2006: The Year In Review (aka My Left Thumb)

This is the week of every year that I hate to watch television, read magazines, or go online. There is not a single media outlet that can resist the year ending "Year That Was" piece in some format or other. Being no better, or worse than the media, I hereby present to you my Year in Review. Of course as with any year of our lives my year had it's ups and downs, but there was one very strange constant throughout 2006 for me. My left thumb. Due to a series of accidents throughout the year there wasn't a day that I wasn't reminded very specifically about my left thumb.

January 2006: I moved into my new house. While putting baseboards in the dining room I smahed my left thumb with a hammer, rendering the nail bruised and bloodied underneath for the next 4 months until that grew out. Rarely did a day go by for the next 4 months that someone didn't say, "What happened to your thumb?"

May 2006: I was building a shed shortly after the nail of my left thumb had finally begun to look normal again. I hit my left thumb with a hammer, again leaving a purple bruise under the nail. Yes, by now I know you are probably assuming I'm exceedingly clumsy with a hammer. I contend that isn't the case. Based on the number of nails I pounded during the past year it's amazing that I didn't hit my thumb more often.

July 2006: Playing catch with a baseball without wearing a baseball glove my left thumb is hit directly by a good, hard throw. As far as I can tell the thumb was broken. I don't know for sure because I never went to the doctor. At the time the big Golden Boys weekend was coming up and I didn't want some doctor ruining my golf game by putting a cast on the thumb. I still can't bend the thumb all the way anymore.

Oct. 2006: Putting a new floor and baseboards down in one room of my house I hit my left thumb with a hammer again. Just this week the mark from that is finally growing out as is the year of 2006.

I find it absolutely bizarre that just one part of my body absorbed so much abuse so consistently throughout the year. And so me, George Bush, and our thumbs say good-bye to 2006 with hope for a less painful 2007. Come back on Monday for my New Years Resolutions post.

He Said, He Said

My local newspaper has a column in the sports section titled, "My Turn at Bat." It's where anyone can send in their opinions on anything in the world of sports. Two weeks ago I sent something in that made the cut and was used in the My Turn at Bat column last week. It was all in good fun, or so I thought. The local soccer writer took issue with a joke I made about soccer and attacked me on his blog which is on the newspapers website. Needless to say, I was thrilled with the additional publicity. First I'll post what I wrote, then at the bottom I'll provide you with the link so you can see what he wrote about me.

My Top Ten Holiday Sports Wishes

10. An AARP membership for the New York Yankees. They're definitely getting older, but not necessarily better.
9. A pair of binoculars for the Pittsburgh Steelers. The Super Bowl champs need them to see the top of their division from where they are.
8. I wish that another desperate housewife would marry Sidney Crosby so that someone in America would pay attention to the NHL.
7. Another shot at the Tour De France for Floyd Landis. He doesn’t have enough testosterone to grow a decent goatee much less cheat at a bicycle race.
6. In an effort to reduce the number of violent incidents involving youth sports parents, I would like to see a law banning parents from coaching or attending their own children’s sporting events until the children are in college.
5. A successful fashion design career for the Williams sisters. Their outfits have looked better on the court than they have the past couple years.
4. I wish Congress would pass a law banning soccer in the United States. We’ve been told for 20 years that because the rest of the world likes soccer that we should. As our mothers’ all said, if our friend jumped off a bridge does that mean that we should do it too?
3. A happy and healthy retirement for Barry Bonds…as soon as possible.
2. A Hubble Space Telescope for Cowboys wide receiver Terrell Owens. With a view from outer space he might be able to see that he's not the center of the universe.
1. I would like to see the current BCS system of choosing a college football champ to continue indefinitely. If there were a playoff with a definitive winner every year our water cooler debates, talk radio shows and favorite sports columns would be empty. Long live the BCS!

Here is what he had to say: Link As you can see from the date on the page, he felt that bashing me was important enough to leave it up on his page for over a week. Here is the best part. In over a week, he only got one comment on his blog, mine.

Happy Holidays To All!

Whether you just finished Hannukah, are gathering with family for Christmas, or eating yourself silly in preparation for Ramadan later this week, everyone here at The Phil Factor would like to wish you and yours a happy and healthy holiday season

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JESUS

That title is what it says on a sign in my neighbors yard. First of all, it's wrong. His birthday isn't for two more days. Would it be bad karma to sneak over there and paint it over to read HAPPY BIRTHDAY PHIL?

6 Weird Things About Me

I was tagged by Jmai and I promised I'd do it, so here it is. 6 weird things about me. Thanks for tagging me Jmai. It's nice to be thought of.

1. I have never eaten a pickle and unless I'm offered an exorbitant amout of money I never will. I would be a great contestant on Survivor or Fear Factor as long as they didn't find out about my pickle problem. I'd eat goat intestines long before I'd consider a pickle. I also feel the same way about mustard.

2. Within the next week I will write a post about my left thumb.

3. I once spent several hours handcuffed to a penguin.

4. The older I get the less I think I know.

5. I can still do a perfect cartwheel and if no one is looking I ocasionally do one in the hallway at work.

6. I pride myself on the fact that as far as I know, I've still never heard a Hootie and the Blowfish song.

Happy Holidays From Gooby

Sad huh?

Stop It Already!

Do you know what I’m tired of? Mountain climbers. As a group I’m becoming more and more convinced that they are a bunch of egotistical, selfish jackasses. Yes, I know the country was gripped by the frantic search on Mt. Hood for the three lost climbers. That is exactly what my problem with mountain climbers is. Mountain climbing is a hobby right? No one makes their living climbing mountains right? Mountain climbing is an optional activity. But people do make their living rescuing mountain climbers, and sometimes the rescuers are risking their own lives to save an idiot who wasn’t smart enough to stay the hell off of a mountain in the middle of winter. If your hobby risks your own life, fine, enjoy yourself. If your screw up of an entirely optional activity could result in the death of others, then you need to either quit that activity, or leave a waiver form with someone at the bottom of the mountain absolving anyone of any responsibility for rescuing you when you screw it up. And why go in the winter? If I’m going to climb a mountain I’m waiting until it’s as warm as possible. There is absolutely no need to maximize the risk by going in the middle of winter.

Mt. Everest is the worst example of this. Over 50 people have died on Mt. Everest this year. Why? I just don’t see the thrill. It may be the highest mountain in the world, but it’s been climbed hundreds of times now. There is no longer any sort of exclusive club of people who have climbed Everest. The sherpas that guide expeditions go up and down that mountain daily. They might as well be herding people onto Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride at Disney World. Virtually every mountain in the world has been climbed many, many times. Why go? The view? Is any view worth risking your life for? If you pick the wrong day to climb it just might be the last view you see. Of course I’m told that the view from heaven is spectacular, but that doesn’t mean I want to climb up there today.

I do not feel badly for the climbers who perish on their climbs. I do feel badly for the people who risk their lives and probably occasionally lose fingers and toes to frostbite while rescuing lost climbers. I also feel badly for the climbers families. One of the climbers family members said, "He died doing what he loved." Apparently he loved it more than his family because now they have to spend the holidays grieving for him because of his hobby. If you have a single person in this world related to you or who cares about you, why would you risk your life for just a nice view, leaving your family behind to suffer the waiting, worrying and loss? Climbers, quit being selfish. Take up ballroom dancing or something. At least there you'd have a chance to meet women.

Random Phil Stuff From an Interesting Weekend

I guess I got my wish in being named TIME Magazine's "Person of The Year." I don't think the picture does me justice though. I'm not kidding when I say that I think someone at TIME read my blog and came up with this idea instead of using YouTube.

I went to a party Friday night with several people of varying degrees of sexual orientation. Well, I didn't go with them, but found myself in their company at the party. They were a fun crowd. I also ate goose.

Something I wrote is in the sports section of my local paper today.

I coach a youth basketball team of 9 and 10 year olds. Last week after we had our first official game following a scrimmage the previous week, a parent e-mailed me to complain that her son wasn't passed the ball enough. In yesterdays game her son got a defensive rebound turned, shot, and made a basket...IN THE OTHER TEAMS BASKET!!! I was tempted to e-mail her and say, "That's why we don't pass to your son," but I didn't.

The city I live in is mentioned very specifically in the classic holiday movie "It's a Wonderful Life." Unfortunately I'm not mentioned in the movie, yet.

TIME Magazine's Person of the Year

Later this week Time Magazine will unveil their annual Person of the Year. Rumor has it that the two leading candidates are: 1) the crazy North Korean dictator with the shiny, new, nuclear bomb or 2) YouTube. While both were certainly noteworthy and newsworthy in 2006, let's face it, they're not me. For all my longtime blog friends this post certainly comes as no surprise to you. That's right, I am pushing my 11th hour candidacy for Time Magazine's Person of the Year. The obvious question that you're all asking yourself is, "Why does Phil think he should be Person of the Year?" Thanks, I'm glad you asked. Allow me to explain.

First of all, as much as I enjoy YouTube, it's not a person. I clearly am. Time Magazine purports to name The Person of the Year. If they name a thing as Person of The Year, then I plan to sue on behalf of the entire human race. If YouTube is eligible to be Person of the Year, then I want to be eligible for Motor Trend Magazine's Car of the Year Award as well as for the AKC Dog of the Year Award. If we're going to let things compete against humans then I plan on entering a remote control car in the next Olympic Marathon. (As a point of interest, thanks to Gooby, video of me from 15-20 years ago is on YouTube. And yes, the nudity was integral to the plot.)

That covers why I am more deserving of the award than YouTube, but why do I think I deserve Person of the Year more than a crazy dictator? Thanks, I'm glad you asked. I'm a mental health professional. I make my living examining people's moods and motivations. I may be a bit egocentric and attention seeking here on my blog, but that's generally harmless. We all know people who thrive on seeking negative attention from others. Due to their lack of self-esteem these people seek to make waves in any way possible. The worst possible thing you can do is to give them the much sought after attention in response to their stupid behavior. The crazy North Korean dictator with new nuclear capability and David Blaine are exactly these types of people and both should be ignored. If the Korean dictator is positively reinforced by getting a magazine cover he'll only get bolder. Just as we should do with David Blaine, the world should collectively shrug it's shoulders, yawn, and walk away. My self-aggrandizing behavior, however, is harmless and won't hurt anyone if you give me positive reinforcement. Despite all my nonsensical ramblings here, not once during the past year have I done anything that made the whole world nervous. I'm saving that for when I become President. In fact, I like to think that maybe, just maybe, by making fun of things, simplifying male-female communication and suggesting improvements for how the world should be run, my blog has made the world a little better place.

I'm On The Pill !!!

Ok, I'm not on the pill, but the important thing is, I could be. Scientists have reportedly finished developing a birth control pill for men. This development may completely revolutionize dating. I imagine that unless I was near death it would be impossible to get in to see my doctor right now because of the number of men clamoring to get a prescription for "the pill." I'm sure most women are thinking, "No thanks. Are you expecting us to trust men to remember to take a pill every day when they can't even remember to call us the next day?" On behalf of all men I would like to respond to women's skepticism by saying, "Of course you can trust us to take the pill! This is important!" Again, at the risk of being ostracized by my fellow men, allow me to enlighten women about how the male mind works. There are two things that motivate us. Two primal instincts that are hardwired into our brain. We like sex, and we like really cool toys, especially if they're loud, go fast, or blow things up. We like our sex that way too.

The difference between those two things however is equal to the difference between...hmm...let me think of how to put this into terms that women will understand. The difference between our love of cool toys and gadgets and our love of sex is like the difference between getting a new blender for your anniversary or getting a dozen long stemmed, red roses, a box of Godiva Chocolates and a diamond necklace for your anniversary while you're out for dinner at a nice restaurant drinking magaritas. My point is, nothing motivates men more than sex. If taking a pill every day increases our chances of having sex, then you can bet we would remember to take that pill before we remembered to feed ourselves. Or breathe.

Many times you see women almost shy, demure around men when it comes to discussing birth control as if it is an embarrassment to consider planning ahead for the possibility of sex. In the past when a single night, or relationship was progressing to the point where birth control becomes relevant a usually awkward conversation ensues. "Umm..do you got something?" "Uh..no, do you?" With the new male birth control pill that uncomfortable moment with be gone forever. Also gone will be lame pick-up lines. Men everywhere will just approach women and say, "Hi! I'm on the pill!" If men have anything to do with the marketing of the new male birth control pill each prescription will come with a t-shirt that says just that.

Who I feel sorry for is the young women with unresolved father issues. Take a middle aged man, add the pill and an erectile dysfunction medication that may cause a woody lasting several hours and these poor young women searching for a replacement for daddy's lack of attention when they were young won't have a chance to catch their breath. Also, much the way that programs on Lifetime and The Oxygen Network are filled with commercial breaks espousing the wonders of wings and plastic applicators, mens' sports programming will soon contain only ads for The Pill and beer. In fact, the ads will probably show men taking their pill and washing it down with a cold, refreshing, amber beverage made with crystal clear water taken from mountain streams. The ads will also probably show a lot of scantily clad women. That's generally a given regardless of the product.

Please Shoot Me If I Ever...

How many times have we all said that phrase to someone to express our belief that if we ever displayed the specified behavior that we would essentially have lost all self-respect or reached our rock bottom of moral destitution? How many times would we all deserve to be shot if anyone took us up on that? Here is my list of Please Shoot Me If I Ever…

1. take a job as a clown
2. sing along to any George Michael/WHAM! songs
3. write a paper check in line at the supermarket
4. laugh at an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond
5. play Dance, Dance Revolution
6. stop professing my love of Canadians
7. announce my engagement to Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, or Brittany Spears
8. go to a tanning studio

What's on your "Shoot Me If I Ever..." list?

Another Strange But True Phil Story

It was Tuesday evening, my day to work late. I was one of the last people in the building and I left the office alone. The security guard had offered to walk me to my car, but being of the male gender I cheerfully insisted there was no need for that. With the setting of the sun a fog had crept into the city. Although it is generally a shelter from the weather, the entrances and sides of the parking garage are open. Tonight the fog seemed to be slithering into the garage of it's own volition, like a snake extending it's tongue to sniff for prey. By 7 pm the dimly lit parking garage was virtually empty. If ever there was a place where something bad could happen without anyone else noticing, this was that place. My footsteps echoed off of the concrete walls. The entire level where I had parked was empty with one exception. There was one car besides mine. It was parked immediately next to mine. In the dimly lit atmosphere the car next to mine appeared perfectly ordinary and perfectly empty. The night, the fog, and the empty garage had all joined forces to create an atmosphere that had me on edge. I took out my keys and hastily shoved them in the lock. Fortunately I had no slasher movie tremors or fumbling to prevent me from quickly gaining the safety of my car and locking the doors.

The engine roared to life easily and I quickly navigated the angular corkscrew path that was necessary to exit the building. The ride home began uneventfully enough, although it was quite eerie to cross the elevated bridge over the river in this fog. With everything around me obscured by the fog and the cars ahead of me disappearing into the mist it appeared as if the bridge was suspended in the middle of nothingness. Needless to say however I crossed the bridge without incident and contiued my normal commute home on the expressway. About two miles from my exit I pulled into the right lane, content to coast along without urgency. I was behind another car that was going just a little slower than I would have preferred, but being relatively close to my exit I didn't bother to pass. Then I noticed a car had pulled in behind me and flashed his highbeams. At first I thought it might just be a momentary flash, or an impatient driver indicating his desire for us to speed up. Then he flashed the high beems again. I ignored this, figuring that he'd pass eventually if he was in such a hurry. The flash from behind filled my rear view mirror yet again, and yet he remained firmly behind me despite my leisurely pace. With the glare of the headlights obscuring my view I couldn't see the driver or determine the make and model of the car.

Finally I arrived at my exit, signaled to leave the expressway, and noticed that Mr. Highbeam had done the same. There are two lanes that turn left off the exit ramp and as usual I chose the furthest right, hoping Mr. Highbeam might choose the left and pass me. He didn't. As I steered my car into the right lane he did the same a moment after me, despite the fact that the lane on the left was shorter, giving him the chance to pass me, whom he had found so maddeningly slow on the expressway. The light at the top of the exit ramp was red. I waited patiently, but now with a growing feeling of nervousness. The fog was a little less dense out here, but still creepy when I was sure I was being followed. I had to be imagining that he was following me. A few identical turns didn't mean anything. He might just live in the direction I was going right? The light turned green and I intentionally went a little slower, hoping that Mr, Highbeam would choose to pass me. He didn't. Now I was sure I was being stalked. I began to run through scenarios in my mind. I could pass my street continuing around a few other streets until I reached the nearest police station. I could pull into the next well lit gas station to see what he would do. I could turn onto my street and then race unpredictably through the labrynthine suburban avenues hoping to lose him. One thing was certain. I didn't want to lead this nutjob straight to my house.

As my street approached I decided to continue past it. I would turn right at the next light. I watched in my rear view mirror as I signaled for the right turn. My pursuer did the same. This was insane. Why was he dogging me? Who was this? There were two lanes. The one on the right merged into the other in about 50 yards. I took the right lane, and to my surprise my pursuer swung wide and was forced to pass me. It was a gray Jeep Cherokee with tinted windows. I couldn't make out the gender or identity of the shadow at the wheel. I slowed down. It was possible he intended to stop, blocking my way somewhere. The other, north entrance to my street was ahead. The Jeep continued ahead of me at a steady pace. He passed the entrance to my street and at the last moment before I approached my street I signaled for my turn. Literally a split second after I signaled I saw his breaklights flash and he signaled to turn into the plaza just past my street. I gunned my engine, hoping to get far enough into my neighborhood that he would have no hope of catching up, or even of finding my car in the driveway. I continued to drive the twists and turns as if I were in an Indy race. One eye always on the rear view mirror. I arrived home safely and rushed into the house. I cautiously peered out the window, waiting to see the Jeep come trolling along slowly.

As far as I know I lost him. Nothing strange has happened since and I haven't been followed home from work, that I know of. BTW, do you enjoy these kind of stories, or is it just a bunch of insipid self-indulgent drivel that bores everyone?