Dental Problems

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

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

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

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Unusual Things I'm Thankful For

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

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

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

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

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

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The Curse of Bradley Cooper

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

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

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

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

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

The Fountain of Youth

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

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

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

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

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We're All Gonna Die!

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

Daylight Stupid Time

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

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

If you enjoy my nonsense and need something to do in that extra hour this weekend you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

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

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

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

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

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Occupy This!

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

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

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

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The United States of Oprah

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

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

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

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

 

Willy Wonka for the iGeneration

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

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

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

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

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

Rules For Choosing Your Facebook Pic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Yield To This!

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

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

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

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

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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, just to point at a bird they saw, or to chat with a neighbor who is mowing their lawn.

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

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

The trip however, was an education. 

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

Celebrate Good Times, C'mon!

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

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

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

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

 

 

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

My Momentary Friends

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

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

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

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

 

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

Rock You Like a Hurricane

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

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

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

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

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

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

Facebook's Web of Evil

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

Why The Amish Are Cooler Than You

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

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

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

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

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

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