Finding Beetletrunk

I understand that the Trunk has been a neglected child lately. Kinda like a latchkey kid (is that term even used anymore?). I definitely think about it and my hoard of material continues to grow. This one demanded immediate attention though...

I've always been somewhat somewhat of a student of psychology (especially as I was completing my psychology degree). So as a "student" so-to-speak I've always been fascinated with personality tests. It's a challenge to accurately capture our unique attributes in a way that provides us with clues to our behavior. I have always been interested in taking personality/strength tests so I can learn how to play to my skills and how can I emphasize my them to achieve. Unfortunately a lot of the time these tests or personality inventories come up short. They simply do not provide the info I'm looking for to become a better person. However...good news is on it's way.

Little did I know that Facebook employed a team of the worlds top behaviorists which have been working around the clock to develop an ultra-scientific formula to accurately determine our uniqueness. What these Facebook behaviorists did that all they other psycho-dum-dums preceding them didn't, was utilize two completely untapped resources that had been under their noses all along. Friends and Voting. It's as simple as that. Well, completely unsolicited, Facebook sent me the results of my analysis.


I think it's unnecessary to give us the option to disable the emails. I can't imagine how anyone would. It's not like this is arbitrary JUNK mail right?

So, after the mindless disable option it informs me that my friends (does this only extend to a sampling of my Facebook friends, or have they polled all of my life acquaintances?) have voted. The subject of the vote - me. To be honest i was a little surprised by the result, but I guess a part of me wasn't.

My Strengths:

Best Dinner Companion: This makes sense. I'm very polite, I know how to order food, I tip fairly. I'm a decent conversationalist too. This is most definitely a strength. Not a super-strength, but a strength. However, I would like to know what kind of animals my "friends" are usually dining with.

Most Kiss-Able: This is a super strength. For reasons of anonymity, it does not tell me what friends voted or how they voted. I suppose this is to promote truthfulness, but truth aside, I would really like to know who voted this way and well, find out what sort of animals they are normally trying to kiss.

Most Adventurous: Sure, I can see this. Actually...not so much.

Now it's time for the ugliness, it's time for those things about myself that I just cannot face. What has been holding me back all this time? I'll tell you: my weaknesses.

The Weaknesses:

Sexiest - oh yeah, this has definitely been a problem. I guess if I weren't so sexy then people might respect me more for my...uh...smarts?

Hardest Worker: What they don't tell you in school is that the harder you try, the more people expect from you. Always shoot to be kinda mediocre and you will constantly impress. My work ethic has led me to a life of expected work-hardedness (totally a word). HUGE weakness.

In summary, I'm not sure what I learned here. Perhaps that Facebook applications indiscriminately send out "bait" emails to get you log into their bogus apps for hits. ORRRRRRR my friends, Facebook or otherwise love me and want me to succeed and to do this by giving me the tools I need to improve.

probably "a"

After reading the above posted I strongly considered replacing it with a picture of "diabeetus cat" due to the lack of funny. What the hell, you get both:

Thanks to Kristin for sending me this link. No really, THANK YOU. I have no idea if this is real or not, but the fact that it is based on the premise that it IS real is pretty much good enough for me. If it actually IS real...than this is easily the sickest/funniest thing I've seen in a while.



This is a clip from a larger segment dealing with irrational fears...I notice that the other "guests" have fears of things such as: dogs, mustard, and pickles. The interesting thing about this is that I have an aversion to ...dogs, mustard, and pickles.

I can't say enough about this...it's just too hilarious/disgusting...it ranks right below my favorite Maury sketches - fat babies:



Whose more despicable, Maury for putting this on or me for digging it back up? I vote Maury.

I've mentioned before how I get occasionally helpful tips from the spam box. Well, apparently I haven't taken enough of these tips to heart, because the spam is starting to turn mean. Damn mean.

I don't know why I'm posting this one. It's yet another scrapbook entry. I laughed out loud when I found it though.. I showed it to my wife and got zero response. Perhaps that was my first red flag. This should in no way be funny, perhaps my innuendo inundated brain (huh?) matched patterns that should not be there in the first place.



Yeah, this is pretty old. I'm guessing Kindergartenish. Lower case"a" gave me a hard time back then. I found entire sheets of paper where I apparently just practiced how to write a lower case "a". I do like how the teacher gave me a little witch stamp along with her comment "good". Honestly "good" is a bit disappointing. She could have tossed an exclamation point on there. It's not like I was gonna get a big head or anything. How many other kids colored Little Tommy Stout's shoes red??. Sure maybe black for the cat was a bit unoriginal. But did she notice the BLUE cloud? Oh well.

I guess the only reason for posting this was the text. It was not uncommon to refer to cat's as pussies back then. Far less common today. heh. However, it's the lack of pronoun in the second to last sentence that made me laugh once it is all put into context. Like I said, it's pretty weak, and frankly borderline offensive. But I offer no apologies.


Seriously though Tommy, that's like the least effective method.

If I were a teacher grading this blog, I'm not even sure I would give a "good" I think I would give a stamp of sneaker and write underneath it "whatevs". C-

Time to phone it in for friday afternoon with another piece of youtube magic.



I genuinely love this song. However, it wasnt until I saw Elton John supported by Dr. Teeth and The Electric Mayhem, did I truly become obsessed with the song/video. Frankly I was a bit worried about an outburst from Animal, but much to my delight he seemed to have taken the song quiet seriously.

It's a great song, and if you go back over the last 30 years, few artists compare to him. The performances are fantastic, he's always "on" and not to mention all he's done for the music industry and charities. Yes, I think think that if you truly look at music history, you will see that Animal, is truly without peer.

I found another item from the scrapbook that I absolutely had to waste web space on. Once again, I am not sure WHY i saved the things I did, but boy am I glad that I did. In retrospect it appears that the things I saved were the most embarrassing or painful relics of an otherwise happyish childhood. Regardless, I am glad I did, since the more embarrassing or the more painful the item or memory, the more amusing it is to me now as an adult.

So remember how on valentines day in elementary school you had to give everyone a card? I assume this so that some of the more unpopular kids would not feel left out. Well, what I don't think teachers understood was that this little self-esteem building exercise could certainly misfire, despite their best attempts. At best you could expect a nice "To: SoAndSo From: Whoevertheirnamewas" At worst something like "youre gross" (i never got that one though, lets be clear). Well, today I'm going to examine a card that didn't fit in either category. I suppose it fell somewhere in between, but hit a lot harder than "your gross"(seriously though, I wasn't). Ok, so I don't remember alot of details behind what went into this card, so where I have memory gaps, I will just fill with embellishment. As usual.

There has been a profoundly disturbing turn in the Ballon Anxiety Disorder (BAD) case. The subject was observed releasing balloons out of a house window a couple of days ago. I'm gonna let that sink in for a minute. He let them go. On purpose. This is BAD.

I know what you are thinking, "it could have been an accident". Well, I was there man, you weren't . This was cold and calculated. This was no accident. I saw him take one, stick his arm out the window and let it go. He repeated the exact method moments later with the second balloon. He appeared only slightly remorseful. His only defense was a quiet, mumbled: "balloon...up...sky". Thats as good as an admission of guilt.

I've been pouring over case notes trying to figure out at what point this turn in disposition occurred. It does not seem that he cares any less for the balloons. He still covets them when he sees them, and still becomes quite agitated if he is forced to share or abandon a balloon. However, the release of the two balloons the other day has spawned new sets of theories, and only goes to show me that no matter how much research I do, I know absolutely nothing about this condition.

Was the release a freeing? The ultimate act of love and sacrifice for the sake of the balloon? Does he realize that the only way for the balloon to be truly free is to let it fly away, even at the expense of his immediate happiness? Or was it something else. Was it a moment of insanity? Had the frustration of feeling helpless for so long to the need for balloons finally pushed him over the edge? Did he love the balloons so much he had to see to their destruction while in the grip of a terrible madness? No matter what, it's been causing me to wake up at night in a cold sweat.

Unfortunately I feel I havent even touched the tip of the iceberg on this. No treatment plan is in sight. Right now we are just monitoring the behavior and attempting to treat the symptoms as best as we can. If we hit any set backs or make any progress it shall all be documented in this format.

I'm gonna let Dan Deacon take us into the holiday weekend.



Amazing, huh?

Seriously though...I do not understand people. As I've mentioned before, the locker room is not the most comfortable of places for everyone. However, for others, I think in their minds, they are all alone in their bathroom or their bottomless solarium. Well, this morning, a fella was getting ready for his work out, but appeared to have gotten distracted mid-way through changing into his work out clothes. I'm guessing this is the case, because he was walking around the locker room (in no big hurry I might add) wearing only his pull over hoodie sweater and headphones. No pants, no undergarmets, no shoes or socks (God, that would have been creepier). It appears that somewhere in between uncovering his genitals and re-covering them back up a super important text message came in. So important that he had to stop getting dressed, cast all modesty and decency to the side, and stroll around the locker room listening to the music, and texting. Free as a bird. Exposed for all to see. Seriously though, who has the ...uh...balls... to do that? It's not like he had anything to brag about. This day is ruined as far as I'm concerned. This is the worse thing to happen in the locker room since this other guy got excited that the song "Mambo #5" came on in one day. Really?!?! Mambo #5?? Someone actually likes that song? Well, I want to write a song and I'll call it Mambo #6 and it's all about shit you aren't supposed to do in the locker room, set to a nice latin beat.
"A little bit of modesty's all you need
Your stupid junk's not what I want to see
There must be something wrong in your brain
Lou Bega's voice causes me great pain"

I recently found a wealth of "material" to dissect (mock) in this format. An absolute cornucopia of the absurd that provides me with no end of chuckle-time. I delightfully refer to the discovery of my childhood scrapbook. What I saved, and why I saved some things is a complete mystery to me. Perhaps here I can solve these mysteries and if not solve them, then at least make fun of what a weird kid i was (am). If I'm lucky I will re-open some old wounds. Because, we all know that pain = funny.

While somethings remain a mystery to me, the following gem does not. In fact this is a work I am still proud of today. I am glad that I had the foresight to hold on to this nugget of creativity/plagiarism, so that I could use it as reminder as to why I will never be an author. I'm pretty sure my writing skills peaked at this point.

I was a big fan of Transformers during their glory years of the early-mid 80s. I had a fair number of the toys, but the cartoon I could not miss. I remember my mom taking me to see the movie, and how shocked I was when Optimus Prime died. I'm not entirely sure I'm over it. At some point in the show (it's all a bit fuzzy) they pulled a soap opera move and brought him back from the dead. I did some half-assed research and I see that this happened during season 3 - 1986/1987.


The cover is pretty decent. Simple, classy. Sure I had some perspective issues with the truck, but it's not terrible. The only change I would go back and make, would be to include a little more space between the top of the cover and start of the text. Other than that it's perfect. Oh, and my penmanship needs work. Like my writing skills, my penmanship peaked at this point as well.



I just launch right into the story. I don't take any time giving you background or setting the scene too much. I assume that the reader is familiar with the Transformers world and what's been going on up to this point. It didn't take me long, but i found the exact episode that I was "inspired" by. The ep. was called Dark Awakening and it aired in Oct. of 86. Assuming I am watching this on first air, this would make me 8 years old...ok...almost 9. I was really hoping it would be older than that :( Anyways, I put the reader right into the heat of battle. The Decepticons, Cyclonus, Scourge and the Sweeps are in hot pursuit of some autobots. There is some typical 8 year old level dialogue and the autobots need to find some place to land. Notice I start in cursive, then quickly abandon it due to effort required to maintain a constant pencil stroke. Interestingly enough, I have not written in cursive since. Click on the pages if you are at all interested in seeing larger images.


I like how consistent I am with the quotations to indicate when a character is speaking. grammar is important to a uh grammar school student. I wonder if the mausoleum referenced in the story was as sloppy as i drew it. I mean, was all Ratchet ever known for was his mechanic skills? Hmmm, Mirage could turn invisible? Thats cool. Sucks he died. Haha "metal plates". Looks like I messed up quite a bit as well, since there appears to be heavy eraser marks under re-written sections. I guess I had to get it just right. Artistically, the space scene is pretty compelling. I took some artistic liberty with adding a Saturn-like planet. To me there is nothing cooler than planets with rings.

Ooh, looks like the gettin's good on these pages. Actual Transformer action. I must have had a special interest in Sky Lynx as he factors heavily into this page and this page only. Wheelie makes a decision to contact him, but it's never revealed in this story as to why. For that matter, isnt it a bit excessive to change into a pterodactyl (peretactyl) , a lynx, AND a space shuttle? Srsly. I also bring in the Duocons (Duelcons) and Throttlebots for no apparent reason, as they do not factor in to the story at all after this. Maybe I tried to cram too much into a small format story? Ultimately I feel that these pages could be removed without affecting the story. No dialogue on these pages either.



The heavy hitters come in here. I always loved it when the smaller ones would form to create a giant (in real life fragile) robot. I have alot of questions regarding the theory in general now, but back then it was magic. I like how the respective leaders order them into the combined forms. "Terrorcons emerge into obomulus". Obomulus, while a cooler name is actually "Abominus". I actually had the Terrorcons, and myself was able to demand them to "emerge" into Obomulus whenever I wanted. In fact this fall, I plan to vote for Obomulus for president. If I remember correctly the Technobots were the nemesis of the Terrorcons. I have no doubt that Computron was at least a match for Obomulus. These guys look familiar, so I think I had them too. I always liked the Decepticons better though. It felt so good to be bad. Poor Obomulus...hit by a mystery blast originating from outside the book. That's no way to go. Especially after such a "Great" battle.



I'm obviously getting bored at this point, as I wrap things up very quickly. I like the "Can't talk now" line before building a ship and zooming off. I spend alot of time summoning Sky Lynx, the Duocons, Throttlebots, etc... but I completely jump over going after Prime and Daniel. Almost as if it was not an important part of the story. You know what, it probably wasnt. I doubt there were any "great battles". But yeah, i was definitely done writing at this point. I do remember that drawing a hallway posed some great challenge. I presume that is Optimus Prime's leg as he darts down the "hall".

The next 4 pages of my book look like this. The story was told, nothing further was required.

All in all, not a bad story. I've read worse. I borrowed heavily from the episode, yet I like to think I put my unique spin on it. Most likely the random battles and the confusing jumps in action. I stayed true to theme of the story, whatever the hell it was. I probably could have tried a little harder on the illustrations, but I've never been one to really give something "my all". I do find it interesting that this theme of mediocrity in my life was set over 20 years ago. Another thing to note, is that I apparently did not do this for a school project, it was just something to kill time as I waited for Night Court to come on. Boy, now that show was pretty fucking awesome.

Lolcats are really a pretty low form of entertainment...but they are entertaining. This one while not a cat, seriously made me "lol".

Oh, I also like how spell check thinks that the word should be "polecats". pfft it also thinks "spell check" should be two separate words. get real spellcheck.

My two year old son has a serious psychological condition. If you were to look up his symptoms in the DSM-IV you would find it matches up with a fairly recent diagnosis: Balloon Anxiety. We don't know a lot about Balloon Anxiety, but what we do know is upsetting to us as parents. I'm not sure when we first noticed the onset of the disorder. It may have been at or around the time of his first birthday, all we know though is that his obsession for balloons may be adversely affecting a care-free lifestyle enjoyed by most 2 year olds.

The problem with Balloon Anxiety is the prevalence of a number of balloon related conditions so distressing that those afflicted are thrusted into episodes of mindless panic. The following are these conditions along with the associated reactions:

1. Balloon cannot be tied to anything; Result: Crying.
If he finds the balloon tied to a chair or toy, anything that hampers the freedom of the balloon, he gets very upset and insists the immediate freeing of the balloon. He's like the Abraham Lincoln of inflatables. His insistent scream of "uh oh bee-oon!!" is relentless until he has in his possession the free floating balloon.

2. Balloon cannot have it's original string length extended; Result: Crying.
Occasionally we will get a balloon that has a too short leash. This is determined if he is unable to reach it after letting it go in the house or restaurant. What I will attempt to do is get another length of thread or ribbon and make it so that he is able to retrieve the object on his own, without the constant intervention of an adult. This may be related to #1, in that anything tied to the balloon is unnatural. This is a very frustrating aspect to the disorder as the end result is usually him letting go of the balloon over and over again and getting upset that he cannot reach it. So to summarize...he gets upset if i tie extra ribbon so that he can reach it, and he gets upset if he cannot reach it. It's a lose-lose situation. For both of us.

3. Balloon flys away; Result: Crying.
This is the second most traumatic occurrence to those afflicted with balloon anxiety. The loss of a balloon, usually due to the demanded freeing of said balloon, is very difficult to deal with. I would imagine the guilt and grief would war with the already conflicted notions of proper balloon management. I really don't know though, I don't have it. I'm just speculating. Whatever.

4. Balloon pops; Result: Inconsolable Crying.
This shouldn't be a big shocker. More so than #3 the popping of a balloon is probably the most troubling event to the "Balloon Anxious". I would imagine that a perpetual state of worry that a popping will occur is overwhelming. The sound of the pop probably wakes him up at night in a cold sweat. How horrible. Me? I love popping the bastards. Once he is in bed, a lot of times I'll round up all of the old partially deflated balloons from a party and coldly dispatch them all one by one with razor like efficiency with a steak knife before depositing the latex corpses in the garbage. I am not sure what would happen if he ever walked in on that nightmarish scene. Probably divorce me like Macaulay Culkin did with his parents.

Outside of these things, life is pretty good. He is mostly content with toting around his balloon of choice (he prefers red), the occasional scrap with his sister is the only hiccup, and of course when we forbid him to take the balloon to bed with him. I'm not eager to have it pop during the night or have him get wrapped up in the ribbon. These, though are the challenges that the "Balloon Anxious" face daily. I for one am glad I don't have it. I certainly hope that a medication is forthcoming.

Interesting aside: I spelled the word "balloon" wrong almost every time while writing this. Would anyone have known what a "ballon" is? I'm kinda illiterate. That's my disorder.

Like the Rick Astley offering, I have yet another message for you, plucked from the cornucopia of awesome known as the internet. This however is a different message. Journey with me as we hear the tale of a man in desperate need. A man just trying to feed his family and survive in the American South. No this is not a tale for the feint of heart, for it is a tale of confusion, frustration, hunger. This is a tale of....sausage.

Simply Heart Wrenching

LANGUAGE WARNING: I guess for all you little geekeroids out there I should warn you, things get a bit heated at the end. It's warranted though.

I admit that a rick roll is weak, shameless, and frankly a little past it's prime, but for me at least, the music of Rick Astley takes me back to a golden time in my life. For me it isnt so much about "getting someone" or tricking someone into listening to a "lame" song. It's about spreading beauty. I guess I didn't have to modify the embedded code so it automatically started playing, but sometimes people are so ill that they cannot take their own medicine, and you have to force it down their throats.

I was at our local mall last weekend, and in the family bathroom area they always show cartoons from the "golden age" of animation, namely the 1940's. The cartoon that usually plays is an old Popeye, which I enjoy greatly due to how decidedly un-PC it is by today's standards. Popeye liberally made use of racial stereotypes, especially during the war time. Classic stuff. This weekend however we were treated to a cartoon I did not even know existed. Raggedy Ann.

Raggedy Ann is a timeless childhood icon. My daughter has a Raggedy Ann doll, which my son seems to like more than she does (hmmmph). I knew the toy was old, but I didn't know that there were even cartoons that accompanied the toy back then. Perhaps it's better that these cartoons are left forgotten, because even after moments of watching this one last weekend, I am left rattled and disturbed.

A fool's quest led me to find said cartoon on youtube. Unfortunately, youtube did not fail me. I quickly found out that it was way worse when watched all the way through. I will do my best to summarize the plotline, then let you subject yourself to a 9 minute trip through world of Raggedy.

The cartoon opens up with the title character being apprehended by the police whilst rummaging through the garbage. We don't know the back story to this, but we can only assume that she had been a fugitive for some time. The stereotypical irish cop then get's into an argument with a stereotypical italian hurdy-gurdy man. This scene does well to emphasize the racial tensions that existed between these early american immigrant groups.

After the mick cop escapes the close call with the dago musician, his interests turn lustful. He sees a young, presumably single mother harmlessly sweeping her stoop. Seeing vulnerability and a chance to flaunt his power, he shamelessly harrases her. This act is made even more disgusting when taken into account that he does this in front of the woman's blind daughter. Either out of guilt or an attempt to win points with the mother, the cop tosses filthy Raggedy Ann to the blind girl "Billie", who almost immediately drops the foul thing out of instinct. After an awkward and tense moment where she "blindly" feels around for the doll, she retrieves it. This signifies the formal kickoff to the "magical ride". (Jeez this is only 2 minutes in. There are still seven more minutes!!!)

I suppose what follows could be open to interpretation, but let me save you time and tell you what happened. The doll, from her time in the garbage has soaked up various toxic chemicals and most likely narcotic substances. When Billie stroked the doll's face, she unwittingly absorbed these chemicals triggering a hallucinogenic episode, at which reality became very subjective. These hallucinations convince the child that she has gained her sight and after little prompting from Ann, she begins to explore the "city" for the first time. The viewers are painfully aware that the child is in grave danger as she is led around the city by the unnatural warbling of a filthy rag doll. Her death is almost assured as she leans over the train tracks to get a better "look". Somehow she narrowly avoids danger after danger.

It just continues to get weirder as she dances, skips, and tumbles her way through the ghetto, while encountering various strange people. The final scene is especially heart-wrenching as she wants to see her mother's face. Perhaps this is the only mercy that Raggedy offers...as imagination is better than reality in this case. As her mother escorts her back to their slum, they encounter the irish cop again, who aggressively manages to relay the entire message of this depressing cartoon.

ugh...just watch it for your self



Mother: "How did you get over here?"

Billie: "Raggedy Ann brought me...."

As a musical act, I greatly enjoy Gnarls Barkley. However I LOVE their gimmicks. This is an especially nice performance from the '06 MTV somethingerother Awards.



The entire thing pretty much makes complete sense to me except Boba Fett on keys (about 1:12 in) ...not sure what he is doing...


but it appears that he is pointing that weapon AT the keyboards. Did he know he was on camera at that moment? Did he have it pointed at the keys the entire time? Was this a threat? To Who? Did he accept a contract by Jabba to kill this particular set of keyboards? Whatever the answer is, it's awkward, creepy, and i greatly appreciate it. Good thing one of the most dangerous bounty hunters in the galaxy can play one handed.

One thing I have not made clear here is my love for 80's action figures. So, let's clear the air. I love 80's action figures. If I had alot of money, maybe I would be one of those weird guys who collects them and leaves them in their bubble cases afraid that if exposed to 21st century air they would lose value instantly. Nah, I think that I would be no different than the 1983 version of myself. They would be immediately ripped open to begin their conquest of the other action figures (including the sexy Teela?).

I don't usually check and see what our spam filter catches, but I was beginning to wonder if I was missing something important. So, I checked and boy was I ever.

Our day to day lives get pretty busy. With work, family, and bills we tend to lose sight of those that mean the most to us. Rediscovering an old friend is really one of life's greatest joys. That moment when you realize how much you enjoyed their presence, how after mere minutes it's like they were never gone from your life. Of course after this you vow that you will never ever ever let the time get between you again. Well, last night I reconnected with a dear friend. I, of course am referring to cargo pants.


Think about it, who couldn't use two extra large storage areas near their knees? The utility and versatility, is really unparalleled in the pants world. Sure, you could argue that Carpenter pants have some utility as well, but do i really need a hammer loop? No. the only thing those side pockets could store are one of those weird flat pencils. No, I need the extra storage. For what, I'm not even sure.

But I do have some ideas:

• small bag of sunflower seeds

• a deck of cards

• juggling balls (yes I'm teaching myself how to juggle)

• Hand sanitizer (chicago is filthy)

• Water (bottled- small) - for obvious reasons

I do, however know what NOT to put in the knee pockets. :

• pencil/pens -this is a great way to compromise the integrity of the pockets with an inadvertent puncture. Ink is also an unwanted element in this storage area

• My wallet - I'm not so much worried about losing it as I am about looking like an ass every time i want to pay for something and i have to lean over and get into my side pocket.

• Perishables - These always belong in refrigerated spaces

• Sharps, hots, glass - Nothing that could hurt me should be stored in any of my pockets.

• Water (non bottled) - for obvious reasons

By no means are either of these lists comprehensive. I would also want to exercise caution while determining what to put into the pockets. Preferably nothing overly bulky as to draw undo attention to the cargo bays.


It goes beyond storage though. I'm pretty sure it goes beyond fashion as well,. If they are not in style, it's not my fault. The store sold them to me. It's the store's fault. Fashion be damned, I wanted me some cargos! No, I think cargos transcend functionality and fashion...perhaps to a spiritual plane where...ok, i pretty much ran out of imagination here.

Yet, when I was standing in the dressing room at Steve and Barry's i gazed into the mirror at my reflection and for a moment reflected (ha) on the pairs of cargo pants that I have lost along the way. Perhaps with this new pair those old pairs will find new life. I would say that the satisfied smile and the slight nod that I gave myself answered that question. yes.




Oh... in non-pants related news I really like the band Port O'Brien. listen.

Easily one of my most favorite things about being a parent is being exposed to products aimed towards children. I have always been a big fan of children's shows, books, and toys. Some might say that I have some issue with wanting to regain a lost part of my own childhood, but my childhood was fantastic. I have lots of great memories. Maybe thats why I love this stuff so much. The great thing is, as an adult I approach these items, shows, books, etc with a critical, hopefully "educated" eye, and truly give them the analysis they deserve. I have always planned to do more analysis of the bizarre childrens items that find their way into our house, but always lacked the appropriate format to do it in. But here, I can finally tear these muthas up.

I now present to you, one of my favorite works of literature:



Oh boy. This one is a doozy. Here you can truly judge a book by it's cover. I do use the word "book" lightly, as this is really more of a loose collection of factually incorrect statements, poor grammar, and confusing pictures. But boy do I love it. This book did not enjoy a heavy rotation in the bedtime reading routine. Neither of my kids seem overly fond of it for anything more than chewing on the corner. Which is not always a good indication of the value of the book. For instance Goodnight Moon is also chewed up, and I'm sure that won the Nobel Bedtime Peace Prize in the 50's.

On the cover of Fluffy Bunnies you are treated to the site of a slightly stocky orange rabbit with inky black eyes standing upright somehow, holding an enormous carrot, which he will presumably eat at some point later in the story. Could this be Fluffy Bunnies' attempt at foreshadowing...?


Let's just dive in. Fluffy Bunnies pulls no punches as we are launched right into the middle of the action. "See the fluffy bunnies. They love to play all day". Yep, they certainly do. Although on the left page it looks like the brown and black bunnies are just trying to find a way out of the book. To be honest, I don't blame them. The right page introduces us to some factual information about bunnies. They come in lots of colors. Heck, some are white and black and brown. Lots. I would like the right page more if I take it out of the context of the left page. But I will be fair to Fluffy Bunnies and concede that they are making the most use of their pages.



We are again treated to National Geographic like reporting as we learn more about how the bunnies live. We never stop and think about where the bunnies live, just things like "what color are they?" "how fluffy are they?". But to truly understand we need to know where they make their houses. Luckily "FB" is here with the scoop. It turns out that bunnies have the following housing options available:

1. Farms - What we don't know if it is a farm that the bunnies are running, or if they are just boarding there, or what. Hopefully "Fluffy Bunnies: Advanced" will give us more detail.

2. Tree trunks - The pic shows a bunny up in a tree. I would love to see how the bunny got up there. I could be wrong, and I guess the book is the expert here, but I never figured bunnies were good climbers. I have to be wrong.

3. Long Holes in the woods. This one seems plausible enough. I guess. I'm just glad we don't have soo many options as to where they could live that we could possibly become confused.

Farms, Trunks, Holes. Thats it.


Nothing really earth-shattering on this page. It comes as no revelation that they have strong feet and jump far. However their cuteness rating skyrockets when you realize that their "little noses twitch" due to their long whiskers. I'm also betting that the black bunny gets those butterflies. I think Wesley Snipes in Passenger 57 said it best: "Always bet on black".


Ahhhh. Finally the mystery of the cover, REVEALED. The big orange upright bunny does end up eating the carrot. Or praying over it, or gagging on it. I can't really tell. I also can't get over the feeling that their is some subliminal messaging taking place here. Could Fluffy Bunnies be trying to trick our children into eating vegetables? Daily? Apparently they also conveniently decided to leave out bunnies also eat their young on occasion. Perhaps that is a side of effect from when they don't "eat their carrots every day!" I say that is a cautionary tale missed.


Oh shit.

4. Houses - Apparently they can also live in houses. Like we do. In houses.

The wheels have officially come off on the last page of the book. All semblance of order is lost. We are tossed another possibility of where bunnies could live, in a seemingly weak attempt to get the children to identify with the rodent eating out of the bowl on the floor. The last "sentence" on the left page seems to be a plug by the Rabbit Lobby, to get people to adopt more bunnies as pets. I guess they make good pets. Not great pets, but adequate.

The feeling of sadness, nay desolation on the last page of the book is palpable. Not only does the body language of the black bunny indicate an unwillingness to say goodbye, but the last statement: "Bye, bye, bunnies. I hope I see you again!" Is really a cold reminder of life's uncertainties. I mean, sure, we'd like to think that there will be more opportunities to see bunnies. But what if this is it? What if this the only chance we get? I could be wrong, maybe I misinterpreted it, maybe Fluffy Bunnies is instructing Carpe Diem. Let those (or that) which we care about know how much we care. "I hope I see you again". Seize the moment, never give up hope, eat your carrots. daily.

Thank YOU fluffy bunnies. I know I will see you again someday.

One of you is in luck... Buy it!
No, this is not MY copy. To get my copy, you will have to pry it out of my cold dead fingers.

Yesterday was a pretty busy day. While recovering from a sinus/cold issue, and spending time with my family, I barely had a minute to myself. Why was I so busy you ask? Because my doorbell was ringing off the hook, thats why. Why was my doorbell ringing off the hook (is it on a hook?)? Because the Jehovah's Witnesses were out in full effect.


Now, "Witnesses" , usually stop by every so often with their challenging questions designed to either pique curiosity or annoyance. For me though, it's neither. I generally enjoy their visits, I consider myself versed enough in general religious philosophy to know what they are driving at. I also have an endless supply of reason and wit at my disposal for when religious theories fail (never happens right?). Don't get me wrong, I do not enjoy them so much to invite them into my home, and I do make an effort to maintain a visage of mild irritation as I politely field or reflect their questions as appropriate. But it's usually a fun distraction to watching episode after episode of Dora the Explorer, who by the way is a super cool explorer.

I don't pretend to understand all of the their beliefs, I would imagine they are mostly Christian like alot of people, except with some different rules. If I'm correct, and if my cursory glance at wikipedia was enough for me to remember, then only a certain amount of Witnesses get to go to heaven to "co-rule" with Jesus. The number is around 144,000. I believe demographic info put their total number of believers at around 7 million. Hmmmm, awkward. Who gets to go? Only the best 144k? If i were the one of the other 6.whatever million I would go join a different sect of Christianty, just to make sure I get to go too. That's how it works right? There was also something about not being able to take blood transfusions, but i don't remember what that is all about. I don't have a problem with any of their beliefs. We all believe different and sometimes crazy things (it's called faith, right?). My problem lay more with their methods.

Door to door has been a well used form of sales for a long time. Insurance, vacuums, encyclopedias, God... it's all been done. Unless you have a "No Solicitors" sign up, I think you can expect to get an occasional doorbell push. The issue with yesterday was that the two groups independent of each other employed a tactic that I found unethical - children. The first attempt came during late morning in the form of a man and his terrifed 8 year oldish son. After answering the door and awkward introductions, he prompted the illegally employed minor to give his spiel and hand me their pamphlet about how they "commemorate the death of Jesus" which must be completely different from Easter in some way. Waiddaminud, I think they can't really celebrate holidays...bummer. I just felt so bad for the kid. He was obviously intimidated (see last blog) and Jehovah knows what kind of reception he had been getting that morning from the rest of their "cold calls". I was very polite and thanked them very much. Gratefully, they didn't push the issue and that was that. But, I left kinda irritated that this guy is dragging his kid around as a shield basically to get their pamphlets into peoples homes. I don't want to use the word Pimping (because we all know pimping ain't easy) but thats how it felt. No one is gonna be mean to a kid in a suit on a Sunday, who is obviously sheltered and hasn't come with in 15 feet of a playstation. Heck, I wanted to bring him in and introduce him to the sinful delights of Guitar Hero.



The second group really upped the ante. These folks arrived at around 3pm, and not only did the guy have a terrifed boy in a suit, he brought an extra layer of armor...the overly make-upped (made-up?) old lady. Man, what a 1-2 punch that was. So the gentleman (ringleader) introduced his son and his mother, and stated that they were visiting because he was informed that the residents of my house had been spoken to previously and were interested. I told him that was simply not the case. Apparently his information pre-dated my purchase in August, so the info he was working on was old. Wow, what a slow turn-around. I would think that their membership campaign committees would encourage them to reach out quicker if someone even showed a modicum of interest. Nah, I guess they'll get to it when they get to it. I mean, really what are the odds that I am one of the 144k?

After that the usual, "tell him about us Son..." where I politely listen to the mumbled spiel, I re-affirm that we arent interested. At this point I am then subjected to the old lady's interrogation, which I feel I weathered nicely. This kid looked even more sheltered than the last. He probably would have screamed if my son was holding the giant Elmo doll that we have...for some reason.After this, they politely left and I was left alone for the rest of the day. I don't know when they will be back, I just know that they will be back. We'll be ready for them though. Me, Elmo, and Dora, rocking out to Guitar Hero, crunching the numbers on how we can sneak our way in to the 144k. In fact our new band is called The 144k. Yes, in fact Elmo is on drums.

In lieu of an actual blog, I will let the music do the talking (erm...blogging)



Thanks to a coworker for reminding me of the beauty of the 80's

Those who know me would most likely agree that I'm at times ornery. I like to think my no-nonsense attitude combined with my constant need for efficiency gives me an uptight appearance, but I generally think that I am pretty easy going. But something happened over the weekend that makes me wonder if I haven't indeed taken a step towards cantankerosity.

I was in our living room changing my son's diaper (for like the 74th time that day) when out of the corner of my eye I notice a couple of teen interlopers strolling through my yard. My yard backs up to a large park area and I have a gate to this area, as well as a gate to the front of the property where the urchins could get out to the sidewalk, to no doubt find their stashed scooters and bubblegum. To take full advantage of this perceived vulnerability to my property, all they would need to do is open my front gate, walk past my house, open my back gate, and then they are essentially free to perform whatever planned mischief they had slated for that afternoon.

Anyways, as I noticed the puberty afflicted gate-crashers I was overcome with a sense of righteous anger, and charged to the front door (after securing the diaper on the toddler of course) in an attempt to catch them red-footed. I reached the door, threw it open and yelled "Hey! Do not walk through this yard again!" To which they both wheeled around backpedaling, replied "sorry", then turn and ran down the street. I think when you get to a point in your life when you are able to make kids run away in fear you've rounded that corner to old-mandom. Which is fine. I don't expect to find myself muttering angrily (any more than usual) but I may need to take stock of my tendency towards surliness, and how it could possibly worsen as I age.


I'm not worried. I will eventually make peace with the fact that I will most likely be disagreeable codger someday, but right now I will bask in the light of my small victory. I made kids run. I made kids run with words. Well, it was either the words or the dirty diaper I still had in my hand.

Boohbah is a show that finds infrequent air-time in our house. It's not that the kids don't like it, which they do, but it's always on at weird times. But I have to give the show credit, it's certainly left an impact. I'm not going to get into the mechanics or formula of the show, but it's basically like Teletubbies, but way more confusing. The Boohbahs are a non-human form of life, seemingly in possession of strange abilities (flight, weird noises, perfectly choreographed dancing) They do not speak, out side of the weird gurgles and grunts and squeaks. I suppose it's not that they do not speak, it's just that we cannot understand them. Probably for the best. They travel around in a glowing sphere and sleep in a slightly organic looking pod system. I like their names, all ending with the mandatory "bah"


However the purpose of this blog is to not sing the praises of Boohbah (i'll do that later) but to relay an interesting insight once again, gained from my daughter.

I like to ask my daughter things like "what's your favorite Boohbah" or "what Boohbah are you?" You know, standard, perfectly reasonable questions. However, what is disconcerting is her answer. She invariably replies "green". Thats cool, but then I start thinking..."waidaminnut. There is no green Boohbah". *cue terrified scream*



So I got to thinking, who is the green Boohbah? Was he part of the original group? It is a bit strange that there is an odd number of Boohbahs. Even the Teletubbies have symmetry. What did he do to deserve expulsion? Did he lose a step in the choreography? Did he reach too far into their arcane arts and somehow become twisted by the power? I believe the latter. I truly think the Green Boohbah is the fallen Boohbah. And I'll be honest, I'm worried. I'm worried about my daughter's fascination with him. I'm sure the lure of the promise of power is difficult for anyone to resist much less a three year old. I do not know the Green Boohbah's weakness so I do not know how to combat it. Hopefully by studying the ancient tomes of Boohbania I can find some solution before he is freed from a presumably hellish prison.

Over the last three months I have been working out, pretty regularly. The building has a great facility with lots of new equipment and even a towel service! But unfortunately it also has.... a locker room.

I think it's pretty safe to say that most people do not want to be seen naked. In fact, I would imagine that most well-adjusted people will go out of their way to be modest. I'm no different. I take the extra effort to protect my privacy but it's really not the end of the world if someone sees me naked. No, but it's pretty much the end of the world if I see anyone else naked. I can't handle it. I don't know why. Of course this condition extends only to the male half of our species. Because, honestly who has a problem with a naked woman?

When I'm in the locker room, it's eyes straight forward at head level. If i'm looking down to tie a shoe, I am locked in on the laces like a freaking fighter pilot. I'm cannot be distracted. I might as well be wearing those horse blinder things. I'm not going to even bother looking up what those horse blinder things are even called, I'm that serious. I'm beginning to think it's like some sort of game. I haven't lost yet, but there have been some close calls. Such as...

The guy who decides to get completely undressed then go get a towel to wrap up.
or
The guy who starts his shower then conveniently forgets something and has to walk back to his locker sans towel to retrieve whatever it was. (this is made worse when he has a bottom locker)
or
The guy who is drying off in front of the mirror and decides he needs to stand there for an extended period of time. (due to the presence of the mirror, this doubles the risk)
or (my favorite)
The random old guy, who simply does not care anymore. I guess that is one of the luxuries of age though and cannot fault him like the others.

I'm doubt that there are deep seated reasons why this is such an issue to me, i'm just generally grossed out by other people. It's also disturbing to see the prevalence of "whitey-tighties" I figured they had long been obsolete.

Ok, I've about reached my limit on this topic. It's taken alot of strength to maintain enough class not to use the word "junk".