Team Passwaters
His name is O.B. I pronounce it "Obie". He was at the time, a mysterious monkey paw yet to be revealed. " I have a gift for you," he whispered conspiratorially. "Take this," he said as he pressed a small harlequin doll into my hand, "and don't give it away." "Why?" I asked taken aback by this tacky creation. "Because I'm giving it to you," he stated plainly. "Oh. Okey dokey. Thank you?"

He has proved to be nothing mysterious, just an odd little icon from an era of bad Journey albums and those damnable comedy/tragedy drama masks. He's been with me for about two weeks and I can't bring myself to throw him away, instead he is rubber-banded to my car's headrest. Maybe that is the curse: the inability to throw this tacky little juju in the garbage. So I wander through hill and dale looking like a an idiot with a friggin' miniature French clown in the front seat. Well played seemingly crazy old man. Well played indeed.

The second part of Team Passwaters is my new GPS. I heard someone say the other day that there are a number of things in popular culture that has never lived up to it's hype and GPS was at the top of his list. Having now experienced GPS, I can categorically confirm that this person's head is wedged solidly up his own ass. I travel anywhere from 200-500 miles a day, visit three to six potential clients, and carry twenty-five different county maps, and most of them, errant in one form or another. In the five days I've owned it, it's saved my life countless times, because I was one of those morons that would read a city map while driving. You just won't ever get anyplace if you don't in my profession and please save the "endangering people's lives" speech. I don't want to get all stereotypical and racist to defend a now moot point. We're all dumbasses on certain levels. Mine is just glaringly apparent. I say: don't half-ass it if you're going to sin or break the law, it just patronizes everyone around you.