Bill
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Funny, or Not
So I was texting a friend of mine the other day. He happens to be a guy. It was a football text. Typical guy stuff.
My wife gave me the weirdest look, about texting a a guy.
I said, "Relax. Just because I'm texting a guy, it doesn't make me a homotextual."
She was not amused.
I crack myself up. That's what matter. I guess.
My wife gave me the weirdest look, about texting a a guy.
I said, "Relax. Just because I'm texting a guy, it doesn't make me a homotextual."
She was not amused.
I crack myself up. That's what matter. I guess.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
House Money
Gentle readers, trying something new here. Audio Blog.....
Here it goes. Let me know if it doesn't work.
Peace.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
I Hate When I Give Myself Time To Think
Following a passion answering a "call" versus arrogant self-indulgence and the unwillingness to face facts. I can't find the adjectives to properly color how fine a line that is.
One foot on the dock of everything you know. The other on a boat pulling away fast, full of people that couldn't care less whether you're on it or not.
Stay. Go. Swim.
One foot on the dock of everything you know. The other on a boat pulling away fast, full of people that couldn't care less whether you're on it or not.
Stay. Go. Swim.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Travel Tip #246
Travel tip #246: Never let Chris book your room in Nashville.
Woke up to a lobby blocked off by police tape crawling with CSI types. 3 bad guys tried to hold up the front desk. Not sure why, but there was either and off duty or undercover cop in the hotel who shot all three.
Yes, shots were fired. Brentwood is now New Jack City apparently.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
ESPN
Tony Kornheiser said something catty about Hannah Storm and now he has to pay by sitting out a two week suspension from his ESPN show, Pardon The Interruption.
For a country that placed free speech first on the bill of rights, we sure seem to be a prickly bunch when someone does pipes up with something.
On his radio show, Tony said the top Hannah was wearing looked like a sausage casing. All Hannah had to do was make a statement like "Tony, you ole silly, you switched up your Viagra and Paxil pills again." Game over. Everyone laughs.
No. ESPN took a comment made on a local radio program, with a limited audience only, and made it into a national event by airing the suspension during one of it's Sports Centers.
Tony was right. Folks, to me, from time to time, it looks like someone has been cutting arm holes out of her brother's dress socks and Hannah has found a way to shimmy into them.
Can we all please just stop being so sensitive. Give me a break.
For a country that placed free speech first on the bill of rights, we sure seem to be a prickly bunch when someone does pipes up with something.
On his radio show, Tony said the top Hannah was wearing looked like a sausage casing. All Hannah had to do was make a statement like "Tony, you ole silly, you switched up your Viagra and Paxil pills again." Game over. Everyone laughs.
No. ESPN took a comment made on a local radio program, with a limited audience only, and made it into a national event by airing the suspension during one of it's Sports Centers.
Tony was right. Folks, to me, from time to time, it looks like someone has been cutting arm holes out of her brother's dress socks and Hannah has found a way to shimmy into them.
Can we all please just stop being so sensitive. Give me a break.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Open Letter to Nigeria
To the Regal and Generous Kingdom of Nigeria,
I must sheepishly admit that the abundance of your countries riches were unknown to me, that is until I began receiving daily solicitations inviting me to partake in your nation's largess.
Every day thousands of normal citizens, like me, have their in-boxes flooded with once in a lifetime opportunities from your country. By simply following a few short steps, usually involving name, social security number, and bank account information, vast sums of cash can be ours for the taking.
In no geography or economics class taken was there data presented indicating that Nigeria sits atop an inexhaustible supply of money. I fault our educational system. The amazing thing in all of this is if you were able to somehow sum up all the offers received in a given day, the cash prizes we lucky few stand to gain would total 5,467% of your annual GDP, approximately.
To the extent that your financial resources are unlimited, your charity is boundless as well. Clearly, if we're to believe that you indeed possess such wealth, you must have found a place in your government for all of the out-of-work or paroled accountants and financial officers from Enron, Worldcom, Tyco, AIG, Goldman Sachs, and Countrywide Mortgage. For that, we thank you. No unscrupulous corporate raider should be without books to cook and treasuries to bankrupt.
Your country's wealth lies not just in money and charity. Apparently, Nigeria is literally teeming with royalty or near royalty. Every correspondence is tendered sincerely from a King, Queen, or Tribal Chief. Your country should immediately beseech the UN security council for the opportunity to address the world's nations on how to peacefully co-exist with so many heads of state present in one small, small geographic area.
The embarrassment of riches does not end there. Clearly your royal and most wealthy countrymen are all gifted with quite a turn of phrase. Just yesterday I received an inquiry from one of the multitudes of Royalty with "Kindly and Generous Most High Person of Interest" as the salutation. Several weeks ago, an inquiry received from an eager tribal chief read "Your humble regards to urgency is appreciated utmost" and "to the heart of worlds and love is all unkept in Godly fashion." Just let me state, for the record, that if Keats or Wordsworth were alive today, they would openly weep at beauty and passion and artistry displayed in your electronic communication.
Untold riches, charitable, regal, and creatively literate, you Nigeria are a nation of note and due admiration. Please allow me to speak for the entire country of the United States, weary of computer viruses and tired of hitting the delete key, when I humbly beg you to redirect your kindness to a country more worthy of your resources, reign of nobility, and place among the champions of prose, poetry, and literary works of art.
Shall we say....Albania. Maybe Kazakhstan. Possibly Peru.
Thank you for your kindly and unseen fortitude in homes and hearts a flame with tomorrows decisions in the man made hollows and perpitude.
Bill
I must sheepishly admit that the abundance of your countries riches were unknown to me, that is until I began receiving daily solicitations inviting me to partake in your nation's largess.
Every day thousands of normal citizens, like me, have their in-boxes flooded with once in a lifetime opportunities from your country. By simply following a few short steps, usually involving name, social security number, and bank account information, vast sums of cash can be ours for the taking.
In no geography or economics class taken was there data presented indicating that Nigeria sits atop an inexhaustible supply of money. I fault our educational system. The amazing thing in all of this is if you were able to somehow sum up all the offers received in a given day, the cash prizes we lucky few stand to gain would total 5,467% of your annual GDP, approximately.
To the extent that your financial resources are unlimited, your charity is boundless as well. Clearly, if we're to believe that you indeed possess such wealth, you must have found a place in your government for all of the out-of-work or paroled accountants and financial officers from Enron, Worldcom, Tyco, AIG, Goldman Sachs, and Countrywide Mortgage. For that, we thank you. No unscrupulous corporate raider should be without books to cook and treasuries to bankrupt.
Your country's wealth lies not just in money and charity. Apparently, Nigeria is literally teeming with royalty or near royalty. Every correspondence is tendered sincerely from a King, Queen, or Tribal Chief. Your country should immediately beseech the UN security council for the opportunity to address the world's nations on how to peacefully co-exist with so many heads of state present in one small, small geographic area.
The embarrassment of riches does not end there. Clearly your royal and most wealthy countrymen are all gifted with quite a turn of phrase. Just yesterday I received an inquiry from one of the multitudes of Royalty with "Kindly and Generous Most High Person of Interest" as the salutation. Several weeks ago, an inquiry received from an eager tribal chief read "Your humble regards to urgency is appreciated utmost" and "to the heart of worlds and love is all unkept in Godly fashion." Just let me state, for the record, that if Keats or Wordsworth were alive today, they would openly weep at beauty and passion and artistry displayed in your electronic communication.
Untold riches, charitable, regal, and creatively literate, you Nigeria are a nation of note and due admiration. Please allow me to speak for the entire country of the United States, weary of computer viruses and tired of hitting the delete key, when I humbly beg you to redirect your kindness to a country more worthy of your resources, reign of nobility, and place among the champions of prose, poetry, and literary works of art.
Shall we say....Albania. Maybe Kazakhstan. Possibly Peru.
Thank you for your kindly and unseen fortitude in homes and hearts a flame with tomorrows decisions in the man made hollows and perpitude.
Bill
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Then and Now
Math night at the little guy's school. Working on a problem, I reminded him to borrow the one. Record scratch, screeching halt, heads turn, everyone stops and stares.
It's called re-grouping now. Well excuse me.
No borrowing, Pluto's out as a planet, Russia is now eight thousand six hundred forty two satellite countries all starting with vowels and ending in "tan", and Budweiser's Belgian. Belgian for the love of all things Flemish.
Can there be no constants from my youth...
Still Fighting
Still Scandals
Still Creepy
...Whew. Thank goodness some things never change.
It's called re-grouping now. Well excuse me.
No borrowing, Pluto's out as a planet, Russia is now eight thousand six hundred forty two satellite countries all starting with vowels and ending in "tan", and Budweiser's Belgian. Belgian for the love of all things Flemish.
Can there be no constants from my youth...
Still Fighting
Still Scandals
Still Creepy
...Whew. Thank goodness some things never change.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Know When
Cigars are ridiculous. I'm sorry,but there is no cool associated with these stupid things. Lets face it, you look like you have a six inch turd sticking out of your mouth. Once you light it, your first impressions are confirmed. It is indeed a six inch turd. Cigar smokers are inhaling turd smoke. The rest of us, second-hand turd smoke.
Yesterday on the trek to Mizzou Arena from the parking garage, we fell in behind a trio of neer-do-wells who had obviously spent the preceding hours reliving their college years. One of them was burning a stogie. I say stogie, but judging from the 4-color litho, foil stamped band on the turd, and from the diameter of said turd, it probably set him back a fortune. So the unfortunates behind this ultra cool guy were treated to very expensive turd fumes all the way to the game.
In case my sense of smell hadn't already convinced me this guy was a complete jerk-off, with dozens of trash bins in plain view, he decided to throw his still burning turd stick onto the decorated bricks of the beautiful plaza area as we approached the entrance to the arena. And then, he just walked away. Just like he was all that.
This is the guy who makes change in the collection plate. This is the guy who has never made eye contact with any woman because he's too busy staring at their chests. This is the guy that tells you he would have been a green-beret, but decided to go to college instead. You know the type.
The type of guy who gets a day pass from his wife and decides to prove his street-cred by drinking too much and smoking dried crumbly turd lumps wrapped tightly in small, flattened turd sheets.
Know when to say when kids. It's appropriate when you're 21. It should be mandatory when you're 42. In terms of turds, not sure which was bigger; the adolescent trapped in a man's body or the Los Angeles class submarine the idiot was smoking.
Thank you. That is all.
Yesterday on the trek to Mizzou Arena from the parking garage, we fell in behind a trio of neer-do-wells who had obviously spent the preceding hours reliving their college years. One of them was burning a stogie. I say stogie, but judging from the 4-color litho, foil stamped band on the turd, and from the diameter of said turd, it probably set him back a fortune. So the unfortunates behind this ultra cool guy were treated to very expensive turd fumes all the way to the game.
In case my sense of smell hadn't already convinced me this guy was a complete jerk-off, with dozens of trash bins in plain view, he decided to throw his still burning turd stick onto the decorated bricks of the beautiful plaza area as we approached the entrance to the arena. And then, he just walked away. Just like he was all that.
This is the guy who makes change in the collection plate. This is the guy who has never made eye contact with any woman because he's too busy staring at their chests. This is the guy that tells you he would have been a green-beret, but decided to go to college instead. You know the type.
The type of guy who gets a day pass from his wife and decides to prove his street-cred by drinking too much and smoking dried crumbly turd lumps wrapped tightly in small, flattened turd sheets.
Know when to say when kids. It's appropriate when you're 21. It should be mandatory when you're 42. In terms of turds, not sure which was bigger; the adolescent trapped in a man's body or the Los Angeles class submarine the idiot was smoking.
Thank you. That is all.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Thoughts From the Crapper
3:00 am Wednesday.
More doing, less thinking.
I find myself thinking about doing more lately. Note the irony.
More doing, less thinking. Yes. That would be a good thing
If I do some thinking on this, does that count?
There is one thing I can do immediately. Pretty sure I'll start by doing less eating of what ever the hell I had for dinner last night and never thinking about it again.
Progress.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Jon Stewart
If you know me, you know how I feel about network media.
I couldn't pass sharing these two videos.
Language warning. They bleep it out, but still, you know what's being said.
Might have to copy and paste the links. Worth it, I promise. Still laughing.
http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/mon-october-12-2009/cnn-leaves-it-there
http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/wed-march-4-2009/cnbc-financial-advice
I couldn't pass sharing these two videos.
Language warning. They bleep it out, but still, you know what's being said.
Might have to copy and paste the links. Worth it, I promise. Still laughing.
http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/mon-october-12-2009/cnn-leaves-it-there
http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/wed-march-4-2009/cnbc-financial-advice
Thankful
As the year draws to a close, I thought a moment of reflection was in order.
The 2009 top ten things I'm most thankful for:
#10) Glad I didn't invite Kanye West to my son's football awards banquet.
#9) Never turned to John and Kate, Tiger Woods, and David Letterman for marital advice
#8) The words Sexting, Public Option, and Birther never entered my lexicon
#7) Jennifer Garner
#6) Refused to don a face mask or drink the swine flu cool-aide
#5) Co-writes
#4)Decided to forgo parenting advice from Octomom and the balloon-boy parents
#3) Did not get around to writing a check to Bernie Madoff
#2) Opted out of that weekend trip with Governor Sanford
#1) My family
The 2009 top ten things I'm most thankful for:
#10) Glad I didn't invite Kanye West to my son's football awards banquet.
#9) Never turned to John and Kate, Tiger Woods, and David Letterman for marital advice
#8) The words Sexting, Public Option, and Birther never entered my lexicon
#7) Jennifer Garner
#6) Refused to don a face mask or drink the swine flu cool-aide
#5) Co-writes
#4)Decided to forgo parenting advice from Octomom and the balloon-boy parents
#3) Did not get around to writing a check to Bernie Madoff
#2) Opted out of that weekend trip with Governor Sanford
#1) My family
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Oops
Driving into the parking lot, I saw an old friend from work pumping gas. She had retired a few years ago, and I don't see her much anymore.Never one to miss an opportunity to say hello, I rolled down the window and shouted, "Hey old lady, shouldn't you be at home quilting or something", an inside joke my friend would have found hilarious.
Turns out, this wasn't my old friend.
Nope. Complete stranger. She was looking me over like she was trying to decide if she needed throw down and kick my butt or run away.
Run away. That's the option I chose. I threw her a wave and offered up a "sorry, wrong person" as I drove right back out of the parking lot, never stopping. I needed gas badly, but I needed to escape her dread gaze of doom even worse.
My bad...
Monday, December 14, 2009
Ideas
"I got an idea." Four of the best words ever spoken.
Even when compared to "Jennifer Garner is here", "time for your meds", and "your giant burrito sir", it ranks among the top.
Ah, the idea.
Voiced only at the confluence of confidence and disregard, it emerges very infrequently, often times tentatively, furtively. Rare. Prized. Fragile, formed on substances that can quickly dissolve once exposed to light and oxygen vaporizing right before your eyes.
In a room, they are regarded like heirlooms, presented with reverence and care, white gloved. We desire them to be liked, even loved. Like parents, eager to show them off, yet deathly afraid of how they will be received. Giddy when selected. Hurt when rejected, certain the others just don't get it. You quickly pack it back away careful not to bruise it. After all, we're given only so many, never knowing when, or if, the next one will come. Given.
The good ones can't be cultivated. Like synthesized diamonds, they shine, but the people you care about knowing will do just that, know. More born then made, they are a currency to be traded, valuable only to a select few, worthless outside the smallest of circles.
Today I am an idea merchant, wares displayed in the store window for all to see. Dutifully, I will tend them. Browse all you want, hold them up to the light, flick the rind to check for ripeness. Buy or place them back on the shelf. It doesn't matter.
I have inventory. I feel rich. For now.
Even when compared to "Jennifer Garner is here", "time for your meds", and "your giant burrito sir", it ranks among the top.
Ah, the idea.
Voiced only at the confluence of confidence and disregard, it emerges very infrequently, often times tentatively, furtively. Rare. Prized. Fragile, formed on substances that can quickly dissolve once exposed to light and oxygen vaporizing right before your eyes.
In a room, they are regarded like heirlooms, presented with reverence and care, white gloved. We desire them to be liked, even loved. Like parents, eager to show them off, yet deathly afraid of how they will be received. Giddy when selected. Hurt when rejected, certain the others just don't get it. You quickly pack it back away careful not to bruise it. After all, we're given only so many, never knowing when, or if, the next one will come. Given.
The good ones can't be cultivated. Like synthesized diamonds, they shine, but the people you care about knowing will do just that, know. More born then made, they are a currency to be traded, valuable only to a select few, worthless outside the smallest of circles.
Today I am an idea merchant, wares displayed in the store window for all to see. Dutifully, I will tend them. Browse all you want, hold them up to the light, flick the rind to check for ripeness. Buy or place them back on the shelf. It doesn't matter.
I have inventory. I feel rich. For now.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Fa La Blah
At the risk of sounding a little Scrooge like, I must confess to a deep seated dislike of Christmas carols.I like spreading cheer as much as the next guy, but there's just something about a bunch of people on my porch singing off key in the freezing cold that gets me. I'm cold, they're cold, it's late, yet they feel compelled to sing. Not just the tunes everyone knows, but every line of every Carol, making sure to hit every verse, even the obscure ones that no one knows.
There are the mortified faces of the teenagers who never thought their parents would make good on the threat to head out and sing, who constantly swing their heads back and forth making sure their friends are nowhere near. There's the gray haired soprano that simply refuses, even for just one merciful second, to sing in unison. And there's always one dude in a top hat and scarf festooned with candy canes and tassels. Where do you even get a top hat? Seriously?
Please, all ye merry carolers, take your wasseling down the street or I'm going to get all kinds of King Winceslass on you.
When on my front lawn there arose such a clatter.
I threw open the door and said what blankety-blank is the matter?
There stood a rag tag mob grouped on my stoop
Singing at the their top of their lungs all sounding like poop
I said for the love of all things Saint Nick
Your crooning and mooing is making me quite sick
I give you a clap for your spirit and cheer
But ya'll got to get up on out of here
Here's an idea that would be really neat
Move on two houses further down the street
Once you guys are finally out of sight
I'll sigh Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good night!!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
As Seen On TV
Sit down for this, you're not going to believe it, but a TV commercial lied. Lied is harsh, I guess. Let's just say the commercial grossly overstated a product's ability to function in any way, shape, or form close to the manner in which it was demonstrated on an obviously rigged, made to look like a live action, commercial.Yes, I'm referring to the Slap Chop. I got one for my birthday a few weeks ago. Only recently have I had a chance to get it out of the cabinet and take it for a test chop.
The overly-spiked, amped up blond guy on TV pulled a Sham-Wow on everyone with this worthless hunk of junk.
I slapped fast, slapped slow, slapped hard, slapped soft, slapped half-way, slapped it til it bottomed out. The frustrating device was slapped every way imaginable.
It doesn't chop, per se, mostly mashes and then conveniently leaves the pulpy results stuck to the blades for added enjoyment. Consequently, I have christened the device the "Stick and Pry".
The Stick and Pry was/is a big disappointment. It was a gift, which means I didn't have to pay separate shipping and handling at least.
Kids, let this be a lesson to you. Not everything shilled on television works as well as the Flowby. Buyer beware. Love the Flowby. Love it.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Where Art Though
Blog, oh Blog, where have I been
My trusty social media friend
Lately, in case you couldn't tell
I haven't been blogging so well
It's not you, your programs, or format
It's not your fonts, your themes, or any of that
No, I believe the fault lies with me
A bout of blogging laziness I believe
Really, where else can I rant
Or make fun of life's miscreants (That's right. It rhymes. Give it a minute)
There's absolutely no better place to prattle
about my son, my colon, or my treadmill battles
I've given many a friend a dogging
about their noticeable lack of blogging
Sad, but I now know
It's my time to eat some Blogspot crow
So to you my blog, I apologize
And vow to make you a bigger part of my life (It's a soft rhyme. Deal with it.)
To you, my dear friends of which I've made sport
Know I too have been found guilty in the non-blogging court
I will change my ways, this indictment is all it took
To remind me there's more to life then just Facebook
So here we go kids, let's find the funny
And laugh at the nonsense until our noses are runny
Thank you, gentle readers, that is all.
My trusty social media friend
Lately, in case you couldn't tell
I haven't been blogging so well
It's not you, your programs, or format
It's not your fonts, your themes, or any of that
No, I believe the fault lies with me
A bout of blogging laziness I believe
Really, where else can I rant
Or make fun of life's miscreants (That's right. It rhymes. Give it a minute)
There's absolutely no better place to prattle
about my son, my colon, or my treadmill battles
I've given many a friend a dogging
about their noticeable lack of blogging
Sad, but I now know
It's my time to eat some Blogspot crow
So to you my blog, I apologize
And vow to make you a bigger part of my life (It's a soft rhyme. Deal with it.)
To you, my dear friends of which I've made sport
Know I too have been found guilty in the non-blogging court
I will change my ways, this indictment is all it took
To remind me there's more to life then just Facebook
So here we go kids, let's find the funny
And laugh at the nonsense until our noses are runny
Thank you, gentle readers, that is all.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Done
There it was. On my credenza. Twenty three pages worth. I stared at it for a long time tonight.
Funny. The story came to me in a flash, laid out easy. I could see it clearly.
Writing it, however, not so easy. I have notes from as far back as November 2008.
No, it's not the Magna Carta, nor is it bound to make women weep and men change religions.
Yet, I treated it as such.
Nervously, I handed the thing to my wife tonight, making her put down the book she was already reading, actually enjoying.
Twenty three pages, almost a year in the making, pouring over each edit like my life depended on it, and I got a polite "Eeh, it was...OK." when she finished.
I know there's a reason I write. I just wish I knew what the heck it was.
Funny. The story came to me in a flash, laid out easy. I could see it clearly.
Writing it, however, not so easy. I have notes from as far back as November 2008.
No, it's not the Magna Carta, nor is it bound to make women weep and men change religions.
Yet, I treated it as such.
Nervously, I handed the thing to my wife tonight, making her put down the book she was already reading, actually enjoying.
Twenty three pages, almost a year in the making, pouring over each edit like my life depended on it, and I got a polite "Eeh, it was...OK." when she finished.
I know there's a reason I write. I just wish I knew what the heck it was.
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