The People at the Gym

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?

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

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

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...

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

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

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

"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....

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!

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

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

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

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.

 

Winning!

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

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.

 

I Could Bite Your Face

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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"

"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

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

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...

"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!

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

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

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?

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

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"

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 doesn't 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

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

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

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 !!!

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

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

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?

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?