Monk See, Monk Do

So I went to a blood lab to have my blood drawn to see if I’ve finally gotten my cholesterol level lower than my S.A.T. score. I dutifully handed the receptionist my paperwork and proceeded to the empty seat nearest the least objectionable looking person in the waiting room. The little, old lady sitting next to me knitting didn’t look like she’d be any trouble, although I swear she glanced approvingly at my ass as I sat down next to her. Just as long as she didn’t jab me with a knitting needle we’d get along fine for the next 15 minutes. And although she had a weapon, I was pretty sure I could take her in the battle for the shared arm rest.

The waiting room is nearly full and I think to myself, “This is going to be a bit of a wait.” I begin to scan the room looking for a good magazine or newspaper left behind. As my eyes roam, scanning the coat closet, the end tables, and the empty seats I spot something a lot more interesting. Tibetan monks! I had to rub my eyes, refocus and look again to be certain I was seeing what my brain had just told me was there. Sitting across from me, swaddled in orange off-the-shoulder robes and sandals were two Tibetan monks. What?!!? I don’t exactly live in an international metropolis. I live in an average American suburb in upstate New York. Upstate. Not New York City. I’d have to drive 6 hours to get to New York City. There just are not Tibetan monks wandering around my neck of the woods very often.

The monks and I regarded each other warily. There was two of them and one of me. They didn’t appear to be armed, but with those loose robes it was impossible to tell what they might be concealing. I gave them a nod and a slight flex of my biceps as I folded my arms across my chest. If there was going to be any trouble I wanted them to know exactly what they were up against. As the phlebotomist called their names in turn, the monks each went back and returned a few minutes later with a small bandage on the inside of one arm. I was still in my seat, arms folded, maintaining my gaze. By now, I was sure that these two knew just who the alpha-dog in this waiting room was. They spoke to each other in hushed tones as they exited the waiting room. I don’t know Chinese, but I think I heard the words “Phil Factor” just before the door shut behind them. I breathed a sigh of relief as it appeared that the confrontation was over and I thought to myself, “I hope those two morons realize that after Labor Day, the sandals and off-the-shoulder look is completely out of season.”

Phil of the Future

I went to the dentist yesterday. Look Ma, no cavities again! Yaaaa for me. I have an extensive history with dentists dating back to when I broke a tooth in the second grade. That one broken tooth has resulted in all manner of dental interventions from two root canals to several different caps and a post drilled into my gum and I assume the bone underneath. In fact, an oral surgeon once uttered "Oops!" while working in my mouth. That's reassuring eh? I also had a wisdom tooth that needed to be broken out of my jaw piece by piece with a hammer and chisel, while I was awake. Despite all of that, I have no fear or anxiety about dental procedures. In fact, for me the most frightening part of going to the dentist is... receiving the appointment reminder postcard in the mail.

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

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

Colgan Err,...I mean Air

I hate to pile on here, but I'm thinking it's been a bad week for Colgan Airlines. If you're a regular reader of my blog, both of you, you remember my posts about the Colgan Air flight that crashed outside of Buffalo, NY back in February. As you may recall, I believe I flew on that very plane 5 weeks earlier.

This week it was revealed that the pilot had failed 4 pilot tests before finally passing, but had lied to Colgan Air about at least two of the failures. The co-pilot was a 23 year old woman who was making $16,000 dollars a year! What?!!? $16,000 a year? And she had peoples lives in her hands all day every day! I'm pretty sure there are people that work at my local McDonald's making $16,000 a year and I sure as hell don't want my life in their hands, although eating fast food prepared by minimum wage earners is definitely as risky as a Colgan Air flight. Then, in the midst of all this news from the investigation, a Colgan Air flight was landing in Buffalo and one of the wheels fell off! It just fell off! As the plane was landing. If I add up all the bicycle riding and car driving I've done in my lifetime, I'm sure I've traveled as many miles as that one plane and not once has a wheel just fallen off. If they pay their co-pilots $16,000 a year, can you imagine how little their mechanics must get? If you've got stock in Colgan Air I'm thinking this might be a good time to sell.

When I flew Colgan Air back in January maybe I should have suspected that it wasn't a top rated airline when I had to load my luggage into a trailer hitched to the back of the plane. I should have suspected safety wasn't their top priority when I entered the plane and noticed that all the seats were just lawn chairs duck taped to the floor. I began to suspect I might be on a cut-rate airline when I asked about beverage service and the stewardess, who was wearing a Burger King crown pointed to a piece of notebook paper taped to the wall that had "BYOB" written on it in crayon. Maybe I should have suspected their planes weren't top rate when I saw the crew giving the jet a push start.

Here is what I'd like to ask of modern science: Get to work on that human cloning thing and apply it to Sully Sullenberger, the guy that landed his jet safely in the Hudson River after he lost both engines. Everytime I fly for the rest of my life I want that guy at the controls.

The Top 10 Things You Need to Know About Phil

10. Phil sold his soul to the devil in exchange for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized Phil roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.


9. Phil does not use spell check. If he happens to misspell a word the Oxford Dictionary will change the actual spelling of it.


8. Phil lost his virginity before his dad did.


7. Phil doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.


6. Phil doesn't wear a watch. He decides what time it is.


5. In fine print on the last page of the Guiness Book of World Records it notes that all the world records are held by Phil and those listed in the book are simply the closest anyone has gotten.


4. If Phil has five dollars and you have five dollars, Phil has more money than you.


3. If paper beats rock, rock beats scissors, and scissors beat paper, what beats all three? Answer: Phil


2. Contrary to popular belief, Phil, not the box jellyfish of northern Australia, is the most venomous creature on Earth.


1. Through a set of circumstances too complicated to explain, if you don't comment on this post Snuggles the fabric softener bear will die.


Yes, I am now blogging about myself in the 3rd person. I would also like to give credit to all the people across the internet who created many of the Chuck Norris facts that I so blatantly heisted in the name of Phil. But of course I can do that, because I'm Phil.

It's Time to Cut the Cord

Cell phones, PDA's, laptop computers, and ipods. The conveniences of modern life. The results of our ever advancing technology. We can talk on the phone, send e-mail, listen to music, surf the web, and plan our schedule no matter where we may be...until the battery runs out. For all the brilliance and fun our technology has given us, we are still almost as tethered to an outlet as we used to be. We have briefs moments of freedom sometimes lasting a whole day before we have to find a safe place to re-charge our batteries. We're almost like energy vampires who have to return to their coffins at sundown, only we have to return to our outlets at the end of each day. (With the recent popularity of Twilight I had to throw in the vampire mention. It will help me with the search engines) There are even those of us who feel lost, paralyzed if one of their electronic devices runs out of juice.

Charging cords have become the bane of my existence. I have a file cabinet drawer just for charging cords. Part of my nightly routine before bed is making sure that all of my electronic devices are plugged in to charge for the night. (I'm sure some of you ladies do the same) With the advent of the electric car some people have to plug in their ride every night too. Some people tuck in their kids. I tuck in my ipod, my two cell phones, my laptop, and my PDA. When I travel one of my big concerns is remembering all my charging cords. Airport security almost always goes through my checked baggage. I always open my suitcase to find that little pre-printed note that says, "We invaded your privacy and rifled through all your personal belongings. Sorry if we broke anything. Have a nice day." I imagine that they scan the luggage, see all kinds of electrical cords and wonder if I'm building a bomb, so they have to check it out.

As much fun as all of this charging cord nonsense is I yearn for the day, that's right, I said yearn, when electricity will be available for free, from the air. That our devices will become so energy efficient that they will be able to run indefinitely by passively absording static electricity in their environment the way our cell phones search for a signal. Of course the increase in incidents of human spontaneous combustion will be a little disturbing, but all progress has it's price.

Got Sleep?

Sleep. A basic, innate human need. An instinct. Most people spend roughly one third of their lives asleep. Unfortunately I'm not one of them. I view sleeping as a skill. I have many skills, some of them are even useful and productive skills. Sleep, however, is not listed on my resume. I do it every night, just not as much as I'd like or as often as most. Sounds like my sex life, but that's a topic for another post. As I said, to me sleep is such a difficult enterprise that I view it as a skill. I'm good at falling asleep. I'm just not good at staying there. Today I woke up at 4:24 a.m. I'm not sure what that is in metric time for my Canadian and European friends, but in America that's damn early. If I lived on a farm the roosters would be telling me to go back to bed. There are historical anecdotal reports that Leonardo DaVinci got by on catnaps throughout the day. If poor sleep begets artistic genius I ought to have a few masterpieces done by now. I suppose my masterpiece is, I'm sure you'll agree, this blog. Yep, I'm the Leonardo DaVinci of blogs. Hmmm....I may have an idea for a new blog title...See?!!? Without enough sleep I just ramble idiotically. Is idiotically even a word? Maybe that's my sleep deprived genius at work. I'm creating new words like Leonardo created paintings. Like I said, I get to sleep easily and I get 6-7 hours straight, but then my brain just turns on. Unfortunately when my brain turns on it's asking me what I'm going to do at work today or what bills I need to pay instead of ideas for great paintings and sculptures. I'm sure you're also thinking, "Phil's lack of sleep sure as hell isn't giving him and great blog ideas either." Anybody else out there in the same boat as me with your sleep? Does anyone else have non-pharmaceutical ideas for extending my sleep past 6-7 hours?

We're All Gonna Die

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

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

My problem is that earlier this week scientists with a telescope larger than a third world country observed a black hole destroying a star in another galaxy. The way it was described in the article was that the star, which is of course a much larger object than our Earth, was essentially snorfled up by the black hole the way you and I would snorfle a glob of jello off the spoon, or plate if you’re in the mood. I may not believe that I am going to die, but I’m not completely unrealistic. Let’s just say that a black hole eats our sun first, then I imagine it would suck up the planets all in a row like we would inhale mini M&M’s through a straw. (For my wonderful Canadian readers M&M’s = Smarties) If a black hole were to pop up right next to Earth and snorfle my planet then what becomes of me?

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

Maybe all this is why the scientists developed the male birth control pill. They just figured that if “we’re all gonna die” then we might as well start gettin’ jiggy with it. Yes, that’s right, I said jiggy. In fact, that’s probably the new science geek pick up line. “Hey baby, you know we might get eaten by a black hole any minute, so why don’t you just go ahead and sleep with me?” Obviously I'm cool enough to say jiggy, but the scientists aren't.

The Culture of Narcissism

Almost 40 years ago the avant garde artist Andy Warhol stated that, "In the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." Dude was seriously spot on wasn't he? Between Youtube and reality t.v. shows an obnoxious personality is a ticket to fame and a b-list career for just about anyone. Now with blogging, Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter virtually anytone has a potential worldwide audience for their every fleeting thought. As a blogger I certainly have no problem with this as I've certainly expressed my share of pointless thoughts here. I admit I love the feedback, the comments. With a worldwide audience we can all find someone who agrees with us regardless of how baseless our opinions may be. We are but a herd of sycophants in a big ego orgy. That's all fine. We are all willing particpants and recipients and it makes us all feel good. With a few creative ideas and a little regular blogging we all feel like a celebrity with our fans and followers. What I don't get is when the real celebrities try to horn in on our two-bit ego trip. On both a Facebook page and on Twitter I have two different somewhat b-list type celebs among my friend lists. These two people must update their status every two hours! As if they would die of suffocation if I didn't know their every stray thought or dental appointment! What is wrong with these people that they need this constant validation? They already have some semblance of fame. Isn't that enough? The internet theoretically is a finite space and they think their every thought is important enough to waste electricity, megabytes and whatever other units of measure apply. I propose a new Phil law. When I am elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, there will be a separate internet so the famous people can tell each other how great they are without wasting the bandwidth of the real internet that the rest of us are using.

Seeking SWF

Wanted: Single white female. I'm a charming, handsome man appearing to be in my early twenties. I love nights out on the town with my favorite gal, but also prefer the solitude of somewhere quiet to spend some quality one on one time. Like most men I'm flawed, but I make up for that with my passion and taste for life. I'm a hopeless romantic and I promise that with me you will soar to places you previously thought were impossible. I also might kill you at any moment in a fit of tempestuous rage or passion. I've killed all my previous girlfriends, but trust me, you're special. But please overlook that, nobody's perfect right?

Sincerely, Edward

Would any woman really respond to this ad if it were real? Why are so many woman just nuts over Twilight? I'm pretty damn sure that if I had a girlfriend and I found out she was a serial killer that had murdered all of her previous boyfriends that I might find some way to end the relationship: "Really, it's not you, it's me. As tempting as it is to risk death every day, I just have too much on my plate right now and a lot of baggage from my previous relationship. It wouldn't be fair to you. Feel free to look me up on Myspace or Facebook though." And you can bet your ass I'd send that by text message. You know with a vampire you couldn't really fake your own death to get out of it because they'd only find that to be a big turn on. I suppose this is just another case where chicks totally dig the bad boy.

I'm on a Mexican Radio...!

I'm not really on a Mexican radio. That was just the first musical reference that came to mind on the subject of radio. As a function of my job I drive from place to place quite a bit. I have satellite radio which I enjoy very much. I enjoy both music and sports talk radio. Part of the reason I pay for satellite radio in my car is because I absolutely DESPISE radio commercials. You get an idea of how much I despise radio commercials by the fact that I took the time to italicize and bold the word. On the music stations there are no commercials and I love it. Unfortunaly the sports talk radio is syndicated and thus has commercials. Unfortunately it only seems to have three commercials which seem to be played back to back to back every break. The first is for ...ahem..."male enhancement." Every single commercial on this subject is almost identical. The one I heard yesterday had a supposed "man on the street" type interview format where apparently random women on the street were shown before and after pictures of the anatomy of men who had used this product. Women responded with superlatives and requests for the phone number of the photo subjects. How many of you would respond like that? If they really were able to get a few women to give those 'sincere' responses it must have taken hundreds of attempts to make the commercial. I want to hear the outtakes of the times the interviewer was maced, arrested or kicked in the groin. That would be good radio. The second type of commercial is the predictable "you can buy cheap viagra over the internet..." The third type is the one that just makes me change the station immediately. It starts "Hey guys! Did you know that at any time you may have 5 to 25 pounds of waste lining your colon walls like spackle or paste?" Not only didn't I know that, I didn't want to, and now it's too late. I can't get that phase out of my head: "5-25 pounds" and "spackle or paste." I could lose my lunch just hearing that. I'm not going to mention the company here because I'm hoping they will go out of business and take their commercials with them.

And if anyone can name the band that sang the song this post is titled after WITHOUT looking it up you win 10 Phil bucks good for use at the Phil Factor giftshop.

The Present Tense

In the past I've used this space to point out the differences between men and women. How we communicate, what's important to us, and the inequities of societal grooming expectations are all ways men and women differ. Another great divide between the sexes is our views on presents. Anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine's Day, and Christmas all can make or break a relationship from a woman's perspective. Before everyone paints me as a misogynist for that last statement, let's look at two examples:

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

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

Sometimes even the presents themselves can mean different things to men and women. Here are some examples of presents men might give, how we mean them, and what they mean to women.

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

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

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

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

THIS IS NOT GOOD

Apparently I have just figured out how to blog from my cell phone. It is not good for two specific reasons. 1) If you have followed my blog for any amount of time you are well aware of my ongoing rant against "cell phone people." I now am apparently becoming a member of their cult as I have also learned to Facebook from my phone as well. More evidence that my brain has turned to mush is the fact that I am using words like 'blog' and 'Facebook' as verbs. 2) This is also a bad development because no matter where I am or what I am doing I know have the ability to post my thoughts immediately, uncensored here online almost as soon as I have them. That will at some point in the future probably result in my involuntary commitment to an institution.

Phil-Harmony.com

We've all heard and seen the ads for e-harmony.com, the internet site that allows you to meet your perfect match after you fill out a questionnaire that rates you on 29 personality variables. What?!!? I'm a guy. I'm pretty sure I don't even have 29 personality variables! I have maybe 4 tops. Now for women, I don't think 29 personality variables is enough. In fact most women seem to have more than 29 complete personalities. The old crackpot that runs this site has got to be making a fortune. His kindly, old, grandfatherly, "I want to help you meet your perfect partner" schtick is sucking people in just the way Ronald Reagan sucked the whole country in until he was voted in twice. Well I want part of that gravy train. I'm younger, smarter, and more in touch with what the young, single internet daters are interested in. First of all, if you're someone who uses the internet regularly, you don't have the attention span to answer a long quiz. In fact, I'm sure most of you think I've rambled enough already today. Stick with me my lovelorn friends. Secondly, my personality quiz won't waste time evaluating the unimportant, nit-picky personality characteristics. If you're paying an internet site to find you a date then you're already way past being picky about the little things. My quiz will just hit the high points. Even if you're not looking for love on the web, you can use this quiz when meeting new dates.

1. Are you married?
2. Have you ever seen a Star Wars movie at the theater within one week of it's release?
3. How many pets do you live with?
4. During sex, have you ever requested something that caused your partner to break up with you and/or call the authorities?
5. Are your parents or grandparents biological siblings?
6. Did you think the movie Fatal Attraction was a comedy?

If the person you are speaking with answers yes or "more than one" to any of these questions then run for your life. If they answer no to all of them then anything else is just minor details you can live with.

Final Destination

Death. I have to say, I'm not a fan. Thursday night just outside of Buffalo, NY a Continental Airlines/Colgan Air flight en route from Newark, NJ to Buffalo crashed into a house killing all aboard and one person on the ground. The plane was reportedly relatively new. An off duty pilot was one of the unfortunate passengers. 36 days prior to Thursday I flew from Newark, NJ to Rochester, NY, which is about 75 miles east of Buffalo, on a Continental Airlines/Colgan Air flight on the exact same model plane. One of the passengers across the aisle from me on my flight was also an off duty Continental pilot who chatted with the stewardess about the plane we were on being a new plane. Chances are, the plane that crashed Thursday was the very same plane I rode five weeks ago. Considering all the circumstantial evidence it may very well have been. I'm a little creeped out. Especially since I have to fly again in 6 weeks.

Have you seen those Final Destination movies where the people that were supposed to die, but survive are stalked by Death until it finally gets them? What if 5 weeks ago Death had forgotten to turn the page on his date book at the beginning of the new year, and missed my flight?

Female Bodies

I used to work in an office. I worked with a lot of women. That is generally not a bad thing. Often I happened to be the only guy in the office with about 8 women. That can be a bad thing. I have to say, I'm a big fan of female bodies. Maybe one of the biggest. What I have discovered, however, is that when men aren't around women are waaaaay too comfortable talking about their bodies and the various functions of them. Apparently if a man leaves the room, women immediately begin talking about their biology. Women also seem to have no idea that a man may return to the room at any moment and hear part of their conversations. Some of these conversations have the same effect as catching your parents having sex. You want to run from the room screaming and gouge your eyes out to hopefully remove the image that is burned upon your brain. A memo to any pregnant women out there: If you are in the late stages of your pregnancy and still at work, your male co-workers do not want to know how dilated you are or how your water may break and "come out in squirts." Also, if all these women are retaining as much water as they say they are, why don't we hear that squishy sound when they walk? Especially if they're retaining it in their ankles. Also, PMS does not stand for Persecute Men Syndrome. We didn't cause your periods, so don't take them out on us. Yeast is used in baking right? Why do women constantly get infections from it? I've been in the kitchen before. I've baked cookies, but never once have I been so intimate with the ingredients of what I was making that I ended up with an infection in any orifice of my body. And you know how when a group of women spend a lot of time together whether it be at work or in a college dorm their menstrual cycles sync up? How the hell does that happen? Are their uteruses(is that the correct plural? Is it uteri?) sending invisible hormonal microwaves across the room to each other? Or do you ladies just talk and decide to have your periods at the same time? And if there are invisible uterus microwaves criss-crossing a room while I'm there, what the hell could they be doing to my testicles? It's a good thing I got out of there I suppose. Ladies, you know how there's all that dirty, metal junk under the hood of your car? The same way that you just want your car to start without knowing how an internal combustion engine works is exactly how guys feel about your bodies. We just want them to turn on when we put the key in. We don't want to know how they work.

Previously on 24...

If each episode of 24 is an hour in Jack Bauers' life, then what happened previously was only an hour ago. Why would they have to remind us? That's the trouble with time travel, too much irony. That's why humans don't do it. It is absolutely impossible that virtually every hour of Jack Bauers' life is crammed with fighting terrorist plots. He can't possibly be doing that every day. Every now and then, why isn't there an episode where we see Jack plunging his toilet for 45 minutes and then cleaning up the mess? Where is the episode with Jack walking his dog? When will we see his wife nagging him for not taking out the garbage? How about an episode that begins with Jack walking down the hall in his boxers and a wife beater tank top carrying the newspaper into the bathroom. The next 45 minutes could just be the camera pointed at the closed bathroom door. That would be reality television.

"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.

Smokers Outside The Hospital Doors

I can't shake this feeling I've got
My dirty hands, have I been in the wars?
The saddest thing that I'd ever seen
We're smokers outside the hospital doors
The Editors

I work in the field of addiction and yet I still wonder how smokers can continue their addiction. Many very nice, normal, intelligent people smoke. Don't worry, this isn't going to be some holier than thou diatribe against smoking. Mostly I just love the song I quoted. You should look it up and add it to your iPod. (Editors you can thank me later, perhaps in the form of a tiny royalty check) If people want to have cancer, bad breath, and smelly clothes 'm fine with that. I have friends that smoke and I've never said a word to them about it.

What got me to thinking about the incredible grip that nicotine addiction has on people is the weather. I live in the Northeast, yeah I know that seems as stupid as smoking already. This week it has been unbelieveably cold. Single digits or less, fahrenheit with windchill temps around 20 below zero. (For my Canadian friends that's a hell of a lot colder than your zero. See? The United states is better than you at yet another thing) Yesterday as I was driving around I was passed by a smoker who was driving with her window open so she could flick her ashes out of the car. In the summer, fine, but when it feels like 20 below and you're going 60 miles per hour I have no interest in any air from the outside touching me. Yet smoking drives people to do this and often, because of the laws that prohibit smoking in public buildings, they stand outdoors smoking in all kinds of weather. I used to be a second hand smoker but I gave it up by chewing used nicorette gum.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Like the title? I made it up myself. It was just as clever almost four years ago when I first used it for a blog post. Few things in life inspire as many stories and "I know that feeling" shakes of the head as travel. This past week I was forced to go to Newark, New Jersey by my employer. Really, who wouldn't want to visit lovely Newark in the dead of winter? I travel by plane a few times a year for my job, so in general I've got the hang of it. Unfortunately not everyone else does. As an educational public service I hope that some of the more novice travelers will read the rest of this post.

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

One of the questions on the test will be "When on a plane is it ever appropriate to take off your shoes?"
A) yes, it's important to be as comfortable as possible on a long flight.
B) Only in the event of some foot related emergency such as needing to plug a hole in the fuselage with my toe.
C) Absolutely never. And especially not if Phil is on your plane.

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

Happy New Year! My predictions for 2009

It is the first of January 2009 and I'm blogging already. That's got to be a good sign. A good sign of what I don't know. The two or three of you who have occasionally visited my blog over the past 12 months as it has eroded to the point where you may have thought I had died are certainly appreciated and hopefully I'll be able to be a better blogger over the next twelve months.

I'm sure that blogland is full of posts about New Years resolutions today, but this won't be one of those posts. I do have resolutions, but I'll keep them to myself. Ok, I'll share one. I'd like to revive my blog to the point where it is again somewhat interactive with all my blog friends. Instead of resolutions, using my infamous psychic abilities, I will post a list of my predictions for the coming year.

1. President Barack Obama and his wife will divorce. Being the most powerful man on Earth has it's perks, (and I should know) and one of those is power groupies. Prez Barry won't be able to resist a little extracurricular nookie, perhaps Hilary Clinton who is looking to get revenge on Bill, and will stray from his wife while on a business trip. Michelle Obama will get the White House in the divorce settlement and Barack will then have to rule our country from a cheap apartment full of rental furniture that he was forced to hastily go to after returning from the Middle East to find his clothes and belongings in a pile on the curb in front of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.

2. The economy will effect entertainment magazines and the rain forest. People Magazine, Us weekly and all other entertainment magazines will make the editorial decision not to glamorize celebrities because the "regular" people don't want to hear about the millions they make per picture when we're worrying about keeping our jobs, houses, and retirement funds. So, without any Brad, Jen, and Angelina news on their covers the magazines are reduced to being 47 pages of advertisements that no one buys. The magazines go out of business and the resulting reduction in trees cut down to make the paper saves the rain forest and reverses global warming.