I'm Here For An Argument!

Earlier tonight I was helping my daughter with an argumentative essay for school. I was really excited about it until I realized that she needed to cite sources. Ugh! I hate citing sources. What is the fun in writing if you have to back everything up with actual statistics?

In college I took a class on writing and I remember the professor was really passionate about writing a good, argumentative essay. I turned in an assignment and he said it was really good and informative but it was not 

ARGUMENTATIVE

That always stuck with me, because at that moment, I finally realized what he had been talking about all semester. You have to argue for something. Be persuasive. It took me back to the movie/play, Biloxi Blues, where Eugene gets scolded by Arnold. He said: 

"You're a witness. You're always standing around watching what's happening, scribbling in your book what other people do. You have to get in the middle of it. You have to take sides. Make a contribution to the fight... Any fight. One you believe in. Until you do you'll never be a writer Eugene."

Okay, fine. I cited a source...

I always thought that was interesting because this experience was kind of autobiographical for Neil Simon. And he was a great playwright. Did he agree with that statement? Maybe the sentiment.

There I am standing around with my notebook scribbling what other people do. Arnold got me pretty good.

Dental Journeys

 My kids are with their cousins. They wanted to play Murder in the Dark in the daylight. I think it is like Mafia or Werewolf or Survivor. But they don't take their shirts off.

They where trying to figure out how to choose the murderer. Their initial solution was to have me choose so stupidly I just called out one of their names. And then I got scolded for being so obtuse.

I guess their next method to determine the murderer was to have our dog choose. They would close their eyes and call to him. Whoever he touched would be the murderer. So, they did this and then he touched one of them to which that child blurted out: "He touched me!"

After the laughs died down my wife suggested they draw papers out of a hat. Each of them realizing that this was the only reasonable way to do it suddenly took credit for having thought of that but didn't say anything to the group.

So, you would think this hat method would be foolproof. But somehow it still didn't work. A couple of them lost their papers?

I find this whole process fascinating. It took them 20 minutes and they never ended up playing the actual game. But they had so much fun failing.

Do you remember going to the video store with friends to try to decide on a movie? Impossible task. I remember marveling at the very idea. How could you not end up choosing the worst possible movie? Everyone has their own opinion. Everyone has seen everything already. Everyone is just there to be with everyone. 

I miss video stores. That was fun.

I used to walk home from school with my friend and argue about whether a movie was good or not. He would say that the movie was terrible but would concede that it was entertaining. For me, if it entertained, it was good. It achieved its purpose. Like for him, Top Gun. Very entertaining, but a terrible movie. While I was a bit more indifferent on the Top Gun front, I did think that Mr Mom was a good movie. It was funny, had some good laughs. But no Academy Awards there.

All those movie arguments and all I can think is: Dumb and Dumber is a good movie... 

The Toilet Whisperer

Does it bother you that everything that shuts in your home has this new, whisper-close technology? Why do we need this? Why is this so important to have doors automatically close as if the most delicate people were stepping in and living our lives for us?

First of all, kids need to experience slamming doors. They need to be able to slam doors, windows, drawers, cabinets, toilet seats, etc. Why?! Because they are kids. Why are we taking this right away from them? The whole idea of being a kid is to walk into a room and have people go: Whoa! Now this kid can really slam doors!

Second, whatever happened to being able to throw a good tantrum? How am I going to be able to make a totally ridiculous point if I cannot slam a drawer full of utensils shut?! I expect to slam it so hard that it does not even close right. That forks and knives going flying in every direction. 

Third, what is the deal with these stupid toilet seats? If I cannot set a toilet seat down without having it bounce a couple times, I don't deserve to be using a toilet seat. Send me out to the backyard if I can't handle that. 

The other problem is teaching our kids that all toilet seats slowly close. I can see them now on their first dates, using the restroom and suddenly the seat pounds down. Not a good opening. Of course, asking to use the restroom when you get to your date's house is not the best either... 

To add insult to injury, we got a faulty whispering toilet seat. It does not even go all the way down. It is like stuck in mid close. You walk in there and it is like time is standing still. I'd be afraid to look in the toilet. Who knows what is in mid-flush? The bathroom that time forgot.

Why Am I So Important In The Life of a Fly?

What is with flies? Why are they so social? Plenty of other bugs want nothing to do with us. But somehow flies just have to be involved with everything we are doing. 

Do they think they are being loyal? Are they snuggling up to me as they land on my arm? Are they whispering sweet nothings in my ear? Are they wanting to share a plethora of food items with me that they have gathered throughout the day? Why am I so important in the life of a fly? 

We have food everywhere. My kids have not thrown any of their wrappers away in the trash this year. Surely these flies can find something else besides me to bother.

It's like the taste of dead human skin cells is a delicacy that they cannot resist. "I gotta have it! I gotta have it!"

I was told many years ago by my cousin that we kill flies because they land on and eat poop. While that is a pretty good reason, I think the main one is that they just bug us. I don't know why we are so upset about it. We love dogs... And I am sure the flies wash their hands right after they are done. It's more than you can say for the dog.

Flies are pretty quick. I can tell when I go to swat them that they are totally one step ahead of me. Or three steps ahead of me. I never had a chance. Their senses are so keen. Like Fly Sense instead of Spidey Sense. 

But we hate flies. No other bug has a swatter named after it. Bee swatter. Nope. Spider swatter. Uh uh. Fly swatter. We have a special place in our home for it. Who invented the fly swatter? That person should have a statue.

Oh and that feeling of their little feet on our skin. It is so unsettling. It gives me anxiety just thinking about it. Then they buzz by my ear. Sit there and try to relax thinking of that idea.

The fly is really quite an amazing creature. It seems like they were created just to completely throw us off. I am sitting here typing on my computer and a fly decides she wants to start an argument. And I start flailing my arms and going bonkers. I know she is laughing. Pointing her little fly fingers at me. You know. The fingers she just washed after landing in the poop in the yard. 

 

Job Interview Question #48 - What's Your Biggest Weakness?

Job Interview Question #48 - What's your biggest weakness?

Hmmm. Now let me think. My biggest weakness.

Well, I really want this job, but I have to answer truthfully. Where do I start? 

Should I go with "staying up all night watching The Bachelor?"

How about "No follow through? I don't finish anything."

Or "I am a terrible procrastinator."

"I forget people's names. I've already forgotten yours. In fact, what company is this? Is this the one with the questionable business model?"

"I don't test my code. I just throw it out there and hope it doesn't break."

"I care more about the company I am working for than I do about my family."

"I don't have good hygiene. In fact, I can't remember the last time I showered."

"I'm a really loud chewer."

"I have A. D. H. D. I haven't finished a task in three years."

"I'm a really bad listener. If it's not about me, forget it."

"I don't really know how to code. I just blame everyone else all the time for my inadequacies."

"I'm never at my desk."

"I love meetings. If I could be in meetings all day acting like I know what I am talking about, I much prefer that to doing real work."

"I make really poor decisions. And I like them to be fast. The faster the better."

In looking at what the professionals say about this question, they advise people to not actually say what their biggest weakness is. Instead the interviewee is supposed to answer with a sort of straw man that she can quickly knock out of the park with what they are doing to overcome it.

So, essentially the interviewee needs to lie and have a nice thought up story (another lie) to go along with it showing that progress is being made to overcome the biggest weakness.

Now the whole situation is getting ridiculous.

Biggest weakness. Why would they ask the question if they didn't want to know? Of course they want to know. Who wouldn't want to know? Maybe the interviewee is just dumb enough to tell them their biggest weakness. 

And of course there is a part of me that really wants to tell them my biggest weakness. What an opportunity! I don't know these people at all. I could say anything. Why not make the interview even more awkward than it already is?

"I still pee the bed."

"Sometimes I forget to wear my clothes to work."

"I eat crackers in bed."

"I tend to smile when people tell me bad news."

"I keep track of my co-workers when they swear."

"I sleep under my desk."

I am hoping that I don't get this question anytime soon.

Don't Cheat The Experience!

After an excruciatingly steep hike up a mountain, I was on my way down when the pain started to hit. I knew then that it was time to bust out the antidote and make the trip down bearable. As I reached into my backpack pocket for the ibuprofen, I had a sudden thought...

Don't cheat the experience!

So, I withdrew my hand, closed up the zipper and hobbled my way down the mountain slowly taking an extra hour. Sometimes, pain would hit. Sometimes it wouldn't, but there I was in my full, mortal glory living as I was meant to live. No shortcuts. No easy way out. My team was on the field.

I was in a boring meeting the other day and I went to reach for my phone, but I caught myself knowing that there was no way out. The meeting must be experienced in its full dullness. I must pay attention to the subject matter as it was meant to be consumed. It did not matter that the person giving the meeting had no training in pop culture references or even had the common decency to throw out a dad joke or anything. I could not cheat the experience. I had to focus and listen.

I pulled out the Rubik's Cube yesterday. For 35 years now, the solution has eluded me. Everyone I know has learned how to solve it. I am stubborn. When I was a kid, I got three sides. I was so close. I refuse to give in. I do not want to cheat the experience of learning for myself how to get all six. Some foolish pride thinking that at some point I will be smart enough on my own.

We sat down to do a puzzle today. My daughter pulled out the box to look at the picture. I quickly put it away stating that we do not look at the box. We solve puzzles by not cheating the experience. We look at the pieces and work our way there blindly.

I took my dog for a walk tonight. I let him go where he wanted. I had no control. I let him sniff and sniff. We have ended up in a part of town I have never been to. I am a little scared. He does not know how to get home. He's a puppy. But heaven forbid I should cheat the experience...

Dogs Love Cages

My favourite cruel thing I do is locking our puppy away in a cage while we go to bed at night. 

I do not enjoy this because I am cruel or I want my dog to suffer. I enjoy it because of the justification I attach to it.

Well, you know, studies show that dogs like to be in enclosed, dark places by themselves without the ability to move. It is part of their ancestry. From the ancient wolves who used to dig themselves a little cage with a lock that only some superior animal could open. They would burrow in there and would be absolutely fine if they were left there to die. They totally thrive on that.

This really seems true too, especially when I wake up in the morning to let my dog out and he does not leave my side the whole morning. He is definitely yearning for that alone time locked in a casket with no way to move, use the bathroom, or even scratch himself.

Give me a break! The dog is dying in the cage. Every time I put him in there, he fights and claws not to go in. I can hear him too: 

"Please! Please don't put me in there! I promise I will be good! I promise that I won't chew up your shoes, your books, your magazines, your pictures, your boxes of food, your food, your cups, your kids' toys, your remote control, your lotion bottle, your DVDs, your albums, your plants, your clothes, your baskets, your decorations, your cords, your roller skates. I don't have interest in any of that. In fact, my intention is to find a nice, dark place that I can lock myself into while I contemplate the meaning of life."

It is almost like we have attached this belief that our dogs are werewolves and they know they are going to turn into a hideous, killing machine as soon as the moon goes up. So they voluntarily give themselves up each night to lock and key because it is for the good of everyone. My dog is not doing that. My dog will never do that. My dog lies on top of the air conditioner vent. He does not care if anyone else in the house gets cold air.

To me, these types of things like locking my dog in his special place just seem too convenient. Why can't people just admit that they are leaving their dog in a cage because they don't want him crapping all over the house? I don't want him sleeping in my bed. I don't want him going through my checkbook. Those sound like great reasons to me. Hopefully, the dog is okay with that. If not, oh well.

But no. We have to invent reasons. We have to do studies. We have to come up with whatever rationalization we can to justify our behavior. It is scientific! 

I'm looking forward to how enlightened my dog will be as he gets back to his roots.

In The Right Place

We were visiting a family friend the other day and while he was talking to my brother-in-law, I rudely interrupted and asked him to put on some Dr John. He jumped on it right away. And he put on In The Right Place. It was blasting and beautiful. I sat there and just listened. Music that I grew up with.

Let me back up. As I looked around this house that I had not seen since I was 5 or 6 years old, I was taking it all in. Framed art was all over the walls. Some that I remember from when I was young. And Some new. Many were painted by our family friend. 

On a wall, there were vinyl albums leaning against it on the floor. Five separate rows of albums leaning there with about 25 records per row. Lots of great music in there. Jeff Beck and Bob Dylan and Linda Ronstadt and Van Morrison. They were easy to get to and visible, but sort of had that look like they could be sent out with the trash at anytime. When I was young, there would have been shelves for albums. A whole entertainment system devoted to these large presentations of music.

But times have changed. With a whole collection and more able to be on our phones, we are continually trying to minimize. I can pull up Dr John's entire repertoire. I can listen to most of his music right now. Or most anywhere. Anytime.

At some point in my youth, I got my own turntable in my room. I had started my own collection of records and I would go in my room and listen to them. When I got a brand new one like I Just Can't Stop It by The English Beat, I would listen to the whole album. Both sides. And that became the method. Listen to the songs. Learn all the songs from the band. Some were good. Some not so good. When payday came around, go get another one. But that was the experience. I had a limited amount to work from.

With Apple Music and Spotify and Amazon and other music subscriptions, the album experience is gone. Looking at the album, focusing attention on the band and the artwork and the lyrics. It used to hold our attention. With so much available, our attention moves on so quickly. 

Being able to hold a record in my hand and carefully get it on the player, making sure not to scratch it was part of a ritual that most anyone could do. However, to do it with finesse, was something to take pride in. Take the paper jacket out of the cover. Remove the album from the jacket without ripping the jacket. Don't get your fingerprints all over the album, so handle it only on the edges with two hands. Slowly place the needle in just the right spot on the outer edge of the album. Crank up the volume because now you are in the zone!

But then, there is technology and all this other stuff to do. We have places to go, people to see, inventions to create, worlds to change, ideas to be shared. How could we have time to mess with vinyl?

I don't know about others, but I like slowing down. I like the peace. Even when the music is loud...

He Ain't Heavy. He's My Bottle

The other day I was scorned because of my water bottle. The small-mouthed Nalgene just doesn't cut it anymore when it comes to the early adopters. They are busy showing us all how it is done with their new water bottle. A big, heavy weaponized water bottle. Something early man would have used to club the heads over other early man for the rights to the pond. 

I took a look at this new kind of bottle and wondered: When did marketers decide that everyone needed to carry a thermos around with them everywhere? 

Nothing wrong with a good, old-fashioned thermos. They were fantastic in my great-grandfather's lunch when he was working as a ship-wright. He could pull it out and get his hot coffee or his iced tea. But it was a thermos. It was not a status symbol. He did not have stickers on it with the name of the tool brands he used on it. He did not pull it out and show his fellow workers how down he was with the times. He was getting something to drink because it was lunchtime.

Now we have something monstrous for everyone to carry around. But each of us have our own. That's important. Our own burden. Our own proverbial bag of rocks slung on our backs. The price we must pay... for cold water. 

I thought it was a funny joke when Doc Brown had that gigantic machine which ran for a couple minutes only to create a couple of ice cubes for iced tea. 

Imagine the accessories for this thermos. You can get a nice nylon, shoulder strap for carrying it in the desert. Extra stickers so everyone can see how hip you are with brands no one has ever heard of. Facial recognition so no stranger can open your thermos. Iodine compartments, cooling compartments. This is gonna be huge.

I thought the CamelBak concept was it! We can't get anymore streamlined than that. We are essentially drinking our own sweat because the bladder compartment is so close to our body. Throw the bladder in the fridge and there ya go. Cold water as you walk around.

But uh oh. Backpacks are not cool. Plastic is not cool. Heavy blunt objects are all the rage!

It just seems like we are going backwards in our quest to save the world. If plastic is so bad for the landfills, how are we solving the problem by having plastic but going heavier with more metal? 

These things get dented too. Sure that's added character, but so are scars.

Heavier. More metal. Carry it with your hands. Not easily stored. Would not work well on the space shuttle...

Ship it!

HOA - Hardly Object Anymore

I know a guy who has a tree on his park strip which looks awful. It has grown down so low that no one can park in front of his house. When someone asked him about it, he said that is the very reason he will not cut it. He does not want anyone parking in front of his house. Now, many would say that this is ridiculous. Some would challenge him by saying he has to cut it down. Some might even try to cut it in the middle of the night. Others would wish his neighborhood had an HOA (Home Owners Assocation) to take care of matters such as this.

An HOA! 

Really?! 

I cannot understand how people in the United States of America could agree to having HOAs. What is wrong with us? How could we let this happen in a country where we value individual freedom so much? Do people just need to have that kind of structure running their lives?! Somebody coming to their door to tack on notices that they: 

• have to cut their lawn a certain way? 
• have their Christmas lights a certain way? (Excuse me, Holiday lights. The HOA wouldn't approve of them using Christ in our naming.) 
• not park cars on the street. 
• have a functional garage door. 
• water their lawn. 
• not have lemonade stands! 
• not do fireworks after 2am! 
• not pee in my own backyard.

With this friend, I am glad he has the freedom to leave his tree like that. For no other reason than that he wants to do it. No committee is coming along to insist that he change. No outrage from people who have nothing better to do than come up with ways to nitpick each other. I love freedom. This is what it is all about.

The unyielding HOA scares me. When did we become so sheeplike that we would not only be willing to give up our freedom, but also pay for it? We are paying quite a lot of money for others to keep us in line. The government is bad enough...

I guess conforming is kind of a natural human tendency. We do it so that we can fit in. We want others to think like us and be like us. 

I have seen people actually excited about being in a house which is regulated by an HOA. They get all these benefits from it like: 

• Cable TV
• Internet
• Snow removal
• Lawn mowing
• Tree trimming
• Clubhouse
• Pool

I guess a community pool where everyone gets to cool off might almost be worth it. I get that those things have to be paid for, so I can understand a Clubhouse/Pool Fee. But when they start going after my own house and my own individuality, forget it!

.

Their argument is that our property values go up. I think it is interesting that the word value just showed up, because if an HOA is something you value, you have clearly lost your values. Your individual values. But how much property value is it if the value of your soul has been lost? 

I think a neighborhood would do well to advertise that they are Non HOA..

I really hope that this is something that starts to go away in the near future. These entities just want control. Any way that they can just put their thumb on someone else. It is just a local thing, but it is systemic. These are the things that creep in. And I live in a state that professes to believe so much in the country's freedom, the Constitution, and the founding. When it comes to HOAs, do they say: "Well, I don't want that much freedom!"?

I want a guy to be able to build a baseball field in the middle of his cornfield and have everyone go completely nuts about it, but not be able to do one thing about it. 

Now, I just need a cornfield.

The Unthinkable

There are some things you just don't do. You don't put toilet paper on the roll with the squares coming out the bottom. You don't take the last piece of gum when others are in the car. Most importantly, you don't pull through at Costco. Other stores, you can get away with pulling through. Not at Costco. There is an expectation. There are rules. 

Tonight, I decided to go to Costco to get some milk. Just milk. As I meandered through the parking lot in the car, I started to pull into a spot and suddenly saw the opportunity. The guy on the other side was backing out. He was going slow, so I thought maybe he was just taking awhile to park. 

But no! There was my opportunity! I jumped on it. I pulled through...

As I did so, suddenly chaos started to rear its ugly head. There was an SUV lined up to go in to the pulled through spot and I greedily took it away from him. Repenting of my mistake, I quickly tried to back into the spot I was originally going into, but another car was already there. I turned around and saw the SUV driver. I tried to say I was sorry, but he sped off two spaces down.

"Just breathe. It's okay," I tried to tell myself. It will be fine. I'll get the milk and then I will leave and hope that the space/time continuum that I disrupted will not be too far out of whack. Thoughts of finding another spot and parking correctly raced through my head as I quickly walked inside Costco. No. I can handle this.

I got my items. Milk and Apple Sauce. Costco wins this round.

When I arrived back at my car with my shopping cart, I was reminded of my huge mistake. What have I done?! How am I going to park the cart and easily put the items in my trunk? I was frantic. I thought I could put the items in the front seat but it wouldn't work. I would have to reach too far to get them when I got home. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

I was going to have to do two trips. This was a nightmare! I parked the cart hoping it would not roll away. I tried to keylessly open the trunk. It wouldn't budge! I had to open it manually! Oh no! Three trips! And then I would have to put the cart in the cart stall.

The cart stall was bad too. The guy who does the carts was there arranging them in his way. Here I am with another cart messing up his whole mojo. I pushed it over to him as he looked annoyed. Actually, he wasn't annoyed. He was friendly as all Costco employees are. But I knew. He was secretly angry because he saw that I was parked incorrectly. At Costco.

I got back to the car and pulled away hoping that the vortex would allow me back in...

Tis the Season To Be... Pestered

It is the most wonderful time of year. Every day our mailbox is full. Long ago, forgotten people are reaching out to me on the phone. Emails are coming my way. The radio is just full of those wonderful jingles.

Yes, it's election time.

People are all worked up. Celebrities are everywhere. I'm supposed to vote. I'm supposed to care. There are people counting on me. They are counting on my attitude. On my belief. On my core. On my money. They need me. I can hear them calling like Sauron for the ring. "I seeeeee you!"

I can no longer sit and listen. It is time to act. It is time to vote.

And I will cast my vote for...

I can't help it. I really don't care. When I look at any politician, the whole idea just sickens me. Can't we just vote for a robot or some composite being? Or even a rock? A good rock could be steady. A rock is never going to let me down. Of course, it is not going to get me up either...

A politician is supposed to answer to their people. This person who represents us. This person goes and spends our money in the way we choose for them. How could I ever trust anyone who is pulled in so many different directions?

Alfred E. Neuman for President. It makes that much sense.

This person aligns closely with my ideals. I like the way Mr Neuman votes on all the issues except he does not care much for the Swamp Thing. If only he cared more for the Swamp Thing. And when I shake Alfred's hand, he looks me in the eye and says that he will take care of the Swamp Thing.

So then we vote in Fred Flintstone and he gets up there and starts to do the congressional or gubernatorial thing. I am sure some people are fascinated by the way politics works, but these people are human. They are going to go to Washington and be influenced by the people there. My influence does not matter anymore, because now Fred sees new people that he has to deal with. Barney Rubble's concerns are now taken over by Senator Spacely.

It's like a referee at a game. I am going to be fair. I see only what the fouls are. Nothing else. The crowd does not influence me at all. I have integrity. I-I-I (blow whistle for the charge) I'm not sure if that was a foul or not. It looked like a foul. Something had to be called. There was a lot of contact. That one may not have been a foul either. Oh well. I'm supposed to make calls. I cannot swallow my whistle. These people hate me.

I guess it just takes a certain type of person. Unfortunately, I don't like those types of people.

Can you honestly say you would feel comfortable shaking hands with any politician? She looked me right in the eye and I knew she was for real.

And I am sure that when all the fuss is over, they are fairly normal people. They have barbeques and watch Netflix just like anyone.

But even the really political people are tough to handle. The sycophants that just get worked up. They wear those styrofoam hats and they are holding those signs up until all hours of the night. It's not human. They are in a frenzy when it comes to their hot button issues. They should have robots gathering up people's votes. 

And I just sit back and think: Yeah. I guess that is a good idea. I was taught something else, but I suppose that could work. I guess I like the ideas. The ideas seem to be much better than the people. Unfortunately, we can't elect ideas. We elect people and watch them screw up the ideas.

Free Food

What is it about free food? I am nearing fifty years old and yet I still get tremendously excited at the prospect of free food. I sort of count down to it. I look on my calendar and like a child waiting for Christmas, I just cannot wait.

I know how to make my own food. I even know how to make it taste good. And I am able to make multiple things at once. I mean I think it tastes good. 

Of course, when contemplating free food that is bad for me, there is a lot of bargaining going on. Take pizza for instance. There I am meticulously removing the toppings from the cheese. I spend more effort doing that than I would just making my own sandwich. What is wrong with me? 

It's free food. I need to make the best of it. That is what I am telling myself.

Is it because I am lazy? I am, but I don't know if that is it.

I think there is something very pleasant about not having to be involved in the process. Having to decide what to eat can be so burdensome. Can someone else just decide everything for me? Can I just show up and eat? I can arrive without much effort. I can wait in line for a bit, which still sucks, but at least the decisions have all been made for me. And then I do not have to pay for it. All I have to do is smile, say thank you and shovel food into my mouth.

I guess there is something else to it. If the free food is basic hot dogs or McDonald's hamburgers, I suppose I do have to draw the line. I am still human after all. That kind of free food is a bit below the standard. Kind of like a dog waiting at the table for his owner to throw him some scraps.

It's not all free food then. It's more like free food from people who are really good at making food choices. Someone who has made it their job to provide the best possible meal to me and some other possible recipients. I guess we are still talking about Mom...

Oh, I Know Go. Boy, I Know Go!

Recently, I was speaking to a couple millennials and they did not know who Oingo Boingo was. This is perfectly understandable as Oingo Boingo were kind of a Southern California band. They did not really have a huge following outside of there and that seemed to be mainly because when they toured, they didn't go worldwide. They kept it pretty local. I remember they would do a Halloween show in Hollywood or somewhere and that was pretty much it.

But they did have a following. And it seemed that most everyone I knew were familiar with them and really enjoyed their sound. It consisted of a sort of artistic, new wave style with a horn section, keyboards, guitar, drums. Lots of instruments and a lead singer whose last name was Elfman. He had red hair, very white skin and seemed kind of elf-like.

The cool thing about OIngo Boingo was that they had a sort of edginess to them. They were mocking the establishment, but not in a typical liberal way. "There's nothing wrong with capitalism. There's nothing wrong with the free enterprise." And "Hey there, Johnny Boy. I hope you fry!" But then they did mock the military too with "Tiny soldiers with tiny brains. Little bullets flowing in their veins." 

What Oingo Boingo did for me in high school was help me make the transition from pop music to something else. They were a great something else type band. I could get into them without feeling like my parents were going to be worried I was listening to the wrong kind of music. (My Dad actually owned Only a Lad a few years before I knew who they were.) 

But as I listened to them, I started to feel like this could definitely qualify as the wrong kind of music. "This is my private life. Come and get me out of here." "Wild sex in the working class." "The girls look really cute. They really make it work. They think I'm just a jerk." Of course, I was still pretty young to even know what they were talking about, but what I did know was that it was cool. It wasn't mainstream. It was artistic. It was fun. And you could probably mosh to it.

So now, fast forward to today. How do I introduce Oingo Boingo to a crowd that is not searching for this kind of rebelliousness? All that can stand is the music. The argument and artistic expression is somewhat minimal. They didn't have a ton of videos. But honestly, that was all I had as well. I just bought the albums and listened to the songs over and over again. And if that doesn't hold up now, I guess nothing will.

Start out with Only a Lad. Then, move on to Nothing to Fear. Good For Your Soul and Dead Man's Party. Subsequent albums were good too, but different. These main four are the core for me.

This is what I think should be done with most bands. Go back to the beginning. Go back to their earliest releases. I hated the Rolling Stones until I heard their earliest stuff. After that, I could appreciate them. "I am waiting." B-52s also. Their first 3 albums are so great. "She came from Planet Clairrrrre." "Has anybody seen a dog dyed dark green?" Red Hot Chili Peppers too. "Mommy! Where's Daddy?"  

The popular songs for a band are rarely who the band is. It takes research. And work. Sometimes I find myself just going to youtube now and getting a very superficial look and listen to a band. I know I am cheating myself. I know the right way. I was taught the right way... 

One Can Only Go Solo

We went and saw Solo. My joke was that we were going to find out that his real name was Hank Solinski. I saw it and enjoyed it. Mostly a fun movie. 

But that's just me. I saw the original Star Wars, before it was A New Hope, in 1977. I was hooked. I loved it. But I was also five. I think I loved Sesame Street, Welcome Back Kotter, and Mr Rogers. My parents could have thrown anything at me at five and I would have loved it. 

People tell me now that they hate Star Wars. I hate them. But I cannot really defend it. It was like my first car. I'll always love that. Sure it broke down on the freeway a couple times. Maximum speed was 50 mph. Gas gauge didn't work. When I started it, the starter would miss the flywheel and make this awful grinding sound, but I loved my International Scout.

Star Wars and me are like soulmates. I couldn't say no to Solo. And I definitely could not say no to Ron Howard. I knew he was going to get Clint in there. It is like the Alfred Hitchcock or Stan Lee cameos. Clint Howard is a staple.

The guy who played Solo wasn't very Han Solo-ish. Kind of looked like him, but basically, it wasn't really him. And there was no way it could be.

And that brings me to this: Why? What was the point? Were they sitting around in a room thinking about all the different possible Star Wars movies?

1. How about a story revolving around the Cantina? We could have it be like Cheers. And different folks come in and out. We could make it a trilogy. The Cantina Trilogy...

2. How about the prequel to the prequels? It could be the years from Anakin's birth to when he turned ten years old and Qui-Gonn and Obi Wan and Jar Jar come in and change his life forever.

3. How about a remake of A New Hope and have George Lucas lookalikes play all the characters in the movie?

Each one of these makes as much sense to me as doing the Han Solo origin story. They didn't even go that far back. It's an origin story, but we are only going to show him five years before he showed up in A New Hope. Those were very formative years though. Everything he references in the other movies happened in this span...

Why not show him as a 6 year old kid travelling around with his costumed mates picking pockets for a living? Or show him cruising around in his go-cart and after evading all the neighborhood bullies, he points to the sky and says: "Travelling through hyperspace ain't like dusting crops, boy!"

Disney is sitting there going: Alright, we've got Star Wars! Now what?! Let's just crank out as much as we can. That should work. And we don't need any new ideas. We'll just use what worked before and go with that.

But alas, I am still five years old. They got me. They could throw up Ewok adventures and Holiday Specials and Jar Jar origin stories and I am in.

Sleeping In My Clothes

There are lots of good reasons for sleeping in my clothes. Maybe I was trying to stay up all night watching tv or reading a book. Maybe I was out partying all night long. Or I could have been out helping Doc Brown with one of his time travel experiments. Perhaps I was out keeping a friend company all night. Or trying to pass a level on River Raid. Or just lost track of time. Whoa! There's time again.

But is there a really good excuse for doing it twice in one week? And sleeping in my bed in my street clothes? Under the covers even? With my belt on and socks? Not having brushed my teeth... Gross!

I was cold...

It is times like this when I feel like a failure. What am I doing wrong? How hard is it to change into pajamas and brush my teeth?

Perhaps there is a feeling inside that I am getting away with something. It is like I am ten years old and I am defying my parents. Ha ha! I got you. I went to bed without doing what I am supposed to. They would look at me with disappointment, but I would have this sort of self-satisfaction. I am sticking it to the man! Who says I have to obey the norms of society? Who was it that decided we had to sleep in comfy clothes and have fresh breath? In the morning, it's not fresh anyway.

In fact, I think I should start a new club. We could be the Clothes Sleepers. Meetings each week. We talk about how we ended up in there. What amazing circumstances led us to this feat. Post pictures on Instagram and Facebook. #ClothesSleepers.

I have to draw the line though on shoes. No shoes in bed. I do have my standards...

Holly Wouldn't

As I have grown up watching movies, it is a medium I have always loved.  But I sort of wonder how it correlates with actual life.  It is escape, but how much escape is it?  Are we escaping so much that we are losing track of fundamental existence?

I go through each day attacking goals.  I come up with goals, write them down and take days to get them done.  I have a family that brings me a lot of joy.  But I wonder why I am not having to fight off nazis.  Why don't I know anyone who is an absolute expert at something and so passionate about it that they are willing to die for it?  And what about the every day stories that always crop up?

I bring up the nazi example, because somehow movies typically end up going in that extreme direction.  National Socialism is something that happened in our world and it conveys a convenient ultimate evil.  

Movies are all about being so extreme.  It has to be that way because we don't have time to go into any philosophies.  We need something quick and dirty that most people will get right away.  Naziism.  Perfect.  It has the ultimate bad guy.  The ultimate, hate-filled philosophy.  The ultimate, recognizable symbol.  The ultimate, head in the sand approach.  The ultimate, obey orders or die.

I almost feel like it is a cop out to go that direction.  The writing team is together and they are wanting to come up with a bad guy.  They start out with something cool, but then the Hollywood types get involved.  Pretty soon, they want to simplify it.  They are all about taking out the stuff which makes people have to think.  They water it down.  They want the broader audience.

And I know.  You got two hours.  Basically, you have to decide what it is you want to really accomplish with this film.  Do you really want to spend the time with the main character as he learns how to check off his goals?  No.  We expect him to already be established.  We expect that his goals were already achieved and whatever the big, bold direction the movie is going in will be that goal.  

My current goal is getting the sprinklers adjusted and spraying in the right spot.  When I accomplish that, I am excited.  But how do you make a movie about that?  So I take this idea to Hollywood.  It's the feel good hit of the summer.  I was able to adjust my sprinklers and create green, lush grass.

So here I am in a dialogue with Hollywood:

Me: Here's my pitch.  I want to see a movie about a busy guy whose main goal is to finish things around the house.

Holly: So like a Mr Mom type movie?

Me: I guess so, but he would still have a job.  He has a family and kids.  His wife works too.  He just has a tough time getting his home projects done.

Holly: Then he is handicapped. In a wheelchair.

Me: No.  He is a normal guy who just doesn't know how to do stuff.

Holly: An illiterate city dweller, who comes to the country to farm the open land.  Like Northern Exposure.  Or Green Acres.

Me: Yeah, I guess that is kind of it.

Holly: So we'll have all these backwoods, idiot neighbors with lots of quirks that the audience laughs at.

Me: Can't the neighbors be the fairly normal ones?  It's the main character who is flawed because he has very little common sense.

Holly: Aha!  We have a character like Tom Hanks in the Money Pit where a series of prat falls and slapstick ensue in a Rube Goldberg type way throughout the house and yard.

Me: I guess so.  He does stupid things because he is learning.  But they don't all happen in a row or anything.

Holly: Well, we want to keep the audience invested in him.  If multiple things happen to him like he continually gets sprayed in the face over and over and over again, then that's comic gold.

Movie plots have to play out this way, because otherwise, why would anyone go see it?  And to me that is the unfortunate thing.  The embellishment always has to be there.  It can't just be accomplishing a goal.  The story is not about adjusting the sprinkler.  The story is all the elements which combined to try to prevent the protagonist from adjusting the sprinkler.  The nazis who moved in next door, the explosions going on across the street, the car race going on down the street, the liberal water rights group who think the water should be going to the indigenous hummingbird population.  It has to be huge because it is a movie.

The Nerf Chronicles

I was really nervous.  I had trouble sleeping the night before.  I did not really know which direction I should go.  I started feeling angst.  I wondered why they put me in charge.

My son was having his birthday party and I was in charge of the Nerf gun war.

I have been in plenty of Nerf gun wars thanks to my Uncle.  It has traditionally been a gigantic melee where everyone is running around inside my parents' house shooting Nerf darts at each other.  I think my sister was the youngest at age 25 when this started.  My uncles, aunts and parents have all been involved in these wars.  It was not uncommon for another uncle to bring a date and this was her introduction to the family.  

And this started back when the Nerf guns were relatively new.  They had the suction cup ends to them and they didn't hurt that much.  It was not uncommon to have misfires and not a lot of power.  And the darts stick to my bald head.  Now the new types hurt.

But this was something new.  I was never in charge of the family one.  With my son's party, I didn't really know how to act.  Am I a referee? Am I supposed to yell at the kids to only shoot below the belt?  Or below the knees? Avoid the face?  No headshots?  All of these questions have an instinctive no to them, but with different kids, it is hard to be sure.

I asked my son what he thought the games should be like and he had this idea about having a timer bomb that they were trying to retrieve.  Three teams of three.  One is defending the bomb.  One is trying to get to the bomb. And the other team is trying to make sure the bomb goes off?  I never quite understood what the last team was supposed to do.

After my son told me this, I was thinking that this was way too complicated for a group of kids who just want to shoot each other with Nerf guns.  But later, I found out I was wrong.

My wife advertised that we would supply Nerf darts and goggles and Nerf guns if they needed them.  She said she would just get goggles at the Dollar Store.  And I am thinking Dollar Goggles?  I was concerned about that claim.  She texted me the day before suggesting a couple different types.  I said she should just get sunglasses.  She liked that idea, so she found some nice dollar wrap around sunglasses.  All they needed now were leather jackets and thick Austrian accents.

When the party got there, I was still sort of wondering how to go about it.  We opened presents and ate cupcakes first.  Most of the kids brought Nerf guns as presents.  I was busy repairing one of our Nerf guns while the kids started playing in the playground area. When I fixed it, I decided to go in with my Nerf gun and be a target for them.  I didn't want to upstage my son.  I wanted him to have fun, but I wanted the others to as well.  Being a common target, the old guy who has it coming, was a lesson I learned years ago from my father when the Kid Attack happened at a family reunion.

That worked out for a bit, but then we decided to split up into two teams and do my son's idea. I would do the timer bomb, the timer being my cell phone and a cupcake being the bomb.  We started that, but then the kids took off utilizing the whole school instead of just the fenced off playground.  It made no sense.  And it was a windy day. Now that I think about it, I guess I hijacked it.    

I suggested we bring it in to just the fenced off playground area and we have two teams each trying to get to the cupcake.  If you get shot by a Nerf dart, you have to respawn at your base.  This seemed like a pretty good idea.  The cupcake was at the top of a jungle gym tower sort of thing and each team would go for it.  After a couple rounds of this, it became apparent that the kids were ditching their Nerf guns in order to get the cupcake, which makes sense since a Nerf gun just slows you down.  And as long as they were fast enough to avoid getting hit, they could easily get the cupcake. I am amazed at how kids can be so clever and come up with new and different ways to win.

However, I had to step in again and say that each kid has to carry their Nerf gun. Otherwise, we are getting away from the Nerf war concept. (Kind of strange that a peaceful solution was not in my best interest here...)

Another kid showed up at this time so this allowed me to step off the field and let it just be the kids.  They played a couple more rounds of Get the Cupcake Bomb before they wanted a new game.  I suggested just the melee, but they wanted some really sophisticated stuff.  They had this whole role-play concept down.  They voted to do a Zombie type thing.  And if they are hit, then, like a zombie they have to slow down.  Slow down?  Are they supposed to groan also?  If they capture someone, do they start biting their legs and arms?  They wanted to use the whole school grounds and play with these really complicated sets of rules.  

I was impressed, but they lost me.  I was out of their league.  They were ready for headshots with Rick and the gang and I am still thinking: "Wouldn't you prefer a simple game of chess?" 

All in all, I feel that it was successful. I believe that leaving kids to play on their own is probably the best way.  I still brought in my input, which I think gave some more simple and basic game play.  My goal is for it to work best for the most kids possible.

I guess what sums it up best was a lady who saw me playing with them and asked if this was my son's party.  I said it was and she said: "Bless you." I probably gave her a funny look.   

Ringers and Ward Ball Don't Mix

I played Ward Ball tonight.  I wasn't going to, but I really needed to get some exercise.  I figured if nothing else, I could run up and down the court along the side and act like I have never played the game before in my life.  Sadly, that wasn't too far off from what actually happened.

Now Ward Ball is done by neighborhood.  Whoever is in your neighborhood is who you get.  The only exception to this is if you bring a friend who is unaffiliated with any other Ward Ball teams.  Bringing in a Ringer can be really nice, but things can get pretty ugly pretty fast with someone with real skill.

Why is that?

To understand that, I need to delve back into a little history.  This is the kind of history which is studied in Cultural Anthropology.  Each man was once a boy and boys tend to have big dreams.  Believe it or not, those dreams never really go away.  This dream, among the hundred, is to be a major basketball star.  

Looking at the NBA today, the smallest guys on the team make up the largest guys on the team in Ward Ball.  This does not stop these "big men" from thinking that they really are 7 foot tall and can play at an extremely high level.  They think this...

The dream continues to be there, but life happens too.  Fast forward a few years and now you have a lot of pent up rage.  Family life, job stress, no exercise, eating too much.  All of this is bottled up inside the Ward Ball player.  He steps on the court and suddenly becomes a completely different human being.  It's time to re-live the glory days.  Only problem is, there are 9 other guys out there thinking the exact same thing.

Conflict is inevitable.

But generally speaking, most of the guys handle it pretty well.  There are the hotheads.  The team keeps an eye on them.  There are the elbow-throwers, cheap shots, dirty players, and it's weird because these guys are supposed to be these great, spiritual examples for others to emulate.  But Ward Ball just switches them on like they are sleeper cells.

When bringing a friend to play, it can be very enjoyable.  The competition is good enough to keep it fun and interesting.  However, when the friend is a Ringer, that is a problem.  There is a certain betrayal.  We have these neighborhoods with a bunch of short players.  Everyone knows each other from every other year.  Suddenly, someone brings in this 6'6" guy who is 280 lbs of complete muscle and can dunk it and is used to playing with the pros.

It's kind of like having a group of friends and you all end up marrying the girls from the town.  But then there is one guy in the group who has to go score a model from LA and it changes the dynamic.  What's that all about?  

It gets ugly when the Ringer shows up and all those guys with big dreams are now standing front and center with him.  They start hacking him, hitting hard, fouling.  He starts hacking back.  Pretty soon, fists are flying, people are yelling, cussing, spitting, red faces.  Should have stayed home and watched all that on The Bachelor.

There probably should be rules against Ringers.  But I suppose Ringers are people too.

Keys: Check! Wallet: Check! Utility Belt: Uhhhhh...

The other day I was at a restaurant standing in line waiting to order.  It seems as though all the new style restaurants have people standing in line.  What?  Are we in Russia waiting to get toilet paper?  I know.  I know.  Russia is not like that anymore.  

While in these lines, I get a lot of time to think and people watch.  Granted, it is the same people over and over as the line zig zags its way toward the food.  So, unless the people are dressed in crossword puzzle attire, the people watching gets old pretty quick.

But something at this restaurant caught my eye.  Policemen were in line.  They did not have their guns drawn and they were not yelling for people to get down.  They were not flashing their badges in order to cut their way to the front.  They were just cops protecting and being served. Ha!

But then, there it was!  The Utility Belt.    

Whoa!  These guys walk around all day doing their job with Utility Belts on.  Suddenly, in my mind, I am wondering: Why don't I have a Utility Belt on?  I never have a Utility Belt on.  I don't have a Utility Belt at work.  I don't have a Utility Belt at play.  I don't sleep with a Utility Belt on.

And then depression started setting in.  What have I been doing with my life?  Here is my opportunity to be as Batman-ish as possible and I am wasting it by using what?  POCKETS????!!!

And it is not just Batman.  In Star Wars, Luke and Han dressed in the stormtrooper disguises and after the trash compactor, they kept the Utility Belts on.  They knew there would be some value with these fashionable white Utility Belts.

Looking at a cop's Utility Belt, he has everything!  A gun, a flashlight, a tazer, another gun, mace, something else that looks like a gun, handcuffs, a radio, a night stick, a baton, chewing gum, a knife, rope, a crescent wrench, a lighter, a spatula, a tire iron, and of course a light saber.

I wonder if there are special cop stores where they can go to pick up all these great accessories to go on their Utility Belts.  And looking at the Belt itself, those things look like they need somewhere nice to hang after a long day on the beat.  They couldn't just hang from a hook on the wall.  They would have to have special cop mannequins to hold the Utility Belt in place.

Now I am trying to think of how I can utilize a Utility Belt in my everyday life without looking like a freak.  There have been a few attempts throughout the years to get them on people.  Runners have belts which store water bottles and other items.  The problem there is they start resembling more of a fanny pack.  And a Utility Belt is not a fanny pack.  Can you imagine Batman stopping for a second while he digs around in this gigantic sack attached to his hip looking for a Bat poison dart?  We have just destroyed Batman with that image.

The attempt to attach the cell phone to a belt is a good start, but it does not go far enough.  How does that person start their day thinking that the only thing they need to attach to their belt is their phone?  How can this guy come to the rescue if all he is going to do is call someone?  At least if he showed up with a Swiss Army Knife attached to the other side he might look like he could help...