The Phil Factor

The Gift That Keeps On Giving:

2012-02-15T06:48:00.001-05:00

Well? How did you do? Did you get the right gift for your loved one on Valentine's Day? Or did you cause irreparable damage to the relationship? As with most holidays Valentine's Day comes with the same angst of "Did I pick the right gift? Did my gift say too much? Or too little?" When I become President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I'm going to pass a law.

The law will state that the correct gift is always...drumroll please...the gift card. I am in love with gift cards. I love them so much that for Valentine's Day I wanted to buy a gift cards for gift cards to show them how much I love them. I would sleep with gift cards on the first date. In the checkout line it's all I can do to restrain myself from buying gift cards for myself. I know I could buy the same stuff for myself with actual money, but isn't having a gift card so much better? It feels like you're getting stuff for free, even if you paid for the gift card.

I was in a large, big box hardware/lumber store last week and I came across the biggest gift card kiosk/endcap I have ever seen. As I rounded the end of the aisle and my eyes gazed upon the 8th Wonder of the World a great and pure light shone down from above and I heard a chorus of heavenly angels. It might have been a circular saw, but with that Mount Rushmore of gift cards in my sights it sure sounded like angels. It was so big that I'd need to summon an apron wearing lackey to get a ladder if I wanted a gift card from the top row. If that wall of gift cards was a chocolate river then you can call me Augustus Gloop.

I mean seriously, how can you go wrong with gift cards? If you know someone likes something and you buy them a gift card for it, they get exactly what they want. Or who doesn't like going to a restaurant for free? "What is this?!!? A bill for my meal! Pishaw! Take that filthy thing away for I have a gift card!" That is literally what's going on in my head when I get to use a restaurant gift card. If I could put on a fur-lined red velvet robe and crown while I bellowed that to a waitress I think I could die a happy man.

To the detractors who would say, "Well giving a gift card shows that you didn't put any thought into it." Really? Even if you got a gift card for their favorite store? Yeah, your idea of buying clothes that are the wrong size is always so much more thoughtful. I love returning things or wearing some ill-fitting, hideous garment just so you can feel good about yourself for choosing such a "thoughtful gift."

You know what? They even have gift cards for an amount of money. At first I didn't understand this, thinking it was somewhat redundant, but now I understand the genius. A gift card for money is also thoughtful. You can use it like a credit card. It won't bulk up your wallet or cause you to have to do any tedious counting of paper money. A gift card for money won't cause you to receive 98 cents in change that you will then throw into your pocket, a jar or car cup holder never to be used. With a gift card the change stays right on it for you to use next time. The best thing about gift cards for money is that you can use them to buy other gift cards!

You know who has a great gift card? Amazon, makers of the Amazon Kindle. If you get an Amazon gift card you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Kindle so that my unique brand of idiocy can delivered to you wirelessly and instantateously no matter where you are. Now that is a gift that keeps on giving.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

2012-02-11T07:03:00.001-05:00

Like the title? I made it up myself. Pretty proud of that one. I had to travel for work again this week. Just a quick, overnight trip to Richmond, Va. Traveling in the winter is always a little nerve wracking no matter how you do it, isn't it?

So as I'm preparing to board my flight home from Richmond, the airline lackey, in a stunningly accurate impression of Charlie Brown's teacher, announces over the P.A. at my gate that the flight is over booked by one and they'd like to offer a $300 ticket voucher to anyone who will take a later flight. How does the airline over book by one? It's their plane! Don't they know how many seats it has? Or did someone just take their seat with them when they got off the plane? Do they have to have one of the flight attendants count the seats after each flight and report back to headquarters? "What? We only have 47 seats? I'd swear we had 48 when we left. Call up to the gate and tell them we're one short. Hey, has this back row exit door been open the whole flight?"

Now that we're living in a computer age (yeah, just now.) shouldn't the airlines be able to keep track of how many seats their planes have and sell only that exact amount of tickets? Or maybe they could sell two less tickets than the number of seats just in case someone somewhere makes a mistake with their abacus during the pre-flight seat count. And why do they wait until 15 minutes before your flight leaves to discover their error? That's when the fun begins. That's when the game of chicken/auction begins. "Since our flight is overbooked and no one took the $300 voucher we'd like to offer a $500 ticket voucher and two nights at any Marriott hotel." You think to yourself, "Now this is getting interesting. I might take that." All the passengers look back and forth at each other because they know that as they clock ticks down the ante goes up. After two more minutes pass Charlie Brown's teacher clicks the mic again and says, "As we are still overbooked by one we would like to offer a $750 ticket, two nights at a Marriott and a lifetime suppy of Rice-a-Roni, the San Francisco treat." We all eye each thinking, "now this is getting interesting, and really, is it possible they serve Rice-a-Roni in San Francisco restaurants?" They crowd is watching the auction shouting "Take it, take it!" "Door number 1" "Wait for showcase number 2!"

And what kind of business model is this where you can sell a service then essentially buy it back for at least 3x it's value and then still give the customer the service albeit an hour and a half later? Have you noticed how many airlines that have gone out of business, filed for bankruptcy or merged in the last ten years? Yeah, I'm thinking that if even half the time they had an accurate seat count they could save themselves a fortune every year. It's like they're playing an expensive game of Native American giver.(and why did Native Americans get that unfair rep? Wasn't it the white settlers that stole Manhattan from them for some Mardi Gras beads?). "Um...yeah, we told you that you could have a seat, but we were lying. Will you take $1000 to get on the next flight?" I wish more businesses had this policy. "Yes, Mr. Taylor, I know we said we would sell you the Ford Focus for $17,000, but well, this is embarrassing, umm...Ford is kind of out of those right now. If you could just go away quietly and come back tomorrow we'll give you a Cadillac Escalade with lifetime satellite radio."

So now, you can read the rest of this blog for more whimsical observations, but my bandwidth is full and I'll need two readers to wait for my next blog entry. If you choose to wait for the next blog entry I'll throw in 4 more jokes, a free Phil Factor t-shirt and a lifetime supply of Rice-a-Roni, the San Francisco treat. In the meantime if you don't want to get bumped you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle, follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and as always, if you like click the Facebook Like button below.

The People at Your Super Bowl Party

2012-02-02T06:47:00.001-05:00

We may be going to different Super Bowl parties this weekend, but alot of the people at our parties will be eerily similar and equally irritating. Read on and see if you can identify these folks at your party this Sunday. If you can't, you're probably one of them.

The Gambler: He may know when to hold'em but he doesn't know when to fold'em or when to shut up. This guy always wants you to know the "over/under" and how much he's got riding on the game. And he spends most of the game fuming and stomping around every time an officials "b.s." call threatens to upset the point spread he wants. He usually has a "prop bet" on the coin toss too. Unfortunately if the game doesn't go his way The Gambler turns into The Belligerent Drunk. That is unless the black lab covers the spread in his bet on The Puppy Bowl.

The Referee: This tool has to explain every official ruling on the field as if he's calculating a quadratic equation. He'll usually say something like: "Well that was an illegal formation because the half-caff flanker position moved from a three point stance to a two point stance without waiting for a pause in the snap count while the rigamarole motion was ad infinitum. Now normally the refs would let that go but because of the down and distance and clock situation they were forced to call it." Yeah thanks coach, I can't imagine why you don't win your fantasy football league every year.

The Commercial Lover: I hate to stereotype, but this is usually a woman. We all know her. She has no clue about what teams are in the game and often thinks that one teams "costumes are pretty." She usually says, "Oh I love the Super Bowl because of the commercials. I heard this year that Doritos and Coca Cola combined for a commercial where The Pope break dances with a 3-D video of Michael Jackson. Oh wait, wait, wait, QUIET EVERYBODY, I think this is it. SHHHHH...I want to see this one. Did you see that? That was so funny! Oh my god! BEST Super Bowl commercial EVER!" Usually I'm secretly rooting for the drunk, belligerent gambler to punch her in the forehead.

Team Jersey Guy: This guy arrives at the party first and only brings a bag of chips. He grabs a beer and immediately plants his un-athletic physique in the recliner directly across from the television a half hour before kick off and won't leave that seat until the game is over. If you're the homeowner you might as well just haul that chair out to the curb after the game. You won't want to keep it. He doesn't even get up to get another beer. "Oh, hey, if you're going out to the kitchen could you grab me a brewski?" Once he's settled in he's almost as bad as The Gambler. Team Jersey Guy is also the pleasant guy who tries to wave your children out of the way if they walk in front of the t.v. during the game and you swear his head will explode if one of the kids even mentions switching the channel to The Puppy Bowl.

This year be sure to look for The Phil Factor commercial during the halftime show. If you miss that you can still subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

The Everyday Oscars

2012-01-26T07:26:00.001-05:00

It is because of this snub that I refuse to attend the awards ceremony. I do have Oscar-worthy acting talent. So do many of you. Just because our skills don't appear on the big screen doesn't mean our talents should go unappreciated! To recognize the acting achievements of everyone like me, I hereby introduce The First Annual Everyday Oscar Awards! I imagine the awards ceremony will go something like this:

MC Phil: The Everyday Oscar for Best Performance in The Workplace goes to...(fumbling with envelope)..Craig Snodgrass for his role in "The Overdue Report!" ;(video clip begins to roll on the monitor) Craig: "Yes Mr. Hendricks, I knew that report was due this morning. I was about to forward it to you when I got the call that my grandmother, the woman who raised me after my parents died, was in a car accident." Mr. Hendricks: "Is that a Hooters napkin sticking out of your pocket?" Craig: "Yes it is sir. The hospital needed two quarts of my blood for the transfusion. They said I should drink a lot of fluids for the rest of the day. I got a little woozy driving back to the office and I had to pull over."

MC Phil:That always brings a tear to my eye. Next up, the Everyday Oscar for Best Relationship Saving Performance goes to...Heather Stevens for her fantastic performance in "Whose Boxers Are These?" (video clip begins to roll) Boyfriend: "Heather, I just found these boxer shorts under your side of the bed! They're not mine! Whose are they?!!?" Heather: Awww! You ruined the surprise! I bought them for you, but I got so turned on at the thought of you in them, that I put them on myself and wore them around for a day. Would you like to see me in them?" Boyfriend: "Are these your skid marks?" Heather: "Umm...yeah?"

If you'd like to nomonate me for an Oscar, Everyday or otherwise, you can click the Facebook Like button below and subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle or Kindle Fire.

Fun Ways to Prepare for the Apocalypse

2012-01-19T06:25:00.001-05:00

It's 2012, the year the world is supposed to end. The end of the world concerns me greatly. What if the Mayans were right? Where will I live if the world ends? Now that the shuttle program has ended how will I get to the moon? And who among my Facebook friends will get to go with me?

Should we be worried this time? Is there a chance the Mayans were right? In the news recently a current day Mayan leader said, "Dude, seriously, I am so sick of hearing about this. If the world does end, don't try and pin it on us. Damn, did you ever think that maybe the guy making the calendar just died, got laid off, or was fired for stealing office supplies?" I may be paraphrasing a bit, but that was the gist of it. He also pointed out that in some other carved-in-stone tablets another Mayan referenced the year 4077. He didn't reference a specific day, but I'll be pretty mad if the world ends right before my birthday again. My cell phone, pda, and computer all have calendar functions and all of the calendars go past Dec. 21, 2012 so there's all the proof you need that the world is not going to end in 11 months. In fact, I have written a post and dated it to be released to my blog for Dec. 22, 2012, the day after the world is supposed to end. Suck on that you Mayan calendar nutjobs.

Hmmm...should we all be prepared though, just in case? And how should we prepare? Build shelters in our basements and stock up on non-perishable foods? Nah, that's no fun. I plan on getting ready for the Philpocalypse all year long. Yes, I've re-named it and am trademarking the word "Philpocalypse" so that any reference to the end of the world will have to use the word "Philpocalypse." I'm going to make a fortune on t-shirts and the evening news should be fun.

Other fun ways to prepare for the Philpocalypse?

1. Quit your job: No, not today. Give your employer a letter of resignation announcing that you're resigning your position effective December 22, 2012. Just make sure you word it so that your resignation is contingent on the end of the world. Get it notarized.

2. Pajama Jeans: Not that you ever need an excuse to wear pajama jeans, but if anyone asks why, a simple "The world is going to end. Does it matter what I wear?" should suffice. Who's going to argue with that? And besides, they make my butt look amazing.

3. Speak your mind: You only have 11 months left to say everything you've wanted to say to anyone who has wronged you at any point in your life. I am so digging up my class pictures from Cicero Elementary School. Yeah, you know who you are and now you know the Philpocalypse is coming for you. Nobody takes my fish sticks and gets away with it.

4. Vote for President: But not just a vote for just any Presidential candidate. If the world is really going to end and the election results won't matter, then why not join together, all of us, hopefully more than the all of us reading this, and write in a candidate together. Someone absolutely ridiculous but who would be so entertaining that we wouldn't mind the State of the Union address disrupting our regular t.v. watching. Charlie Sheen? A Kardashian? Russell Brand? The Situation? Carrot Top? Me? Any suggestions?

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to embrace the Philpocalypse you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

Angry at the Angry Birds? There's an App for That!

2012-01-07T07:29:00.002-05:00

Hi, my name is Phil and I'm an app addict. I admit, I'm powerless over apps. It used to be appetizers that I couldn't resist, but now it's smartphone apps. Well, honestly I'm no better with the appetizers, pizza rolls specifically, but now I have two app addictions. It started a year ago when I got my first smartphone. And yes, it started with those damn Angry Birds.

Is anyone else out there an app addict with me? I can't be the only one. In fact, I like apps so much that I'm hoping to land a part-time job at the app store. But you know what? If there's a 12 step group for app addiction I do not want to go. I've now moved on to my second smartphone so I could have enough memory to store more wonderful apps. I realized I had an app addiction problem when I was doing some reading on a website and was thinking of signing up to use that websites services until I checked to see if they had an app I could get on my phone. They didn't and I thought to myself, "I don't want to do business with any business that doesn't have an app." I'm addicted to having the ability to know what I want to know immediately no matter where I am. And what the hell is wrong with that?

For Christmas I was given an App A Day calendar. Here are a few selections from the calendar:

Food Chime: Food chime is a timer app that reminds a smartphone user to eat at specific intervals. I suppose that this is useful so that if you get to caught up in solving Angry Birds or Stupid Zombies it will prevent you from starving to death. Except, it has a snooze function. If you're too stupid to remember to eat, then a smartphone probably has more memory than you.

Baby Sleep: An app for parents who want to put their baby to sleep to the sound of gentle music. Perfect, we can start creating new app addicts right out of the womb. You'll have kids crying for their Blackberry instead of their pacifier. This must have been created after someone saw that e-trade baby commercial. If I find any parents using this app I'm calling Child Protective Services.

Drunk Blocker: If you add names from your contact list to the app and activate the app before you go out it will prevent you from dialing those people. This is only useful if you're so drunk you forget how to deactivate the app. I'm going to check my wife's phone to see if I made her list. I sure hope so.

Use By Date: This app could also be called Food Poisoning Roulette. The app allegedly helps you determine if a food is still edible even after the use by date. If you install and use this app I'd like to have to committed to a hospital because if you think this is a good use of your time then you are likely a danger to yourself or others in a myriad of ways.

Declaration: Your digital copy of the Declaration of Independence. Great! This will come in handy if Britain decides to try to levy a tax on my tea. Not since 7th grade Social Studies have I needed to reference the Declaration. Anyone else? I suppose it will come in handy when I start my own country. I can just plagiarize the whole thing and just insert the name of my new country.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to have The Phil Factor everywhere you go you can...(I bet you thought I was going to announce a Phil Factor app didn't you?) There's no Phil Factor app yet, but you can share The Phil Factor with your friends by clicking the Facebook Like button below. The Phil Factor is also available on your Amazon Kindle and you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot?

2012-01-03T06:36:00.001-05:00

No, of course not. That's idiotic! Whoever wrote that song is a big, fat, dope. What if we really did that? What if we chose to forget our old acquantances at midnight every New Years? Then we'd have to spend the first 6 months of every year cultivating new friendships so we have someone to go to New Years parties with, whom we are then required to forget again. The Scotsman who wrote that song must have been drunk at the time, which would explain his difficulty remembering things the next day. He must have scribbled down the stupid lyrics on a bar napkin before he blacked out. He probably didn't even see the ball drop. Remember when we were kids and it was the ball, then for a while, like 20 years, they went with an apple? Now just over the past few years they've gone back to the ball thank god. I did not like that apple one bit.

I don't forget old acquaintances, but what I mostly forget is my New Years resolutions. We've all made New Years' resolutions before. It's even possible some of you may have kept them. Not me. I'm tragically bad at keeping my resolutions. Had I succeeded in even a small fraction of my New Years resoltions over the years I would be the most wildly successful person you know. I may still be the most wildly successful person you know, but at this point that's more a statement about you than me.

Here are my New Years resolutions, released out into the wild of the internet, probably landing in a 'cloud' somewhere so that you can all hold me accountable for them next December. Of course I'm assuming that you'll still be reading this blog regularly next December and thinking to yourself, "I wonder if Phil achieved all those resolutions he put here last January?"

Resolution No. 1: Speaking of next December, isn't that when the world is supposed to end? I, Phil, hereby solemnly resolve to prevent the world from ending by the sheer power of my will. Feel free to plan accordingly. You're welcome.

Resolution No. 2: Now you may have thought that resolution No. 1, guaranteeing that the planet will continue to exist would be my big finale of New Years resolutions, but if you thought that, you would be wrong. I like to set my goals high. I like to reach for the stars and dream the impossible dream. I, Phil resolve that in 2012 I will, by sheer power of my will, rehabilitate Lindsay Lohan to the point that she will arrested less than 10 times.

Resolution No. 3: I, Phil, even though I am not running for public office unless the masses rise up to demand it, will end the so called "Occupy" protests across the world. Now don't get too excited about this one. You may not even notice it. My plan is to have the protesters slowly, gradually just sort of go home. It could take a few months.

Resolution No. 4: I, Phil, resolve that in 2012 I will have a Phil Factor Kindle subscriber that is not related to me by blood or marriage. This may be the most challenging of all. I may in fact need some help with this one. Does anyone, anyone at all reading this have any idea how I might accomplish this? I mean, I know how to subscribe by just looking up The Phil Factor in the Kindle store either on my device or online, but how do I get the word out to others that for just 99 cents a month they can never miss an installment of The Phil Factor even if they haven't quite figured out how to manage the new Facebook changes that cause us to miss our friends posts? Like I said before, Mark Zuckerberg is the devil.

I don't what it is, but this year I'm feeling pretty good about my resolutions. Happy New Years to all and I hope your resolutions are already accomplished, especially if you resolved to follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

Don't Sweat My Swag (aka The Middle Aged ManSuit)

2011-12-30T07:05:00.001-05:00

You're doing it right now and you may have no idea. That's ok, it won't hurt. I was doing it almost every day and nobody said anything or seemed to mind. I was doing it right out in public. Didn't get arrested, even once.

Every generation has a uniform, even if they or we don't realize it. Very often we're wearing the uniform of our generation without thinking about it or choosing it. We're quick to recognize other generations uniforms but we never see our own. Unfortunately for me I had a couple experiences recently that pulled back the curtain and exposed me. Or rather, exposed my...uniform.

I see examples of uniforms everywhere I go. Teenagers, who believe they are so independent and like to make a "statement" about their identity are almost the worst offenders. When I pull up to my kids school virtually every girl comes out in sweatpants and Ugg boots while every boy has jeans, a zippered hoodie, and Justin Biebers haircut. (I could have Justin Biebers haircut if I wanted, once the restraining order expires.) Recently my lack of understanding of part of one generations uniform exposed me for what I am...an adult. Ugh. That was painful to admit.

One of my sons asked for money for Christmas so he could buy his own clothes. Apparently at some point me dressing him as myself, a superhero, or in Garanimals is no longer cool. So armed with a pocketful of benjamins (this is a word referring to Benjamin Franklin, who is on the $100 bill) I sent him to the mall completely unsupervised. When he returned home he showed off his purchases, one of which was a wrist watch the size of a hubcap and appearing to weigh several pounds. So after I was hilarious with the Wonder Woman and Flava Flav jokes, one of my other sons saw what appeared to be a NASA satellite affixed to his brothers wrist and informed us that the watch most definitely was "swag." Now being as hip to the teen lingo as I am, I know that "swag" is a good thing. I don't like to be flashy, so I keep my swag in a safe in the basement and only tell my children stories about all the swag I had when I was their age. Later in the week I was with one of my sons at a lesson and his instructor who might be moderately younger and perhaps, if at all possible, a little cooler than I, was wearing a similar swag watch. Apparently a swag watch, or Swatch for short, is an important part of the teen/young adult uniform.

Finally we get to my uniform. I was at the supermarket the other day thinking I was full of swag in my white Nikes, jeans, button down oxford and leather jacket. Then I looked around the supermarket at what appeared to be an army of guys my age wearing some version of the exact same jeans/oxford/leather combo pushing a cart and picking up a gallon of milk and a 12 pack of Cottonelle.It was like a "Where's Waldo" picture where everyone is some slightly altered version of the original Waldo. This was when it hit me. I was wearing The Middle Aged Man Suit.

Let's see, I've referenced Wonder Woman, Ben Franklin and Where's Waldo.Is it possible I don't have as much swag as I thought? Nah!

If you're totally diggin' my swag you can click the Facebook like button below, subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

The Junk on Your Trunk

2011-12-24T07:27:00.001-05:00

Yes, it's the holiday season and with all the festivities we're all probably adding a little junk to our trunk. But that's not the trunk I want to talk about. Not that your trunk isn't worth talking about. I'm sure it's delightful, but it's the junk on your trunk I want to talk about. Many of you have the trunk of your car or SUV festooned with some decorative statement about who you are.

First off, festooning is never good. Just using the word festoon impugns my manliness. And you know I don't have enough manliness to go around impugning it all willy nilly. The fact that I just used "willy nilly" is evidence of the limits of my manliness. Sometimes based on the junk on your trunk I also wonder how much manliness, or sanity, you have.

OBX: You think that you're telling us you've been to the Outer Banks region of North Carolina for vacation. What we see is someone who misspelled Box, which is 13 points in Words with Friends.

13.1 or 26.2: You see these numbers frequently and some of you may have them on your trunk.. Apparently they indicate that the driver has run either a half-marathon (13.1) or full marathon (26.2). You know what? If your such a damn good runner, why don't you just get out of your car and run wherever you're going. You can have the numbers tattooed on your real trunk. And what's with the decimals? This is the United States! Decimals are for Canadians and their new fangled metric system. Oooooh! What a big shot you are! Did you run a tenth or two tenths more than someone? Apparently you have to run the extra tenth or two to get the sticker because I've never seen just a 13 or 26 sticker. I wonder if there are runners out there who feel like failures because they could only make it 13 or 26 miles. I'm having a 20 sticker made. That's the distance in feet from my couch to my refrigerator.

The Stick Figure Family: What is this supposed to tell us? Are you all anorexic, including your dog and cat? I once saw a car with the stick figure family but it was just the Dad and two kids and there was a space between the Dad and kids as if there had been a Mom stick figure and it was removed. Apparently she got that in the divorce settlement. Somewhere there's a sad, lonely woman driving around with a stick figure of herself on her car. If you're a single guy follow that car to the liquor store. She's probably an easy mark right about now. And if you're a single guy, I seriously do not want to see what that stick figure sticker is going to look like.

The Ribbon Magnet: There are so many support ribbon magnets that they've become de-valued. You can support our troops, schleroderma, autism, and your favorite football team with a ribbon magnet for your car. If you're a left handed, autistic, football player from West Point who has bad skin you can probably buy enough ribbon magnets to put a ring of them all the way around your car. In fact, I'm thinking of creating a ribbon magnet for people who feel left out because they have no reason to have a ribbon magnet.

Yes, I know there isn't much of a holiday theme to this one, but if you want to give the gift of The Phil Factor for Christmas, Hannukah or Kwanzaa just click the Facebook "Like" button below. The Phil Factor can also be delivered wirelessly to your Kindle wherever you are for just 99 cents a month. You can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and find me on Words with Friends as Phil2365.

The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo

2011-12-17T10:31:00.001-05:00

To coincide with the release of the movie The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo I've authorized the Franklin Mint to re-release in limited run this classic from The Phil Factor archives. Enjoy!

No, this is not a male version of the popular novel The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. This is much better than that. It's my blog where I make fun of stuff. I'm pretty sure nobody had very many laughs reading that dragon tattoo book. The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo also is not a fictional character. The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo is a guy I see at my Starbuck's almost every morning. To be fair, it's not really my Starbucks. I am neither owner nor manager, but The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo still shows up there regularly regardless of my lack of affiliation with the place.

The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo is bald. Not old man, male pattern baldness bald, but "I shaved my head so I can look like a bad ass" bald. The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo also has a giant scorpion tattooed on his bald head. A scorpion tattoo that is much larger than any real scorpion. The tattoo stretches from the top of his head, wrapping around the back and down to the top of the neck. Each morning I wonder, what exactly is he trying to tell the world about himself?

Evil. I think having a giant scorpion tattooed on a menacing bald head kind of screams evil. My shamrock tattoo says I'm Irish. His scorpion tattoo says 'I'm evil." In fact after observing The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo daily for awhile now, I'm pretty sure he is actually Satan. Yup, the real one. Apparently, just like you and me, Satan stops for his Starbucks fix on his way to work every day. Coffee black of course. None of those frou frou girly drinks with whipped cream. He keeps to himself and goes about his business quietly while at Starbucks, but just the same, I'm pretty sure he's Satan. He makes small talk with the baristas so as not to arouse any suspicion. He tips, but never too much or too little. He always sits alone at the table by the window.

I suppose it's possible right? I mean, Satan has a job to do every day doesn't he? If he didn't show up for work each day encouraging evil, imagine all the police officers, military, and jail staff that would be out of work. Without evil our economy suffers. So like the rest of us, Satans day begins when his alarm goes off. Because he's evil, he hits snooze. Twice. Then I imagine Satan walking his dog clad in pajama pants and a Motley Crue reunion tour t-shirt. Obviously, he doesn't pick up the poop in a little bag because of his inherent evil nature. Unlike me, Satan never bothers to iron his shirt for work either. Before leaving for work he grabs his bagged lunch, grumbling over the low carb kick his wife is on, and gives Mrs. Satan a little kiss and let's her know if he'll be home late because there's a need for a little extra unrest in the middle east. Then he hops in the Satan mobile (you would think a red car, but he thinks that's too flashy and goes with black. Tinted windows of course. Maybe a Mustang.) Then he stops at Starbuck's to have his coffee and go over his schedule, all the while making a mental note that when he gets some extra time he'll have to perpetrate some evil on that guy in the suit who stares at him every morning.

Remember the 1995 Joan Osborne song, "What if God Were One of Us?" If God could be one of us, so could Satan. And if Satan had a name, I imagine it wouldn't be any of those fancy biblical names like Beezlebub or Lucifer. Seriously, how much of a give away would that be? He'd be constantantly hounded by fans and papparazzi. No, I'm pretty sure that if Satan has a name it's something like Ed. And yes Ms. Osborne, I would call him Ed to his face. I wonder if Ed has a blog...If he does, I'm pretty sure he gets more reads than the 27 I got last week because his friends click on the Facebook "Share" button below. C'mon people, we can't let evil win!

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to help me defeat evil you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor

The Guy Code of Conduct Chapter 3: Present Buying

2011-12-10T07:16:00.001-05:00

It's the most wonderful time of the year. Yeah, if you like mental and emotional torture. It's that time of year when we as men are put to the test. The relationship test. Well, it's not THE relationship test. There are countless relationship tests day in and day out that test our mettle as a husband, fiance or boyfriend. Buying presents for special occasions is one of those tests. Whether you celebrate Hannukah or Christmas, put on your thinking caps boys because it's time to sharpen your perceptive accumen. Make no mistake though, it's not me assuming that men have perceptive accumen, it's the women, and therein lies the problem.

Did anyone see or read The Davinci Code or any of the sequels to it? Professor Robert Langdon kept finding himself in life threatening situations in which he has to solve a mystery using obscure clues found in ancient artifacts and works of art that were usually hidden all over some city. Sounds like Christmas shopping doesn't it? Langdon had it easy though. He was only up against a murderous cult or psychotic nutcase. And if he was successful in saving the day he usually got a little nookie at the end. Still sounds like Christmas shopping to me.

Now back to that perceptive accumen. Let's hop in Peabody's Wayback Machine, destination 1989. Our hero Phil had a fiance. And a mullet.Typically those last two things are mutually exclusive. One day Phil, his fiance and his mullet were strolling merrily through a store in a mall when the fiance saw a shower massage and said, "Oh, I'd like one of those." Fast forward a month when said fiance opens her Christmas gift to find the aforementioned shower massage. And it was a damn nice shower massage too. If it was a Davinci Code novel, however, Langdon's family would be dead and he was getting no nookie. Not even in the shower. I kept the fiance, lost the mullet and stll hear that shower massage mentioned every year as an example of the worst gift buying ever.

My point is, sometimes the subtle hints women drop regarding what they want are often lost on men. It's not that we're stupid, it's that our brains work differently. Men are hard wired for action and reaction. We are hunters while women are gatherers. I've seen the pet pyschic have better luck interpreting a single woof from a one eyed, three legged basset hound with the pulse of a ficus tree. "What's that Lucky? Your owner doesn't hug you enough? You miss your siblings who were left behind at the pound? Wait, I hear a voice coming through from beyond. I think it's your grandmother. She says 'woof, woof', does that mean something to you? Wait, I'm translating, she says she didn't want a shower massage for Christmas. She wanted a rawhide chew." That's right, it's a pet pychic who channels the spirits of dead animals. And he's still more accurate at that than most men are at deciphering the byzantine, labrynthine maze of clues women leave to test us.

Getting the wrong gift ruins Christmas for everyone. If a woman isn't happy with her gift, we can tell and we feel like a jerk. Nobody wins. Often a Christmas gone wrong might go like this:

Woman: (sigh) "oh, a sweater. Thanks."

Guy: "What? What's wrong? That time when we were in the store you said you liked that sweater.You didn't mention anything else."

Woman: "Yes I did. Several times. Remember when we went out to dinner and I said I liked the dessert? Well they make the dessert with the Cuisinart 6000 Deluxe Mixmaster Turbo. And I wanted it in taupe to match my kitchen. And one of those Jane Seymour necklaces."

Guy: "What the hell is taupe? And those stupid Jane Seymour necklaces don't look anything like hearts. They look like swans."

Guys, don't stress yourself over gathering clues. Our brains aren't made they way. We're hunters. Ladies, if you want something just say it and we will go hunt it down. Yeah, I know, not a great final punchline, but c'mon, I worked in shower massages, pet psychics and Jane Seymour here, that's gotta be enough.

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2011: The Year In Review?

2011-12-02T06:45:00.001-05:00

No, just kidding. I'm seriously not going to review the year either personally or in music, movies, or news. I love the holidays, but I hate watching t.v. this time of year. There isn't a single media outlet that can resist the obligatory "Year in Review" piece. Why? We all know what happened! We don't need the events ranked for us. And for cryin' out loud don't give us that videography set to music of the people that died this year! That's so depressing it makes me want to join that list immediately.

I'm also not one to send one of those form letter Christmas cards: "Dear (insert name here), 2011 was a wonderful year for my family. I started a new job, little Johnny learned to poop indoors and that rash on Susie's face cleared up...blah, blah, blah...." If you're a friend, I've talked to you throughout the year, followed you on Facebook and you know what I've been doing and I know what you've been doing. So lets look ahead. Why not list what we'd like to see in the coming year? Here is my list of things I'd like to see happen in 2012.

1. More David Blaine. I hate him, but I miss him. Where the hell did that guy go? A couple years ago you couldn't walk down to your mailbox without finding him locked inside it. He was on t.v. constantly, just locking himself inside stuff. For no reason! No one even asked him to! I think maybe he locked himself in something two years ago and couldn't get out and we all just forgot about him.

2. I'd like an end to all reality shows. Each and every one of them. There is an entire generation of television writers who haven't had to come up with a new idea in 15 years. Even the "new" ideas for reality shows aren't original. Most of the original reality show ideas were stolen from foreign television. "Reality" television isn't remotely like any reality I've ever seen. Not once in my reality have I been stranded on a desert island or locked in a house with a bunch of strangers and forced to manipulate others or eat live bugs in order to win a pizza.

3. I'd like to see a law passed eliminating Leap Year and Day. All months should be the same length. This goes along with my Daylight Savings Time grudge. If we didn't muck about with our clocks so much we could probably get our calendar straightened out too.

4. I'd like to see 2012 pass without so much as a single "news" item using the words "Lohan" or "Kardashian." Oh my God. I just had a thought. What if Lindsay Lohan marries Rob Kardashian?

5. 2012 is an election year and I'll say it again: I think we ought to elect our next President American Idol style. Week by week eliminations until the winner is announced on live t.v. Why not? It would get more people involved in the political process if they could participate via television and cell phone. Instead of 80's hits night we'd have the New Hampshire primary. Then again, why not 80's hits night? I think the President should be able to inform and entertain during the State of the Union address. If they hold open auditions in a town near me I am so going to sleep out overnight to be in line. Gingrich and Obama would have no shot at beating out my obvious charm. And I would look really tall standing next to Ryan Seacrest.

If you enjoy my nonsense and wan to see it continue in 2012 you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle, follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor, and of course, please feel free to click the Facebook like button on this page to share my idiocy with your friends.

Dental Problems

2011-11-26T07:09:00.001-05:00

Many people find dentist visits to be, at the least, anxiety provoking. I have an extensive history with dentists dating back to when I broke a tooth in the second grade. In fact, an oral surgeon once uttered the word, Oops!" while working in my mouth. That's reassuring huh? Despite that history, the most frightening part of dental visits is...receiving the appointment reminder card in the mail.

What? Yes, that's right. The appointment reminder card freaks me out. Every time. Again, not because I fear the dentist. I like my dentist. We chit chat about our kids who play baseball. My hygienist is delightful and I've seen her for the past 15 years. It feels like I'm just visiting old friends when I go to the dentist. So why does the appointment reminder card freak me out? It's simple. It's because the reminder card is in my own handwriting. At the conclusion of each appointment I'm handed a postcard on which I dutifully fill out my own name, address, and next appointment. My hygienist then takes the card and five and a half months later mails it to me.

So why the freak out? The freak out happens when I return home on any idle Tuesday and get my mail. As I rifle through the assorted bills and junk mail suddenly I come across a handwritten postcard that stands out because it's handwritten, as so little mail we receive these days is. Usually when I receive mail with a handwritten name and address I don't recognize the writing. This time however the writing is oddly familiar. I know it, but at first I don't know to whom the script belongs. I think, "why do I know this writing?" It's just a brief moment, but for some reason I hate that moment of knowing that I recognize the writing but I'm not certain whose it is. It's kind of an eerie feeling as if someone is screwing with me. Like it might be a serial killer dressed in a clown costume taunting me by mail before he stalks me in earnest and eventually sneaks into my house to leave my bunny boiling in a pot on the stove for me to discover. Yes, for that one tenth of a second before I recognize my own handwriting, it's that kind of thing that flashes through my mind. Is it just me, or does everyone else hate getting mail from themselves? I wish they would just let me send myself an e-mail.

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Unusual Things I'm Thankful For

2011-11-22T17:06:00.001-05:00

In the United States it's traditional to get together with family on Thanksgiving and share the important things you're thankful for before gorging yourself on a meal centered upon the large, dead carcass of the ugliest bird in North America. Every year everyone shares the usual platitudes about being thankful for family, friends and good heath. Duh! Who can't come up with that? When I decided to write this I set out to write a positive, uplifting post so that my loyal readers don't think that my every thought and written or spoken word are tinged with biting sarcasm. So without further adieu, here are some of the everyday things I am thankful for:

Satellite radio. I have over 150 stations to choose from. I can pre-program 30 of them, making them available to me at the touch of a single button. I don't ever have to listen to a radio commercial ever again. I can put my satellite radio on one station and drive my car clear across the country without ever changing the channel. All because somewhere, several miles above the Earth, is a giant satellite beaming the radio signal directly to my car. I don't care if they discover that these satellite waves, possibly going straight through my skull on their way to my radio, cause tumors. The trade off is so worth it.

Scallops wrapped in bacon. In my opinion there is nothing else edible that can cause me to go into a swoon like scallops wrapped in bacon with a little toothpick through them. I highly recommend removing the toothpick before ingesting these wonderful little delicacies. The taste isn't half as good when half of a toothpick is scraping it's way down the inside of your esophagus. If there is a Nobel Prize for cooking somebody should get one for this idea. Now these are a food to base a holiday around!

The Name Game. You know the name game right? That little rhyming thing where you take any name and impose nonsense syllables upon it. With my name it goes like this: Philly Philly bo billy, banana fana fo Philly, me my mo milly, Philly! I didn't learn how to do this until I was 21 years old and it never fails to cheer me up or make me smile. I want to see everyone do the name game with their own name when you post a comment below. (Just for fun at home, try it with the name Ducky)

The interwebs. Thank you Al Gore for inventing it for us. Without it how would we ever find our perfect match using 29 personality variables? Also without the interwebs I could never get the daily positive reinforcement for my ridiculous thoughts and theories that I get when I check my blog and see how many page views I got. I was always that kid that caused your teachers and parents to say, "Don't laugh, you'll only encourage him." Thank you all for encouraging me. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

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The Curse of Bradley Cooper

2011-11-17T19:05:00.001-05:00

People Magazine recently named their Sexiest Man Alive, and again, it wasn't me. Bradley Cooper?!!? Puh- leeze! I scrape stuff off my shoe that's sexier than Bradley Cooper. Have you noticed they always choose actors? Not once have they considered a blogger. First of all, I wasn't even interviewed. How fair is that? Go on, compare his picture, which you have to Google to even find, while I put mine right here for all to see, with mine in the top left of the page. His picture, my picture. His picture, my picture. His picture, my picture. I've been doing that all night and I still don't see it. Sexier than me? Who is doing the rating? Ray Charles? Stevie Wonder? (Why aren't there famous blind women?) I'm mean, c'mon, as far as I know he is completely unemployed right now. Meanwhile I have a full time job with health insurance and everything!

And how about Facebook, the social convention by which all human value is measured. Does Bradley let you be his Facebook friend? No, of course not. He is snooty. Snooty? Snotty! I of course will quote Ferris Bueller and let you be my Facebook friend. Check. Scoreboard, Phil again. And talk about snotty! He goes by his full name, Bradley. He's too good for Brad isn't he? Do see me going by Philip? Of course not. The Philip Factor would sound stupid and snotty.

Raise your hand if you've read Bradley Cooper's blog? Of course you haven't! He doesn't have a blog. I do. I have a blog, a full-time job, health insurance and the ability to use what I've learned about personal hygiene. Cooper? No, no, no, and a big NO on the hygiene. Ask yourself this, who have you spent more time reading about this year, him or me? We all know the answer to that. You've been to my blog at least once or twice a week. How many times a week do you go out of your way to read what Bradley Cooper has to say? In fact, you see my picture everytime you visit this blog. Because of that you've definitely looked at my picture more than you've looked at Bradley Cooper's this year too. Do you know why? That's right, because I'm sexier. Case closed. In fact my argument here is so watertight that I doubt Bradley (read with sarcastic tone) will even attempt to refute it. In fact Bradley, if you disagree, feel free to post a comment here stating your case.

Addendum: I had written all of the above last night with the intention of posting it this morning. Today I got up, took my dogs out, and as I re-entered my home I turned for a moment and as I turned back, the door I had just opened, much to my surprise, decided to meet me halfway, causing a 1 1/2 inch gash in my forehead that required four stitches. Bradley, you and your witchy ways may have delayed me from posting this, but I was not to be deterred. My hope is that the new scar on my forehead will only increase my ruggedly, handsome good looks to the point that People Magazine will see the error of their ways and I will supplant you.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to support my bid for Sexiest Blogger Alive you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle, follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and of course, scroll down a little and click the Facebook "Like" button below.

The Fountain of Youth

2011-11-13T06:49:00.001-05:00

I've discovered the Fountain of Youth. We'll, I didn't really discover it. Someone else did and told me about it, and now I'm telling you. Well, I'm not telling you NOW. If I told you in the first paragraph you wouldn't continue reading would you? We all want to live forever though don't we? I know I do, as long as I get to keep all my mental and physical faculties intact. Since I can't imagine myself any other way, I'm pretty sure that's how it's going to work out.

I like my teeth. I use them almost every day. They keep my face from caving in, and damn it although it may sound vain, that's important to me. So, I've always been good about brushing my teeth at least twice a day because I hope to keep my real teeth for as long as I keep all the other parts of my body alive and functioning. According to some real, medical research I've been reading, (yeah, when motivated by the desire to live forever I'll read anything) your teeth, and mine, are important to survival, and not just because they allow us to eat food, which I'm led to believe is also important to survival. Maybe I should re-phrase that, the teeth themselves aren't all that important to survival, except for the eating part. It's the care and maintenance of said chompers which leads to a longer lifespan.

About 5 years ago I did one of those surveys on www.realage.com to see how long I would live, and much to my surprise, how often I flossed my teeth had a significant impact on how long I would live. So, I dedicated myself to flossing at least weekly. Then about two years ago at my annual cleaning the dental hygienist said I needed to floss more because I was getting, get this, "calculus" between my teeth. Oh the horror! Calculus! I was so not a math major in high school. I barely passed trig, so I sure as hell was not ready to deal with Calculus in my 40's. I will do anything to avoid math, and calculus between my teeth did not sound good. So I re-dedicated myself to my grueling weekly flossing regimen.

Ok, as brilliantly funny as my blog posts are, this is getting long, so I'll get to the point. I recently read that flossing your teeth daily will add 3-5 years to your life. To recap, I want to live forever, which means that eventually you'll all fall off my Facebook friend list, and hopefully you'll stipulate in your will that your children continue to read my blog. What it also means is that I'm actually flossing my teeth daily. In fact, I thought to myself, if flossing your teeth daily helps you live up to 5 years longer, I'm going to floss twice a day so I can live 10 years longer. That's right, my plan is to push the upper limits of human longevity as far as possible. Once my gums stop bleeding and my flossing muscles are no longer sore, I'll up my flossing to three times daily and then maybe four, with the longevity benefit obvious. You do the math. 90 years from now when I'm President and I open the time capsule at the Smithsonian in D.C. and a copy of this blog post is there I think my point will have been made.

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We're All Gonna Die!

2011-11-09T07:57:00.001-05:00

“We’re all gonna die!” It seemed very funny to shout that out during a fire drill my freshman year at Cicero High School. It was still funny to my friend John Martin and I after we realized our only consequence would be a stern talking to by the principal. Yes, when confronted I dragged my friend into it. “He dared me to,” I said. What had really happened was that in the midst of 2000 students being evacuated from our high school I had turned to my friend John and said, “Do you dare me to yell ‘We’re all gonna die’?” Of course John took me up on my offer and unwittingly became my accomplice when I caught heat from the man. At the time I was young and foolish with no concept of my own mortality. I thought death was something to be laughed at. I no longer think death is funny.

I generally still do not believe in my own mortality, but I’m starting to hedge my bets in this regard. Just because it happens to other people doesn’t mean it will happen to me. As my mother always said, “If your friend jumped off a bridge does that mean you have to also?” Much to my mother’s eternal satisfaction I am answering NO. If you want to die, go ahead and do it, but I refuse to be a follower.

My problem is that earlier this week scientists with a telescope larger than a third world country notified us that an asteroid would be buzzing our planet last night close enough to knock some branches off of the trees in my back yard. I may not believe that I am going to die, but I’m not completely unrealistic. I will admit than an asteroid, in most cases, is larger than me and if it hit me in the head I would have a hard time surviving that. Yes, I know I have a large head, but not large enough that it has it's own gravitational pull. Yet.

Who I’m really angry at is the scientists. Damn them and their ever inquisitive minds! Why did they have to tell me this? Did anyone here really want to know that getting hit by an asteroid the size of Rhode Island is a possibility? In this case ignorance was bliss. Why couldn’t the scientists just leave well enough alone? My entire life I’ve been at the top of the food chain and that has been a pretty secure feeling. Now this. Now I have to spend the rest of my life staring up at the night sky looking for black holes and asteroids. In general I figure that if a really big one hit the Earth I’d be fine as long as it didn’t hit me directly in the head.

Maybe all this is why the scientists developed the male birth control pill. They just figured that if “we’re all gonna die” then we might as well start gettin’ jiggy with it. Yes, that’s right, I said jiggy. I'm bringin' jiggy back. In fact, that’s probably the new science geek pick up line. “Hey baby, you know we might get hit by an asteroid any minute, so why don’t you just go ahead and get jiggy with me?” Obviously I'm cool enough to say jiggy, but the scientists aren't. When I'm elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I'm going to pass a law stating that if the scientists see an asteroid headed our way unless they have some way to make the entire planet duck out of the way they should just shut the hell up.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to make sure you don't miss an episode until the big one hits, you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor. And if you're a Cicero High School alum click the Facebook like button below so we can continue to reminisce together about our high school highjinks. And tell John I said Hi.

Daylight Stupid Time

2011-11-02T05:41:00.001-04:00

Yeah, I posted this before. And I'm going to keep posting it until it changes. Yes, it's happening again. This weekend, in case you didn't know, Daylight Savings Time ends.First off, why isn't it called daylight spending time since we are using more daylight in the summer months?

I don't know if other countries do this, and I know that all of the states in the U.S. don't abide by it. Daylight Savings time is when we move our clocks forward an hour in the spring and move them back an hour in the fall. I think it was created about 100 years ago to give farmers more daylight in which to do their work in the fields. Call me crazy, but why the hell didn't someone just suggest that the lazy ass farmers drag themselves out of a bed a little earlier each day? Because those cud chewing, overall wearing, udder jerking lay abouts can't be bothered to set their alarm clocks we are all stuck changing time. I don't know if anyone else noticed, but about 7 or 8 years ago the U.S. Congress, in another colossal waste of their time and our tax dollars, extended daylight savings time by a few weeks on either end. At this point the farmers (except the creepy Amish ones) all have electricity and alarm clocks, which may not have been the case 100 years ago. Reportedly the reason Congress is doing this is to save energy. How will changing our clocks twice a year save energy? Don't we set our thermostats and use heat based on the outdoor temperature, not how light out it is? I'd like to save the energy I expend changing my damn clocks! I'd like Congress to tell me when I get that back. Congress is again proving to be the biggest collection of morons outside of...well...I guess I can't think of a bigger collection. Why doesn't Congress set their alarm clocks an hour earlier so they can get up early and get more of this important work done? I for one am not going to go for this stupid daylight savings time thing anymore. I don't work at a farm or for Congress, so I told my boss that for 6 months I'll be to work an hour early or late, however it works out. When I'm elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, this is going to change.

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I Am Pro-Choice! (It's not what you think)

2011-10-28T06:29:00.001-04:00

As the political races are getting into high gear I thought I'd come out with one of my most important political statements. I AM PRO CHOICE. No, not in the political hot potato sense of the phrase. My personal, political and religious beliefs aren't fervent enough to hold up to public scrutiny. But I AM PRO CHOICE. Here is the choice that I want:

When I walk into a public restroom, I would like the opportunity to choose if I want to dry my hands with a paper towel, or if I want to stand there like a dope rubbing my hands together under the pathetically underpowered air dryer. Whose hands do these things actually dry? Don't we all just end up wiping our hands on our pants as we walk out anyway? If you actually want your hands dried by these machines you'd have to stand there long enough that anyone you came with would probably think you had escaped out of the bathroom window. If you actually use a hand dryer to full effect everytime you use a public restroom you'll probably waste hours of your life each year and in the long run waste a significant portion of your finite time on Earth rubbing your hands together under what amounts to nothing more than the same breeze you'd get if you just walked around waving your hands in the air. The air dryers are fine for anyone who wants to save trees, but I resent the places that have made the choice for you and don't provide any type of paper towels at all, forcing you to use the hand dryer, or worse yet, trying to dry your wet hands with toilet paper that will only tear and stick all over your hands. In fact, I feel so strongly about this that if a restaurant actually posted a sign saying that they add 50 cents to every bill to cover the cost of planting trees to replace the trees cut down to make the paper towels in their restroom I would patronize that restaurant for every meal.

When I become President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I'm going to pass a law....

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Occupy This!

2011-10-23T08:35:00.001-04:00

Aaaah! Thank goodness thousands are sitting around on the sidewalks and in the parks in the biggest cities' financial districts all over the world. I'm feeling better about my 401k already. Yup, there's nothing better to save the world economy from doom than sitting around on your ass with cardboard signs. I'm pretty sure that must be how the Roman Empire was built.

Hmmmm...I wonder who the brain trust is behind this movement? How did that meeting go? "Let's see, we have no jobs, and we want jobs. What's the best way to fix that? I know, let's go sit around in the street! That will look great on my resume!" Looking back on world history how many problems have been solved by doing nothing instead of something? American Revolution: sitting, or throwing tea in the harbor? (Or if you're in Boston it's the "haahbah") Berlin Wall: Did they sit next to it, or did they knock it down? Capturing Bin Laden: Did our troops go to the Middle East and sit down until Bin Laden surrendered? Let's see...where have we seen the "I don't like what's going on so I'm going to sit down right here until someone gives me what I want" attitude? Oh that's right! That's how 4 year olds try to solve problems! Now if the Wall St. protesters would just hold their breath until they get what they want I'm pretty sure we could knock a few percent off the unemployment rate at the same time.

Yeah, I'm thinking that if a Fortune 500 company offers a job to any one of those "protesters" they would be suiting up and toeing a company line in a high rise on Wall St. in about two minutes. I wonder how long these sitting outdoors protests are going to last in New York when the first snow falls in about two weeks. I have a message for all of the Wall St. protesters who are reading my blog on their iphones as they sit in the street: Get out of the way you morons. Everyone who can fix the economy is trying to get to work and you're slowing them down, and thus by extension, slowing the economic recovery with your stupid "protest." Sitting down is not a protest. I'm sitting down right now and I'm not protesting anything. Well, actually, I'm protesting the fact that not enough of you are subscribing to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle.

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The United States of Oprah

2011-10-11T07:21:00.001-04:00

Oprah has a new t.v. show starting next week. And it's on every freaking night. Is it just me, or did every else think to themselves, "Oh my God! I thought we just got rid of her. What the hell else can she possibly have to say?"

Oprah Winfrey is arguably the most famous person in America. Oprah Winfrey could probably buy Switzerland and have enough money left over to order a pizza. If George W. Bush likes a book, it's probably by Dr. Suess. If Oprah Winfrey likes a book it becomes a bestseller. (I sure hope she likes my blog) If you help Oprah lay off the carbs for a few weeks, you can get your own t.v. show and become a pop culture icon. If Hollywood ever decides to update the ancient fable of King Midas as a movie they could just substitute Oprah's life story. Why she doesn't just ride to her public appearances in a Popemobile is beyond me. Was this paragraph redundant? Absolutely. Was it superfluous? I think not.

You get the point. Oprah is big, and not in the way she used to be. Her popularity has reached heights that few celebrities ever have known. Barack Obama can only dream of a public consensus like that. My question is, what's stopping Oprah from running for the presidency? If the population is, as they say, 52% women, how could she be stopped? Scary thought huh? Then again, I might not be opposed to Oprah as President. Think about it...with her money she could bail out the U.S. economy without batting an eyelash. And can you imagine the State of the Union address when she says, "To help stimulate the economy...(dramatic pause)...everyone in the United States gets a new car!" In fact, I hope Oprah does become President because that would mean we would probably see her on t.v. a lot less.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to support my bid for the presidency you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

Willy Wonka for the iGeneration

2011-10-07T20:05:00.001-04:00

"The post-Cold War kids laid claim to AIM, LOL, OMG, yo, BRB, Space, colon, dash, closed parentheses. We sat at our laptops and typed away, and found that we each had something to say. Web-logged our fears, our hopes, and dreams. Individuated by digital means."-from "iGeneration" by MC Lars

Steve Jobs and his products defined a generation. More than the old labels that said some age group or another was "Generation X" or "Generation Y", Steve Jobs and his partner Steve Wozniak, made us all, to borrow a phrase from sarcastic rapper McLars, the iGeneration. News coverage of his passing has been ubiquitous this week. I've heard a variety of reactions ranging from sadness to "why is everyone upset? He was just a guy that ran a company."

Steve Jobs was more than "just a guy who ran a company." He was our real life Willy Wonka, creating wonders in his chocolate factory that we never imagined but suddenly couldn't live without. A quiet recluse who fiercely guarded his private life, but then when he had a new Wonka Bar or Everlasting Gobstopper to introduce he would emerge from his castle in his loafers, jeans and black turtle neck to show us how his new, wonderful creation worked, kind of how as a kid your Dad would take you down to his workshop to show you his new gadget or shiny power tool. The secrecy that surrounded the new inventions coming from Apple offices and factories kept all the other tech companies' Mr. Gates Slugworth just one step behind. I wonder if the workers at Apple all look like Oompa Loompas....And damn it, wouldn't we all love to have been his Charlie Bucket? But alas, who but a man with the imagination of a child could create the wonders he did?

Steve Jobs may not have created the internet, but he gave us the internet in a multitude of ways from the first Mac to iPods to the iPhone4S. His inventions gave us the world in ways we never thought possible. And his Pixar Animation Studios gave us Woody and Buzz Lightyear whose motto "To infinity and beyond!" seems to perfectly capture what Steve Jobs thought possible. In my whimsical imagination I like to fantasize that before his physical body succumbed to cancer Steve somehow created one last amazing gadget that allowed him to upload his consciousness, his electrical brain wave patterns, to "the cloud" and that somewhere Steve Jobs is flowing through the information superhighway and able to see all the joy his creations brought to the world.

As a related aside you can download the song "iGeneration" by MC Lars from of course the iTunes store. And if you enjoy my nonsense you can use your Wonka Bar to subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle or follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

Rules For Choosing Your Facebook Pic

2011-10-04T20:15:00.001-04:00

More than our driver's license photo, the Facebook picture is the face we show the world. That being the case, why do so many people screw it up? If you want friends and family to find you, is a picture of your left eye and forehead is going to help? Maybe a profile picture of your cat is the best way for prospective employers to say to themselves, "A cat? Well if this person has a cat they must be the kind of self-confident, go-getter we need on our staff immediately!"

I know choosing just the right photo to is of crucial importance, so based on my extensive knowledge and experience at having an opinion, I've compiled these rules to help you put your best face forward.

1. If you're under 21, I think the 'standing in front of the bathroom mirror holding your phone out' picture is required, especially after every new haircut. If you're a girl under 21 you must never appear in a Facebook picture alone. Get a friend and lean back holding your phone out. Wearing sunglasses is recommended. Who am I kidding, no one under 21 is reading my blog. Hell, no one under 21 even knows what a blog is. To them a blog might as well be a vinyl record album.

2. When to choose the pet photo as your profile pic? A) when your pet is a near and dear part of your life, B) When you want to make sure no one searching for you will ever find you unless you have the world's most unique name, C) If an employer you're applying to is in a pet related industry, D) If you actually look like that, or E) Never, there's no good reason to portray yourself as an animal! Have some confidence! If someone is looking for you on Facebook they already know what you look like. Stop trying to hide like you're in a witness protection program run by dogs and cats.

3. The "I'm a fun person" photo. This is usually you in a Hawaiian print shirt holding a drink on a beach, boat, and/or surrounded by people. What a statement. This says that you're a fun, sociable person who has lots of friends and is always on the go doing something exciting. You know we don't believe that right? We can tell it was taken in 1998, the last time you were at a party like that. Yeah, we know this because we all put up the same picture at one time or another. We know that you, just like us, is home on Friday night scrolling through your week of Tivo'd shows, camping out on Facebook and nodding off from a glass of wine.

4. The kids photo: Awwww....how cute! Now we know you have no life outside of schlepping your kids to soccer practice and school concerts. And have you ever noticed most parents only have pictures of their kids when they're under 10 years old? That's because none of us are all that thrilled to have them anymore once they've grown into teenagers.

5. The couple photo: When you're married, this is of course always acceptable, unless you have multiple spouses in which case you should probably stick with the solo photo for recruitment purposes. The couple photo when you're dating? Oh you're so in love and they're the one! Are you kidding me? How often will that stay on your page for very long?

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to be in my Facebook picture you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhil Factor.

Yield To This!

2011-09-28T07:55:00.001-04:00

The sign above here is symbolic of everything that is wrong with the United States. Yes, that's right, everything. "State Law: Yield to Pedestrians in Crosswalk." Is this in anyone elses state? These signs started popping up in New York about two years ago. At first I thought they were just a small town thing. You know, those little towns without a stoplight and just one general store that is as much a social center as a place to shop for essentials. I can see these signs in towns where life moves slower and a motorist is just as apt to stop their vehicle to chat with a pedestrian about Edith's gout and the weather.

I would be fine if these little traffic impediments limited themselves to towns where Amish buggies share the road with cars, but that's not the case. Like an ivy that seems harmless at first, these laws and signs have crept into my city and town and are choking traffic. I can hardly finish a text without a half dozen stops and starts for people who suddenly believe that their soft, fleshy 150 lbs. are suddenly impervious to the might of my 3000 lb. death mobile hurtling towards them at 40 mph.

Don't get me wrong, in general I'm not in favor of running down pedestrians with my car, but let's have some common sense. This is a dangerous law. "But Phil," you say, "how is it dangerous? It seems like it is meant to protect people." Yes, it is meant to protect people, but from what? From their own stupidity. Why should we train people that it's OK to step off the curb without looking? Without consequence?

Now, children will grow up believing that it's just fine to run into a road. People don't need to get more comfortable with traffic, but less comfortable. With drivers busy eating, talking on cell phones, texting, and watching their GPS for the next turn pedestrians need to be on their toes constantly regardless of what the streeet sign says. This law goes against Darwin's evolutionary theory. It used to be that only the strong and smartest survived to procreate. Now with laws like this that protect the stupid people, everyone gets to survive and procreate! Do we really need more people who aren't smart enough to yield to a speeding car? I imagine years from now we will need to invent hover cars because our Earthbound roads will just be clogged with dolts crossing the street all day just because they can.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to make sure I don't run you down, you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

The Hamster Ball People

2011-09-23T06:56:00.001-04:00

We all know what a hamster ball is right? Generally I have no problems with hamsters or balls. What I do have a problem with is Hamster Ball People. What or who are Hamster Ball People you ask?

The Hamster Ball People are those people who move about the Earth as if they are in a giant plastic hamster ball, as if they are surrounded by a giant invisible bubble that is their space and theirs alone. Still not sure? Let me give you a few examples:

At the supermarket you push your cart along happily gathering what you need for the gourmet feast you're planning for that evening. As you turn the corner to find that one, last elusive item you need to complete your shopping, there sits a Hamster Ball Person. They are definitely in the middle of the aisle, cart parked sideways as they ponder what appears to be the most difficult decision of their lives. That entire aisle belongs to them don't you know? Or if perhaps they are actually pushing their cart, they are moving a such a glacial speed that you think their legs may fuse together, or already have. And of course they are in the middle of the aisle as if their invisible hamster ball won't let them move to either side to let other shoppers pass. Oh, that's right! They don't actually recognize that there are other shoppers because the entire store exists to serve their needs.

On the roads the Hamster Ball People aren't as egregious in their behavior, but they exhibit the same traits. The Hamster Ball People are likely to be the car that will stop regardless of traffic, on any road, without pulling over to the side, to read a sign, look at someones Halloween decorations, just to point at a bird they saw, or to chat with a neighbor who is mowing their lawn.

At the bank the Hamster Ball People are the ones who on a Friday lunch hour with 40 people waiting in line will take up at least a half hour with the teller because they don't understand the ATM fee on their bank statement.

Another place the Hamster Ball People foul things up for the rest of men is in the men's room. Classic men's room etiquette insists that unless your bladder is in danger of literally exploding and splashing everyone within a 10 foot blast radius with urine and torn skin, you are not to ever use a urinal directly next to another man. The Hamster Ball People do respect this rule, but to an annoying degree. If there are only three urinals in a men's room, as there often are, A Hamster Ball Person will go to the middle, leaving anyone who follows them the choice of either standing directly next to them, or waiting until the Hamster Ball Person leaves. You ladies may just think men are being silly about this, but really, do you want to go to the bathroom with no divider between you and you're close enough that you might rub shoulders?

The best part of this post is that I know that from now on whenever you go somewhere and see someone displaying any of these behaviors, in you're head you'll think "Hamster Ball People"

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to step into my hamster ball more often you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

Speedos, Cigs, and Vespas: Why the Europeans are Better Than You

2011-09-20T07:00:00.001-04:00

Believe it or not, TSA allowed me on a flight to Europe last week. I think they were hoping I only had a one way ticket because I definitely had an easier time getting out of the U.S. than back into it. My job took me to Spain and I managed not to get into a fight with any one from any country. Apparently The Phil Factor is universally adored.

The trip however, was an education.

1. Europeans are not afraid of lung cancer. How cool is that? In the long run that isn't a bad thing either because it will result in fewer Europeans. Apparently word that cigarettes are bad for you hasn't reached Europe yet. The Europeans love their cigs just about anytime of day anyplace they are no matter what they're doing. The world class hotel I stayed in even had an entire floor of rooms set aside for smokers. Fortunately although I am not a smoker, I was graciously placed on the smoking floor so that I could enjoy the wonderful European ambience.

2. Europeans aren't afraid of skin cancer either. Based on my observations I think Europeans are in better physical shape than Americans and they are damn proud of it, especially at the beach in front of my hotel where clothing was optional. Unfortunately much of their pride in their bodies was sadly overestimated by the owners of many of those bodies. There needs to be an upper age limit imposed for beach nudity. And the dudes over there seriously love their Speedos. I saw a guy jogging in a Speedo, and he was smoking at the same time.

3. 9 o'clock is the new 4 o'clock: I think I figured out why the Europeans are in better shape than we are. They eat at weird times. They don't lunch until about 2 pm and dinner until 9 or 10 pm. If I had to wait until 10 pm for my dinner, most days I would either pass out from low blood sugar or just plain fall asleep and miss the meal altogether.

4. The Euro rocks: The American dollar may buy less and less these days, but the Euro is awesome. One Euro is like $40 American! Do you know how many Speedos you can buy with a Euro? Me neither. I swear. Apparently all the Europeans spend their Euro's on Speedos, cigs and Vespas.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to travel to far away exotic lands through the power of reading you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhil Factor.

Celebrate Good Times, C'mon!

2011-09-08T07:18:00.001-04:00

Football season is back. I'm a sports fan. I enjoy playing sports and watching them. I wish I enjoyed my job as much as football players do. These guys seem to celebrate virtually any move they make as if they've just vanquished a lethal foe or won the lottery. It's even worse when you can tell they've choreographed their routine ahead of time. It's like watching a wedding reception with a bunch of middle aged guys who have had too much to drink.

Well if it's good enough for professional athletes it's good enough for me. I think we should all approach our jobs with the verve and zest for life that professional athletes do. Starting tomorrow I'm going to dance and hoot and pose every time I perform any basic function of my job. This should go over well. The first time I manage to run off a few copies that get collated and stapled I'm shouting out "Who's the Man?!!?" After my mailman spikes my bills into my mailbox I'd like to see him give me a chest bump and then do a backflip off of my front step. During a colonscopy why don't we hear more doctors shout "No polyps here! Not in MY house!!" When I go to the bank to deposit the enormous check I make from all the Kindle subscriptions to this blog I want to hit fists with the teller and then see her hop up on the counter and do the worm (that's not so much funny as it is a fantasy of mine). If I don't get a raise at my next performance evaluation at work I can't wait to do the throat slash gesture and back out of the room pointing ominously at my supervisor. That will let him know who's the man.

I suppose it's great that professional athletes take so much pride in their work. Some day I hope I have a job I enjoy as much as they do. Until then I think I'll employ these ideas in my sex life. "Hey baby, you want a piece of me? Who's the man? Bring it on!" I'll be keeping a 20 gallon container of Gatorade next to the bed for the final celebration.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to celebrate with me and give me a cyber high five you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle. Just an FYI, I'll be out of the country for a bit, you know, until the heat dies down, so there won't be any new Phil Factor until about 10 days from now.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

2011-09-05T07:03:00.001-04:00

Like the title? I made it up myself. Few things in life inspire as many stories and "I know that feeling" shakes of the head as travel. I travel by plane a few times a year for my job, so in general I've got the hang of it. Unfortunately not everyone else does. I have to travel for work this weekend so as an educational public service I hope that some of the more novice travelers will read the rest of this post.

People Movers: Almost every airport has them now. These strips of moving floor that are intended to help the you traverse the airport a little more quickly without having to run. My impression is that you're supposed to walk on the people movers so that your speed is doubled without you having to run, preventing many collisions. I love the people movers. Even if I'm way early for my boarding I still like to get where I'm going faster. What I do not love is lazy people on the people movers. These idiots hop on the people mover as if it's an escalator and just stand there. By doing that they're not going forward any faster than if they had walked. They're just lazy! It's a good thing that security doesn't let us carry handguns on flights because I would probably shoot these non-moving people on the people movers and then step over their bodies as I happily sped on my way to my gate. I'm convinced that's why we can't bring guns in our carry on luggage, not so much to prevent hijackings as to prevent the normal, intelligent, sane passengers from killing the morons with whom we find ourselves trapped for several hours in a small enclosed space on our flights. There ought to be a test before you purchase your tickets and if you fail you're not allowed to fly.

One of the questions on the test will be "When on a plane is it ever appropriate to take off your shoes?"

A) Always, it's important to be as comfortable as possible on a long flight.

B) Only in the event of some foot related emergency such as needing to plug a hole in the fuselage with my toe.

C) Absolutely never. And especially not if Phil is on your plane.

Yes, I got on a plane once and a guy sat next to me and immediately took off his sneakers. And there was a definite foot smell. Ugh. Fortunately the universe sensed my need and sent relief in the form of the flight attendant announcing to the plane, "We need four passengers to move to seats behind row 14. Any volunteers?" My hand went up so fast I almost popped my shoulder out of the socket. Aaaah, sweet relief! I moved to the back of the plane and had a row to myself to stretch out. "Life is good" I thought. Then I thought, I'm not real keen on the fact that our plane needs passengers to move to different parts to keep it balanced while it's in the air. What happens if someone upsets the delicate balance by getting up and going to the bathroom, which might be on the opposite side of the plane from their seat, and they leave an enormous...ahem... deposit? The planes' balance could be thrown off and I could die because somebody likes a little too much fiber in their diet.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to travel vicariously with me you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle.

My Momentary Friends

2011-08-31T07:00:00.001-04:00

It could be the cashier at the supermarket you always go to because she has a nice smile and makes small talk about the weather. The security guard outside your office who holds open the door as you leave each day. Maybe it's even a Facebook friend who was never more than an acquaintance years ago, but who always clicks "Like" to your status updates. The girl at Supercuts who cuts your hair and asks about your plans for the weekend. The guy who says hello as he passes you on his nightly walk down your street. Or perhaps the blogger who updates almost daily with a heartwarming story or amusing anecdote. We all have about a hundred of these people in our lives and for me I enjoy their momentary friendship immensely. I think we all do. As much as family or friends whom we know by name, these people also provide us with a sense of security. Often, more than “real” family or friends our “momentary friends” are dependable. They’re always there for us with that smile and hello, or perhaps only a knowing nod. Day in and day out, sometimes for years these nameless people are part of our lives and I miss them and worry about what happened to them when they don't show up in my daily routine.

The fun for me is providing them with names and stories. I like to imagine who they are outside of that moment in time when our paths cross. How and why did they come to be part of my life every day? The best part though is naming them.

Some of the names we give these people are flattering and some are not. No matter where any of you live, I think you’ve all met my friend, “Man with bad toupee.” Then of course in every neighborhood we all know “Woman with enormous ass who’s always bending over doing yard work.” “Girl walking dog” always seems so nice. You have no idea where she lives, but she appears around the corner every evening at the same time. One person I hate, but would somehow miss if he/she were gone is “Silver Pontiac Jerk.” (In all honesty I use a different word than 'jerk' in my head) This jerk parks his/her silver Pontiac in my street every day, completely blocking off traffic on that side of the street. As infuriating as this is to me, if they moved away I’d miss the little adrenalin rush I get as I curse them while I sit behind their parked car waiting for traffic to pass so I can get by. It’s only perhaps a 10 second inconvenience about 5 times a week, but that adds up to 50 seconds per week, 3 minutes and 20 seconds per month, or 40 minutes per year. That may not seem like much, but since I plan to live in my current house for the rest of my life, over the next 36 years Silver Pontiac Jerk will have wasted the equivalent of a full day of my life.

I also secretly like to imagine that just perhaps, once or twice maybe my momentary friends and I have saved each others lives without even knowing it. Perhaps our 3 second interaction slowed one of us up just enough in our daily routine that we missed stepping off the curb in front of a speeding bus later in the day. So, for saving my life and brightening my days this post is dedicated to my favorite momentary friends: Supermarket cashier who likes basketball, Indian Girl at Starbucks, Walking Man, Girl with dog, and Security Guard. Without these people and their momentary friendship my day would be incomplete. I could probably do without Silver Pontiac Jerk though.

If you like my nonsense want to be my momentary friend you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle. Also clicking the Facebook like button will make you my momentary friend and quite possibly save your life later in the day.

Rock You Like a Hurricane

2011-08-29T07:35:00.001-04:00

Well it's hurricane season in the Northern hemisphere. Hurricane Irene ran up the East coast this past weekend and I hope with every fiber of my being that some forward think musician somewhere created a parody song titled "Come On Irene," based on the 80's hit by Dexy's Midnight Runners.

Fortunately I don't live in an area that ever gets any hurricanes although I felt some of the wind and rain from Irene. In the U.S., our weather people have a tradition of naming hurricanes with people names, such as Hurricane Phil, or Hurricane Betsy. Then the news people are astounded that people refuse to leave their homes when a hurricane is coming. Who is going to be afraid of Hurricane Betsy, or Tropical Storm Cecilia? Remember innocuously named Hurricane Katrina? Yeah, how'd that work out for everyone? Have you ever noticed that when people are interviewed as a big storm is bearing down on their area the homeowners always use the phrase "hunker down"? The interview always goes like this:

Reporter: I'm standing here with Joe and Jane Homeowner who plan on staying right where they are as the biggest storm of the century bears down on us. Joe and Jane, why are you staying put?

Homeowners: Well this little storm 'taint nuthin. We'll just hunker down until it passes. Now the storm of '68, that was a storm!

I'm not sure I've ever hunkered down for anything. I think hunkering down best describes the pose my dog takes when she's going number 2. If you want people to flee to somewhere safe you have to give a storm a name that sounds as scary as it is. Why not give it an intimidating name? How about something like Mega Hurricane Deathtron? That might get people out of their homes. Or maybe something simple like The Hurricane of Death? If the Hurricane of Death was headed for my house you can bet I'd get the hell out of the way. Then again, if they named hurricanes like that you wouldn't have people selling post hurricane t-shirts that said things like "I Was Blown By Irene 2011." When I'm elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I will convene a special committee of writers to work on scary, new hurricane names every year.

If you enjoy my nonsense and still have your internet connection after the hurricane you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and/or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle.

Facebook's Web of Evil

2011-08-25T08:11:00.001-04:00

Across the centuries there have been men who have perpetrated unspeakable acts of evil upon their fellow man. Genghis Khan, Adolph Hitler, James Jones, and the creators of American Idol, to name a few. Since the turn of the century, however, one name has stood alone atop the modern pantheon of evil. That man? Mark Zuckerberg.

The Economy: Apparently a long time ago, like in the 1950's or something, someone wrote in the bible, "The meek shall inherit the earth." The nerdy Zuckerberg started Facebook so he could talk to chicks and now he's got millions, maybe even billions of dollars to show for his efforts. Talk about the power of horny! Is it just me, or did anyone else notice that our nations entire economy went in the tank right about the time Facebook took off. Hmmm....let's see...about three years ago all the automakers and banks went out of business, the stockmarket went into a freefall and 50% of all homes were foreclosed upon. Coincidence? I think not! How many of you reading this, raise your hands, even once checked your Facebook from a phone or computer in the last three years? Hmmm...one, two, three, four...stop it! Put your hands down you idiots. I can't see you through my computer. I'm not even here. I wrote this yesterday. But you get my point, since the onset of Facebook we've all wasted valuable, productive work time Facebooking and as a group all those minutes of lost productivity added up enough to destroy the economy. But wait...who got rich? That's right, Mark Zuckerberg. You know who doesn't waste work time on Facebook? The Amish, and they built me one hell of a shed.

Our self-esteem: An endeavor that was born of low self-esteem has become the bane of everyone's insecurities. Do I have enough friends to look cool? Why does so and so have so many more friends than me? Why can't I get enough cows in Farmville? Why don't I know what Farmville is? (Guess who plays Farmville for real? The Amish!) Why didn't my status get more likes or comments? I see the "People you may know" section and I think well if they didn't "friend" me I'm not going to "friend" them. Yeah, that's right, for every little face staring at you when you're thinking, "I barely talked to them in high school, I'm not going to "friend" them, that person is on the other side of the interweb looking at your little picture thinking the same thing. But guess who has lots of friends now that he has millions of dollars? That's right, it's evil incarnate, Mark Zuckerberg.

That's right Mark Zuckerberg you smug little bastard, just sit up there in your ivory tower sipping mojitos with Bill Gates and counting your money. Blood money that you made off of the laziness and insecurities of every American. Well I won't stand for it. Ok, well I will stand for it until I get enough Amazon Kindle subscribers to The Phil Factor that I don't need your evil little web of insecurity and apathy and I'll start my own competing social network and when your little fantasy world comes crashing down around you, you'll know who's to blame! (insert maniacal laughter here) Remember the name Phil Mr. Zuckerberg. Remember it well.

Hmmm...Philbook...I like the sound of that. And for just a small fee you can all join me : )

If you enjoy my nonsense and don't want to wait for the launch of Philbook you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle, just like Mark Zuckerberg does.

Why The Amish Are Cooler Than You

2011-08-22T06:51:00.001-04:00

Admit it, you saw the title and had to read further. I am totally diggin' me some Amish action lately. I see straw hats, bonnets, and horse drawn buggys and I think, "Damn, break me off a piece of that!" I cannot find me a butter churn fast enough. We all love the Amish. We find their culture and lifestyle fascinating. Here's your evidence that the Amish are hot: Last week I bought a shed from the Amish. (Notice how we always refer to them as 'The Amish'? As if they're all one group or a large object of some sort.) So after my awesome, built like a fortress, Amish shed was delivered I posted a picture of it on Facebook. That picture of my new Amish shed generated more comments than anything I've ever said or posted on Facebook in the last four years. Either I'm a boring Facebooker or you're diggin' some Amish action too.

So why do we all love the Amish so much? Is it their stylish black outfits? They say black is very slimming. Have you ever seen a fat Amish person? Me neither. I wonder what their gyms are like? Instead of a stairmaster maybe they have a butter churn machine. The guys work out by bench pressing 4"x4" lumber with hay bales on the ends. Do they work out in those sack dresses and the pants with suspenders? Do those come in lycra?

Another good thing about being Amish; their budget kicks ass. Guess how much money the Amish lost in their 401K's when the economy tanked? A lot less than me, that's for sure. You think the Amish worry about how they'll pay for retirement? Do you know how much they pay for electricity? $0.00. That's pretty damn good compared with my utility bill. And guess how much they pay for gas? Yup, $0.00. Unfortunately, the gas they're most familiar is in the form of methane coming from the horse in front of them pulling their buggy.

Rumspringa. It's the Amish word for a period of adolescence when youth are allowed to leave home for a period of time to experience the modern world and decide if they want to return to the Amish faith. Talk about an awesome hall pass! It's a wonder they get any of them back. As a parent I love the idea. I'd love to get my kids out of the house for a year or two. In fact, I want to negotiate with the Amish for a reverse rumspringa program. When my kids are being difficult I want to send them to live with the Amish for a year. Building a few barns would straighten out their attitude.

I fear however that Amish culture as we know it may soon cease to exist and I fear that it may be my fault. I accidentally exposed the Amish to the cartoon Family Guy. The Amish are allowed to use technology for work but not in their homes. The Amish shed maker had to call me to tell me when my shed was going to be delivered and my ringback tone is a clip from Family Guy. At the end of our brief conversation Amish shed maker said, "I like your ringtone." Since then I've gotten 27 hang up calls from an unlisted number. I just hear a little oddly accented giggling before the line goes dead. I'm pretty sure it's the Amish calling just to listen to Family Guy. This can't be good.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to have a literary rumspringa with me you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle. Unless of course you're Amish.

Sport or Not a Sport? That is the question

2011-08-18T06:54:00.001-04:00

As a "guy" there are few things more enjoyable than having an afternoon free to plant yourself in the Lazy-boy and click on ESPN for a few hours of sports viewing. The average guy is about as picky about what sports he will watch as he is about what women he will date. For a guy though there are few things more disappointing than clicking on ESPN and finding something on that's not a sport. We all know what I'm talking about. I would like to propose rules for what qualifies as a sport. Anything that does not qualify under my rules should be broadcast on a different network. Maybe the Game Show Channel or The Loser Network.

Rule #1: It's not a sport if one of the participants has no idea they are competing. Examples: horse racing, hunting, fishing, dog racing and dog shows. These animals are just jumping through hoops to get some sort of treat at the end. Who gets the prize money and trophies? Hunting is only a sport if the animals are shooting back.

Rule #2: It's not a sport unless there's a final score everyone agrees upon. Current "sports" that should be ruled out: Gymnastics, diving, and any kind of figure skating. Special mention goes to rhythmic gymnastics which is just gymnastics for people who are afraid of heights.

Rule #3: It's not a sport if you can do it while you sit down drinking beer and smoking. That rules out poker, Scrabble, bowling and spelling bees. Technically it also eliminates NASCAR.

I'm sure those of you from Australia, Europe and other countries could probably come up with several examples of things in your country that are played as sports, but really aren't. Of course in the U.S. it's not a sport unless it's played in our country.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to practice the sport of Phil hunting you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle.

I Predict A Riot

2011-08-15T17:04:00.001-04:00

It seems that jolly, old England isn't so jolly these days. Last week, apparently triggered by the shooting of a civilian by Scotland Yard, it seems that everyone in London put down their tea and crumpets to participate in widespread rioting and looting. The English it seems are a little skittish about gunfire (see American revolution circa 1776).

Really? Scotland Yard shot someone? I had no idea they did that. Don't you just picture Scotland Yard being a bunch of Sherlock Holmes looking guys smoking pipes and saying things like "pip pip" and "cheerio"? Apparently the people of London had no idea that Scotland Yard was into shooting people either, so the Londoners expressed their displeasure by rioting and looting, which then had to be dealt with by the London police, or constables as they're called, who generally don't carry guns. There's your problem right there. You can't name your police 'constables'. No one is going to worry about getting roughed up by a "constable." The English need to name their police something scary like Robocops or Dementors.

Rather than dealing with the rioters the American way, by shooting them with bullets, the English police shot them with cameras and put them on the news. They were surprised by what they found. Some of the rioters were not young thugs but some very normal, previously upstanding citizens who, apparently emboldened by the anonymity of the crowds, decided to join in the fun. An 11 year old ballerina, a 43 year old organic chef, an opera house steward, an Olympic Ambassador and many women were identified in the London police's camera sweep. So essentially the London "constables" were relegated to tourist like photo taking to try to stop the rioting.

What could possibly possess some of these people to join in rioting and looting? No matter what is going on in my neighborhood I've never thought to myself , "On the way home from work should I stop by the pub for some bangers and mash or should I heave a brick at the nearest store window? Did the 11 year old ballerina skip down to the playground with her friends and come home with a new 42" flat screen telly she pulled from a broken store window?

I'm not a member of the NRA or anything, but I think the English 'constables', in addition to getting a new threatening name, need to start carrying guns. Without weapons, what do the English police do when confronted with an angry mob? I'm no law enforcement expert, but I'm pretty sure that yelling "Hey! Stop that!" is not all that intimidating, especially when yelled with an English accent. If you've got ballerina rioters I'm pretty sure that if you fire off a warning shot or two they'll pirouette home to their mum pretty damn fast. Since England has by and large gone so long without armed police, I think that at the first sign of trouble if the constables climb to the top of Big Ben and just let loose a round of semi-automatic gunfire in the air most of those rioters won't think it's such a jolly good show anymore and run their blimey arses home to Hogwarts to feed their owls. (Yes, all my knowledge of English culture comes from the Harry Potter movies) Outside of Hurricane Katrina conditions, have you ever seen riots last a week in the United States? Of course not! We'd get shot by police and that would be bad.

If you enjoy my nonsense, instead of rioting you can peacefully protest by following me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or by subscribing to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle. Also, if you can name the musical reference I used in the title you win 20 Phil bucks which can be redeemed at The Phil Factor gift shop for a t-shirt. Cheerio!

The Guy Code of Conduct Chapter 6: The Female Pop Quiz

2011-08-12T06:20:00.001-04:00

In millions of every day situations men are being tested and graded as if we are still in school. The Female Pop Quiz can consist of one question, several questions, or a situation. The results of these spontaneous daily exams can make or break a young relationship, or just make your life difficult for a day, a week, or even more in a long term relationship or marriage. The trick is, if you pass the quiz you never know it and if you fail it justice is usually swift and brutal. Sometimes men are smart enough to recognize when these pop quizzes have come up and at other times we are not. It is these time where potential disaster looms. Here for the are some of the most common Female Pop Quizzes and how to answer them correctly.

1. Does this make me look fat? This is the most common and stereotypical of the pop quiz questions and almost all men recognize it, but some still answer incorrectly. An answer of "No baby, that doesn't make you look fat. I love your curves," seems well intentioned and some men even accentuate the statement with a playful pat on the behind. This answer is a mistake. The inevitable answer from the woman will be, "What? I have curves?!!? So you're saying I'm fat?" A safe answer would be, "Honey, nothing could ever make you look fat. You are the sexiest woman I've ever met. If anything that outfit makes you look too thin."

2. The Dinner Reaction: After a woman has cooked a wonderful meal from scratch the male impulse is to just dig in and enjoy. As men we think that the act of eating every scrap and then licking the plate clean is enough of an indication of our love of the food. That gentlemen, is absolutely the wrong assumption. This situation is a Female Pop Quiz. If you are not yet married and a woman cooks you a meal, she is essentially testing you to see how you might possibly respond to your evening dinner every night for the rest of your lives. If you want anything long term with this woman you will not just dig and then finish with an appreciative belch. After asking if there is anything you can do to help, such as set the table, the appropriate response is to first comment on how delicious everything looks and smells. Even if it looks like roadkill. Then after your first bite fake a complete mouthgasm as if you had just eaten food blessed by the gods. Even if she just gave you three day old dry toast this is the proper response. A corollary to this rule is that if a woman has cooked not only for you, but for company, you must absolutely be the first person to compliment her cooking in front of everyone.

3. The "Comment on Other Women" pop quiz. This is always a complicated situation that requires some expert verbal maneuvering to extricate yourself from without pain. If your female companion spots another woman on television or when you're out in public and makes a comment on that woman you are immediately on the hot seat. If your gal knows and dislikes the other woman due to a personal conflict no matter how far in the distant past it is in your best interest to listen attentively to her complaint, and then agree, even if you've just realized that your gal pal is completely wrong in the situation. If the situation is on the looks or behavior of a stranger then you have a bit more leeway. If your companion comments upon another woman's looks or attire be very careful. This is a very dangerous trap. Needless to say though if it's about large, fake boobs, remember, no matter what, we all hate them right? Practice saying it in front of the mirror with a straight face at least a few times a day until you've got it down pat. Now if your girlfriend, fiance', or wife makes a negative comment about a woman, it may be in your best interest to give a fairly ambiguous answer, or even an "oh, she doesn't seem that bad," response. If you come off as too catty yourself, or too prone to degrade another woman, even in a private conversation, this will reflect badly on her perception of your respect for women.

Obviously this chapter contains more material, but if I give away all of it the delicate balance of male-female communication may be forever altered, and it might cut into the book sales. Stay tuned for Chapter 7: What To Say about Mothers.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want a happy, long term relationship with me you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle.

Cult of Personality?

2011-08-09T07:13:00.001-04:00

"Neon lights, a Nobel prize. The mirror speaks, the reflection lies. You don't have to follow me. Only you can set me free. I sell the things you need to be. I'm the smiling face on your t.v. I'm the cult of personality. I exploit, you still love me." ~Living Colour 1989

Cults get a bad rap. Just because of a few bad apples (I'm talking to you Mr. Jones and Mr. Koresh) the word cult has a negative connotation. Dictionary.com defines a cult as "an instance of great veneration of a person, ideal, or thing, especially as manifested by a body of admirers." Yeah, that's right, I did some research. See? I'm not just making stuff up here. This blog is actually education. In fact if you read every post for the next 12 months I'm pretty sure you get college credit. Here's another little tidbit for you: do you know who came up with the phrase "cult of personality"? Russian dictator Nikita Krushchev in 1956. I didn't even know he was a member of Living Colour!

A lot of us have a knee jerk reaction to the word 'cult' but I maintain that regardless of the feelings that word causes, we are all members of cults. Whether it be a popular singer, t.v. show, product or Facebook, we all sign up for cults. Admittedly, my cult of choice is fantasy football. Yes, I'm one of those guys. But don't mock me, I would bet my first round draft pick that you belong to a cult too, and maybe one even dorkier than fantasy football. And that's the thing, we all see everyone else's cult for what it is, but we never see our own. And yes, there are things dorkier than fantasy football. American Idol?!!? Are you freaking kidding me?

Yes, American Idol is a cult. How many people spend more time watching and thinking about American Idol than they spend on traditional religion? I think we ought to elect our next President American Idol style. Week by week eliminations until the winner is announced on live t.v. Why not? It would get more people involved in the political process if they could participate via television and cell phone. Romney and Obama would have no shot at beating out my obvious charm. And I would look really tall standing next to Ryan Seacrest.

How about Apple? Not the fruit, the technology company. The fruit needs a p.r. team, but the company may be the best cult going. Since the iPod was invented how many of us even consider an mp3 player made by anyone else? Seriously, what the hell is a Zune? Apple is such a good cult that I stopped in the middle of this to go download a song. (Fader by Temper Trap) Steven Jobs big calculator that he keeps on the table by his bed just went "cha-ching!" In fact, if not for iPods and iPads who would know who Steven Jobs was? (There you go Steve, I mentioned you and your products, now please send me an iTunes card)

And yes, I know fantasy football is a cult. But it's a really good one! I swear there's nothing bad about the time and money I spend on it. Sure, I'm adult and I spend more time studying for my fantasy draft every year than I did for the once in a lifetime S.A.T. or grad school entrance exams, but that's healthy right? And the results speak for themselves. League champ two of the last three years. I wonder why employers don't seem more impressed by that on my resume?

Facebook may be the biggest cult going. And have you noticed that cults whether religious or commercial seem to be started by, for lack of a better word, nerds? Whoever said, "The meek shall inherit the Earth" was obviously brilliant. He must have had a great cult.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to join another cult you can subscribe to me on your Amazon Kindle (another cult I belong to) and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor. See you at the intervention!

The Modern Worry Stone

2011-08-05T17:40:00.001-04:00

Worry stones are smooth, polished gemstones usually in the shape of an oval with a thumb-sized indentation. They originated in Ancient Greece. Held between the index finger and thumb, rubbing them is believed to lessen one's worries. This action is a type of stimulation which can often create feelings of calmness and reduce stress levels.

Of course the ancient Greeks needed worry stones. They were constantly stressing about getting lost in the giant mazes and attacked by Minotaurs, or perhaps getting lured to their death on the rocks by the beautiful Sirens that sang to them on their commute to work. Then, if you were a guy, you had to constantly be on the lookout for one up the Gods coming down from Mount Olympus and trying to impregnate your girlfriend. It wasn't the Gods fault. I mean, seriously, there were only about 12 of them. That's like going to a high school with only 20 kids in your graduating class. Occasionally you're going to have to date a freshman. Or even worse, you hook up with a cougar (hot older woman) and she turns out to be your mom. Bottom line, ancient Greece was a stressful place and some crazy old crackpot with an impossibly long name that ends in "ates" decided that rubbing a stone with your thumb would relax everybody. It was the ancient version of the pet rock. I'm pretty sure it was advertised in the Parthenon by the Sham Wow guy.

I propose that we as a culture have unkowingly created our own high tech version of the worry stone. The cell phone. What decreases worries more than communication? Our cell phones are our links to the entire world by call, text, I.M., and the internet. If we have a question, somehow, some way there is an answer in that little ball of technology we hold in our hand. And don't we often just hold it, perhaps looking at it, feeling the weight of it and the smooth curves of it in our palm, reassured knowing that because of that little device we are never truly alone? Who amongst us hasn't felt lost, or naked when we discover we've left home without our little electronic security blanket?Unless of course the battery dies, you can't get a signal, or you've lost your charging cord. That's when Zeus comes down from Mount Olympus and offers to charge it for you with one of his lightning bolts in exchange for sex.

If you enjoy my nonsense feel free to subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and you can also follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor. Just download the Kindle and Twitter apps to your cell phone so you'll never be without me!

The Guy Code of Conduct: Public Restroom Etiquette

2011-08-02T06:53:00.001-04:00

As is well known, women have the “never go to a public restroom alone” rule. Women also have several other rules devoted to their bathroom habits, but to imply that I know them would say something bad about me. I’m not sure what, but I’m pretty sure it's not good. Despite what women believe, men are not complete barbarians. There are some rules we live by when it comes time to answer the call of nature. In fact, The Guy Code of Conduct has an entire chapter devoted entirely to how, when, and where men eliminate metabolic waste. Here are some of those rules:

1. If you are intoxicated and it is after dark, it is entirely acceptable to urinate anywhere outdoors, just look out for other men who also might be out there urinating in the dark.

2. In a public restroom never use the urinal immediately next to another man if it is possible to go elsewhere, like two urinals down the row, in a stall, or in the sink. Whenever possible you must attempt to keep a three foot buffer zone between you and other urinating men.

3. In a public restroom never use the urinal next to another man unless there is at least one of those little dividers. If there is no divider and the stalls or sinks are full, just wait your turn.

4. If you are using a urinal immediately next to another man just stare straight ahead and do not speak.

5. Speaking while urinating is allowed under only two circumstances: a)if two men are peeing outside and there is an appropriate buffer zone between them, or b) if two men are using urinals and there is a divider and one empty urinal between them.

6. Things you should never pee on: the fire, electric fences, other men, women, your food. (This rule was first written by two cavemen named Ed and Thog during the Jurassic period and originally only included the reference to the fire. Over the years through trial and error the list was expanded to include the other items.)

There is also an index in the back of The Guy Code of Conduct which includes world records involving urination, such as distance, from the greatest height, volume, off of famous landmarks etc.

As always, if you enjoy my nonsense you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle. Whatever you do though, don't approach me for an autograph while I'm peeing.

Death: The Final Frontier

2011-07-28T07:17:00.001-04:00

In the movie "When Harry Met Sally," Harry and Sally were talking on the phone when Sally burst into tears because she was going to turn 40. Harry replied, "But that's not for years." To which Sally tearfully replied, "Yeah, but it's out there."

Death has me concerned. There is a whole sector of the population that keeps insisting that death is 'out there' for everyone. Some people keep insisting that it might even happen to me someday. I'm not a big fan of death. I hate when it happens to people I know and I'm even less enthusiastic about the idea that it might happen to me. There's a tiny, tiny part in the back of my brain, one particular brain cell perhaps, that keeps trying to speak up and tell me that some day I may even die. Fortunately all the other brain cells called a meeting and decided to shout down this one rebel cell whenever it decides to open it's big, fat piehole.

I've decided to try a different approach to death. Well, a different approach to my potential death. Death is fine for other people, but I'm just not going to do it. The way I look at it is this: Death has never happened to me before, so where is the proof that it's going to happen to me? I've successfully made it past age 27, so I'm not even eligible for that club anymore. Just because mankind had never successfully flown before the Wright brothers, they didn't just give up and stay on the ground did they? I think too many people give in to the myth that is death. Think about it. When you were a kid and you stopped believing in Santa Claus, he stopped existing for you didn't he? Well, has anyone ever decided not to believe in death? That's my plan. Like I said, it's never happened to me, so I have no proof that it will.

Lucky for you, my impending lack of fatality means that I'll keep blogging, so feel free to follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle for all eternity. Just remember to put it in your will that your Phil Factor subscription must be maintained for generations after you pass.

Jesus of Suburbia

2011-07-21T07:03:00.001-04:00

Well, it happened again. God spoke to someone through the image of Jesus Christ on a receipt from a South Carolina Walmart. Oh wait, that's never happened before. Apparently Gentry Lee Sutherland and her fiancee' Jacob Simmons (yes, her name is 'Gentry Lee'. If that isn't a sign her parents worshipped Satan I don't know what is) picked up a few things at Walmart, left the receipt on their kitchen table and a few days later when they looked at the receipt the image of Jesus Christ was on the receipt. Then again, take a look at that picture, how can we be sure that's not Osama Bin Laden or Ted Nugent speaking to us through the receipt? And if it is Ted Nugent, I'm curious about what he has to say. He hasn't put out an album in like forever!

I've got to give credit to whomever is speaking through the Walmart receipt. Apparently they've given up the age-old, tried and true method of speaking to their followers by placing their image on toast, pancakes, potato chips, or a water stain on a wall. Think about it; if you are an omnipotent deity with cosmic powers, are you going to screw around putting your likeness on something that by chance could fall into the hands or mouth of an atheist at a pub who looks at his cheese doodle and says, "Oh look Ted, it looks like a face in my cheese doodle, crunch, crunch, crunch. Hey bartender, we're out of cheese doodles over here."

If God is an omnipotent deity with cosmic powers and does want to speak to his or her followers (See? I put his or her. Look how enlightened I am. I hear the chicks dig that), why wouldn't he or she send us all a text message? I'm pretty sure that omnipotence includes mastery of modern technology. Or perhaps take over cable t.v.? "Hi everyone, this is God here. I'd like to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for this important message..."

When I'm a deity I'm not going to waste my time putting my face in snack foods or receipts. People will wake up one day and suddenly there will be an extra head on Mt. Rushmore, or the Eiffel Tower will be bent into the shape of my profile. That's how you get the word out that you're the guy to worship. Either these snack food/receipt Gods aren't very bright, or the people who see them are just seeing what they want to see. And if putting your face in people's food is the way Gods go about getting publicity, why doesn't anyone claim to see Satan in their Corn Flakes? If Coke is running a big add campaign you can bet Pepsi will counter it. Satan needs to get off his fiery, red ass and get to work. He's losing customers. Then again, how many of you women have eaten a whole pint of Ben & Jerry's while watching a Lifetime movie on a lonely Saturday night and said, "The devil made me do it"?

If you get the reference in the title of this post and explain it in a comment below you win 10,000 Phil Factor points that can be redeemed for a t-shirt at The Phil Factor gift shop. If you enjoy my nonsense follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle so that you can say "I knew him before he started showing up on people's receipts and potato chips."

The Present Tense

2011-07-18T07:07:00.001-04:00

How we communicate, what's important to us, and the inequities of societal grooming expectations are all ways men and women differ. Another great divide between the sexes is our views on presents. Anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine's Day, and Christmas can all make or break a relationship from a woman's perspective. My current quandary is Mrs. Phil's birthday is coming up in a couple weeks and I have the pressure of choosing a present. My problem is that I think of presents like a guy and she thinks of presents like a woman. Here are a few examples of how men and women might view the same present differently and why I'm terrified of choosing and may just give her cash:

Example 1
Guy: “Happy Anniversary honey! Here's a card, a dozen roses, and I've taken out a second mortgage so I can fly you to Paris for a candlelight dinner on top of the Eiffel Tower!”
Woman: “You are so sweet! With all my work this week I didn't have time to get you a present. I'm sorry. How about if I make it up to you (wink, wink) back at the hotel after dinner?” (sly smile)
Guy: “YAHTZEE!” (fist pump)

Example 2:
Woman: “Happy Anniversary honey! Here's a card and a present!”
Guy: “An Ipad3! Thanks baby, this is great! With all my work this week I didn't have time to get you a present. I'm sorry. How about if I make it up to you (wink, wink) in the bedroom tonight?” (sly smile)
Woman: “You forgot! How could you be so thoughtless?!!? You can sleep on the couch tonight! (storms out, door slams)

(Calm down all you tech geeks, the IPad 3 isn't out yet) Sometimes even the presents themselves can mean different things to men and women. Here are some examples of presents men might give, how we mean them, and what they mean to women.

1. A romantic card with breakfast in bed, flowers sent to your work, and a nice dinner out.
What men are trying to say: "Will you sleep with me?"
What women think: "He's a sweet, thoughtful guy."

2. A safety kit for your car with road flares, tools, and a shovel.
What men are trying to say: "I love you and I want you to be safe."
What women think: "What a thoughtless, un-romantic oaf."

3. Lingerie
What men are trying to say: "I think you are a beautiful, sexy woman."
What women think: "That selfish bastard is thinking with his little head instead of his big head."

4. Any kind of home appliance
What men are trying to say: "I've noticed how hard you work. I want to make your life easier."
What women think: "If this isn't grounds for justifiable homicide, I don't know what is!"

All of this thinking out loud isn't getting me any closer to choosing a present. If you've got any suggestions I'd love to hear them in the comments section below. If you enjoy my nonsense follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to my blog on your Amazon Kindle so you never miss an issue and so I can afford to buy my wife a birthday present that compensates her adequately for being married to me.

A Simple Solution to the Governments Debt Problem

2011-07-14T07:23:00.001-04:00

Remember when you were a kid and your parents, with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other, would tell you "Do as I say, not as I do" Maybe that was just my parents, but you get the jist. Very often parents and other authority figures are hypocrites, including the U.S. government. Apparently our government has gotten itself in a bit of a pickle. They must have missed those catchy freecreditreport.com commercials because they've almost reached their credit limit. Unless they do some voodoo lawmaking magic our government could default on their loans in the next couple weeks. Really, how can the government default on their loans? Didn't they read that section on the statement that says it will take you 27 years to pay it off if you only pay the minimum? They should have chosen the 3 year amount.

Dear President Obama, why is this a big deal? You are the United States of America! Who cares if you pay your loans back? Really, is there any chance that Tony Soprano is going to show up at the back door of the White House and break your kneecaps Kerrigan-style? Who exactly is asking us to pay these loans back right now? We are the world's bully. Nobody takes our lunch money!

Why can't Barack just call up Visa, Mastercard or Germany and ask them to increase the credit limit? It's what I would do. Wouldn't you? Maybe even ask for the same APR and 0% interest the new customers get until 2012. How can the IRS demand we pay our back taxes if they're not doing the same? Or here's an idea, how about just print up some new money to pay those loans back? "Oh no that would cause inflation!" Really? How would printing new money cause inflation, especially if you don't tell anyone you printed the extra money? Especially don't tell Ben Bernanke. That guy is just a pain in all our asses with his interest rate roller coaster that nobody can understand. Maybe the government can write a check and just post date it until they have the money? Or just forget to to sign the check to buy some time. This is just the kind of out of the box thinking I'll implement when I'm elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first. Although if the government can't sort this out before then maybe we'll see our congressman in pirate costumes working at restaurants like the guy in the freecreditreport.com commercial. Of course lately it would be nice to see our congressmen with any kind of shirt on.

I just want to give a little shout out to Barack, since I know Michelle subscribes to my blog on her Kindle. Look Barack, since I'm just rolling in dough from all the new subscribers I have through Kindle I'd be happy to float you a little short term loan at reasonable interest rates until you and the government can get back on your feet again. Just leave me a message in the comments section below and I'll get back to you.

If you enjoy my nonsense feel free to follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe on your Amazon Kindle, just like Michelle Obama, so you'll never miss a column.

The Point Is Probably Moot. Or Is It?

2011-07-09T09:05:00.001-04:00

"No, I'm pretty sure it's not a mute point. If it were a mute point you wouldn't be saying it aloud to me right now would you?" Is what I wanted to say. I also wanted to say, "And don't you hate when all those mimes act like they're moot when they can't get out of their invisible box?"

Is it really that tough? C'mon people! They are two distinctly different words with different spellings, meanings, and pronunciations! And I'm not talking about people with limited education! On and on it goes. Everyday some person in a position of authority, or esteem, or which requires higher education uses one of those words incorrectly! Of course when I am interacting with these people in a professional capacity I cannot shout my frustration about their idiocy. In those situations I choose to pretend I have selective mootism. See?!!? See how stupid it looks when someone uses them oppositely? Reluctantly I have to admit that probably the only reason I know the difference is that in 1982 Rick Springfield told us all that "the point is probably moot." And that, sadly, is information that maybe I should have kept mute about.

When I become President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I am going to pass a law allowing everyone to make a Citizen's Arrest of anyone who confuses these two words. Much like bad drivers who are ordered to attend a defensive driving class, the moot/mute people will have to go to a special class to learn the difference between these and other homonyms. I only hope that when these dolts are in class they remain moot so everyone can hear what the instructor is saying.

On a marginally related point, The band Mute Math is really very good. I enjoy them immensely and highly recommend them. I wonder how their career might have turned out differently if they were Moot Math? If you looked at my high school transcript you'd see that math was a pretty mute subject for me. In fact you could say that my grades would imply that the instructors might have been moot. Or is that mute? "And she's watchin' him with those eyes..." Now you'll have that song stuck in your head all day won't you? You're welcome.

If you enjoy my nonesense feel free to follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and now you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle so you'll never miss one no matter where you are.

Little City, Big Dreams

2011-07-05T17:52:00.002-04:00

These little town blues, are melting away

I’m gonna make a brand new start of it - in old New York

And if i can make it there, i’m gonna make it anywhere

It's up to you - New York, New York

Frank Sinatra

I live in New York, but I don't live in New York City. I realize that for many people outside of New York state it's news that New York City isn't the entirety of New York. For those of you not familiar with our geography, New York is a fairly big state with several other medium sized cities. . Perhaps it's because of New York City that the other cities in the state have an inferiority complex. My city wants to be big and wants to have big, important things happen here. We grasp desperately to any straw of fame that one of our natives achieves. Nowhere is this inferiority complex more evident than on the local news.

Male Local News Anchor: Good evening. I'm Dirk Hairpiece and this is Eyewitness News!

Female Local News Anchor: And I'm Buffy Sleptmywayhere. What are tonight's top stories Dirk?

Dirk: In New York City today a subway train went off the tracks and careened wildly down Wall St. before coming to rest on top of the Statue of Liberty. 147 people were killed. Let's go to field reporter Skippy Trenchcoat for a live interview. Skippy?

Skippy: I'm here in our town, about a block away from the studio in the home of Dolores Hairnet who says that her cousin's friend's brother's high school classmate once rode the very same subway train responsible for today's tragedy. Dolores, can you tell us about your experience?

Dolores: Well, Eddie, that's my cousin's friend's brother's high school classmate, said it was like a train, but it goes underground in them there tunnel things.

Skippy: Did Eddie notice anything suspicious about the train?

Dolores: He said it smelled funny. Kinda like how your garbage can smells on a hot summer day when you left meat in it and the maggots start to grow.

Skippy: Well there you have it Dirk and Buffy. The train ride stunk from the beginning.

Dirk in studio: Thank you Skippy. Speaking of something that stinks, let's go to weather girl Sunny Implants broadcasting live from the elephant cage at the zoo.

If you enjoy my nonsense follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon KIndle

A Shameless Plug for Me

2011-07-05T10:52:00.004-04:00

If any of you are Amazon Kindle owners you can now subscribe to my blog on your Kindle and have it delivered wirelessly to you anywhere you are with your Kindle. Yes, I know you can read it for free here, but nothing beats the portability of a Kindle and being able to read and share my brilliance with friends anywhere you might be. Just go to the Kindle Store, click on blogs and type The Phil Factor into to search box.

The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo

2011-07-02T08:36:00.001-04:00

The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo is bald. Not old man, male pattern baldness bald, but "I shaved my head so I can look like a bad ass bald." The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo also has a giant scorpion tattooed on his bald head. A scorpion tattoo that is much larger than any real scorpion. The tattoo stretches from the top of his head, wrapping around the back and down to the top of the neck. Each morning I wonder, what exactly is he trying to tell the world about himself?

Evil. I think having a giant scorpion tattooed on a menacing bald head kind of screams evil. My shamrock tattoo says I'm Irish. His scorpion tattoo says evil. In fact after observing The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo daily for awhile now, I'm pretty sure he is actually Satan. Yup, the real one. Apparently, just like you and me, Satan stops for his Starbucks fix on his way to work every day. Coffee black of course. None of those frou frou girly drinks with whipped cream. He keeps to himself and goes about his business quietly while at Starbucks, but just the same, I'm pretty sure he's Satan. He makes small talk with the baristas so as not to arouse any suspicion. He tips, but never too much or too little. He always sits alone at the table by the window.

Remember the 1995 Joan Osborne song, "What if God Were One of Us?" If God could be one of us, so could Satan. And if Satan had a name, I imagine it wouldn't be any of those fancy biblical names like Beezlebub or Lucifer. Seriously, how much of a give away would that be? He'd be constantantly hounded by fans and papparazzi. No, I'm pretty sure that if Satan has a name it's something like Ed. And yes Ms. Osborne, I would call him Ed to his face. I wonder if Ed has a blog...If he does, I'm pretty sure he gets more reads than the 16 I got last week because his friends go back to their Facebook page and click on the "Share" button. C'mon people, we can't let evil win!

The Mormons Got It Goin' On!

2011-06-25T07:25:00.001-04:00

Cue music. Footage of attractive person kayaking, teaching classes, winning Olympic medals, raising a family, and ziplining across the Grand Canyon while wearing a lab coat and holding test tubes. Voice over begins, "Hi, I teach orphans in the Congo and work on a cure for cancer in my spare time. But when I'm not teaching I like to explore Brazil on safari in between training for the Olympic decathalon and winning ballroom dance competitions. I've got a million dollars in the bank and at the end of a long day I go home to my solar powered, eco-friendly home that I built with my bare hands and I spend quality time with my spouse and equally good looking kids who get straight A's in school and are on all the sports teams. My life is better than yours, and I'm a Mormon."

We've all seen the commercials and damned if it isn't working. Who wouldn't want to sign up for that deal? When can I start? And the evidence is there that the Mormons are smart. Do you see any other religions advertising? I grew up Catholic. What would their advertising slogan be? "Don't feel bad enough yet? Join Catholicism! Where nothing you do is ever good enough and bingo is our only acceptable fun." How about the Jewish religion? You don't see them advertising. "Welcome to Judaism. We've got bad beards, hats to cover your bald spots and holidays no one understands!" Then there's the Amish. Now there's a religion that needs a better motto than, "Stay away from electricity, zippers and colors of any kind." I can write anything I want about the Amish because I'm pretty sure they're not reading my blog and I can beat any of them in a fight. Again.

See? Other religions just lay about letting people believe the stereotypes. The Mormons went out and did something about their bad press. And they're not done yet. Our next President, if it's not me, could be famous Mormon Mitt Romney. I think at some point in the last ten years Mitt thought to himself, "Hell, if somebody named Barack can get a nomination, why can't I? Mitt isn't that bad of a name. I'm a Mormon dammit! Haven't you seen our commercials?" Yes, I've tried to talk to Mitt about his salty language, but to no avail. And can you imagine how much more popular the Mormons would be if I joined? I could be blogging and Facebooking about all the wild adventures Mittt and I would have. More free advertising for them. Yup, I'm surprised they're not yet recruiting me personally. I'd better stay home today just in case they come by with an offer.

The People at the Gym

2011-06-19T06:50:00.001-04:00

I belong to a gym. You might not know it by looking at me, but I do. My gym is part of a big, national chain. I think there must be some sort of law that was passed, undoubtedly by congress, that states that the more popular a gym is, the louder the music has to be. In fact, if you were to notice only the music and people on cell phones you'd think you were out at a club. I'll be damned if I can find someone to give my a beer though. That's why I fill my water bottle with beer before I go.

There are several different categories of people that go to a gym. I think that the smallest number belong to the group of normal people who go to the gym a few times a week just to stay in decent shape. That's the group I'm in. The next group are the what I call "The Bicep Bunch." Just imagine the theme song, "The Bicep Bunch, the Bicep Bunch, that's the way we became the Bicep Bunch!" There would be the t.v. screen full of the little picture squares, except instead of looking at each other and smiling they would all be looking at their flexing biceps and smiling. The Bicep Bunch has a uniform too. It consists of work boots, denim jeans and a black muscle shirt. They literally walk around the gym in groups of several guys in this identical outfit. I call them the Bicep Bunch because they're only interested in working out their upper body in hopes of impressing women. Not that impressing women is a bad goal. For most of these guys though, their bodies are disproportionate. They spend so much time on their upper body and none on their lower body that they just have little stick-like legs. I imagine in a fight they'd be pretty easy to take out if you just "sweep the leg Daniel" they'd fall on their back and like a turtle be stuck that way with their little legs flailing helplessly in the air until the rest of the Bicep Bunch flipped them over.

Then there are the "Three-weekers." I call them this because they probably won't use their membership for more than three weeks before they realize that exercise is hard work and they give up, never to be seen at the gym again. You can always spot one of the three-weekers because they are so clueless about exercise that they actually accept the complimentary session with the personal trainer so they can learn how to use the equipment.

A group of gym members I hate are the Locker Room Nudists. These are the people who are obviously way too comfortable with their bodies. For God's sake, put on a towel when you walk from the shower back to your locker! And do not, under any circumstances, talk to ME while you are naked. We're not that intimate!

Then, there are the "women" at the gym. Some of them scare me. When women start doing things like wearing weight belts and bench pressing, doing pull-ups, and curls, I get a little scared about getting too close. I want no part of a pre-menstrual woman who has more muscle mass than me. That is not a safe combination.

As is any other place in society these days, the gym is also full of Cell Phone People. I have no freakin' idea how they can even hear anyone on their cell phones over the din of the music. The only exercise these people are getting is exercising their mouths. I'm sure they can't do real exercise because they're so winded from talking. It's always a temptation to drop a big weight on these dopes. Not that I'm carrying big weights, but maybe I could persude one of the Bicep Bunch to do it for me because after taking out their leader Karate Kid style I am now their king.

Where's My Ribbon Magnet?

2011-06-14T21:03:00.001-04:00

Every cause, disease, disorder and affliction in existence seems to have a ribbon magnet. There are so many support ribbon magnets that I think they've become de-valued. You can support our troops, schleroderma, autism, and your favorite football team with a ribbon magnet for your car. If you can find a left handed, autistic, football player from West Point who has bad skin you can probably buy enough magnet ribbons to put a ring of them all the way around your car. I am in fact thinking of creating a ribbon magnet for people who feel left out because they have no reason to have a ribbon magnet.

Admittedly I don't have a single ribbon magnet on my car. But I believe that I deserve several ribbon magnets. We all have our crosses to bear. I'm color blind. Where's my ribbon magnet? Do you know how difficult it is to play Uno when you're blue/green colorblind? Don't even get me started on telling the difference between the blue and green highway signs. Of course if there were a ribbon magnet for colorblindness I couldn't buy it because I'd have no freaking idea what color it is.

Lactose intolerance. Yup, got it. Searched the internet. Not a single ribbon magnet to be found for those of us that can't digest milk. This may possibly be my biggest handicap. For my entire life I have been deprived the joy of enjoying a Shamorock Shake. And I'm Irish! If not a ribbon magnet, there's got to be a 5k for this. Seriously. And why is it that running 5k cures diseases? Why don't we just have preventive 5k runs. If we all run a few 5k runs every year I think we'd be immunized from all the diseases we need ribbon magnets for.

Tendonititis. Yup, another affliction I suffer from that lacks a ribbon magnet. Since I turned 30 I can't engage in any strenuous activity without pain in some joint. There's got to be a ribbon magnet for that, or at least some sort of temorary handicapped parking I can get. In fact, irony of all ironies, the tendonitis prevents me from running the 5k that would cure my tendonitis. Will you run one for me? Actually, while you're at it, could you run 6 or 7k. I think that would cure it faster than a measly 5k. And make sure you wear a t-shirt that says "In Memory of Phil's Ankles." Make sure the t-shirt is half blue and half green, just to cover all our bases.

Vote Phil For President

2011-06-11T08:04:00.001-04:00

That's right. I'm running for President and I need your help. Common sense will be our battle cry and the internet will be our weapon. Join me and together we can make the world a place where men and women everywhere are safe from being e-mailed, Facebooked, or Twittered naked or semi-naked pictures of our public servants.

I live in the state of New York. Over the past 5 years our state Attorney General spent thousands of taxpayer dollars on a call girl, a state assemblyman left his job after a scandal where he admitted to "tickling" one of his staffers, then earlier this year Congressman Chris Lee resigned after having sent a shirtless photo to a woman from Craigslist. Following that, the aptly named Rep. Anthony Weiner recently admitted to sending inappropriate pictures and messages to college students. Here is my simple platform for public office: I won't do stupid stuff like that. I'll just show up for work every day and vote on stuff and not embarrass the people who support me and pay my salary with their taxes.

You may be saying to yourself, "But Phil," which is an odd thing to say to yourself, 'how can I help you become President of the free world?" Lighten up Francis, I don't want to be President of the free world. I just want to be President of Common Sense. Here's how you can help elect a normal human being to public office. 1. Keep reading my blog posts. 2. When you go back to your Facebook page click the "Share" button under the status update where you find this. That's right, you , me, and the awesome power of the interwebs will bring common sense back to government. I plan to campaign solely using the internet. Blogging, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube and any other method that doesn't require me or you to leave our couch. I will debate my opponents by Skype if necessary, but I will not, I repeat, NOT send any of you any pictures of me in any state of undress. I will not spend taxpayer dollars to pay for any illicit recreational pursuits, and I will not "tickle" anyone. Have you heard any other candidates make these promises? Bueller? Bueller?... Romney?Palin? Obama? Nope. Not a one has promised not to send you naked pictures, except me.

If you want a President that stands for common sense and well... a Weiner free Facebook, click "Retweet", 'Share', and Like knowing with confidence that you and your friends are one click closer to government that makes sense.

The Top Seven Reasons To Hate Oprah

2011-05-28T08:39:00.001-04:00

I wanted to come up with ten reasons, but Oprah has already wasted too much of the internets' bandwidth so I cut it down to just seven. They say it's bad to speak ill of the dead. Oprah's show is gone but she's not dead yet, so let's have at her like she's a candy filled pinata. Actually, chances are she probably is candy filled. If you love to hate, read on...

1. Her head is so large that it effects the tides. I'm also pretty sure it caused the weather pattern that has spawned all the recent tornado's.

2. She brought two guys on her show who are raising money to prevent Ugandan children from being abducted and forced to be soldiers (www.invisiblechildren.com). What a wonderful gesture right? Allowing these guys a platform to raise awareness of this issue is certainly admirable right? Last season she took her entire studio audience to Australia. Let's see...if you're a suburban housewife from Sheboygan, Wisconsin whose biggest worry is whether or not the Walmart flyer is missing from your Sunday paper, you get an all expenses paid, three week trip to Australia. If you're a homeless, Ugandan child forced into wartime slavery you get a 10 minute segment and a plug for the website. Nice. I just plugged the website above and when I saw the Invisible Children guys at a concert I gave them $2.20. Oprah can personally afford to build homes, hospitals and schools for all the children in Uganda. But did she? Where's their trip to Australia Oprah?

3. Gail and Stedman. There it is. Still there. In my head. I didn't even have to look those names up. I never asked to have that information in my head. It's taking up valuable space. Space that, were it functioning and not wasted on Gail and Stedman, might have helped me to win a Pulizter Prize by now. Where's my Pulizter Prize Oprah?

4. It's always about Oprah. As of Dec. 2009 the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation was worth 33.5 billion dollars. Money that was used globally to enhance healthcare, reduce poverty, and expand educational access for the underprivileged. The Foundation currently donates approximately 17% of the world budget for the attempted eradication of polio. Did any of us know that? No, of course not. Bill Gates just goes about his business helping people because it's the right thing to do. If Oprah gives away a new Yugo we get a week of ads before the hour long show about it. Oprah is all about Oprah. She does good but wants to be sure you know she did good.

5. Harpo. My name spelled backwards is Lihp. Who cares? Guess what Oprah, we can all spell our names backwards. Maybe I'll put mine on my license plate. How would you like that Oprah? Or would you rather have a show where you give me a license plate with my name spelled backwards so we can all clap for you?

6. Oprah is not following me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor

7. She's not really gone. Her current show may be done, but do any of us really believe that she'll fade quietly into retirement? No, there will be more shows, movies about her life, and appearances on The View (of course anything that takes airtime away from Joy Behar can't be half bad right?). No, there was no reason for that two day good bye to Oprah that was filmed at the United Center in Chicago. Like the results of Arnold Schwarzeneggers past affairs, she'll be back. And Oprah, me and my blog will be your Sarah Connor, so you best tread lightly...

If you have reasons to hate Oprah that you'd like to add, feel free to add them in the comments section, or if you just want to spell your name backwards, have at it.

It's The End of the World As We Know It...

2011-05-19T06:06:00.001-04:00

and I feel fine. Just in case the world really is ending, please read this. I love to see the page views numbers go up and I want to die happy.

According to Robin Harp, who was interviewed by the Southern Chester County Weekly, "We’re in our final days,” Harp said in an interview near his RV parked at a deserted service station off Route 1 just outside Kennett Square. “There is absolutely no possibility that this won’t happen. There is no question mark." Oh, well, if Robin Harp says it, it must be true. He is after all parked at an abandoned gas station holding a cardboard sign. Why wouldn't we believe him? Actually, I think God speaking through a guy standing by the freeway with an RV and a cardboard sign is a sign of the apocalypse. If God really wanted us to know something I'm pretty sure we'd get a text about it. The article goes on to say that Harp is one of "thousands" of "messengers" worldwide who are predicting the apocalypse to begin this Saturday. Hmmm....I wonder if I should hold off on mowing my lawn...

The prediction of the world ending comes from a loosely organized Christian group. Apparently the Christians didn't check their Mayan calendar which apparently has set aside a date in November 2012 for the end of the world. Nor did they speak with Michael Stipe of R.E.M. who predicted the end of the world in 1987. If Lenny Bruce is not afraid, neither am I.

For those of you skeptics who are reading this via the link on my Facebook page you can go right back to Facebook to join the page titled "Post Rapture Looting" which offers this invitation, "When everyone is gone and god's not looking, we need to pick up some sweet stereo equipment and maybe some new furniture for the mansion we're going to squat in." By Wednesday afternoon more than 175,000 indicated that they would be "attending" this "public event."

In the news yesterday a current day Mayan leader said, "Dude, seriously, I am so sick of hearing about this. If the world does end, don't try and pin it on us. Damn, did you ever think that maybe the guy making the calendar just died, got laid off, or was fired for stealing office supplies?" I may be paraphrasing a bit, but that was generally the gist of what he said. He also pointed out that in some other carved-in-stone tablets another Mayan referenced the year 4077. He didn't reference a specific day, but I'll be pretty damn mad if the world ends right before my birthday again. My cell phone, pda, and computer all have calendar functions and all of their calendars go past Dec. 21, 2012 so there's all the proof you need that the world is not going to end in 3 years. In fact, I have written a post and dated it to be released to my blog for Dec. 22, 2012. Suck on that you Mayan calendar nutjobs.

The Phil Laws

2011-05-15T07:46:00.001-04:00

With the next Presidential election less than two years away and the next People magazine Sexiest Man Alive coronation mere months away, I hereby announce my candidacy for both with my current list of The Phil Laws which I will unilaterally impose upon my election to either post.

1. No more Leap Year extra day. Make all months exactly the same length.

2. No more Daylight Savings Time.

3. The elderly will only be allowed to drive motor vehicles or use supermarkets during certain hours of the day.

4. It should be perfectly legal to fire off a warning shot at any driver who slows his or her vehicle to gawk at an accident.

5. You may not use rhetorical questions in a public setting unless you have been tested and deemed competent to do so. If you use or respond to a rhetorical question improperly any willing observer has the right to punch you in the forehead.

6. The pope should wear a baseball hat backwards instead of that giant dunce cap he always has on.

7. A 1-year ban on Lindsay Lohan “news.”

8. You cannot use a cell phone if you are in your own office building. Walk down the freakin’ hall and pick up your desk phone you moron.

9. It will be perfectly legal to punch a cell phone user in the mouth if they annoy you by walking around gesturing wildly and talking aloud to no one while wearing a cell headset.

10. Pregnant women should not tell their male co-workers how dilated they are.

11. Supreme Court Justices will wear jeans, sneakers, and t-shirts. No more robes. That’s just stupid. The dress code is the reason I’ve never become a Supreme Court Justice.

12. Congress will no longer be able to waste their time and our taxpayer dollars investigating cheating in sports or making laws about what men can and can’t do in an effort to meet women.

13. Hurricane names must be something scary, not just a normal name. Who’s going to flee something like Hurricane Ed? I believe that far less people would have perished if Hurricane Katrina had been named Hurricane Deathtron. You flee a storm named Deathtron. No one was scared by Katrina.

14. Anything you can play while sitting at a table or drinking alcohol is not a sport. (poker, bowling, golf) Also, if the winner is subjectively chosen by a panel of judges, it is not a sport. All the aforementioned activities have no place on television.

15. The only place you can be nude in your local gym locker room is in the shower. The rest of the time, wear a towel.

16. Funerals should include drinking and entertainment.

17. Schools need to request parental permission before exposing your child to a mime.

18. No putting bible verses on Halloween candy.

19. A ten-year ban on reality shows.

20. All public bathroom stalls will be as big as the handicapped stalls

21. No saying “See you next year” on Dec. 31st.

22. No more writing paper checks. Get yourself a debit card and stop holding up the lines at the supermarket.

23. The word ‘whatnot’ shall be struck from the English language.

24. Future Presidential elections will be done American Idol style.

There it is. If you read it all then you definitely qualify as my new best friend and possible future Vice-President.

Help Wanted: Music Conductor

2011-05-08T20:35:00.001-04:00

Help Wanted: Music Conductor Why don't I ever see that title in my CareerBuilder e-mails? That's a job I would apply for. I was at my son's college guitar ensemble recital the other night and there was an actual conductor. A stick holding, arm waving, page turning conductor. That is a job I think I could really throw myself into.

I don't have any relevant experience, but really, do you need any relevant experience? Maybe I spoke too soon. Actually, on second thought, I think do I have relevant experience! Let's see....what is the job description? 1) Wearing a tuxedo. Check. In fact, I was so advanced I did that part of the job in high school at a couple proms and looked damn good doing it. I still believe that it's one of my better skills. I wonder if music conductors actually show up for the job interview in a tux...God I hope so. 2) Wave my arms in time to music. Check. See high school/prom. Thank God the conductor doesn't have to move his feet in time to music. I'm still working on that skill. See high school/prom, and every wedding reception I've attended since then. And yes, since the link to this will post on Facebook, I believe I will have countless witnesses to act as references on this part. 3) Turn pages. Hmmm....I was a little delayed in developing that skill since I didn't crack open a book in high school, but in college I mastered page turning moderately well. 4) Be ignored by peers while doing all of the above. Check, see high school/prom.

I actually believe that the 4th qualification is the most crucial. Have you ever really watched an orchestra and their conductor at the same time? The conductor is waving his arms furiously, gesturing, turning pages of music, rising and falling as if he is controlling the tempo. Then you look at the musicians and not a single one of them is looking up at him or her for the cue. Of course not! They're professional musicians who have been playing their instrument their entire lives. They can play a freakin' song on their own without some penguin suit nimrod waving a chop stick at them! (And yes, after reading this, at least one of you will be at some recital in the near future and will remember the phrase "penguin suit nimrod" and you'll chuckle to yourself. You're welcome.) No one actually needs the conductor! He or she is like the mascot at a sporting event. They act like they're part of the action, but really they're just an unskilled buffoon in a suit jumping around. If a conductor was actually any good, wouldn't they be playing the music instead of waving their arms at it like a tinfoil hat loon barking at the cosmos?

So yes, I am currently updating my CareerBuilder profile to include Music Conductor in the search engine. And while I am at it, I'm going to add conductor of all types. Really? Do we need a guy driving a train? They're on rails. No one needs to drive! And Thomas is talking, thinking train, he definitely has no need for a smart ass conductor. But if the job is open, I call dibs! I'll see you at the interview in my tux.

Lost in the Supermarket

2011-04-16T07:47:00.001-04:00

"I'm all lost in the supermarket

I can no longer shop happily

I came in here for that special offer

A guaranteed personality"

We all have our home supermarket. Where I live there's a very popular and very prevalent supermarket chain. Often in the course of my job I end up stopping at other supermarkets in the same chain when I need to grab lunch for myself or just to run an errand. Each supermarket is another in the same supermarket chain as my last one. It looks just like my old supermarket with the same big, reassuring sign on the front that tells me I'll find everything I need within. The employees are dressed the same. The shopping carts look the same. The same shelves of newspapers and free periodicals are available in the entrance. Despite all these comforting signs that say everything will be all right, once I get inside it's as if I'm Alice in Wonderland and I've fallen down the rabbit's hole. NOTHING IS WHERE IT SHOULD BE!!!!!! It's like I was blindfolded in my old supermarket, spun around 10 times and then the blindfold was removed. Everything looks almost the same, but I'm completely disoriented. I stumble around as if drunk, bumping into shelves and shoppers that aren't where I expect them to be. The aisles are all still there, but they have different stuff in them! My shopping takes twice as long because this store is set up ALL WRONG!!! Based on my disorientation alone it might be worth it for me to drive the extra 10 minutes to my old supermarket where I can find everything twice as fast. This is another thing I will change when I'm elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first. All supermarkets of the same chain must be set up exactly the same.

As if supermarkets being different weren't a big enough problem, they all seem to be populated by shoppers who are mentally deficient. For everyone out there, please note that you should drive your shopping cart the way you drive your car. In the U.S.A., please stay to the right as you move forward. (Read the next two lines with an unbelievably sarcastic tone and a bit of a shout please) If everyone goes the same way two carts wide no one can go the other direction! And if someone comes from the other direction, don't just stand there stupidly looking at each other waiting for one of you to back up 3 feet! Another type of shopper I hate is "the contemplative shopper". These brain boxes pull up in front of a section of items and then stand there pondering what must be a life changing choice based on the amount of time it takes them. They become human cholesterol blocking the vital artery of carts attempting to flow. As bad as the contemplative shopper is the people who still write paper checks at the checkout. As the cashier announces the total they are suddenly surprised that they have to pay. It is at this moment that they finally take out their checkbook and begin to fill out a check and then meticulously log it in their check register. At this point it's also a good thing that guns are not sold as "impulse items" on the rack at the checkout. If I was to ever have the impulse to shoot someone that would be the time. I also believe it would be justifiable in a court of law.

As an aside, if you can get the musical reference I used in the intro without looking it up, you win 5000 Phil Points which can be redeemed at the gift shop for a t-shirt and you also become my new best friend.

I'm Not a Doctor but I Play One Online....

2011-04-02T06:33:00.002-04:00

Former rockstar and current reality t.v. personality(?) Bret Michaels is suing the Tony Awards claiming that the producers did not instruct him how to leave the stage safely after his 2009 performance resulting in him being "smacked" (a complicated legal term meaning 'hit by') in the face by a piece of the set, resulting in a broken nose and cut lip. Six months after his appearance Michaels suffered a subarachnoid brain hemorrhage which the former Poison frontman claims is related to his head trauma at the Tony Awards.

Yeah Bret, it was bumping your head on a door that caused a hemorrhage. I'm not a doctor but I play one online and I think there may be a fair chance that 30 years of heroin and alcohol may have had something to do with it. Or maybe you watched your Tony's performance. I watched it and I'm thinking of suing you because of the traumatic brain injury your horrible performance caused me. Those are 5 minutes of my life I wish I had back. Or perhaps you went a few weeks without any completely useless publicity and your brain just imploded. Michaels lawyer claims that, "Through his sheer will to live, to see his children grow up, he was able to survive this trauma." Oh my god, he has children? That can't be good. And yeah, it was his sheer will to live that resulted in his survival, not the team of highly educated physicians at the hospital who save lives every day. When Bret does something right, like continue to live, he takes full credit for it. When he does something stupid, like hit his head he's all blame and lawyered up.

Hey Bret, what about 15 years ago when you got all drugged up and ran your Ferrari into a telephone pole and nearly died? Was that the Ferrari companies fault because they didn't tell you not to do that? What about your mini-stroke last year, or the hole in your heart? Whose fault are those? Why aren't your lawyers filing lawsuits against cocaine? I hear Bret has Type I diabetes. I'm sure the lawsuit against sugar will be filed any day now.

Tattoo You? Tattoo me!

2011-03-30T05:34:00.003-04:00

The tattoo represents my sons. Two are musicians and one is a baseball player. It's my second tattoo and I got it high enough on the arm that I can easily hide it even wearing a short sleeve shirt. So where and what are your tattoos? Maybe I should start a Tattoo Tuesdays where everyone posts a pic of one of their tattoos. Of course I'd be out of material after two weeks. I wonder how much Blogger would pay me to have their logo tattooed on me somewhere visible...

The Brazilian Dictator Lift

2011-03-25T22:23:00.001-04:00

Honestly, the word Dictator in the title could easily be replaced with "Butt" and I doubt few would argue, although Muammar might have me shot. News broke this week that a Brazilian cosmetic surgeon admitted that in 1995 he performed liposuction on the then 53 year old Muammar Qaddafi and then injected the fat into Qaddafi's face to remove wrinkles. He also reported that he had given the Libyan dictator hairplugs as well because at the time Qaddafi was concerned that "the young people of his nation would see him as an old man."

Muammar, Muammar, Muammar, I am ashamed to think of you as a dictator. This insecurity is not becoming of a man of your station. Why when I was a young boy dictators didn't give a hoot what their constituents thought of them. You should be embarrassed Muammar. You're a dictator! Act like one! You're not a reality show contestant. You're a dictator! You make the rules. Nobody votes you off the island. And if they try to, just have them shot. You think Fidel Castro cares what people think. He might even be dead. We don't know and neither do the Cubans. If he wanted us to know he'd tell us. You're a freaking DICTATOR ! There is no election coming up. Who cares how old anyone thinks you are? Who cares what the young people think?

And dude, seriously, you have to call that surgeon up and demand your money back, or take his family hostage or something. His work did not hold up. Your head looks like a prune. And those hair plugs? Really? Chicks totally know when you've had it done. And not a single gray hair? Really? 69 years old and you're still rockin' the Just For Men? At least let a few gray hairs mix in there. You are totally missing the boat on all the bad girls with Daddy issues. Or, just shave the whole damn thing and tell them you'd grow it out if you wanted to. And that turban? Really?!!? What is it with you dicatators and hats? It's like 106 degrees in the winter in Libya. At least go with a visor. That turban must make your head sweat like a sonofabitch. It's like you have the same P.R. team as Charlie Sheen. No wonder we're bombing the hell out of your tiny country.

Inappropriate Uses For Onstar

2011-03-18T05:46:00.001-04:00

We've all heard the commercials. "Hello. This is Dave from Onstar. How can I help you?" Caller responds tearfully, "My six month old baby is locked in my car with a rabid pit bull and I can't find my extra set of keys." While Onstar is a wonderful service I'm sure there are people who abuse the service.

Ring, ring! "Hello. This is Dave from Onstar. How can I help you?"

Caller: "Dude! I can't believe this. I went out with my friends and man we had, like, I dunno, 20 shots of this incredible blue stuff. Dude, you gotta try this stuff. It's awesome. Anyway, the parking lot is like, ginormous, and now I can't find my car. It's red. Can you see it from there?"

Onstar Dave: (With biting sarcasm) "No sir. I cannot see your car.

Caller: C'mon Dave. Dude, you've got, like, a satellite right? Why can't you see my car? Can you at least make the horn honk or the lights flash so I can find it?"

Onstar Dave:(Smirking) "Oh, sure sir. This may take a few minutes. Just wait, and the next time you hear a car horn, walk towards it. Have a nice night."

Ring, ring! "Hello. This is Dave from Onstar. How can I help you?"

Female caller: "I'm calling about my boyfriends car."

Onstar Dave: "What's wrong ma'am? Has he been in an accident?"

Female caller: "An accident? I wish! That son of a bitch slept with my sister when I was gone for the weekend! Could you use your satellite to, like, blow up his car with a giant laser or something?"

Ring, ring! "Hello. This is Dave from Onstar. How can I help you?"

Caller: "Yeah. You've got to help me. This is an emergency."

Onstar Dave: "Slow down. Talk slowly so I can get all the information I need."

Caller: "Ok, I was stuck in traffic on I-90 when I look over at this little, red, Pontiac Sunbird next to me and this chick was totally hot and she smiled at me. Just as I was about to get out of my car and go over to get her phone number, traffic started moving again and I missed her. Her license plate number is 975-AIG. Could you call her up and give her my phone number?"

Onstar Dave: "(Heavy sigh) Ok, hold on a sec. There, that should do it. About a half mile ahead you should find her pulled over on the shoulder with her car inexplicably stalled. Keep me on the line and when you get under the hood just press your star key and I'll start her back up."

Caller: "Onstar Dave, you rock!"

Onstar Dave: "Yes I do."

Daylight Stupid Time

2011-03-13T07:30:00.001-04:00

I don't know if other countries do this, and I know that all of the states in the U.S. don't abide by it. Daylight Savings time is when we move our clocks forward an hour in the spring and move them back an hour in the fall. I think it was created about 100 years ago to give farmers more daylight in which to do their work in the fields. Call me crazy, but why the hell didn't someone just suggest that the lazy ass farmers drag themselves out of a bed a little earlier each day? Because those cud chewing, overall wearing, udder jerking lay abouts can't be bothered to set their alarm clocks we are all stuck changing time. I don't know if anyone else noticed, but 5 years ago the U.S. Congress, in another colossal waste of their time and our tax dollars, extended daylight savings time by a few weeks on either end. First off, why isn't it called daylight spending time since we are using more daylight in the summer months? Secondly, at this point the farmers (except the creepy Amish ones) all have electricity and alarm clocks, which may not have been the case 100 years ago. Reportedly the reason Congress is doing this is to save energy. How will changing our clocks twice a year save energy? Don't we set our thermostats and use heat based on the outdoor temperature, not how light out it is? I'd like to save the energy I expend changing my damn clocks! I'd like Congress to tell me when I get that back. Congress is again proving to be the biggest collection of morons outside of...well...I guess I can't think of a bigger collection. Why doesn't Congress set their alarm clocks an hour earlier so they can get up early and get more of this important work done? I for one am not going to go for this stupid daylight savings time thing anymore. I don't work at a farm or for Congress, so I told my boss that for 6 months I'll be to work an hour early or late, however it works out.

When I'm elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, this is going to change.

The Concert List

2011-03-11T05:21:00.013-05:00

This is a list of all the bands I've seen in concert starting with the oldest to the most recent. I'm hoping to elicit some, "Oh I've seen them too," or "I saw them and they were terrible," or possibly even, "You saw them in concert?!!? What a dork!" Here goes:

The Who, The Police, Genesis, Yes, The Fixx, George Thorogood, James Taylor (not related to me),The Grateful Dead(2x), Queensryche, Metallica, Indigo Girls, R.E.M., Phish(2x), The Dead Milkmen, Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, Green Day(4x),Less Than Jake, New Found Glory(2x), Sugarcult, Panic at the Disco(2x), Motion City Soundtrack, Fall Out Boy(2x), Blink 182(2x), Rob Zombie, Godsmack, Good Charlotte, Reel Big Fish(2x), Bouncing Souls(2x), Sum 41, They Might Be Giants, Moxy Fruvous, Anarbor, Riverboat Gamblers, Jesus H. Christ and The Four Hornsmen of the Apocalypse (lead singer has read this blog and I believe I may have inspired their song "Vanity Surfing), Say Anything, All American Rejects, We the Kings, AFI(lead singer from my hometown), Anberlin, Cage the Elephant, The Strokes.

I'm sure there's some smaller opening acts I've forgotten over the years. The picture above is from cell phone from my front row, mosh pit spot for Green Day last summer. Next up on my concert schedule is All Time Low in May.

Winning!

2011-03-05T06:34:00.003-05:00

Charlie Sheen. There I said it. Then again, who hasn't uttered the words "Charlie Sheen" over the past two weeks? He says he's "winning" while the rest of the world seems to think he's losing it. What exactly is it that he's losing? Ok, he may lose 2 1/2 Men, but frankly that isn't much of a loss for anyone except Ducky and the homely teenage actor who both likely won't find too many employment offers that don't include a nametag and paper hat. Instead of canceling the show the producers are idiots not to incorporate Wild Thing's latest trials and tribulations into the plot. This past week's re-run was the highest rated show on Monday night. Idiots were watching as if Charlie Sheen was going to do something nutty. Why not have his character go on a bender? Don't even script it. Just buy Charlie some drugs and follow him with cameras. Make it a reality show. CBS thought the scripted show had good ratings? They could cancel all other programming and just follow Charlie 24/7 live. We'd be afraid to look away for fear that we'd miss something.

Everyone also seems to think Charlie has gone crazy. As the old saying goes, I think he's crazy like a fox. Which is the network most likely to air his reality show. Are you kidding? There isn't an actor or actress in the world who isn't jealous of the 24/7 publicity Sheen is getting. Sirius satellite radio has temporarily set up a Charlie Sheen channel, Tiger Blood radio. He has more Twitter followers than any human being on the planet, and he got them all this week. I have four. (If I go on a binge and post the word "winning" on Facebook every day will you follow me?) Sheen's agent is probably overwhelmed with offers for tv and movies right now. Imagine the redemption story! "Charlie Sheen back from the brink!" I think he knows exactly what he's doing and he's brilliant. If he's high on the drug "Charlie Sheen", I gotta get me some of that.

P.S. Can anyone identify the movie that the pic above came from?

The Everyday Oscars

2011-02-26T07:37:00.002-05:00

I do have Oscar-worthy acting talent. So do many of you. Just because our skills don't appear on the big screen doesn't mean our talents should go unappreciated! To recognize the acting achievements of everyone like me, I hereby introduce The First Annual Everyday Oscar Awards! I imagine the awards ceremony will go something like this:

MC Phil: The Everyday Oscar for Best Performance in The Workplace goes to...(fumbling with envelope)..Craig Snodgrass for his role in "The Overdue Report!" (video clip begins to roll on the monitor)

Craig: "Yes Mr. Hendricks, I knew that report was due this morning. I was about to forward it to you when I got the call that my grandmother, the woman who raised me after my parents died, was in a car accident."

Mr. Hendricks: "Is that a Hooters napkin sticking out of your pocket?"

Craig: "Yes it is sir. The hospital needed two quarts of my blood for the transfusion. They said I should drink a lot of fluids for the rest of the day. I got a little woozy driving back to the office and I had to pull over."

Boyfriend: "Heather, I just found these boxer shorts under your side of the bed! They're not mine! Whose are they?!!?"

Heather: Awww! You ruined the surprise! I bought them for you, but I got so turned on at the thought of you in them, that I put them on myself and wore them around for a day. Would you like to see me in them?"

Boyfriend: "Are these your skid marks?"

Heather: "Umm...yeah?"

As you can see this would be a very popular idea.

I Could Bite Your Face

2011-02-23T06:49:00.001-05:00

To paraphrase The Beatles' Eleanor Rigby song, I'd like to say: All the stupid people, where do they all come from? I found myself helpless witness and finally participant to two incredibly idiotic conversations this week. At one time I was in the waiting room of a medical office and seated near me was a couple that would make the folks on CMT's "Redneck Wedding" look like the height of haute couture. This couple had more digits than teeth and their attire would make an Amish grandfather look trendy. So the woman, who was reading a magazine, People or Us or some similar intellectually stimulating tripe, says, "Look, a composer, that would be a good job!" I'm thinking, "Yeah honey, you check the want ads for that one. I'm sure there's a big market for a gal with your resume."

Later in the week I'm in another office, one that has both a psychiatrist and an internal medicine doc. Two roughly 18 year old girls come in, check in, and sit down near me. One starts reading a People Magazine and soon thereafter points out to the other member of her Mensa club an article about a female jogger who survived a bear attack. First they debated at length whether or not there are any mountains in New York state because if there were they would avoid said mountains to avoid being attacked by bears. Then the debate raged on regarding whether or not you could escape certain death by playing dead when attacked by a brown bear or a black bear. Of course the inevitable discourse of what type of bear is native to New York ensued. I believe they concluded that brown bears fall for this ruse but black bears do not. Girl number 1 informed girl number 2 that the jogger survived the attack by poking the bear in the eyes while it was biting her face. Girl number 2, whom I'm fairly certain did not work for NASA, then speculated that a baby bear might not be able to harm her because its jaw might not be large enough that the bear would be able to open it's mouth sufficiently wide enough to bite her face. To this Girl number 1 replied, "I could bite your face." At this point I burst out laughing and added, "And don't you forget it. You don't want to make her mad." The girls then stopped talking for the remainder of their time in the waiting room.

Synchronicity

2011-02-19T06:58:00.001-05:00

In 1983 The Police released the Synchronicity album. In 2011 some guy in China caused outrage with a different kind of synchronicity. Chinese magician Fu Yandong caused outrage among animal rights activists, the Chinese and Sting by somehow having goldfish swim in synchronicity. Apparently he was ordered to stop performing the trick in public because the animal rights people think he somehow put little magnets inside the goldfish to control them. I can't understand why people are upset about this. I think Fu is on to something. If he can control goldfish with magnets I don't see why we don't expand this use of technology. I've been feeding my dogs magnets and have mounted a big electronic magnet right next to my back door. I send the dogs out to do their business and when I want them back in I turn on the big magnet. Hopefully a big UPS truck or something doesn't drive by while they're outside. I've lost more magnetic dogs that way.

I don't think we need to limit our use of magnetic technology to just animals however. I think this technology would be fantastic for kindergarten teachers.

No Shirt, No Shoes, No Congressman

2011-02-12T12:51:00.001-05:00

C'mon Chris Lee! Seriously? You were a U.S. Congressman! Seems like a pretty good job to me. I always thought that job might take some sort of intelligence. Apparently it's not a requirement. Then again, Congress still calls their vacations "recess," so I guess it's no surprise when one of you acts like a child. Shirtless pics on craigslist? Really? What are you 17 years old? Or was your girlfriend? Didn't your girlfriend have a MySpace acct. you could have hit her up on? 46 years old and you told her you were 39? Seriously? Were you looking at the same picture the rest of us were? You're in good shape for your age, but 39?!!? Moron. It's no wonder she blew you in to the press. You didn't think anyone on craigslist would know what their congressman would look like? Maybe next time, and I'm guessing there will be a next time since Mrs. Lee couldn't have been too thrilled with this, you should first ask your craigslist gals if they're a Republican or Democrat. One good thing did come of your short lived escapade however. As a N.Y. Jets fan I'd like to thank you for very quickly taking the heat off of Jets QB Mark Sanchez for dating a 17 year old. You made that one short news cycle. You can cross your fingers but I don't think the Egypt situation is going to make us forget that creepy picture of yours. I think Hosni Mubarak waited so long to resign because your idiotic story made everyone forget about him for a couple days.

The Overlaughers

2011-02-05T18:37:00.001-05:00

We all know the overlaughers. We encounter them in everyday life. You may even be an overlaugher. Typically the overlaughers have no idea they are one. Typically, overlaughers also annoy the hell out of the rest of us. I'm five sentences in and you're all still thinking, "What the hell is an overlaugher ? Get to it already would you!" If this was your thought, you are probably not an overlaugher. An overlaugher is a person whose laughter is often disproportionate to the stimulus which provoked it. On the one side of this, it is nice that these people are enjoying life so much that they find even the most modestly amusing things bring them unmitigated joy. The other side of this coin is that the rest of us have to listen to them guffaw loudly during meetings, in casual conversations and during movies or television shows. Don't get me wrong, I love to laugh and I love hearing others laugh at my jokes, but even if it is my joke, I still get the urge to slap an overlaugher right out of their fit of hysteria if it is unwarranted. There are three types of overlaughers. I'm not sure which is more irritating.

The first type is the Self Overlaugher, also known as an Overlaugher Type I. Earlier this week I was at a conference for work. One day I sat in a conference room being lectured at for 9 hours.. One of the presenters was an attractive 28-30 year old woman who had just gotten her Ph.D. the day before yesterday and couldn't wait to enthusiastically share all the brand spankin' new information they had taught her in college, but which has no useful application in the real world. In an effort to spice up her presentation she interspersed jokes and amusing personal anecdotes. Early in the day I was very pleased with this approach. Then I noticed she was an Overlaugher Type I. She found herself hysterically funny. So funny in fact that she often began laughing at her jokes before the audience had a chance to. Sometimes the audience chose not to laugh since she had already done it for them. It is fine to tell jokes, in fact I do it all day long. Sometimes it is even Ok to smirk or chuckle a bit when you say something amusing. A Self-Overlaugher laughs loudly and profusely at their own jokes as if someone else had just said something side-splittingly funny.

The second day we had a different presenter who was a bit more low key. Unfortunately for the rest of us an Overlaugher Type II had taken up residence in the front row. As a performer or public speaker it is wonderful to have several Type II Overlaughers in your audience. Type II Overlaughers seem to have an over-reactive funny bone. They find everything hysterically funny and usually have very little self-awareness regarding the volume at which their laughter emanates from their body. The problem for public speakers and audiences alike is when there is just one Type II Overlaugher in the audience. When there is just one Type II Overlaugher in the audience their laughter, which is either too loud, occurs alone, or outlasts the group response, tends to make a joke seems less funny because of their singularly exaggerated response, which usually causes everyone in the room to look at them and think, "What the hell is wrong with him? It wasn't that funny"

The Type III Overlaugher is known as the Combo type. A Combo Overlaugher laughs loudly and frequently at both their own jokes and everyone elses. The Combo Overlaughers are exhausting to be around and give most of us a headache. These people must collapse exhausted at the end of each day from the sheer energy required to maintain this laughter all day. The Combo Overlaughers strike me as very sad though because you know damn well that no one is that happy 24/7 and if they behave as if they are they're probably hiding something. Like seeing a clown at a bar drinking and smoking at the end of a long day of making ballon animals I imagine that the Type III Overlaughers go home and drink themselves to sleep every night. The one place I do love Overlaughers however is in my comments, so please, feel free to embrace your inner Overlaugher. Which type are you?

Daylight Savings Time

2010-11-06T21:04:00.000-04:00

I don't know if other countries do this, and I know that all of the states in the U.S. don't abide by it. Daylight Savings time is when we move our clocks forward an hour in the spring and move them back an hour in the fall. I think it was created about 100 years ago to give farmers more daylight in which to do their work in the fields. Call me crazy, but why the hell didn't someone just suggest that the lazy ass farmers drag themselves out of a bed a little earlier each day? Because those cud chewing, overall wearing, udder jerking lay abouts can't be bothered to set their alarm clocks we are all stuck changing time. I don't know if anyone else noticed, but 3 years ago the U.S. Congress, in another colossal waste of their time and our tax dollars, extended daylight savings time by a few weeks on either end. First off, why isn't it called daylight spending time since we are using more daylight in the summer months? Secondly, at this point the farmers all have electricity and alarm clocks, which may not have been the case 100 years ago. Reportedly the reason Congress is doing this is to save energy. How will changing our clocks twice a year save energy? Don't we set our thermostats and use heat based on the outdoor temperature, not how light out it is? Congress is again proving to be the biggest collection of morons outside of...well...I guess I can't think of a bigger collection. Why doesn't Congress set their alarm clocks an hour earlier so they can get up early and get more of this important work done? I for one am not going to go for this stupid daylight savings time thing anymore. I don't work at a farm or for Congress, so I told my boss that for 6 months I'll be to work an hour early or late, however it works out.

When I'm elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, this is going to change.

The Everyday Oscars

2010-03-07T06:21:00.000-05:00

Well, it's happened again. I was passed over. Not a single Oscar nomination. The whole process is completely biased against people like me. Ok, I know that there aren't really other people like me, but that does not excuse the Hollywood establishments prejudice against me. The Oscars have been handed out longer than I've been alive, but not once have I been awarded a gold, phallic statuette. Just because I'm not some kiss-ass Hollywood insider who's made a movie in the past year they completely overlook my accomplishments! It is because of this snub that I refuse to attend the awards ceremony.

I do have Oscar-worthy acting talent. So do many of you. Just because our skills don't appear on the big screen doesn't mean our talents should go unappreciated! To recognize the acting achievements of everyone like me, I hereby introduce The First Annual Everyday Oscar Awards! I imagine the awards ceremony will go something like this:

MC Phil: The Everyday Oscar for Best Performance in The Workplace goes to...(fumbling with envelope)..Craig Snodgrass for his role in "The Overdue Report!" (video clip begins to roll on the monitor)

Craig: "Yes Mr. Hendricks, I knew that report was due this morning. I was about to forward it to you when I got the call that my grandmother, the woman who raised me after my parents died, was in a car accident."
Mr. Hendricks: "Is that a Hooters napkin sticking out of your pocket?"
Craig: "Yes it is sir. The hospital needed two quarts of my blood for the transfusion. They said I should drink a lot of fluids for the rest of the day. I got a little woozy driving back to the office and I had to pull over."

MC Phil: That always brings a tear to my eye. Next up, the Everyday Oscar for Best Relationship Saving Performance goes to...Heather Stevens for her fantastic performance in "Whose Boxers Are These?" (video clip begins to roll)

Boyfriend: "Heather, I just found these boxer shorts under your side of the bed! They're not mine! Whose are they?!!?"
Heather: Awww! You ruined the surprise! I bought them for you, but I got so turned on at the thought of you in them, that I put them on myself and wore them around for a day. Would you like to see me in them?"
Boyfriend: "Are these your skid marks?"
Heather: "Umm...yeah?"

As you can see this would be a very popular idea.

Sexiest Man Alive? Hardly.

2009-11-19T08:00:00.000-05:00

Johnny Depp?!!? Please! First of all, I wasn't even interviewed. How fair is that? Go on, compare his picture right there with mine in the top left of the page. His picture, my picture. His picture, my picture. His picture, my picture. I've been doing that all night and I still don't see it. Sexier than me? Who is doing the rating? Ray Charles? Stevie Wonder? (Why aren't there famous blind women?) I'm mean, c'mon, as far as I know he is completely unemployed right now. Meanwhile I have a full time job with health insurance and everything! Raise your hand if you've read Johnny Depp's blog? Of course you haven't! He doesn't have a blog. I do. And I have 12 followers! I have a blog, a full-time job, health insurance and the ability to use what I've learned about personal hygiene. Depp? No, no, no, and a big NO on the hygiene. Ask yourself this, who have you spent more time reading about this year, him or me? We all know the answer to that. You've been to my blog at least once or twice a week. How many times a week do you go out of your way to read what Johnny Depp has to say? In fact, you see my picture everytime you visit this blog. You've definitely looked at my picture more than Johnny Depp's this year too. Do you know why? That's right, because I'm sexier. Case closed. In fact my argument here is so watertight that I doubt Depp will even attempt to refute it.

"It's a Mute Point"

2009-11-07T06:33:00.003-05:00

"No, I'm pretty sure it's not a mute point. If it were a mute point you wouldn't be saying it aloud to me right now would you?" Is what I wanted to say. I also wanted to say, "And isn't it terrible about all those autistic children who are moot and don't matter at all?"

Is it really that tough? C'mon people! They are two distinctly different words with different spellings, meanings, and pronunciations! And I'm not talking about people with limited education! On and on it goes. Everyday some person in a position of authority, or esteem, or which requires higher education uses one of those words incorrectly! Of course when I am interacting with these people in a professional capacity I cannot shout my frustration about their idiocy. In those situations I choose to pretend I have selective mootism. See?!!? See how stupid it looks when someone uses them oppositely?

When I become President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I am going to pass a law allowing everyone to make a Citizen's Arrest of anyone who confuses these two words. Much like bad drivers who are ordered to attend a defensive driving class, the moot/mute people will have to go to a special class to learn the difference between these and other similar words. I only hope that when these dolts are in class they remain moot so everyone can hear what the instructor is saying.

On a marginally related point, The band Mute Math is really very good. I enjoy them immensely and highly recommend them. I wonder how their career might have turned out differently if they were Moot Math? If you looked at my high school transcript you'd see that math was a pretty mute subject for me. In fact you could say that my grades would imply that the instructors might have been moot. Or is that mute?

My Momentary Friends

2009-10-28T06:25:00.000-04:00

Despite how you perceive me here, I actually do have friends in the real world. Don’t laugh, I do. We all have many different kinds of friends though. We have friends from school, friends from work, friends in our neighborhoods or apartment buildings, and of course our blog friends. We also have what I like to think of as “momentary friends.” These are people who may enter our lives for only a moment every day or once a week, but in many ways are as important to us as are the friends for whom we profess love and longing.

It could be the cashier at the supermarket you always go to because she has a nice smile and makes small talk about the weather. The security guard outside your office who holds open the door as you leave each day. The girl at Supercuts who cuts your hair and asks about your plans for the weekend. The guy who says hello as he passes you on his nightly walk down your street. Or perhaps the blogger who updates almost daily with a heartwarming story or amusing anecdote. We all have about a hundred of these people in our lives and for me I enjoy their momentary friendship immensely. I think we all do. As much as family or friends whom we know by name, these people also provide us with a sense of security. Often, more than “real” family or friends our “momentary friends” are dependable. They’re always there for us with that smile and hello, or perhaps only a knowing nod. Day in and day out, sometimes for years these nameless people are part of our lives and I miss them and worry about what happened to them when they don't show up in my daily routine.

The fun for me is providing them with names and stories. I like to imagine who they are outside of that moment in time when our paths cross. How and why did they come to be part of my life every day? The best part though is naming them.

Some of the names we give these people are flattering and some are not. No matter where any of you live, I think you’ve all met my friend, “Man with bad toupee.” Then of course in every neighborhood we all know “Woman with enormous ass who’s always bending over doing yard work.” “Girl walking dog” always seems so nice. You have no idea where she lives, but she appears around the corner every evening at the same time. One person I hate, but would somehow miss if he/she were gone is “Yellow Saturn Asshole.” This jerk parks his/her yellow Saturn in my street every day, completely blocking off traffic on that side of the street. As infuriating as this is to me, if they moved away I’d miss the little adrenalin rush I get as I curse them while I sit behind their parked car waiting for traffic to pass so I can get by. It’s only perhaps a 10 second inconvenience about 5 times a week, but that adds up to 50 seconds per week, 3 minutes and 20 seconds per month, or 40 minutes per year. That may not seem like much, but since I plan to live in my current house for the rest of my life, over the next 36 years Yellow Saturn Asshole will have wasted the equivalent of a full day of my life.

This post is dedicated to my favorite momentary friends: Hairdresser Nikki, Indian Girl at Dunkin' Donuts, Walking Man, Rollerblading Girl with dog, and Security Guard. Without these people and their momentary friendship my day would be incomplete. I could probably do without Yellow Saturn Asshole though.

The Hamster Ball People

2009-10-22T06:40:00.000-04:00

We all know what a hamster ball is right? Generally I have no problems with hamsters or balls. What I do have a problem with is Hamster Ball People. What or who are Hamster Ball People you ask?

The Hamster Ball People are those people who move about the Earth as if they are in a giant plastic hamster ball, as if they are surrounded by a giant invisible bubble that is their space and theirs alone. Still not sure? Let me give you a few examples:

At the supermarket you push your cart along happily gathering what you need for the gourmet feast you're planning for that evening. As you turn the corner to find that one, last elusive item you need to complete your shopping, there sits a Hamster Ball Person. They are definitely in the middle of the aisle, cart parked sideways as they ponder what appears to be the most difficult decision of their lives. That entire aisle belongs to them don't you know? Or if perhaps they are actually pushing their cart, they are moving a such a glacial speed that you think their legs may fuse together, or already have. And of course they are in the middle of the aisle as if their invisible hamster ball won't let them move to either side to let other shoppers pass. Oh, that's right! They don't actually recognize that there are other shoppers because the entire store exists to serve their needs.

On the roads the Hamster Ball People aren't as egregious in their behavior, but they exhibit the same traits. The Hamster Ball People are likely to be the car that will stop regardless of traffic, on any road, without pulling over to the side, to read a sign, look at someones Halloween decorations, or just to point at a bird they saw.

At the bank the Hamster Ball People are the ones who on a Friday lunch hour with 40 people waiting in line will take up at least a half hour with the teller because they don't understand the ATM fee on their bank statement.

Another place the Hamster Ball People foul things up for the rest of men is in the men's room. Classic men's room etiquette insists that unless your bladder is in danger of literally exploding and splashing everyone within a 10 foot blast radius with urine and torn skin, you are not to ever use a urinal directly next to another man. The Hamster Ball People do respect this rule, but to an annoying degree. If there are only three urinals in a men's room, as there often are, A Hamster Ball Person will go to the middle, leaving anyone who follows them the choice of either standing directly next to them, or waiting until the Hamster Ball Person leaves. You ladies may just think men are being silly about this, but really, do you want to go to the bathroom with no divider between you and you're close enough that you might rub shoulders?

The best part of this post is that I know that from now on whenever you go somewhere and see someone displaying any of these behaviors in you're head you'll think "Hamster Ball People."

It's the End of the World As We Know It...

2009-10-13T08:56:00.001-04:00

"It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine."--R.E.M.

The Mayan calendar ends on December 21, 2012. Many people believe this is a prophecy of the end of the world. First of all if the world ends on December 21st that will seriously put a crimp in my birthday party plans for two days later. The new movie, 2012 coming to a theater near you in November, has whipped the apocalypse zealots into a frenzy and scared school children everywhere.

In the news yesterday a current day Mayan leader said, "Dude, seriously, I am so sick of hearing about this. If the world does end, don't try and pin it on us. Damn, did you ever think that maybe the guy making the caledar just died, got laid off, or was fired for stealing office supplies?" I may be paraphrasing a bit, but that was generally the gist of what he said. He also pointed out that in some other carved-in-stone tablets another Mayan referenced the year 4077. He didn't reference a specific day, but I'll be pretty damn mad if the world ends right before my birthday again.

My cell phone, pda, and computer all have calendar functions and all of their calendars go past Dec. 21, 2012 so there's all the proof you need that the world is not going to end in 3 years. In fact, I have written a post and dated it to be released to my blog for Dec. 22, 2012. Suck on that you Mayan calendar nutjobs.

Save the Boobs!

2009-10-08T07:48:00.002-04:00

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. I personally know of women as young as 28 who have been afflicted with breast cancer. If you're a woman don't wait, don't believe you're too young, don't think it can't happen to you. Get a mammogram. As Westley said in The Princess Bride, "There's a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. It would be a pity to damage yours."

If you're a guy you can join a breast cancer awareness walk. You can also visit the Susan G. Komen foundationand purchase some beautiful pink ribbon accessories for your favorite female. The proceeds benefit breast cancer research and the immediate impression of you as a sensitive guy will benefit you with your lady friends.

The Hodge Podge Post

2009-10-03T06:34:00.002-04:00

First off, is 'hodge podge' supposed to be one word? Secondly, since I've been really busy I've been accumulating blog post ideas in my head all week, but haven't had the time to put them down here, so I'm going to dedicate a paragraph to each idea here in sort of a catch up post that will give you a cliff notes version of everything I would have expounded on if I had the time for a full post on each topic. Let's face it, any idea I have really only needs one paragraph anyway. I'm not that deep.

1. The Lack of Boundaries People No this isn't a group of amoeba like people from another planet who invisibly flow through our walls. These are the people in everyday life, who apparently lacking a professional therapist, suddenly and without warning decide that you are their new therapist. Sometimes it's a cashier at the supermarket as she's checking your items, "Do you have a coupon for this? I used to use these when I could afford them. Of course that was before my husband slept with my sister and then left me for her because he said I just didn't 'do it for him' in bed." Umm...no, I don't have a coupon. I ran into one such person, a co-worker, on my recent work trip. There we sat having a couple beers and watching Monday Night Football when all of a sudden, unrelated to anything, he says, "My wife is flying down to meet me. I had to pack my suitcase when she wasn't looking so she didn't notice I have Viagra. I can't wait until she gets here. I'm ready to go all weekend. That Viagra is great and my wife has no idea I'm using it." Yeah right. An overweight, hypertensive 45 year old guy is suddenly going at it like an 18 year old and you think she has no clue? ... is what I could have said but I didn't. I said, "Oh...ummm....can you believe Buffalo is beating New England. I don't see how they could screw this up."

2. Dear President Barack Obama, Is everything ok? Are you dead? It's been a whole 48 hours since you've been on television doing something completely gratuitous and unrelated to your job. Yeah, I know it's cool being the President and all, but how often are you actually doing any President stuff? You know what? I don't want to see you out playing golf with Tiger Woods. I don't care to see you laughing it up with David Letterman. I suspect you went to see him just to get tips for picking up women anyway, because frankly I've seen your dancing and that isn't going to help you. I don't want to have you breaking down football games for ESPN or filling out an NCAA Tournament bracket on television. Yeah, dragging the Olympic games to Chicago so we could spend billions of taxpayer dollars on buildings that will forever sit empty after 2 weeks of use, seems like a good idea, but is it really as important as...oh I don't know....running two wars in the Middle East and fixing our economy? You're on t.v. more than Oprah Winfrey. Dude, just sit in that Oval Office and make some useful decisions. (And I'd briefly like to say a quick Hello to my friends in Homeland Security and the F.B.I. whose internet security filters were tripped by an online mention of the President. You guys rock. Keep up the good work and keep reading The Phil Factor)

I'm Still Alive and Flying the Friendly Skies

2009-09-27T06:28:00.005-04:00

Although I referenced a Pearl Jam song in the title I have to tell you that I can no longer stand Pearl Jam. In 1992 I loved the 10 cd, but now 17 years later Pearl Jam has produced nothing of significance and much like the word "Kardashian," every song from the 10 cd has worn out it's welcome in my mind. If Pearl Jam comes on the radio I cannot change the station fast enough.

Hopefully blogging hasn't worn out it's welcome in my mind. I'm posting today just to stay connected. After my post about running away I figured I might post just so you don't think that I actually did go off the deep end, although it was tempting. I think that perhaps after a work trip that was part vacation I got back to my day to day routine and it just sucked the life out of me. After 4 days where everything was light and carefree, returning to my daily responsibilities has bogged me down mentally and until I regain my equilibrium where I have the emotional energy to handle my days and write sarcastic stuff, I may not have a lot of creativity here. But, let me tell you about a weird couple on my flight home last week...

So, when checking in for any flight I routinely ask if the exit row seats are already filled. The reason being is that if you're flying coach, standard seating doesn't have enough leg room for anyone who isn't a member of the Lollipop Guild. The exit rows however are very spacious and often last filled by passengers whom the airline employees deem able bodied enough to help people out in the event of an emergency landing. Being the strapping young buck that I am, I always pass this test.

So I amble down the aisle to my seat. It turns out it's in the middle of the exit row. Two people are already sitting there. One by the window. One on the aisle. They're married. I assume the airline made a mistake but these two didn't have the assertiveness to speak up and ask to be seated next to each other. I offer to allow one to switch seats so they can sit together. They refuse. The airline wasn't in error. They don't want to sit next to each other on a 2 1/2 hour flight. They chose to force a complete stranger to sit between them.

Are you freakin' kidding me?!!? How weird is that? "Frank, did you take your pill?" "Frank could you hand this to the stewardess?" "Frank take your pill now." "Sorry we have to talk across you." No, you didn't have to talk across me! You could have just effing moved over so you weren't inconveniencing a handsome and charming but complete stranger! What the hell is wrong with you two? Do you do this on every flight you go on? I'm reporting you to Homeland Security. I don't care that you despise each other so much that you can't rub elbows for two hours. Try to act normal in public and then go home and sleep in your separate bedrooms! I think airlines need to start separating the cabin by social skills.

Remember my Escapist Fantasy Post?

2009-09-17T05:44:00.005-04:00

Remember my Escapist Fantasy post from Aug. 30th? I said that sometimes I feel like I want to get away from it all because it feels like I've got the weight of the world on my shoulders:

Well...I toook this plane:

And flew to this place:

And did this!

And I'm never going back! And if anyone tries to find me I'm going to drive away in this car:

Doppleganger

2009-09-12T05:29:00.005-04:00

Doppelganger: German for "double walker", a shadow self that is thought to accompany every person. Some believe that only someone who knows the original person can also see the Doppelganger. Still others subscribe to the "evil twin" theory that doppelgangers behave in a manner directly opposite to the original person.

As of this writing, the world population is roughly 6,783,648,144. Is it possible that somewhere out there is another carbon copy of each of us? Are they living a parallel life somewhere else? Or, if each of us has both male and female genes, could we have a doppelganger of the opposite sex? Do we ever meet or see our own doppelganger? If we did and they were the opposite sex, would we be attracted to them? Would they be our "soul mate"? Or would it be more of a brother/sister feeling?

If the "evil twin" theory holds true, what do we do, knowing that the more good we do in life, the more evil our doppelganger will perpetrate? If we save a life, our doppelganger would take a life. If you met your evil twin, what would you do if you knew they were evil? If your evil twin is bent on destroying you, could you kill your own doppelganger? Would doing so destroy you both? Do we need a doppelganger? A balance? A cosmic yin and yang that makes the world go round?

How do we know that we are actually not the doppelganger? The shadow self for someone else? Could you be the evil twin and not know it?

This whole thing gives me a serious novel idea. I got dibs, so don't even think about it. And if I did have a female doppelganger, you know she would be really hot.

"I Love the Change of Seasons"

2009-09-08T05:46:00.005-04:00

The picture here was my Saturday night. It is how I wish every evening could be spent. Sitting outside on a warm summer night. I know that most of you "love the change of seasons," but I'm not one of those. To me and the rest of the United States, Labor Day symbolizes the end of summer. To some this means changing leaves, cooler temperatures, and cocooning with family. To me the end of summer means shorter days, fewer opportunties to enjoy the outdoors, and work. Lots of it. And also since it's colder it Fall means I have to wear more clothes. With a body like mine, why cover it up?

Yeah, the leaves changing color are pretty, until my lawn is three inches deep in them and I'm speding two days filling over a dozen leaf bags. Then there's that whole winter thing. Some have espoused the virtues of fires in the fireplace, cuddling, snow angels, and snuggling. Or...you could see bitter cold, shoveling feet of snow from the driveway just so you can leave the house. Layers of clothes, specific footwear, and hats which just totally ruin my hair for the day.

I like sunshine and warmth. I don't have to shovel sunshine or scrape it off the windows of my car every time I just want to run to the corner store. Sunshine and warmth doesn't require a special wardrobe. Sunshine and warmth does knock out my power for hours. This being the case, I dress for success. You know how they always tell you to dress not for the job you have but the job you want? I dress for the weather I want. It is usually deep into winter before I finally acknowledge the season has beaten me once again and I finally begin wearing a warmer coat. I don't cave on the hat however. Nothing messes with the 'do. Enjoy your change of seasons, but I plan to ignore it in hopes that it will go away. I don't mean to sound like a seasonal Scrooge, but in the Northeast where I live summer is so fleeting I don't want to let it go.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

2009-09-04T06:51:00.003-04:00

For the most part bloggers are creatures who express ourselves with language. Occasionally we supplement our posts with pictures, some more effectively than others. But rare is the blogger who speaks only in images. One of my long time favorites is such a blogger. My blog has existed for over 4 years and very nice woman from New Zealand named Dzeni has been visiting my blog almost that long and in return I've been visiting hers as well.

Quietly and without fanfare or drama Dzeni has been posting pictures, designs and fractals she creates on her computer. She posts a new one daily. I visit and enjoy her artistry, amazed at what she does with an apparently endless stream of ideas, brilliant creativity, and technology. I have the same technology at my disposal that she does, and yet I'd be lucky to make a recognizable stick figure with the Paint program. Most of the time I can't even figure out how to use a new font. And each comment I leave is immediately responded to with an e-mail with a kind word of thanks. And I do mean immediately. I'm not sure how many hours difference there are between here and New Zealand, but she is seriously right on it.

If you have an extra minute each day make Dzeni a part of your blog rounds and enjoy something a little different.

To Yield or Not To Yield? That Is The Question

2009-09-02T05:51:00.003-04:00

The sign to the right here is symbolic of everything that is wrong with the United States. Yes, that's right, everything. "State Law: Yield to Pedestrians in Crosswalk." Is this in anyone elses state? These signs started popping up in New York about two years ago. At first I thought they were just a small town thing. You know, those little towns without a stoplight and just one general store that is as much a social center as a place to shop for essentials. I can see these signs in towns where life moves slower and a motorist is just as apt to stop their vehicle to chat with a pedestrian about Edith's gout and the weather.

I would be fine if these little traffic impediments limited themselves to towns where Amish buggies share the road with cars, but that's not the case. Like an ivy that seems harmless at first, these laws and signs have crept into my city and town and are choking traffic. I can hardly finish a text without a half dozen stops and starts for people who suddenly believe that their soft, fleshy 150 lbs. are suddenly impervious to the might of my 3000 lb. death mobile hurtling towards them at 40 mph.

Don't get me wrong, in general I'm not in favor of running down pedestrians with my car, but let's have some common sense. This is a dangerous law. "But Phil," you say, "how is it dangerous? It seems like it is meant to protect people." Yes, it is meant to protect people, but from what? From their own stupidity. Why should we train people that it's OK to step off the curb without looking? Without consequence?

Now, children will grow up believing that it's just fine to run into a road. People don't need to get more comfortable with traffic, but less comfortable. With drivers busy eating, talking on cell phones, texting, and watching their GPS for the next turn pedestrians need to be on their toes constantly regardless of what the streeet sign says. This law goes against Darwin's evolutionary theory. It used to be that only the strong and smartest survived to procreate. Now with laws like this that protect the stupid people, everyone gets to survive and procreate! Do we really need more people who aren't smart enough to yield to a speeding car? I imagine years from now we will need to invent hover cars because our Earthbound roads will just be clogged with dolts crossing the street all day just because they can.

The Escapist Fantasy

2009-08-30T06:34:00.004-04:00

We all have an escapist fantasy. Our wish to get away, to soothe our soul, to just for once think only of ourselves on those days when the rest of the world has forgotten to recognize and appreciate our personal greatness. It may be a day when months of work towards a particular goal are kicked aside by a higher up, who on a whim decides to take things in a new direction. It could be a day when everything seems to be coming up roses and then you get home to find a cold, cruel message informing you that your husband, wife, significant other has decided they need space or have found someone else. Or perhaps you've had that stressful day at work, it's finally the end of a Friday and you're looking forward to returning to your oasis at home and being embraced by the love of your family only to be greeted by screaming, yelling, and arguing. Life is sometimes imperfect and sometimes we all accept the invitation to the personal pity party and think to ourselves, "What if I just dropped it all and walked away?" Here's how my escapist fantasy goes:

It's been one of those days, weeks or even a month when the world has forgotten their obligation to fall fawning at my feet. I've had it. Fortunately for me there are two things happening that will allow me to finally just take care of myself, to have no demands on me more complicated than what to have for lunch. I just had my quarterly bonus from work direct deposited in conjunction with my regular paycheck. I have more money at my disposal at this moment than I've ever had. Tomorrow I have to travel to somewhere perpetually warm and sunny for a work function. I close out the bank account. It may not be a fortune, but it's more money than I've ever seen in my hands. This should take care of me for a couple months if I'm smart about it.

I get on the plane as scheduled and step off far away from my stress. I still stay in the hotel provided by work and attend all my meetings for the week. Why not? The hotel and my meals are paid for. Then comes Friday. The week of work meetings is done. Now it's time. I pack my suitcase and tell my roommate I'll see him down at breakfast. After breakfast I gather my suitcase, all the clothes I may own for a while, and instead of boarding the shuttle to the airport I walk past without a word or look in anyone's direction, and I keep walking until my feet find sand and my ears are filled with the sound of waves crashing upon the shore. I set my suitcase and my ass down upon the sun kissed beach. I slip off my black dress shoes and socks, setting aside the symbol of the life I've just left behind. "Even my toes wanted freedom from their workaday bondage," I think to myself as I dig my feet into the warm sand. I imagine that I can find a room to stay in above a beachside restaurant where I will work as a bartender pouring drinks and dispensing wisdom in exchange for my room and food. No paycheck, no social security number needed. Aside from that my time is spent enjoying the story of each person I meet as I soak in the sun, the sound of the waves and caw of the seagulls forever my soundtrack.

So what's your escapist fantasy? Where do you daydream of when it feels like the world is playing kick the can with your life?

P.S. If I don't post again for a while, you'll know why. "Wastin' away again in Margaritaville..."

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY !!!

2009-08-28T06:17:00.001-04:00

I know Valentine's Day is months away, but it's never too early to start advertising and decorating for the next holiday is it? When I become President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first I intend to pass a law that limits how early advertising and holiday decorating can be done. Each year the holiday toy commercials and in store decorations force themselves into our lives earlier and earlier. There is absolutely no reason for advertisers and stores to begin Christmas preparations before Labor Day.

I love Halloween as much as the next guy, but I don't want to start thinking about it in JUly the way my local supermarket seems to. The local Halloween costume store is already open! And yes, Christmas is a big holiday for those that celebrate it, but there is absolutely no reason Christmas should be able to steamroll over virtually every other holiday that occurs in the previous four months. Those other holidays all have merit and earned their way onto the calendar, so let's not forget them. My new holiday Phil Law will simply state, "There can be no advertising or in store decorating for a holiday until the holiday immediately preceding it has concluded."

This way all the advertisers will have August to sell us our end of summer products such as rakes, leaf bags, sweaters, and beer and nachos to celebrate the beginning of the American football season. Then, as soon as Labor Day is over they are allowed to focus on Columbus Day. That's right, it's always important to celebrate the explorer who was the third guy to find North America but took credit for being first. The dimwit was heading for India and ran into a landmass about 6000 miles long from top to bottom. That was some shrewd sailing. The only way he could have missed hitting it was if he tied Leonardo DeCaprio to the front of his ship and found the nearest iceberg. He didn't even find a way around it! His trip was a total failure when you look at the goal he had when he set out. Yup, he definitely deserves a holiday. Then, only after Columbus Day can stores put Halloween costumes on their shelves. It's never too early to start worshipping Satan.

Of course after we're done with our evil, pagan holiday can we move onto to planning for the holiday that celebrates what we really worship, eating. Honestly, Thanksgiving is a holiday all about eating a giant meal. Who really, sincerely thinks about what they're thankful for on that day? I mean besides the thought, "I'm thankful I got one of the turkey legs this year." If I'm going to have a holiday centered on a really good meal, I am not going to eat turkey and stuffing. If turkey and stuffing are such a treat then why the hell don't we eat them the rest of the year? Why aren't there restaurant chains serving them year round? If there's going to be a holiday that's centered on a big meal, why not pizza and wings? When I'm President or Sexiest Man alive, whichever comes first, I am definitely declaring a pizza and wings holiday. Phil Day I think we'll call it.

Then finally at midnight on Thanksgiving should we be able to begin the Christmas season. It could be a national event. All the family and friends who get together for the Thanksgiving meal could stay up like on New Years Eve and at midnight cable channels can begin airing "It's A Wonderful Life." Every house in the neighborhood could turn on their Christmas lights at midnight. The first t.v. ads for Fondle Me Elmo could air during that first "Wonderful Life" commercial break. Stores could open at midnight with special sales. Dick Clark could host a "Ringing In The Holidays" t.v. special that airs live, showing cities across the world lighting their city Christmas tree and shooting off fireworks.

That's how to have a holiday season. With advertising and store displays started in August, Christmas has become almost tiresome by the time it arrives. The day itself is an anti-climax after the four month build-up. With my plan each holiday will get it's due and Christmas will still have the fanfare it deserves. Yes, I realize how ethnocentric this post is in regards to the penultimate Christian holiday, but that is just another example of how it dominates our culture at the expense of other holidays and religions. Don't worry, I'm working on my post about how Ramadan is way too commercialized as well. And don't even get me started on Yom Kippur.

My Twit Face

2009-08-25T06:13:00.006-04:00

Facebook, MySpace, and Twitter have become part of modern life. All three are a wonderful way to connect with and communicate with friends and family. Technology has made the world smaller and in some cases brought the past back to us. Not all of this is good however.

I'm on one of these social networks and have found countless old friends whom I have lost touch with. I've kept in touch with family. And I've have had the creepy older brother of a friend send me a "friend hug" and countless drinks. Ugh. That's the problem with these social networking sites. Sure, you can find long lost friends and all, but they can also find you. I have people I wouldn't say Hi to if I bumped into them in a foreign country, and yet they're want to know my result on the 'What movie character would you be?' survey. I have a woman I haven't spoken to since I was 13 years old sending me flowers, blenders, and farm animals daily.

Then there's the status updates. I'll put one up if I actually do something that's somewhat out of the ordinary or if I think of something funny or original to say, but really do all these people care if I'm frustrated that it rained on my weekend, or what I cooked for dinner, or what my most recent workout consisted of, or what the hell my mood is at 2:30 on a Tuesday afternoon? I don't care about these things about myself, and I'm pretty sure no one else cares about the minutiae of my day. Have we become such an insipid, needy society that we can't do anything without needing validation from someone? And does no one have any personal boundaries anymore? Just because people spill their guts on Dr. Phil doesn't mean that I need to know the same things about you just because the anonymity of the internet hides my horrified look and snide comment from you. If you're getting divorced, have a family member dying, or just found out your best friend is gay and in love with you, does it really help you if "5 people liked this"?

I am not a friend whore. Some people have literally hundreds of "friends" that they've never met or even sent an e-mail to. Never heard their voice, and yet these same anonymous friends get to see pictures of their family and know what's going on virtually every hour of their lives. I guess you can never have too many friends. That being said, I'm on Facebook as Fill Taylor. That's right, with an F. There are literally hundreds spelled the other way, so the differentiation makes me easier to find. Feel free to "friend" me. I look forward to hearing about your day.

One Last Golden Boys Story: The Walk

2009-08-23T15:45:00.001-04:00

Our most sacred and enduring ritual is The Walk. We grew up in suburbia. Everytown, USA. Identical houses and identical yards as far as the eye could see. A corner store we could walk to. Four guys in four consecutive houses. All about the same age from average middle class families. Our ritual, when the weather was willing, and sometimes when it wasn't, was The Walk. The "walk around the block." In the beginning it was rarely spoken or suggested, it just sort of happened. Any time of day or night it could happen. After we finished swimming or building a fort, or when we got older, after a night out on the town. We would just walk and talk. Some days we would try to fathom the mysteries of our world and some days we just laughed at each other for reasons we wouldn't remember the next day. We knew every foot of that walk like the back of our hands. We knew who lived in every house, all 56 of them. 58 after they added the two down at the end. It was the best neighborhood in the world as far as we knew, and we felt like we were the kings of it.

The Walk is still our ritual, but it's changed. None of us lives in the old neighborhood anymore and our reasons for visiting it are almost gone. In our eyes though, the old neighborhood is unchanged. A time capsule of our childhood. As adult men now, we still go back to the neighborhood and take The Walk. We walk down the middle of the street at night and we point to every house and talk about the memory of a childhood friend, or the time it caught fire, or what tragedy befell the old folks, who weren't so old when we rang their doorbell and ran. For three of the four of us, the neighborhood doesn't belong to us anymore. Our parents have passed away or divorced and sold our childhood homes. But still we walk. This year when one of our parents passed away, three of us returned to the neighborhood after calling hours and took The Walk. We still try to get together once a year. Again this year, we still drove to the old neighborhood, parked the car at the corner store and walked by our childhood, wondering where it went. Someday when the first of us passes away, I imagine the others will take The Walk, carrying our friend's casket around the block, for one last walk.

Sick of The Golden Boys?

2009-08-21T07:00:00.001-04:00

What does everyone think? I'm tiring of the subject after two weeks. I do have plenty more stories and a few pics, but like I said, I'm sure this is more fun for me than you. How about voting in the comments? Golden Boys? New posts?

Highway To Hell (A Golden Boy Road Trip)

2009-08-19T06:00:00.000-04:00

Yes, the Golden Boys do occasionally leave New York to wreak havoc upon the unsuspecting denizens of other locales. A few brief, but memorable, moments occurred during just such a road trip when we set sail for Golden Boy Tom's nuptials in the windy city of Chicago. Tom was already in Chicago with his betrothed, while Gooby, Chuck, myself, and auxiliary Golden Boy Ozzy packed ourselves into a Ford Probe for the 12 hour drive.

First off, let me say that there should be a Golden Boys soundtrack because so many songs are associated with specific moments that we all remember. Those of you on the wrong side of 30 would enjoy our music. One such musical moment occurred spontaneously during the trip to Chicago. As we all cruised along, mocking me for not driving fast enough, the 1980's mega-hit "The Safety Dance" by Men Without Hats, came on the radio. Without a word, our bodies began to bob back and forth in uncanny unison to the music as we all spontaneously burst into singing the words loudly together.("You can dance if you want to. You can leave your friends behind, 'cuz your friends don't dance and if they don't dance then they're no friends of mine") The passengers in other cars going by us laughed and pointed.

Shortly after that we stopped at a rest stop in Ohio. Two things happened in fairly quick succession shortly after we sat down to eat. Auxiliary Golden Boy Ozzy inadvertently introduced a full-fledged, habit wearing nun to the phrase "knob job" and Chuck was filmed sitting helplessly on the commode. That's one thing about being a Golden Boy. You're guard has to be up at all times. Especially if you're naked. Whether it be showering, sleeping, or using the toilet, there is always an excellent chance another Golden Boy will film or photograph you and then send it by e-mail to everyone he knows.

FLAME

2009-08-17T06:35:00.000-04:00

FLAME is our version of Spinal Tap. Or perhaps more appropriately, Milli Vanilli. Flame is The Golden Boys air band. I'm not sure how it started, but one summer day with too much time and too much beer we found ourselves hanging around someone's house with a bunch of musical instruments that none of us could play. Needless to say, we did what anyone would in that situation. We walked around our neighborhood pretending we were a band. We took publicity photos. We even put on a fake performance in a drive thru car wash at the end of the street.

About 10 years later we also had a reunion tour during Golden Boys weekend and again made matching shirts to commemorate the occasion. We again proudly wore our matching shirts out in public and explained to anyone who asked that we were a famous one hit wonder band from the 80's that was re-uniting for one more tour. We would feign stunned amazement that they didn't remember our one hit that made it to #17 on the billboard charts. We really did have a song we made up, or at least we had a few lines we made up that we would pretend were from our "song" and we would sing them for anyone who asked. (I'm on the far left in the top picture and the far right in the bottom picture)

One Golden Boy Short

2009-08-15T06:20:00.000-04:00

I'm sure all of you are wondering what we do when one of our Golden Boys is missing from one of our functions. That's easy. We replace him. There are two ways we replace a Golden Boy. One is with our back-up Golden Boy, Ozzy. (No, not the singer, but another of our friends with a nickname. He's the one with the hip tattoo in the post below) The other way we replace a Golden Boy is with a cardboard cut-out. Gooby is very technically inclined and using pictures of me from 8th grade and one from high school graduation he created two life size card board cut-outs of my head and shoulders. By all reports my card board cut-outs have had a lot more fun than I have on some Golden Boy weekends. I was unable to travel to Connecticut for Chuck's wedding, but if you watch Chuck's wedding video there I am, from the shoulders up, dancing with bridesmaids, sitting at the head table and hanging out at the bar. The pics in this post are actually freeze frame images taken from Chuck's wedding video. Needless to say that Mrs. Chuck was none too pleased with the prominence of my cardboard participation. I apparently have also met a lot of women online through Gooby's web cam.

A Golden Boy Wedding

2009-08-13T06:06:00.001-04:00

As hard as it might be to believe based on our group nickname , all of the Golden Boys are heterosexual and occasionally someone agrees to marry one of us. As you might imagine, when you put the four of us in tuxedos with an open bar and loud music, very entertaining things are bound to happen. The first thing that usually happens is that the dance floor suddenly looks like a Taylor Hicks convention with all of us pretending that we can dance. That's where the American Idol resemblance stops however because none of us can sing very well. Of course that doesn't stop us from singing. We usually continue to do so loudly and in unison almost constantly throughout the reception. Dates, wives and bridesmaids are quickly forgotten as we revel in our big day together. On more than one occasion the beautiful bride, who dreamed of this day her whole life, is usually quite upset that she, her $1000 dress, and the reason for the day has been completely upstaged by The Golden Boys. Considering the fact that she's getting to marry a Golden Boy, it's a sacrifice worth making.

One especially memorable Golden Boy wedding reception was Gooby's. Fortunately his bride that day had been riding shotgun with The Golden Boys the longest and knew what to expect. (In the rest of this story I am going to remove the name of the Golden Boy to protect his identity. Golden Boy X we'll call him.) Shortly after the reception began Golden Boy X was despondent over the fact that the bridesmaid he was paired up with didn't want to hook up with him, so he coped with this the way anyone would. He got very drunk. So drunk that he threw up under the gift table and was shortly thereafter was found napping under said gift table. Needless to say, the bridesmaid was so impressed that she didn't talk to him the rest of the night. Tom and I did not immediately comprehend the plight of our comatose friend because it was likely that at this time Tom and I, who were both not hitting on our bridesmaids, were slow dancing with each other until a pair of dateless divorced women(Can you say 'Cougar' boys and girls? Good, I knew you could!) decided they'd like to dance with us. Aren't there always Cougars prowling weddings?

At about 1 a.m., following the reception, during which I'm sure no one took their Cougar to a coatroom or a car, the Golden Boys decided to help Gooby and the future ex-Mrs. Gooby bring all their presents and flowers back to the new bride's parents' home. We did rouse Golden Boy X, and now conscious and feeling badly about his performance at the reception, decided to apologize by vomiting in the bride's parents' bathroom. That night may be why Gooby is now divorced.

The Nipple Ring Open

2009-08-11T06:00:00.002-04:00

The title got your attention didn't it? The Nipple Ring Open was the first of the official Golden Boy weekend functions. We were all out of college and Chuck had gone off to the Navy. He was back for a week after boot camp and of course could think of nothing better do to than to spend time with The Golden Boys. As I said in Chuck's write up, The Golden Boys were, I believe, more responsible for raising him to be the man he became than his own family was. Apparently we did a very poor job of instilling our values in him. He runs off to join the Navy and comes home with...a nipple ring.

As his mentors and role models you can imagine how disappointed in him we were. Of course you can also imagine how much abuse we heaped upon him, including a fair bit of painful tugging on his ring. The Nipple Ring Open was an informal golf tournament we played amongst ourselves and videotaped a large part of our idiocy. Sadly, I have yet to figure out how to post our own vidoes here. Maybe next year. I'm not sure if Chuck still has the nipple ring, but I wouldn't bet against it. About 10 years later we had the 10th Anniversary Nipple Ring Open and we all wore matching shirts that we had specially made which said, "The Golden Boys: Nipple Ring Open 2000." We only realized later, as we all sat in McDonald's in our matching Nipple Ring shirts, how gay we must have looked.

The sun was hot, the beer was cold, and the golf was bad. Prior to the Nipple Ring Open 2000 we all spent a fair amount of time drinking and putting on temporary tattoos. The picture above is from 4 years ago. (me, Tom, Gooby) The picture below is Gooby, Auxilliary Golden Boy Ozzy, and me prior to the 2000 Nipple Ring Open. As you can see, I was a little more conservative than the others in my tattoo placement. Then again, the choice of temporary tattoos that year was intended to mock me because I've got a real tattoo somewhere you can't see.

Golden Boy Flip

2009-08-09T07:00:00.001-04:00

Yes, I'm Flip. The story behind my nickname is no story at all. If you say my first name, Philip, really fast, it sounds like you're saying Flip. At least I think that's the story. It's entirely possible that they have another reason for calling me that and I have no idea. We all respond to our nicknames as if they're our real names when we're with each other, and it would sound strange if any of us referred to the other by our given name. Do you think it's time to change my blog name to 'The Flip Factor'? Nah, just doesn't roll off the tongue the same.

It will be hard for me to come up with some funny stories to sort of capture me in a snapshot as I did the others. I'm sure there are stories the others could tell you that are very funny, but I may not remember them because I was probably drunk at the time. I'm not saying I drink a lot, it's just that we're all usually getting drunk when we're together. I'm sure that I have often been a source of endless amusement for my friends. In the late 80's I had a pair of parachute pants that I'm sure the rest of The Golden Boys are still laughing about. Believe me, I had the ass to pull off that look. Still do if you frankly. When I first posted this post I had included an embarrassing picture of myself from that time in my life when I did love my parachute pants, but later I impulsively deleted it out of embarrassment. Trust me though, there are plenty of pictures of The Golden Boys coming soon.

Like I said, it's hard for me to think of what's funny about me, although after reading my blog for awhile I'm sure you have your ideas. Oh yeah, I'm also easily the best looking of all of us. Then again, that's like being the most smartest member of the Bush family. Who can choose? In the coming days I'll share some stories that tell you about what happens when you mix a lot of beer and four men who have never grown up. And thank you again for allowing me to indulge in my little trip down memory lane. Remember the movie previews for The Hangover? Yeah, I'm pretty sure they stole my stories.

Golden Boy Chuck

2009-08-07T06:37:00.000-04:00

The first thing I have to explain about Chuck is that "Chuck" is not his real name. His real name is Ken, but one day when we were kids, my older brother looked at him and said, "You don't look like a Ken. You look like someone who should be named Chuckie Huddleburger." And so his name has since been Chuck, whether he liked it or not. He should consider himself lucky to be nicknamed Chuck. My brother also nicknamed Chuck's older brother "Aper" due to his resemblance to an ape. The other member of our foursome is nicknamed "Gooby," so I think Chuck realized that as far as nicknames go, he got off easy. That apparently is about the only way Chuck got off. He has always had an uncanny ability to avoid hooking up with women no matter how hard he tried. At one point, as an adult heterosexual male in his 20's he went over 2 years without convincing anyone to have sex with him! He is not a candidate for Extreme Makeover. He has an actual personality and the verbal ability to express himself. He also has rosy, red cheeks. Year round. Whether it's hot or cold. When we were younger, Chuck was always the tag along little brother to the older three of us. He was the youngest by a year or two and was moderately vertically challenged, but definitely not dwarf-like. Unfortunately for him, these traits also made him the group scapegoat for practical jokes. If there is any justice in the world, Chuck will one day own a billion dollar corporation, hire the rest of the Golden Boys, and then fire us just out of spite for the abuse we heaped upon him when we were younger. He had three older brothers of his own, but he wisely chose us three as his role models. One of our first tasks as Chuck's mentors in high school was to get rid of his hopelessly outdated hairstyle that we referred to as "The Wave." This hairstyle was so 1950's corny, that one winter we memorialized it with a 10 foot tall snow sculpture of his head on his front lawn.

Golden Boy Gooby

2009-08-05T20:20:00.002-04:00

(This is the second post in my annual homage to my lifelong friends. To read the intro, scroll down to the previous post)
I have probably known Gooby since he was about 2 days old. I'm one year and one day older than him. Our parents lived 2 houses apart and were always friends. That being the case, I'm fairly certain that when his Mom came home from the hospital with the new baby, my Mom scooped me up and went over to visit Mother Gooby and her new offspring.

Of course the most obvious question is, how did he get the nickname Gooby? That started when we were all about 10 or 11 years old. At the end of our street was a police station. Each winter the snow plows would create huge mountains of snow on the edges of the parking lot when they cleared it. As boys, Gooby, Tom, Chuck and I would play a reverse King of the Hill kind of game. We'd climb to the top of one of these snow piles and one of us would expectorate a big, green goober upon the top of the hill. Then as soon as someone said, "GO!" we would battle to push each other onto the top of the mountain. Gooby, as a 10 year old had the physical build of a newborn deer, all spindly bones and no muscle mass whatsoever. Needless to say, he lost our pre-pubescent manhood contest more often than not and ended up with a frozen goober stuck to his parka. And so a nickname was born. Apparently a few years later, his father, who was not pleased that the nickname had stuck (pun intended) declared to someone, "I will not have a son of mine called Gooby!" Shaking in fear from this proclamation issued by an authority figure, we responded by promptly nicknaming Gooby's father "Colt" for his resemblance to Lee Majors' character in the ground breaking early 80's action adventure series The Fall Guy. (As you can see, our little group was fond of nicknaming almost everyone. Yes, I have a nickname too, and I'll get to that eventually.)

As I mentioned, Gooby grew up with a body that most closely resembled whichever of the Olsen twins had the eating disorder. Then in high school and college a funny thing happened. Gooby started eating a lot of protein and working out. Now his physique resembles that of The Thing from the Fantastic Four movie, only Gooby is a lot hairier. Three years ago during Golden Boy weekend we went to his mother's house to swim in her pool and drink her beer. While we were there his 60 year old mother came home to find three 30-something men swimming in her pool and drinking her beer. One of the three men asked his mother if she would shave his back for him. Gooby then let his mother lather him up and attempt to shave his back with a razor. That was like trying to take down a forest with a lawnmower. Overall, Gooby is the quintessential nice guy and the glue that holds the Golden Boys together. Whenever any of us has anything serious going on in our personal lives, tragedies, triumphs or elective surgeries, we confide in Gooby, even though we know he tells the other three everything when we're not there.

The Golden Boys (from the Best of Phil DVD)

2009-08-03T06:40:00.001-04:00

I apologize to my long-time readers who will recognize this and several other posts from the next two weeks. Not all of my posts from the next two weeks will be repeats, but at this time of year I always pay tribute to my friends. This series of posts will undoubtedly be funnier to my friends and I than any of you, but some bits of my annual pilgrimage may be worth a chuckle for everyone else.

First, let me explain who The Golden Boys are. In our minds we are The Golden Boys. At least that's how we think of ourselves. Not because of any special qualities we have, or because of any of us has led a particularly charmed life. We are four fairly normal, middle-aged men who have been together our entire lives. We can't remember a time when we didn't know each other. We want to think we're special. Like all men our age, we still believe that if we had the time to train we could become professional athletes or crime fighting super-heroes. Despite a sprinkle of gray hair beginning to show or abs that aren't as defined as we'd like to imagine, we still fantasize that we can turn the ladies heads. We'd dubbed ourselves The Golden Boys when we were just barely past puberty. The name "The Golden Boys" was borrowed from a skit on a show called Fridays back around 1980. In the skit, there were two guys with gaudy blonde wigs and some sort of professional wrestler costumes accented by a gold bikini. The motto of The Golden Boys that was uttered by the pair in unison at the conclusion of each skit was, "We're young. We're tough, and we're good looking!" So needless to say, my friends and I adopted the name Golden Boys for ourselves and we began to shout the motto whenever we were together. We still do when we're drinking.

My "Golden Boys" include Tom, Gooby, Chuck, and myself. We all grew up on the same street in four consecutive houses. We have known each other since we were in diapers and will no doubt know each other when we're in diapers again. Once a year for the past 15 years or so we all try to make it back to our hometown for a weekend of drunken revelry and pining for the glory days of our youth. The weekend is typically one of the highlights of my year. This year I'm not sure if the weekend will happen, but I still want to tip my cap to my future pallbearers. Over the next two weeks I'll introduce you to each of the Golden Boys, except Tom, who has asked to be left out, and regale you with tales of our past indiscretions. After reading some of my stories last year a fellow blogger commented that we were "like the kids from Stand By Me, but on crack." I guess that's as good a description as any. I hope you enjoy the stories as much as I do. By the way, we have a secret handshake that we still use.

Connecticut is for F***ing, but what is Pennsylvania For?

2009-07-24T20:49:00.002-04:00

I had a great time at the concert last weekend. The bill also included Life in a Blender (think Talking Heads lite) and Nellie McKay. All three acts featured enough humor in their music to keep me happy. The picture on the left is of course of Jesus H. Christ and the Four Hornsmen of The Apocalypse. It's the best I could do with my cell phone as flash photography wasn't allowed. The following day I sent a Facebook message to the lead singer to tell her how much I enjoyed the show and thank her for including me on her invitation list. She messaged back that she had planned to give me a shout out before beginning the song Vanity Surfin' (which mentions blogging) but got confused and forgot.

This weekend I'm in another state that may be worse than Connecticut. As soon as you cross the border from N.Y. you are immediately confronted by highway billboards advertising two things that are illegal in NY, but apparently perfectly acceptable here: fireworks and ...ahem...Asian massages. For a state so backwoods redneck that a friend of mine refers to it as Pennsyltucky, it seems odd that they are so liberal about happy endings massages. And honestly I didn't get what those Asian massage billboards were really advertising until a friend clued me in. And in case you're wondering, if I was going to get one of those massages I wouldn't be here writing about it. Ok, so in Pennsylvania it's ok to blow shit up and pay an alleged masseuse for a happy ending, but you can't go down to a convenience store or gas station and buy a six pack of beer? Yup, that's right. There is no beer at the convenience stores. I've got a fridge in my hotel room, but if I want to buy beer it must be in large quantities. The only way to buy beer for consumption at home it must be in large quantities from a beer warehouse. I'm not opposed to beer warehouses mind you, but I'm pretty sure I won't be drinking a case of beer over two nights. I'm terrified of what else I might find out is going on in this god forsaken state. Hopefully the villagers don't discover that I'm magically contacting the 'interweb' right through the air. They'd probably organize a mob with torches (or perhaps Roman candles) and pitchforks and storm my hotel room. If this is my last post ever you'll know that's what happened.

A Very Funny Band, A Very Funny Song

2009-07-17T06:00:00.000-04:00

This may be the funniest song I've ever heard. If you're so inclined, it's even funnier to listen to than it is to read. They have two cd's out and are available on itunes. Here's their site if you want to read more about them.

The Band: Jesus H. Christ and The Four Hornsmen
The Song: Connecticut's For Fucking

We live in the dullest state
Package stores all close at eight
Malls are full of optometrists
And restaurants we hate
Swimming across Lake Quassapaug
Stealing makeup, catching frogs
Cutting our feet on broken bottles
As we wade in the Shepaug
It’s true for horses, cows and dogs…

Connecticut’s for fucking
That’s all there is to do.
I love to listen to classic rock
and have sex with you.

Doing hole shots at the mall
Writing Ozzy on a wall
Watch the corn get tall
There’s nothing else to do at all.

Goin’ where we always go
Doin’ what we always do
Waitin’ to turn into the people
We are bound to turn into.
What else do other people do?

Connecticut’s for fucking
It’s the Nutmeg state
If we can’t afford to buy antiques
then we just copulate

Connecticut’s for fucking
And Massachusetts too
I want to climb up the sleepy giant
and have sex with you.

Up in Fairfield
In Old Lyme
We’re just fucking all the time.
Out in Derby
Down in Kent
We’re all busy getting bent
In the Constitution State.

Connecticut’s for fucking
While we’re waiting to
Turn into the people
everyone here turns into.

Connecticut’s for fucking.
There’s nothing else to do.
I wanna listen to classic rock and have sex with you.

We all love to fuck in Connecticut.
We’re all getting fucked in Connecticut.
Let’s fuck!

Here's a little back story. I first posted this almost three years ago and then sent the link to their "Contact us" link on their site just so they knew they had some supporters out there. I got back a sarcastic e-mail. I responded with a kind of "geez, I'm just trying to give you guys a little extra free publicity." I assumed it was just some record company P.R. peon I was dealing with. Turns out it was the lead singer. Since then we have e-mailed occasionally and she gave me permission to reference their band in my novel. About two months ago I got a Facebook invitation to attend their concert in NYC this weekend, so that's where I'll be Saturday night. They are a very funny, and very nice band, so please if you are so inclined, visit their site or download this song or others from itunes. Trust me, if you listen to this song you'll laugh from start to finish.

Cemetery of the Heart

2009-07-09T19:00:00.000-04:00

We all have a Cemetery of the Heart that we visit from time to time. It is a place that is unique and belongs to each of us alone. Sometimes we visit when it’s sunny and the birds are singing and at these times we are unaffected by the memories each marker represents, thankful that we are in a better place. Other times we visit our Cemetery of the Heart when the weather is cloudy, cold, and stormy, perhaps mourning the loss of those happy memories that warmed our hearts in days gone by.

We may walk down an aisle, a small, grassy path flanked on either side by those tiny markers that barely acknowledge a person’s passing, viewing the tombstones with varying levels of interest and angst. Some of the smaller stones, barely a marker really, may represent missed opportunities, brief connections with people which never came to fruition or doors we did not open when opportunity knocked. Most are relationships that perished in their infancy. We recognize the names on some of these stones and others we do not. Some are lovers, some are friends and some are strangers we may have met in passing.

In the next row over are tombstones of those loves which may have been ill-fated, but which still resonate poignantly in our memories. The path through this row of grave markers is slightly uphill, but we can still easily make the trek. The stones are tall and strong with the names and dates etched in them as they are forever etched in our hearts. Each one a small nick, or scratch, or crack in the surface of our hearts, which may have changed it ever so slightly, but which also gives our heart some of the strength and character which has brought us this far.

As we turn the corner of the gravel path there are only a few graves left to view. Up the long, steep hill at the far back of our Cemetery of the Heart are the monuments and mausoleums. It is inevitable. Once we enter our Cemetery of the Heart we are compelled to walk the entire path, even when it becomes steep and difficult. There is no way to go back and erase what we’ve carved on each tombstone. The monuments and mausoleums may be far fewer in number, but their size and importance dominates our view of the cemetery.

In some places we have erected enormous monuments to lost loves. Some of them stand so tall and broad that they block the sun, dooming the small flowers we have tried to plant since the monument was built. Some of us are so tired from pushing the heavy stones into place that we haven’t even tried to plant new flowers yet. We hope that in time some hardy plants will grow here naturally in the shade of these memories and with enough time perhaps they will grow tall enough to reach the sunlight with branches where birds will nest and sing again.

Next to our monuments we notice a mausoleum. Some of the crypts are labeled and we fondly pay homage to those who still hold a special place in our hearts, those we still wish to check in on from time to time to see that they are well. Finally, if we choose to look closely enough, we can see that the daylight from outside our mausoleum has crept through the doorway to reveal a few empty drawers at the back. At this realization we smile and leave the cemetery in peace, knowing that the storm will eventually pass.

Jon and Kate Plus Hate

2009-07-03T06:44:00.009-04:00

"In the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes."-Andy Warhol

In any bar, on any night, in any town in America, if a 40 year old, doughy, hair thinning, married guy walks in, what are the chances he walks out with a single, 23 year old school teacher and goes back to her place to get jiggy with it? Pretty slim usually....unless you're a reality t.v. star!

Aaaaaah...reality t.v.! How could we live without it? I was nearly a reality t.v. star once upon a time. "What's that you say Phil? We could have known you as someone besides the brilliant and funny blog writer you are?" That's right kids. Sit down and I'll tell you the story:

Many moons ago, about 6 months before the first season of Survivor, I came across a tiny ad in small print on page 2 of my local newspapers sports section. It seems some network was looking for people to volunteer to live on a deserted island for a month as part of some new game show. The winner would get a million dollars. I thought, "Hell, I can do that. I'm not afraid to eat bugs and sleep outside." I was serious. So I proposed the idea to Mrs. Phil. Her reaction was, "No way. You're not going away for a month and leaving me here with the kids." "But honey, it's for a million dollars!" "NO" That was the end of that discussion and the end of my shot at immediate fame and fortune. I have forever held a grudge against Survivor and have not watched a single episode.

Now it seems we have reality t.v. overkill, even without me being a part of it. There are shows about families, shows about fat people, short people, people cooking, people selling their houses, people looking for their houses, people having surgery, people building motorcycles, people sleeping, people having babies, getting married and just about anything else. I made up the one about people sleeping just to see if you're paying attention.

Survivor: Yeah, we get it already. A bunch of self-centered, arrogant, model-type a-holes bicker endlessly in a tropical location. Like E.R. I think this show has overstayed its welcome in our living rooms.

Big Brother: A bunch of self-centered, arrogant, model type, a-holes bicker endlessly in a house. If I wanted to watch a bunch of drunk, immature, 20 somethings stab each other in the back and make every little perceived slight into a volcano of petty drama I'd go back to college.

The Bachelor/Bachelorette: A bunch of self-centered, arrogant, model-type, a-holes bicker endlessly about who gets to marry a self-centered, arrogant model-type a-hole.

Would somebody out there just go back to writing sit-coms? All I want when I sit down at night is to empty my brain and fill it with 22 minutes of insipid one liners that require no thought at all to absorb. Maybe a sit-com about the life of a funny blogger would be good. The Phil Factor could be a very catchy title. Hollywood, are you listening?