OBSTRUCTED VIEW

Impressions of the Snowtober Nor'easter of 2011

2011-11-08T18:58:00.002-05:00

IT WAS #$%#ING COLD, AND IT WAS #$%#ING DARK!!!!

...thank you.

Reflections on Haunting

2011-10-21T12:48:00.011-04:00

Well, it's that time of the year again; Carol and I (joined this year for the first time by our daughter Rhiannon) let ourselves get made up to look like hideous, stomach-churning dead folk and then proceed to scare the living crap out of paying customers at our local favorite haunted attraction.

Sometimes, there are lulls in the crowds, most often during the early part of the haunt season. During such times, my mind wanders (as it tends to do a lot anyway) and sometimes I ponder the whole haunt experience. Here are some random observations/rants/introspections/etc that I've accumulated thus far this season:

There is something viscerally powerful about instilling fear in others. Frankly, it's a delightful feeling, and quite addicting. When you hear a fresh group of victims approaching your area, your heart races, muscles tighten, and eyes gleam with predatory anticipation, as you're poised to strike. And when they reach your area, you
lunge!

The best people to scare in terms of satisfaction? Teenaged girls. Holy crap can they scream. One shrieked so loud after I scared her that my left ear actually throbbed and rang for about five minutes afterwards. This is actually a sort of compliment. A deafening compliment, but a compliment nonetheless.

My "spot" happens to be right at the end of the first haunted attraction (there's a total of three of them), so I get the chance to really give people a powerful last impression. I like that.

Favorite tactic: cock an ear towards the departing customers, listen for one saying "aw, that wasn't scary!", slip out, ninja-like, out of my spot, follow right behind them, then at the right moment: "WAAAAAAGHGHGHHH!" Yeah, try THAT on for size, Mr/Ms "I'm not scared!".

Since my 60lb. weight loss I've discovered that, when you get right down to it, I'm rather wiry. So yes, I do feel like a 52 year old ninja when I sneak up on unwary customers.

The other classic targets are the people who leave the haunted house and go "Whew! We made it! That's over!" Then, just like those bogus endings tacked on to the majority of modern horror movies, the monster (read: ME) suddenly appears in their midst, going "BOOGA BOOGA BOOGA!", and that's when the shrieking, crying, and swearing starts.

What's with people who go through haunted houses with this look of bored disdain? Look, we all know that haunted houses are fake. It's a form of entertainment; dare I say, it's interactive theater? It's a goof, a joke, and we all know it and are all in on it. You can either act like you're too cool or hip to be scared, or you can get into it like we do, play along, enjoy the ride, and share the joke with us. You paid your admission, you might as well suspend that disbelief for about twenty minutes and just enjoy it. We're not impressed with your so-called bravery. We are impressed by your willingness to get into the spirit of things. It's your call. We're good either way. Either way, we still have your money.

And speaking of which, that's another thing that cracks me up. Some of these people who look at you and openly sneer, saying things like "whatever", or "really?", or "yeah, ok loser". Hey guess what!? You and your two fellow terminally hip poser buddies just smacked down $60 to sneer at some people. Who's the real loser, pal? That 60 bucks may have a slight odor of vinegar and water (think about it), but it's still legal tender for all debts, public and private.

The later the haunted attraction is open, the more likely you'll get drunk and/or stoned people. I mean, the kind of drunk people that you better not light a match within four feet of them or they'll go all Hindenburg on you. That's why I prefer the crowds to be huge from the git-go, then peter out as it gets late.

Dear young parent: you are going through a scary haunted house with a screaming two-year old in your arms. Really? What is wrong with you?

Dear girl in her late teens: why do you have a Monster-Be-Nice flashlight? You're not a child. Sheesh.

For those not in the know, a Monster-Be-Nice flashlight is something that a parent can request for their child. The light is held up by the child during the sojourn into the haunt, and it's a signal for there to be less jump-scares and screams by the actors. Yes, I've seen teenaged girls carrying them. Hell, I've seen a small handful of adults carrying them. Really? That's like going to an expensive, exotic restaurant and ordering a burger and fries.

I really get a kick out of the teenaged guys who go into the haunts with their rapper poses, backward turned baseball caps and defiant sneers, only to shriek like a rabbit when confronted with a scare, and end up hiding behind their girlfriends. Yo.

Another fun group are the guys who don't act tough, but sure look it. Guys who looks like they could be NFL linebackers. Then you do your scary routine and they shriek and flail their arms in panic. Priceless!

As a haunter, we've been told to never break character, no matter what people say to us. This is awesome advice. You always get people who try to sass you, provoke you, or make wisecracks. Sad part is, these people make wisecracks in such a way that they believe they're the first ones who've ever made those remarks. Best to not succumb to temptation no matter how good the opportunity.

The wise-crackers I find particularly annoying are the teenaged girls or the drunken older women who come right up to my face and say stuff like "You're cute!" or "When do you get off?" I have some choice bazinga responses in mind, but again, you don't want to break character, so I simply stare right through them and move on.

Of course, I react the same even to real compliments like "THAT is amazing makeup!" or "Well done, you really got me that time!". Same reaction. Unchanging blank stare and scowl.

OK, so I admit it. This year, I broke character once. I had one of those "That wasn't scary" cases who I followed out of the house and proceeded to scare about ten years off her life. Then, as she and her group snaked their way through the sideshow and towards the Clown House, I got her again! As I walked away, I smirked in her general direction and held up two fingers, as in "Gotcha twice!" It helped that her friends were cheering me and giving me the thumbs-up.

Speaking of scaring people in a group, I noticed that a lot of people who happen to see their friend getting snuck up on have one of two reactions: either they say something like "Holy crap, Bob! Watch out behind you!" or they grin in evil anticipation and sit back to watch the show. The latter are way more fun, in my opinion. Clearly they're getting into it.

Well, that's enough for now. Barring any unusual incident between now and the end of the season, this should cover it nicely.

BOO!

Red Sox Clubhouse Woes Mount Amidst Allegations of Cthulhu Worship

2011-10-19T18:40:00.003-04:00

The Red Sox organization and Red Sox Nation in general, already reeling from the worst September collapse in MLB history and allegations of unprofessional conduct in the clubhouse, was further shaken today in the wake of allegations that certain members of the Red Sox engaged in the worship of dread Cthulhu.

Unnamed Sources claim that, after the All-Star break, several "respected veteran members" of the team brought in a copy of the blasphemous Necronomicon of Abdul Al Azhred and led several of the more impressionable younger members of the team in chants to the Elder God and other beings of the so-called Cthulhu Mythos.

Mr. Sources further went on to say that the ring-leaders were notorious beer-drinking, chicken-eating starting pitcher Josh Beckett, respected veteran catcher Jason Varitek, and beloved veteran knuckleballer Tim Wakefield.

"Oh yeah, the whole pitching staff was there at our dark rites," Beckett told Unnamed in a confidential, off-the-record, don't breathe a word to this to nobody interview. "In fact, we pitchers were actually the cult leaders. Well, all of us except for John Lackey, who has enough trouble with the English language, let alone eldritch phrases such as 'Cthulhu ftaghn!'. So, rather than being a leader, he served as our lackey. Get it? John Lackey? Our lackey? Haw!"

According to Sources, most of the rites were chanted during the singing of "Sweet Caroline". "While the crowd as singing 'Sweet Caroline. Bom! Bom! Bom!," Red Sox pitcher Jon Lester explained, "We in the dugout were singing 'Sweet Azathoth! Ia! Ia! Ia!"

There had been disturbing hints that things "weren't quiet right" in the Red Sox clubhouse during the latter half of the season, mostly ominous things said by various members of the team. Tim Wakefield had been overheard saying that he was going to supplement his knuckleball with a "non-Euclidian" pitch. When the Red Sox were being written off as dead in September, Beckett was heard to say "That is not dead which can eternal lie."

This latest example of unprofessional clubhouse behavior has sent fresh shockwaves through the MLB community. Former Red Sox meathead Johnny Damon, who is never at a loss for a quote if there's a microphone within 60', was stymied from saying anything due to spending 20 unsuccessful minutes trying to say the word 'Cthulhu'.

The Yankees organization, meanwhile, was delighted at this latest stain on the Red Sox reputation. "This worship of Elder Gods is unacceptable!" thundered Hank Steinbrenner, "If they really wanted to worship evil entities, the Red Sox should have done like we Yankees do, and worship Satan!"

Running My First Road Race

2011-03-14T21:18:00.003-04:00

I've been running in various degrees of frequency since 1980 (and boy are my legs tired!), but this past Sunday, March 13, 2011, is the first time I entered and ran an actual road race.

It was called the "Ras na hEireann USA", or in English, the Race of Ireland and USA. That pretty much says it all right there. And the kicker of it was, I wasn't even the one who initiated joining it; that particular honor fell to my lovely wife Carol, who's been getting into the whole running thing, much to my joy.

We signed up a while back, and trained faithfully for it. Thank God for the gym this winter, because otherwise we'd have been in sad shape (in more ways than one).

We decided to get a hotel room on Saturday night in Cambridge, and that way we wouldn't have to worry about driving down on Sunday morning, especially with the advent of Daily Savings Time, and springing forward to lose an hour.

So, with not much to do on Saturday night, we decided to go into downtown Boston, hit Fanueil Hall, and partake in a little decidedly non-Weight Watchers fare. In keeping with the spirit of the Irish road race, we went to an Irish pub at Quincy Market. Naturally, Carol and I each had to drink a Guinness. Come on, it was practically mandated by law!

Next morning, it was up early, hit Dunkin Donuts for some pre-race carbs, meeting Adrienne there as well, then off in her Mini-Cooper (named "Sheldon") to Somerville and the road race.

The forecast called for sunshine and low 50's. So naturally, it was gray, chilly, and mid-40's. Ah, March in New England! Once we assembled at the starting line, we were pumped and ready to do this. Carol had gone, in less than a year, from not running at all to being in a 5k road race. This would be the first race for both of us.

Encouraged by Carol's suggestions on the matter, I decided to try for speed. I actually went up to the 7-minute mile pacing area of the starting line. It then occurred to me that no one was next to me. I turned around and saw the mass of humanity that would eventually number 5112 runners. Somehow, I was at the front of the pack, and I mean the REAL front...as in, I was somehow the leader. I relished the feeling, because deep down I had this suspicion that my leading the pack would end as soon as the starter's pistol went off.

I was right. As everyone around me did the human equivalent of a jackrabbit start, I was more like the freight engine that starts off slow and builds up a head of steam. But in the interim, several hundred people proceeded to shoot by me. I was literally buffeted by runners passing on the left and the right.

That was when I realized that I didn't have a good rhythm. I had deliberately not brought my iPod with me, feeling that the sheer energy and camaraderie would carry me through. But this run happened to be my very first outdoor run since last November, right before the weather began turning to crap. So my first exposure (so to speak) to outdoor running this year was in the cold, with no tunes, and in the middle of my first freaking road race.

As my brain busily handled several tasks at once, namely trying to figure out a good running/breathing pattern while trying to figure out what/why/how the freaking Hell I was doing out here, my legs began falling into something resembling a good rhythm, and I actually found myself beginning to not only catch up with, but overtake some of my fellow racers.

I had been told that running on a treadmill was different than running outdoors. Now, while I conceded that there may be some truth to this, there was a Hell of a lot more truth to it than I thought. This past winter was the first time I ever actually spent the "off season" on a treadmill. And while I was indisputably maintaining my fitness level, burning calories, building up leg muscles this winter, the treadmill is definitely different, and now I was trying to re acclimate myself to the way I've always run for the past 31 years! During a road race, no less...

I tell you, when I saw that finish line, my heart leaped. I could've sobbed for joy. I put on an extra burst of speed, scrunched my face into my best "determined runner on the verge of triumph" look (hey, there were lots of cameras there...), and streaked across the finish line!

As I walked my cool-down and got my participation medal, I backtracked to the finish line, moving through the crowds of spectators, so I could see Ade and Carol finish. First came Ade, then a few minutes later came Carol. All of us had run the course without stopping, without slowing down to a walk. We ran it all.

Now, after all that, came the truly great part of the race: the post-race party. The Irish bars along the route were all holding the post-race festivities, including live Irish music and of course, beer.

Problem was, the lines getting into the bars were huge. So we eventually decided to just find ANY place that could get us out of the raw cold, and into a warm comfortable place with a drink in our hands. We ended up at a Mexican restaurant (which as it turned out was also the final destination of at least a dozen other runners!), so while I had beers, the ladies had 'ritas.

It was still a half-hour wait, but the alcohol made it easier. The weirdest moment, though, had to be when this girl and her two friends came up to where Carol and I were sitting and told me that I bore an uncanny resemblance to Fred Armisen from Saturday Night Live. Although it was clear to them that I wasn't Armisen, it still didn't stop the girl from asking to have her picture taken with me. So hey, why not?

After a terrific meal, it was time to head home, back to Nashua and the cat, who we were sure was incensed at our absence over the past almost 24 hours.

As we drove back, Carol and I were kind of sad that it was over. We had worked so hard to be ready for it, it was fun, we succeeded in our goal, but...it was over. Now what? Well, Carol mentioned a few other races we might be interested in, ones that are a lot closer to home...

Looks like we're back in training!

FINAL RESULTS
Carol finished 4325 out of 5112, with an 11:19 minute mile.
Ade finished 3636 out of 5112, with a 10:30 minute mile.
I finished 837 out of 5112, with a 7:55 minute mile. I finished 22nd out of 109 in my age group.

Next year, I plan to do better! Heck, we all plan to do better. That way, we'll get to the pubs faster, and not have to deal with long lines. Hey, we have our priorities straight!

Childhood memories remind me that Disney is Evil

2011-01-17T19:29:00.005-05:00

I am convinced that our brain, especially when it comes to memory, is like a giant pot of soup, boiling and bubbling. As it boils and bubbles, various vegetables and/or chunks of chicken or beef float to the surface, remain visible for a bit, then sink back down into the roiling depths of the pot, only to be replaced by a different vegetable or piece of meat. Perhaps even a noodle.

I do consider my memory to be such an ever-churning pot of soup, and often times I find really old vegetables..er..memories spontaneously bobbing up to the surface, hanging around for a while, then eventually sinking back down into the broth. We're talking old memories here, as in decades old, floating back into my conscious without even an identifiable trigger.

Recently I had the pleasure of recalling two incidents from my childhood, completely out of the blue, that in fact reinforce the idea that Disney is Evil. Read on, MacDuff.

Anyone who knows me even just a little is aware that I love to read. I find that reading expands your mind, sharpens your wits, increases your vocabulary, fills in knowledge gaps, and much much more. It may further not come as much of a surprise to anyone that I loved to read from a very early age, like around 3. I so impressed my dad that he'd go out and get his hands on any second-hand book he could buy and give them to me.

One particular batch contained A Christmas Carol, The Wizard of Oz, and Toby Tyler. What's Toby Tyler, you ask? Well you may ask! Toby Tyler is one of those cautionary "bad boy" stories. Boy is a problem at home, boy runs away convinced that his parents don't love him, boy gets into trouble, boy eventually has an epiphany and returns home, chastened and wiser, and is a good boy from now on.

The titular Toby ran away from his foster parents and ended up joining the circus. As an aside, don't you think Titular Toby would make a good name for a porn star? Anyways, Toby strikes up a friendship with Mr. Stubbs, a chimpanzee in the circus. In order to show that there are consequences to being a bad boy, there comes a point where said chimp has an unfortunate run-in with a hunter who has a rifle (Spoiler alert: chimp loses).

Now, this book really milked that damned chimp's death scene. Good Lord, did it tug at the heart strings. And I was just a kid, who still thought that chimps were cute and smart and wonderful, not the hateful, screaming, shit-flinging little douchebags that they really are. Which reminds me: I wonder how the New York Yankees fanbase is taking the fact that their team really hasn't made much progress to improve themselves over the off-season thus far?

But I digress. Where was I? Ah yes. Ventilated chimp.

Anyways, Toby is devastated, I was beside myself with grief, and even though the story ends happily (Toby learns the error of his ways, goes back to loving family), I was still shaking my head and going "Sure,it's a happy ending for everyone except Mr.Stubbs, who is DEAD!"

Well, enter the Wonderful World of Disney.

Sunday nights, NBC, 730 EST...the Wonderful World of Disney...IN COLOR! OOooooooooo! That was one of the big selling points of WWD. The show was in glorious COLOR! Yeah what can I say? It didn't take much to impress us in the 60's. I mean, come on, three network channels and a few UHF stations? Oh yeah. We were living the high-life, let me tell you. Then just when you thought the bar couldn't possibly be set lower, the 70's came along.

OK, where was I? Oh yeah, Disney and their Wonderful World of Technicolor Yawns. Anyways, WWD did a movie adaptation of Toby Tyler. And guess what? The damned chimp survives the hunter's gunshot! Yep, there's good old Mr. Stubbs with a big ol' gauze bandage wrapped around his mid-section.

Now, though a part of me was sort of happy at this "alteration", an even bigger part of me was all "Hey wait! That's wrong! The monkey died!" It really bugged me. These grown-ups...DISNEY of all people, got it wrong!

That's because the chimp is a cute (ostensibly) and cuddly (tchyeah right) creature, and thus cannot die. Had it been a parental figure, however, and ol' mom or dad would've ended up in a chipper/shredder for sure, with their disbelieving offspring witnessing the whole thing as the child was inundated with a crimson tidal wave of parental blood.

OK, that's not fair, I guess. Disney would never do that. No, Disney would just have already eliminated either and or both parents before the start of the story.

But yes, there you have it. Disney is evil; they modify classic stories so as to make them more palatable to young viewers, even though they won't hesitate to off a parent or two in the backstory.

The second instance of what I perceive today as Disney Evil, was the Coming Attractions for another episode of "Wonderful World of Disney". I never saw the episode in question, but after the eyeful I got, I didn't want to.

The episode was called something like "Minado the Wolverine". At least I think it was "Minado". Minado, Menudo, Mentos, Mindanao...something. So yeah, the episode was about a wolverine. OKay, fine. WWD would often do a program based on some animal's adventures. And these weren't cartoons; they were live-action.

So, in this episode preview, I'm seeing this animal that looks like an over-sized, de-striped skunk on steroids, and they show it relentlessly attacking this guy who's walking through the snow. The thing leaps at him, snarling, the man bats it away, it recovers, attacks again, the man bats it away, it climbs a goddam tree and jumps out of it and onto the guy's head and here's the poor sap trying to keep his footing in the deep snow, while battling a furry psychopath with a level of rage usually only achieved by being rogered by a cactus while being informed that your spouse has been unfaithful, and incidentally you're not getting a tax refund in fact you owe $20,000, and by the way your car spontaneously combusted and your auto insurance mysteriously terminated yesterday.

This wolverine didn't smoke cigars, address people as "bub", and have adamantium claws that went "snikt". No, this Lon Chaney Junior of the animal kingdom was a furry nightmare, attacking its foe with a crazed single-minded suicidal zeal that would make Osama Bin-Laden weep tears of envious joy.

As I watched this preview, as a child, I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was. Something was off. It took a few years of growing up and learning how programs are made to realize that a tv show has cameramen, sound people, a director, etc., all of whom we can't see, off-screen, making the tv or movie magic.

That's when it came together for me. Bear in mind, I was still a kid here: this poor sap was getting attacked by a psychotic wolverine and a whole crew of people didn't do a thing to help him! No sir, they just kept filming their stupid program while the fate of this poor sucker remained a mystery.

It took a couple more years for me to realize that it was all a show, and whatever happened, no actual humans were harmed in the making of that stupid-ass Disney program.

So there you have it. Two concrete bits of evidence that reinforce the fact that Disney is evil.

In a future installment, we'll have another look at Disney evil, as well as the very first time I read a comic book in which the heroes died, and the ensuing trauma to my psyche.

Ciao!

New Years' Do T'ings..

2011-01-06T19:48:00.003-05:00

Yes, it's that time of year when everyone staggers out of their inebriated state that was attained on the last day of the old year, and solemnly swears to undergo a series of life-changing goals, otherwise known as resolutions. Most of these resolutions will wither and die before the New Years Eve party food has negotiated its way through the person's digestive tract and has left the building (fact: that's three to five days).

That's why a lot of clever, savvy people like me (and, at the risk of starting a mutual back-patting fest) and most of the people I hang with, shrink at the idea of declaring resolutions. Usually they're a cliche for failure (the resolutions, not my friends!).

And yet, there's a certain logic, a certain order, a certain ease of accountability, in starting something on January 1st (or thereabouts). It certainly makes a convenient benchmark. Maybe it's the word "resolution" that's the problem.

I've tried coming up with some clever. I thought of "revolution", "devolution" (are we not men? We are DEVO!), "irresolution", "revelation", but alas, none of them make sense. That's why I have decided to incorporate a phrase that Carol and I use, called "do t'ings".

"Do t'ings" was culled from the hilarious video, "Pork Chop Sandwiches", a satire of a GI Joe cartoon. Soon, we started using "do t'ings" as a catch-all, plugging it in when we were unwilling or unable to come up with specifics. For instance, you could say, "At lunch time, we'll stop off at Wendy's, grab a bite, then for the rest of the lunch hour, I dunno, we'll do t'ings".

Clear now? Good. So, let's cover my New Years Do T'ings.

First of all, let's recap last year's Do T'ings. There was only one, and that was to reduce my body mass so that I would no longer be mistaken for a stunt double for the Hindenburg. False modesty aside, it was a raging success. Took a year, but I lost 60 lbs. Hooray for me!

Well, that was pretty much the only Do T'ings for 2010. Fortunately (or unfortunately, as the case may be), there's more for 2011. Read on:

Do T'ings #1. Let's Finish The Job!
OK, so my weight is down to around 160. Supposedly, I should be at 150. So I still have 10 lbs to go. Do T'ings number one, then, is to lose that last 10 pounds or so.

Do T'ings #2. We Are Here To Pump ::Clap:: You Up!
OK, so I lost 60lbs and my legs are gorgeously muscular to behold. You know what is NOT? Upper body. Sure, I'm wiry and can run fast and long, but when it comes to muscle mass, it's almost an embarrassment. Fortunately, there's that gym membership that I have, and have been availing myself of solely to use the treadmills so that I may continue running even when we get rogered by New England's ever-lovable winters. Time to work out, build up upper body strength, etc. So, that's Do T'ings number 2...building up muscle mass.

Do T'ings #3. The Removal Of An Altogether Different Kind Of Fat
The Department Of Statistics Designed To Make You Feel Bad reports that the average American has about $25,000 in non-mortgage debt. Well, this is the year that Carol and I decide that any debt, excluding said mortgage, must shrink if not go away altogether. So, Do T'ings number 3 is to reduce and shut down sources of credit.

Do T'ings #4. Spending More Time With My Kids
The problem with listing this as a Do T'ing is that it may imply that I have to force myself to spend time with my own kids. After all, whether you call it a resolution or a Do T'ing, it usually means that you're forcing yourself to do something that, while ultimately good for you, is something you'd rather not be doing. Well, that's not the case here. See, I see my kids just enough that it's not like they're not in my orbit at all, so it's easy to just sort of coast when they're around. I'm talking here about going out of my way to have more one-on-one time with each of them. I can get lazy and just take for granted that they'll always be around and able to do stuff whenever the mood strikes me. That's not the case. Nothing lasts forever, and the chances to, well, do t'ings diminishes over time. So, Do T'ings Number Four is to go out of my way to have more one-on-one time with each of my kids. I really don't get the chance to see them enough for my tastes.

Do T'ings #5. It's Blog, It's Blog, It's Big, It's Heavy, It's Wood.
I do enjoying writing like this, but a lot of times, I get too lazy and instead burn off time playing Bejeweled Blitz or some PC game. And I do think I have some good things to say sometimes. I should post more blogs. So, that's Do T'ings #5. Blog more.

Do T'ings #6. The Most Frightening Do T'ings Of All
I have three, count 'em, three novels in various stages of completion. At least two of them are over half done. But therein lies the problem. I work on one, everything's great, I'm humming along, then I stop because I have another great idea, so I start another novel, then that one comes along nicely, then I stop because I get yet another good idea, and so on, and so on.

Problem is, I know myself too well. I know what I'm doing here. And in true "pour your heart out because you're blogging" style, it's confession time.

I'm afraid of rejection.

Oh Hell, afraid nothing; I'm TERRIFIED.

See, if I'm working on a book, I can have that nice warm feeling of "Ooooo, this is GOOD!", and no one can refute that. But as the book gets closer to completion, I start to realize that inevitably, others will need to look at it. And they may not agree with my assessment. Do I really want that? Sending the book out to be judged may end up shattering my preconceived subjective notions as to its goodness!

Hell no! Let's start another book! Yeah! OOOO, this one is GOOD! Yeah baby!

I realize I'm being ridiculous. I understand that there's a lot of people that I know who think my writing is all that and a bag of chips. And there's some who think it's at least on par with a lot of other stuff out there. But...but...what if THIS particular thing sucks? What if all those people who like my stuff are wrong???

So, in essence, I need to grow a pair, finish one of the damned things, and start shopping around for an agent. Period. Fish or cut bait. Crap or get off the fence. Yes, I know I mangled that phrase. It was intentional.

So, New Years Do T'ings #6: Shop around ONE completed manuscript.

Will these Do T'ings get done? I have to admit that losing 60 lbs has done wonders for my feeling of "I can't fail". It'll be interesting to see if it holds up to a challenge. Stay tuned throughout the year!

Memories of an Odd Kid: The Mighty Hercules

2010-12-02T07:28:00.005-05:00

When I was a kid, Saturday morning cartoons were an indispensable part of my week. I'd struggle to get up each weekday morning to get to school,only to easily and eagerly get up bright and early on Saturday in order to watch cartoons.

And you had to see them when they were being broadcast, because back in those days, we didn't have no newfangled VCRs, or DVDs, or DVR! Nossir! We had to walk FIF-teen miles to watch television, and we only had six channels and by cracky we were grateful for it, and...

..oh..sorry...where was I?

Oh yeah. Saturday cartoons. Anyways, one of the little gems that I loved was a cartoon called The Mighty Hercules, a product of 1963. Set in ancient Greece, Hercules was your basic muscular good guy, son of Zeus and all that. But his power was diminished on Earth, so when things got really hairy, he put on this magic ring that gave him his amazing power boosts (accompanied by the usual dramatic music and flashing lightning bolts).

Hercules had an annoying sidekick, a young centaur named Newton (first name Fig, perhaps!?), who had this irritating habit of repeating himself, repeating himself. Hercules' arch enemy was this evil sorcerer named Daedalus. Yes, the show took certain liberties with the classic mythology, but no worse than the Great Rogerer of All Our Beloved Childhood Stores and Legands..er...I mean, Disney. Hey at least the show featured mythological critters like the Laernean Hydra and the Nemean Lion.

Then there was the theme song. Oh, the theme song. Wow! A real manly-man hero theme song if there ever was one. See for yourself:

Hercules, hero of song and story.
Hercules, winner of ancient glory.
Fighting for the right,
Fighting with his might,
With the strength of ten, ordinary men.

Hercules, people are safe when near him.
Hercules, only the evil fear him.
Softness in his eyes,
Iron in his thighs,
Virtue in his heart,
Fire in every part,
Of the Mighty Hercules.

Wow. Makes you want to slap on a toga and a pair of sandals and start smacking things with a sword, don't it?

And it was sung by someone who you'd swear was Johnny Mathis. I mean, this fellow was so close to Mathis' style, that you'd swear he was going to follow up the theme song with an impromptu rendition of "Chances Are".

Turns out, it wasn't Mathis, but check this out. The singer of The Mighty Hercules was a man named Johnny Nash. You might remember him as the guy who sang about how he could see clearly now, the rain was gone. Yeah, that's the one.

So yes, The Mighty Hercules was one of those beloved childhood memories of mine that, thanks to the vastness of the Internet, has been rediscovered. Childhood cartoons have been in the forefront of my brain thanks to one of those nifty Facebook things where people are encouraged to put up a profile image about something or other.

Come to think of it, I think I'll be devoting a few more OV's to some other childhood favorites (Prince Planet, The Eighth Man, The Mighty Heroes, Frankenstein Junior and the Impossibles, et al). I also have two other ideas in mind, one involves a discussion about Rings, and another involves The Cliched Device of Power Used During Dramatic Moment.

Until next time, keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for cigars!

Fruit From The Random Tree, Redux

2010-11-13T09:52:00.005-05:00

Every once in a while I enjoy doing the mental equivalent of cleaning out the attic. Let the housecleaning begin.

I know that there are people out there that you meet that you take an instant liking to, but has anyone out there ever met anyone that you took an instant, baseless, illogical DISlike to? I have. There's someone out there who, from the git-go, I irrationally couldn't stand. Now that I've had more time around this person, I can't stand them even more, but still. No worries, this person's not on facebook.

Dear right-wing yahoos who are pissed at Obama because of the bailouts and resulting deficit: You DO know that Dubya is the one who initiated the bailouts, right? Just checking.

And I still feel that the particular vehemence aimed at Obama by certain circles comes from their deep down dislike at having a black man in the White House. Of course, they'll never admit it publicly....

But I do think Obama made a big mistake when he made health care his big priority, and not unemployment.

I have to say, I LOVE the recent new hot buzz-phrase du jour: "Really?" I love, LOVE, LOVE it! One word, but said in such a way that it conveys SO much.

You heard it here: The Office will NOT survive Steve Carrell's departure.

If Derek Jeter was was truly the God-Almighty Ultimate Baseball Sportsman Nice Guy Upright Dude that his horde of worshipers say he is, then he'd refuse the Gold Glove award. His winning it is a travesty, as everyone and their grandmothers know that his defensive stats are mediocre at best. There is no way in Hell he was the best shortstop of the year. Not even close.

And while we're on the subject of WTF baseball awards, Papi got jobbed. He deserved the Silver Slugger award, not Vlad.

Just so it's been said: Fad diets do NOT work. Sure, you can lose 90 pounds in one month on the Hot mustard/raisin/chlorine bleach/goose turd diet, but eventually you'll have to go back to eating real food, and when you do, that weight comes RIGHT back on. Fad diets have NO basis in reality.

Current book I'm reading: Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evil

Wisdom of the Day: Never take what's not offered, and never stay where you're not wanted.

Every time I think to myself that people are making too much of a big deal out of bullying and trying to protect kids from it, I remember my own high school experience. That's when I find myself wishing that all the angst and "we gotta do something about this" was around when I was a teenager..either that, or easy access to an assault rifle.

Evidence that there's still justice in the world: Stuck in traffic on Route 128 because they've shut down two lanes due to road construction. Watching a few jerks whizz by in the breakdown lane (despite signs posted NOT to!), because hey, clearly those people have much more important places to be than we do....then seeing a Mass Statey positioned up ahead, waving over one, two, three, four cars. Aw HELL YEAH! Justice!

Also, kudos to Massachusetts for adopting laws making it illegal to text while driving. New Hampshire needs that too!

Wisdom of the Day II: Nothing makes a man more sympathetic to a woman's monthly "inconvenience" than to be going about his business and having a hemorrhoid detonate in his pants.

OK, I admit it...I LOVE getting all the compliments I've been receiving over my weight loss. I never get sick of hearing it.

Said it before, will say it again: There should be three options for Friend requests on FB: Confirm, Ignore, and Who The Hell Are You And Why Should I Care?

Speaking of Facebook, here's the answer I've always wanted to give people who rail about it being slow, or whatever. "You're right! I wouldn't take it if I were you! Write to the Facebook powers that be, and demand your money back!"

Sorry, but I don't buy "...but it's for a good cause", as well as its cousin "...but it raises awareness!" as excuses for what I consider tacky, classless behavior.

I kind of like having Shaq on the Celtics.

Nothing is more boring to me than a zealot (be it religious, political, cause-oriented, whatever).

The problem with a hopeless romantic is that the phrase does in fact contain the word "hopeless".

If you're a parent in their 50's, and you're undergoing Empty Nest Syndrome, and you're actually considering having another kid at this stage in life, you should be sterilized then thrown into the loony bin. And if you're still adamant about it, then at least don't add to the surplus population...ADOPT!

Speaking of the phrase "..surplus population" (clever people will know where I'm coming from with this), I think any store that starts gearing up for Christmas BEFORE Halloween even ends, should be picketed by people dressed in the most hideous, gory, disgusting costumes and makeup imaginable...until January 2nd.

Speaking of zombies, I'm really loving "The Walking Dead" on AMC.

Sick of vampires yet? I am....

OK OK, so I found myself actually watching a few more episodes of Glee. Granted, I was a captive audience, but at least I decided to go ahead and pay more attention to it...get a bigger sampling if you will. I've gone from disliking the show to fervently wishing someone would take this show around back of the barn and going all Old Yeller on its ass.

Watched Paranormal Activity recently. Sorry, it did nothing for me nor for Carol.

Joe Morgan was finally fired. Now, if they can only do likewise to Tim McCarver, the baseball world will be a happier place!

Recently watched "The Zanti Misfits" again. Even after all this time, that episode is STILL pretty effed up....and I mean that as a compliment.

There was some MGD 64 left over from our party, so I figured I'd try it. I'm forced to admit it wasn't half bad...wasn't half GOOD either, but it's definitely better than Coors Lite or Bud Light...and it's just 1 WW point!

On a related note, I think that many people aren't aware of the implications of the acronym RSVP. It's not just "let us know if you can make it", it's "let us know if you can make it OR NOT".

Shows I'm currently enjoying: NCIS, Big Bang Theory, Lie to Me, $#%@ My Dad Says.

Shows I'm increasingly not sure about, but still watch: House, The Office

Shows I wish would die a horrible death: Glee, most of Nick's cartoon shows

Speaking of NCIS, hey Carol, feel free to wear that Abby Sciuto costume around the house! No need to put it away just because our party's over!

Supermarket Background Music- WTF?

2010-10-14T10:56:00.004-04:00

Sometimes I have to wonder what people are thinking when they choose the background music for shoppers in their store. Presumably, the music is there as a sort of entertaining distraction that lurks in the background, setting a mood for the shoppers, presumably one that makes them more willing to spend a few extra bucks.

I realize that supermarket managers don't pick the songs. Background music is some sort of canned packaged program. It's not like a supermarket has a DJ that puts together a playlist. But as a side note, wouldn't that just rock? Can't you see it? "OK, shoppers, this next selection is the Beach Boys '409'; and speaking of which, we're having a sale on Formula 409 cleaner, available in aisle four!".

But I digress. In any event, this blog is precipitated by an experience I had recently at one of our favorite supermarkets, Market Basket, or as we like to call it, Basket Case. Carol and I have nicknames for all our supermarkets. There's Snausage's (Shaw's), Basket Case (Market Basket), and Try and Save (the local Hannaford's, that use to be a Shop and Save). And yes, that last name is taken from the Simpsons.

SO anyways, there I was at Basket Case, when over the speakers comes that 70's vintage, whiny, self-pitying shitfest known as "At Seventeen" by Janis Ian. Can there be a more miserable song? And yet that is what was playing over the speakers. This is a song they expect to put people in a receptive mood?

And this isn't an isolated incident. They've also vomited forth "Killing Me Softly" by Roberta Flack. When that song came out in the 70's, I recall really disliking it. Now, more than 30 years later, with more maturity under my belt and a refining of my musical tastes, I can safely say I totally loathe it. A miserable, miserable song, in my humble opinion. This song doesn't inspire me to shop. This song inspires me to jam cucumbers in my ears, then go on a homicidal rampage.

There are others as well, but the titles just aren't coming to me. I think my brain is trying to be merciful.

Stores really need to pay more attention to the song packages they buy. The atmosphere of the store should be conducive to make me want to stick around and buy stuff, not vomit on stock boy and hurl myself through the store's plate glass window.

That's Me On The Toilet- An Open Letter to the Writers of Glee

2010-10-13T09:26:00.003-04:00

Dear Sirs or Madames
Lately, through no fault of my own, I have been exposed to your television show. Now, from the little I knew about it before this exposure, I had a reasonable idea that it wasn't something I'd be too interested in. I know that a handful of people whose opinions I respect like it, but that was scarcely reason for me personally to spend time watching it.

Recently, I managed to overhear parts of an episode, in one of those "captive audience" situations. Furthermore, someone close to me recently sent me a Youtube link to a segment of one show where "Losing My Religion" was being featured. I'm a rabid REM fan (that is to say, I rabidly enjoy REM, not that I'm a fan of REM turning rabid). The reason that this person sent me the link in the first place was "Hey, it's REM. You LIKE REM."

Yes. Yes I do. Which is why I disliked the Glee treatment of what is most likely one of REM's most beautiful songs.

But anyways, I'm getting ahead of myself. After being forced to hear a good majority of one episode, I am forced to conclude that it indeed really is not my cup of tea. And some of the songs featured made me want to jam screwdrivers in my ears ("Don't go breaking my heart"? Come on, really?).

However, the biggest issue is the use of REM songs. I don't know who's in charge of giving that kind of permission; whether it's the band, their manager, or perhaps even the record company. But I haven't felt so embarrassed for the band since their ill-advised cameo performance on Party of Five.

So please, I beg you, in the name of all which does not suck: Keep your hands off of REM songs.

As for my friends and associates who like the show, I am mystified as to why they do, but I won't hold it against them. Just like I have friends who for some Godforsaken reason think Sarah Palin walks on water, or some who deny the existence of God, so I apparently can have friends who think this show rules. It's possible that people can co-exist in peace and harmony despite disparate tastes in television and music. It's called celebrating diversity, or adversity, or perversity, or something like that.

By the same token, I hope they will think no less of me that I'd rather hear a plate of beans negotiating its way through the digestive tract of a cow than listen to another minute of your program.

Thank you for your time. Once more...hands off of REM. And if you EVER touch "It's the End of the World as We Know It", I will personally strangle each and every one of you.

A Snapshot of a Moment of Pure Bliss

2010-09-10T06:15:00.003-04:00

There are those simple moments in life that you always remember fondly, moments that have left an indelible impression on you, even though the event itself wasn't Earth-shattering. Sometimes, the beautiful simplicity of a moment of pure joy just sticks with you regardless of the passage of time. This is one of those moments.

The moment in question occurred in the late summer of 1982. I was six months into my first marriage, and my wife and I lived in a small apartment in Brighton, near the Chestnut Hill area, just a stone's throw from Boston College.

I was working third shift as a computer operator at the time, so there was always that interesting transitional day when you shift from sleeping during the day to being awake, like the vast majority of so-called normal people.

On this particular occasion, I decided to spend my lunchtime at this small park located adjacent to the Chestnut Hill reservoir. There was (and perhaps still is?) a nifty ice cream and sub shop called the Fantastic Food Factory, located just a few blocks from our apartment. This place had the most amazing ice cream and huge sub sandwiches (although their pizza could be described charitably as "vile"). The place was the favored go-to site for our gaming dinner breaks.

Anyways, on this particular day, I left our apartment with a newly acquired paperback, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, the novella by H.P. Lovecraft. This book was one in a series of Lovecraft books that I had picked up and was in the process of devouring, having only recently learned about ol' HPL courtesy of a D&D sourcebook called Deities and Demigods.

I went to FFF and picked up a large mushroom, steak and cheese sub (note: "large" as in "about three-foot long", and that's no exaggeration), a liter bottle of Mountain Dew (no, not Diet Dew..the real stuff), and a cup of Apple Pie ice cream. I took my loot and went to the little park off the reservoir, found a nice grassy spot underneath a large oak, and proceeded to pig out while reading Lovecraft.

And that was my afternoon. Pigging out on "not good for you" food, while reading "Charles Dexter Ward" for the very first time, punctuated with the occasional lazily drifting off for a several-minute catnap as the urge hit.

A moment of sheer beauty, never to be forgotten!

How I Got Into Horror/Spooky Stuff

2010-08-30T20:37:00.003-04:00

Let's get one thing straight: I owe my interest in horror and the macabre to my Irish grandmother, an untimely death, and Rod Serling. Despite the fact that my last name isn't actually spelled "Terror", the world of the macabre, of horror, of terror, has always been a mere hop, skip and jump away from the neighborhood of normalcy that I dwelt in most of my life. No matter how mundane life was, no matter how Fundy Christian I was, no matter how much of a gaming geek I was, there was always that little something extra, that dark yet somehow benign shadow of the world of horror, always creeping along beside me, keeping pace. I could see it out of the corner of my eye sometimes, but rather than vanish when I turned to face it, it beckoned me with a skeletal hand, encouraging me to join it.

But the whole mess started when I was four years old. When I was at that tender, impressionable age, my mom died of breast cancer at the age of 28. The last (and come to think of it, maybe my only) real image of my mom was when she was carried out of the house on a wooden folding chair by two dark blue uniformed ambulance attendants. I don't know why they didn't have a stretcher or a gurney, but that's not important right now.

What is important is that my Irish grandmother, on my mom's side, my "Nana", if you will, always filled my head about what a saint my mother was, and often took me to visit her grave. Now, when I say that she was my Irish grandmother, it has to be said for the record that she wasn't born in Ireland. No, she was born and raised here in the good ol' U.S. of A. in 1909. I believe it was her mother, my great-grandmother, who emigrated from County Cork, Ireland, to Massachusetts.

And funny thing was, although she was American through and through, she had some Irish mannerisms, including word pronunciation and such. And, true to stereotype, she instilled in me a love and devotion to my sainted mother, who was unfortunately under the disadvantageous condition of being deceased.

Still, in kindergarten, while other kids drew duckies and horsies, during art time, I was drawing my mom's tombstone. I can only guess that this made my stuff stand out a little to my teachers.

And since I visited the grave a lot, I got a good gander at the rest of the cemetery, and my curiosity was piqued. I mean, Cambridge Cemetery is HUGE. I would look around, wide-eyed, at the vast necropolis, and say "This place is filled with dead people!?!?! Wowwww!" This, from an early age, there was a fascination with death and cemeteries.

As if this isn't enough, with my mom gone, my dad would use the television a lot to help keep me entertained. What did I end up watching? Twilight Zone. Outer Limits. One Step Beyond. Alfred Hitchcock Presents. These shows would scare the Hell out of me, I switched channels (in those days, you had to get up and manually turn the channel dial...those were dark, savage times indeed), and yet I'd find myself going right back to them the following night. I couldn't stay away.

Cut to 1969. I'm watching tv with my family. This movie came on that was hosted by that Twilight Zone guy, but now he's doing something that involves portraits of some sort. So, this one vignette, in fact the final one of the movie, involves a guy who ends up crucified on a painting.

Although I try to keep my language genteel in this blog, there's no other way to say it...that ending fucked me up good. I mean, I couldn't LOOK at a crucifix for decades, and I'm not kidding here, without fearing that the little Jesus carving would turn, look at me, and open its mouth in a silent scream, like the ending of that Night Gallery pilot film. Yes. Decades. As in, I finally started getting over it around the age of 30.

So, since this pilot movie traumatized me so much (interestingly, the weakest of the three vignettes was directed by some young director...name was Spielberg or something like that), naturally I didn't watch Night Gallery, right?

HA! What do you think? I watched Night Gallery faithfully, and yes, again, would turn the tv off or change the channel when it got particularly bad. But that didn't stop me from tuning in the following week!

Now, to all of this, add movies like the Creature Feature and Creature Double Feature, usually seen on our local UHF stations. I watched these movies religiously during my high school years, with my favorite program being the movies hosted by a horror host out of Ohio, the Ghoul.

And of course, there was reading...and I'm a voracious reader. Edgar Allan Poe was my favorite author when I was in high school. I also picked up a lot of horror anthologies. Then there were the DC Comics I read, and back then I was a total DC fanboy, and read every title they put out (except for the teen romance titles...they were for sissies). These titles included their extensive line of horror, such as House of Mysteries, House of Secrets, Secrets of Sinister House, The Witching Hour, Tales of the Unexpected, Weird Western, Weird War, etc.

Okay, so what we have so far is a teenager who has a little morbid streak due to past circumstances, and tripping over a lot of horror in book and tv form. OK, so...what do we need to introduce to make this poor boy go completely over the edge?

How about a Conservative Christian Church?

Historic Park Street Church in downtown Boston, overlooking the Boston Common, was my church for almost 20 years. Park Street Church is defined as Congregationalist, Evangelical, Trinitarian. It's also conservative as all get out. A great church, don't get me wrong, but at the time, quite a bit reactionary and very very conservative. I don't know if "Fundy" could be used as a good term to describe it, but in many ways it does fit.

Would it surprise anyone to know that it was directly as a result of Park Street Church that I cultivated my interest in a) historical simulation wargames, b) Dungeons and Dragons (!!!), c) and horror movies?

There was this guy in Seekers (Park Street's college age fellowship) named Steve who was a very very devout old-time Christian. But he also had a weird side (yay!). One night, he and some other members of the group invited me to go out with them to the movies in Harvard Square. See, in the 70's, the Harvard Square Theater (one of those crumbling old-time movie houses with faded opulent decor) would have double features for low, low prices. Usually the double features had a theme ("Help" and "Yellow Submarine", for instance).

On this fateful night, the theme was horror. Steve said "You gotta see this movie, JT! It's whacked!" It was a double feature, but he was referring to the second movie. Both movies were by some guy with the last name "Romero". The first one was this black and white one and had zombie, but the second one..the second one also had zombies but was in color, and...well...let's just say when I saw this zombie guy taking out a chunk of meat out of this woman's shoulder, I practically threw up.

So yes, over post-movie ice cream, Steve said "If you thought Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead was messed up, wait till you see some of the movies made by this guy David Cronenberg."

As for my love of HP Lovecraft, blame Dungeons and Dragons for that one. They came out with this sourcebook that had the role-playing stats for many Lovecraftian entities. As I thumbed through it going "What's a Cthulhu?", I was grateful for listings of reference material, which made me start reading HP's stuff, adding to my deranged condition.

And that, gentle reader, is how I got involved in the world of spooky things. My fascination with cemeteries never went away. I still get frightened/freaked out when I watch a movie or tv show and see portraits, pictures, and statues move or change somehow.

The most fitting way to end this is to mention that Carol, for all the time she knew me and thought that I was the coolest thing to come along since sliced bread, was never aware of my fascination with horror. But during a day trip to Salem, as we walked through the pedestrian mall area, I happened to mention it to her in response to her own opinions on the subject, and the look on her face was unforgettable. It was the look that made you think she had just won Powerball.

And the rest, as they say, is hysteria...

How Carol And I Got Together

2010-08-24T19:08:00.009-04:00

A lot of this is actually culled from a very similar blog entry I put together a few years back when I was on Myspace. Read and enjoy!

The date was 1992, and those were heady days indeed. Nirvana released Nevermind, Wayne's World urged us to "party on", Ren and Stimpy were in their glory, war erupted in Bosnia, and Amy Fisher shot Mary Jo Buttafuoco. The saga of Carol and John began at GenCon 25, in beautiful downtown Milwaukee.

For the uninitiated, Gen Con is THE premier role-playing game convention in the country, possibly the world. I had been attending GenCon since the late 80's, and participated heavily in the Role-Playing Gamers Association (RPGA). This was a national group of role-playing gamers that ran games at many gaming conventions around the world. They had a system of ranking players and judges, and held contests, competitions, and tournaments.

I had written a Call of Cthulhu scenario entitled "Wild Weekend at Turner Junction" for the RPGA, and ran it at Gen Con 25. Again, for the uninitiated, it needs to be pointed out that in this case, Call of Cthulhu was/is a paper-and-dice roleplaying game played in the same vein as Dungeons and Dragons, but instead set in the 1920's of HP Lovecraft. The player characters uncover the eldritch horrors of the Cthulhu Mythos, and attempt to stop the Elder gods from destroying the world. Many player characters end up insane, dead, or go insane then die.

Anyways, the scenario I wrote went over rather well, if I do say so myself. Two people were particularly impressed by it: Carol, and her then-boyfriend, who I shall refer to by the very mature nom de guerre of Mister Grumpypants. Carol and Grumpypants loved the tournament and wanted to meet the deranged brain behind it. An RPGA staff member arranged the meeting, and before I knew it, I was on the steps of MECCA (Milwaukee Exposition and Convention Center Auditorium), talking with this affable guy and his very bright, knockout girlfriend. Now, of course, I was married at the time, but holy crap. Never had I met someone like this! The gaming hobby in those days had far less female players than now, and very few of them were what I'd consider attractive women. I mean, I could count on one hand the number of women there who could truly turn heads, and I'd have fingers left over. Now suddenly, standing here before me was this bright, hardcore gamer chick, a species that I thought was as fictitious as dragons, centaurs, and rational conservative talkshow hosts.

When I found out that this charming couple (who seemed quite knowledgeable about gaming and about Cthulhu in particular) were also from Massachusetts (as was I at the time), I was quite surprised and pleased. I invited them to join in on some of our games, if they had the time and inclination.

We said our good-byes and promised to touch base when we all got back to Massachusetts. I walked away basically muttering "HOLY CRAP!" to myself. Here was a woman who was a) intelligent b) socially adept c) a role-playing gamer d) a Cthulhu fan and e) pretty freaking hot. Again, the "married" light went on in my head, and I decided that, hey, I can at least be friends with her and of course her boyfriend as well!

Well, as it turned out, Mister Grumpypants came to the games way more often than she did, though she did put in appearances at some of our social events. Grumpypants actually became a regular in our group, and he was a very very very welcome addition; nice guy, helluva role-player, and just an all-around swell guy.

Time marched on, and Carol broke up with Grumpypants. Hey, these things happen. Since Carol's attendance had really dropped off, there was no awkwardness. Carol and I still kept in touch, via letters, or chatting on the phone, discussing stuff like religion and gaming.

More time goes by, and my first wife and I eventually hit the outs (long story short: don't marry too young, and by all means know yourself well enough to know what you want in a spouse). Right around the same time, I get involved in quite possibly the worst relationship I ever had, and to be frank, the timing of it was a bit dicey, in relation to my failing marriage. This thing had "Bad Decision" written all over it. For the sake of this narrative, let's call the young lady Lady Caca. Caca and I end up not lasting even a year. But we did part amicably, and darned if Mister Grumpypants didn't end up asking her out within about a week of the breakup. Hey, I was cool with it, go with my blessing, my children. Better you than me, I say! But we remained friends, so it wasn't such a bad thing. Lady Caca and Grumpypants even remained part of my gaming group.

As for me, I underwent a series of casual dates, not-so-serious relationships, etc., most of them set during the infancy of Internet dating. All I can say to sum them up is, "The horror..." Good Lord, the number of bad decisions I made was staggering. Even today, I refer to that several year period as My Stupid Time. Meanwhile, Carol was dating as well, but we never seemed to end up free at the same time. Whenever I was free, Carol was seeing someone. Whenever Carol was free, I was seeing someone. In technical terms, our timing blew goats.

More time passed. Carol got a new boyfriend, some lawyer guy who turned out to be a major Richard Head. For the sake of this narrative, let's call him Bozo the Patent Attorney. Still, she seemed happy. Far be it for me to butt in, right? But the key word in this case was seemed.

But as time went by, we would talk, and it became clear that this guy was a bigger jerk than I ever imagined. But she was hanging in there. I got annoyed and shut down contact with her. Part of this was motivated by my frustration over what I saw as her docile acceptance of a bad relationship. Part of it stemmed from a "I don't want to see what's going to happen!" mindset. And yes, part of it was "I want to be the one dating you, dammit!" Yeah, kinda childish in retrospect, I know.... You'll find no claims to perfection here.

More time passed, and I kept up a wall between Carol and me. But then in the summer of 2000, family members on my dad's side began falling sick and/or dying. It was eerie. It was like this large handful of relatives on my dad's side and of his generation suddenly decided to all get sick and die within a few months of each other. All of this sickness and death made me realize that life's too short to hold grudges over silly things. So, I decided to mend fences with the three people in my life whom I was at odds with. Carol was one of them, and I thought "Hey, she's probably engaged to the guy by now, so I can at least wish them well and such." I had hoped we could at least be friendly acquaintances, if she'd be willing to forgive my ill-conceived harshness.

As it happened, I still had Carol's AOL IM name. So I IM'ed her out of the blue. I was scared that she was going to say "Piss off", and she'd have been well within her rights to do so. But no, she was happy and delighted to hear from me. I too was happy, not to mention relieved. I became even happier when I found out that she had had enough and dumped Bozo. She was free!! And as it happened, so was I!! Hey, guess what happened next? We decided to make a lunch date, meeting outside the Target at Peasant Lane Mall (yeah I know it's Pheasant...I like my name better).

We went to lunch, caught up, had a great time, and, as the day went on, we both realized that all of those romantic feelings we had pushed away could now be fully expressed and acted upon. We decided to start dating and see what would happen. It was quite a heady, liberating feeling. It was as if all that crap I had gone through was getting me ready for this relationship.

So yes, needless to say (but I'll say it anyway), that particular instance of fence-mending went rather well. For the record, my other attempts at reconciliation were successful too, but with scarcely as spectacular results.

Unfortunately, this is where "JT's Law of Conservation of Mass, Energy, and Being At Odds With People" kicked in. See, I may have mended fences with Carol and was now dating her, but her ex-boyfriend, Mister Grumpypants, was having none of this. Oh no, he wasn't jealous...after all, he had been dating my ex girlfriend, Lady Caca, for quite some time by this point. I think they were already engaged by this point. No, he cited a huge argument that he and Carol had one night when they were still together, and how she basically traumatized him (though that didn't stop them from remaining together for another year, and then she ended things!). Grumpypants couldn't (well, wouldn't) forgive Carol, despite her attempts at mending fences. He wanted nothing to do with her, which was going to get awkward, considering that I had invited Carol to join our gaming group, and she had accepted.

As a result, Grumpypants and Lady Caca stopped coming to the games. They were willing to hang out with me and such, but if Carol was around, then they wouldn't be. That's when I decided that if Grumpypants wasn't going to even acknowledge Carol's existence, then I really didn't want to hang out with him. And despite the mature, reasonable, compelling arguments put forth ("This is doesn't concern you!" "Why must you always make these things about you!?!?" "You're thinking with your dick!"), I stuck to my guns.

...and Carol stuck with me. And so, after enduring all those years of bad relationships, arguments, misunderstandings, loneliness, alienation, heartbreak, bad decisions, and friends turning into jerks, I know that I finally made the right choice. It's been a long, strange trip. Fortunately, the destination is well worth it.

(Cue Dragnet epilogue music)

MUSIC: Dun-Da-Dun-Dun! Dun-Da-Dun-Dun-DUNNN!

OMNISCIENT NARRATOR WITH IMPRESSIVE AUTHORITARIAN VOICE: Carol and John married in September 2002, in a small surprise wedding ceremony. They are living happily ever after. Rumor has it that they may end up throwing some kick-ass party to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary in 2012, unless the Mayans have other plans.

MUSIC: Dun-Da-Dun-Dun! Dun-Da-Dun-Dun-DUNNN!

OMNISCIENT NARRATOR WITH IMPRESSIVE AUTHORITARIAN VOICE: Mister Grumpypants and Lady Caca are happily married. Despite the fact that the Terras and the Grumpypants are all on Facebook, and even sometimes respond to the same posts made by mutual friends, there is still no contact, though it's a foregone conclusion that all parties are aware of each others' presence on Facebook. Sad but true.

MUSIC: Dun-Da-Dun-Dun! Dun-Da-Dun-Dun-DUNNN!

OMNISCIENT NARRATOR WITH IMPRESSIVE AUTHORITARIAN VOICE: Bozo the Patent Attorney eventually found someone to marry him. No speculation has been made in terms of the bride's state of mental health. There's been no further contact with him, which suits us just fine.

My iPod Running Playlist

2010-07-17T10:19:00.000-04:00

Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast, so they say. Music also has the ability to alter or moderate one's mood, for better or for worse. Furthermore, music can be used to drown out noises like your idiotic co-worker who sits in the next cubie over and has been coughing and grunting incessantly for the past five years. And music can make monotonous chores and activities tolerable.

I need my music when I run, no if's, and's, or but's. A lack of music is sufficient cause for me to cancel a run rather than try it without my sweet tunes. It inspires me, fires me up, and keeps my brain busy.

The following are the songs currently on my iPod's "Running" playlist, presented in alphabetical order.

Bad Romance/Telephone; Lady GaGa
Hey, these songs have a good beat and you can dance...er...run to them.

Buddy Holly; Weezer
Sometimes, there's a song you like, then time goes by, and you get sick of it. Then eventually, years later you hear it again and remember why you like it. That's why this one's in the rotation. Unfortunately, I'm getting sick of it again, so it looks like Buddy Holly may end up crashing. What...too soon?

Carrie-Anne; The Hollies
From Buddy Holly to The Hollies. Lately, I've been experiencing a bit of a British Invasion re-discovery/obsession. Always liked this one. But...what is Carrie-Anne's game, anyway?

Downtown; Petula Clark
See "Carrie-Anne"

For All The Saints
Hymns can be very stirring for the soul, and this one really does it for me. I particularly like the next to last verse, which talks about how a "distant triumph song" lifts the spirits, renews our energy and helps us to soldier on. Appropriate, no? This is by far one of my favorite hymns.

"...and hearts are brave again, and arms (AND LEGS!) are strong...

Happy Together; The Turtles
See Petula Clark and The Hollies. Now if only I can get the image out of my mind of Mario and Yoshi frolicking through a field then eventually punching each other out...

Head Over Heels/Our Lips Are Sealed; The Go-Gos
Catchy, upbeat, definitely gets the legs going. Also, it has some lines that are fitting for a runner...

"...been running so long; what I need is to unwind.."

How You Like Me Now; The Heavy
Oh, this one's a pure "posturing" guilty pleasure for me. Hey, I started out at 220, and now I'm down to 180. So, how do you like me now, sucker? That, and the pseudo-James Brown funky beat makes this one a good running companion. And I almost never have the image of that damned sock monkey from the Kia commercial running through my head anymore.

I Wanna Be Sedated; The Ramones
Fast, frenetic, and short. Like a good run!

I Won't Back Down; Tom Petty
What's that you say? I'm not getting any younger, the weather is hot, and I should take it easy? Screw that, pal...I won't back down!

"..gonna stand my ground; won't be pushed around; and I'll keep this world from pushing me around..."

It's The End Of The World As We Know It; R.E.M.
My all-time favorite song ever? Not on my running playlist? Yeah right...

Jocko Homo; Devo
The synthpunk industrial beat of this song makes it a perfect running choice, and the mechanical noises in the song's bridge bring to mind pistons and machinery pounding away rhythmically. I find my legs pumping in time with that beat, no matter how tired I am. And if there's no one else on the running path, then yeah, maybe sometimes I indulge in the "call and response" of "Are we not men? We are DEVO!"

Random observation: When Mark Mothersbaugh does the "we must repeat" call and response at the end of the song, he sounds like Ed from the cartoon Ed, Edd, and Eddy. You know, the dumb Ed.

"Okay, let's GO!"

Leaving New York; R.E.M.
Quite possibly the most beautiful R.E.M. song ever. It's a nice slow-down song, helps me maintain a more mellow pace.

Life Is A Rock (But The Radio Rolled Me); Reunion
One of the leftovers from my recent 70's kick. This one's starting to wear out its welcome.

The Mesopotamian s; They Might Be Giants
Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal and Gilgamesh! This song from their latest CD is bouncy and upbeat. Never fails to perk me up a little.

Monster Zero March
A very recent addition, this instrumental theme totally kicks ass. No matter what state I'm in, no matter how hot it is, or how far into my run I am, this one kicks me into overdrive. Absolutely love it.

Onward Christian Soldiers; Stretch Arm Strong
A punk version of another of my favorite hymns. Fast, uptempo, and just a lot of fun.

"...we are not divided; all one body we; onward Christian soldiers; on to victorrrrry..GO TEAM!"

Story Of My Life; Social Distortion
I love this song, and it's got a good beat to it.

Superman Theme; John Williams
Do I really need to explain this one!?!?!

Supernatural Superserious; R.E.M.
The guitar work, the fast tempo, and the progressively more complex drum work make this one a good way to get my blood moving faster.

Tell Her No; The Zombies
Another of my British Invasion selections, but this one's starting to irritate me, as I find myself paying closer attention to the words. So basically, the singer is telling this other guy that if the singer's girl tells this guy that she loves him and wants him, he should just tell her no. What a wuss! How about "stay away from my girl or I'll rip your goddam lungs out, chump!"? Yeah, this one may be out the door soon. Love the band name, though...

Tessie; Dropkick Murphys
Hmmm...let's see...anthemic song, extols the Red Sox, and gives you a chance to yell out "Two...three...four!" as well as the ever-popular "Oi!". Yeah, I'm there...

Tubthumping; Chumawumba
This one should be obvious...the heat and the exertion is ready to knock you down...but you get up again! It's never gonna keep you down! Good morale-boosting song.

"...I drink a whiskey drink, I drink a vodka drink; and when I have to pee, I use the kitchen sink!"- H. Simpson

Working Girl; The Members
Obscure punk/new-wave song by slightly less obscure punk band. Good harmony during the chorus keeps this one on as a sing-along, but I think it's time is drawing to a close.

You're My World; Helen Reddy
Funny, but every iteration of my Running playlist has ONE unabashedly mushy song on it. In the past it's been songs like "Somewhere in the Night" by Barry Manilow, or "(I'll Be) The Greatest Fan Of Your Life" by Edwin McCain. Who knows. Maybe it has something to do with the endorphins that get churned up after I hit the "runners wall". I actually tripped over this one because, in checking British Invasion playlists, I initially found an earlier version done by Cilla Black (a protege of George Martin). That's when I remembered, "Hey! I've always liked this song!" I just think that Reddy's version is better. So this one serves as the requisite mush song.

Songs That May End Up On The Playlist Sooner Rather Than Later
The 1812 Overture (Finale)
Whip It; Devo
Twist and Shout; Beatles
Always Look On The Bright Side of Life; Monty Python

Outed! Yes, We HAVE Been Dieting!

2010-07-10T12:43:00.000-04:00

As can be ascertained from recent photos of Carol and me, things are finally getting to the point where the evidence is becoming...well...evident. Carol and I have been quietly engaged in nutritional warfare since the beginning of the year, and it's time to finally come clean about it. The whole truth, now with 20% less fat.

We've been back on the Weight Watchers program for months now, supplemented by exercise.

Those of you who've been paying attention know that we made a similar attempt last year. In an effort to try and stay more accountable, I made a huge deal about it on Facebook, such as posting mysterious numbers (e.g. my current weight) in my status. My reasoning was that, if people knew I was on Weight Watchers again, it'd keep me honest. After all, who likes to screw up in front of friends, family, acquaintances, and such? And since my own profile is public, I surely didn't want to possibly give other people a sense of schadenfreude if I failed.

It was a radical experiment, but with limited success. The problem that Carol and I have found in past attempts at doing a "food plan" is that we eventually get bored with it due to lack of variety, and it just...falls by the wayside. Old habits, as well as the lost weight, return like a Crisco-smeared boomerang.

So, avoiding the loaded language involved in calling it a "New Years Resolution", on January 2, 2010, we embarked on Weight Watchers again. We would've started on January 1st, but it was impractical; too much leftover Chinese food and Mimosas. But we decided to get back on it and this time see it through to the end because hey, eventually it becomes a quality of life issue. Let's face it...extra weight means a greater likelihood of health problems. Getting older also means a greater likelihood of health problems. You can do something about ONE of those, and can't do anything about the other. And so....what will you do about it?

We decided this time around to tell no one. Not a soul. Eventually we relaxed that a little, letting family in on it, plus a few select folks. For as long as we could get away with it, it would be our little secret. We'd just do the Weight Watchers thing....take more walks, and when the weather got better, I'd resume running, and when the time was right, Carol would join a gym.

But how to alleviate boredom? Enter Hungry Girl.

For those not in the know, Hungry Girl is this media figure who, as her tagline goes, is not a nutritionist; she's just hungry! Who can argue against that? We all get hungry! Bottom line, she has come up with a slew of amazing recipes that liven up a food plan and stave off boredom.

And so, that's what we did. We already knew the point values of many of our favorite foods, so it was easy to get back into it. We then simply supplemented our meals with Hungry Girl stuff. And by "stuff", I'm talking about recipes for things like onion rings, chili dogs, buffalo chicken salads, chocolate lava cake, margaritas, strawberry daiquiris, and nachos, all with the common characteristic that it all tastes fantastic, as opposed to tasting like ass.

So, people around you are gorging on restaurant food and you can't? Fine. You hang in there, go home, open an HG book, whip up a huge plate of point-friendly (and once again, it must be noted "good"!) nachos, and a frosty margarita. Really...what have you missed? Thus, you're more inclined to stay on the plan. Morale and appetite are served, and everybody wins.

Thus far, I've lost 40 lbs. Carol has lost more even than that. Our old clothes are fitting again, we're getting new clothes, we've decided that cameras are not hateful curses from Satan's bottom after all, and there'll be times that I'll see my reflection as I pass a mirror and admit that I'm not really that hideous after all!

I'm at a point in my running distance that in previous years I didn't get to until the fall. Carol has joined a gym and is pumping iron. We take long walks at lunch, and sometimes at home we even get up extra early and take long walks in our area.

We still have a ways to go. Clearly, we'll be on this thing right up to the -ember holidays, and very possibly beyond. But we've finally hit upon a formula that works, and we don't feel like quitting now. In fact, we feel better when we're on it. I'm at 180 now, and according to my doctor's height-weight tables (drawn up by drug-addled elves from Unrealistic Land), I'm supposed to be at 160.

I find that laughable. The lowest I've been at was 156, and I resembled a deformed lollipop. Really. A long torso, shorter-than-average legs, and a large head. Lollipop time. I've had to keep nervously looking over my shoulder to see if there was an owl wearing glasses and a mortar board and going "Let's find out..Ah one, ah two-hoo, ah three...CHOMP! Three!"

So the jury's out on 160. We'll see when I get to 170.

Here are some things I've learned/observed so far on our journey of sustained loss:

1. It's amazing how much of our social life revolves around food. It's so hard to get away from it. Best you can do is try to get the point counts for the things you plan on eating. That in fact is one of the best pieces of advice..plan ahead. Bank your Weight Watcher points, eat light leading up to the get-together.

2. One of the best ways to start a diet like this is to admit, right up front, that hey, eating is a pleasurable experience! It's great! And then from there, realizing that you're dealing with a very tempting, very pleasurable, but ultimately very fattening experience, you consciously make the effort to cut back.

3. Which leads to this point: No pain, no gain. It IS hard. It IS a pain in the butt. But if you're someone who feels entitled to do what they want, when they want, or make excuses, or rationalize, you will fail. Eventually you reach a point where you have to put your foot down and say "Enough. No more excuses. No more rationalization. No more 'I've had a rough day, I deserve a treat'. It ends now." And it takes patience. It's a slow process. Crash diets don't work. A slow, 1-2 pound loss a week is ideal.

4. It's amazing how many aches, pains, and instances of soreness, have gone away. My resistance to colds, which has always been pretty good, has gotten better. Many aspects of life have significantly improved, too numerous to mention.

5. On a related note, as hot and nasty as it's been lately, I've somehow managed to tolerate this heat better this year (and I'm notorious for not taking heat and humidity well, as in "Jack Torrence 'all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy'" notorious). Perhaps it's because I no longer have the equivalent of four 10-pound bags of sand hanging off my shoulders anymore? Carrying around extra weight makes you tired, hot, and more susceptible to getting sick.

6. You know what really helps torpedo a diet? Free food at work. Thing to remember is, the food's cash-free, but it's not fat-free. And if you tend to pick, graze, and nibble, then you're in deep trouble. So you avoid it altogether, if that's what you have to do. And when people keep trying to push it on you, you keep refusing. Know your limitations, and work within them.

7. On a related note to that one, nothing stops well-meaning obnoxious food pushers better than saying "Look, I can't eat that, and it's for health reasons." As persistent as people can be, they tend to back off if health is involved. The older you get, the more likely you'll get things like high blood pressure, and such. Being at a healthy weight can help mitigate stuff like that.

8. Females Reacting To Carol Losing Weight, Part One: It's amazing how many "Eat hot death, bitch!" glares I've personally seen Carol get from some women. Hey, if it means that much to you, then take some of that energy you spend in being pissed off at someone for trying to improve themselves, and go do something similar yourself! That's why Carol never begrudges anyone who's worked hard to lose weight because frankly, yeah, the process does suck. It involves self-denial, and self-denial is remarkably un-fun.

9. Females Reacting To Carol Losing Weight, Part Two: I've had some women come up to me and say "Carol looks so good! She's lost so much weight!" When I've thanked them and suggested that they tell her in person, they're horrified, bless them, because they don't want it to be taken the wrong way.

10. Females Reacting to Carol Losing Weight, Part Three: There's a very special, very select group of women, and these are the ones who are currently or who have recently had their own weight loss experience. These ladies are cool. They compliment Carol, and sometimes, when it's an in-person situation, I see Carol and them exchanging knowing glances, the kind of glance that says "Boo-ya, we did it!"

10. Females Reacting To Me Losing Weight: I've had some women compliment me on weight loss, and leave it at that. That's perfect.

11. Males Reacting To Me Losing Weight: Men don't tell other men that they're losing weight, lest they be mistaken for being gay.

12. Males Reacting To Carol Losing Weight: Men like the idea that other men think their wife is hot, and I'm definitely no exception. A few have popped up on the radar recently, apparently only now realizing something I've known for over a decade, namely that my wife is beautiful and hot. Unfortunately, many guys desperately need to take a page from the "woman's book of complimenting the opposite sex on their weight loss". Complimenting is one thing, trying to start a flirtation (unsuccessfully, as it will always end up being), or saying stuff that's getting into "You're crossing the line" territory, is a whole other thing, and one that neither of us appreciate, even if that is not explicitly stated. Look, but don't touch. Compliment, but leave it at that.

13. If you absolutely, positively must fall off the wagon for a day, make it just that: for a day, then get right back on it again. Don't stretch it into two days...three days...a week...a fortnight...a month... It's a slippery slope. The last time we deviated was because of events that involved a death in the extended family. That's how "fascist" we've become with this. Hey, for us, it works. And it's interesting to note that when we deviated for that one day, despite the enjoyable act of unrestrained uncounted eating, we felt like crap afterward, and longed to be back on the plan.

14. Plan..that reminds me. Plan ahead. I know I mentioned it before, but it bears repeating. Carol and I have been taking a look at our social calendar for the next two months, and we're staring down the barrel of a few diet-busting events. In two weeks, there's a gaming convention. Any con-goer will tell you that overeating and overdrinking go together with cons like peanut butter and jelly...and donuts....and pizza....and nachos....and beer...and steak...and cheesecake... And two weeks after that there's a gathering that will entail lots of drinking on a Friday night, with a special dinner the following night, and more chances to drink, snack, and drink some more. It'll be unrealistic to say "No thanks". There's no way in good conscience that either Carol or myself can turn down a big plastic syringe filled with a jello shot that glows like the resurrection serum from Herbert West: Re-animator. We can't, so we won't. But once that weekend gathering is over, back on we go. And believe me, we'll be glad to do so!

15. This one relates to Number 8. Now, some may call us paranoid, but we've seen this happen time and again, during previous diet attempts. You announce to people that you're dieting. Within a week, people who don't normally bring in snacks and food for everyone start doing so. It's the oddest coincidence. Now, we're not saying that every time someone's brought in food it's been as an act of sabotage, in fact, it's safe to say that the majority of the time it's simply motivated by being a nice person, but there are some cases where the timing is noteworthy enough that it makes you go "Hmmmm..."

16. The older you get, the harder it is to lose weight. It's not a cliche, it's the truth. Furthermore, the closer you get to your goal, the harder it gets, because you have less to lose, and you're struggling through weight numbers that you probably haven't been at in years.

And so, yes, it's official: we're dieting again. The so-called secret is out. But this time, we have the variety, we have the incentive, we have options. We're both past our halfway point, but the road's about to get bumpier.

Wish us luck.

Ruminations on Death and Funerals

2010-06-08T20:59:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, Carol and I attended the funeral of one of my cousins. I hadn't seen the guy in almost 20 years and we never really stayed in touch, so I greeted the initial news with that sort of "oh wow...that sucks. Death is bad", as opposed to the "Oh, cruel fate, who snatched in so untimely a manner such a noble blood relation! Oh death, where is thy sting!?" reaction.

Now, I haven't been to many funerals of late, but from the age of four to about twenty, I went to a humongous amount of them. Then things slowed down for a while, then picked up a little around the turn of the century.

But here's a list of observations about death, dying, funerals, mortality and all that. Read on.

1. First of all, let it be said that I do not fear death. As a Christian, I know where I'll end up, so I got that going for me. My whole thing is, I simply don't want to go too soon, because frankly, I don't want to miss any cool stuff happening here. And for the record, "too soon" falls under the parameter of "before 80".

2. There is one song I will NOT have at my funeral, as it now falls under the heading of "Done to death (no pun intended)": Amazing Grace. While I agree with the sentiment, it's become cliche. The only way I'd ever consent to it would be if it was performed on the bagpipes by the reanimated corpse of James Doohan, reprising his role as Scotty.

3. Speaking of songs at a funeral, definitely on the play list: For All The Saints, Onward Christian Soldiers, Story of My Life (Social Distortion), I'll Be Mellow When I'm Dead (Weird Al), The End of the Tour, Dead, and I Hope That I Get Old Before I Die (They Might Be Giants), Good Night and The Long And Winding Road (Beatles), and It's The End of the World As We Know It (R.E.M.).

4. One of the worst parts of funerals and such: Wakes. Wow. Especially popular among Old World cultures, especially Portuguese and Irish. Basically, you take time to go to a funeral home, stare at a dead body for a few minutes, then sit down and listen to people wail in sorrow. This isn't the funeral, there's no eulogy or stuff. No. This is, mill around impotently and awkwardly, stare at a corpse, and try not to entertain notions of joining the deceased by throwing oneself under the nearest speeding bus.

5. Best funeral I've ever been to? Easy. My paternal grandmother. The event wasn't called a funeral. It was called a Homegoing Service. My grandmother, a good, loving, hard-working, devout Christian woman, had a long and happy life. Although it was sad to see her go, there was also the sense of joy and triumph. Also, the funeral was in Bermuda, home of my ancestors. If your relatives have a choice as to where to die and be buried, I highly recommend Bermuda for your funerary and internment needs. Go for the funeral, stay for the lovely beaches.

6. Isn't it kind of sad when you're so disconnected from friends or family that the only time you see them is when someone dies? There's something intrinsically wrong about that.

7. And speaking about the process of getting your ticket punched for a one-way trip on the Grim Reaper Special, the best way for any of my friends and family to guarantee that they go before I do is to throw me a birthday party where the theme is "over the hill" or something along those lines. You know, black balloons, jokes about you not being as fast/strong/smart/verile/whatever, as you used to be. Stuff like that. Personally, though I recognize the value of gallows humor on occasion, and though I sometimes engage in self-deprecating humor, I find those kinds of birthday party themes to be hideously wrong and awful. Yeah. Ha ha ha..big joke. "Hey, look, dementia is setting in on you! Bwahhahaha! Good times!" "Hey look, your dick's falling off! Bwahahah!" "Yay, osteoporosis!" Pass.

8. Youngest memory of death? My mom, who died at 28 when I was 4. Breast cancer.

9. Maybe it's because of my upbringing and the way my maternal grandmother constantly hammered into my head the whole dead mom thing, coupled with my love of history....but I've always found cemeteries to be a place of peace, quiet, comfort, and enjoyment. During the advent of the Garden Cemetery movement of the 19th century, people would go to cemeteries and read, have picnics, and such. I've found cemeteries to be a lovely place to walk, go for a run, do deep thinking, and stuff.

10. Ever go to a relative's funeral and be all "I wasn't really close to this person, and now that they're dead, I find myself not really broken up about it?" Yeah. You almost feel guilty, as if you SHOULD be wailing, gnashing your teeth, and rending your garments. Then you try to think of something upsetting, like sad music, dead puppies or the success of Jersey Shore, in order to try to make yourself miserable, but it doesn't really happen.

11. One of my worst memories associated with death? Walking in on my aunt and cousin, looting my nana's jewelry box.

12. Most bizarre circumstance of death that resulted in me attending a funeral? When I was a teenager, I attended the funeral of a friend two years younger than me, who died of an accidental shotgun blast to the face. Kids, don't screw around with guns...parents, make sure your shotguns are unloaded before putting them away.

My List of The Most Miserable Songs Ever

2010-05-28T19:43:00.000-04:00

When it comes to influencing one's mood, nothing quite does the trick like music. Music can turn you into a pile of romantic mush, or stir patriotic fervor, or give you that little morale energy boost to get you through that five-mile run. It can, of course, also cast you into the pit of depression and self-pity, convincing you that life sucks harder than the combined power of 1,000 vacuum cleaners in orbit around a black hole, while a collection of DVDs featuring the entire run of American Idol floats nearby.

This current generation is convinced that they invented depressing music (as well as video games, sex, and retarded fashion trends). Even the most cursory glance at the history of music shows that manipulative, depressing, hideous songs have in fact been around for decades.

The following songs are the ones that I personally feel are the most miserable, depressing songs out there. I also think they're awful. So no, none of these are the "oh, this song makes me so depressed, yet it's so well done, so beautiful" variety. No. These songs suck the big one, in my opinion. They're manipulative, miserable, and...well you get the idea. They're not in any real order, except perhaps for the last five. Yes, on further reflection, the last five are a pretty good countdown, culminating with what I think is the most miserable song ever.

Read on, if you dare.

10. Seasons in the Sun- Terry Jacks. Written by French folk singer Jacques Brel, this festering turd of depression became a major (s)hit in the US in 1974 by professional whiny singer Terry Jacks. It's being sung from the perspective of someone about to die, though the exact method and reason is unclear (perhaps a torch-bearing crowd is sick of this song?), so the singer says good-bye to a handful of special people (trusted friend, father, some chick named Michelle). After hearing him lament about how "it's hard to die..", you start screaming words to the effect of "then you better get a move on!" at the radio.

9. Shannon- Henry Gross. This song became a hit in 1976, and was about the death of an Irish Setter owned by Beach Boy Carl Wilson. Yes. This song's about a dead dog. A dog that apparently drifted out to sea, but apparently lacked the cranial capacity to swim back to shore. Hokay...

8. Alone Again, Naturally- Gilbert O' Sullivan. No, not Gilbert & Sullivan. There's no Yum Yum here. No pirates from Penzance to be seen. The guy's real name is Raymond O'Sullivan. Some record executive saddled him with the new name. This song was released (or escaped?) in 1972. The singer is miserable, because he's alone. His father died, his mother died, oh, you know the drill. He's alone. Again. Naturally!

Side note: Anyone else notice that the songs thus far have all come from the 70's? Time to change that a little...

7. Patches-Dickey Lee. Huh-huh...his named is "dickey". This little slice of sunshine comes from 1962. OK, so, Patches is about a rich boy and a poor girl. Patches is the girl, in case there's any doubt. The boys' parents forbid their love because, hey, what would the neighbors think? Rich boy, poor girl? It'd never work! So Patches drowns herself. But that's okay, because the singer intends to hurl himself into that very same river once he finishes singing. And if that's not further reason why he should just stop singing right now, I don't know what is.

6. Cats in the Cradle- Harry Chapin. Hey kids, we're back in the 70's again! Sherman, set the Wayback Machine for 1974! This is the best known of the late Harry Chapin's "Story" songs...You know, a song that gives you an entire story, and usually not one of those that ends with "and they all lived happily ever after"? Yeah, that's the one. So, anyways, the singer's wife has a baby, a son. Of course, dad is too busy to spend time with the kid. The kid grows up, but dad's too busy. So, what happens when the dad retires and finally has time to spend with the kid? What do you think the kid says? Are you ready? He says he'd love to, if he could find the time! Oooo! Face! Rogered by karma, mister neglectful dad! Bazinga! So, the moral is, you better spend time with your kids, or else someday, they'll blow you off.

5. Hallelujah- Leonard Cohen/Too Many Artists Worth Mentioning. Let's crank up to the 80's now, specifically 1984. I've heard/read many interpretations of this song, some saying it's joyous, some saying it's a celebration of sex, others saying other things, I guess. To me, it's a depressing song. Just flat-out depressing, melancholy, downbeat, dirge-like. And to make matters worse, it was featured in Shrek and Watchmen, two movies I rather liked.

4. Wildfire- Michael Martin Murphy. Yay, back to the 70's! To be exact, to 1975! Ok, so here's the deal. There's this girl, see...she's apparently the singer's girlfriend. She rides a pony named Wildfire. Well, one cold Nebraska winter, the girl dies during a killing frost. So I figure this means that some serial killer named Frost breaks into the house and murders her, or otherwise, she was apparently made of vegetable matter. So the pony named Wildfire busts down its stall, and the high-strung animal gets itself lost in a blizzard, presumed dead. Nice move, dumbass. Oh, but that's okay, because Michael's convinced that "She's coming for me, I know...". And apparently they'll both ride off on Wildfire. So basically, a frozen undead woman riding a high-strung equally frozen dead horse is coming for him. Yeah, there's a happy ending for you.

3. Rocky- Austin Roberts. Well, 1975 beats us up again. Despite the title, it has nothing to do with boxing, yet I can't help but think that this song and everything and everyone connected with it deserved a couple of upper-cuts. There's this guy, Rocky. Last name not known...definitely not Balboa, Marciano, Horror, Raccoon, or J. Squirrel. Anyways, Rocky apparently has fallen in love with a girl who's lived in a box all her life. See, she's shy and has a fear of things she does not know. The chorus is composed of quoting her as she says "Rocky I've never (fill in appropriate experience she hasn't had) before, don't know if I can do it..." She starts by saying she's never been loved before. OK, sure...that's not too far-fetched. Then as the song progresses and they're married, she says she never had a baby before. Yeah, well, half the population can also lay claim to that, but we'll let it slide, lady, but you're starting to push it. Well, of course, they're happy, then they discover that she's going to die from some terminal disease. So she whines to Rocky that she never had to die before, and OH DRY UP YOU WHINY BITCH!! NONE OF US HAVE HAD TO DIE BEFORE!!!! AARRGGHHGHHHHH!!!!

2. Last Kiss- J.Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers. Back to the 60's again, and a little seriousness creeps into the list. My mother died of breast cancer in 1963. My last image of her was the ambulance attendants carrying her out of our house. For years afterward, her mom, my maternal grandmother, would tell me that she was in Heaven, and that I had to be good, so that someday I'd see her again (Nana wasn't much of a theologian). This song became popular in 1964, and the chorus was fairly close to what my Nana told me. Do the math. Even as recently as the mid-90's, if that song played on the radio (and it was played often on oldies stations, which I enjoyed listening to), it would pretty much tear my guts out. Then Pearl Jam covered it in 1999. That did it. Despite the fact that it was an enormous commercial success for the band, I couldn't help but laugh at it and say "You have GOT to be kidding!" I started singing along to the cover version on the radio, over-emoting and hamming it up. That's when I eventually took a good long look at the original song and went "Wow...what an emotionally manipulative, depressing song!" So now, it doesn't bother me anymore.

Mostly.

1. Run, Joey, Run- David Geddes. Naturally, the worst steaming lump of cat crap on this list had to come from 1975. This is another of those story songs involving two tragic teens. See, you have Joey, and you have his girlfriend Julie. Well, more to the point, Joey was the one who had Julie, so now Julie is going to have Joey's baby. Julie's dad is enraged at this (historical note: In the past, teenagers getting pregnant was considered scandalous and wrong), so he smacks Julie around and gets his gun to kill Joey. Julie tells Joey to run, hence the clever title. So Joey runs...well, drives...right to Julie's place (historical note: the GPS wasn't invented at this time). And of course, there's daddy with a gun. Julie interposes herself, gun goes off, and suddenly there's no more scandal of a teen pregnancy to worry about. The song ends with the singer singing "Run, Joey, Run"..over and over. So..what...the dad just left his daughter and unborn baby lying dead in the driveway and is going to get all Jean Valjean on Joey? Wouldn't the cops be after Mister Julie's Dad? Would the sequel song be called "Run, Julie's Dad, Run?"Who knows? Who cares?

So there you have it. My Terminal Top Ten. Oh, there were some that almost made the list, and I almost included them in an "Honorable Mention" category, but there is no honor to be found here, as Mister Worf would say.

TTFN

Things/People That Suck- Part 1

2010-02-10T19:43:00.000-05:00

Hello, Gentle Reader
It's not quite the middle of February. It's cold...it's gray...the roads are slippery. Running outdoors is problematic, and the Red Sox don't start their season for another two months. Time to expunge some winter venom. This is the first in an on-again, off-again series of rants about certain things and types of people that, to use the vernacular, "suck". Call it venting. Call it "a more socially acceptable way to demonstrate displeasure than climbing up into a bell-tower with a high-powered rifle and start blazing away".

Do you know one kind of person that really sucks? The kind of person who feels Hell-bent on giving you some bad news (or a doom and gloom prediction) right after you make a positive observation.

For instance, there used to be this guy in my orbit, let's call him Al. That works nicely, since that is in fact his name. You could never make an observation to Al about things going well, because he would invariably reply with some dire prediction that would begin with the words "Yeah, but, I hear that..." and would end with me silently wishing he'd get smacked in the face by a low-flying seagull.

Conversations with him would go something like this:

Me: Hi Al! Man, it's a great day out there, isn't it?
Al: Yeah, but I hear that tomorrow there's gonna be thunderstorms and hail.
Me: Shut the Hell up, you cretin. Why must you continually make attempts to bum me out?

OK, ok, so I didn't say that last line...at least, not out loud. But oh wow, thank God for not being cryogenically frozen for several decades and therefore my Inner Monologue does in fact work.

Problem is, that sort of attitude is common. It's almost like some people we encounter are pathologically incapable of just letting a pleasant thought sit on its own, perhaps even share in the good vibes; no, they have to chime in with something negative, usually an announcement that the good condition is coming to an end very soon.

Seriously, what possible deranged sociopathic brain actually comes up with the idea that such a rejoinder is actually warranted, let alone welcome? I mean, where does it end?

Me: Hey, I got my lab work back, and I'm in perfect health!
Cretin: Yeah, but inevitably you'll get cancer and die. Your privates will fall off, and an army of couples in separate tubs with disconnected plumbing will not be able to help you!

Me: My kid just got accepted to Dartmouth! Wooo!
Cretin: Yeah, but I'm sure that, on the way there for orientation, he'll get hit by a runaway truck. But if, against all odds, he makes it, he will invariably fall in with the wrong crowd, and get busted for heroin possession.

Me: I love my wife! We're so good together!
Cretin: Yeah, but it's only a matter of time before she gets bored with you and runs away with a Wiccan lesbian aardvark terrorist.

And sadly, social networks make it easy for such people to post their doom and gloom, and attempt to rain/snow/vomit on everyone else's parade.

Upbeat Person: Hey, the big blizzard missed us!
Cretin: Yeah, but we're gonna get hit by the next one, in 5.2 days.

You know what, Cretin? Shut the Hell up. Really. Just shut up. Can't you just sit back and let us feel good about something, even for a little while? Why must you unclog your nostrils of negativity all over our tiramisu of happiness?

And that reminds me of a subset of this blog entry's "people who suck": the snow alarmists. They're at work. They're in the stores and restaurants that you frequent. They're on television, disguised as local newscasters. They're online.

Now, I'm not taking to task the people who say "Aw crap, it's snowing!" or something like that. Bitching about the weather (which includes bitching about the clean-up) is the God-given right of anyone who lives in a region where they have weather extremes, hot summers, cold winters, snow, sleet, hail, locusts. In fact, it's even written into the Constitution, if I recall correctly.

So no, I'm not targeting those people. Hell, I'm one of those people! There's a subtle distinction here. I'm talking about the people who are practically soiling their pants because a meteorological condition that they've been familiar with since they were born, is occurring again, like it was magic or something. How long have you been living in the Northeast, genius? Ten years? Twenty? Thirty? FIFTY? And yet here you are, running around in circles, shrieking and waving your arms like some deranged Chicken Little on crystal meth, freaking out because a quantity of frozen water is falling? Something you've experienced every winter now since time immemorial? Something which, somehow, you've managed to live through, time and time again, year in and year out, with no apparent ill effects? It's snow, dumbass, not nuclear fallout!

Still, I suppose some of these people can't help it. They watch their local news, which will exaggerate anything and everything in an effort to rope in viewers. "We're tracking a snowflake over the Yukon. How will that affect your morning commute? Tune into FoxNews at 11 and find out!" And let's face it, it's hard not to panic when the news media starts relentlessly beating the drums of panic, warning us about the next threat to life as we know it, like global warming, Nor'Easters, terrorism, the next Depression, or Sarah Palin.

Now I know some of you may be saying "Aw geez, we better not talk about the weather around JT, or he'll come to our houses, kill us in our sleep, and plant false evidence implicating us as members of Al-Qaida!"

Nah, don't worry about it. I really can't recall any time that my friends or friendly acquaintances have transgressed in this area (that's friends, as in, people I'm friends with...not friends as in "People who've asked me to Confirm them on Facebook but I don't know them first-hand from Adam, but somebody I sort of know, knows them so I better Confirm!").

Next time: Khaki pants, the male analogue of "clothes that are annoying and inconvenient but you're expected to wear them in public, especially at work".

Facebook: Opinions, Observations, Rants, Bullcrap

2010-01-30T09:31:00.000-05:00

For me, Internet socializing has come a long way from my days of being on GEnie network, posting impassioned messages and opinions on R.E.M., Dungeons and Dragons, Babylon 5, and DC Comics on various BBS message boards.

I use Facebook now as my primary means of online communicating with people. In fact, it's even sort of replaced some of my opportunities to use E-mail. But, like anything else that's part of my life for more than five seconds, I've developed opinions, observations, and tactics unique to the subject at hand. Some come from first-hand experience, some from second or even third-hand. Read on...

1. Facebook cannot, must not, should not, replace actual contact with people. Yes, it's a nice way for some of us lazy folk to maintain some form of contact with those people that we don't hear from often, but it musn't be used as a crutch or as a replacement for real social contact.

2. It's just an online service, not the end-all be-all. I've seen people get FB burnout, where they're on it constantly, thinking of it as some sort of ultimate wow experience, only to crash and burn and become disgusted with it. It's simply a means to communicate, nothing more, nothing less. All things in moderation.

3. Show some restraint if many of the people you are friends with in "real life" also read your FB stuff. While I haven't seen this as much on FB as I have on Myspace, this is crucial. Your online presence is probably not the place you want to admit to kinky sexual practices, for instance. It's called WTMI, or I like to refer to it as, "You're being a disc jockey on radio station WTMI, Way Too Much Information, 24 hours a day!" All I know is, if a friend of mine admits on some survey or quiz about what they and their significant other have done in a sleeping bag on a median strip on I-93, it'll be difficult when seeing them in person to not think to myself "Sleeping bag, highway, median strip, 2 am, jar of mayo, duck, windup monkey, UGH!!!" Please....show restraint. It's cool to sometimes imply that you can be a little daring, a little naughty, sure, and it's always nice to tell the world "Hey, my spouse and I still have a lot of fun!", but really...wow...no specifics needed, thanks.

4. Don't forget who reads your stuff. This is a corollary to #3. But whereas #3 is about too much information of a personal nature, this observation/rule is more aimed at "Things that aren't inappropriate per se, but may get you in trouble anyway!" While it may make you feel better to "yell" out in a post and say "I'm sick of how often my co-workers belch, fart, and sneeze loudly around me!", well, what if your co-workers are also on Facebook? Or "My family is composed of idiots; it's amazing I turned out as well as I did, and not end up on a clock tower with a high powered rifle", and your parents, siblings, grandparents read it. Again, a little forethought goes a long way. Who's reading your stuff? What if you're posting about how you love to goof off at work and make yourself look busy, and some prospective new employer reads that?

5. Facebook is not going to charge you!!! Really, I'm sick of this. People say "But John, Facebook has 250,000,000 members! You can't tell me that some exec isn't thinking 'If we charge five bucks per person, we're set for life! Mwahahah!'" Yes. I'm sure there are greedy corporate types sitting in a chair, stroking a cat, wearing a monocle, and going "If we charge for Facebook, we'll get sixty bill-y-un dollars!" But do you know why Facebook has a quarter-billion members? Because it's free. As soon as they'd charge anything, I'd guess that the vast majority of people would conduct an exodus that would've made Moses and the Children of Israel proud. And they'd go off to the next hot, happening free social site.

In fact, many of those Facebook-will-charge-you "cause" pages actually have viruses/trojans/other bad things. Not only did you just get suckered into thinking Facebook is charging, your computer now has something evil lurking in it. Nice.

6. Slacktivism sucks. A friend of mine on Facebook turned me on to that word. No, not "sucks", "slacktivism," wise guy! There is an argument that says that, when it comes to worthy causes, there's nothing that can be done for their sake that should be considered useless, ridiculous, lame, etc. And indeed, one faces an uphill battle if one derides an activity being done for the sake of a cause, just because that someone thinks it's kind of ridiculous. All of a sudden it's "What, you WANT people to die in earthquakes?", or "What, you don't like gay people?", or "Oh, so you want women to die of breast cancer?", ad nauseum. Really, you can't win. In matters of emotion and passion, logic is about as welcome as a PETA member at a deer hunting party.

But here's my take, and I feel comforted to know that there's at least one other person on Facebook who agrees with this. While there's certainly people out there whose acts of compassion and charity are definitely not limited to just posting something cute online, I believe that a large number of people would go "OK, this issue is important, so I'll join this cause/page/change my status, and there...I've done my part! I'm all set! I've made the world a better place, even if just a tiny bit."

No. No you haven't. And that is my big problem with slacktivism. Someone can shake their fists and say "By golly, waterboarding torture/abused animals/breast cancer/prostate cancer/AIDS/war/earthquake devastation/evil corporations is a bad thing, and I'm going to do something about it!" So they join a FB page, take part in the latest cutesy status thing that ostensibly raises awareness, and they feel like they've done their part, and need do no more.

That's why I, personally, do not join cause pages, even if it's a cause I feel passionate about (and believe me, I have a few!). For me, it's a matter of personal taste, to each his own, sure, and I certainly don't hold it against those who do participate.

7. You get what you pay for. Facebook is free. Therefore, there are going to be problems that would not show up on a social site that charges and is therefore able to afford better technology to avoid those problems in the first place. It's annoying, but you can't beat the price. And as far as the ads they run, some of them I find aggravating, but since they don't charge me for being on, they have to pay the bills somehow, and they do have bills. So it's a trade-off. Beats the Hell out of Myspace, in any event.

8. Wow, look at all the people from all over! Ever have one of those dreams where you have all of these people you've known from various times in your past, all together, talking to you about something like, oh, I don't know, needlepoint? It's where you go "Yeah I had this dream where my sister, my high-school biology teacher, my rabbi from when I was a kid, my college sweetheart, a former boss of mine, and one of my business partners all got together and were advising me on what sort of curtains I should put up in the dining room! It was weird!" The one thing about Facebook that really strikes me as cool above all other things is the number of people from so many different areas of my life, all together in one spot, people who don't know each other, and yet are having posted conversations together on some of my statuses! It's bizarre, and yet also thoroughly amazing. I've found so many people from so many times and places in my life (or they've found me), and it's really fantastic. For instance, if anyone had told me that a girl I kind of sort of knew in high school would eventually become a friend of mine on Facebook and would advise, nay demand, that I undergo a colonoscopy, I'd say that person was smoking crack. Hey, I consider myself a "people person", and frankly, I love the fact that I'm in contact with so many people from my past.

9. Who are you and why should I care? One of the biggest advantages of Facebook is that it puts you in contact with people you'd thought you'd never hear from again. One of the biggest drawbacks of Facebook is that it puts you in contact with people you'd thought you'd never hear from again. And yes, this is a counterpoint to #8.

We all have those people in our lives that while we never really disliked, we also never really connected with. But, by virtue of you having gone to school with them, or worked with them, or belonged to the same group as, or, and this one's more often the case than not, you and they are closer friends with a common third person and so you all hung out and accepted each other by default, you end up tripping over them on Facebook.

And really, when those people Friend me, I find myself at a loss. While I can't think of any reason why I should turn down the request, I also can't think of any reason why I shouldn't. But, in the spirit of trying to be nice, and to stay open to the possibility that we could become better friends now than we were in earlier times, I accept. And yes, sometimes we have indeed improved contact, and I like to think I've had a second chance of being friends with some people, a chance I may have passed up the first time around.

10. To me, unfriending people is like a company having rounds of layoffs. So yeah, I think I can honestly say I've never turned down a Friend request, provided I had a reasonably clear idea who the person was (or if they know someone that I know). But, while some people love having 1,575 friends, I actually prefer a smaller group, and have been known to winnow down the ranks from time to time. Hey, if you're reading this and are a Facebook friend of mine, then you've already made it through four rounds of cuts! Woo hoo! Don't you feel all warm and special and loved?

Here's the reasons I've unfriended people:

People who Friend me, so I accept and make multiple attempts at talking with them and they never respond, even though I know for a fact that they've been on repeatedly? You're outta here!

People who Friend me, and subject everyone to an unrelenting barrage of "life sucks" and other complaints, PWMing to the exclusion of anything else? You're outta here!

People who use Facebook as a platform to brag about how wonderful their lives are, and how much they're kids are super-geniuses and so superior, and furthermore we've never had any real decent conversations of any sort? You're outta here!

People who Friend me even though my connections with them have been tenuous at best, and we never really talk, and there seems to be no common ground? Sorry, but you're outta here!

It's true that I have a bunch of Facebook friends that I don't speak to with anything even vaguely approaching regularity. And there's also people who I've friended who are actually friends of family members or friends of friends, or perhaps are people who share a common interest (and appropriate real-life group participation) with me, who I may not talk to very often, but that's okay too. There's common ground, and the knowledge that eventually, there'll be stuff to talk about.

At this point, I can say that I'm happy with everyone I have on my Friends list, and don't see myself doing any further "winnowing".

11. There still are some weird situations... OK, so you're friends with some people on Facebook. And they're friends with some people that you have unresolved issues with, sometimes up to the point of there being mutual non-speaking terms, people who in fact used to be real life friends with you. That is weird. A friend posts some comment, or link, and you chime in, and this other person who used to be a friend until a falling out, chimes in as well. You know he's there, he knows you're there. But neither talks to the other. It's like being at a party, talking to people in a small group, yet you and two other people in the group are at odds, so you just ignore each other even though you're all standing right there, talking about the same subject to the same people!

That to me is one of Facebook's biggest disadvantages. Before the advent of social networking, if you and someone were at odds with each other, you just stopped talking, and simply avoided each other. You could confidently say that you'd never have to deal with this person again, or have any reminders, or even the most off-handed contact. But watch out! Now there's Genesis..er...Facebook! Now they're always there!

Happily, there's not too many people that fall in that category for me. And even that small number would dwindle by a couple if only I left Carol or at the very least, turned a blind eye to the fact that a former friend bears an irrational grudge against her and doesn't want to even acknowledge her existence. Yeah, that's all it'd take. Fortunately, I'm not alone in this; all Carol would have to do to get back into contact with this other couple would be to leave me. Again, small potatoes, a trifle really.

So yes, Facebook has the chance to be a little awkward sometimes, especially for people like me who don't like leaving things unresolved, or bearing grudges, or harboring dislikes. Alas, sometimes peace and co-existence comes at too high a price, and you have to put your foot down, make a stand, and in your best Gregory House voice declare, "You're an idiot!"

Another example of Facebook weirdness is those people that you know in real life, most likely have some sort of history with, and who know that you're on Facebook, and vice versa, and yet neither of you have made a move to friend the other. Furthermore, you have little if any contact with them in any other circumstance. It's almost like there's this mutual, unspoken message of "Yeah I know you're there, but I really don't want to be your friend, because when you get right down to it, I really don't like you and/or have much to say to you".

The final example of Facebook awkwardness is the "I thought we were closer friends than this" syndrome. That's where you find out that a friend had a party, and you weren't invited (even though you live less than an hour away, for instance). Or if a friend from out of state visited your area and got together with mutual friends, and you weren't even aware that they were in your area until you read the posts or saw photos on Facebook after the gathering. That's when you go "Hm. Well then. I thought we were better friends than that. Guess not. Thanks, Facebook, for illuminating my path with your online truths!"

So, like many other things in life, Facebook is a mixed blessing. And, like things such as guns, cars, free speech, or stuffed badgers, it's a tool that can be used for good or evil.

Be good...

My Musical Education- Part Three

2010-01-29T19:07:00.000-05:00

When we last left our hero, he had managed to stagger out of high school with his sanity and self-respect semi-intact. With the exception of a few bright spots, music had not been much of a help in keeping morale up. All of that was about to change.

I began college in 1977 at Suffolk University in Boston, majoring in Journalism. I quickly joined the newspaper, the Suffolk Journal, and through it managed to absorb information about up and coming music groups, courtesy of the Arts and Entertainment reporters.

That, and I was also listening to WBCN 104.1, which at that time was called the Rock of Boston, and rightfully so. You wouldn't know it from hearing it now, but once upon a time, BCN was one of the most influential rock stations in the country. Their DJs were experimental, progressive, and chronic rules-breakers, and they introduced their audiences to new groups like U-2, Devo, B-52s, and many others.

The beauty of this new era of music lay in its non-conformity. Disco, bloated arena rock, soft rock, all of these were being pushed aside by angry young men like Elvis Costello, Iggy Pop, Jim Carroll, Blondie...

(Sad aside...a few hours before this writing, Carol and I stopped at a supermarket to pick up some groceries, and heard Elvis Costello's "Pump It Up" on the store's music system. Alas.)

Anyways, gone were complex dance moves, the ridiculous leisure suits, the hair being just right. Now, you just grabbed some second-hand clothes at an "experienced" clothing store at Harvard Square, went on down to the Rat in Kenmore Square, and flailed around like an epileptic ferret. Now THAT I could do!!!

It wasn't just the Punk/New Wave/Alternative sound for me; I also was introduced to Weird Al Yankovic's demented genius (fittingly enough, by listening to Dr. Demento), and even had room for stuff like Billy Joel, particularly "The Stranger", an amazing album with practically every track a masterpiece.

And now, for an aside: Dear Billy Joel. You are an accomplished piano player and songwriter. However, you are NOT a rock and roller. You are not, have never been, and never will be. Oh, and by the way, if you keep dumping wives/significant others for progressively younger victims..er...mates, in another few years you'll be dating sperm. Please stop. You're creeping me out.

You can see how my eclectic music tastes came to be.

The early 80's brought the Go-Gos, Wall of Voodoo, Madness, Big Country, The Alarm, etc., but by far the best thing to come out of the early 80's for me was this college band from Athens Georgia that I first heard on WBCN with their hit "Radio Free Europe". Yes, my favorite band of all time, R.E.M. I was captivated from the first time I heard RFE.

Thanks to MTV (which believe it or not, back in the early 80s, played VIDEOS), I was introduced to this weird duo, whose debut video consisted pretty much of the two guys running frenetically around, wearing cardboard tubes covered in pieces of carpet on their heads. Yes, it was They Might Be Giants, and their bizarro lyrics.

A special mention needs to be made here about Christian rock. My Christian Fundy stage lasted from about 1974 to 1989. During this time, I was exposed to many Christian bands, many of them trying to rock out, but in a Christian sort of way. My conclusion? Christian rock pretty much blows. But there are two shining exceptions:

Phil Keaggy. This man is a guitar genius. His guitar work is legendary among many musicians, particularly those who admire guitar playing. True story: once, Jimi Hendrix was interviewed and was asked "Do you consider yourself the greatest guitarist ever?" His response was "I don't know...ask Phil Keaggy".

Steve Taylor. Christian New Wave. His stuff was GOOD. And doctrine-wise, his songs took aim at the wishy-washy Liberal Christians, as well as the overly restrictive narrow-minded Conservative Christians. His music advocated taking a stand, yes, but not being a fascist about it, a well-thought out moderate approach, a position which I adhere to nowadays.

The rest of it? Toss it all out. This means you too, Amy Grant. Ugh.

So, building on the music tastes cultivated as a kid then as a teenager (for nothing was thrown out or replaced..it was simply added to), my musical tastes as they stand today were pretty much cemented in place. In fact, I'm not sure there's even call for a Part 4.

And thanks to programs like iTunes and Napster, I've been able to reconstruct a lot of music from my past, resulting in playlists that extend from the 50's to present day. A situation, I'm lead to understand, that's not so unusual among my peers.

Naturally, I've done my best to pass on these music tastes to my kids, and I'm gratified when I see teenagers today checking out stuff from the 50's and 60's. Kind of makes you feel like there's hope for the future!

I conclude with a t-shirt slogan that was created in response to a snarky slogan from a few years back:

"No, I'm not getting too old; your music really DOES suck"

My Musical Education- Part Two

2010-01-27T20:07:00.000-05:00

This could have been the shortest entry in the series. I could have simply written the following:

"My Junior High and High School Years were from 1972 to 1977. I listened to the music of the time. Do the math."

But that, while factual enough to give people an idea of what I had to deal with musically, is not completely entertaining. So....

When we last left our decrepit hero, he had made it through early childhood and elementary school, and was now about to plunge into the living Hell known as Junior High/High School.

I began Junior High in Cambridge Mass, and ended it in Hull Mass. What I recall in Hull was that we had the privilege of playing music in the cafeteria during lunch. I remember hearing "Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves" far too many times than anyone should ever have to, even in the context of administering capital punishment.

Ah, but I was also exposed to "You're So Vain" by Carly Simon. Which made me look for her album. Which resulted in me seeing her photo on the cover of "No Secrets". Which laid down the groundwork in my thinking that brunettes are a superior life form.

I also recall hearing a song called "Somethings Wrong With Me" a lot as well...it was done by a pop musician named Austin Roberts, who went on to do a putrid song called "Rocky", which has nothing to do with boxers and "Yo Adrienne", which is a pity, because if anyone deserved a good punching, it was the guy who sang that crapfest.

But then we move into the High School years, and oh wow. Oh good Lord. When I think of the category "Music popular in my high school," all I can think of is:

1. The disgusting music/cultural phenomenon known as Disco (Motto: Hey kids, if you already feel out of touch and unpopular, let's throw in a music form that requires that you dress and dance a certain way, and if you don't, it shows how even less "with it" you are!)

2. The mind-numbing soft-rock stylings of Chicago.

3. And Elton John.

Now fortunately, Elton John rocked, and continues to rock. A fantastic entertainer, an amazing pianist, and...well...kind of an inarticulate vocalist. Let's all sing along to one of Reg Dwight's signature hits, shall we?!

So, good-bye, Yellow Brick Road!
Where the dust of sororities bow!
Your cat just peed in your penthouse!
Blowing Jack in my prow!
Back to the havoc go round in the world!
Back to my horny black toe!
Oh I finally decide my future bride!
Beyond the yella brick raaaaaaahhhhaaaaahhaaaaahhhh!!

Wasn't that fun? Well, it sure beat the Hell out of disco, or "Color My World", with that interminable piano riff.

The Beatles were no more, but there was Paul McCartney singing silly love songs. And even though it was...pleasant, it was not the Beatles. Disappointing. I couldn't get into John Lennon's mush-headed "Imagine", George was singing about his sweet Lord Krishna, and Ringo was singing a disturbing song about a 16 year old girl being his.

Oh but that was okay, because if you were tired of someone knocking at the door, there was always the Bay City Rollers! S! A! T-U-R! D-A-Y! Night!

Feel free to commit suicide any time now. Really. I won't hold it against you.

There was also KC and the Sunshine Band, which sounded dumb at the time, but now has a sort of kitschy coolness.

Now, before there was Emo, Goth, or any other permutation of Misery Rock, there was that unholy trinity of miserable singers who created Songs To Slash Your Wrists By. I'm talking about Henry Gross, who had a hit called "Shannon", about a dead dog (I am not making this up); Terry Jacks, and his miserable "Seasons In The Sun"; and Gilbert O'Sullivan, with his smash (s)hit, "Alone Again, Naturally".

Let's sing along to a snipped of the actual lyrics!

"...I remember I cried when my father died, never wishing to hide the tears.
And at 65 years old, my mother God rest her soul, couldn't understand why the only man she had ever loved had been taken.
Leaving her to start, with a heart so badly broken
Despite encouragement from me, no words were ever spoken
When she passed away; I cried and cried all day
Alone again, naturally."

Whee! Help yourself to some sleeping pills! They're in the cabinet on the right! Wash them down with some vodka! This song was a HIT. A HIT!!! A genuine pop music HIT!

Now, it may seem that my high school years were just a big parade of crappy music. Fortunately, there were some bright spots.

My father had a restaurant, and one of the customers was this guy nicknamed Big John (he was rather heavy), who worked at a used record store nearby, Skippy Whites. When I visited the place, the wide world of 50's and 60's oldies came alive, and I eagerly bought up as many 45s as I could and cultivated an appreciation for them.

This was bolstered from, of all places, the popular tv show "Happy Days", which would feature snippets of oldies (before it devolved into all Fonzie, all the time), so I went and bought those songs as well.

I also became aware of this guy named Dickie Goodman, who made 'novelty records' that receive heavy Top 40 airplay. They were spoken records, with Dickie playing an interviewing journalist. He'd ask questions of his subjects, and the answers were snippets of rock songs, taken in such a way that they fit as answers to his questions. He made songs about relevant 70's stuff like Watergate, The Energy Crisis, and Jaws. Later, I was to find out that he had been doing this since the early 60's, but instead of culling snippets of Olivia Newton-John, the BeeGees, or Ringo Starr, he was borrowing from The Platters, Chuck Berry, and Fats Domino.

Also, through the wonders of Top 40 AM radio, I got my first exposure to Cheech and Chong, with "Earache My Eye" and "Sister Mary Elephant".

Top 40 also brought forth nifty one-hit wonders like Reunion's "Life Is A Rock, But The Radio Rolled Me", or Carl Douglas' "Kung Fu Fighting".

One of the high school church group staff guys was a big Yes fan, so I got turned on to just a little bit of "progressive rock" otherwise known as "art rock", otherwise known as "pretentious nonsense". I'm talking to YOU, Moody Blues! If the trees are drawing you near, then lay off the weed!

And one of my fondest memories of a rock song, and a reason why the movie "Waynes World" will always have a special place in my heart, is being on a date with my girlfriend in my senior year of high school (I didn't date the girls from my high school, though not from lack of trying; I dated girls from Park Street Church's high school youth group), and hearing "Bohemian Rhapsody" on the radio after we left the movie theater.

So yes, it would be a lie to say that music in my High School years was a complete wasteland. I just had to look harder to find the good stuff. Though I still maintain that the 70's produced more hideous songs, minute for minute, than any other decade that featured rock music. Hey, it's Jim Croce's "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown," and "You Don't Mess Around With Jim", which are pretty much the same damned song!

And if that earlier-mentioned trinity of crappy pre-Emo artists hadn't completely sapped you of your will to live, check out some of Harry Chapin's miserable "story" songs like "Cats In The Cradle".

And, as a bizarre side note, I still had my dad's music tastes to deal with. He didn't like rock and roll. He hated it, said it was too loud and repetitious. So, what did we hear when we drove home from his restaurant? WCOP AM 1150...Country music.

This brought me into contact with singers like Tom T. Hall, George Jones, Dolly Parton, Loretta Lynn, Johnny Cash, and Hank Williams. I didn't like everything I was forced to hear, but I didn't hate it all either. I even ended up getting a citizens band radio for my car when "Convoy" became a hit.

Speaking of my car, I should wrap this up by pointing out that it was in High School that I put together my first song parody. My town, Hull, is a narrow peninsula that juts out into the ocean, so sometimes, when there'd be a storm, those waves could get rather scary. It inspired me to take Gordon Lightfoot's hit song, "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" (another of those classic 70's vintage happy-joy-joy songs, this one about 29 sailors whose ship goes down just 15 miles from harbor, in Lake Superior), and change it to "The Wreck of the Buick LeSabre" (my car's make and model). The song was a stirring piece about my attempts at driving myself and my friends through a nasty storm.

So, that was junior high and high school. What was to become of me? Would my non-conformist soul be crushed by disco? Would my brains be turned to mush by the brass overkill and maudlin lyrics of Chicago? Would the steady stream of pre-Emo misery singers make me want to throw myself under a bus before I even graduated?

Little did I know that a new, raw, chaotic, non-conformist sound had already taken over New York, and would be introducing itself to me soon after graduating!

To be continued....

My Musical Education- Part One

2010-01-26T19:15:00.000-05:00

Music is one of those subjects that stirs strong opinions and passions in everyday people, and I'm no exception. I find myself far more likely to offend someone because of my strongly held opinions of what music rocks and what music sucks, than, say, my political or religious viewpoints, and I'm quite firm on those, particularly the latter.

No, it's music that brings out the critic/passionate defender in us all, and I think it's because music has the capacity of really touching people and affecting moods and attitudes. This series of self-indulgent, introspective posts deals with how music came into my life.

My first album, and I remember this clear as day, was bought for me by my father. It was these four guys with what was considered long hair at the time. And I wanted to wear my hair the same way. The album was called "Meet the Beatles".

I played that album to death. What's more, my father bought me a bunch of Beatles 45s, and we're not talking Capitol records here, either...we're talking Tollie Records, the label that released their version of the Isley Brothers' "Twist and Shout". Yeah, the early stuff. Damn, I wish I still had those...

Anyways, I'd spend many happy hours as a six-year old, playing with my electric trains in the cellar, and playing my Beatles album, my Beatles 45's, and a Roy Orbison album, whose title I forget.

My father was of Portuguese-Bermudian extraction, so what music did he like to listen to? Polkas. The Pennsylvania Polka, Beer Barrel Polka, yeah...I don't know. So I ended up listening to that. He also liked Country music, particularly spiritually-oriented fare like Tennessee Ernie Ford. As a kid, I recall seeing an album called Sacred Country Music, and thinking that it said Scared Country Music! My dad's fondness for country music also sparked my interest in Johnny Horton's "story" songs like "Sink the Bismarck" and "The Battle of New Orleans".

There was another case of rock music exposure that I recall. Back in the mid to late 50's, a lot of groups were trying to break into the big time. A common tactic for some of these up and comers would be to find a song in the public domain, "rock" it up, release it, and hope for the best. One group, Johnny and the Hurricanes, took the folk song "Red River Valley" and rocked it out, turning it into "Red River Rock". If you've seen the John Hughes movie "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles", you can catch some of it.

Anyways, I recently found the song, and when I played it, well...they say that the sense of smell is one of the most powerful memory aids, and that may be so, but I'd put music as a close second. When I heard Red River Rock for the first time in over 40 years, I could remember, and I mean remember exactly, where I had heard it when I was just a little kid. I can recall the living room, the old brass thermostat on the wall, the sun pouring in through French windows. It's all clear after about, what, 45 years?

Oh yeah, and my dad also bought me the Mary Poppins soundtrack, but I rapidly got sick of chim-chim-cherees, and let's go fly a kite, up through the toilet pipe (which is how my friends and I sang it, and we thought we were geniuses in doing so).

When I was eight or nine, my parents decided that it would be good if I took piano lessons. Many years later, I can still find Middle C, and I harbor an irrational pathological hatred of the Christmas song, "Jolly Old St. Nicholas".

Next Time- Junior High/High School: The Scourge of Disco, the Wimpiness of Chicago.

I Read The Mail Today, Oh Boy...

2010-01-07T09:23:00.000-05:00

Sometimes you get a piece of mail that just makes you laugh out loud while shaking your head. Last night, we received such a piece. But in order to fully appreciate it, we must harken back to the year 2009, otherwise known as The Year We'd All Like To Pretty Much Forget Ever Existed.

In those dark days, the economy was in ruins. Well, it still is, but it at least seems to be trending better. Anyways, in those dark days, layoffs were rampant. New hires, promotions, bonuses and raises were suspended all over the country. People had to get creative when it came to finances, and staying afloat well enough to ride out the current crisis.

That's when, early last year, I launched Operation: Have Your Cake And Eat It Too. In this operation, the goal was to slash $500 out of our normal monthly operating budget, but without giving up anything.

When the operation was over, I managed to cut a little over $400 from our month;y operating budget. The only thing we gave up was our premium cable channels (HBO, Skinemax, Showtime, etc, but we never watched them anyway, except Dexter on Showtime). In fact, we even managed to increase John-John's auto insurance coverage (thanks, Geico!).

The overall savings would've been a little over $500, but for the following incident.

With the Prime down at zero, the easiest way to save money was to refinance our mortgage. We actually had a bidding war between our current mortgage holder and another of the big banks, and I kept playing both sides off the other, until finally our current holder gave us an offer we couldn't refuse. I supplied them with the 8 billion metric tons of paperwork and documentation, swearing we were who we were, and that we made such-and-such a year, and we had the following assets. When it was all over, they quoted a nifty monthly figure, and we met for the closing.

So there we were, Carol and me on one side of the table, the loan officer and her assistant on the other side. They slid over the reams of papers you need to sign and/or initial. One of the more important documents caught me eye...the one that gives you the monthly figure we 'd be paying. And...the last two numbers were transposed. So by way of hypothetical excample, if the figure quoted to us was, say, $1219 a month, the figure on the form said $1291.

Call us thrifty, but that's a significant difference. That's almost $100 a month.

I called it to the pair's attention. They looked at it. Their eyes widened slightly. They took out calculators and began adding numbers. One or the other would leave the conference room, checking on something else or talking to someone else, then return, looking puzzled and slightly embarrassed.

When the checking, rechecking, crunching of numbers, whispered conferences, and furrowed brows were finally over, the bottom line came out: they had screwed up the numbers from the get-go. The figure on the form was the correct one, not the one initially quoted to us. All of the people who had gone over the figures had missed it. All of them. No one double-checked.

Now, some of you may ask why we didn't notice it. But that's not what we're paying these people for. We're paying them to do the work, crunch the numbers, and tell us what we're supposed to pay. That's their job. They know the ins and outs, the costs, the rates, the additions, etc. This is what they do for a living.

I was furious, but I kept it clamped down. I was actually shaking in my chair, with the effort not to explode, then I had to exert a further effort not to visibly shake so much. The loan officer said, in an ostensibly helpful and compromising tone, "You don't have to sign it....you can just withdraw right now, if you want to."

Oh yeah, that'd work. Here we are, weeks of preparation, all the searching for paperwork, the faxing, all of that, plus getting time off from work to do the closing. We're all seated here, the documents are in my hand, we've already paid the appraiser. Yeah. Sure. We're just going to stop right now. No, we were already committed. The die was cast, we crossed the Rubicon, Hannibal crossed the Alps, Stimpy pressed the Big Red Button, choose your metaphor.

"You can yell at me if you want to...", the load officer meekly said, while Carol looked at me with that mixture of compassionate concern ("Are you going to be ok?") and the dread that one gets when one realizes a nuclear bomb is about to explode in their proximity.

I took a deep breath, and let out a shuddering exhale. I was still livid. "No," I said. "Let's just do this. Let's get it over with. We've come too far and done too much to turn back now." And so, accompanied by a chorus of embarrassed profuse apologies from the loan people, we signed.

Here's a handy clue as to when I'm truly angry: I stop talking. Or if I have to talk, it's in clipped, monosyllabic responses. This is for face to face conversations, mind you, not texting/IMs or the like..those latter media by their very nature require brief answers a lot of the time.

We wrapped up the business, got a free pen, they shook our hands, we gave them brief, curt good-byes, they apologized some more, we left the building, got into the car, and there, I exploded with a torrent of curses and invectives that would've made a trucker proud.

So, what does this all have to do with getting the mail yesterday and laughing?

The loan officer and her assistant have quite the company and...they're going into business for themselves! That's right. Lucy and Ethel walked away from the chocolate conveyer belt and decided to open their own business. And the kicker is, it's a company that does what they were doing at the big financial firm! I could see if they had decided to go into business for themselves doing something like opening up a restaurant, or a courier service, or a meth lab, but...this?

So yeah. I had to laugh. Carol did too.

Furthermore, Carol noted that the other ludicrous thing about getting this announcement in the mail was that they sent it to us in the first place. I can guarantee you that the loan officer has not forgotten us or her screw-up. So now, less than a year later, she's sending us this announcement about going into business for herself, oh, and that we should recommend her fledgling business to any real estate people we know? Because that's what her letter told us.

Say...what?

So yeah. I guess this is one of those "Some day you'll look back at this and laugh" moments, and we're laughing now. Although I don't wish ill upon Lucy and Ethel, all I can say is, if our experience is the norm, they won't be in business long.

Fruit From The Random Tree

2009-12-30T22:02:00.000-05:00

Well, I haven't done a post recently and, with the year winding down, I thought it might be nice to do a little mental house-cleaning in anticipation of the new year. So...in no particular order, here's some random thoughts.

- I am convinced that our memories are like a large pot of boiling soup. The stuff we put in the pot represents our memories. The older we get, the more stuff gets put in the pot. And since it's boiling, bits and pieces come bobbing to the surface (our conscious minds), only to eventually sink back down again. And it's totally random. This is why, out of nowhere, some bizarre memory pops up for a little while, only to eventually sink back down again into your subconscious.

- What's with drivers who cut you off in order to get ahead of you, like they're in this all-fired hurry, only to then proceed at 10mph?

- Whenever I need to find a particular product in a supermarket aisle, all I need to do is look for the only other person in the aisle who's standing there, pondering. That's where my product will be. Blocked by this one person. It also works if there's no one in the aisle except for an employee stocking a stretch of shelves. What I want will be right there.

- There are two types of people I dread being behind at Dunkin Donuts. The yahoo who's buying 4 Box O'Joes, 31 bagels of certain exact flavors, 2 boxes of munchkins, and 43 different flavors of donuts; and the parent with small children ("What kind of doughnut do you want, sweetie?" "Nnn-gah!" "What's that? Vanilla?" "Bfnah!" "What's that? Timmy fell down the well?"). If you're behind either of those types, then grab a Snickers bar because, buddy, you're not going anywhere for a while.

- OK, so what's with the couple setaed in two separate non-functional bathtubs outside in those ED ads? I mean, really now. Is that supposed to be sexy? Two people, seated in inoperable plumbing fixtures, unable to make any serious intimate contact because, well, each one is in a separate container, hanging around outside....oh yeah. That's romantic.

- This past Christmas season, I made a new Christmas Song Mix CD. It had an amazing range of songs, like Eric Idle's "F*ck Christmas", Weird Al's "Christmas at Ground Zero", Brad Paisley's "Kung Pao Buckaroo Holiday", Trans-Siberian Orchestra's "Carole of the Bells", and a handful of amazingly done old Christ-centered carols (e.g. Hark! The Herald Angels, O Come All Ye Faithful, O Holy Night). It is quite possibly the most pious Christmas CD I've burned, as well as the most irreverent. That's when I realized that the CD was actually a fair representation of me.

- And speaking of Christmas carols, this was the year I really listened carefully to all of the words to O Holy Night (Carol's favorite Christmas song). I think the chills still haven't completely dissipated yet.

- I'm not into chick flicks, but I'll admit that I really liked "Love Actually". Well, I enjoyed most of it, anyway. Now I have to decide what movie Carol has to see as reciprocity.

- OK, here's a tip for those of you in the workplace who wear a geek tag (employee ID card). When you're in a bathroom stall, make sure the tag is turned with your name and photo facing inwards, so that no one knows who you are. That way, no one can enter the restroom and go "Aw geez, what's going on in here? It smells like someone's sacrificed a goat to the Poo God...who's that in that stall? I see his name tag! I know who you are now, buddy!" You're welcome.

- The following is a list of people I really hope to hear little or nothing about in 2010. This will truly make it a happy new year: Sarah Palin, Megan Fox, Rush Limbaugh, The Gosselins, Octomom, Glenn Beck, Richard Heene.

Adventures in Christmas Shopping-Land (Part 1)

2009-12-12T15:21:00.001-05:00

So, I've been keeping my eye out for some New York Yankees toilet paper. It does exist, and it's usually a favored purchase among us NON-Yankees fans (imagine that...).

I decided that if any place was going to stock novelty items used to wipe your rear end, it'd have to be at Spencers Gifts. And here's the exact exchange I had with the sales girl.

ME: Hi, do you folks have New York Yankees toilet paper?

SALESGIRL (looking scandalized): Ohh, no no no...We don't stock ANY team's merchandise. We don't want to show favoritism, and start a turf war in the store.

ME: Oh, I see. Well, you know, all I could think of was, since this was a totally tasteless and disgusting product, it'd be right up Spencers' alley.

SALESGIRL (nodding): Hey yeah, that makes sense. But nope, sorry, don't got it.

I almost burst out laughing, as the salesgirl was in essence agreeing that the store is pretty much a sleazy tasteless cathedral of tackiness.

So, dejected, Chris and I made our way past the Santa Hooker costumes, the Jingle Breasts, and the T-shirts that announced the non-picky sexual standards of the wearer, and left Spencers, TP-less.

The search goes on.

Buh-Bye, Forgotten Realms!!

2009-12-05T10:51:00.001-05:00

There's a lot of things about D&D 4.0 that makes me hate it. One of the things that I find particularly irksome is how they basically took a fine setting like the Forgotten Realms, turned it on its head, vandalized a lot of the topography, threw in some "Gods of Faerun 90210" into the mix, and then cranked up the calendar by about a century or whatnot.

For a while, this didn't bother me. I had already decided I wasn't going to do 4.0, but instead stick with 3.5, and simply ignore all of the developments in the Realms. It was a parting of the ways when it came to the default D&D rule system, but I was still willing and eager to keep running in the Realms. While that seemed to work, the situation still bugged me; I'm usually one of those all-or-nothing sort of people. Either I'm drinking the entire glass (or even entire pitcher!) of Kool-Aid, or I'm not touching it at all.

Our gaming group is getting ready in January for what I've dubbed The Great Crisis (pardon me, my DC Fanboy is showing), an adventure I've been promising for several years now. See, for the last ten years, most of the players in my group have been playing a handful of PCs in the Forgotten Realms, and advancing levels. Once the PCs got of sufficiently high level, we'd end a campaign, and start up a new FR campaign in a different locale, with a new bunch of 1st level characters. The continuity was still preserved, and sometimes there'd be cross-referencing or other touches that indicate that this was All The Same World.

While this has worked out nicely, people have been hankering to play some of those old high-level PCs again, and some players have at least a half-dozen each. Enter the Great Crisis. I've told my players "Assemble all your past characters; pick out your favorite four; I'll be coming up with a massive storyline that will require four groups of high-level characters, set in four different areas of the Realms."

And so, that's what we're doing once the holidays die down. Four adventures, one a month, two gaming sessions each, set in four different locales in the Realms; adventures that may or not be related or interconnected. That's part of the mystery. Do all these things have something to do with each other? Or perhaps only some do? Or none? Who knows?

Once this Great Crisis is done, regardless of the outcome, I do believe I'm waving "Farewell" to the Realms.

It's always been a point of pride for me that all of the D&D adventures I run are of my own design; no modules here, just home-grown adventure. And yet, my setting is a pre-packaged one, though some parts of the Realms were "officially" fleshed out by yours truly during my tenure as a freelance writer for TSR. Granted, the Realms is a very EXCELLENT package, but it's still not "my" world. And now that, in my own humble opinion, the Realms failed its saving throw against the dreaded spell "Polymorph a cool game setting into a steaming lump of cat crap", I think it's time to trot out....Hawkhaven 2.0.

What's Hawkhaven 2.0 you ask? For that matter, what's Hawkhaven?

Glad you asked. You DO ask such good questions!

Hawkhaven was my original campaign, created during my ignorant, zealous, Monty-haul days as an over-eager rookie DM back in 1978. Oh, I threw in everything but the kitchen sink. I drew inspiration (stole) from Tolkein, CS Lewis, Arthurian legends, the Bible, Moorcock, Lieber, Lovecraft, and a healthy dose of Bullfinch's Mythology, and created pretty much a hack-and-slash goulash where Christian paladins, Muslim warriors, Celtic bards, and Clerics of Hera were teaming up and doing things like finding the Holy Grail, or destroying Stormbringer, or finding R'Lyeh, where dread Cthulhu lies dreaming.

And anything went...optional classes from issues of The Dragon? Bring 'em in! Psionics? Sure! I'd take all those module series from TSR and locate them in my world. Here's the Tomb of Horrors over here, and I'll call one of the mountains in my western mountain range "White Plume", and set the module there. These peaks here are like a barrier, so a certain SF-themed module went there! This village over here is called "Hommlet". Liches polymorphed PCs into giant cucumbers and ate them. PCs slew enemies with improvised weapons such as turkey legs.

Of course, I had a detailed backstory, my attempt at explaining how all of these elements could possibly exist or co-exist. Some of it worked, some of it was a stretch, and some of it was utter BS. But who cared? It was a lot of fun! But I'll say this: If I had the means to travel back in time, and sat at my younger self's gaming table, I'd probably end up beating my younger self over the head with a pizza box while shrieking "Munchkin!" over and over. I may even remember to take the pizza out first, but I make no promises.

So anyways, the thought occurred to me: Why not bring back Hawkhaven, but now redesigned with a greater sense of restraint, "sophistication", and experience? So, I've been digging through old folders (real manila paper ones, not virtual folders on a PC, mind you), folders that haven't seen the light of day since last century, and have been recreating Hawkhaven into a viable, engaging, campaign world that wouldn't get laughed out of a gaming con.

And that's that. So, four months of Great Crisis in the Forgotten Realms, followed by a reboot with Hawkhaven 2.0. Furthermore, I've been paying attention to people on rpgbomb.com who've been singing the praises of Pathfinder, and I have to admit, I've started reading up on it and it's intriguing enough that it just may become the system used for Hawkhaven. Talk about a fresh start and a clean slate! New world, new system. Aw yeah, I like the sound of that.

Depending on how our personnel roster shakes out, I may even have to look for a couple of new players to jump in as well, to fill out our ranks. So it looks like there's a lot of "new" for our campaign to look forward to in Spring 2010.

I'll miss the Realms, but I have to admit that I'm looking forward to running a campaign in the world that I made, with cool things like the Theocracy of Zor, hobbits with hairy feet, Wizards being the object of public distrust and scorn, a god of Alcohol and Innkeepers, and the Four Elemental Monastic Orders waiting in the wings!

The Only Three Driving Rules I Ever Need

2009-11-01T13:01:00.000-05:00

One of my tasks as Dad of the House of Terra is giving the offspring their first driving lessons. I did so with Adrienne and John, am currently doing so with Chris, and will do so with Rhiannon, when the time is right.

My recent adventures with Chris have prompted me to remember the Only Three Driving Rules I Need. I've imparted them to my kids, and now I impart them to...well...whoever reads this.

Rule One: Don't Panic. Seriously, the worst thing you can do behind the wheel of a car is suddenly panic and try to do something stupid. This rule is particularly aimed at newbies. If you find yourself overwhelmed and/or uncertain what to do next, make sure no one's on your right, then pull over to the shoulder, take a deep breath, get yourself collected, then resume. It's better than slowing down on the road, clogging up traffic and making a hazard of yourself. Just pull over, take five, then be on your way.

The rule has an application for veteran drivers too. Panic can happen if you find yourself skidding, or there's an object up ahead on the highway. Remain calm, brake and steer carefully, and you'll find yourself out of trouble in no time. So. Rule One: Don't Panic.

Rule Two: Be Nice to Police. Police have a tough job. Most of the time, they get to see people at their worst, and when they try to enforce the law, many times they get people copping an attitude. The last thing a cop needs is some nimrod mouthing off just because the officer in question had the nerve to stop them for running a Stop sign, or going 55 in a 30 mph zone. And it's not going to help their mood when dealing with you in return, and let's face it, the cop has the upper hand.

In the times that I've been pulled over, I haven't shot off my mouth. I didn't offer excuses. I've sat there and simply accepted responsibility for my error, and showed a degree of contrition. The result? More warnings than tickets. Granted, if you get pulled over, a good driving record helps as well (and false modesty aside, mine's pretty good), but even so, a good attitude may be the deciding factor of "Should I give a warning, or a ticket?".

And don't give excuses. If a cop asks you what you were doing, or why, then sure....there's your opening. It happened to me this past summer, and it turned out that the officer knew the person I was doing volunteer work for, and he let me go with a verbal warning.

Again, these people have a rough job. Why add to their grief by being an ass, especially since you're the one that did something wrong? So, Rule Two: Be Nice to Police.

Rule Three: This is the biggest, most important one. This is the one I hammer over and over into my kids, regardless of how long they've been driving. This is "JT's Number One Rule of the Road". And here it is:

Always drive under the assumption that everyone else on the road is a complete moron and has no grasp on car safety, rules of the road, or common courtesy.

Arrogance? Hubris? Elitism? Nope...common sense. If you rely on others to ensure a safe driving experience, you will inevitably be disappointed. Or worse. Here's a sample of accidents I've had, and why they happened.

High School: I was rear-ended while idling at a red light on Route 3A. The girl who smashed into the rear of my car offered this excuse: "I didn't think you were going to remain stopped at the red light".

Early 80's: Commonwealth Avenue, Boston. A cab driver ahead of me tried to outrun a Green Line trolley, and hoped to beat it to the crossing and turn left, making it across the tracks before the train arrived. At the last second, he decided he wouldn't be able to do it, so he slammed his brakes on. I reacted, but not fast enough, and still managed to smack the left front part of my car into his right rear bumper, turning my Honda Accord into a Honda Accordion.

Late 90's: Just outside of NYC on Route 95. A truck driver with a poor command of English wasn't aware that he was supposed to slow down on a curve, and found himself jamming his brakes in order not to plow into traffic ahead of him. His 18-wheeler jack-knifed, slamming my Chevy Cavalier into a Jersey barrier.

There are others, but those stand out as classic examples of people being idiots. I've learned that you have to keep one eye on the road, and the other on the drivers around you. Assume that they're going to screw up. Assume that they're going to slam their brakes for no apparent reason, or drift into your lane without signaling.

And just because you are following the traffic laws, doesn't mean they will. And it'll be cold comfort if you get broadsided but you had the legal right-of-way. Having the law on your side may do wonders for you when insurance liability is determined, but it doesn't help avoid an accident in the first place.

A week after the last time I gave Chris a driving lesson (and the three rules), Carol and I were driving down a side street, approaching an intersection with the main drag. As we approached the light, it turned green. However, I slowed down anyway, and instinctively looked to my right (the main drag's a one-way street) to make sure that everyone was in agreement that a red light on their side meant "Stop, and stay that way until it's green". Sure enough, in the far right lane of that three-lane road, an elderly idiot positively rocketed right through the red light. Had I not slowed down at the intersection, the car would've easily struck my right passenger side door. Right were Carol was sitting.

So, to sum it up, here's the Three Rules again:

1. Stay cool
2. Be nice to police
3. Everyone sucks except you

An Open Letter to the Lost Angeles Angels of Anaheim

2009-10-26T19:10:00.000-04:00

Dear Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim California Hassenpfeffer Incorporated:

You suck.

Really. Truly. You suck. It's not "Yankees Suck"..no, it's "Angels Suck". There are black holes out there, with high-powered vacuum cleaners orbiting them, who have less sucking power than you do, you incompetent West Coast pretenders to baseball greatness.

Scoscia? You suck! Vlad the Impaler? Hah. Try Vlad the Sucker. Bobby Abreu? No, it's Bobby Suckyou. Yeah, those aren't very good insults...but then again, the Angels aren't a very good team.

You could have really done something amazing. You could have come close to emulating the 2004 Red Sox. But no. No, you decided it was better to emulate the 1920 Keystone Kops. Was that Game Six of the ALCS, or an especially annoying episode of America's (Allegedly) Funniest Home Videos?

"But we swept your Red Sox!", I hear you say. "Big deal!", I say. Everyone knows the Red Sox were having issues. While on paper Boston had a team capable of really accomplishing something amazing, there somehow wasn't the right balance, the right mix...that, and we really need a masher at the heart of the lineup, to re-instill that same fear of God in opposing pitchers that Ortiz/Manny did. In fact, considering the health issues, the slumps, the whatevers, I consider the Sox as having a successful season, getting as far as they did and winning, what, 95 games? Wish it could've gone on longer, but hey...

Anyways, I digress. You, Angels, suck. Your pathetic display against New York only shows just how truly ineffective a team you really are, and how much you really didn't deserve to be in the playoffs.

Take your thunder sticks and your rally monkey and stick them where the sun doesn't shine. Go home. You honestly suck.

And should, by some massive cosmic flatulence, you manage to make it to the post-season again in 2010, rest assured that the Red Sox, their issues certainly having been resolved during the off-season, will restore the true way of things, which is having the Red Sox tapdance on your incompetent red-capped skulls as they effortlessly glide their way to the 2010 ALCS.

Hey, maybe you can convince Disney to make Angels in the Outfield 2...where a deranged Al the angel (with Christopher Lloyd reprising the role), tries to make the Angels into something that's slightly better than whale barf, and, failing, becomes a demon who works for Satan (played by Scott Boras in his screen debut). And the surprise ending (or would it be that much of a surprise?) it turns out that the Gates of Hell are located right under the new Yankee Stadium.

Speaking of things from Hell, ok, yeah, the Yankees won the ALCS, and will go to the World Series. Normally I don't cheer on anything from Philadelphia unless it's a Best Cheesesteak competition, but in this case, yeah, GO PHILLIES!

I think one of the most annoying thing about the Yankees is how easily, how quickly, the pundits are willing to fall all over themselves praising that Team From Hell, when the players are doing things that, oh, I don't know, they are EXPECTED to do. Hey look! A-Rod's decided to stop obsessing about himself and is actually effective in the post-season! Well, Hell, let's brand him the new Mr. October! After just one partial post-season of doing well! Sure! Why not? Jeter? Yeah, let's nominate Jeter as AL MVP! He deserves it!

Excuse me?

Now, don't get me wrong. I actually like Derek Jeter. But he's not the AL MVP (Mr. Mauer gets that nod). But again, you have the sports media which, in varying degrees, seems almost obsessively eager to decorate the Yankees with all sorts of accolades at the drop of a hat. I really think this is part of the reason for the average baseball fan's deep-rooted hatred of the Yankees....a sort of contrary knee-jerk reaction to the media lovefest overkill directed at the pinstripers.

But keep this in mind...considering the huge contracts they gave out in order to stock their lineup with A-list baseball superstars, and the billion-plus they sank into Toilet 2, nothing short of a World Series win will be considered a successful outcome. OK, so they made it to the dance. But if Philly, which has its own reasons to want to win it all (like being the first NL team to win back to back Series since the Big Red Machine in the 70's), manages to sink the Yanks, then it'll be all for nothing. AL Division East champs? Nope. Not good enough. ALCE champs? Still not good enough. No ring, no validation for their 2009 season.

Philly...You need to win this thing. Heed the lessons of the incompetent Angels of Anaheim. Field the ball. Hit the ball. Do good things. Take down the Yanks in four.

A Life Story Told With T-Shirts

2009-10-24T14:14:00.000-04:00

It must be said, first off, that men are genetically incapable of throwing away T-shirts. What this means is that, over time, men who have a tendency of wearing T-shirts accumulate quite a collection. Such is the case with me.

I store my T-shirts in the lower drawer of our bedroom dresser, and it was getting to the point where the wood itself was probably ready to burst. That's when I decided that it was time to go through the lot and remove the ones that either should be thrown out, or put into storage for some unknown point in the future.

I felt like an archaeologist of garments, working my way through the contents of the large drawer, pulling out T-shirts, identifying their origin, and designating their fate. Naturally, I had to unroll each one and see what it was all about. By doing so, I ended up with a trip down Memory Lane, recalling the circumstances behind each shirt.

My oldest T-shirt is an Origins '78 T-shirt (held at the Ann Arbor campus of U of Michigan). For those not in the know, Origins is to wargames/boardgames what GenCon is to D&D. Before I got into D&D, my big passion was boardgames, particularly historical simulations.

Someday, if I ever get into a rules argument with some munchkin at a gaming con, I eagerly look forward to saying something like "Listen, punk, I have gaming t-shirts that are older than you!"

The next oldest was a t-shirt from a pub in Bermuda, purchased on my honeymoon during my first marriage. That relic came from 1982.

From somewhere around that time period there was also a t-shirt made by a talented old friend of mine named Jeff. We've lost touch, but he used to be one of our gamers. He created this stylized dog named "Sparky", and eventually put the design on a t-shirt, and I got one. Jeff eventually left for the West Coast to become a screenwriter, and ended up writing episodes of X-Files and Angel.

It's amazing, the stuff one recalls by simply going through a bunch of old t-shirts.

My oldest Red Sox t-shirt comes from 1987. Snoopy is on it. I'm not sure why. (Depressing realization sidebar: Charles Schultz is no longer with us, and Snoopy sells friggin' life insurance). There's also a Celtics T-shirt from the Bird/Parrish/McHale era. My sports-related t-shirts have been replenished over the last decase, with a 2004 World Series champs shirt, a 2007 one, and t-shirts with Matsuzaka and Okajima numbers. I even have a Seibu Lions (Dice-K's old team in Japan) t-shirt.

There's some topical t-shirts, like my "Don't Blame Me, I Voted For Bill and Opus" T-shirt, or my Ren & Stimpy t-shirts, including one with Mr.Horse ("Nossir, I don't like it!"). Definite relics of the 80's.

It should come as no surprise that many of my T-shirts are gaming related. There's a whole slew of them from various ConnCons and GenCons, even one or two from the RPGA. They range from the late 80's to mid 90's.

As big of a fan of REM as I am, you'd think I'd have REM t-shirts in abundance. Sadly, this is not the case. Ironically, I wore those particular t-shirts so much that they did indeed overcome even the ingrained male tendency not to throw out old t-shirts, and are now gone forever. I do have one REM shirt, a tour shirt from the late 90's, but even that one is a replacement, secured by Carol. The original was worn to a frazzle.

Superheroes are well represented...there's a Green Lantern t-shirt, a Superman one (except that it's black), and a Flash t-shirt.

I have some slogan t-shirts, but not many. My oldest one is from the late 80's, and it says simply "Whatever". One of my favorite slogan t-shirts is missing ("I may grow old, but I'll never grow up").

One t-shirt that I pulled out of the pile made me chuckle. It was a Wild Wild Web t-shirt, a leftover from my days of working at a dot.com in the very late 90's. That particular company rolled over and died in 1999 during the start of the Great Dot.Com Collapse. I was hired to work at a second Dot.Com, started by a handful of survivors of the previous one. I worked there for four months, then got a huge pay raise, then worked there another three months, then the layoffs started, and I was one of the first to go.

Ah, good times!

Nowadays, I find I have a lot of horror-based t-shirts, such as a promotional t-shirt from FearNet, a bunch from HorrorFind, Barrett's Haunted Mansion, haunt gatherings, Salem Mass, etc.

There's also the work-related T-shirts, from various software companies, or blood-drive shirts.

But yeah...t-shirt introspection. A chronicle of where I've been, and where I am now.

The Degeneration of the Common Greeting

2009-10-22T19:47:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time, when cars ran on leaded gas and you didn't have to dial an area code in order to call someone a few towns over, people greeted each other with a completely coherent phrase. Usually this was a "good morning", or a "good day", or, if later on, a "good evening". Men, who wore hats during this era (sorry, Safety Dance fans), would tip their hats. Granted, not every person did this every time, but it was pretty much the societal norm.

As time went on, the greetings changed and evolved (devolved?) as society became a little looser, a bit more casual. People started incorporating the phrase "How are you!" as their standard greeting (as well as its sloppier version, "Heyhowareya!").

Next came "Howzitgoin?", a corrupted form of "How's it going?", which was an even more casual form of "How are you"? Now, the thing is, you'd think that people who are greeting you this way are doing so out of a genuine desire to know how you are. This is false. This is just a greeting. It is in no way meant to be construed as the beginning of a conversation about how you are doing, as evidenced by the following exchange:

Co-Worker #1: Hey, how's it going?
Co-Worker #2: Oh man, not so well. I didn't sleep very well last night because I've been so worried about things. My son's become a Scientologist and my daughter's run off to Las Vegas to become a showgirl, and for the life of me I don't know which is worse. Then my wife has post nasal drip, which sounds like a disgusting cereal, you know, "Buy Post Nasal Drip, part of this balanced breakfast", but of course, there is no cereal like that. And my car's making a funny noise, which means expensive repair bills. I also think I'm suffering from ED, but I don't want to take Cialis, because I really hate the idea of having to sit in a tub in the middle of a large field and, hey! COME BACK HERE!!!

No. "How's it going?" Is not a question. It's a greeting. At least it was, until it was supplanted by "Hey!"

That's right: "Hey!" In our fast-paced world, who has time to speak in full phrases, let alone sentences. You see a co-worker approaching, you smile, give a small wave and go "Hey!". And they go "Hey!" back (unless of course they're a total douche or bitch, depending on the gender at hand, in which case, to Hell with them).

So, it's now perfectly acceptable to greet people with a "Hey!". I personally have been experimenting with an even more truncated greeting. Many times, at work, when there's an oncoming fellow employee walking down the hall, I do the following, taking my cue from an aggregate of experiences from these fine folk.

A brief nod of the head. This establishes recognition.
A small upturn of one corner of my mouth, a sort of half-smile. This establishes my pleasure at seeing this person. A full smile is not needed; let's not get too emotional here.
Occasionally, I'll throw in a raised eyebrow, which further establishes my friendliness towards the target.
A grunt. Usually I mutter "vert", or "nerp", or "gurf". This fulfills the vocal requirement, and most people simply assume I'm saying "Hi", or "Hey", or something like that. After all, by the time you utter the word of greeting, they're most likely already 12 Smoots past you, but the mind automatically fills in the proper greeting, based on the simple cue of grunting.

I admit, sometimes I will give a big old "hello" to someone I see, especially if my mood is good and the person appears to be in a friendly, approachable mood.

Then there's the lounge lizard/gameshow host/Manny Ramirez greeting of pointing at someone with both index fingers, a big grin on your face, and clearly a jazzed expression of "Heeeeyyyy, howzitgoin?", without actually uttering those words. This can be tricky to pull off. Personally, it's occurred to me that I do it in only two instances: if I run into someone I really like, or if I run into someone I really can't stand. The former requires no explanation. The latter? I think it's because I know that if I give out an over-the-top greeting like that, it will override my more knee-jerk urge to say something like "Shut up, run out into traffic and DIE!".

So there you have it. The common American greeting, from "Good day" to "gurf".

HANDY WORKPLACE TIP OF THE DAY: This is a valuable piece of advice if you wear some form of employee ID on your belt. If you go into a bathroom stall to do your business and you're wearing such a tag, make sure to turn it over so that no one can ascertain your identity. That way, if you're in there making hideous bowel noises that are reminscent of the cries of a wounded dirigible defending its young, or creating a stench so bad that it causes everyone in the bathroom to undergo a past life regression to the time they suffered a mustard gas attack during World War One, no one will know who you are, and you can unleash the Fifth Horseman in complete anonymity.

It's The End of the Sox 2009 Season As We Know It (And I Feel Pissed)

2009-10-11T23:11:00.000-04:00

I write this with the full knowledge that there are countless fans of other baseball teams that would kill just to have their team make it to the post-season once, let alone six times out of the past seven years. I do realize that we in Boston are especially blessed with an outstanding, talented team that's run by an excellent manager, and owned and operated by a smart group of men who are dedicated to putting the best team on the field that they can.

That being said...

WHAT.
THE.
FUCK!

The 2009 ALDS showdown between our beloved Red Sox and the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim California Jinglehiemer-Schmidt has ended not with a bang but a whimper, as the Halos finally stepped out from under the oppressive post-season dominant thumb of the Olde Town Team, and swept us in very convincing fashion.

Face it...the Angels earned that. They deserved it. Hats off to them.

But the Red Sox? Oh, where oh where to begin...

Submitted for your approval...one Jonathan Papelbon. He of the "no earned run in 20+ innings of playoff ball". That's the one. The one who wants to angle for a bigger paycheck when negotiating time comes round. Yeah, let us know how THAT works out for you, Paps!

Now, I'm not tossing out all the greatness of Paps in past games, but like a lot of other things in life, baseball's all about "Yeah that was nice what you did in the past, but what have you done for me lately?". And lately, Paps, you fucked up BIG time...blowing a 2-run lead and pretty much losing this game, this series, and all our playoff hopes, in one steaming turd of a half-inning.

Yeah good luck with that trying to hold out for a bigger payday. Enjoy NASCAR, you hillbilly. Buy yourself a few Hot Pockets while you're at it.

But you know what? This game wouldn't have been so do-or-die if OUR FUCKING OFFENSE SHOWED UP IN GAMES 1 AND 2!!!!! In Games 1 and 2, our offense managed ONE RUN. ONE. This group of talented hitters scored ONE. DAMNED. RUN.

You know what? We didn't deserve to advance. Really. We didn't. Hideous is as good a word as any for how they played. "Shit" is another good word.

So, to the Angels, I say "Well played. Hats off. You did good. Now please, please, please, kick the Yankees' asses in the ALCS."

And speaking of the Yankees...

In a development that surprised no one, including people who don't follow baseball, the Yankees simply glared at the Minnesota Twins in a menacing fashion and the Twins pretty much just crapped their pants and died, resulting in a sweep. Beating the Twins was no accomplishment that either the Yankees or their fans should take even the slightest iota of pride in. The Twins had no business winning the AL Central in the first place. In fact, the Twins didn't so much win the AL Central as the Tigers lost it.

This is why the Angels must win. The Angels must win so that we Sox fans don't find ourselves in the uncomfortable position of rooting for Manny to beat the Yankees (although wouldn't it be sweet if the Dodgers played the Yankees, and JOE TORRE wound up beating his old team? The answer is, "Why yes...yes it would"). Personally, I think it would be hilarious if the World Series ended up being an all-West Coast series. They could call it the Left Coast Series. Or the Laid-back, Mellow Series. Or the La-La Series. Or the Nobody (including most Californians) Gives a Rats-Ass Fuck Series. Fox will drop a big load in their collective pants if they have to air a Series that doesn't include either a) the Sox, b) the Yankees, or c) the defending champion Phillies.

Just so long as the Yankees don't win it all. Seriously, the last thing we need is to have the new Toilet christened with a World Series win. No one will ever hear the end of it, especially from those sycophantic, pinstripe-fellating hacks on Fox and ESPN. I don't want to see that billion-dollar boondoggle of a stadium EVER have a World Series banner from the 21st century. I want to see George Steinbrenner eventually slip off quietly into eternity without seeing another Yankee World Series win. I want to see his two sons, the Bozo Brothers, also eventually slip off this mortal coil at their appointed time, without seeing a World Series win.

A-Rod? Nope. No ring for you. Mr Leah Texiera? Nope. No ring for you either. Joba the Hutt? You should be so lucky, you brain-dead thug.

OK, let's face it....if you're reading this, you're reading the words of one seriously hacked-off Sox fan. However, I'm a Sox fan who maintains enough of a nodding acquaintance with Mister Reality to know that the Sox weren't going to win it all this year. No, the frustration, the sheer pissed-offness, is there because of the way the Sox lost. It just feels that they didn't put up that much of a fight.

I have to say, kudos to whoever it was, a columnist on boston.com, or a sportscaster, or some blogger, or a raving wino in the subway, who went on record as saying that the Sox batters couldn't hit quality pitchers. Whoever it was that said that, they were right.

There you have it. Rant over. Sure, I still believe the Red Sox totally rock, and I will eagerly be looking forward to next year (something tells me there'll be some personnel changes in the lineup). Considering the tumultuous year they had, they did pretty well, all cons thingsidered.

Go Angels

What's Roland Emmerich's Issue??

2009-09-20T10:27:00.000-04:00

Let us journey now to the year 1996, when Spice Girls roamed the Earth, everybody loved Raymond, and the Nintendo64 ruled the video game world. A commercial aired during the Super Bowl showed the unforgettable image of the White House being spectacularly blown up by a humongous spaceship, eliciting two major reactions from people: "Oh, wow! That is SO cool!", and "Man, I hope Slick Willie was home at the time!"

Yes, this was the year of Independence Day, sometimes inexplicably called ID4, a movie that taught us that strippers have mad survival skills, dogs can outrun firestorms, and that Macs are compatible with alien computers. Produced and directed by Roland Emmerich, the producer, director, and co-writer of the successful Stargate two years before, ID was a big, dumb, chunk of cinematic junk food, where you disconnected your brain and just sat back and enjoyed the pretty explosions. Don't think too hard, just smile and go "cooool". Oh look, there's goes Washington DC! And there goes New York City, including a spectacular destruction of the Empire State Building that features a vantage point that doesn't exist in actual NYC! Oh, and LA gets torched too.

Fast forward two years to 1998, where lovers of good music struggled against the omnipresent wailing of Celine Dion's heart going on, and a chemically-enhanced pair of MLB players attacked Roger Maris' home run record. This year, Emmerich brought us the cinematic crapfest knwn as "Godzilla", and introduced us to the phrase "Matthew Broderick, action hero", which makes about as much sense as "Jon and Kate Gosselin, responsible, loyal, dignified parents". This particular stinkfest showed Godzilla trashing New York, which had just recovered from its alien invasion damage of two years prior. But there was good old NYC, once again pretty much smashed flat.

Two years later came The Patriot, which showed us how Mel Gibson single-handedly won the Revolutionary War for us, but New York wasn't destroyed in that one, nor was Washington DC, for that matter, though I suspect that in the latter's case, it was probably because of the minor detail that the city didn't exist at the time. To Emmerich's credit, at least he didn't depict a frothingly insane King George III piloting a gigantic hot air balloon over Philadelphia, and dropping the World's Biggest Cannonball on Independence Hall. Followed, of course by a fiery explosion.

Four years later, Emmerich set back the cause of environmentalism by several decades by inflicting us with The Day After Tomorrow, where he managed to top Independence Day's unrealistic factor by leaps and bounds. Once again, New York City takes it on the chin. Flooding! Freezing! Wolves! (wait...wolves!?!?!?). Washington DC doesn't do too well either. Oh, and LA gets messed up too. Killer tornadoes, don't you know...

We'll just skip past 10,000 BC, which many people did as well. There was no NYC or DC or even LA at the time, although there's the possibilty that several savage tribes of cavemen did in fact survive unevolved, and became known as New York Yankees fans.

Which brings us to 2009, where Beatlemania once again sweeps the nation (Ecclesiastes 1:9). Checking out the upcoming movies for the fall and winter, and you see the previews for "2012", Emmerich's latest "effort". This mega-disaster movie, based on a long dead culture's idea that 2012 will be a special date of change, contains the usual eye-popping special effects as we're bombarded with scene after scene of mega-disasters. Watch as a tidal wave roars over the freakin' Himalayas! Gasp as the USS John F Kennedy is hurled by a tsunami into the White House (man, I hate when that happens!)! Watch as not only LA but all of California dies screaming as the entire state falls into the ocean! Something happens to New York, but I'm not sure what, but on the other hand, you do get to see the faithful masses in St.Peter's Square, assembled to pray for deliverance from the disasters, get crushed by a falling St.Peter's Basilica (ha ha! That'll teach you God-praying types! Have a church dropped on you! This is the irony, folks!).

Personally speaking, it's gotten to the point with me that I see that preview and just roll my eyes, shake my head, and go "Here we go again" (more on that in a future blog, entitled "My Apocalyptic Boycott").

But it also begs the question...what's Roland Emmerich's issue? This man is continually trashing New York City and Washington DC! I don't think the man has missed a single opportunity to blow up NYC or DC, especially the White House. Oh, and sometimes LA. Is Emmerich a critic of the Federal model of national government, and is more of a states rights advocate? Does he just owe a lot of money to the IRS? And what about New York? Did he get mugged there? Did he contract some kind of STD while visiting Times Square years ago? What's the story?

One could argue that NYC and DC (and LA) are big, well-known cities, and thus can convey the impact of some mega-disaster in a way that the average movie-goer can identify with. To those people I say "Shut up. Don't be a killjoy". Besides, there are other recognizable cities out there, like London, for instance. At least Michael Bay had the good taste to show Paris getting flattened by a chunk of the killer asteroid (Fun Fact: You can see the Eiffel Tower from any point in Paris; movies and tv shows tell us so).

So, that's pretty much it. All of this to just throw out the simple question, "What's Roland Emmerich's Issue??". A slightly less obvious question is, with him destroying the Earth, where does he go from here? Can he keep raising the bar? What's next? "Roland Emmerich Destroys the Entire Universe"??

Why Little League Is Better Than Youth Soccer

2009-09-17T20:55:00.000-04:00

When Carol and I drive home from work, we take the scenic route through picturesque Hollis, avoiding highways, toll booths, and most of the annoying drivers. This town is the quintessential New England small town, with old slate tombstone cemeteries, a monument in the town square, white-steepled churches, expanses of farmland and orchards, farm stands, real rural New England stuff.

During the spring, when we drive this route to go home after work, we pass the public sports fields. There we see the Little Leaguers engaging in practicing or playing our National Pastime. This always brings a smile to my face. In the fall, we see the Youth Soccer types going through their paces. This always makes me wrinkle my nose, as if I had just trod in something moist and unpleasant.

Being an introspective twit, I wondered why I look so fondly on Little League baseball, but turn up my nose at Youth Soccer. It was more than just the fact that I've been a Little League coach or that I'm a Red Sox fan; something just hit me in such a way that I think baseball for kids is outstanding, while soccer makes me want to gag.

Now, I may not have been a soccer coach, but I've seen three out of four of my kids play it, and have attended many of their games, some practices too. Suffice to say, I got a good handle on what goes on. Let's look at a small sample size of what Youth Soccer is all about, shall we?

From what I've seen, the average kid in Youth Soccer goes out on the field, runs around for about an hour, never touches the ball, then the game is over. But everyone is told "good job!". At the end of the year, everyone gets a medal for the sheer physically taxing task of just showing up and having a pulse. There's playoffs of some sort, so yes, team skill and achievement is indeed recognized on some level.

But for the most part, as a kid, you can just suit up, go out on the field when the coach tells you, run around and flap your arms like a deranged chicken, never be contaminated by the touch of the soccer ball, and you'll be labeled a "winner".

Of course, if you're a goalie, or a really athletic and/or aggressive, you'll get more than your share of ball contact.

Now, let's look at Little League baseball.

You play a set position, and are expected to have at least some degree of skill and/or make an effort at that position. Sometimes, the ball will be hit to you. You will be expected to do something about it. Then, there will come at least one time during the game where the attention will be on you, as you and you alone stride up to the plate, and are expected to make a contribution. And everyone will see whether or not you've done so. You can't just run around the batter's box and flap your arms and cluck like a chicken (well, you can, but you'll look damned silly doing so). You will sink or swim, rise or fall, on your own merits.

Ladies and gentlemen, I humbly declare that Little League does a better job at building character and getting kids ready for what we laughingly call "the real world", than Youth Soccer does.

Youth soccer is this politically correct, self-esteem coddling, warm fuzzy-fest where kids get a medal and a standing ovation for just showing up and not voiding their bowels in their soccer pants or accidentally killing a spectator when one of their cleats flies off during a wild kick.

Little League baseball has this arrangement where everyone gets their chance to be in the spotlight, at least once, probably more. Sure, the kid may fail. But that's life. Sometimes, you fail. Sometimes, you succeed. You know, kind of like real life.

It's what you do after you fail that sets you apart from the crowd. Do you devote more time and practice and actually improve your skills? Or do you mope and quit because you're not getting showered with accolades for the simple act of having a pulse and a uniform that matches those of your teammates?

This is not to say that Youth Soccer is useless. Some kids can certainly get something good out of it. But all in all, when the final math is done, I think Little League builds more character, builds more team spirit, give more incentive for self-improvement, and still manages to be a fun pastime.

And at least Little League doesn't have annoying "baseball moms". A few psycho dads who try to relive their glory days vicariously through their sons, yes, but that's about it (and it's more than enough).

I close with an exhortation that does have something to do tangentally with the subject at hand. During my years of coaching Little League baseball, I saw many instances of a kid who'd hit the game-winning home run, or turn a fantastic play at short, or struck out the opposing team to win the game, then look expectantly over at the stands to find their parent(s), and find none there. The beaming expression of pride would falter, and I could see disappointment replacing it. And let me tell you, it would really rip me up inside. Lord only knows how much more torn up the kid was. Because I tell you, kids remember. Whether it's showing up for a youth sport, a dance recital, a scout meeting, whatever; kids remember. Even if you can't make it to every event (and with so many two-income families and a recession still going on, it surely can't always happen), even attending just some of them means so much to the kids. And it may not always be on a conscious level, but kids remember.

Vanity, Thy Name Is License Plate

2009-09-15T19:29:00.001-04:00

Call them what you will: vanity plates, initial plates, custom plates, personalized plates, but from this unscientific viewpoint, it seems that there's more of them out there than ever before. I had always heard that New Hampshire was a state of rugged individualists (as well as a state of tax free booze, motorbikers without helmets, and scary people in isolated shacks who married their cousins), and the vanity plate is a commonplace and (relatively) cheap way of flying your flag of individuality. You can't swing a dead pedestrian without hitting a car with vanity plates on the roads of New Hampshire.

The most common question, however, is "What the Hell is this person trying to say with their license plate?" Now, some plates are easy....that's because some plates are complete words. My wife, my oldest son, and myself all have vanity plates and they spell out complete words. Now, granted, the words themselves may be unfamiliar to people who don't have the right context or aren't "in the know", but even the uninitiated can point to a license plate that spells a complete word and say "That is a complete word; it's probably a proper noun, and I don't think I've ever seen it before, but that's definitely a complete word. Time for pie."

No, it's the plates that are made up of what usually ends up being a handful of consonants, clearly for space's sake, that makes some of us scratch our heads and go "What IS that?" The following are the best real-life examples we've seen. While in some cases it may be obvious as to what the owner is trying to communicate, it's fun to be obtuse.

OFFLMT: Obviously, this plate is spelling out "Offal Mountain". It is clear that the owner of this car considers it to be a first-class shitheap.

SWTTHNG: This plate reads "Sweat Hang". This driver must perspire heavily, until beads of sweat hang off the tip of his or her nose. Thanks for sharing.

SNFLWR: This person is obviously commanding people to "Sniff Lower". I can't think of any possible circumstance that this phrase can be used that will actually end well. Really.

SHTNSTR: This one's our favorite. Clearly, this is "Shit N Stir"...sort of like "Shake N Bake", but far, far more disgusting. You probably can NOT find this at your local grocery store.

Do you know any more? By all means, feel free to share in the comments.

Why Do This?

2009-09-09T00:06:00.000-04:00

Well, when creating a new blog, you have to start somewhere. Somehow, the idea of just jumping in without some sort of preamble seems awkward and wrong. I'm sure I'm not the first blogger to begin their serial ramblings with some introspective, navel-gazing piece about why they're doing it, and I know I won't be the last.

So why do it?

Well, first of all, it's easier than using the Notes function on Facebook. There. That was easy.

Secondly, I believe that bloggers, and indeed anyone who puts any degree of time and effort in their Myspace/Facebook/Whatever profiles, is operating under the impression that somehow, somewhere, some person or persons actually gives a crap about what they have to say. And I guess that includes Yours Truly. And perhaps, yes, I do have some interesting things to say. I just never know what people will find interesting or what they'll find dull. So, I'll just hurl the verbal equivalent of pasta at the wall, and see what sticks.

Thirdly, there's the whole idea of venting. As I believe I mentioned in my Livejournal, when I used to do it, blogging is the electronic equivalent of throwing open a window and shouting at the top of your lungs. Maybe it's something good; maybe it's something bad.

And just what can you expect to find here? Observations, anecdotes, venting, rantings, ramblings, weirdness, humor, weird humor, sentimental hogwash, unasked for advice, reminiscings of what life was like "back in the day", and oh yes, hobbies...stuff like roleplaying games, and baseball.

In fact, the name Obstructed View comes from a sort-of column I did for a Red Sox fan site a while back. I liked the name enough that I'm taking it with me. So don't be surprised if sometimes this space has some bizarre satirical take on the Red Sox and their opponents.

So, brace yourselves, buckle up, keep hands and feet inside the car at all times, and enjoy.

And to start us off, here's some words of wisdom that I've come to incorporate in my life's philosophies. Some of them are from other sources, some are things I've come up with on my own, as I've explored this crazy little thing called life.

"I used to complain about not having any shoes, until I met a man with no feet. Wow. That was gross. It sure made me forget about the no-shoe thing, let me tell you."

"Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes. Then when you do criticize them, they're a mile away, and hey, free shoes. Sort of solves the problem of the first saying, don't you think?"

"Give a man a fish and feed him for a day; teach a man to fish, and you'll never get him to do any chores around the house; he's too damned busy going fishing with his buddies and drinking beer. Jerk."

"A rolling stone gathers no moss, but a few of them sure have gathered a buttload of wrinkles. Holy crap, have you seen Keith Richards lately? Talk about Night of the Living Dead!"

"If you love something, set it free; if it returns, it's yours forever; if it doesn't, hunt it down and kill it."

"Men are from Mars, women are from Venus, crap is from Uranus."

"You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, but why the Hell would I want a bunch of flies in the first place?"

"All work and no play makes Jack want to kill his family with an axe. Redrum!"

"Remember, if a monster chases you and your friends, you don't have to run faster than the monster- you just have to run faster than at least one of your friends."

"Two roads diverged in a wood/And I took the one less traveled by/And promptly destroyed my car's suspension/Guess that's why less people took that road, huh?"