Brangelina is/are Moving!

First of all, would it be Brangelina IS moving or Brangelina ARE moving? Is a Brangelina a single entity or a pair of people? Secondly, why did I just click “add to dictionary” when my spell checker didn’t recognize Brangelina?

Yes, I couldn’t believe the headline when I read it. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have moved to New Orleans. What’s the matter, did they run out of kids to adopt where they were living? Between them and Madonna invading countries and adopting children willy nilly I wouldn’t be surprised to answer my door tomorrow and find Brangelina waiting to take me into their custody. At the rate they’re going we’re all going to get a turn eventually. In 1970 pop culture artist Andy Warhol said, “In the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes.” I’d like to make a similar prediction: In the future everyone will be adopted by Brangelina for 15 minutes.

As if the devastation of Hurricane Katrina hadn’t ravaged New Orleans enough, now the residents have to deal with the horde of pop culture paparazzi swooping down on New Orleans like a swarm of locusts. Not to mention every parents terrifying fear that Brangelina will pull up in a limo and adopt their child as he or she walks to school.

Cell Phone People: Part VII

For those of you who haven’t followed my rise to fame from the beginning, Cell Phone People is an ongoing series of posts much like The Guy Code of Conduct. As I have pointed out before, almost all of us who have evolved from the primordial ooze and learned to walk upright have learned to use tools. First, prehistoric man learned to use sticks and tree limbs as crude levers to move heavy objects. The discovery of fire and the invention of the wheel followed soon after. The cell phone is a tool of modern man. Some people use it appropriately as a tool while others use their cell phone as if the call button is the control for a morphine drip. It is these people upon whom I wish terrible things.

Last spring one of Saddam Hussein’s henchmen was blown up because the U.S. Army used GPS technology to track his cell phone signals and then aimed a missile at the exact location of his cell phone. I wonder if he was talking on it at the time or if it was in his pocket. Ouch! Then during 2005 there was the Cell Phone Bandit who robbed several banks as she walked up to a teller while talking on her cell phone. All of this backs up my premise that chronic cell phone user=evil.

Here is an excerpt from today of an Associated Press report out of Vellejo, California: “Firefighters arrived at the residential hotel Saturday night to find Picaso lying on the bathroom floor after a malfunctioning cell phone in his pants pocket set fire to his nylon and polyester clothes, Henke said.”

I’m not saying Picaso is evil, but he did have a cell phone on his person. Where’s my cell phone? In the glove compartment of my car. If I need it I’ll open it up and turn it on. Apparently if you carry them on you they just might decide to kill you all on their own. Or perhaps Picaso was hit by a tiny missile from the U.S. Army. There are two important lessons to be learned from this tragic situation: 1) Don’t carry your cell phone constantly, and 2) nylon and polyester clothes are a bad fashion statement in more ways than one.

“Technology is the opiate of the asses”- Phil, circa June 2006

The Table by the ATM

I hate the people at the table by the ATM. I have never been one of the people at the table by the ATM, but that is not why I hate them. I choose not to be one of the people at the table by the ATM. The people at the table by the ATM have a choice and for some inexplicable reason they choose to sit at the table by the ATM. I believe that the people at the table by the ATM are inconsiderate, ill-mannered, and quite possibly mentally defective. The possibility that they perhaps sustained a traumatic brain injury which significantly impairs their ability to use logic and reason is the only thing that keeps me from lashing out violently at the people at the table by the ATM. If, however, I ever discover that the people at the table by the ATM are of sound mind, then all bets are off.

What is wrong with sitting at the table by the ATM you ask? I’ll tell you: personal space. The table by the ATM does not allow for the standard three feet separation that is an accepted rule the world over. The table by the ATM is far too close to the ATM. It is wedged into a small space between the stairs and a hallway entrance. The people at the table by the ATM are either directly under your left elbow as you use the machine, allowing you to breath down the back of their neck and/or onto their food, or if they at least choose the opposite side of the table they are staring directly at the screen and keypad as you punch your code in. I generally am uncomfortable sitting this close to strangers unless our plane has gone down in the Andes Mountains and we’re huddling together to survive. Eventually I would eat these strangers if I had to, so being close to your food isn’t a bad idea in that situation. I don’t want them get away. I don’t want to eat the people at the table by the ATM. Why would I? I just got $10 out and there’s a cart serving mini-pizzas about 20 feet away.

I have never sat at the table by the ATM, but I do use the ATM in question quite frequently because it is the only one in my building. The ATM is located in an open area that includes a cart that sells coffee, bagels, sandwiches, and mini-pizzas. There are also many tables spread throughout the open atrium area. You would think that due to its location the table by the ATM would be the last one to be used. If you think that, you would be egregiously wrong. As if it is a magnet for the socially challenged the table by the ATM seems to attract people. Often people with very questionable hygienic skills. As I approach the ATM, observing the multitude of empty tables nearby there are always people at the table by the ATM. It takes all of my considerable personal willpower to resist screaming, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!!? WHY DO YOU WANT TO SIT SO FREAKING CLOSE TO THE ATM WHEN YOU’RE NOT EVEN USING IT?!!?” In my mind I imagine myself overturning their table as I scream this.

One day if I arrive at the ATM and there is no one at all at the table by the ATM and no one else is in the atrium area I will move the table by the ATM. That’s just how I roll. If you were curious, I used the phrase “table by the ATM” 18 times.

Oh Canada! I'm Lovin' It!

Yes, this is another in my ongoing series of posts professing my admiration for the great country I lovingly refer to as my friendly neighbor to the north. In fact, of all the countries that share a land border with the United States, Canada is definitely one of my top two favorites.

I am, however, writing this post to alert all of you to an outrageous situation that could possibly lead to an international conflict between our two peaceful countries. Yes, admittedly the blasphemous act has been perpetrated by an agent of the capitalistic United States corporate aristocracy. It is an act of such blatant prejudice against our poutine loving friends that I have been unable to sleep since discovering it.

It began yesterday when, on a rare occasion, I happened to visit that bastion of American culinary excellence, McDonald's. Upon arriving I was guided to the appropriate line by the maitre d. After receiving my delicious and healthy meal I glanced down at the receipt which had been placed face down on my tray by the pleasant and hickey laden serving wench. On the back was an advertisement inviting me to participate in an online survey for the chance to win lavish McDonald's prizes. Here I will quote you verbatim what I read that upset me so much: "Open only to legal residents of the U.S. and Canada (other than the Province of Quebec), 15 years of age and older. In order to win, a Canadian resident must answer a skill testing question." Yes, that's correct. If a Canadian wants to win a free Big Mac they need to answer a skill question while us regular Americans don't have to do anything but fill out the survey!

I took the survey giving my information as both an American and a Canadian (I used the University of Guelph's phone number), but couldn't find the skills question. What could McDonald's have against Canadians? And what possible question could they ask to determine if a Canadian is worthy of a coupon for a free Big Mac? I certainly hope that this horrific slight doesn't spark a war between the U.S. and Canada. Who knows what kind of atrocities of war those red-suited Mounties might commit against us. I imagine that their pent up fury over those uniforms would make them one hellacious fighting force. I wonder if they can sneak their horses throough customs at the border? Damn, first Iraq and now this. I think we'd better send Condoleeza Rice up there to make amends. Maybe she can convince Canadian McDonald's to give a free supersize to every Canuck to smooth things over.

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

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 you find out immediately. 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 your 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. 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. 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, 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. Stay tuned for Chapter 7: What To Say about Mothers.

My New Years Resolutions: Karma Chameleon

I went back to my archives for the last week of December 2005 and reviewed the New Years' Resolutions I posted last year. I was successful on every single one. So, without further ado, here are some things you can count on happening in 2007:

1. I resolve not to make New Years resolutions. I had started a funny post of my resolutions with the paragraph above and some other stuff, but when I got up on New Years day karma told me not to write it or post it, so this is all I've got. I'll get back to you as soon as karma tells me it's OK. Don't worry, probably tomorrow or the next day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He Said, He Said

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

My Top Ten Holiday Sports Wishes

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

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

Happy Holidays To All!

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

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JESUS

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

6 Weird Things About Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Holidays From Gooby

Sad huh?

Stop It Already!

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

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

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

Random Phil Stuff From an Interesting Weekend

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

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

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

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

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

TIME Magazine's Person of the Year

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

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

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

I'm On The Pill !!!

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

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

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

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

Please Shoot Me If I Ever...

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

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

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

Another Strange But True Phil Story

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

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

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

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

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

99 Bottles of Water on the Wall, 99 Bottles of Water...

Get one in the mail, pass it around, 98 bottles of water on the wall!

Everyday on my way to work I pass a bus stop shelter that has an advertising poster covering the entire end. What is says is this: 99BottlesofWaterForFree.com

Sounds great right? You just go to the website, give them your address and they send you 99 bottles of water. Millions of people spend money buying bottled water every day. What could be better than getting it for free right? I know what I'm giving to all my friends for Christmas and Hannukah!

I hate to be a cynic, but does anyone else think that this sounds like a disaster waiting to happen? Or perhaps a terrorist plot to poison us? One employee doesn't wash his hands after using the restroom and we've got another e-coli epidemic just in time for the holidays! Or perhaps Osama Bin Laden met with his flunkies to come up with this scheme.

Osama: Well, the Americans, they have the airports and borders covered. Can anyone else think of a way to bring down the capitalist infidels without actually entering the country?

Flunkie #1: How about we get them to come here? We can just set up a resort, get it listed on one of those travel sites and behead the American dogs one by one as they enter. We've got plenty of sand. We could call it a beach resort.

Osama: "Flunkie #1, that is the worst idea I've ever heard. The Americans, they are not stupid. They won't come to the middle east for vacation. Off with your head, it's obviously not good for anything! (Schwing, lop, thud, rolling sound) Somebody clean that up, I can't look at that! I'm right in the middle of my creme brulee'

Flunkie #2: "How about a website? I hear these Americans love this new internet thing. Maybe we could get them to buy something from us that would kill them! How about water, that's cheap! We could even make them pay the shipping and handling."

Osama: "Brilliant idea Flunkie #2! I think I'll use it. Off with your head! (Schwing, lop, thud, rolling sound) Clean up on aisle 3!"

I've linked the website in the text above. Feel free to try it if you're feeling brave.

Invisible World

"There has to be an invisible sun
It gives its heat to everyone
There has to be an invisible sun
That gives us hope when the whole days done"--The Police

Is it just me, or are others out there disturbed by the way our world is disappearing before our eyes? Every day more and more things are changing from tangible objects that we can have and hold into tiny bits of electrical data that fly through the air from place to place.

I recently read some summary of a scientific study that said people become emotionally and physically excited by the sight of money. Where the hell does anyone find money anymore? I have a job. I used to get my paycheck in the mail, take it to the bank, deposit some money and then ask the teller for several rectangular pieces of green paper that respresented currency. Now my job electronically sends my money to the bank and when I want to spend some of my vast fortune I just slide a plastic card through a little machine everywhere. I don't even write checks anymore. I can just use my computer to tell the bank to send my electronic money to the bank that owns my car and house!

When I was a kid I remember that my parents had a telephone that was actually attached to the wall by a cord! How did they ever call their friend from the mall with that thing? I used to get a newspaper, but why bother when my news is in print right on my computer, sent to me as millions of tiny bits of data that my computer re-assembles into a picture and words. In fact, I'm so old that remember way back when your computer had to be attached to a cable or phone jack. Books? Why read one of those big, heavy ones made of paper when you can listen to them in your car or read them online?

I haven't done any scientific studies, but it is my impression that there is probably a significant number of people who communicate with others by electronic means more than face to face. With technology advancing by quantum leaps every year it's entirely possible that face to face talking will soon be a thing of the past. It's almost as if real, physical people are becoming invisible little by little. Will we eventually become a society that lives safely in our little techno-domes pushing buttons to control the world around us without ever getting our hands dirty so to speak? What will become invisible next?