already several days behind.

Assuming I can even make it to work in the morning.

Whatever bug I have is totally kicking my ass. Though today I did start eating again, so I'm interpreting this as a sign that I'm on the road back to health.

Now what I really need is a shower... and a box of Cracker Jacks.

Don't ask me why, they just sound good.

I made the mistake of going to work today when I clearly wasn't ready to do so. I lasted until 3:30, which made me kind of an inspiration to myself, because I very nearly passed out around 2:00.

There I was, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I felt the world whipping around me in a kind of vertigo-like frenzy. It was much like drinking a fifth of tequila, but without the salt, lime, or hangover. Normally this would be a good thing, but the attack was so sudden that I instinctively tried to steady myself... even though I wasn't actually moving. This caused me to fall out of my chair, which is when I almost passed out. Probably from confusion.

The strange thing is that after a few minutes I felt better than I have in days. This had me wondering if I wasn't sick but, in fact, possessed, and an evil spirit had just left my body. But then I was feeling all nauseous and run-down and figured probably not. So at 3:30 I ran back home so I could take a four-hour nap.

But that was four hours ago, so now I'm ready for bed.

Again.

The good news is that all my symptoms seem to be subsiding a little more each day. By my calculations, this means I should be back to tip-top shape sometime in late February, 2008.

Being sick sucks serious ass.

A much better day.

Though I am now so far behind in work, email, blogs, comments, and life in general that I am starting to feel sick again. Life can be so ironic sometimes.

Except for the fact that I'm coughing my head off at random intervals for no apparent reason, and still feel tired all the time, I'm finally kinda back to normal.

Except for these bizarre food cravings I keep having. Out of nowhere I'll suddenly be dying for some random food... like saltwater taffy... or beef jerky... or a fifth of Jack Daniels. Or, more likely, a fifth of Jack Daniels with saltwater taffy and beef jerky. It doesn't make any sense. I mean, saltwater taffy sticks to your teeth, I don't eat meat, and my alcohol of choice is Jägermeister. So why?

The answer is simple.

I didn't survive my sickness. It killed me. I died.

AND NOW I AM BACK FROM THE DEAD AND CRAVING HUMAN FLESH!

Well, not really human flesh, but I sure could go for a donut. A Dunkin' Donut with pink frosting...

A pity that there's no Dunkin' Donuts anywhere in Washington State.

I guess I'll just have to settle for that fifth of Jack Daniels.

And now, because I was recovering yesterday and didn't feel like writing...

• Yes, I know Apple had an iPod event yesterday.
• Yes, I know the iPhone price was slashed by $200.
• No, I'm not mad... I thought my iPhone was worth $599 when I bought it, or else I wouldn't have bought it.
• On top of that, when I think of how often I use it and how essential iPhone is to my life now that I have it, $200 is a small price to pay for the time I've been using it.
• The amount of money I've saved on not having to buy overpriced internet access at airports alone is already at least $100.
• Not to mention the fact that my iPhone plan with AT&T saves me $20 a month over what I had been paying, and my iPhone will have paid for itself by the time my two-year contract is up.
• People who whine about the pitfalls of being early adopters should either not be early adopters or shut the frak up.
• I'm actually thrilled that the price drop will bring more people to the sheer joy that is iPhone. The sooner Apple dominates the universe, the better.
• I still love Apple. I still love my iPhone. I still love my Macs. I still worship Steve Jobs.

And, before I forget, since I've been emailed about it a dozen times...

• Yes, I know that Steve Jobs announced today that Apple will give a $100 Apple Store credit to iPhone early-adopters after he got hundreds of whiny emails.

The only question now is... what will I spend my $100 in Apple-money on?

• A third iPod Shuffle ($79). I've already got one Shuffle for music, and a second Shuffle for audiobooks... maybe I need a third PURPLE iPod Shuffle to clip my pants closed after I eat too many Dunkin' Donuts with pink frosting. BONUS: $21 left over!
• A new iPod nano "fatty" ($149). It's just so adorable! So tiny! And it plays video! And my old iPod nano is permanently attached to my car stereo, so I am nano-less.
• AppleTV ($299). Now that I'm buying video and subscribing to television shows to feed my iPhone so I have stuff to watch when I travel, it would be cool to stream that stuff to my TV. And who could resist a night in front of the television surfing YouTube?
• A 24-inch 2.8GHz iMac ($2,299) Just because it's pretty and I don't have one.
• A Two Dual-Core 3GHz MacPro with dual 30-inch displays and all the extras ($16,716). YES! TOTALLY AWESOME!! THIS IS ABSOLUTELY WHAT I WANT!! And once I use my $100 credit, I only have to pay $16,616!! Sweet!

Hey. Wait a second...

DAMN YOU STEVE JOBS AND YOUR BRILLIANT $100 APPLE STORE CREDIT PLAN TO ROB ME OF SIXTEEN-THOUSAND-SIX-HUNDRED-AND-SIXTEEN DOLLARS OF MY HARD-EARNED MONEY!!

=sob!=

If it's even possible, I think I love Steve Jobs even more than I did yesterday... that evil genius bastard.

Some memories are precious and meant to be treasured. Other memories you wish you could gouge from your head with a melon-baller.

Such as the remembrance of being sick for a week.

Today I made a valiant effort to purge my home of every disease-ridden memory from those dark times. Like a man possessed, I tore through room after room... eradicating all evidence of the plague that had come down upon my house.

In other words, I washed the sheets on my bed.

Good times.

And even better times are ahead, because in two weeks it's the L.A. blogger meet! I've sent out information to those who had asked me about it, and so if you were interested and didn't get an email please let me know by emailing me at dave@blogography.com. Hopefully I'll hear back from everybody soon so I can make reservations on Monday night.

And now I'm off to bed so I can continue going through the travel book 1000 Places To See Before You Die so I can check off those places I've been and figure out places I'd like to go.

Though I still like my idea of a "To Do Before You Die List" best.

Today I was getting aggravated with the file folders I use to sort my projects because my stuff keeps falling out of them. Then, in a flash of nostalgia, I remembered the Pee-Chee folders from my school days and decided that they were the perfect solution. So off I went to the school supply section of the local drug store, only to find out they don't have them. No problem, I'll just order them from Staples. Except Staples doesn't have them. So then I look on Wikipedia to see if I remembered the name wrong or something, only to find out that they don't make Pee-Chees anymore!

WTF?!?

How old am I?

Apparently, really old. High school was 23 years ago, and somewhere in that massive span of time they stopped making Pee-Chees!

What in the heck do school kids use to carry their papers now-a-days?

More importantly, what in the heck do they use to write cool graffiti on? When I was in school, everybody plastered their Pee-Chees with nifty stickers and decorated them using multi-color markers to write the names of their favorite bands and stuff. Mine was covered in cartoons I would draw when I was bored.

Which was most of the time.

Photo swiped from the always-excellent Maxim Magazine.

As I'm typing this, Padma Lakshmi is being her usual scorching-hot self on the latest episode of Top Chef. The big challenge this time is one of the coolest I've ever seen on the show... airplane food! I really like how this season they are being so creative in the challenges and toning down the stupid-ass drama that plagued last year. Of course, then they invite Anthony Bourdain to be a guest-judge, where he's his usual cheerful and supportive self. He must be a scream at parties.

For my dinner, I was a bit of a Top-Chef myself, making my own pizza sauce for the first time. I saved up all my dairy allowance for the day so I could make pizza on toasted rice flour bread. It was surprisingly tasty. I should totally be on Top Chef next season!

UPDATE: My Pee-Chee obsession drove me to Google searches where I've found others lamenting the passing of the Pee-Chee...

Blue Flavor says that MySpace is the Modern Day Pee-Chee.
A nice Evolution of the Pee-Chee is over at CreativePro.
Defective Yeti with a tale of Pee-Chee customization gone wrong.

One of the biggest disadvantages of working in a small town is an early Fed-Ex drop-off time. In bigger cities, you can get a fantastically late drop-off time of 8:00 even 9:00pm... but me? I've got until 3:30pm to get my stuff together. This makes working under a tight deadline really difficult, because I don't even get a full work-day to finish a job.

In an effort to get a jump on things, I got up at 4:30am and started right to work. This would give me plenty of time to finish my work before FedEx Guy shows up and ruins my day 11 hours later...

Me. Ready and waiting for the FedEx Guy.

So there I am, happily working along when... BAM!! The internet goes down. And I need the internet to get my work done.

Uh oh.

So much for getting a jump on things.

Long story short... I end up trippin' balls all afternoon, killing myself to make my 3:30 deadline once I have internet.

And tomorrow I do it all over as I attempt to get everything ready before flying out again.

Bleh.

I need a less-stressful life.

Or a fifth of tequila.

I need a less-stressful life AND a fifth of tequila.

UPDATE: OMG! Kitty Spangles Solitaire for Mac is on sale for just $11.95! ONE DAY ONLY, September 15th, 2007 over at MacUpdate. You can read about me going gay for Kitty here. Or you can read about me paying for Kitty's love here. Or even read how I made Kitty Spangles my bitch here. And, lastly, you can read about how Lil' Dave got revenge on Kitty's pet pig here. This solitaire game may not be the most macho game of cards around, but it's still my favorite. If you want to try before you buy, go get a demo at Swoop Software's site. Sweet!

Given that I don't really blog about anything of actual substance in my life, all the interesting stuff that happened today can't be written about here. Suffice to say that in one day, everything I thought that was going to happen in my life for the next two months has been drastically altered. I'm still sorting through the pieces to determine if this is a good thing or a bad thing, because right now I just don't know. That's the way it goes.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

Trying my best to roll with the punches, I cleared my evening so that I could attempt to put everything back together again. It was not a happy time, and it was most certainly not easy. And I think a few of the pieces fell in-between the couch cushions, because I can't see the big picture yet.

Life should be more like a Rubik's Cube than a jigsaw puzzle, because then you couldn't misplace any of the pieces...

And, more importantly, there's a formula that tells you how to solve it.

Oh well. I've done the best I can.

Though it's entirely possible that everything will change again tomorrow.

Or the next day.

Bleh. I hate to shop, but had to drive into the city this afternoon so I could run some errands. Usually I would pick a week-day to avoid the crowds, but I didn't have any choice. What a mistake that turned out to be. The mall was frickin' nuts. By the time I got home, I was ready to beat my head against a wall, drink a fifth of vodka, take a handful of sleeping pills, and go into a nice relaxing coma.

In better news, tomorrow is my grandmother's 90th birthday! She's one of the best people I know, and I love her more than my iPhone!

Grandma helping me with my drinking skills during those early years.

Since my grandmother is a hardcore Seattle Mariners baseball fan, we thought it would be fun to surprise her with a Mariners decorated birthday cake. I printed out the Mariner's logo from their web site and gave it to my mother so she could have one made. When she ordered it, she handed over the logo and asked for "Happy Birthday" to be written across the bottom. Today she went to pick it up, and this is what we got...

Uhhhh... yeah. I suppose it wouldn't have been so awful if the entire cake wasn't all lopsided. Obviously, we couldn't serve something so heinous for such a special occasion, so we started making desperate phone calls to see if somebody could make us a new cake. That's when we found out that it's illegal for cake decorators to use copyrighted materials (like the Seattle Mariner's logo) to decorate their cakes. Oops.

So I decided for the bakery to just write "Happy Birthday" on the cake and put a border around it. Then I'd go ahead and add the logo myself. The problem is that none of the logos I found on the internet were of high enough resolution to print out for a cake. I thought somebody must have an EPS vector graphic online somewhere, but Googling turned up nothing. I finally gave up and just drew it myself. I tried to find a font to write "Seattle Mariners" around the logo, but couldn't find one that looked right. Ultimately I had to create my own typeface as well...

To make sure there would be no mistake with how we wanted the cake to look this time, here's what I handed over to the bakery...

Logo © ™ ® by the Seattle Mariners

I wrote a note asking them to please do everything except the logo since I'll be adding that myself. I pick up the cake tomorrow morning, so I guess we'll see what happens.

What's cool is that last week I found some officially licensed party supplies to match the cake...

Merchandise © ™ ® by the Seattle Mariners

What's not cool is how much money officially licensed party crap costs! TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS?!? I suppose that they have to pay those billion-dollar sports salaries somehow, but TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS?!? You'd think for that kind of money that the Party Pack would include an actual Seattle Mariner baseball player... or maybe even an Ichiro bobble-head... but you'd be wrong. All you get are plates, napkins, cups, and forks.

That's a pity, because an Ichiro bobble-head would have been totally sweet.

Ooh! Look at me! I'm blogging on my lunch break!

It seems everywhere I go, bloggers are making confessions. Kevin confesses to murder. Vahid confesses he has no idea what's going on in Burma. Dustin confesses his secret longing for a Mac. Amanda confesses she didn't have the brain she thought she did. Foo Diddy confesses she can't whistle or chew gum. And Ms. Sizzle confesses her undying love for me (though, to be honest, you really have to read between the lines on that one).

It's all a little intimidating, and I feel I really should be confessing something too.

So here we go...

I totally want to go to a Spice Girls concert on their new world tour...

Dave Spice says GIRL POWER!! Zigazig ha!

Don't ask me why, because even I don't know.

All I do know is that if I could get tickets and if I could squeeze it into my schedule, I would SO be there.

And in non-confessional news... thanks to everybody for their nice comments on my vlog entry yesterday. For anybody who's curious, here's a Vlogging FAQ...

• The entire video was unscripted and, with one exception, each scene was done in one take.
• The exception was the answer to "Who I would most like to beat with a baseball bat." It was originally several minutes long, because I felt compelled to give examples of why these people were so horrible. On the second take I eliminated my examples, but almost got caught up in the moment and started ranting about why Jared Fogle is a total douche. That's why there's that pause before I say "...is not cool."
• Everything was recorded on my MacBook Pro's built in microphone and iSight camera using iMovie 06 (the newer iMovie 08 sucks monumental ass, and I am really pissed at Apple for taking a great program and making it crappy).
• The graphics were done in Apple's Keynote software. I remain puzzled as to why sometimes the cool special effects exported to the movie and other times they did not. I guess it's a bug.
• The song I was singing while eating my Quaker Oatmeal Squares cereal is the theme song from New York City's Watchdog's Cereal Wednesdays.
• Along with my fear of blood, I also have a fear of needles, making a career as a doctor a bit dicey.
• Now that I think about it, I probably would be afraid of a snake if it were biting me.
• I should have mentioned that Samantha Brown's latest travel series, Passport to Latin America, begins October 28th. I haven't been to Latin America yet so, needless to say, I am really looking forward to it. More details are available at the Travel Channel website.
• When I was recording the video, I struggled to keep it under 10 minutes so I could post it to YouTube. When I ended up going 30 seconds over the limit I was going to cut the shower scene, but found out Google Video allows movies to be over 10 minutes.
• Yes, dropping the shampoo bottle in the shower was staged. If I didn't do it, I would have had to sing the rest of Madonna's Like A Virgin, and I don't think anybody wants that. Especially me.
• On top of that, the scene was an homage to a DaveToon I really like. It's also a reference to my trip to Vegas with Bad Robert... but you'll have to wait for my book to read about that one.
• My vlog entry took more time than any other entry I've ever done... over an hour to make the graphics and film the scenes... so it's not something I will be doing very often.

And lastly, before I forget, everybody needs to go vote for Obi-Steven over at Kimberly's blog. I'd ask you to vote that she gets a web-feed as well, but I can't find a place to vote for that.

Today as I was driving home for a quick errand, I saw a guy standing in front of the bank at the center of town holding a sign that said SEEK PEACE AND PURSUE IT. "Well that's nice of him," I thought as I drove by. Peace is a good thing.

Returning to work I had a few minutes left, so I walked some packages over to the post office. Once I got there, I listened as two people in the lobby discussed the guy in front of the bank. This, in itself, was not surprising. I live in a small and highly conservative town, and an event like this is major news.

No, what was surprising is what they were saying.

They were discussing how "there was a time when any hippie protesters would have been run out of town."

The reason I found this surprising was because I assumed my hometown had always been a part of the United States of America, where freedom of expression reigns (or is supposed to, anyway). This is a valid assumption when you consider that Cashmere was incorporated in 1904, which is well after Washington became our 42nd state in 1889.

But I digress...

What really got me going was when the conversation turned bizarre.

They started discussing how things like this were going to become more and more common as more and more people abandoned God.

How predictable.

Not able to contain myself, I simply had to say something...

DAVE: Uhhh... the sign he was holding is a quote from The Bible.
   
MORON: What?
   
DAVE: The guy you're talking about was holding up a quote from The Bible... it's like a famous Psalm... "seek peace and pursue it."
   
MORON: (laughs)
   
DAVE: So he hasn't abandoned God, he's actually trying to get people to follow God's Word.
   
MORON: (laughing) Well I doubt that!!
   
DAVE: No, it's true. Maybe next time you go to church you can look it up.

The irony of my Buddhism-embracing self knowing The Bible better than many so-called Christians is not lost on me here... I'd just expect that anybody who was so quick to label a person as a godless hippie protester might have at least skimmed The Bible before passing such judgement.

Though, if they actually had studied The Bible, they might have picked up on that whole "judge not lest ye be judged" thing (which isn't actually a demand not to judge, but is instead an edict to not judge unfairly, which is exactly what was happening here).

Hey! I was right!

For the first time in months, I've made it through an entire day without working. Instead I played games with friends, ate pizza, and sat on my ass watching television.

I could totally get used to this.

Alas, it's not to be. Tomorrow morning I head back home and spend all my Sunday working twice as hard so I can catch up from the day I missed. Life is harsh like that.

But, in the meanwhile, I'm planning on getting a good night's sleep. That would be another thing I haven't done in months...

Goodnight!

The scary news out of Southern California is really messing with my head... inserting horrifying flashbacks into my brain from the two times I had to face a fire.

The first was around 15 years ago while I was living in Wenatchee. Fire was charging down the mountain towards my apartment complex, and I was running around with a garden hose putting out small fires on my roof and nearby shrubs. Eventually, I was forced to evacuate by the fire department, not knowing whether or not my home would be there when I got back. Turns out it was still there (though everything around it was burned up). I woke up in the middle of the night smelling smoke for years after.

The last time was just three years ago. Since I was blogging then, the experience was documented...

Though I once again escaped unscathed, it only added to my fire trauma. To this day, I still wake up smelling smoke and thinking that I'm in the middle of a fire every once in a while.

So when I see what Southern Californians are going through, I can totally sympathize. Been there. Done that. Twice.

Hmmm... guess I'll have to save that entry on spoons I was writing for another time... because right now I am desperately hoping I can get some sleep. Even if I have to self-medicate to get it.

Hopefully my dreams will be smoke-free.

Why am I such a magnet for wrong numbers? I get them all the time on both my mobile and home phones. This morning I'm interrupted eating breakfast at 6:20am by a ringing phone. I rush into the living room so I can answer it, and am immediately greeted with a stream of unintelligible Spanish the minute I say hello. "YOU'VE GOT THE WRONG NUMBER," I yell, but that only gets me more high-volume rapid-fire Spanish I can't understand. Totally irate now, I scream "Wrong number! Número equivocado! Número equivocado! NÚMERO EQUIVOCADOOOOOOO!!!" and slam down the phone.

I fully believe that if you get a wrong number from somebody, you should have the option of punching a code into your phone and it will charge the stupid fucker $25 for the interruption. Sometimes, if the person is nice and apologetic, it doesn't bother me too much. But most of the time wrong numbers just piss me off because the callers are idiots and I wants to get paid.

Being able to shoot a gun through the phone at wrong-number-dialing ass-clowns would be okay too...

Blargh.

And now I have to pack my suitcase... well, two suitcases, actually... for my trip tomorrow.

Hopefully packing will tire me out and I'll be exhausted enough to finally get some sleep.

At which point I'm sure I'll be woken up by some moron who can't dial a phone number correctly.

A couple of weeks ago, a sad realization hit me like a bitch-slap across the face... I'm finding it harder and harder to maintain a happy outlook on life. At first I couldn't figure it out. I seemed to be miserable for no good reason. But after taking a little "me-time," I finally decided that my life was badly out of balance...

What my life used to be about: Looking forward to the things I want to do.

What my life seems to be about now: Dreading the things I have to do.

Since then, I've been trying to put my life back in balance by forcing myself to make time for stuff I want to do. This, naturally, is much easier than it sounds, but it has the benefit of being cheaper than therapy.

The trick is trying to figure out what I want to do.

Unfortunately, it turns out that what I really want to do is drive one of those NASA moon buggies across the dunes of Mars in the first manned mission to the red planet.

Which means I'm pretty much screwed, because the odds of me going to Mars are fairly slim.

But I'm trying my best to compensate for it by doing other little things I think I might enjoy.

Tonight I bought myself a hot-fudge sundae for dessert, for example.

It's no trip to Mars, but it sure was tasty.

It says a lot when I'm in a great city like Seattle, but am so tired after work that I can't manage to muster up the energy to do anything more than climb into bed after dinner. In fact, it was a monumental effort just to turn on my MacBook so I could blog this entry. Heaven only knows where I'll find the strength to turn on the television so I can watch Reaper tonight.

On the up-side, I'm depending on my exhaustion to provide me a decent night's sleep...

Goodnight.

I hope.

WAAAAAAAAHHH!

Well, I've done gone and sliced my right-hand index finger reeeeeeal good. Twice. The cuts are pretty deep, and band-aids weren't helping much. I finally used super-glue and strips of gauze to close the cuts, then bandaged everything up with hopes that I wouldn't bleed to death.

So far, so good.

Except my finger hurts a lot. Which makes typing in my blog kind of clutzy and painful.

But drawing isn't so bad, because I can use my middle-finger to mouse-click*...

I am such a weenie when it comes to bleeding.

And pain.

Which is why I'm going to take a couple of Excedrin PM now so I can forget my pain and get some sleep. If you don't hear from me ever again, it's because the super-glue dissolved and I bled to death in my sleep. Oh well. I suppose there are worse ways to go.

*Even more importantly, I can also still use my middle-finger to flip people off.

Most unproductive day ever.

Seriously. That time I had killer diarrhea and spent two days on the toilet was more productive. Even when I had kidney stones and was so doped up on pain-killers that I was hallucinating, I managed to get more work done. I'd go so far as to say that I managed to get more projects completed during a drunken weekend in Vegas where I spent 48 hours in bed with whores (a hooker's ass makes the perfect laptop stand when your hotel room doesn't have a desk*). I think the only way I could have got less work done today would be if I was in a coma.

I absolutely loathe unproductive days because all the work that didn't get done still has to happen sometime.

In this case, it'll probably be my weekend.

* Hookers make you pay extra for that, however.**

** And be aware that modern laptops generate a lot of heat, so it's best to use protection.***

*** Fortunately, there's a bible in most hotel night-stands which makes a terrific heat barrier and can guard against a burnt ass. Because, let's face it, nobody wants to take their hooker to the ER with scorched buttocks.****

**** Though a bible cannot protect against pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases, so you'll still need condoms.*****

***** Oh the irony...

For a while there, most everybody I know was obsessed with The Secret. Apparently Oprah had endorsed the program, so it must be true.

This book basically tells you that you can have whatever you want if you believe with all certainty that it's already yours. Such thinking opens you up to the miraculous "Law of Attraction" which allows you to control the universe. Since that's my ultimate goal in life, I decided to set aside my feelings (namely, that The Secret is full of crap) and give it a try.

But what would I test it on?

I found an advertisement for a beautiful new residence tower being built in downtown Chicago called 50 East Chestnut. I decided that I would use The Secret to get myself a new home in the building. I ripped out the ad and posted it on my nightstand where I could see it every night as I went to sleep and every morning when I woke up...

Twice a day, morning and night, I would picture myself at 50 East Chestnut looking out over Chicago from my residence on the 24th floor. I totally owned it, and believed that the Law of Attraction would make it mine...

So here I am, exactly one month later, and I don't have a home at 50 East Chestnut on the 24th floor.

Oprah, that lying bitch.

Not that I'm surprised. If The Secret actually worked, then everybody would be living in mansions, driving Porsche convertibles, and rolling around naked in big piles of money with supermodels.

Maybe I was reaching too high? Perhaps if I used The Secret to attract a box of chocolate pudding I'd have better luck?

Chocolate pudding rules.

I am not a candle person.

Which would put me firmly into the minority of the candle-loving masses who buy candles by the hundreds. Except I was given a nice candle recently (smells like pear!), so I thought I might as well spark it up so I have something good to smell while I work. Problem is, I couldn't find any way to light it.

My old lighter was empty. There's not a match to be found anywhere. I couldn't even get the flint in my car emergency kit to work. How sad is it that a grown man can't make fire? Just when I was about to pack it in and go live in a cave, I thought to go looking through my massive souvenir collection to see if I might have saved a matchbook from somewhere. Fortunately, I did have one that I snagged from a restaurant in Korea, so my quest for fire was at an end...

And there was fire, and the fire smelled good.

But something else sure stinks...

What is with all these stupid-ass commercials for the film Love in the Time of Cholera? If I were to write down all the movies that I would most NOT like to see, I'm pretty sure it would top my list right now. Don't get me wrong, if you like to watch weepy period romance dramas, more power to you, but I'd rather be kicked in the balls by Morten Andersen that sit through this crap. And the commercials are only making things worse.

I mean, Love in the Time of Cholera? Seriously?

Mmmmmm... I smell pears!

What a horrible day.

It's at times like this that I wish I had a secret anonymous blog so I could write about the utterly bizarre crap that I've been through. Though much of what happened is so messed-up that even I have trouble believing it's true... and I lived it. The up-side is that I'm utterly convinced that there is a Supreme Being in the universe now, because somebody has to be messing with me. There's no other possible explanation...

Because if life is truly this random, I want out.

As I have no doubt mentioned many times before, I loathe shopping and avoid it like the plague. If I need something, I'll visit a physical store only as a last resort, preferring to buy stuff on the internet whenever possible. Well, today it finally became unavoidable, and a shopping expedition into the nearby city of Wenatchee was required...

...on one of the worst days of the year to be doing so, the day before Thanksgiving (with the very worst day obviously being Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving).

Anyway, here's my shopping for the day...

Folding Door Runner: My closet door broked, so I had to buy a replacement piece at Home Depot. Just like every other time I've been here, trying to find anything in this massive store is nigh impossible when you can't get somebody to help you. After 15 minutes of getting nowhere, I finally turn to leave in disgust when some guy on his lunch break is walking through and tells me where to go. It was the wrong aisle, but eventually I DO find my runner. I'm off to a terrible start.

Pizza: I had a coupon for Papa Murphy's, so I dropped by to get a Cheese Pizza for dinner on Friday.

String Cheese: I went to Costco specifically to find these incredible Multigrain Tortilla Chips from FoodShouldTasteGood...

When I couldn't find the chips, I was determined not to leave empty-handed and ended up getting a 60-pack of string cheese. As much as I love string cheese, this will probably last me into February.

Peppermint Crunch Junior Mints: I may not celebrate Christmas, but I'm not about to pass up on delicious holiday treats because of it! Food Pavilion always has a nifty selection of seasonal sweets, so I dropped by and found new Crunchy Junior Mints. They aren't as crunchy as the packaging would have you believe (they need bigger pieces of candy on the top for that), but they're still killer good...

Black Bean Chipotle Gardenburgers: My favorite frozen veggie burger is the Black Bean Chipotle patties from Gardenburger. I love them. LOVE THEM!! Then two months ago I couldn't find them anymore. And I looked everywhere. I stopped at every grocery store I could find in every city I went to. Ultimately, I figured that they must have been discontinued (even though they're still listed on the Gardenburger site). On a whim, I decided to look at Food Pavilion after I got my crunchy mints. I nearly broke down in tears when I looked into the freezer case and saw them there staring back at me. I bought all ten boxes they had...

Please, please, please tell me that these are not the last Black Bean Chipotle Gardenburgers on earth. My heart cannot take losing Coke with Lime AND my beloved burgers too. The bad news is that my freezer is now totally full. Beyond full. If I find anymore Black Bean Chipotle Gardenburgers, I won't be able to buy them until I eat some of the ones I already have. Or throw out the chocolate ice cream. What a dilemma that would be.

And that was all the shopping I could stand for the day. For the month, really.

Of course, there's only one thing worse than shopping during the holidays, and that would be traveling during the holidays. Knowing that I have not one, but two trips coming up makes me want to scream... then cry... then drink until I pass out.

Instead I'm going to write up a business proposal, sketch out some design concepts, answer my backlog of email, then go to bed.

Right after I eat some string cheese. One down, fifty-nine to go...

Hanging around a hospital all day can be entertaining... if you work at it.

Fortunately they had free wi-fi internet, which helped, but there was still plenty of time to wander around and come up with stuff to occupy my time. My favorite game? GUESS THAT STAIN!

Surprisingly (or not surprisingly, when you think about it), there are quite a few stains to be found all over the hospital. And every time I see one, I can't help but wonder what might have caused it...

Of course me (being me) always determined that the stains were from a brain leak, or an exploding pancreas, or a spinal tap gone terribly wrong, or some other kind of freaky medical improbability. But I guess that's what makes it fun.

What's definitely not fun is watching a family receive bad news. It happens at hospitals... you would expect it to happen at hospitals... but that doesn't make it any less painful to witness.

Tomorrow is going to be a long, long day. But it has a really good thing happening at the end, so all I have to do is hang on until then and I'll be in good shape.

In the meanwhile, I'm going to sulk and bitch about all the snow.

Hmmm... I should probably set down my drink to do this...

Tonight I drank obscene amounts of alcohol and then went to see Mike Birbiglia in concert at the Moore Theater here in Seattle with friends. He is one of the funniest people on the planet (even when you're not drunk), so you should go buy his albums right now and be sure to check out his Comedy Central Video Special.

I took lots of pictures today, but with my crappy iPhone camera, so none of them turned out very good (why does everything always come out so DARK?). Some of them become acceptable when Photoshopped to death though.

I've kind of got one-handed, no-look iPhone photography down to a science. I focus my attention on driving while pushing my iPhone to the windshield so I can pretty much capture exactly what I see out my window without having to even look at iPhone...

Lots of snow dropped on Stevens Pass last night, but the roads were good...

Once over the pass, the snow disappeared pretty fast...

Doing our best to support the German economy...

It's Mike Birbiggleboo Birbigglebug Birbigglebutt Birbiglia at The Moore...

Wow. That iPhone camera really sucks ass unless the lighting is totally perfect. Whenever I complain, everybody tells me that ALL mobile phone cameras suck ass... but my old Motorola did a lot better than this.

Oh well. I had big fun tonight (even if my blog is down and I can't post this until morning). Tomorrow is a much-deserved day of nothing but goofing off before a full week of nothing but work, so at least I have something to look forward to.

Uhhhh... yeah... my home state is in a bit of trouble just now...

Can't we ship this stuff to someplace where they really need it?

Despite the fact that I had to go to the dentist for my 6-month check-up first thing this morning, I woke up in kind of a good mood. Sure I had a ton of work to do but, thanks to a handful of sleeping pills, I got a good night's sleep and was feeling okay. That doesn't happen too often now-a-days, so I put a smile on my face and decided to just roll with it.

Then I stepped outside.

It was raining. Hard. I was all ready to wipe that smile off my face and let my mood go sour... but then I looked up...

This photo hardly does it justice, but there was a massive rainbow arching across the entire sky. And, even though you can't tell from the picture, they sky was actually a nice shade of blue. Like this...

In person, the rainbow was spectacular. Bright, vivid, colors that shot across the sky like a Hollywood movie special effect! My happiness was reinstated. I didn't care that it was raining.

But then I got in my automobile. And it wouldn't start. Probably because of my drive over the pass on Sunday, which was undoubtedly a massive strain on the 7-year-old battery that came with the car. Crap.

So now I have to borrow a car to get to my dentist appointment AND buy a new battery. Life is really sucking today. Though my teeth cleaning went pretty well, and there wasn't much need for the dental instruments of torture...

Surprisingly, the rainbow had followed me into Wenatchee, and was shining brighter than ever as I went to buy a new car battery...

And then it was back to work for six hours until I could find a ride home and install my battery.

Except the engineer who designed my Saturn SC-2 is a sadistic fucker, and replacing my battery was not as easy as it has been IN EVERY OTHER CAR I'VE EVER SEEN. The damn thing is bolted in with a stupid-ass metal shield of some kind, and none of my tools are long enough to unscrew the shit. So I work on the bracket without success, until it gets too dark and I can't see what I'm doing.

Fucking piece of crap Saturn.

Seriously. I bought the damn thing because I wanted to support American workers by purchasing an American car. But it has been a steaming pile of shit from the very beginning. And now, on top of having error lights that won't go out no matter how much I pay the Saturn repair shop, it has a battery that you can't remove with standard tools.

In the morning I'll give it another try. If I can't get it to work, I'll just rent a fucking blow-torch and cut the shit off. Or light the entire car on fire and laugh maniacally as it explodes.

Ooh! I guess I ended up in a bad mood after all.

Stupid rainbow.

Well smack my ass and call me Sally.

This morning I woke up at first-light so I could try once again to install a new battery in my car. As I mentioned yesterday, Saturn designed a bracket to hold the battery in place (good) but it has the binding bolts in really stupid places (bad). In order to remove the bracket, you need something like an air-powered flat ratchet for one of the bolts... and a long extension ratchet head for the other one. I, of course, own neither of those things. There's really no need to own those things unless you are an auto mechanic.

So after an hour of getting nowhere, I finally decide to put on a dress, then grab a matching purse and shoes so I can go pay a mechanic to install the battery...

So thanks a fucking load Saturn. Nothing can emasculate a man faster than having to pay another guy to put a battery in his car. Seriously, how fucking difficult would it be to design the shit so that anybody with a pair of pliers and a screwdriver can take care of it? Is that really too much to ask? I mean, I own a good set of manly tools... I even have a Dremel for criminey's sake... shouldn't that be enough to do something as simple as replacing the battery in your car? Yes. Yes it should. Because, when you think about it, the time that most people have to replace their battery is probably a time when they least expect it, and they may not have any tools available. Why not a simple locking pressure clamp with no tools required? Why force guys to have to wear dresses with matching shoes and handbags as they pay a mechanic to deal with this simple shit?

There is no good reason I can think of except that you hire asshole engineers who get sadistic pleasure out of torturing your customers.

I seriously need to go drink a six-pack of beer while watching football and farting as I scratch my balls so I can get some of my manhood back.

Though I should probably change out of this dress first.

I don't have internet, so I have no idea when I can post this. How typical.

Three days ago, I read an entry over at "A Pile of Dog Bones" that has been haunting me ever since. In his blog, Watchdog talks about the difference between being alone and being lonely, and comes to the conclusion that both are empty feelings that cause a sense of desperation, and the only difference is that "one is an absolute and the other is an abstract."

Since I am often alone (whether it be because I'm working all the time or traveling as often as I do) this kind of struck a chord with me. And on a night like tonight when I'm far from home, sitting down for dinner in the middle of an empty Pizza Hut restaurant staring at a single-serving Personal Pan Pizza... well, it's not difficult to see why.

The only difference being that I don't mind being alone.

Mostly because I never feel lonely.

Sure there are times I wish I had a nine-to-five job where I could stop work at a sane hour and do the whole "hey honey, I'm home" thing, but that's not the life I have. I suppose if that's what I really wanted, I could go and make it happen... but it would seem that I'm content with things the way they are, because I'm not inclined to change. I do the best I can to stay in touch with friends and family, and that seems to be enough. For me anyway...

And yet...

When I stop and think about it, how is it possible that I'm not lonely?

Any rational person would look at my life and say that I should be lonely.

Perhaps it's because I'm deluded.

More likely it's because I was hurt so badly by somebody in my past that I'd rather be alone the rest of my life than risk suffering like that again.

Anything is possible.

But, then again, I'll always have you.

This morning after I hauled my ass out of bed, I checked my email and saw that I had been forwarded a militant message encouraging people to TAKE BACK CHRISTMAS! The way you do this is to "wish as many people a MERRY CHRISTMAS as possible between now and December 25th." Apparently, this is to counteract the political correctness of people switching to "happy holidays" and "destroying the spirit of Christmas."

I found this to be more than a little strange, and couldn't for the life of me figure out how randomly ambushing people with a "MERRY CHRISTMAS" was going to TAKE IT BACK.

Not that I have anything against people saying "Merry Christmas" mind you.

Here, reproduced in its entirety, is my entry for December 25th, 2005:

There's nothing wrong with wishing people a Merry Christmas.
   
Yet, it's quickly becoming almost taboo to do so, and I just don't get it.
   
I don't wish people a "Merry Christmas" because I'm not a Christian and don't celebrate the holiday. But do I get gravely offended when people are kind enough to wish me a "Merry Christmas?" No. I do not. Why? Because they're being NICE. Because they're wishing me HAPPINESS. Because they're caught up in the spirit of their holiday and are being KIND. This happens so rarely in our bitter, cynical world that I find it impossible to understand how people could take offense... even if they don't celebrate Christmas.
   
I mean, it's not like somebody's just told you to kiss their ass.
   
And you just know that it's only a matter of time before some dumbass decides to sue somebody for wishing them a "Merry Christmas" (if it hasn't happened already). This is America, after all.
   
Which leads me to this burning question: is it really so difficult to just say "thank you," accept the kindness in the spirit it was given, and then shut the f#@% up about it?
   
Probably not. This is America, after all.

So, while I fully support somebody's right to be wishing people a "Merry Christmas," you'll have to forgive me for not joining in on the jihad to TAKE BACK CHRISTMAS. Not just because I don't celebrate the holiday... but because this type of thing doesn't seem very much in keeping with the spirit of Christmas.

After one of the most painless travel days ever, I finally arrived home... for one night only. Tomorrow morning I re-pack my bags and head back out. Which is kind of a bummer, because I could use a few days at home.

In other news... I'm old.

I got a Happy Holiday card from Avitable, and I couldn't read it until I put on an old pair of reading glasses I found laying around. Then I started looking at books, magazines, and other stuff... and suddenly realized that I really need glasses now...

That's a heck of a reality check to have on a holiday.

Where does the time go?

I'm not sick, but I feel like I am.

For the third day in a row, I've barely been able to get motivated enough to climb out of bed in the morning. It's like I have no energy, and am tired all the time. When I was finally awake enough to start working at 8:30, I was in a zombie-like state and could barely function. A simple project that should have taken 30 minutes ended up taking over an hour to complete. Worried that I might never leave my hotel room, I forced myself out so I could have a "black bean burger" at Chili's. It was delicious, but didn't help. All I wanted to do was go back to bed...

But instead I spent the next six hours working my ass off in an attempt to get caught up before the weekend.

To be honest, I don't know that I'm much further along than I was when I started. Being so badly unproductive is really depressing, and I'm getting worried that I'm not going to snap out of this funk any time soon.

I need to hire somebody to give me a really good bitch-slapping.

Unfortunately, looking under "B" in the Yellow Pages hasn't turned up any results.

I suppose this must be a job for Craigslist?

Is there anything more terrifying than having a few drinks and playing Guitar Hero?

I suck ass at even the "easy" level, and alcohol doesn't seem to help.

In happier news, I finally saw the film Kinky Boots and am absolutely astounded at the acting ability (flexibility?) of Chiwetel Ejiofor. The guy is amazingly talented. His role as "The Operative" in Serenity is by far my favorite, but his playing the transvestite "Lola" in Kinky Boots blew my mind. Now I am really wanting to see Dirty Pretty Things.

Despite being rainy and a bit depressing, the weather in Seattle is still a massive improvement over Spokane.

Once again my rant is going to have to be postponed, because I am just so frickin' overrun with drama that I can barely function.

Today the blogosphere (or, to be more accurate, a small section of the blogosphere) imploded. If you run in the same blog circles as I do, you know what I'm talking about. If you don't, it's no big loss, because drama is drama regardless of the details. Suffice to say there was a very disturbing, very public, turn of events that ended badly. This had a ripple effect throughout The People's Republic of Blogistan* where a great many people were left with dropped jaws saying "what the fuck?"

For the most part, I am unsympathetic to the bloggers involved. If you are going to disclose every frakin' detail of your sordid affair to the entire internet... but then disappear when things turn to shit... well, people are going to speculate, gossip, and discuss the situation because you invited them to. And yet, to say I am unsympathetic does not mean I wish anybody ill-will. On the contrary, I am hoping with all my heart that everybody comes through this okay and can find happiness once again. All I ever want is for people to be happy and live in peace.

But enough ambiguous chatter, let's talk about me.

I am the polar opposite of a life-sharing blogger.

I do not discuss my family, my offline friends, my work, my relationships, or anything that's truly personal. This blog is all at once a highly superficial yet deeply reflective look at my life. Or at least (being honest here) the parts of my life I choose to share.

Take yesterday, for instance. It was a very, very bad day. But all the horribleness revolved around things I choose not to blog about, so I posted a DaveToon of my world raining shit and hoped that people understand this is all I have to say about the situation. Fortunately, most do.

But today's events have me thinking back to a conversation I had with my good friend Bad Robert a few weeks back.

Robert observed that I invite my readers to speculate about the Big Picture because I leave them hanging for details. At first I protested, but (and this is the thing about Bad Robert's brilliance) I quickly realized he's absolutely right. For everything I don't reveal or discuss, it's like opening a big door towards speculation. It's human nature.

So am I really any better off than those who choose to share their dirty laundry?

Apparently not.

People read about my frequent travels and speculate that my career is everything from hired assassin to jewel thief to gigolo to terrorist. The truth is far less interesting but, since I'm not talking about it, I might as well be inviting other people to guess...

FACT CHECK: I'm a graphic designer. I fly around a lot for all aspects of my work, and often add-on extra personal time to my trips because I love to travel and see the world. I am, for the most part, forbidden from sharing details of my work, and so I don't. It's really as simple as that.

People read my joking around about being 20% gay, don't read about any girlfriend, and speculate that I'm 100% gay. Again, the truth is far less interesting but, since I'm not talking about it, I might as well be inviting other people to guess...

FACT CHECK: I'm straight. If I were gay I would have no problem being the most "out" homosexual you know, because my friends, family, co-workers, job, and beliefs just wouldn't care. There's no reason for me to be in the closet if I were gay, and I wouldn't be. Just because I don't blog about women in my life doesn't mean they don't exist.

And so on.

This is not to claim that I don't ever reveal myself on my blog.

There are occasional glimpses into my life that I consider highly personal.

There are other times I've written an entry and realize that it tells a lot about who I am even though it actually says very little.

Sometimes I surprise myself by drawing a simple cartoon that reveals me more deeply than any words could ever express.

Occasional controversial topics do enter into the fray from time to time as you would expect them to.

Though people tend to forget, I have blogged about sexual encounters, albeit in a way that admits to nothing.

And, of course, women and romance are not entirely off-limits, I just don't get too close.

Even my family turns up on rare occasions, if people were to take a minute to notice.

And so on.

Is it better to reveal everything and risk repercussions?

Or is it better to reveal very little and risk speculation?

I honestly cannot say.

Something tells me that this would get a little too personal.

* The People's Republic of Blogistan, courtesy of mah Hilly-Sue.

This weekend is when The Colbert Report has its "March to Keep Fear Alive" and The Daily Show has its "Rally to Restore Sanity." Both are parody-laden responses to the crazy-ass crap going on across the USA as the midterm elections grow near.

Unfortunately, my real fear is very much alive that Jon Stewart is far too late to restore sanity to this nation. That ship has sailed. The rampant dumbfuckery plaguing our country in the form of bigotry, racism, hatred, ignorance, deceit, hypocrisy, selfishness, homophobia, sexism, xenophobia, incompetence, and greed... it's all rapidly approaching the point of no return. Even worse, any form of actual sanity is readily attacked by people too stupid to even understand what they're attacking.

So good luck with that...

And the stupid shall inherit the earth.

Luckily it will be a world of their making, so at least they'll be getting what they deserve.

   
UPDATE: Well, the "Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear" has just concluded. For the most part, I thought it was pretty bad. It wasn't funny. It wasn't even entertaining. I was bored throughout the entirety of the event, and thought the screaming interaction between Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert was embarrassing. There were glimmers of hope... like when Yusuf (aka Cat Stevens) and Ozzy Osbourne hit the stage, but it was all destroyed when Stewart and Colbert went into some kind of mock music battle. Nothing seemed to come together, and a everything seemed so staged and pointless. I guess you had to be there?

HOWEVER... the speech at the end by Jon Stewart made the entire ordeal worthwhile. It was inspiring. He truly managed to put everything into perspective and diminish the fear-mongering assholes that are ruining this country. I hope that a transcript or video recap of the speech is posted, because it's well worth a look.