Point and laugh children, point and laugh
I went to Wal-Mart yesterday with Ernie. I thought it'd be a hoot, because I'd get to ride around on one of those little carts. Mmm, no. no...

I've never experienced that much abject loathing, disdain, and pity in my life. It was as if people were emotionally or psychologically ill-equipped to see a seemingly-healthy adult male ride in a vehicle meant for the elderly and morbidly obese. It got so bad that I looked at Ernie and we noted in unison that people were looking at me like I was retarded! Then we just laughed and laughed...it's funny because it's true.

Here's something I never realized: The buggies at Wal-Mart are huge. I've only seen them with five-foot tall, three hundred and fifty-pound women in them. The electric cart seats are actually quite roomy. The turning radius is also quite impressive. You can spin it on a dime, but you better wear earplugs. It's like driving an electric blender while it's chopping up ice!

Speaking of Religiously Evil People

Pat Robertson, founder and chairman of the Christian Broadcast Network, called for the assassination of Venezuelan President, Hugo Chavez. Robertson said, in the middle of a broadcast of The 700 Club on Monday: "You know, I don't know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it. It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war."

Robertson begrudgingly apologized on Wednesday, saying: "Is it right to call for assassination? No, and I apologize for that statement," and then insisted that his words on Monday had been misinterpreted by The Associated Press and that he had never spoken of assassination. "I said our Special Forces should 'take him out'. 'Take him out' could be a number of things, including kidnapping."

Or 'take him out' could be a quiet dinner, followed by that new, much talked-about indie movie. We don't know, but what is clear is that the whole "Jesus Thing" just didn't pan out for Pat. It's a lot of pressure to follow all those teachings to love God with all your heart and to love your neighbor as yourself. Oh wait, that's only one teaching. Maybe Pat just read the Old Testament and thought, "Mmm, all full. No more commandments for me, thanks!"

Alabaster wide belt sanders
I haven't worked for close to two years now, and I was reminiscing about things I don't get to do in my office space anymore. It mostly involves strange clothing. I miss wearing a wrestling mask, a cape, a sarong with flip-flops, and a bendy cowboy hat with sunglasses, but not all at the same time. I miss collecting fast food toys and playing ping pong at lunch. I miss some of the people I worked with. I miss that interaction, the synergy you can only get with people driven to a common cause. Not enough to get another job obviously, but I miss it, sort of...

I hate the Eastwood Insurance commercials. I hate those stupid hats, the level of their production quality, and the fact that they try to leverage their name against a real actor's name using a character he portrayed. It doesn’t make sense on so many levels...

I love the comedy of Zach Galifianakis He was the bus station attendant in the movie, Bubble Boy. I loved him in that role. I love him more, now. He’s obscure and thoughtful and self-deprecating. I appreciate those qualities, both in a lover and a comedian...

A friend just sent me one of those internet psychological tests. Apparently, if you confuse people with mildly difficult addition problems and then ask them to think of a color and a tool, we will say "Red Hammer". Well, 98% of us anyways. The other 2%? They're special little snowflakes I guess. They said something unique like "alabaster wide belt sander" ...

I just heard a term that I like: Religiously Evil. It was described as someone that has so much religion that they've become mean and jaded. Huh. I know those people. I'm related to some of those people. I've worked with some of those people...

Ankle break, week six: The Whiney Rehabilitation Phase
I was raised not to pick at my scabs. It was explained to me that scabs are our body’s way of healing an injury to protect it from the elements and allow your body to create new skin. That notion made sense to me and it still carries some over-simplistic, naive wisdom. Doctors are those kids who picked at their scabs despite their better judgment and as extra act of defiance to their parents, became professional scab pickers. I went in for my six-week check-up for my ankle and my doctor said that he wanted to remove the scab on my ankle and make sure everything looked okay, and that the tendon wasn’t near the surface of the skin. I remembered my childhood admonishments and said that the scab on my ankle was fiiiine. There was no need for him to break open that sterile tweezers and scissor set, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Now I have to go and make a whole new scab because of his curiosity and unresolved childhood defiance issues.

Then, after cutting off my security blanket of a cast and picking at my scab, he put me in the orthopedic boot that I thought I was looking forward to, right up until the moment the nurse started forcing an orthopedic sock onto my bruised foot and ankle. It was at that point that I officially started to miss my beloved, protective cast. The sock, which is like what the grandmas wear to hold in varicose veins, is anaconda tight, and is supposed to get rid of the last of the swelling in my foot. The twenty pound boot he assigned me is designed for immobility, but I believe chiefly, for locating and then annoying any open wound that you may have in the foot or leg region. Mission accomplished. It has located my open wound and I am sufficiently annoyed.

The best part of this chuckle-fest is that now I’ve begun the Rehabilitation Phase, but I still can’t put weight on the appendage. If you look at the above X-ray, the little arrows point out the one last area that has to heal before I start walking around again. In a month’s time, I have to reawaken my foot by flexing my ankle and toes. How do these inspirational people come back from being hit by a bus and then enter a marathon six months later? I have the intestinal fortitude of a sponge. My rehab is to whimper for one minute and then turn on Comedy Central.

Home skool'd
My kid went back to public school this morning. We home schooled him from third grade till now an he's not retarded or anything. He actually made it into Honors English and he's going to test for Honors Math. And we can't take credit for any of it. He was self-taught. It was the curriculum we used. I helped him with a math problem like, two years ago. That was the last time. It might have been something to do with the screaming, but it might not have been. I'll deny it until he goes to counseling when he's in his thirties and then I'll just say that it was the times and it was the way I was raised, so stop whining you little baby, there's people starving to death all over the world and you're worried about how I spoke to you one afternoon twenty years ago. Yeah, I gotta save this excuse somewhere so I don't forget.

The refreshing thing is that he's not a kid who feels he needs a new wardrobe to go back to school. We asked if he wanted anything and he said no. I just sat there stunned. I remember the back-to-school shopping day. It was my favorite day of the year. He doesn't know this tradition. He didn't even want new Chucks. Is this even my kid? Who doesn't want a new pair of shoes? I think he's destined to be a missionary or something. If he can figure out how to share the Gospel of X-Box. I don't necessarily get him all the time, but how can I not appreciate the money he saves me. God bless his weird little heart.

A book meme, as appointed by Jen
Where do I start? I was given this assignment by a friend to list my five most influential books. I love lists and listing things. I love order and lists give me a sense that I'm neat even if my life is falling apart around me. What a joy, now I get to list something. Thanks for making me think Jen!

How Many Books Do I Own? The question should be: How many books have I gotten rid of? Thousands. 95% of what I still own are boxed. I only display the loved and the cherished. Or what looks good with how I have the room decorated. Yeah, I'm that shallow.

Last Book I Read:I'm actually still reading it. It's Survivor, by Chuck Palahnuik. Amazing read. Only put it down for this writing assignment.

Ferdinand The Bull, by Munro Leaf
This is my Yin. It is everything that I am: falsely threatening, peaceful, and largely misunderstood. This is the only other tattoo I would ever get, not that I'm ever going to do that again...it hurt too dang much the first time!


Where The Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak
This is my Yang. It is everything I loved about being a child and everything I still love about being childish: adventure, the pretend, and the joy of being who you are with no inhibitions.



Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah, by Richard Bach
It was my first exploration into spirituality at the age of eighteen and it was my original Bible. It's a total New Age creation, but it told me Jesus was a man and that my struggles were His struggles. It still speaks to that struggle in me. That's saying a lot for New Age fodder.

Joshua : A Parable for Today, by Joseph Girzone
I love this book. It's another great Jesus parable and it still affects me. Humility with an honestly selfless agenda is something I can't even begin to understand and I think that's the allure of this story to me.



Me Talk Pretty One Day, by David Sedaris
He's our generation's gay, expatriate Mark Twain and my favorite author of short stories and essays. A pure, unadulterated caustically hopeful genius. His other works include Naked, Dress Your Family In Corduroy And Denim, Barrel Fever, and Holidays On Ice. I own them all and all of them are worthy of making me squirt milk through my nose. That alone is worth the price of admission.

Honorable Mentions
Any work by Chuck Palahniuk. He's probably most famous for Fight Club, but some of his other works: Lullaby, Survivor, Invisible Monsters, and Choke, for example have the most distinct, visceral voice in post-modern literature. I just discovered that I haven't read everything this guy's put out. I'm aghast! He's also written Haunted, Diary, Fugitives and Refugees, and Stranger Than Fiction. It looks like I have some catching up to do! You have to get some of this guy's books! An amazing author. Every book is distinct and compelling in it's own right. A must for any discerning bibliophile!

A Book Of Five Rings, by Miyamoto Musashi
The coolest book that I still don't completely fathom. It was orginally given to me by my best friend in junior high. He was very deep for his age, considering he was studying a 16th century undefeated samurai's book on battle strategies. I still can only read a chapter or two before I put it down in frustration. It's just not me. But I still like to fight with it every now and then.

The Dark Tower Series, by Stephen King
"The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." So begins the Piece de Resistance of the impressive body of work that is Stephen King's career. It started in 1982 with The Gun Slinger. He released his seventh and final book in the series, The Dark Tower, last year. I'm going to hate to see them maul these books in cinema, but I know it's coming. The books themselves deal with the adventures of an alternate world where knights are gunslingers and nothing is as it appears because evil is trying to rule the world. It's epic and you can read it without waiting for six years like I did, for the next installment.

Meatwad, Jazz, & JJ
Okay, I'm having a mild panic attack. My son is in the next room watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force and my wife is listening to jazz in the kitchen. It's creating this weird cacophony of sound similar to having an entire carnival lodged in my head. I still don't understand ATHF. It's a cartoon about the hijinks of a meatball, a milkshake, and an order of fries. No really, I'm serious. They have the usual cast of protagonists and their lives are seemingly rich and full as our own, but they are a meatball, a milkshake, and an order of fries. I don't get their humor either. It's one of my son's favorite cartoons, though. I just don't get it. This cartoon could be shown in another language and I wouldn't understand the humor any less.

I understand the meatball (actually they call him a meatwad) is the child-like, innocent character that speaks with an urban-ish speech impediment, the milkshake is the cynical protagonist, and the order of fries is the older, wiser "glue" that holds the whole cast together. I just don't understand anything past that point. The humor to me is just odd, the artwork is pure crap, and the storylines are non-existent. And my son loves it. Like owns the entire series on DVD, loves it. I have to leave the room when he turns it on. It's like they threw old Hanna-Barbera cartoons into a hat and pulled out ATHF.

I think more than anything, it disturbs me to my core. I think because it shows that my time is over. Humor has passed me by and this is the New Humor. You're too old, old man. Go watch your Bugs Bunny and Three Stooges re-runs and sit quietly in the corner. Fine, I will.

I found out the microwave screws with my wireless internet. A lot. And the microwave's been working hard today for some reason. My mom lives with us now. She must warm up her coffee every ten minutes. Just drink the damn thing already and be done with it woman!

Ooh, gross, my ham sandwich just dropped hot, ham juice onto shirt. Hm, I broke my second rule: don't eat food over your shirt. This reminds me of my first rule and a dear friend that I worked with awhile back, who will remain nameless...oh screw it, his name is JJ. JJ had the uncanny ability to open any container and spill at least part of it's contents onto his crotch. I always found myself angry in a very parental sense any...every time this happened. I made a Life Rule to help him with the problem, because he always seemed to be wearing something nice when he'd spill things on his crotch. The rule required that he had to open the container away from his crotch. Simple rule? Yes. Unfortunately, I had to remind him of this every time we ate together. I don't know if he still does this, but I don't see why he would ever stop. It seemed to be some innate, self-destructive quality. He didn't drink, smoke, or cuss, so I guess opening the occasional fruit cup or can of soda over his crotch was his way of rebelling against conformity.

This Too...

Just Made This...

If that's true, then...I still don't care
You know what I've missed in the past month? Shoe shopping. No point in going shoe shopping when I have a ten-pound sock blocking me from achieving my fashion goals. And limping around with a shoe hanging off the end of your foot is so not cool. I think once I can start walking around again, I'm going to celebrate with a nice pair of Chuck Taylors. I don't think I've ever owned a pair of Chucks.

I kept hearing an obscene rumor during the production of the new Dukes Of Hazzard movie. We live in ludicrous times when girls like Jessica Simpson are told to lose weight to be in a movie. Apparently, she was just too darned fat to adequately portray Southern-bred white trash that works in a bar and is related to people who drive a car with no windows. That poor, hideous girl is lucky to even be working in the entertainment industry.

I was wandering around the internet the other day and reading a couple of blogs that I like to visit. A couple of these blogs are Christian Faith-based and they write pretty much every day about their faith or how their faith relates to their daily lives. I believe in Jesus and I share the same faith, but I don't write about my faith. I had to think about that for a long time. I'm still contemplating the reason. I don't know. I'm willing to take suggestions.

I watched the entire first and second seasons of the 90's TV show, News Radio, the other day. If you haven't ever seen this show or it's been awhile, stop by Blockbuster and pick it up! I haven't laughed that hard in a long time! The ensemble cast, the direction, and the writing is probably one of the best in all of TV history.

Ankle break, week four: The Incredible Shrinking Calf
I stopped by the orthopedic surgeon today and he cut off the old cast, took more x-rays, and recast the leg. I went with a black cast this time, because it matches the shoes that I like wear. I'm sorry, did I say shoes? I meant shoe, the shoe I like to wear.

He said it's healing well, but I may as well settle back and relax, because I did a great job tearing it up. It'll be awhile before I can even put weight on the foot. I'm learning to live with the extra foot weight and the hopping and the immobility. It's not acceptable, but I can live with it, for now. I've learned to hop down stairs pretty well, but hopping up stairs is a lot of work. I cheat at that and go butt first or put my hands on the stairs and proceed to look like an afflicted rabbit ascending a set of stairs.

I noticed that when I go to his office, I sweat buckets of fear. The only thing I could envision was everyone callously twisting and flexing my exposed ankle. I was wrong, they were very caring, and I didn't have to cry like a wee-girl. Public Machismo Crisis narrowly averted: whew.

We forgot to bring a camera, but I had my phone with me. It has a camera on it, but it's barely adequate so please forgive the quality of the enclosed pics.