11/27/2004 - Lather Rinse Repeat

The title has nothing to do with this post, aside from the fact that I'm going to make an observation that a million people before me have probably made.

I'm listening to Christmas songs already. My observation is that the lyrics to some songs are pretty... disturbing.

First example is a song that I remember from my youth as such an upbeat, pleasant, happy tune - "We Need A Little Christmas". Listening closer, it has the lines:

I've grown a little leaner
Grown a little colder
Grown a little sadder
Grown a little older
And I need a little angel
Sitting on my shoulder
We need a little Christmas now

This sounds like substance abuse, doesn't it? I feel dirty.

Second example: Baby, It's Cold Outside. Listen to the words yourself, since I'm too embarrassed to duplicate them here. The jist of it is that the dude in the song won't let the girl leave. If this song were admitted as evidence in a sexual harassment suit, it would be a pretty clear case for the woman. No means no, dude.

In light of this trend, I intend to write my own Christmas song. I welcome any suggestions. Should it be about war? Famine? Pestilance? Mountains of credit card debt!

Oh, I ain't got very much money
And my car is sounding funny
But as long as banks tell me so
I will owe, I will owe, I will owe!

11/24/2004 - I Am From The Sun

You Are From the Sun

Of all your friends, you're the shining star. You're dramatic - loving attention and the spotlight. You're a totally entertainer and the life of the party. Watch out! The Sun can be stubborn, demanding, and flirty. Overall, you're a great leader and great friend. The very best!

What Planet Are You From?

---

Click the "What Planet Are You From?" link to take the same quiz that gave me this thing.

Anyway, I thought it was an interesting result. I can't explain why, but the core of it is that I remember thinking precisely that when I was a little little kid - I am from the sun.

11/24/2004 - Cool Head

I've given speeches in front of large groups. I've given speeches in front of small groups. I have performed with the band in front of decent sized crowds. I've gotten very good at conveying a calm demeanor when I have every reason to flee like a villager screaming "GODZIRRA!"

However, there is a woman. I have been friends with her for maybe seven months. She is very attractive, however I had always thought of her as a friend, since we work together. You don't get your honey where you get your bread. I've got rules.

I went to lunch with this girl for the first time last week, and halfway through lunch, I thought, "Damn my rules." I've made worse decisions. And, hell, if it doesn't work out, she can always quit.

Now that I think of her as a potential prospect, my mind is racing. I'm so incredibly attracted to her, I worry that I'll crack under the pressure. If she touched my hand, I'd probably pull away and yell - "YAH!" If she hugged me, I'd laugh like that dude from Revenge of the Nerds - "HYUH-HYUH-HYUH." And, oh my gosh, if she kissed me, I'd probably pass out and barf all over myself, laying there on the ground twitching. She'd call 911, since I think she likes me, too.

I had spent the past 7 months without thinking of her as a prospect. I got to know her a little bit as a person. She has a fantastic personality. She's outgoing, friendly, motivated, and intelligent.

And, oh my gosh, she's got the most unbelievable body in the world.

In the past, her name had come up amongst my friends.
"She's a very pretty girl," one friend would say.
"She sure is, " I would say.
"Why don't you ask her out?" a third would say.
"I can't date someone I work with," I would say.
"Why don't you ask her out?" the third would say to the first. "You don't seem to have any rules about who you date."

Now, the conversation would go more like this...
"She's a very pretty girl," one friend would say.
"DON'T YOU DARE LOOK AT HER, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" I would say while throwing scalding hot coffee into his eyes to blind him.

Okay, that's just a joke. I'm not a jealous guy. I have references to validate that. S***n had actually once said, "You're the only guy I've ever dated that never gets jealous." I'm very proud of the fact that I'm not a jealous guy, since that means that I have every right to have a girl that doesn't get jealous.

So now I'm at the point where I know that I want her, but I've got to keep a cool head. I've got to carry on the same type of friendly, playful conversation we've had for the past 7 months, all the while listening to the caveman inside saying, "Tackle her!"

11/23/2004 - Lean Cuisine

I like the little Lean Cuisine meals, but I have to say that it's really hard to feel manly eating one. There was a big pink ribbon on the front, with the words "Help find a cure!", plus I could mail in something and buy a lunch tote specially designed by some chick from Trading Spaces (it wasn't Paige Davis, since I know when I'm looking at Paige Davis, since I've had a lot of practice looking at Paige Davis, that sweet little cutie).

I was flipping the box over and over to try to find a side that looked not-quite-so-feminine. The health information on the side was pretty close.

I swear, Lean Cuisine makers, there's an untapped market of guys out there that would really dig some Thai Chicken for lunch. As it stands, I felt like I was listening to "It's Raining Men" on my headphones - praying no one would notice, even though I was kinda digging it.

Lean Cuisine people, make the same meals, except twice as large, put a picture of a football player on the front, and call it MEAN Cuisine! I'd be all over that.

11/22/2004 - Camden?

I wouldn't mind if crime in Detroit had decreased. I passionately love my hometown. I lived in Detroit suburbs for a good portion of my life, and I plan to one day write a book about it. I already have the title - "On A Clear Day, You Can Smell The Burn". "The Burn" was the nickname for the trash incinerator. No one steal that name for my book. It is mine.

One of my favorite things about Detroit was the graffiti. I don't mean this as a joke. It was very likely that it was one single fellow who wrote some of my favorite graffiti. His work usually consisted of editing other people's graffiti. As an example, for about one week back in the 80's, the original graffiti on an overpass along I-94 read as follows:

"Free Chairman Gonzalo"

After the first week, it was edited by my mystery graffitist to read as follows:

"Free Chairman Gonzalo
with any purchase!"

That particular work of genius lasted for years. I was sad to see that one cleaned up.

Another beautiful thing about Detroit is the attitude. Detroit struggled against New York for the title of Most Dangerous City for a long time. However, Detroit actually took pride in the competition. There were actually t-shirts printed up like -
"Detroit - where the weak are killed and eaten"
"I'm so bad, I vacation in Detroit"
"I'm from Detroit... what's your problem?"

I remember when we first overtook New York in murders. Not per capita - total number of murders. Detroit, a city about 1/8th the population of New York, had a higher number of murders than New York. Ted Nugent took to the air waves and said -
"Detroiters aren't necessarily more violent, we're just a better shot."

Detroit is a fantastic city. There are areas that aren't safe, and there is violence, but it's not like you walk down the street and people randomly shoot at you. I have vacationed in Detroit. I have introduced people to Detroit and heard them say "Wow, I never knew it, but this place is great!"

It's like poor little Camden got inadvertently caught up in our competition. We'd see the scores one year, and it would be Detroit. "Aw, man, that's our team guys... we gotta clean up the image," laugh about it then move on. The next year, it would be St. Louis, and we'd sing, to the tune of Nyah-Nyah, "You guys are more dangerous." However, when we heard Camden this morning, we all thought "... who?"

Picture little Camden, standing there with those little fists raised, saying "That's right, bitches!"

I feel a little put out. It's not like I'm thrilled that Detroit has a lot of murders and stuff. Similarly, I'm not thrilled with being divorced twice, either, but we learn to focus on the future. Following this analogy, it would be like seeing a guy younger than me getting in my face and saying "Ha! I've been divorced three times!"

Camden, I'm sorry. Buck up, though. I'm sure that St. Louis will step up the crime.

11/12/2004 - The Good Girl's Bad Boy

Not long ago, I was dating a good, conservative, church going woman. This woman was a fun loving person, but hated violence and scruffy, dirty men. We were talking about the notion that women are attracted to bad boys.

"I don't like that one bit. I was always the girl who'd run and tell when the boys started fighting."
"That was you?"
"Yes. I don't go for the bad boy. You're the closest to a bad boy that I've ever dated."

I was stupified. This was the absolute first time anyone had ever implied such a thing with me. Most of my life, I had been the good boy that the girls went to when they wanted a short break from being mistreated. Now...

"I'm your bad boy fantasy?"
"Yes, sweetie."
Silence. I'm trying to figure out what this means to me. Then, "Hell yeah."

I don't touch drugs and I haven't fought since high school. I wash myself every day. I floss and use mouthwash. I have never hit a woman. I have never cheated on a woman. I don't cry about my relationship with my father when I'm drunk. I've never once called a woman a bitch to her face out loud, unless it was really really clear that I was joking.

However, I play in a band. I have been known to be drunk at 3am on a weeknight with other musicians. I - by the nature of being in a music scene - have been exposed to guns, violence, and hard drugs. I have woken up and thought, "Where am I, and what the hell happened last night?" more than a few times.

I am a bad boy for the good girls. The guy that may have a girl wondering "Where the hell is he?" at 3am, but she'll never think "That bastard's cheating on me again!" I say Hell and Damn a lot, but I use the granddaddy bad words judiciously. I have a decent job and a bright future, but I'm still 100% committed to making sure I have a damn good time getting there.

Side note: in my youth, I considered becoming a surgeon, because I was fascinated when we were dissecting frogs in science, but once I realized that they couldn't party hard, I said "no way". It would be incredibly rewarding, but even more rewarding to me is good times and good laughs with good friends.

11/11/2004 - Another Topical Post

Okay, I can't resist mentioning this. I try not to keep up with current events, but sometimes NPR takes a break from deifying unknown jazz musicians and alcoholic poets and inserts a little real news.

I heard this morning that Palestinians, in response to Yasser Arafat's death, are doing the following:
- Shooting guns
- Weeping
- Burning tires

I'm originally from Detroit, so I understand the shooting of guns. We do that all the time. Births, weddings, deaths, and sometimes even deaths at weddings because everyone's shooting guns. Hell, we shoot guns for any reason. If we have a good idea... BANG!
"You must have had a good idea!"
"Yup! We should all go shoot our guns!"
BANG! BANG! "Great idea! Let's go!"

Weeping. I definitely understand this. Your president's dead, and it's not like life isn't already tumultuous and unpredictable in the Middle East.

Burning tires. I'm lost on this one. It doesn't seem like a typical mourning activity. I really am confused, and I'm not trying to make light of a very emotional situation. I am sympathetic to the difficulties that Palestinians are facing, however, upon hearing the news of Arafat's death this morning, I felt no urge to pull my car over, remove the tires, and light them.

There must be more to the story.

11/10/2004 - Astrology

I've wondered a few times if astrologers will apply things from their personal lives to the horoscopes they create. By example, say the author of my horoscope is having an argument with the Leo in her life. Could there be a temptation to insert something in the Leo horoscope about how Leos are overly proud and too often think that they're right? Something like "listen to the other side of the argument for a change".

Isn't that so "Leo" to theorize that anything that implies we're wrong must have some ulterior motives, and we're really still right?

Additionally, is it just me, or is my horoscope much more interesting and dynamic than my life? According to my horoscope, life-changing events and realizations take place every day. Chances are that I'll sit here at work daydreaming about being Indiana Jones, then go home, have dinner, and mix a manhattan while struggling to stay awake longer than the children. Just like yesterday. According to my horoscope, you'd think I was skydiving yesterday and wrestling sharks today, all the while surrounded by the truest loves of my life, struggling to find the words and gestures to express my inner feelings.

The most exciting thing I do is try to talk like Antonio Banderas. "I am Antonio Banderas. I will make mad passionate love to you, and then I will jump out the window onto my noble steed and fight for the freedom of the oppressed." Isn't that hot? Golly.

11/2/2004 - There! I Voted! Now Stop With The Ads!

I voted today. I painted myself with glorious colors recently about how non-topical my posts are, but I'm going to tell the world about my experience.

I shuttled off to vote this morning and drove up to the same place I voted during the last presidential election, which was the Courtland Township Firehouse. Small town charm. As I pulled up, I saw cars everywhere, and saw a building that I honestly don't recall seeing four years ago. Township Offices!

How grand. My little 'burb is growing. We're getting fancy looking township offices. I'm sure that I voted to fund this four years ago, but I don't recall, so this was a joyous little surprise for me.

I walked into the new township offices behind everyone else, and it was so warm and inviting. I swear, I'm not exaggerating, there was a fellow opening the door for people. He didn't open the door for me, but that's just because he was flirting with the honey in front of me, so it's all good. I know who butters our bread, buddy, so no worries from me.

The carpeting was new and soft, the air was like a warm summer breeze with a hint of cinnamon and jasper, the lighting was bright and cheerful, and the people, oh the people, all of the most beautiful people in the world. The election workers were happy, my fellow residents were happy, and the furry woodland creatures at our feet were as happy as DisneyWorld, greeting us with a playful sniff and an "I'm happy you're voting today, sir!" Thank you, fuzzy woodland creatures. We live in a particularly divine democracy.

I follow my orders, and wind up with a card with my name written on it in pencil. I hand it to the proud election worker, a distinguished woman with the carriage of a Duchess. She starts looking for my name, but she can't find it. I correct her - "Oh, no ma'am, it's v-O-n, not v-A-n." We share a little chuckle, as she looks on the correct page.

"No, I'm sorry, you're not here."
I present my voter registration card, with the question, "Am I in the right place?"
"Oh, there we go. You're Precinct 2. You vote next door at the firehouse."
"Ah!" We chuckle again. "Silly me. You have a nice day, and thank you for your help."
"Goodbye," she calls after me, with a showy wave of the hand, parting as dear friends.

I walk in next door at the firehouse. As the door opens, I'm greeted with the wailing and gnashing of teeth and the smell of sulfur and lost souls. I step cautiously into the cold, dark, damp garage that is filled with all of us Precinct 2 Rejects.

Somehow, I always end up in lines in front of a man who doesn't have the same sense of personal space that I do. I feel slightly violated as I stand in front of this man. This is the type of man that would attempt conversation with another man in the men's restroom, I know this type. Conversing while washing and drying hands in the men's room is acceptable. Conversing while the task is at hand, so to speak, is extremely poor etiquette, in my book. In his defense, conversing while performing duties is the only time when he can converse while in the men's room, for he foregoes his handwashing. This means that he leaves the restroom before me. This means that he touches the doorknob before me. Anyway, I'm getting off topic.

As I stand in line, an election worker calls out "Anyone with L thru Z! This line over here!" I look at signs for some of the lines - "A-M" and "O-Z". His directions are to a third line: The Mystery Line. The L's thru the Z's all move over to this line, leaving the entire O-Z line empty, along with L's and M's missing from the A-M line. The first person in The Mystery Line discovers for all of us that our election worker friend is misleading us....

A REPUBLICAN CONSPIRACY! Everyone knows that people with last names that start with L thru Z historically have voted Democrat! This man is attempting to STEAL THE ELECTION! People with last names that start with L thru Z, in addition to being Democrats, are also quick to give up. This is because we have low self esteem. Why? Because we've had to wait behind everyone with last names from A thru K all through elementary school.

I took a stand against this tyranny today, and voted anyway. This was for all of those times I was oppressed because of my alphabetically challenged last name. I voted, using a voting mechanism that required me to complete a broken arrow that pointed to the candidate I chose.

Whoever thought that completing a broken arrow would be a good way for people to vote needs their head examined. I stared at this thing for a good minute, thinking "They can't honestly expect me to do that." It seemed akin to a voting mechanism in which I would complete the drawing of a smiley face, left eye winking if I wanted John Kerry, right eye winking for George Bush. Regardless, I jumped through their conspiratorial hoop, and took my secret ballot to the machine that would tally our votes.

Thence, I was tallied, and the great machine of Democracy surges forward.