How do you sell Success?...

Things are moving on the new book and I'm starting to think of marketing. So... how's this for a tagline?


In his search for success, he lost his job. He lost his best friend to alcoholism. Another friend died.

What the hell is success???


(This could change without notice...)

And they stiffed him with the check!...

The tagline on CNN this morning, which I saw at the gym, read, "The Truth About Jesus: The Site of the Last Supper". Apparently, someone says they've found where the final snack was held.

I couldn't hear the television - there's no volume at the gym - but I couldn't help imagining what they were saying, "Turns out the baguettes are stale and the wine is weak. Is it any wonder they had to resort to cannibalism?"

They just don't get it. It's not important to find historical accuracies in the Bible because the Bible is not a history book.

It's like looking for Noah's Ark, or trying to recreate the conditions that allowed Jonah to live inside a whale. I can only imagine people trying to find Sodom. "Well, it's very simple. You just look for the largest deposit of salt..."

"That's stupid. Everybody knows God used a nuke to take out Sodom. You look for the most radiation."

"Fools! He took them down with circus peanuts!"

And on an on.

The meaning of the Bible is not diminished by taking it out of an historical context. In fact, it's enhanced.

But, in the meantime, steer clear of the bagels...

I’m stumped…

What psychosis must humanity possess that allows it to say it cherishes life, to feel love for cute animals, to nurture and protect creatures while, at the very same time, it kills wantonly, unknowingly, profusely, and rampantly?

Surely, there’s a name for it! There must be!

Ah, if only the extinct could speak!

Not failing at success… I was just resting…

Normality. Who would think it’s so… normal. Aside from the name, I mean. Things just settle back into their routines with such regularity you swear you’ve been eating bran.

So it is with my life. I mean, I have a job again. Vicky and I are still together. We’re picking up where we left off in August. We’re going to refi our house… we’re going to buy the new bed we’ve needed for the past 8-9 months…

And I’ve started working on the book about success again.

Being out of work just screwed up my ability to work – I mean, to write. For some reason, writing regularly keeps me… regular. (There we are with our bran references again.) But I never gave up on the success book. I even told Vicky that I’d be getting back to it.

And back to it I am.

I spent this week rereading what I have, reviewing my research, doing more research, writing some more, and, yes, feeling daunted. I’ll get to each of those points, one at a time.

Can you believe I already have one-third of the book complete? Seriously! One-third! That’s not bad, after all, for giving me some idea what I was shooting for. Oh, I have my complaints. It’s not nearly funny enough. (But I would say that about all of my books. Not one of them is funny enough.) Books on philosophy have got to be funny or you’ll just want to cry. And, on top of that, it is a book about unemployment, alcoholism, and death. This is funny stuff, you know?

I’d already done a crapload of research, not to mention the mountain of survey results, so you can imagine how shocked I was that I hadn’t started! Mind you, only about a tenth of all the research ends up in the book. (After all, who would want to read that?!) But it was in continuing the research that I found the most amazing thing.

Months back, I wrote about “underlying forms”, using the wrong term to refer to Plato. But did you know that “underlying forms” refers to Optimality Theory? It’s a linguistic convention used to create a hierarchy much like that of… Maslow! (Remember me mentioning his “Hierarchy of Needs”?) Without knowing it – to make a long story short – I’m tying together such diverse paths as Kundalini yoga, psychiatry, philosophy, linguistics – and, of course, unemployment, alcoholism, and death – to get at the core of something that touches them all and that nobody thinks of in relation to any… success.

It’s incredibly daunting but, at the same time, a terrific subject for me. You see, as political and passionate I am about current events and ethics – this has nothing at all to do with any of that. So, I don’t have to worry about any of that seeping in. It’s like writing in this nice, little bubble, a safe place where I can be cool with everybody. Nice.

So, two-thirds to go and I’m on my way…

Summer is not out of the question!

And let’s not get started on the name…

Dear Nabisco, c/o Kraft Foods Global, Inc.,

I recently saw this after eating a bag of Cheese Nips:

When writing to us, please enclose the entire package with printed code, or call 1-800-NABISCO, Weekdays.

How dare you not hire me as a writer!

How mother fucking dare you!

Do you even read your shit? I mean, really, do you?! Because you’re giving me the option, when I write, to either enclose the package or call! You certainly aren’t, however much this might be your intention, suggesting that I can either write or call. I’m sorry, that is not what your written message means!

This one was free. Next time, I send a bill.

We are, none of us, as young as we seem – or – Welcome to GenJones!...

You could also call this “Anonymous”…

I’ve always been grateful for the fact that I’m not a Baby Boomer. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hold anything against them. Baby Boomers got to go to Woodstock. Baby Boomers contributed to changing Civil Rights (if they were on the right side). Baby Boomers got to see The Beatles play on Ed Sullivan. Baby Boomers had it good.

But I never wanted to be a Baby Boomer because Baby Boomers are old. And Shrub’s a Boomer. ‘Nuff said.

I always thought I was part of Generation X. What a cool name: X! The unknown! Maya! An entire generation of illusion! Bitchin’!

… But I’m not.

Excuse me?

I’m not.

I took a mental double-take on that one when I found out. I am not a Generation X’er.

Son of a bitch.

Does that mean I’m a –

No. I’m not a Boomer, either.

Thank God in all his cock-sucking glory.

… wait a minute. If I’m not a Gen X’er… and I’m not a Baby Boomer… what the hell am I?

You won’t believe me when I tell you – and I know that because I didn’t believe it, either – but there’s a whole generation in between! It’s another “lost generation”. You never hear about them.

Generation… Jones.

… the fuck? Jones?

Jones.

I don’t believe it.

See, the problem is that, while the Baby Boomer generation stretched from 1942-1964 (putting me safely a year out of reach), Generation X didn’t kick in until a couple of years later. It goes from 1966-1980.

That’s right. That leaves 1965 out in the snodgrass of generations. Mother fucker.

And that’s not all. Generation Jones goes from 1954-1965. That means that 90% of those people (birth rates being equal) are also Baby Boomers! I have to share my fucking generation with a bunch of fucking Boomers! That’s not fair!

I demand a recount!

And what’s all this Jones shit mean, anyway?

“An anonymous generation”, according to Wikipedia. The period in which I was born is known as that… anonymous. But, again, some can claim to be Boomers… but not if you were born in 1965.

Then, you were… anonymous…

Fuckin’ A.

But, at least, I'm not alone. Isn't that right, Ti... I mean, "Anonymous"!

Restoring honor and dignity to the Oval Office since 1992...

Gotta love Bill Mahar!

... yes, you do.


New Rule - Traitors don't get to question my patriotism. What could be less patriotic than constantly screwing things up for America? You know, it's literally hard to keep up with the sheer volume of scandals in the Bush administration. Which is why I like to download the latest scandals right onto my IPod. That way, I can catch up on this week's giant fuck up on my drive into work.

Save Studio 60...

For those of you who love the show, Studio 60, as much as Vicky and I, here's a site for you:

Save Studio 60!

There are a lot of reasons to love this show - well written, topical without being sensationalistic, original, funny, on and on. And, of course, there's the one reason to hate it - they haven't hired me. But don't hold that against them - after all, they won't be able to if they go off the air.

(You hear that, Sorkin! Now, you scratch my back!)

Why Eight US Attorneys Matter…

I’m surprised by the level of confusion surrounding Attorney General (and unofficial Torture-Czar) Gonzales and his firings of eight US attorneys. You’re probably heard that there’s a big uproar. Congress doesn’t like it. Shrub’s saying they were presidential appointees and he should be allowed to fire people he appointed.

The story gets reported through such a myopic lens every time I see it. The importance of the issue has become washed away beneath a tide of talking points and even I was left wondering (mind you, it was nearly 5am and I was on a treadmill), “Why should Congress care if Shrub wants to fire his own people?”

It’s that “why” that everyone is forgetting.

It’s why these people were fired. Some were fired because Shrub’s people wanted them to persecute Democrats, which is wrong. Some were fired because Shrub’s people didn’t want them to prosecute Republicans who had been caught breaking the law (such as in San Diego), which is also wrong.

Why is it wrong?

Because when the justice system no longer serves to determine what is just and, instead, determines who is just about had it, it is no longer a justice system. When the justice system stops serving the law and, instead, serves a monarchical master, it is no longer a justice system. To be blunt, when the justice system becomes one man’s personal vendetta machine, it is no longer a justice system.

We’ve all allowed our rights to be slowly stripped away from us. Unlawful search and seizure. Habeas corpus. Torture. One by one, more and more.

We’ve let them take away our day in court.

Are we also going to allow these evil, greedy, power mad fiends to run off with the court, as well?

That’s why it matters. As late in the day as it is, as much as we’ve allowed them to do to us, it is our chance – and that of Congress – to say, “You’ve had enough. You cannot do this, too.”

Have they no shame, those soulless cockroaches in the White House? No. They don’t.

Thankfully, people are starting to see that.

Soldiers who "Just Say NO"...

(... or "Now these are some troops I can support!")

The (so very not)Right likes to come up with slogans. It's nice to see some of the troops liking this one.

It looks like over 3,000 troops deserted last year. I say we support our troops in their efforts not to slaughter a nation that never did anything to us.

Good going, soldiers!

New Job: Week One…

You’d think, with a title like that, that this would be a continuing feature. It’s not. You don’t want to read about my job every week any more than I want to write about it every week.

But I do want to write about it this week to let you know how things are turning out.

Let’s get the bad stuff out of the way. Yes, I get paid hourly and, yes, there’s not a lot of time off. But, you know what? I was treated like an hourly employee the last place I was at, although I was salary, so it’s not that bad.

(I’d like more time off, of course… who wouldn't?)

The thing about this job that kind of has me blown away is the amount of faith people have in me. I’ve met with the Director of Marketing and the Director of Sales a few times and they are sure I’ll do a good job. And the great thing is, it’s not just talk.

So far, this week, I’ve taken charge of designing a new web site and setting up some corporate partnerships. They would never have let me take charge like this at IMC or at Linksys!

The big difference between then and now is that now I have a lot of expectations but not a lot of pressure. At the other places, there was tons of pressure with low expectations. Let me explain. At IMC, I was swamped with work but either very little of it was important (not menial) or I wouldn’t be trusted to do the job on my own. At the new place, they expect me to do things like design web sites and create partnerships but nobody is looking over my shoulder.

I’m treated more like an adult. I like that.

… oh, and I have an office with a window, so…

What is sanity, anyway?…

“What happens in thirty or forty years? Are you going to be a crazy, old man?”

Vicky’s concerned for my sanity the way a mother is concerned her child will break his neck when first riding a bicycle.

So, let me give this to you straight. Yes, after my divorce things were bad. I had a hard time of it. But now, it’s really not so troubling. I find it humorous when I had the odd hallucination. As I said to Vicky, “I just have a different relationship with reality.”

Vicky asked, “What about what people think about you?”

I told her that those who know me know I’m fine. If they don’t, more’s the pity for them.

But I want to talk for a minute about sanity because I can’t help but see a huge cue card that reads “IRONY”. There are people right now who are trying to bring the world to a horrible war… excuse me, another horrible war. They did it with Afghanistan. They did it with Iraq. Now, they’re doing it with Iran. These people are considered sane.

There are people who believe that torture is a good thing. That our nation has every right to act inhumanely towards others just because we can. These, too, are considered sane.

There are people right now who strongly believe that industry should not be regulated and who are just as strongly appalled with their dog is poisoned through tainted food. Again, sane people.

Some people think there is a place where we go after we die, that angels with wings live there, that a big bossman lives there with a rule book filled against which he judges us so that if we do not behave correctly we are sent to a place full of fire and pain and torture and sorrow and filth and anquish – and that he loves you. Sane.

So, please, don’t talk to me about sanity. Comparatively, anything I experience is completely benign.

Challenge: Week.... um....

Okay! I admit it! It's my fault!

Faced with the choice between going to a Weight Watchers's meeting this morning or spending last night celebrating my first week at my new job (more on that later)... I convinced Vicky to be bad. So, we celebrated.

Well, hey! Come on! First week!

I'm sure the "Challenges" will continue soon.

Questions for the Ether...

What do you do if you're actually gay but don't realize it because you're too busy enjoying being heterosexual?

Here’s something I never write about…

It takes an awful lot to be able to see both sides of a story… so when you realize I don’t, just understand that, okay?

Vicky’s birthday is coming up on April 13th (keep those cards and gifts coming!), just as I get started on this new job. Terrific! In fact, I don’t get my first paycheck (which is only half a paycheck – one week’s worth) until a week before. Great! And I had to take a pay cut to get this job, which means that it will be very, very small. Fantastic!

Sounds pretty shitty, doesn’t it?

It gets worse.

I wanted to get Vicky a nice gift but I’m pretty much broke and we really can’t afford too much, which is not conducive to the great, capitalist birthdays she’s used to – her nickname ain’t “Princess” for nothing, folks. (I appreciate condolences; I prefer cash.)

And, yes, it gets worse.

“I want (blank),” Vicky told me. I can’t tell you what she told me… let’s call it… “Samophlange” for all of you WoW-heads. She said, “I want samophlange. It’s a beautiful samophlange and I want it!”

The problem with this, however, was that I wanted to get her (blank). I can’t tell you what I want to get her (she may be reading!)… let’s just call it… “HalyjoOsmet” for reasons unknown.

I can’t get her samophlange because I’d like to get her HalyjoOsmet. I think she’d prefer HalyjoOsmet. I know she’d love HalyjoOsmet. The thing is, I can’t afford both samophlange and HalyjoOsmet. In fact, I can barely afford HalyjoOsmet!

But she kept pushing samophlange into my face. She absolutely had to have samophlange. It got to the point where I didn’t want to buy her anything, let alone samophlange or HalyjoOsmet.

When you are insistent about wanting something, pushy even, it makes it difficult to buy you that something.

Anyway, her birthday isn’t for a few weeks. I’m hoping the samophlange versus HalyjoOsmet dispute comes to some settlement.

There’s no real point to this entry – nothing you can do, unless you can send me enough money for a samophlange – I just figured that, after six months of talking about how wonderful Vicky is, I could be allowed one gripe.

I’ll shut up now… for now…

Billy Boylan Goes Up…

This one is especially for any of my friends from the stage who may still read.

Let’s see if you can figure this one out.

(It’s a dream from last night, btw.)

So, I’m cast in 40 Carats again, reprising my role as Billy Boylan, the ex with the heart of gold. I guess it’s only fitting; after all, I’m about Billy’s age now. And I’m wearing the goatee again. (The goatee’s back and you’re gonna be in trouble – ha na ha na, the goatee’s back!)

The rest of the actors are looking at me as if I was a star! (Which, in a way, I was – the star of my own dream!)

Sherryl’s the director. She played the lead when I was in 40 Carats about a million years ago.

We’re outside of this immense amphitheatre – the thing literally dwarfs the city around it. We’re WAY in the back and, as the show is about to begin, I decide to do a quick line drill in my head. I’ve often done this when I’ve acted (all these past tenses are really bumming me out!). You just drill through your lines in the scene where you’re about to appear.

… Except for one minor thing. I couldn’t remember my first line.

No problem. Grab a script. Open it up. Find that first line!

The script was this enormous stack of papers, phonebook thick, and I started scrolling through.

Sherryl walks up beside me, holding a clipboard and giving me a very expectant, “It’s gonna start soon”, look. (Though the last time I knew of a director being backstage with a clipboard, during a show, was in the fourth grade!)

Now, somewhere in there, I realized I was dreaming. I thought, “Billy Boylan?! Cool! I just have to remember that first line!”

So, off I dived through the script.

And dived.

And dived.

…. I might have dove… it’s early…

Anyway, the script started to literally fall to pieces in my hands – the size of a phonebook! So, I’m trying to hold together this immense stack of papers, trying to find the line, and trying very hard to not wake up because I really wanted to play Billy Boylan again.

When I realized… Billy Boylan did not appear anywhere in the script.

I checked again.

Nothing.

I looked at Sherryl. She smiled back at me.

“I should go,” I thought. “I’m not in this play.”

And I woke up.

… Extra points to you if you don’t say “I think you want to act again.”

The inevitable dread after speaking…

I’m guessing its residual stress – six months of unemployment will get you some stress, my friends – or the sudden whack to my sleep schedule or the oddity of feeling wanted… either way, I had another funky afternoon.

Someone kept watching me, sneaking peeks just around my office door.

Of course, there was no one there. I was hallucinating it. And the funny thing about hallucinating is that it doesn’t just stop when you realize you’re hallucinating. Oh, no. It keeps going. And it’s just as annoying then, too.

So, for about an hour, I kept looking over my left shoulder to see what it was that was sneaking peaks and, as soon as it did, it would dart back out of view… of course.

But that’s not what this is about.

This is about what happened last night.

“Is this supposed to make me happy?” Vicky asked in response to my story about the raindrops that weren’t there that were falling on my head. It was clear that she wasn’t.

“What do you mean?” I asked… probably too innocently.

See, the thing is Vicky doesn’t particularly like it when I hallucinate. In fact, she pretty much hates it. I’m sure she remembers stories of things I did “before” and is afraid of Ken landing in some hospital with cushioned walls.

I probably should be more sensitive about her feelings, too.

But from my perspective, things are fine. After all, I’ve been hallucinating (on and off) for about half a decade now and I’ve been able to manage just fine – AND I’m not getting any visits from my ex-wife! So, things could be worse. And talking about it actually helps me feel like less of a freak!

But, for Vicky, this just started a couple of years ago – and she’s probably wondering when it’s going to stop.

I really don’t know. Yes, I worry, too, but I try to make a game of it. When you consider how badly I was damaged and for how long, a little non-existent rain, someone playing “I spy”, even spotting the living dead on the freeway, it isn’t all bad.

Don't worry, Vic. It’s a long distance from eccentric to loony.

Strangest - Hallucination - Ever...

So, I'm sitting in my office... again...

I'm leaning over my desk, trying to read/trying not to fall asleep...

I feel water drip down on my jacket sleeve - actually, through my jacket sleeve. I don't feel the moisture, just the impact. Then, I feel it on my back. On my sleeve, lower this time. On my back, in a different spot. On my head...

This was kind of strange because I was indoors, on the top floor, and it wasn't raining outside...

Drip. Drip.

And when it landed on my head, it wasn't wet.

Drip, onto my head again. Dry.

It took that long for me to realize that I was hallucinating... rain... indoors...

I did what any normal person (who hallucinates rain indoors) would do. I got up and left!

Thankfully the rain (that I was hallucinating) stopped...

Here's something fun...

So, I was sitting in my office today doing some research... Did I mention I have an office? With a window? Jealous, yet? (Don't be! I had to take a cut in pay.)

Anyway, if you've ever wanted to know everything about your job or what you think you'd like your job to be, head on over to the Bureau of Labor Statistics.

(This is fun, Ken?)

Actually, yes!

The Occupational Outlook Handbook is especially fun. When you look up writers, you find that we make a lot of money and are in great demand... then again, what do they know?

When you look up actor, it just says "LOL"...

Time to celebrate...

Six months is an awful long time to wait - and that's basically what Vicky did. I scrambled, applying for every job I could (including those I knew I wouldn't get or would hate - I needed an income!). For six months, people would assure me I would get a job soon... and it got boring.



So, last night we celebrated.



It was a small celebration but we loved it.

About five or so months ago, Vicky and I were heading back from a disasterous vacation at our favorite place in the world (or, at least, California) and decided to do some wine tasting along the way. At the last vineyard, we happened across a miracle.




Vicky got her four or eight or seventy-two tastes at the winery - I'd stopped tasting because I had to drive in a straight line (fucking traffic laws!) - when we saw something peculiar... chocolate. I'm sorry, did I say peculiar? I meant "something that stirred the lust in our very bones"! Chocoloate! We luvs the chocolate!




But... hold on... back up... chocolate? At a winery?




"It's for our late harvest zin," the attendent told us.




But Vicky had already gulped down her tastes! And as her eyes welled up, looking at me with a mix of piteousness and chocolate lust, I asked, "I haven't had my tastes yet, could I get a taste of that?"




"Sure," I was told.




Vicky, having been my wife officially for a year, knew that by "my taste" I could only have meant "her taste".




So, let's cut to the chase. Here's the link to the winery - don't worry if the late harvest zin is a little pricey, it's worth it! Get some dark chocolates. Vicky bought a small box of Godiva truffles after we got home and we promised to have them as soon as I got a job. (As I said, six months is a long wait!) You take a bite of chocolate, eat it, and then you wash it down with a sip of wine.

... what's it like?




Well, when Vicky had a taste at the winery... her knees buckled.




Enjoy!

Vicky’s not Perfect - or - Payback’s a Bitch…

For those of you who think that I think that Vicky’s perfect… let me set you straight.

She’s been wonderful these past six months. She really helped me get through it.

But let’s not dwell on the past.

Last night, I said to Vicky, “Tomorrow’s my last day of unemployment, so I’m going to sleep in. I don’t want to be woken up. I just want to sleep in.”

This morning, Vicky somehow arranged for two alarm clocks to go off, while she was in the shower. This is particularly remarkable because they were in two different rooms, one of which she wasn’t even in. And she set them to go off while she was in the shower! That takes planning, friends.

I’m thinking that, either consciously or unconsciously, she figured I’ve slept in enough.

The job…

It sure took its sweet time. I mean, I must have gone on at least 50 interviews and applied for hundreds of jobs! My last unemployment check came this week – we’re talking eleventh hour (and forty-seven minutes)!

I’m sure many of you guessed the minute I mentioned I was buying stuff.

Yep, I got a job. Starting on Monday, my title will be Assistant Marketing Manager – Medical Division. Now, while that sounds like a 7-11 employee, I assure you it’s not. It’s not much of a management position, either. Basically, I’ll be writing marketing material and managing collateral production for the medical division of a school.

Yikes!

When Monday comes around, I’ll be joining the rest of you – well, the majority of you – in complaining about my lack of time off. Just try not to remind me I just had six months of it!

Whatever happens, I’ll keep you posted.

Now that our lives are returning to a bit of normalcy, you’d think the little woman would want to get knocked up – ah, but no! Seems as though Vicky, too, is on the hunt for a better job. But, never fear, I'm sure I'll start… um… knocking soon.

I want to be a clone…

Well, I did it.

And I’m not really sure if it’s a good thing.

I mean, I like it and all. I just feel a little… dirty.

I bought an iPod.

Yes, I’m one of them!

But Vicky’s been flaunting hers for over a year now, even after my old one died a sad and premature death by broken volume control about six months ago.

I got the iPod and I got the arm strap. So now I’m another one of those jogging zombies at the gym, plugged in…

… and I kinda like it.

Over 2000 days since 9/11…

I want you to sit down for a minute and think about something.

Think about how poorly things were handled after Katrina. Think about the billions Shrub has wasted in senseless wars. Think about the 3000+ American dead in Iraq as opposed to the 2000 or so dead after 9/11. Think about the scandal after scandal that Shrub’s people have perpetuated. Think about the limits imposed by Shrub’s people on your civil rights.

And realize that’s just the beginning.

Now, seriously, which was worse? 9/11? Or Shrub?

Who are the terrorists?

The one about Chacos…

We live in a time when accusations, aspersions against one’s character are usually and expediently as forgotten as last month’s lotto numbers. I’m not so lucky. I tend to take things rather seriously. (Those who have worked with me in comedies could tell you that I take comedy even more seriously.)

And so it was that Vicky and I were out the other night, looking for new sandals. My old ones had gotten, well, old… like wearing a pair of old rat pelts. Either the sandals were rotting or my feet were – actually, it was both. It was time for a new pair! So, Vicky and I went around what used to be called the Orange Mall, from one store to another, looking at sandals.

And all of them – I mean all of them – I looked – all of them were made in China.

About a year ago, when I was speaking out against torture, the accusation was made on this website that by purchasing any electronic device – any electronic device – I supported slave labor and was, therefore, a hypocrite. It didn’t matter it I tried in every way to be a good person; the profligation of electronic components from China made any call for ethical rationality moot.

Now, I don’t believe that for a minute and I didn’t believe the person’s comment. It wasn’t the comment that I took personally but, rather, the thought that the other 2,117 readers last year believed him. The thought that I would be so poorly thought of, along with the idea that this individual could be so thoughtless in his expression, was just sad.

So, I couldn’t buy sandals made in China. I know you think I’m being silly – Vicky sure did – but the thought that anyone might think I’m a hypocrite, especially if I was one knowingly and intentionally, just didn’t sit right. Surely, we could find some sandals made somewhere else…

… right?

… Hello?

… Anybody?

The answer is, surprisingly, NO! Even when we went to REI, we found that all of their sandals were made in China. China, it seems, corners the market on casual feet.

And then, after I started to discuss this problem with the salesman, he pulled out the Chacos. Made in Colorado by an environmentally-conscious company – they exist? – they seemed to be everything I wanted. But, were they comfortable?

Damn, yes! Strangely, they’re a little heavy, but I figure that’s like getting a little workout when you’re relaxing – bonus!

Then, we saw the price… and I paid $72 for a little peace of mind. Oh well. It was worth it.

I can’t know that everything I have has been made by the most reputable of companies. I can only try my best to make sure this is the case. It’s the trying that counts. I can only pity those who would argue that the difficulty makes it not worth the while.

(Those readers who know about the news I have – just be patient. It’s coming. Relax.)

Some things you can't just throw away...

I'm sitting here, at my desk, cleaning things a bit before I go to bed. (Truth be told, it's too bloody hot to sleep!)

Before we got married, Vicky and I were looking for quotes we could incorporate into the marriage. We found a lot of good ones but, in the end, didn't use any of them. Now, as I clean out old emails, I found this one I sent to Vic. Little did we know how appropriate it would have been...



Thus we see that the all-important thing is not killing or giving life, drinking or not drinking, living in the town or the country, being lucky or unlucky, winning or losing. It is how we win, how we lose, how we live or die; finally, how we choose. We walk, and our religion is shown (even to the dullest and most insensitive person), in how we walk. Living in this world means choosing, and the way we choose to walk is infallibly and perfectly expressed in the walk itself.

—R. H. Blyth

A Rose by any other name…

I make it a point not to mention her in this blog… though you probably wouldn’t know it, seeing as how I have over a dozen times since we started. This is supposed to be about the life that Vicky and I share together. So, you’ll forgive me if I do, because it is, and we should because we do also.

Anyway…

I found it by accident. You probably won’t believe that but it’s true. Her MySpace page (the last resort for the pedophile and the sexually-repressed twelve-year-old) doesn’t even bear her name. Not only is last name different, so is the first. She took her gay lover’s last name and as for the first…

I’m lazy. Just try to swallow that. Instead of saying complete names, I often fall into the horrible habit of shortening them. I call Vicky “Vic”. I call Tim… well, “Tim”. And I used to call my first wife “Rose”. I guess it stuck, because that’s what she’s calling herself on the MySpace page.

Yep. There she was, in a picture so idyllic Normal Rockwell couldn’t have painted a better one were he hopped up on X. Oh, sure. She may be completely in denial but that’s not the point. And I didn’t realize that until I spent the entire day dwelling on it.

Does it matter that her gay lover is, well, gay? Or that her motto to have no regrets is abominable considering all the things she has done that are regrettable? Or that she spouts the importance of friendship, a woman who turned her back on her oldest friend when she died? Not really.

It was easy for me to think that’s what this was all about. But, honestly, that’s a different life. If she’s in denial, that’s her business. Frankly, I hope she lives a happy and full life. All that really concerned me was how seeing her face again affected me. And it did affect me, I’m not going to lie and say it didn’t. I don’t think I’ll ever fully shake the loss I experienced.

So, I sat and I thought about it.

Here’s what I decided.

She’s in Oregon now and I wish her the best. My life really has changed since I lost her because, somehow, so have I. The chains that once tied her to me are like gossamer, and as quickly as I stumbled on her MySpace page, I was able to close it down.

But, more importantly, I realized something that has been with me all along. I learned a lot of lessons from “Rose”, and they made me more able to be a better husband with “Vic”. And I looked at the pictures on that MySpace page, pictures of her taken only months or weeks ago, and I realized – as I always do – that I never held her enough, that I never kissed her enough, that I never showed her how much I loved nearly as much as I could.

There’s nothing I can do about that now. But I know someone who deserves my devotion so much more, and I should never forget what it feels like to lose the woman you love – it reminds me how important it is that I show Vicky how much I love her and hold her and kiss her every day.

One day, like it or not, I’ll lose Vicky. All I can do is try to make it as far in the future as possible, and make sure that in all the days between I show her how loved she is.

So, we went out for sushi tonight, and I rubbed her back. We came home and I kissed her. We went upstairs and… well, you can’t do that enough, either.

This is not to say they haven't been doing a good job...

... but I'm also reminded why I'm not a Democrat.

(I'm Green.)

It looks like the Democrats in the House are forming an exploratory committee into global warming. Well, ain't that dandy! It's about time somebody looked into this whole -

WHAT THE FUCK?!

Didn't we all agree that Katrina was enough?

... calm down... calm down... breathe... just breathe...

oil lobbyists are allowed to give money to Democrats too...

A word on Lionel Stander…

Most of my readers won’t know who Lionel Stander is. Few are going to care. That’s just how it works out. But just try to read it, and when I get to words like “talkie” or “Capra” or even “Hart to Hart”… maybe, take a shot.

See the thing is I knew who Lionel Stander was all along. And I liked him. But my perception of him as a bit player made me ignore him in a way, which was too bad.

He’s the guy who gave the impassioned appeal to Longfellow Deeds in Frank Capra’s “Mr. Deeds Goes To Town”. There he was, working with Frank Capra, opposite of Gary Cooper. Wild. I always liked him in that movie. Next to Cooper, he’s probably the best thing about it.

But I didn’t feel like writing about him until the other day when I was watching one of Harold Lloyd’s talkies, “The Milky Way”. Lloyd plays a naïve milkman who gets duped into being a boxer who may ultimately have to take a fall. Yes, that plot: innocent gets duped into doing something against his values. The first time I tried to watch it, I couldn’t because I could see where it was going. Then, yesterday, I tried to watch it again and I put aside my assumptions and, sure enough, it didn’t go anywhere near there!

Stander plays a guy named Spider, a lovable goof – but Lloyd was such a nice guy in real life, I don’t think he liked anything other than lovable goofs in his films. And Stander is pretty damned funny! I didn’t think I’d be laughing out loud to something from the 1930’s.

So, I came over to my computer and IMDB’d the guy… and I was surprised. Not only had Stander been quite an actor, appearing in over 100 films, but the longevity! He was working from the 1930’s to the 1990’s!

And that’s not the best part. Stander was subpoenaed by the very first House Un-American Activities Committee. Stander was a communist and unapologetically so. He was one of the guys thrown under the bus by such un-American bastards as Ronald Reagan, back in the day. (Yes, turncoats and hypocrites are often elected to office.)

Blacklisted, the guy worked his way back up, appearing in Scorsese and Polanski pictures, by and by.

But the worst part for me is how the palooka ended his life: as Max on TV’s Hart to Hart, a below-mediocre crime drama about the wealthy and beautiful beating the mean and ugly. Yeah… reality TV. Stander played the unapologetically unbeautiful one. Thank you, Stander.

In a quote he gave about the show, he said, “I'm in a television program that is always among the top 20, that's shown in 67 countries in the world, helping lobotomize the entire world". He knew it wasn’t art. He liked the paycheck. And, as a guy who’d worked as long and as hard, who could blame him.

And then, he died at age 86.

I don’t really know why I’m writing about Lionel Stander except that he was one of those actors just on the fringes who could make a dull scene come to life. He never really got his due – he got much less. But he brings a smile to my face when I watch some old movies (God knows I’d never watch reruns of Hart to Hart) and for that I am grateful.

Because American Concentration Camps were such a great idea the first time around...

Believe it or not, I thought the idea of locking up a whole lot of innocent people for no reason but their heritage was a rotten idea long before I married a half-Japanese woman. (Yes, I'm talking about the Japanese internment in WWII... not the internment of blacks since then...)

That said, the people on the right seem to still think it's a great idea. Michelle Malkin, this hideous woman, has written In Defense of Internment. She thinks it would be a good idea to lock up a whole lot of innocent people of middle-eastern descent... you know, for fun.

The real terrorists aren't just brown and poor, folks.

Challenge: Week 6...

Okay, so not much of a challenge because, well, I've been sick.

I'm feeling better now but I wasn't much up for making all the people at the WW meeting sick, ya know?

So, we'll have to wait until this weekend.

Stay tuned, fat fans!

If UFOs can fight global warming...

... then why can't angel cure herpes???

('Nuff said!)

Clouds in the desert…

Things in my life have been changing so fast and unexpectedly these days…

No, not my marriage. That’s cool.

No, not my employment. That still sucks.

And, oddly enough, though I have been to three job interviews this week, I’m almost afraid – in some psychotic, Freddy Kreugeresque kind of way – of getting a job.

Perhaps I should explain…

You see, in the middle of this vast wasteland of unemployment (or, as I just typoed “wast vastland”)(“Nuklear Wessels, Keptin!”) some of the most intriguing and, dare I say, once in a lifetime opportunities have been exploding around me.

Like the ebook thing. Someone has offered to publish one of my books as an ebook, and hasn’t balked at my insistence upon an audio book version. The only thing is it’ll take a lot of work and a lot of time and I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it if I get a traditional, full-time job.

There’s also been the website thing. I’ve come up with an idea for what I think could be a money-making website. Jenn and Vic are actually helping me develop the idea. (No, I won’t tell you. Wait until Christmas.) The only thing is it’ll take a lot of work and a lot of time and I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it if… you’ve heard this before, haven’t you?

It’s crazy how right now, when I’m starving for a job, this buffet of new opportunities is being rolled in front of me. And, let’s face it, if I had a job, I could pay my bills. Vicky and I could have our baby. Life would be good. On the flip side, both of these opportunities are filled with such potential that a regular job might not even be necessary and…

So, it’s down to safety versus … the alternative.

It sucks.

Meanwhile, I’ll just keep interviewing and wait to really deal with this problem when I get an offer.

Ken's on top...

Okay, get your mind out of that nasty place. It's another week of WW and Ken is the biggest loser...

Vicky ~ +2.4 lbs, for a total of 2.4 lbs
Ken ~ -0.8 lbs, for a total of 7.6 lbs

I had a bad week and was still bloated...this week I hope to do much better. Ken is doing great though!

And this is what happened…

Alone time. Down time. That’s what I needed. I wanted to be benched – out of the game – if just for a few hours.

So, I asked Vicky to have dinner with a friend, Julie as it turned out, and I picked up a pack of smokes and pulled out my bottle of 15-year-old scotch. (I love my brother in law.)

I tried sitting down with a scotch and a smoke but that’s fitting me less and less these days, especially doing it alone. As much as I’ve always preferred time alone, I do it better with a good friend nearby. But Tim Murphy is way up in Oregon and I miss him like a mother-fucker. And Clostio would have liked the scotch too much, that’s what alcoholics do. And Sean neither smokes nor drinks. Rich has disappeared into the wilds of Florida and Roberson disappeared into the wilds of… god only knows.

My best friend these days is my wife, as much as you want to call that a cliché (and you should), but she couldn’t be in on this. You might say that I’m the loser in this but, face facts, she is. She thought she was marrying a guy with a good job with whom she could have babies – boy, did I ever pull one on her.

After a few hours, I realized what the problem was – the three-hundred pound gorilla around which I’d been diverting my eyes – and, no, as a matter of fact, I didn’t like it. There’s no easy way to put it.

It’s getting nearly time for me to quit. I know that. Don’t like it much.

I’ve spent my whole life in failure. But I could get around every broken promise to myself, every book that didn’t sell, every play that didn’t get produced, the acting career that never became a career, the singing career left behind long ago, as long as I could tell myself that, at the very least and it was, that I made a living writing professionally.

But, let’s face it, I don’t do that any more.

Now, I have only one unemployment check left. After that, I probably have two weeks of grace but I need to decide what comes next.

I realized that was what I was facing.

And then, Vicky came home. She got back early because Julie wasn’t feeling well. I couldn’t stay outside in the freezing cold, sub-arctic temperatures that are a Southern California winter (I’m a wimp), with a smoke and a drink for clarity, when the clear mandate of my life was just inside. That’s probably why I had to send her away; when she’s near, I can’t think straight.

She went upstairs to check her email and I followed her up and collapsed, only half-drunkenly, on the bed.

And, son of a bitch, I fell asleep! Wouldn’t you know it?

When I awoke at 4:30am, I realized I still had my jacket on – and that I was awake for the day.

No decisions. No clarity. No certainty as to what I will do next.

I don’t know if you’d call it a panic attack..

I’ve had panic attacks and this doesn’t have me wanting to run, screaming… not quite…

Terrified? Certainly. Just not panicked.

See, I’ve been trying to keep my cool these past six months but now I have only one unemployment check left and, after applying for well over two hundred jobs (figured at a job or two a day – it’s probably been much, much more), no interest from anyone in hiring me.

I’m getting to the place where I am going to be really, really screwed and I’m running out of ideas on how to avoid it. I’ve tried applying for jobs I knew I could do. I’ve tried applying for jobs I couldn’t do. I’ve tried playing it safe. I’ve tried applying for crazy jobs. I’ve tried perm, temp, contract, full-time, part-time, freelance, and telecommuting. I’ve applied for anything I could apply for – just to see if someone would call me about it.

And the worst thing is that, not only am I going down, I’m taking Vicky with me.

No. Scratch that. The worst thing is what I did today. I mean, I know I’m taking Vicky with me, and Vicky knows that, too. There’s nothing new there. But today I actually asked Vicky if she could have dinner somewhere else tonight all because I’ve lost my guts and I can’t face her. Here I am, ruining her life, and I’m asking her to make it easier for me.

I don’t know which is worse, having to live with this situation or having to live with myself.

For those of you wondering, we’re doing okay financially, so far. This is more a testament to Vicky’s incredible money management – certainly not to me in any way. She’s been able to keep us afloat in spite of me. But the point, of course, is that we shouldn’t be in this position at all. Is it any wonder I feel like such a fucking failure?

Okay, I’m going to shut up.

For so many years, I was the guy who had his shit together – by which I mean only that I could get the job I wanted, hold it, and keep it. But now, nothing is going right. Seriously? I’m not really liking it much.

Challenge – Week 4…

“It’s Thursday, you know,” I told Vicky on the phone. I’ve been waiting for her to post last Saturday’s results but she hasn’t, as you can probably tell. I have my suspicions why – cause I kicked her butt.

But, hey, she’s the one who started this! She wanted competition!

So, without further blather…

Vicky ~ +0.4 lbs, for a total of 4.8 lbs

Ken ~ 1.8 lbs, for a total of 6.8 lbs

She had an off week but I’m sure she’ll be challenging me again on Saturday.

An IMC Networks post-mortem you may have seen coming…

A brief overview. I was canned in August after being employed for eight months, the reason being “production”. No modifier was given. I was of the opinion at the time that they wanted to replace me.

Okay.

And today I learned that, whoever it was that replaced me, only lasted six months. Yep, they’re looking for another writer.

Let’s see… the writer before me left after three months of working for my ex-boss. I made it through eight months of hell. Now, my replacement barely endured six months.

I’m beginning to think that it wasn’t entirely my fault.

Vicky and I discussed the idea of applying for the job but couldn’t stop laughing.

A word or two on fatitudious… ness…

Vicky has been delaying posting the results from week four, er, five – what week are we on now? – but that doesn’t mean I have to shut the hell up.

I don’t care how many of you have been telling me to!

I was pretty good last week. I worked out almost every day. I ate right. I was, you know… good.

Now, it’s this week. Last night, Vicky and I were both pretty bad. We went to Fatburger for Fat Tuesday, which usually means twofer burgers… except at this place. At our local Fatburger, it meant that a clueless teenager looked at me like I was an idiot (a feeling I’m very used to) and said, “We don’t do that here.”

Yeah, whatever.

This place was next door to an Olive Garden.

Now, we hate Olive Garden. It’s the McDonalds of Italian food. But they have this bottomless soup and salad thing that we like. So, we went over there and – thinking we’d eat healthy food, none of this hamburger nonsense – gorged on soup and salad until we were ready to die.

Not good.

Okay, so we’re human just like… some of you.

On the up side, we’ve discovered a brand of ice cream called Skinny Cow (flattering, huh?) that makes some fantastic ice cream sammaches that we can actually eat. And ONE POINT WW fudgecicles! (I bow before the alter of Splenda.)

It’s a slow process but we’re learning.

Cursed…

Okay, so the title is facetious but, after all this time, I’m beginning to wonder.

I nearly had a job at an insurance company but that was ruined when, for my final interview, they sent in someone to replace the person I was supposed to meet. This person had been with the company two weeks, had no idea what was going on, and had only been told at the last minute that she’d need to interview me. Up until that point, I was a shoo-in. After, nothing.

Last week, I went to interview for a technical writing position but they wanted someone with an engineering or mechanical background… not a writing background.

Then, today, I went to the interview that I was sure would work out. I was so qualified, I was sure they’d hire me on the spot. I had worked with the same products before. I had done the same job before. I had used the same software before. In no way was I incompatible!

I should have known that wouldn’t matter…

I met with this guy who basically hated the world and was unhappy about everything. And there was no way to keep him from going negative.

I’d tell him about how I worked on the same kinds of products and he’d say, “You’ve never seen products like ours.” I’d tell him that I’d written the same kinds of documents and he’d say, “Our documents are different from everybody else’s.” I’d confirm that I had worked with, and was competent with, Photoshop and he’d say, “Yes, but we have to do all of the graphic arts,” in the most negative, cynical way possible.

This is the guy everyone avoids at a party – if he’s invited at all!

I told him about how I had developed all of the documentation standards at the last two places I worked, one of my biggest selling points, and he said, “We already have our standards.” I told him how I’ve written documentation for both homes and business and he said, “We don’t deal with end users.” In other words, he just ignored any experience I did have – showing how I took the initiative or showing my flexibility – and, instead, found a way to shoot me down.

It was an hour of getting pummeled.

No fun.

I have less that a month of unemployment insurance left… I’m officially scared.

Shrub's America is always providing opportunities to unemployed writers like me...

You can imagine how I felt when I found out that, should I not find a job before my unemployment insurance runs out, I can enlist and go die in Iraq.

Whew! I'm so glad they raised the minimum age to 42!

Problem solved!

Social Conservatives...

When did we stop calling them what they are? Which is "bigoted hate-mongers"?

My Valentine…

Yes, it’s that day – so you know I’m going to get all mushy. You can’t say I didn’t warn you in advance.



This is her. This is my valentine. My beautiful bride. My wife. My Vicky.




Pretty, isn’t she?








We had company over the other night. Gail, the woman who married us, and I were sitting on the sofa and I told her I don’t know how I got so lucky. Especially with everything that has been going on, how long I’ve been out of work. Vicky has been incredible through all of this, certain that things would turn around for us, never once freaking out. Delusional? Sure, but it’s nice.

You hear guys talk about how the woman in their life has been their “support”, their “rock”. Well, Vicky is undeniably mine. Not only has she kept us afloat financially, as I scramble and fail to secure every job I can find, but she’s kept our relationship grounded, as well.

She’s a miracle.

And I still don’t know how I got so lucky.

I love her more every day and I know what a cliché that is but it’s true.

So, I’ve been thinking for a few weeks now what I could possibly get her for Valentine’s Day and have come up empty every time because it’s not easy to buy presents when you are flat broke. It was beginning to look like I’d have nothing for her – and, ironically, she would have been fine with that – when…

I was doing some chores last Friday… and I was thinking about how frustrating everything has been. I mean, we can’t refinance the house until I get a job. We want to have a child but don’t dare until I’m employed. We have all these hopes and dreams but you need money for that to happen. It seems like our tomorrow is taking its own sweet time, you know? It seems as if tomorrow won’t be here tomorrow… it won’t be here until next Thursday!

Most people don’t know this but when I started writing, it was poetry I wrote. And I wrote a lot of it. For many years. And when I was in the couple of bands I was in, I wrote songs. But something happened as I grew older and my poetic muse just faded away.

However, as the thought about tomorrow not coming until next Thursday sounded in my mind… I put down the cleanser and the sponge and knew I had my Valentine’s Day gift for Vicky.

It’s not much, honey, but it’s for you. It may not be my best poem/song ever but it’s from the heart.

I haven’t written poetry for anyone in years but you inspired this song.



No one said tomorrow wouldn’t come until next Thursday
Or said that when it came it would be my day or be your day
Putting off the million little plans
The things we never said while holding hands
And brushing far away the second chance
Leaving it for you and I to find.

And no one ever said there’d be a rainbow we could follow
But we set off to find where it could be just like tomorrow
Leaving us an endless road to drive
Leaving us nowhere we could arrive
Leaving us together you and I
Together, it’s for you and I to find.

So off around the bend we end up driving ‘til tomorrow
And who knows where or when without a map that we can borrow
Missing out on nothing else around
Grounded by the simplicated sound
I hear your voice, I know I have been found
Together
And who knows
Just what we’ll find.

Happy Valentine's Day, Sweetheart. I love you.

Challenge - Week 3

Here's how the pounds stacked up...or rather came off...

Vicky ~ 1.2 lbs, for a total of 5.2 lbs

Ken ~ 0.8 lbs, for a total of 5.0 lbs

Told you I'd let Ken win for a week. Actually he is doing great and I'm proud of him!

Junk psychology for the painfully ignorant…

I get a lot of crapmail in general and I came across one of the crappiest examples just a few minutes ago. It was one of those “fun” questionnaires that gets sent around, using common household items to describe just who you are deep within.

I’m sure you’ve seen these. What kind of footstool are you? What kind of silverware are you? What kind of belly button lint are you? The survey has you choose your favorite and then tells you pleasantly vague things about yourself based on the answer. The things it says are always pleasantly vague. They have to be pleasant, since oftentimes these come from people who want you to consider them friends (if only of the “emails me crap I wouldn’t otherwise read” variety), and they have to be vague, because it’s patently obvious to anyone with a brain that EMAILS DO NOT HAVE BRAINS!

Why don’t we take a look at the one I just got (which I received from several people, the way a deadly disease spreads) and dissect it critically.

This one purports to tell you about yourself based on what type of dessert you may presently be in the mood for. This must be a thing of miracles because, after all, your mood for dessert could be based on so very many things: what you just ate, if you just brushed your teeth, if you have teeth…

It starts by having you make a choice. Now, remember, you are only able to make one choice! Disregard the fact that this is clearly untrue, that you can clear make more than one choice – THE EMAIL IS ALL POWERFUL! THE EMAIL IS SMARTER THAN YOU!

Here are your choices:

1. Angel Food Cake
2. Brownies
3. Lemon Meringue
4. Vanilla Cake with Chocolate Icing
5. Strawberry Short Cake
6. Chocolate Icing on Chocolate Cake
7. Ice Cream
8. Carrot Cake

Then, the email explains that “research” has been done to determine who you are based upon your one dessert choice. Imagine the astronomical amount of research that must have been done to make this distinction! Why… lots of dessert must have been eaten by… lots of people… right????

Then, it gives you the answers.

If you picked Angel Food Cake, you are sweet. If you picked Brownies, you are adventurous. If you picked Lemon Meringue (and no, they make no distinction about pie or no pie), you are sexy. If you picked Vanilla Cake with Chocolate Icing, you are fun-loving. If you picked strawberry short cake, you are romantic. If you picked Chocolate Icing on Chocolate Cake (but notice you did not pick the cake, just the icing on the cake… somehow you are eating the icing but avoiding the cake… which must be far more popular that I thought), you are also sexy… wait, I thought that was for Lemon Meringue eaters… If you picked Ice Cream, you like sports. (You don't have to play them. You don't have to watch them. You just have to like them... any of them... isn't that convenient?) And if you picked Carrot Cake, you are fun-loving, which you would also be if you liked Vanilla Cake with Chocolate Icing. Fun loving people are everywhere.

As you can see, it’s not very clear. All the answers are intentionally vague - who doesn't like to think of themselves as fun-loving? Or sexy? It's based on the idea that people like to has smoke blown so far up their asses that it clouds their vision. I am obviously not amongst them.

Now, I’ve been told that the reason to do these things is because they are “fun”.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

Fun?

Listen: sex is fun. Roller coasters are fun. More sex is fun.

Having your personality, your very essence reduced down to a FOOD CHOICE is not fun! Being provided with some bullshit story about some fucking research done so I can be minimized – as if the complexities of my personality don’t mean shit – if I like ice cream, I like sports and no arguing about it – is not fun!

The whole point of these emails, besides being monumentally insulting to anyone with a brain cells, is to provide a cheap compliment, a faux kind of understanding. It’s a way of saying, “This is about as far as I want to get to know you. Let’s keep it superficial.”

How anyone could possibly NOT be insulted by it is beyond me! I know they’ll keep getting sent, simply because people will keep on being superficial and stupid, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them. It just means that if you send me one, my opinion of you is going to drop just a little bit further.

… Oh, and I can't help but feel sorry for the poor son of a bitch who likes pineapple upside-down cake for dessert!

Thus the gloating starts...

You know, it was one thing for the Republicans to gratuitously insult the Democratic party and the folks they represented on a daily basis but that doesn't mean that progressives (in this case, a Democrat) should do the same. We shouldn't mispronounce their party's name; not only does it appear petty but it discounts the damage they do to their very party itself. The Republicans of today are undermining any good their party may have once done and should be reminded of that by using their real name...

With thanks to Jack Cafferty...

JACK CAFFERTY, CNN ANCHOR: Is Anna Nicole Smith still dead, Wolf?

WOLF BLITZER: Yes, we're going to -- updating our viewers coming up shortly on...

CAFFERTY: I can't wait for that.

BLITZER: ... the mysterious circumstances surrounding that, Jack. Thank you.

(Meanwhile, more senseless deaths in Iraq are going ignored here at home.)

I'll take bad jokes about fucking for $500, Alex...

"Four."


...


...


...


...


... "How many nications does it take to make a baby?"

Randy Newman - A Few Words in Defense of Our Country

I saw this posted over on "I'm Just Saying" (top blog on the right) but I just had to share it in case you missed it. This is Randy Newman showing he still has chops. My hat's off to you, sir.

New Voyages – Old Pain…

What was so painful about the original Star Trek series? Bad acting? Bad production values? Bad stunt doubles? Bad acting? Sure, we all had our own list.

But, fortunately, that was aborted in 1969 when someone wise and wonderful at the network watched it… and threw up a little in his mouth. Let’s face it, the original series was really bad at times and an early death did it good. After all, the movies were only half bad and the Next Generation was (I can’t say anything bad or Vicky will KILL ME)…

I thought all of my original series pain had been suffered.

Um.

… No.

Because, thanks to the fans… actually, thanks to fans with lots of money who can afford to produce new shows, new shows are, well, being produced.

Yep. It’s Star Trek: The New Voyages.

Now, I don’t know how many of you have watched this or how many of you care but I do because I did and I have… so I will…

Here’s the idea: Recast the whole thing but use the same characters and start again as if it’s the next week’s show. (The next week after the week when it was so mercifully cancelled, that is.) Good idea? Sure. Problem is it sucks. I mean, recast? That’s great except that the new Scotty never – I mean NEVER - sounds Scottish. Can’t someone get him a dialect coach? And starting from the next week? As if the movies never happened?

Yeah, but they did. Remember? The odd-numbered ones sucked. Remember? “KAAAAAAAAHN!!!!” Remember?

Also, the only way to watch these things is to download some real beefy files – not their fault, I know. I’m just saying.

Okay, so what’s good? I should mention something that’s good…. Right?

Well, to tell the truth, take everything about the old show and just flip it – make a negative image – for the new one. So everything that was good then is bad now, and everything that was bad then is good now. For instance: effects. Sucked then – pretty now. Sets. Cheesy then – retro and kinda cool now. (I mean, everything is the mother-fucking same! It’s like they went to Shatner’s garage sale or something!) Actors. Good then, which is to say they fit their part – bad now, which is to say I can’t help getting the feeling this is the Federation Fanclub Presents Star Trek. Acting (and, I know this is confusing but)… bad then – equally bad now but in wild and purple ways.

Is there a bottom line? Yes. You have to watch this. If you loved the old Original series, you have to watch it for nostalgia. If you hated it, this just gives you more creamy goodness to hate.

Enjoy it with someone you love… and throw up a little in your mouth.

(And, yes, if they read this you better believe I’d sell my wife’s left kidney for a chance to be cast on the mother-fucking show!)

(Don’t worry, Vic. They’re not reading.)

(Kidney. Yummy kidney. I’m just saying)

Insult meet Injury…

Did I mention I’m still out of work?

I got passed up for another job today. After over a month of interviewing and talking on the phone, the manager decided to go with a last-minute internal candidate.

This isn’t about how they should at least buy me lunch for all of the sleep I’ve lost and gas I’ve used and pants I’ve needed to squeeze into (which has nothing to do with it but, dammit, someone’s responsible!) – this is about what happened after I got turned down.

… the phone rang.

… it was an employer.

… calling to talk about a job opportunity.

… they wanted Vicky.



… you may laugh now.

Just a note about Nader…

There have been some rumors popping up that Ralph Nader may run for office again and, amidst all of the clamor about how he “stole votes from Al Gore”, I feel I need to comment.

First of all, more people running for office is not a bad thing. It’s a good thing. It means more choice for you, the voter. People are always complaining about how elections have turned into the “lesser of two evils” and, yet, they complain when another candidate (Nader) may run – idiots!

Secondly, and most important, Nader did NOT steal votes! Any votes he got in Florida during the ’00 presidential election, he got fair and square. It was Bush who stole the votes! Remember? So stop blaming Nader, for crying out loud! Turn your energy to the real culprit – Bush!

… and, of course, if you never thought that way, you’re free to go about your business…

Challenge - Week 2

Well folks the results are in........

Vicky ~ lost 0.4 lbs for a total of 4.0 lbs

Ken ~ lost 0.8 lbs for a total of 4.2 lbs

Yes, I'm letting Ken win for at least one week (Superbowl Sunday was a day of eating bad food, so I may pay the price this week).

Overheard at the gym today…

Obviously ignorant young woman on the treadmill: “I have a friend whose brother is in Iraq right now. That’s why I hate those liberals…”

You mean the ones who are trying to stop the war??? No, she must mean some other “liberals”…

Ironically, this was on the same day Senate Republicans blocks the Democratic effort to have a debate on the war, saying that they “welcome the debate and are happy to have it.”

Yes, the people who stopped the debate are those who want it and those who want to stop the war are those who don’t support the troops.

I just checked the calendar to be sure – it’s 2007, not 1984.

Chili…

“How come you used to cook for Rosa but you never cook for me?”

There it was again. I’d heard it before and I knew I’d hear it again. It was Vicky’s way of saying, “Would you like to make dinner?”

So, of course, I replied, “What would you like me to make, hun?”

“Anything.”

“Anything” meant “I have one specific thing in mind. If you guess incorrectly, I will cut off your head and devour it like a pineapple and you will forever be crushed beneath the boot of my guilt.” I had to guess correctly.

Fortunately, the conversation had resulted from my mentioning how I used to make chili… I had a clue what she wanted.

I had my own way of making chili before but I wanted to do things a little differently this time; I didn’t want Vicky thinking I was making the chili “she” used to eat, ya know?

I started by scouring the Internet(s) for really cool chili recipes and, after I found a few, put them together and sent them off to my cook-buddy, Jenn. She sent back her ideas, I tweaked them, and I was off to the store where I changed the recipe again. And yes, you’ve probably guessed what a disastrous recipe can result from combining several recipes, tweaking that, and then improvising on a few things as well. Surprisingly, it was pretty good.


Ken & Vicky’s (and Jenn’s)(and other anonymous folks on the Internet(s)) Chili…

2 lbs. ground beef (chili grind)
1 lb. Pork (cubed or ground)
12 oz. chorrizo
1 tsp. black pepper
3 beers
2 tsps. Oregano
1 can of chipotle peppers in adobo sauce
1 tbsp. cumin powder
3 tbsps. chili powder
1 tbsp. Salt (kosher, of course)
4 cloves crushed garlic
1 28oz can crushed/diced tomatoes
1 med onion diced
1 med bell pepper diced
1 large Poblano chili
½ pound of red beans

First things, first. Soak those beans! You can put them in a bowl of water overnight or (if you get in a rush like me) boil a pot of water, remove the pot from the stove, and soak the beans in the water for about two hours.

Then, brown the meat. This might be a slight misnomer when it comes to the chorizo. Anyone who’s ever cooked with the type of chorizo we have in southern California will tell you that, after you squeeze it out of the tube, it’s more about grease management than browning… but do your best.

Set aside the meat and wilt/caramelize your onions and bell peppers in a very large pot. (You’ll be adding everything to this pot so make sure everything can be comfortable.) After the veggies are nice and relaxed, move the meat into the pot. Then, add your garlic, poblano, two of the beers (the third is for you – you deserve it), and the whole damn can of chipotles! (You can smooosh the peppers in your hand to break them up a bit.) (And remember, this recipe was made for someone who loves spiciness so, if you don’t like it spicy, you might want to tone it down a bit.)

Add about half of the spices. Later, you can use the rest to spice to taste.

Add the beans but be sure to toss the reserve “bean water”.

Let that get going for a while – time is meaningless – until you’ve got a good boil going on. Now, add the tomatoes and put a good lid on the pot. Let that boil for about 5 hours, stirring occasionally. You shouldn’t run out of fluid but, if you do, just pour in some water. Make it whatever consistency you want.

Spice to taste.

This recipe will probably be revised as the years go on and you’ll probably find ways to amend it, too. Change up the peppers. Take away the beans if you want. It’s up to you.

I’m off the hook from cooking for a little while… but now that I’ve said that…

And now, from the “What the hell are they thinking” department…

It’s galling, the level of disgust to which the Republicans can descend.

First, they get us into a war in a country that never did anything to hurt us.

Now, they’re trying to do it again. This time, it’s Iran. They tell us that Iran harbors terrorists (just like they said about Iraq) though they have no proof. They tell us Iran has weapons of mass destruction (just like they said about Iraq) though they have no proof. In fact, there’s proof out there against the assertion. The Repugs say that Iran has nukes when Iran is decades away from this.

But, let’s face it, folks, war has been very good to these people and their crony multinationals. Where do you think the additional $245 billion are going? Whose pockets do you think those line? And now, they want to go to Iran under equally egregious, equally dishonest grounds.

And it’s only just starting. Today one Repug said that Clinton wouldn’t make a good president because she was “too timid” in her attitude towards Iran, as if a presidential prerequisite must be “war criminal” or, at least, the desire to become one.

They’ve led us down the rabbit hole to show us it’s an abattoir.

And I’m no fan of Clinton’s. I’m not even a Democrat. But I think one clear distinction that continues to show is this: Mention “war” and you can tell who not to vote for by measuring the drool on their chins.

State of the Liar...

Since I started Tivo'ing KO, I've been neglecting to post video on the blog. This one has to go up, however, as just another example of Shrub's unashamed dishonesty - unashamed, uncaring, etc.

Challenge – Week #1

A couple of weeks ago I told Ken that we are having a weight loss contest. See, we both joined WW last year, but havn't been really serious. We've decided that it is time to get focused, so I issued the challenge.

Drum roll please…..

Ken: Loss of 3.4 lbs
Vicky: Loss of 3.6 lbs

And, I’m winning….

Stop the Escalation...

I'm waiting for someone to call these guys a bunch of "cut and runners"...

Toes... Toes... Toes...

Can I just start by saying that the word looks wrong? "Toes." Is it really spelled that way? I mean, if someone tows your car, they...

Okay. Okay. Fine.

Anyway, I figured I should come clean. I mean, my 41st year has been the year of the loser, so far and, as my mom asked when I called her this morning, "How could it get worse?" (A rock, that woman.)

The thing is, Vicky is sure that I've broken something. I, on the other hand, am sure that we cannot afford medical bills, which means that I most certainly did not.

So, then, why are my toes all black and blue (two of them, at least) and why do three of them not want to move so much?

... Iranian terrorists?

... probably not.

Seriously, I'm thinking it's soft tissue damage. I learned a lot about medicine during my 15-year incarceration and I know my toes are moving enough to show that they're probably still in one piece. I also know that the day after an injury always looks and feels worse than the day of. Anyway, it could be a lot worse. The way I fell - which was pretty much straight down like a cut marionette - I could have dislocated, broken, smashed, or just generally fucked up a lot of parts. Three toes (again, that just looks wrong) ain't so bad!

What Vicky hasn't thought about - and here's my real concern - is how could my leg have been that much asleep? I mean, I got a big, old ham for a leg. What could have put it under?

The obvious answer: blood clot. Yep. Blood clot. I figure I'm due for a massive aneurysm inside of a week. That's it. It's traveling up my body right now, laughing all the way to the cerebral cortex, empowered by every girl I ever dated and their subsequent disdain. If my last word is "Rosa", you know who to blame.

Anyway, Vicky is threatening me with a doctor's visit - just like as if I was eight years old, I swear - if I'm not up and hobbling in the next few days. So, I've decided to start some serious icing. No, not like on a Cinnabon (drooooooooooooooooooool!), I mean like ice-cold icing. I did it this morning. Actually got freezer burn. My middle toe was frozen solid and, when I flexed my foot, I flipped myself off.

I wonder if it's trying to tell me something?

Iran so far away...

(Don't I wish!)

At a time when Shrub seems intent on making WWFucked into WWIII, news that Iran has been trying to prevent this conflict probably comes as no surprise.

However, there it was, reported by the BBC, news that as early as 2003 Cheney has been telling Iranian peace envoys to go fuck themselves.

Meanwhile, Shrub's talking about killing as many more Americans as he can, this time on Iranian soil.

Makes you feel all.... RAPTUROUS, doesn't it?

And this from the Ministry of Silly Walks…

My left leg was asleep when I woke up this morning.

… I sure wish someone had told me that.

The thing was, it wasn’t tingling or feeling at all asleep. It wasn’t numb. It was just dead.

So, I rolled out of bed like I do every morning. I put my feet down like I do every morning. I stood up like I do every morning.

… and I fell on my ass screaming like a little girl. Most mornings, I don’t do that.

Vicky came a’running at the sound of my pleas but there was little she could do… except, perhaps, laugh.

So, I guess I won’t be calling her a klutz for a while…

This is what insomnia with Ken is like…

There are times when my mind goes so fast, I feel like yelling, “Stop the ride! I want to get off!” This afternoon, it was tearing donuts in my head, a combination of lack of sleep from the night before and the misfortune of having “all you can eat pancakes” from IHOP. (The pancakes weren’t bad but what was I thinking with all that syrup? Sugar in a hyper mind? That’s nuts!… um, scratch that.) Tonight, well…

See, my brand of insomnia is what I call “busy head”. There’s no rhyme or reason. My brain just throws up everything I’ve experienced all at once and random selections pass into view. There’s a song from Moonwash. There’s that girl from the TV show, F-Troop. There’s some algebra. And all the time, the librarian in my mind is cackling relentlessly.

It’s pretty exhausting… you think it would make me tired!

Well, it does, of course. It just doesn’t let me sleep.

And as for tonight, well, insomnia kind of feeds on itself. Once you start – or once I start, I’m on the ride for a couple days, sometimes for as long as a week. I just have to ride it out.

Or take melatonin. This beautiful discovery was Vicky’s doing and it works like a charm. The only downside is it works too well, hits me like a sledgehammer. So, I think I’m going to pass on the sledgehammer tonight. Instead, I figure I’ll go do a little jogging at the gym and see how tired that makes me.

Sleep tight!

A progress report – six months later…

Mid-August I got canned.

This is where I am now. Right here.

No. Here.

I suppose it would be the summit of Mount Obvious to say that I’ve had a bit of misfortune in finding work. Actually, it stinks. Many employers have told me how impressive my portfolio and my experience is but none will tell me that I’m hired. So, I keep looking. Vicky had been awe-inspiring in her support; given a reversal of roles, I probably would have started freaking out sometime in September. But she has a certain quality that allows her to see a positive outcome in all of this… sheer stupidity, I’m thinking. But I love her for it, all the same.

We’re sending out With Eyes to See and I’m assembling material to begin submitting Love of Your Life. She just completed proofreading No More Blue Roses and I’m almost 33% complete with the new book. So, the writing is moving forward with all the certainty of an glacier – certain to do what, I’ll never know.

Speaking of the new book, it’s become an amalgamation of fiction, memoir, and philosophy. I’m following almost a literal timeline of when I lost my job until Megan’s death but I’m ignoring certain truths. For instance, there’s no mention of this blog in the book. So, blog entries have become one-sided conversations. I have no problem making them into one-sided conversations because, when it comes to discussing philosophy, I often find myself in one-sided conversations. I’ve just reached the first of two philosophical deconstructions; this being Plato and Aristotle and the achievement of the impossible. After that last sentence, you can probably understand why such conversations are often one-sided.

I’m keeping my wits about me and my sanity in a plain, brown wrapper. It gets a little sunlight now and then but mostly I store it in my inside coat pocket, its assuring heft reminding me that I’m not quite crazy…

I think the strangest thing about being out of work all this time is the distance I feel from who I am and who I used to be. I used to be a guy who wrote every day but that grows more distinctly separate, like a museum display behind thick glass so close you imagine you can touch it, with every rejection.

Fuck, I want a job.

Nature flips off religion yet again...

After all, if lizards can have virgin births...

(Don't sweat it, ye of little faith. The concept of the "virgin birth" is metaphorical and is not meant to be taken literally... unless you're a dragon, of course.)

Drunken Vicky II: Electric Buahshoelnghzxoi

I couldn't help but include part two... especially since Jenn went through all the trouble of writing it!

So, what did Vicky do once she got nice and blotto? She IM'ed Jenn, of course! Read all the fun over on Jenn's blog.

Drunk to Bush…

“I was going to write a blog about drinking games you can play with the State of the Union,” I told Vicky today as we watched the pre-game show before Shrub took the podium. I doubted I’d make it for very long. And then, I turned off the television.

But Vicky had other ideas. “Come on! Let’s do that!”

“Pardon?” I asked her, the way you’d ask a mailman who offered, “Would you like fries with that?”

She turned on the television. “Let’s play! It’ll be fun!”

Now, I’m no one to refuse Vicky and when it comes to getting her drunk and the possibilities that arise from that, well, I’m less than no one. I had the rum out and she got the shot glasses.

“Okay, when do we drink?”

“Whenever he says terrorism or refers to 9/11,” I suggested.

“Or when he says Iran or troops,” Vicky added.

“Or when he says freedom.”

Excitedly, she finished our list with, “Or if he says augmentation.”

So, we had our list.

What we didn’t realize was just how many times he’d say those things. We couldn’t pour shots fast enough. We started missing shot. We had started taking a shot at any mention of terrorists but eventually waited for the exact use of terrorism. Our shots got smaller and smaller as Vicky got drunker and drunker.

She started leaning. Then, she held herself up on the counter. (For some reason, we did this all standing up.) Then, she started dancing and getting, well, silly. Eventually, she got completely out-of-control, blotto and I had to put her to bed.

And Shrub never said augmentation.

Peanut Butter and Jelly… Oatmeal…

Strangely enough, I tend to think of things sometimes that Vicky finds, well, offensive.

And so it was this morning while we were at our Weight Watcher’s meeting. I would have much rather been just about any other place in the world, so I figured that was mostly just wasted time… and I began to look at some of the WW food they had. The good thing about WW is that you don’t have to buy their food but this is supposed to be a capitalist country, after all, so…

Vicky said the oatmeal was supposed to be good, and I could help notice the flavors: Apple & Cinnamon, Maple Brown Sugar. Pretty much your standard flavors.

“They’re not very inventive with oatmeal flavors. You ever notice that?” I asked Vicky.

She did what she usually did when I start asking strange questions. She ignored me.

“You never see Orange and Peanut Butter, or Chocolate and Peanut Butter.” For some reason, I was on a peanut butter kick.

Vicky kept ignoring me… so I continued.

What would go with peanut butter.

“Peanut butter and jelly oatmeal!” I exclaimed. “Of course, it’s so simple!”

It is. Really.

And here’s the recipe:

1 package of plain, instant oats (or one bowl of plain oatmeal)
1 heaping teaspoon of peanut butter (crunchy or creamy, you choose)
1 heaping teaspoon of jelly

Make the oatmeal, stir in the flavors. It’s that simple!

Now, I’m just dying for someone to try it!

Olberman 24...

Time to think.

Got my WoW on...

I figured it's been a while since I did any steady "blogging" hereabouts and I thought that, just in case our readers were wondering why, I should explain things.

And to both of you, let me just point you towards WoW: The Burning Crusade! It's addicting. It's pointless. It's mine!

Don't worry, though. I plan to start blogging again regularly... just as soon as I'm... done...

Because I know you'd want to know...

Two "news" stories struck me as interestingly ironic as they sat side by side on Yahoo today.

First, we've come to learn through the auspices of the UN - you remember, that organization that Shrub's folk are sure doesn't exist - that we Americans, the good guys, only killed 34, 452 Iraqi civilians last year. (Were they our bullets? Did we fire? By starting the present atrocity, we are just as guilty.) Now, if this was the yearly total for the past few years, I'm sure there are a whole lot of Americans who would be happy - nay, sexually slaked - to know that we're raining down a 10 to 1 payback for the deaths of 911...

... oh wait. That's right. They had nothing to do with 911, despite Shrub's remaining insistence to the contrary whenever it's convenient.

Too, the supposed attacks on 911 were in no way about a missile striking the plane (missiles posing as planes is another story), and yet the idiots in charge are prepared to spend billions to equip commercial planes with anti-missile technology. (Which probably won't work.) Good going guys... now how about some anti-stupid technology.

Just more examples of just how stupid they are and how stupid they think we are.

Never too many pictures of us...

So, remember that wedding we went to in November? Well, thanks to my terrific mom, Blanche (I've known her TOO long for her to be just a "step"), we have some great pictures to share.

Now, the baby is my nephew, Hayden - Richard and Teri's kid - but you can just imagine what we're going to look like in (fill in your guess here) when we have our own kidling!

Olberman dissects Shrub's speech...

Olberman Assesses Shrub's Credibility...

Just imagine what the history books will say...

How dare we act appalled…

By now, everyone’s heard about the rocket attack on the US embassy in Greece.

But how many have heard that the attack was on our toilet?

And as shitty as that might sound, it’s just as bad as how overblown the American reaction has been. A day after we attacked the Iranian embassy in Kurdistan, how fitting is it that someone attack one of ours?

And how equally fitting that they hit us in the crapper? Just another way of reminding us that we’re full of shit.