I hate fishing. I know that this declaration is sure to alienate a number of people, but I have to be honest, I HATE the whole "fishing" experience...I hate baiting hooks, I hate casting, I hate idly waiting for those stupid fish to bite and I'm REALLY not fond of trying to get a fish OFF of my hook on the off-chance that I catch one...Slimy and stinky aren't really my two favorite things in this world...I've done enough fishing in enough locations to now feel that I'm "experienced" enough to begin to make broad sweeping generalizations based on past "fishing experiences." With this empowering thought in mind, I reinforce my original statement with this other (similar) one: Fishing really, really sucks...

Oh, and before you "outdoorsy chumps" start muttering derogatory things about my lack of appreciation for nature and things like that, you should know that I HAVE tried it., I wasn't lying about that. In fact, in retrospect, I've "fished" many more times than I SHOULD HAVE. To make the point that more clearly, I shall outline a couple particular fishing trips in the paragraphs to come so that you may see where I'm coming from...Prepare yourself to bear witness!..

One of my earliest "fishing experiences" was when I was about 8 years old. I accompanied my dad and his friend Bert, who is a self-styled "outdoorsman." Bert does all of that hunting and camping and fishing stuff, in fact, he's pretty damn good at it...My dad CAN fish, he just chooses not to...At least I don't recall ever hearing him say "Hell of a day, let's go fishing," not that I'm complaining...Anyway, we went with Bert on a fishing trip in the mountains outside of town...I'm sure Bert's two sons were with us but, for the purposes of this story, they're inconsequential. My memory of this fishing expedition is a little sketchy, I don't necessarily remember where wen ended up...I DO remember fishing in a stream, casting a few times, eventually creating a 'birds nest' out of the reel I was using and quickly becoming disenchanted with the whole "fishing" process. I'm sure I then enjoyed a snack or two and waited around to leave...

Eventually, we DID leave, though I'm sure it wasn't soon enough for me. (Just so you know, I would NEVER have voiced my displeasure, I wouldn't have risked causing a "problem" at that age. I would've just been a "cryin' on the inside kind of clown" I guess.) So anyway, we had all gone up to this particular "Fishin' crik" in Bert's stupid old Suburban. Now, don't get me wrong...I like GMC, Heck, I drive a GMC...I just don't know what the Hell it is about Suburbans that were made in the 70s, the simple thought of riding in one gives me a damn headache. They're noisy and musty and are totally effing unpleasant. I'm convinced that the exhaust in these beasts is somehow routed through the ventilation system...Due to bad luck, I've ridden in enough of these "infernal contraptions" to know that I simply DO NOT like them. My distaste for Suburbans (and, by proxy, fishing trips) was magnified on the ride home by the fact that, due to my earlier snack ingestion and the musty, smelly, bumpy, shitty ride (and Hell, let's blame the plastic seat covers too, they were there), I threw up...Granted, I didn't puke INSIDE the Suburban, although that could only have improved it's character...I was able to give Bert "fair warning" to pull over and open the door...Either way, the regurgitation didn't make the experience any less unpleasant for me. For many years following that trip, I equated "fishing" with feeling both "uncomfortable" and "nauseous," two sensations that I do my best to avoid...After that "incident," I didn't pick up a rod and reel for another 5 or 6 years.

Much like anything else, if you haven't done something or been around something (or someone) in a while, you can kind of forget how much it sucks. Such is the case with the activity known as "fishing." When I was maybe 13 or 14 years old, I had a friend named Ryan. Ryan was a real outdoor-oriented kid, he liked to fish and he liked to hunt and he liked to catch nasty little creatures like frogs and mice...In hindsight, he was pretty much the opposite of me...Regardless of all that, we got along pretty well...Ryan, like I said earlier, was fond of fishing and had convinced me to actually go fishing with him at a lake not far from my house. This lake is now called "KB reservoir" and is off-limits to any sort of recreation. Back then, though, it was simply known as "Carp Lake," due to it's having been stocked with thousands of carp at some point in it's history. You could fish there if you wanted, it was near a park and it was relatively easy to get to. In addition to hosting a large number of carp, the lake had crappie, bluegill, the occasional crawfish, a couple old tires, a Vietnamese family that lived in the underbrush and a TERRIBLE TERRIBLE CURSE!..

Ok, I'm just kidding about the curse...Anyway, Ryan convinced me that I'd have fun, so I agreed to go. In hindsight, It's something that, if given the opportunity, wouldn't do again. I guess that, without bad experiences, hindsight is worthless, so things even out...I guess...With that in mind, it's time for me to start a new "paragraph"...

So the big fishing day arrived...Ryan and I walked down to the lake and found ourselves a spot to set up (very near the Vietnamese family). Ryan, being the grubby dirt-kid that he was, had collected some bait worms from my yard the night before...We also had a can of kernel corn that had garlic salt added to it. Ryan told me that this "Garlic Corn" was a very magical bait, and that all of the fish would bite on it. Magical or not, I figured that if I didn't have to touch any of those Goddamned worms, things would be ok...Garlic corn for me...I baited my hook with the magic kernels and attempted my first cast of the day...I don't necessarily remember, but I'm sure it didn't go far, I've never been good at those kinds of things...After a while, though, I got the hang of it...Soon enough I was even "catching" fish...

I will say that Ryan was dead on about one thing...That garlic corn was, indeed, "magic bait," Hell, it was like CRACK to the bluegill...Those little fuckers couldn't get enough of it...Like addicts jonesin' for a fix, they made their way to our hooks one right after another...By day's end, we had hauled in 47 bluegill between us. Soon enough, It was time to head for home...Somewhere between the "lake" and "home," we agreed upon an idea...We had CAUGHT all of these fish, we shouldn't let them go to waste...We should, in fact, EAT all of them too! (Brilliant!) Ryan said he could teach me how to clean the little guys, that it wasn't hard...We then figured that we could cook 'em up and have 47 little "Bluegill McNuggets" (as we called them) ALL TO OURSELVES...Never mind that the water in the lake is all nasty and smelled funny...Never mind that I had NEVER IN MY LIFE cleaned a fish...never mind that it was widely recognized that, even if you caught a fish in carp lake, you really weren't supposed to EAT it...We were gonna do it, dammit. After all, we were sportsmen. By God, sportsmen eat what they catch.

Ok, let's have a show of hands...Who, in their lifetime, has cleaned a fish? Good, good, you know what it's like...Now, who's cleaned 47 fish IN ONE SITTING? Bearing in mind that this was also my FIRSTEST TIME attempting this activity, facing a considerable pile of dead fish, even smaller dead fish, with nothing more than a knife and a friend's assurances that it's "not that hard" doesn't make the task any more pleasant. In fact, it's a lot like buying a scratch ticket in the lottery...You don't know what's underneath until you scratch off the top...In the case of the fishies, when you plunge the knife in, you don't know what might come out...Unlike the lottery (where sometimes you win), with the fish it's always bad...There's just different LEVELS of bad...During the "cleaning," the amount of fish we came upon that were pregnant was disconcerting enough, let alone the amount of fish we caught that had recently filled up their little fishy bowels. There were some, whom I will call "Elvis fish," that SURELY were suffering from colon problems. The amount of "stuff" that spewed out their (bloated) little fishy bodies SCREAMED of "impacted colon." Shaving their little sideburns was odd, too...But back to the pregnant fish...We picked the little eggs out of the other muck after it was all over and spread it on Ritz crackers...Kind of a "bluegill caviar" if you will...

Of course, I'm lying about that...

What we DID DO, though, when it was all over MAY HAVE BEEN WORSE THAN THAT...We washed the "cleaned" carcasses off and tossed them into a pan with some butter and seasoning. They were then baked at 375° until they appeared "cooked." We sat anxiously by the oven, mouths watering like starving cartoon characters, waiting to sample our day's bounty...Soon enough, we got our first taste of "Carp Lake bluegill surprise"...I munched thoughtfully on mine, as did Ryan. It didn't take long, though, for both of us to realize that what we'd placed in our mouths really wasn't fit for human consumption. I'm not sure I even managed to swallow that first bite, as it was so completely foul and vile. Ryan looked at me and said, simply "I don't really like this." I echoed the same sentiment and asked him if he thought we should just scrap the whole idea. Ryan agreed that ditching the rest of the fish was the best plan, so that's exactly what we did. Those 47 little bluegill met their demise, BUT THEY DID NOT DIE IN VAIN. No, Ryan and I learned a very valuable lesson that day...

Well, actually Ryan just learned not to eat fish from Carp Lake...I guess I learned that too, but I received an even MORE useful chunk of wisdom that fateful evening...One that, perhaps I had forgotten as I had gotten a little older. One that I'd surely not forget again...That bit of knowledge?..

"Fishing sucks." Tell your friends.

Labels: indignities, lame stories, me roots

Collin's kickin' it "old school" with the latest Story Contest at his "Forum O' Fun"...No matter who you is (remember: doctor and the lawyer and the indian chief NOT ONLY all dig "that crazy beat," they all also say "don't hate, participate." They SURELY meant participate IN THE STORY CONTEST!) you need to go and join in. I'll be joining in. You should too. Thank you.

Labels: collin crap, Stupid Contests

Ok, so I'm like REAL busy today and haven't had any time to come up with actual content. Lucky for me, at times like these, I have the ability to "dip into the well" of (crappy) drawings that I produced when I was younger...In particular, today I'm going to share with you all more of the Little Known Spirits, which, if you saw the first installment, you know are little characters that I drew when I was (roughly) 14 years old. Keep in mind that I am no longer 14, not by a long shot. As such, I COULD apologize for the simple (crappy) drawing style and the lack of penmanship inherent in the following illustrations, but...What's the point? I was a kid, you heartless bastard! Cut me some slack! (sob, cry)...

Anyway, here come them spirits!..

this little guy goes great with my entry from yesterday. Yes, kids, even when you've hit ROCK EFFING BOTTOM, you've got a Little-Known Spirit on your side. Or maybe not, at least not in my town...We don't have a whole lot of bridge people anymore since the city passed that ordinance...


I'm now a little concerned as to why I'd draw something like Vito. It's probably because I had heard the term "punk" and/or "pigsticker" used together in a movie and thought that the combination was "catchy." I realize NOW, though, that the term "pigsticker" referring to a "knife" MIGHT BE some sort of reference that "cops" wouldn't be too fond of, so...I'm sorry, I was 14...You are cordially invited to travel back in time and hate me then...


Ahh, yes. Who HASN'T been frustrated by the game of "golf" at one time or another? The ironic thing is, at this point in my young life, I had never even PLAYED tennis...I imagine that this little spirit is named "Bob" in honor of R.W. (Bob) Eaks, who is a professional golfer that my father once caddied for. Poor R-dub is the poster boy for "close but not quite." That, however, is another story for another time...


Ah, HA, this is part of a SERIES! Ah ha ha ha! The only problem I have with this one is that I REALLY DOUBT that I'd ever be frustrated while playing tennis to the point of wanting to chunk the whole thing and go golfing. As bad as I am at tennis, I'm ten times worse at golf...(Hint: I'm not real good at tennis)


And so, we come to the logical end of this "series within a series" of doodles...Ralph has decided to give up nerve-racking sports like Golf and/or Tennis for a pastime that is NOT ONLY inexpensive and efficient, but doesn't last long enough for any shame and humiliation you may feel to matter...Good for you, Ralph...You 'da man...


I'm suddenly perplexed as to whether Luigi operates on behalf of those companies who would manufacture and distribute a faulty product or for those poor, unfortunate souls who would end up PURCHASING such a product...Either way, I have decided that I do not like Luigi. He can burn in Hell...


I have no stinking idea what part of my feeble little mind this doodle came out of, I've never even KNOWN any interior designers, let alone interior designers who're head cases...Perhaps Chuck is now watching over the cast of "Trading Spaces" or "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy." No matter what, I'm hoping that he's found work somewhere...You always hope that your "progeny" will do well for themselves, even if they only exist in some stupid fantasy land...

Postscript: I am SO SORRY, Luigi, I didn't mean those horrible things I said. Please come home...

Labels: cartoons n' stuff, doodle vault, me roots, random drawings, stagnation

Some time ago, I guess it's been a few years now, the city of Colorado Springs passed an ordinance that is recorded as 10.18.112: SOLICITATION ON OR NEAR STREET OR HIGHWAY . This was passed in order to prevent the panhandling that often occurred near the interstate here in town. Before this ordinance was passed into law, it was quite commonplace for folks to panhandle on the off-ramps at Bijou street and at Cimarron street, among other places. Bijou was more of a hangout for ACTUAL homeless people, at least they LOOKED homeless to me. Frankly, if someone is covered with filth AND appears to have been beaten senseless in the last 24 hours, chances are they don't have anywhere warm to sleep. I used to make sack lunches from time to time and toss them to these "unfortunates" as I passed. The "bums" that I gave them to always seemed genuinely grateful, which I, again, took as a sign that they were REALLY homeless...I hope they liked tuna fish...

The Cimarron off-ramp, however, was populated by an entirely different breed of panhandler...I can recall seeing, more than once, these Cimarron panhandlers refuse offers of food (or work) to the point of even throwing it back at whatever car it came from (the food, not the work). These assholes were out for one thing, cold hard cash, and if you didn't fork it over, they were downright vile. From what I've been told, lots of folks would dirty themselves up and hang out on the off-ramp with a cardboard sign every Goddamned day...They would easily haul in $200 per day OR MORE. In fact, I've seen these fake-ass "panhandlers" get picked up at the end of the day by their significant others to go home (that's right, I said "home") and enjoy their day's take. Not bad work if you can get it (and have NO SOUL)..In the long run, it was these "more aggressive" (fake-ass) panhandlers that led to the passage of the aforementioned city code. Oh sure, you still see a random out-of-towner here and there with their little "stranded-need help-God bless" sign trying to get back to wherever they're from, but they don't last long before they're "busted." The fact is, for the most part, the panhandlers (real and otherwise) are history...

What this all means is that, if I actually tried to do what I've always WANTED to do, I'd now be in violation of city law. Just a few years ago, I'd have probably made some money or got a free lunch (or five) out of it, but now, I'd only get arrested and carted off to jail. Well, maybe not anything THAT severe, but probably hit with a fine (or some rocks). Heck, I dunno. Either way, I don't want to risk doing it...I'm skeered...

What is "it," you ask? Well, I'll gladly tell you (starting now)...One of the things I'd often wondered about while watching these people "work" was this: Do passers-by actually READ the cardboard sign, or is it merely window dressing? Basically, I wanted to test my theory that, if I simply stood (or sat) somewhere looking pathetic enough AND I HAD a cardboard sign, I could probably garner the same results, regardless of what the cardboard sign said. In fact, I'd probably rake in ten times more than those losers WITHOUT hunks of cardboard...Heck, these signs usually say the same crap, WHY NOT throw in some variety?..I now present, for your viewing enjoyment (or horror, whichever) 3 very quickly rendered "artist's conceptions" of my "plan" in "action"...

Just checking, see, I don't and neither does the dog...Frankly, if I saw some guy with a cell phone, a cocktail, a dog and jewelry begging for money, I'd laugh and throw a rock, in that order...

People are always lamenting the lack of truth in advertising, let's just call a spade a spade...I'm on this corner 'cause me and the boss had creative differences...Pity me and shower me with gifts of money (or foodstuffs)...

And I'm a pretty snappy dresser, too! Also: I have an enormous head in this one. I'm still confused, though, I don't wear glasses. perhaps they were my first panhandlin' "score" of the day...Dunno...

So there you go, my wee little dream that the big mean city won't allow to become reality. It really is a shame that I'm such a law-abiding citizen...Maybe I can talk Collin into trying this...

Labels: 'round town, misguided rantings, Phun With Photoshop, pointless shit

It's kind of nice to come back from vacation, work one measly little day and then have a weekend. Obviously, it would have been EVEN MORE desirable to have just taken Friday off, but things didn't work that way. I had the Monday through Thursday scheduled off for a while and, somewhere between "then" and "now," Ray grabbed this last Friday as a vacation day. Sarah (our boss lady) doesn't like to have more than one person out at a time, so I didn't even bother to ask. Anyhoo, now that I've bored you all with insignificant details about work, I'm prepared to bore you EVEN MORE with insignificant details about my weekend...

Friday was SUPPOSED to be the date for BIG SOFTBALL SHOWDOWN 2 (now with 1/3 less sugar), wherein MY softball team (the B52s) would ONCE AGAIN square off with the Ad Monkeys, which is comprised mostly of those "people" that I work with. You may remember, if you are inclined to read this blog, the first meeting between these two teams from earlier in the season. The Ad Monkeys were primed and ready to receive their second (brutal) beatdown, but the weather was uncooperative (to say the least) and the game was cancelled. The sad fact is, it's been weeks since we've been able to actually play a game. Due the weather, we'll be "making up" almost half the season as long as the weather allows us to, which may not be likely. All the rain has been real helpful as far as my lawn's concerned, though...

Speaking of my lawn (we were), on Friday (before the game that never happened) I was out raking and edging and all of that just as it started to "sprinkle." I thought "ooh, rain, I..."

GIANT BLINDING FLASH ACCOMPANIED BY EAR-SPLITTING BOOOOOOM

It was one of those rare "movie lightning" moments wherein the lightning flashes, the thunder crashes and, immediately, the downpour begins. Without warning, I was in the middle of a monsoon. I feel pretty lucky to not have been turned into a large chunk of charcoal, seeing as the lightning couldn't have been more than a block away. I was more than happy to trade yardwork for the opportunity to watch this wonderful show from the back porch for a while...I really love thunderstorms...

Saturday, my wife and I went shopping and then went with my parents up to Parker to meet up with my aunt and uncle. We all then went up to Blackhawk, which is about an hour from Parker. In case you're not already familiar with it, Colorado has what is called "limited stakes gambling." This "gambling" is confined to 3 mountain towns that were big mining towns in the 1800s, Cripple Creek, Central City and (the aforementioned) Blackhawk. In the 1990s, It was feared that, with the dwindling interest and declining tourism, these little towns would just up and die. Enter limited stakes gaming. Slots, video poker and table games with a $5 limit were installed and they became an instant hit. I've been to Cripple Creek a number of times, but this was my first excursion to Blackhawk, which is more of a Denverite gambling destination. Just having been to Las Vegas, I still had my wad o' funds waiting to go into the bank, so I figured one more round of gambling couldn't hurt...I just didn't count on one very important fact...

Blackhawk sucks...

What you end up with is a whole ton of people making the drive from Denver (and surrounding communities) and maybe 5 casinos to go into, It's an absolute overload. Even if you DO end up finding a machine to play, there'll be 3 or 4 "lurkers" waiting around to grab your seat if you look even remotely done with it. I had one old lady actually shaking my chair while I was playing a nickel slot. I thought it was my mom, so I turned around only to come face-to-face with some old smokin' hag. What can you say in that situation other than "what the Hell are you doin', lady?" She waddled off for a while, but was back soon enough. Dirty bitch...

In addition to the capacity problems on the machines, you shouldn't even THINK about trying to sit in on a table game. On a Saturday evening, they're packed full with more people waiting behind every seat. Also, in conjunction with the $5 maximum, every single stupid table in Blackhawk sported a $5 MINIMUM. I really have to raise the "bullshit" flag on that one. This totally takes away a very important strategy from the player by preventing any sort of "money management." The casino effectively says to you "if you wish to play a table game, you will be playing at $5 per hand. No more, no less. You cannot play 1, 2, 3, or 4 dollars per hand, we won't let you. You cannot play 6 or 7 dollars per hand, the state won't let you. If you want to play, it's $5. Take it or leave it." I left it. It may be different during the week, but I'll be damned if I go and find out. In fact, I've pretty much decided that I'm done gambling in the state of Colorado. It's just no fun.

There were SOME positives about the little trip into the mountains, though...The buffet we ate at in the Isle of Capri was really very good. I also came out ahead from playing video poker...My wife didn't continue her "Vegas streak," in fact she lost just about as much as I won, so we have to call the whole night a "push."

Sunday was a day to sleep in and do as little as possible. I did have my first hockey game of the new season on Sunday evening, which turned into a brawl. that's always fun to watch. We lost, though, which is never fun. Frankly, I blame the officials for letting the game getting out of hand. I personally wasn't involved in the "brawl" in the 3rd period, but in the second period, I had agitated #16 on the opposing team to the point of his elbowing me in the head...Right about here, I'm going to share a helpful hint with all you boys and girls out there in readerland. If you're going to elbow someone in the head, don't do it if you're not going to be able to make a quick getaway. You'll only end up getting hit with a straight left to the side of your own head, much like #16. You'll then get smacked around some by members of the opposing team AND THEN have to sit in the penalty box (feeling shame). All in all, it's not a good idea to elbow the goalie in the head, whether he calls you a name or not. Frankly, if you get called a derogatory name, you probably deserved it. Take it and shut up. Just a tip from me to you...

And so, back at work on Monday, we've come full circle. It's been a pleasure to have you all accompany me on this little ride around my weekend, Once we've slowed to a stop, please exit the left side of the car. On your way out, be sure to visit the gift shop where souvenirs of your adventure are always available. See you all again very soon!

Labels: get outta town, indignities, lame stories, office supply aggression, sports

And so I'm back from my impromptu vacation. My wife and I both had fun, but agreed that driving across Utah is kind of arduous. Granted, it's very scenic and chock full of "natural splendor," but as drives go, it's a bit monotonous. Also, it was hot (which was to be expected) and neither of us were feeling 100% by the end of the trip. I tend to blame all of the food that I'm apt to ingest during "vacation." I will say that, overall, the whole excursion could be classified as "not bad" and, in addition, I learned a few things:

Downtown Las Vegas is really, really fun. It's easier to get around than the Strip (less foot and automobile traffic) and Boulder Highway (where everything's so spaced out) and it's more affordable. I was so taken by the whole (Fremont Street) experience, in fact, that if we ever stay at a hotel/casino in Las Vegas again, it'll probably be at the Golden Nugget. No matter what, though, I'll be visiting Downtown Las Vegas again...

Having intentions of playing table games and actually playing table games are two very different things. As expected, I had a very hard time parting with money during the trip. I finally found a $3 blackjack table at the Golden Gate. Here's a hint: if the dealer is taking everybody's money BEFORE you sit in, chances are good that she'll take most of yours once you do sit in. Also, if things aren't going your way, go ahead and move to a different table. If you start winning at THAT table, chances are good that a new dealer will come along who's only purpose in life is to suck you dry of any and all monetary units you may have on the table...

As an aside "lesson learned" to the above lesson, If you have trouble with math, you're probably going to suck at blackjack...

I'm pretty sure that the phrase "Pai Gow" translates as "Roundeye leave money on table." The "Poker" is added simply to fool you into thinking that luck may help you to win a hand or two...

If a hotel's website tells you that each room has a wonderful view, be warned: one man's "wonderful view" could be another man's "view of a drainage ditch..."

If a hotel restaurant has a sign out front that speaks of it's fare being "tailored to a senior's tastes and budget," be warned. You WILL save some money -vs- eating at TGI Friday's or Boston's, but you'll probably be using a Hell of a lot of salt...

If a member of the wait staff at a mexican restaurant inside a casino gets all pissy with you for a mistake that they made, don't debate with them. Instead, calmly ask to see their manager. When the manager offers to comp of your lunch, it's wise to accept. If they then offer to bring you something in addition, like a beverage or dessert, it's wiser still to refuse. In fact, the sooner you leave the table (and the restaurant as a whole), the better off you'll be. There's no good reason I can think of to wait around only to have something you're about to eat or drink be spat upon, even if it is free...

If the temperature reads 105° in Las Vegas, Nevada, you will, indeed, be cooked alive if you stand on asphalt for more than 5 minutes at a time. in addition, if you're told by a "local" that 105° "isn't really that hot," it's ok to pity them. I think it's even ok to laugh at them...Just don't stand in one spot too long while you're doing it...

Rancho Street, Maryland Parkway and South Charleston Avenue in the Las Vegas Area are good streets to avoid. Just FYI...

Finally, if and when you go downtown (Las Vegas) with your wife, your sister-in-law and your sister-in-law's boyfriend and you then get all liquored up from your yard o' pina colada (with additional rum) and then eat appetizers at Tony Roma's and THEN go to the Texas Station (on Rancho) to go bowling and EVEN AFTER you remember that you're not wearing any socks and have to purchase some from a vending machine, take it easy on your first frame. Falling down sucks, but falling face first into a greasy bowling lane sucks even worse. You may skin your knee and, as such, feel pretty silly. If you hop up quickly and raise your arms like you "meant to do it," it won't change anything. You'll still look like a moron...

Labels: get outta town, I eat food, indignities, lame stories

Well, Audioblogging is fun as long as I have access to a phone. As I mentioned earlier, I borrowed my Mom's cell phone for the trip. It's a neat little thing, it can do all sorts of tricks (as long as the battery is charged) and it can get a signal almost anywhere (again, if it has a battery). What I'm getting at here is that, when I picked the phone up from Mom prior to departure, she gave me HER phone, but it looks like she gave me MY SISTER'S car charger.
 
oops.
 
So the phone, predictably, ran out of charge. My wife and I discovered the error this morning as we searched for a way to plug the phone into the charger which, after some time and remedial detective work, we found just wasn't compatible. So there's that. I have access to a 'puter today (it's my father-in-law's and he's out of town!) but won't again, most likely, until Friday.
 
The trip's been fun, though, I should say that much. It's been insanely hot here in Las Vegas, but I expected that. My wife and I went downtown (Fremont street) yesterday for the first time. I rather enjoyed it, in fact I think that I'd like to visit that area of town more often. Of course, the fact that my wife hit for 4 deuces on a "Deuces Wild" video poker machine helps. That win was worth $250, which was more than she had brought for the entire trip. I played some blackjack at the Golden Gate, but didn't fare as well as I did in Kansas City.
 
All in all, it's been fun. Still a couple days to go, so potentially more fun to go. I'll see you all soon enough. Have fun, don't work too hard, Collin.

Labels: get outta town, lame stories

Labels: audio, get outta town, lame stories

Labels: audio, cinematic chatter, get outta town, I eat food, lame stories

Have you ever been allowed to take a "do-over?" No matter if it was when you were a kid playing stickball and there was a car coming, or as an adult playing "golf" (I'll be taking a 'mulligan' on THAT shot) getting a "do-over" can be a great thing. If you "screwed up," you get a chance for redemption. If you were "wronged" in some way, you get to make it "right." If there, indeed, had been an automobile bearing down on you, you get another glorious chance to hit the ball without the unbearable pressure of potential catastrophic injury and/or death. Do-overs "rock and roll," people. We should all get 'em more often...

Unless it's something like an ad, or a direct mail piece...Then it sucks. (The client hated it. Let's do it over.) That would be "bad."

But I'm not typing about bad "do-overs" today, only the good ones. I've found that, as I've grown into adulthood, my opportunity to take these "do-overs" has dwindled down to almost nothing. Granted, I have a delete key and "command-Z" ("undo") at my disposal within the realm of Photoshop and Quark, but that's simply not tangible enough. I have often stood in observance of many a real life mishap secretly wishing I could click "undo" on the whole thing. Like I said, real-life "do-overs" don't come along often enough outside of childhood, so you have to grab them when you can. It's for THIS reason that my wife and I are taking one such "do-over" and driving to Las Vegas this weekend.

Viva Las Vegas, baby...Hell, Viva Las "do-over."

So you may be thinking to yourself "What the Hell?" Well, if that's the case, I'd tell YOU that here a couple weeks ago, when my wife and I went to my family reunion, I tried very hard to enter into the trip with a positive attitude. I was gonna have FUN, dammit! No matter how crappy the camp was or how many people made me uncomfortable, I was gonna have me a rollicking good time...Of course, if you listened to my audioblog entries regarding the whole experience, you're well aware that I, indeed, failed to have "fun." It was a lousy, crappy-shit-poop experience. It was ALSO the last bit of vacation time that I had scheduled, pending the outcome of certain events...

So that was it...I had a lousy damn time and didn't have another vacation on the horizon. Yay me.

I did, however, schedule some time off during the week of July 19th to use for some unpleasantness which I will not discuss. Suffice to say, this time off didn't originally entail fun OR frolic, but did require my being somewhere. Anyhoo, whilst my wife and I were away, Diana had agreed to collect our mail for us. As I was going through the formidable stack of correspondence that had accumulated during our absence, I came across a particular piece of mail which turned out to be a joy to read. The "thing" that I had taken the time off for had been postponed! In the blink of an eye, I had time off and nothing scheduled to fill it. It instantly held the potential to be "happy-fun" time off!

Enter the vacation "do-over..."

Time, obviously, was of the essence. There were less than 2 weeks until "departure," so I had to get the "details" hammered out as soon as possible There was potential to "miss the window," so to speak, if I "dilly-dallied." Money, also, is a bit of an issue in this case. Traditionally, I plan (and save) for vacations starting as much as 6 months out. My planning method is to book the airfare as far in ADVANCE as possible, while waiting until almost the last minute for the car and hotel. Without boring you with minutia, it's a solid way to save money AND maximize your fun. With help from Andrea, Andy's wife, we used this formula PERFECTLY to stay in some awesome places and see all kinds of stuff in the east and midwest and Canada last summer for just around $2000...

But I digress...Can I get a "do-over" for that paragraph? No? Damn...

So, anyway, my wife and I decided that we'd be looking to book a trip to Pennsylvania. We wanted very badly to go and visit Andy and Andrea again. I searched and plotted and did this thing called "math" over and over only to find that, as I suspected, 2 weeks out is a TERRIBLE time to try and find airfare to ANYWHERE. Driving WAS considered, but the timing factor (I don't have Friday the 23rd off) didn't work out. Doing the Pennsylvania trip simply wasn't economically feasible with the given time-frame. With these factors in mind, we instead decided to use the time off to drive, via Grand Junction, CO, out to Las Vegas. We've got family in both places and breaking the drive up into two days will make it breeze by (I say that like I've done it before, well, because I've done it before). I booked us some good, inexpensive accommodations in both locales and we'll be driving my wife's Saturn, thereby saving money by not renting a car...Despite the fact that it wasn't our first choice, I'm really looking forward to the trip and so is my wife. From what she tells me, her sister Shannon and their grandmother are looking forward to visiting with us. It's a shame that Heather's dad and stepmom will be out of town while we're there, but I'm sure they're enjoying the Hell out of Aruba...I think I would be if I were there...Also, I'll get to meet "Aldie," who is Shannon's boyfriend. I guess the threat was that, when he met me, I would get to shoot hockey pucks at him or something. I'd better pack my aluminum stick, just in case...

So that's that, kids...Heather and I will be hitting the road on Saturday morning...Thanks to the fact that my mom allows me to borrow her cell phone, I'll be posting audioblog entries for your listening pleasure as events warrant...Viva las Vegas! Viva Las Road Trip! Viva DO-OVER!

See you next Friday, amigos!

Labels: get outta town, lame stories, tales of triumph

Sometimes, I'm a sandwich or two short of a picnic. I just felt like saying that. Anyway, I found out TODAY (because sometimes, like yesterday, I don't have time to do anything) that YESTERDAY, The Gravedigger announced that he's discontinuing his blog. You can read about the whys and the wherefores about his reasoning for this on his site, which will be up until August. I suggest that you DO read it before it goes away, because it's a worthwhile way to spend some time. I personally have enjoyed reading his insights and thoughts. The Gravedigger is Portuguese and so, based solely on the translation tool from Google, I offer this simple sentiment:

adeus, amigo.

Of course, The Gravedigger himself isn't "going away." What's "going away" is nothing more than the online space where he shared his writings and his thoughts with us. Indeed, seeing as he's planning on quitting his job, he won't be a gravedigger anymore, anyway. This whole event (does this qualify as an "event?") made me think (briefly) about why I maintain my own blog (this one, just in case you forgot where you were). When I "fired it up", I did it for one very simple reason...

It's free.

I'd been kicking around the idea of having SOME sort of website of my own wherein I share strange and (potentially) humorous things with people for a good long while, ever since Collin introduced me to sixsixfive. My biggest stumbling blocks, though, were the fact that I'm not terribly well versed in website maintenance and html and stuff like that AND I didn't want to PAY for anything. At the same time, holding down a full-time job makes it a wee bit difficult to learn how to use new software and/or put a large amount of effort into updating and such. My attitude changed a bit when Collin (once again) pointed me toward a funny site. This time, it was Bad News Hughes. It was (still is) inspiring...I laughed like a frickin' nutcase reading through his stuff...Of course, I noticed the banner at the top (Blog*Spot: start your own) a few times before I decided that it was time to just frickin' do it. I figured that if HE could have a site where he shared goofy stories, so could I...

And since it was free, here I am.

My intentions for maintaining this blog haven't changed. I started it so that I can have a "body of work," so to speak, that is available for anyone to look at. This way, I don't have to bore people with too many details about certain events, or even tell them whether I can write or not (I can't). If someone wants to hear a sample of my voice(s) or see whether or not I can write and produce commercials, I can send them here. "It's on my blog" has become a common utterance here at work. Invariably, if Collin and I are talking about some crazy crap that happened at the Gazette and someone asks for more detail, it's easy enough to send them the way of the blog page. It's made me a very lazy storyteller and for that, I am appreciative. Having a "permanent record" of sorts that chronicle events and such has been "handy" and promises to be even more so as time passes.

What am I getting at? I don't know. I TOLD you I'm on drugs this week...

So, why DO I "blog?" Because I enjoy it. Why do I update EVERY workday? Because I made a commitment to MYSELF to keep that pace up. It's a challenge, and I enjoy THOSE, too...Why do I audioblog when I'm out of town? Hell, because it's available. Also: free...(remember, I'm a cheap-ass) If I had to pay for ANY of this stuff, we wouldn't be having this conversation. In fact, the $5.75 I paid to have those photos developed at Wal*Mart still kind of grates on me...But, kids, what this whole (very lousy) entry comes down to is this: If you're "blogging" to try and please someone other than yourself, you might as well quit. I'm not trying to be mean, just practical. Look upon it as being in business for yourself -vs- working for a company. If you're working toward someone else's goals, you're not going to derive the same sort of satisfaction and/or sense of reward as working toward your own success. This is NOT to say that you shouldn't appreciate the individuals that read your blog on a daily basis. It's very very nice to have people find and enjoy your stuff. Granted, It's not like radio or television...Individual stations depend upon advertising revenue for survival. They sell their advertising at rates determined by many factors, but the BIG factor is listenership/viewership. The more people that tune in, the more the advertising time on these stations is worth...

Follow me here? This goes back to that whole "free" thing...Stations depend on their listeners and viewers...Blogs, on the other hand, do not DEPEND upon their readers for survival...

The only thing maintaining this blog, and many others as well, is whatever sense of satisfaction the individual (me, in this case) derives from posting entries. OBVIOUSLY, having people read helps this along...If nobody read, then it's conceivable that posting would become mundane. As a "Devil's Advocate" point of view, though, if you feel an obligation to update your blog because you "don't want to disappoint your reader(s)," you'll probably end up looking at blogging as a second job (that doesn't pay anything) in the long run and become "burned out" before you know it. Is there a moral to this story? Yep..."Have fun." Simply put, do it because you enjoy it...Let that be your reward.

I'm still having fun. I hope you, whomever you happen to be, are too. Heck, let's not be sad that "Ze" is taking the gravedigger blog down...We should be HAPPY for him because he's going to be writing a novel and living his life. Yay for him! and yay for the rest of us, as well...You know, people will come and go throughout your lifetime, but I'm a firm believer that everyone enters and exits for a reason. If God intended for me to read Ze's writings, then I hope I got what I needed to out of them...And speaking of writing, and just because I said so, everyone go over to Ray's blog and shame him into writing an entry...

That oughta be "fun," too...

Labels: lame stories, poor usage of foreign language

Ok, so I FINALLY got around to developing the pictures from the disposable camera that my sister bought for Karaoke Night a while (ok, a long while) back. I am prepared to share some of the aforementioned images with you all for two reasons...One, sharing is caring, I've told you that before. Secondly, a photoblog entry is considerably easier to complete than anything else. That having been said, and without further "ado," here come them pictures!

Here's Heather, pinkish tint to her hair and all, singing a song. Which song? I don't know. Suffice to say, she sang it well, whatever it was...


Here's ol' Collin, saddlin' up to the microphone! He's ready to wow us once again with his song stylings...Man, I wish I could hear that all the time...(sigh)...


Here I am with my wife, Heather...Hey, I have my mouth closed! As you can tell by the empty alcohol containers in front of us, we were having an enjoyable time...


Here's Kathy, a freelancer at the agency and one of the proud ValuHo voices...The strapping fellow on her left is her husband Chad...He recently returned from serving our country in Iraq...If you see him anywhere, buy him a drink...He's a fun guy to have around...(also, one of my favorite things to do is to "surprise" people with the camera...I consider this picture a triumph.)


The only downer to the karaoke night experience was that the goofball who was running the show seemed to believe that "louder" was "better," despite the smallish size of the bar and even despite the horrid signal distortion that we were all experiencing based on his overdriving of the amplifier...Here, Collin and Heather plug their fragile ears to prevent their ear blood from spewing onto the walls or (God forbid) onto other singers. Courtesy first!


Do NOT let this man run an audio equipment rig of any kind. If you do, your event, whatever it may be, will only end in sadness, despair, blown woofers and shattered eardrums. You have been warned...

Labels: Phrickin' Photoblogs, Singing Off-Key

So here's Cousin Derek's "question of the day," kids: How many times have you felt the burning SHAME and HUMILIATION that accompanies those instances when you've let slip an utterance that you'd like nothing more than to have back? And don't you DARE go bein' all like "Oh, I NEVER do that..." Everybody, no matter who, Doctor, Lawyer, Indian Chief, Bum, Priest, Used Car Dealer, EVERYONE at SOME point in their life has allowed "speak" to come before "think." I know it sounds "crazy-nuts," folks, but despite my BEST efforts to the contrary, such embarrassment has befallen me a number of times during my life. I will now share with you (remember, sharing is caring) one such time where I felt I had nowhere to hide. A time when my words made me feel (burning) shame. Also: sadness, maybe despair.

Ah, Hell, enough of this sappy crap...Let's make with the story, shall we?..

I've said already that I worked at the Gazette. Hey, I said that yesterday! I also told you people about having worked with Rich. Holy crap, that was yesterday, too! So, yeah, Rich was funny, he said funny things, blah blah blah...Rich was an "Ad Rep" at the Gazette. We call those types of people "Account Executives" here at the Agency, but, regardless of title, Rich was (probably still is) a "salesperson." In general, "artists" and "salespeople" don't mix, but, as in all walks of life, there are times when it's OK to make an exception. Another sales monkey who was also "tolerable" was named Larry...

Larry was (still is, potentially) an older gentleman for whom I held respect due to his work ethic and his communication prowess. These factors combined to make MY job easier, which is something I ALWAYS appreciate. Larry and Rich were friends with one another. Well, I'm pretty sure they were. At the very least they were "friendly" with each other. Anyhoo, I've now successfully introduced the two main characters in my pending tale of woe (also: sorrow)...

So, one (fateful) afternoon, whilst I was working (like the DIckens, mind you) on advertisements for kites and cars and lawn care products and such, Rich told me an amusing little tale regarding an odd phone message that he found on his answering machine early that morning. From his account, it sounded as if it were someone's drunken, incoherent ramblings. Rich wasn't sure as to the source, but he did say, in his typical sarcastic manner, that it sounded like "drunk Larry" left the message. I chuckled at the thought of Larry gettin' all boozed up and then calling Rich at 3 in the morning. As such, the phrase "drunk Larry" immediately entered my lexicon...

Rich started to refer to Larry from that point on in conversations with me as "Drunk Larry." I couldn't resist the temptation and soon began doing the same, first only in my head, but out loud as time wore on. It wasn't long before a number of people had spoken the words "drunk Larry," Even if they didn't want to. Soon, "drunk Larry" was uttered everyday. Predictably, it became just as ordinary as anything else. It was "expected," "usual" and, dare I say it, "the norm." Larry had, unbeknownst to him, become "Drunk Larry" in the minds of the monkeys in the advertising art department...

I know I've mentioned before that I toiled away on the "night shift" during most of my employment at the Gazette. The sales monkeys all worked the "day shift," which meant that interaction between myself and their kind was limited at best. In fact, due to this "ships passing in the night" syndrome, it's conceivable that ol' "drunk Larry" could've made it through his life without ever discovering his inflammatory new nickname. I say "could've" because it's true. However, I'm writing this little story for you to read because, well...Let's just say that fate has a way of jabbing you with that "hot poker of justice (also: shame)" from time to time...Like this time...

So one (fateful) afternoon, a few weeks after the initial "drunk Larry" comment from Rich, I was discussing a particular project's pros and cons with a co-worker. I glanced at the layout for the ad, which was a good one, and made the statement that "this kind of looks like a 'drunk Larry' ad." Larry did good layouts...This was a COMPLIMENT...I know it SOUNDS bad (hey, a drunk monkey drew this!) but it's NOT! The person I was chatting with nodded in agreement. I then heard a sound that instantly mortified me. It was a voice that emanated from behind where I was standing. It belonged to Larry. It sounded completely sad and hurt. It said:

"I haven't had a drink in 20 years."

I froze...I was instantly mortified (like I said). I didn't know he was there! Turns out, he really WAS "drunk Larry" after all (who knew!?)...Once I mustered the courage to do so, I turned slowly, only to see him slumping in the chair where he had been sitting the whole time. With my flippant utterance, I had, it seemed, opened up a veritable floodgate of uber-painful memories featuring 12-step programs, sponsors and higher powers for ol' drunk Larry. I instantly felt like a total lump of poo...I WANTED to hide, but there was nowhere for my dumb ass to go. At that moment, anyone who had, up until then, uttered the phrase "drunk Larry" blended into the scenery like art-chameleons, leaving me standing alone, in the center of what suddenly seemed to be a very cold and depressing space...An excuse wouldn't mean much at that point, I figured. I didn't know how to apologize, so I did the only thing I could think of to do...I looked Larry square in his eyes and spoke.

"Rich told me to call you that."

I then walked myself swiftly out of the art department and toward the vending machines in the lunchroom long enough for Larry to wander away. I don't know what happened after that, I don't know if Larry ever asked Rich about it or not. Hell, I don't know if Larry even believed me. Frankly, I was too scared to find out. I didn't know if I'd be guilty of "harassment" at that point and I sure as Hell didn't want to lose my job...I learned a very valuable lesson that day, though. That lesson is "Don't listen to Rich!"

No, seriously, it is...

Labels: indignities, lame stories, me roots, office supply aggression

I just had the opportunity to meet Mike Shanahan and shake his hand...This is extremely cool, seeing as I'm a HUGE fan of the Denver Broncos. It was real hard to not sweat and freak out (I THINK I did ok)...I know he's just a person, but it's...well...Hard to explain, I guess...I was the same way when I got to meet Carl Gardner, lead singer for The Coasters. Have you ever had a chance to meet someone who is kind of a "hero" to you? Anyway, He's a pretty neat individual...Especially so, since he took the time to meet us monkeys here in the art department...

Thanks, Mike!

Labels: famous folk, sports, tales of triumph

I'd REALLY love to post something "witty" today...I mean it! I'd like nothing more than to give you folks something worthwhile to read, but I can't...See, I'm currently under the influence of drugs (strong antibiotics) and, even though they're not SUPPOSED to, they tend to (slightly) alter my brain chemistry. The COOLEST thing is, I start to see things in slow motion while on the meds. This is great if I'm playing hockey (though we lost our playoff game last night 2-1) but can be really weird for blog posting...Or working...It's ok for driving and I'll be an AWESOME chess player for the next 8 days, but I'll be really goofed up otherwise. I figure, though, I should put SOMETHING up, so here goes:

I'm working on writing and, subsequently, recording a parody of "Ring of Fire" by Johnny Cash, inspired by a post on the Monkey's blog. I HAVE the karaoke version of the song, so it'll be a quick trip to getting it recorded once It's written. Never fear, kids, I'll post it once it's finished. Even if (when) it sucks. I share because I care, people.

For lack of anything better, I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce you to Rich, a very funny guy that Collin and I worked with at the Gazette. Rich is one of those people who is constantly cracking jokes and being "funny" (you know the type). some years ago, I decided that this "talent" of his would SURELY translate to radio...So once, with this in mind, I brought him on the air when I was performing host duties on a local talk radio program. I did this so that he could be his natural, funny self. I figured that I'd be able to bounce comments off of him, "witty banter" would ensue, people would call the show, we would then banter (wittily) with these "callers," the show would go well and everyone would have a good time.

What a stupid, off-base idea THAT turned out to be...

Predictably, once I turned the microphones on and we were "on the air," Rich turned to a less-than-witty clammed up stone thing. He was so absurdly fearful of the prospect of being heard by tens and tens of people out in radio land that he went from Funny, Witty Rich to Quiet, Stuttering Rich. This development would be less than helpful at ANY TIME, let alone doing a radio talk show. Imagine me, for an hour, chatting about current events with nobody but myself, while Rich uttered the occasional fearful squeak. It also didn't help that the phones lit up only about once every 20 minutes. I've been in worse situations in my broadcasting career, I'll admit, but not many. I learned a valuable lesson that day, however. That lesson? "Don't bring Rich to the radio station with you."

That having been said, Rich is still a cool guy. Granted, it's not like we maintain contact, he lives in Boston with his wife and son and I, well, do not...We did get together for dinner while my wife and I were touring the east coast last summer and had a great time. I really should call him to see what he's up to, but I probably won't. Not because I don't like him, It's mostly because I'm terrible at things like that.
"Hello..."
"Hey, Rich, it's Derek"
"Hey...how's it goin'?"
"pretty good..."
"that's good..."
long uncomfortable silence
"ok, um...Take care."
"bye."
Knowing that the possibility of Rich reading this entry is slim to none, I will share some photos of Rich with you. He left his vacation photos out on his desk once (not a smart move) and I scanned them for blackmail and other nefarious purposes. I will share two of these photos with you...now:

Man, I love the face that accompanies the accordian...Is it a prerequisite that you HAVE to be all goofy to play the accordian? I mean, c'mon. To me, it seems like you'd have to be some sort of super-human, left-brained, monkey-fingered individual...It seems so complicated!..I wonder if Rich ever really played it, or just brought it out for special occasions...The world may never know...


I'd like to think that this was a halloween thing, but I can't be so sure. Frankly, Rich is a strange man. This may well be his weekend outfit, or better yet, his casual friday workplace attire. Either way, I'm slightly disturbed by it...I hope you are too...

Well, kids, that should just about do it for today. I'm hoping to have that song done soon, along with some new audio entries...Maybe some ads. I've got a literal assload of stories "in progress..." We'll see how the medicine treats me this week...

Labels: hockey stuff, indignities, Phrickin' Photoblogs, sports, stagnation

So I'm heading out here in about 10 minutes to go see my doctor. He's a good doctor, in fact he's been my doctor since I was born (in 1974). If he can find out what this thing on my head is, I'll be appreciative. In light of this, and continuing with yesterday's theme of recycled crap, I'm going to leave you all with my entry in Collin's latest story contest...Here we go...

One weekend, some time ago, I went downtown in my little burg (mostly to escape the soul-crushing depression of Old Shanty Town and the burden of responsibility in general) and, to my shock and delight, there was some sort of "festival" going on. People were engaging in "fun" (and what appeared to be very gratifying mastication (RIGHT THERE ON THE STREET!) so I joined right in, never one to be a "party pooper."

Everything was cool at this festival until some asshole "pantsed" me. Or "de-pantsed" me. Either way, there I stood, sans pants, mooning God and Country my lengthy butt crack flapping in the wind. I cried out to the crowd around me "Why hast thou forsaken me!?" It was then gently explained to me that my belt had broken. thoroughly embarrassed, I pulled my pantalones back up and slinked away.

While downtown, I found out that there're both "bums" AND "squirrels" in Acacia park...They (you know who) rounded up all of the "squirrels," char-broiled them and fed them to the "bums" during the "festival." Everyone was a winner. It made me feel all funny inside.

Anyway, I also found that at the corner of Platte and....Somewhere, there was a man offering free balloon rides. Totally effin' FREE! Man, I LOVE to float off into space, especially when I don't lose any money doing it...I ponied up the 5 bucks and took my place in the basket. The tether line was released and off we floated, into the wild blue yonder.

Ok, so I immediately threw up, but I had ingested 4 TURKEY LEGS and a "squirrel" prior to departure! They tasted so good! Unfortunately not good coming back up, but such is life. After I hurled, though, I was perfectly fine and ready for aviation. I reclined to enjoy the ride when I suddenly spied a very odd sight...

Another balloon operator had HIS balloon seemingly on a crash course with the balloon I as riding in. The other operator was swinging his fists and cursing at MY operator, shouting something about "stealing his business." I ducked down into the basket when I witnessed the other balloon pilot whip out a crossbow and begin firing arrows at OUR balloon.

My pilot laughed and told me not to worry, that we wouldn't crash because OUR balloon had a reinforced envelope. He then whipped out a throwing star and...well, threw it...He scored a direct hit, sending his opponent spiraling down to certain doom.

I had never felt closer to death until that point in my life, nor had I witnessed more bizarre operational behavior between two commercial competitors. I reflected upon this fact later, as I lay safely on my cot, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky...Soon after, I began wondering who had stolen the roof off of my shanty (in old Shanty Town)...

Labels: collin crap, indignities, stagnation, Stupid Contests

Once again, you and I are going back into my past! That's right, we're going all the way back to 1988 to take a look at a few little drawings of mine. I remember that the first time I was too lazy to post and turned to displaying moldy old doodles, I said that I'd introduce you all to the "Little Known Spirits."

So that's what I'm doing. Mostly because I'm too lazy (or busy) to come up with actual "content." So there.

The Little Known Spirits were something that I started drawing based on my observations of "Patron Saints." when I was a kid, I was not Catholic (officially) but had relatives who were. Indeed, I'm not Catholic now, that I know of...Or am I? Anyway, of the limited glimpses I've had into Catholicism, one of the things that struck me as funny was the seeming overabundance of Patron Saints. I mean, c'mon, do you really REALLY need to have a 4 freakin' Patron Saints fighting against diseased cattle? Talk about overworked, there are only 2 Patron Saints working on behalf of preventing dysentery. In case you're wondering, there is no Patron Saint of cheese, but there is one who labors on the behalf of Florentine Cheese Merchants. Close enough, I guess...

Anyways, I decided that, if there were so many of these Patronizing Saints, there are probably lesser known entities floating around to clean up the even dirtier (or more minor) tasks, as it were. I dubbed these entities "Little Known Spirits." I shall now introduce you to four such spirits right about here:


This is probably a result of one of my first shaving experiences. I learned really early on that shaving, especially with a disposable razor, sucks a whole lot. The name "Victor" is a nod to Victor Kiam, who liked his shaver so much, he bought the company. Yes, I've always been a consumer whore.


Who remembers the Black and Decker® Handy Knife™? Huh? I do! It was a very small electric knife! It was petite, yet powerful, what with it's vibrating blade and all. I never owned one personally, but it's advertising touted it as potentially the most versatile kitchen tool ever conceived. I was so taken by it that I was convinced it required it's own spirit. I also placed the Handy Knife in the hand of a particular serial killer that I used to draw comics about. But that's another story for another time.


I'm wondering if the rock (or chunk of asphalt, or maybe even "turd") that is being tossed toward the beggar-spirit's cup is TRULY tax-deductible. I'm a wee bit disappointed with this one, I really think I should have been capable of coming up with a better insult than "crud monger" in 1988. Ah well...


Did you ever have hamsters as pets? And I don't mean gerbils, you undereducated freak, I mean HAMSTERS! Run run run all day in the wheel! Anyway, my sister and I had Hamsters and they were, indeed, named after celebrities. My sister named hers Madonna and I named mine Nikolai (after Nikolai Volkoff, obviously.) My Aunt Mary Beth, who was deathly afraid of the hamsters "unstuffing" their little foody cheek pouches on her, actually pitched one against a wall once...

I'm still a little bitter about that...Luckily, the hamster survived the "incident."

Labels: cartoons n' stuff, doodle vault, me roots, random drawings

I love the 4th of July holiday. I think that, if I were forced (at gunpoint) to choose (and rank) my favorite holidays, Independence Day would come in a very close second to All Hallow's Eve which, lets face it, is a holiday without equal. Halloween is COOL, it's spooky, it is THE dark foreboding holiday. It's a time of year that I get paid to draw skeletons for print ads and imitate movie monsters for radio and television commercials. I love it, but like I said, I love 4th of July too...A big reason for my amorous attitude should be painfully obvious...It's a summertime holiday. In early July, Summer is fresh and new, the weather is generally awesome and it's a time of year where it's perfectly acceptable to eat too much, drink (way) too much and THEN go out and play with explosives. How frickin' cool is THAT? You go ahead and try to convince me that this combination of factors doesn't absolutely "rock the house." If you try, you will fail...Miserably. This is because the 4th of July holiday "kicks ass."

I should probably offer up a personal disclaimer at this point. I am now, and have always been, a total pyromaniac. I've been completely fascinated with fire ever since I was a small child. Examples: My grandparents lived in Vail, CO for a while when I was very young. This was during a period of time when my Grandfather was working on a construction project. They lived in a cabin replete with a fireplace (something I had wanted for my whole life) for part of their stay there. I would beg my Grandpa to start a fire, even in Summer, just so I could sit and watch it burn. More example!: When I was older (but still a kid), I would grab cans of flammable liquid (generally Aqua Net® hair spray) and a lighter with which to make giant fireballs. It's fun! Also a bit dangerous I'm told, but isn't everything? I also had a habit of burning paper towels in the sink "just for the Hell of it..." I get this whole "firestarter" trait MOST LIKELY from my Dad. (He and his Brother burned down their house when they were kids.) I never burned down ANYTHING, let alone a house. I did INADVERTANTLY set my bed on fire once, but I never told anyone about it. There was also that grease fire when I was 19, but that got taken care of too...Anyhoo, We're not talking about THAT. We ARE, however, talking about 4th of July...

So it should now be obvious that, when I was a kid, there were few events in my life that brought the kind of insurmountable joy as when the Collins Fireworks stands began popping up around town. The stands would generally open for business the last couple weeks of June and be open through the 4th of July. My parents never did buy enough fireworks for my liking, though. I was always stuck with nothing more than sparklers, snappers and a fountain or two. I should also explain that, In Colorado, the only fireworks that are LEGAL are mild Class "C," which means that if it flies or explodes (or is otherwise "cool"), we don't get to have it. In fact, inside the city limits of Colorado Springs, Fireworks of ANY KIND are illegal (poor bastards). Growing up (and now, since we bought our house in Security) we were (and are again) in "Unincorporated El Paso County." This means that fireworks are legal provided that they are the non-flying or exploding class "C" and there aren't severely dry conditions present. Of course, legality is only a minor stumbling block for most people (as evidenced by the awesome displays in and around our neighborhood this past weekend). Availability of "illegal" (cool) fireworks is a mere 2 hour trip away...

Of course, I mean that the great state of Wyoming is only a couple hours away from where I live...In Wyoming, they allow the really cool fireworks like Bottle Rockets, Black Cat Firecrackers and M80s to be sold. I believe that it was Summertime in 1988, I was caddying for my Dad in the Wyoming Open golf tournament in Cheyenne. This was my first trip to Wyoming and, upon crossing the state line, I found it obvious why most people would visit the Godforsaken place. That reason? You didn't have to look hard to find purveyors of pyrotechnics, Fireworks stands were EVERYWHERE! These places also sold fireworks YEAR ROUND! (holy crap!) Based solely on my love of fire (also of all things explosive), Wyoming was instantly a heaven on earth. I tried my best to convince my Dad that we NEEDED to buy fireworks before we left the state.

Of course, having the "fire" gene inherent in him, my Dad was already thinking one or two steps ahead of me.

Long story short, we arrived back home in Colorado after our trip with the addition of several gross of bottle rockets and a considerable quantity of Black Cat® brand firecrackers. This was a source of frustration (also chagrin) for my Mother. She was convinced that some sort of law enforcement task force was only SECONDS away from breaking down our door and hauling us away, based solely on the fact that we had imported such contraband. My Dad and I assured her that, if we were careful and only shot off a few at a time, we wouldn't get caught, nobody would get hurt and nobody would be "hauled away." Mom was unconvinced by our assurances. In fact, the bottle rockets and her had a very tenuous relationship, neither could stand the other. My Mother made damn sure to store the "illegal" fireworks under the sink in hopes of the pipe leaking on them and, subsequently, ruining them. Luckily, the rockets survived for many years, their sheer numbers making it near impossible for her to destroy ALL of them. A few years after their initial purchase, the rockets would come into play during one of the best Independence Day celebrations ever. First, though, I should introduce one more "player" in this deadly game (of fire). His name is Ryan.

Ryan and I had been friends since the 4th grade. We don't talk to one another anymore, but for the purposes of this story, imagine us as "bestest friends," we did everything together. Around the 4th of July, especially when we had more ready access to funds of our own, we would routinely purchase fireworks for no other reason than to light them and have fun. Ryan had a particular affection for a firework called Crazy Jacks. Crazy Jacks are small little things sold in bundles (and also bricks, being basically a bundle of bundles), the idea being that you light a bundle (of 12 individual Crazy Jacks, I believe) and, when the fuse burns into the firework, colored flame will shoot out the side causing the (aptly named) Crazy Jacks to dance wildly around your driveway for a few seconds. They also go by the name Jumping Jacks, Ground Dancers and such. Ryan discovered, however, that if you separate the individual "Jacks," light them, hold them until they are JUST ABOUT READY to spurt flame and then throw them into the air, they will take off like little bats exiting Hell in thoroughly random directions. This, effectively, turns a harmless mild Class "C" into a dangerous, airborne Class "C," if only for a few glorious seconds. When Ryan first showed me this little trick, I was (obviously) ecstatic. How awesome! Not only did you get 12 times the enjoyment from your pack of Crazy Jacks, it was simply really fun to watch them fly. This became a regular pastime for us every time the 4th of July holiday rolled around...

The first time I showed my Mom the flying firework trick, her reaction was predictable. "That's dangerous, stop it," she'd say. Of course, I would not have "Stopped it," not for anything. One particular night in the early 90s, Myself, Ryan and my Mom were in the backyard of the house on Hackberry lighting fireworks. Mom had been waffling all night as to whether or not we could shoot off some of the original "illegals," and, as such, the bag containing a remaining few gross of bottle rockets was outside with us. She had decided after some thought, however, that it'd be a bad idea and that we would not be allowed to shoot any off. Undaunted, Ryan and I set to the thoroughly enjoyable task of lobbing lit Crazy Jacks in the air and watching them take off. After too long, my Mom decided that she wanted to try throwing one. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," I told her. "You have to wait until the very last minute, right before the fuse burns into it." She still seemed eager to try it so I acquiesced and handed her a Crazy Jack of her very own. Ryan and I both threw a couple more to give her an idea of what she'd be doing and she exclaimed that she was ready. I lit her firework and watched her wait, holding the tiny incendiary device in her suddenly wavering hand.

Did I mention before that my Mom tends to panic a bit?

So yeah, Mom didn't wait for the fuse to go very far. Mom didn't throw the Crazy Jack in the air. Mom apparently experienced a sudden moment of clarity regarding her pending (dangerous) actions, freaked out and tossed the lit Crazy Jack away. She didn't throw the firework on the cement or on the grass, oh no. She threw it DIRECTLY INTO THE BAG CONTAINING THE BOTTLE ROCKETS. Whether she liked it or not, There was going to be a big bottle rocket show THAT night...After she committed this dastardly act, there was that tenuous sort of silence for a second or two, right before all Hell broke loose. It was the kind of silence where all parties involved seem to be simultaneously looking at one another in disbelief, but also looking for a good place to hide. Expectedly, the little Crazy Jack began it's Hellfire dance inside the bag, lighting the fuse of every bottle rocket that it came near (which was all of them). In no time at all, rockets began spurting from the bag, flying at us from all directions...I personally jumped through the screen door into the utility room. My Mom ran toward the gate, seeking refuge around the side of the house. Ryan, not being so lucky as to be close to the house, had to run like Hell toward the aspen tree, rockets on his tail the whole way. He dove behind the tree and tried to deflect the attacking missiles with the branches, but it was to no avail. He was being assaulted from all sides by hundreds of menacing little sticks of fire and fun. The sounds of that night are burned into my memory, as it's the closest I've ever come to experiencing any sort of "battle." Whistles, explosions, and screams permeated the night sky as 3 gross of bottle rockets, unleashed unwittingly by my Mother, rained Hell and horror down upon us in our own backyard...

After some time, and after the last of the rockets had done it's foul duty, there was a shaky sort of quiet. Ryan, battered and dazed by the rockety onslaught, crawled out from behind the tree and sat on the grass. I emerged from the utility room, actually OPENING the door this time around. My Mom continued to cower by the side of the house, now completely convinced that "Johnny Law" would be coming to take her "downtown" in short order for harboring and detonating banned fireworks. Our neighbor Jack, who had been drawn outside by the commotion, was standing on the fence, demanding to know where we had acquired such ordnance. All I could do was laugh while I surveyed the scene in the back yard, a thick cloud of smoke hung low, enveloping everything. Broken red sticks and spent rocket bodies littered every corner of the grass. Leaves and branches that had been torn from our two trees lay everywhere as well. Observing all of this, and ignoring my neighbors inquiry, I stood and chuckled away, still incredulous that it was all reality...Luckily, no Sheriff's Deputy showed up at our house that night and, eventually, our neighbor got tired of his simple line of questioning. After too long, we got everything cleaned up and back in order. It truly was the best damn 4th of july ever.

Not surprisingly, my Mother isn't allowed to handle fireworks anymore.

Labels: holidays, indignities, lame stories, me roots, stuff mom's done

I don't REALLY believe in the results of these little personality tests as administered via the internet. Hell, I've taken ACTUAL personality inventories in the past (Such as the MMPI) and I've even had issues with THOSE results. Either way, Collin took this particular one. Tricia did it. Others have too. Why should I be immune? (Answer: I'm not). Anyhoo, here's my score and explanation from this stupid quiz:

Wackiness: 56/100
Rationality: 32/100
Constructiveness: 38/100
Leadership: 62/100

You are a WEDL--Wacky Emotional Destructive Leader. This makes you an anarchist . You don't give a damn. When push comes to shove, you just forget about it--it's just not worth the heartache. What this means for others is that dealing with you can be aggravating, because they find they can't get you motivated about things they care about. What this means for you is that you are happier, calmer, and saner then they are on their best days.

You are near-immune to criticism, and those who know you well acknowledge and respect that. You may come across as lazy, but the truth is that you find little to get worked up about. Regardless, you have slews of friends, because they are fascinated by your world view, jealous of your lifestyle, and drawn to the fact that you are hilarious to be around.

You are a pillar in a sea of hot-bloodedness. You have a sweet tooth.

Hot blooded, check it and see....Got a fever of a hunnerd and tree! Oh, I DO have a sweet tooth. And yeah, maybe I am slightly anarchistic but dammit...I refuse to allow myself to believe that any of that garbage is true.

Labels: Done Got Tagged, pointless shit, random drawings

Labels: audio, get outta town

Labels: audio, get outta town, indignities

Labels: audio, get outta town, indignities

Labels: audio, get outta town, I eat food, indignities