I have no time to be even remotely creative today. As such, in place of actual content, I will now implore you all to join in on our forum story contest. THERE'S all these "WORDS!" You are required, for the purposes of the contest, to use these "words" in a story, which you would then be compelled to post on the forum (in the appropriate place, of course). DEADLINE IS THURSDAY NIGHT, PEOPLE! Get yo' butt in gear and get to writin' (if you dare!)

seriously, you should dare.

Labels: Stupid Contests

Here at the agency where I work, we're WAYYYYY up on a "hill." Crown Hill Mesa I think is the official name of this "hill," but regardless of any moniker, it's a neat place to work, except during winter snowstorms when it sucks real hard. Anyway, I'm speaking of the PLUS SIDE of working up here...Let's see...We have a great view of the city, we get to see thunderstorms roll in over the mountains, we...um...Get to throw things down the hill...I guess...We have a group of deer that visit us regularly...We get a number of other strange wildlife visitors on the hill, too...We recently experienced YET ANOTHER BENEFIT of working on the hill last week...I shall now share this with you...now:

This is Melanie. She works here at the agency and she has a container with her. Melanie looks concerned, because INSIDE this "container" is something that Todd, our facilities maintenance guy found in the "Copy room." What could it be? Let's get closer and find out!


Ooh, whatever it is, she's smiling now! Yes, this must be something very special...


Ah HA! It's a BAT! Look at the greasy little bastard, he's probably scared out of his little bat mind...Serves him right for trying to take his daily nappy inside an advertising agency...He's probably lucky he hasn't been eaten yet...

No bats or Melanies were harmed in the making of this entry.

On the other hand, Todd (whom we've all recently become concerned about for some strangely homicidal thoughts he shared with us) expressed a desire to "take the bat home for his kids." Great move, Todd! Here's why:

(cut from the El Paso County (Colorado) Health Department Website)
________
RABIES ALERT

The El Paso City-County Health and Environmental District is issuing a Rabies alert to all residents of El Paso and surrounding areas.

The Health District Laboratory has diagnosed two bats found by residents in their yards during the past two weeks as positive for Rabies. In one case, there was no human exposure. We are still searching for the couple that brought the other bat to the Animal Emergency Center on September 12.

Autumn is the time of year when bats begin their southerly migration. El Paso is situated in their natural flyway from North to South. 1-4% of all bats are positive for rabies. We are concerned about possible and unnecessary exposure to Rabies. If bats are found on the ground or appear to be ill or injured, report immediately to Animal Regulation and Disease Control.

UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE THE BATS TO BE TOUCHED .

Your dog or cat should get an annual Rabies vaccination to avoid exposure to Rabies from wild animals.

Report all bats found to Animal Regulation and Disease Control at 532-5966.
_______

ah heh. Heh heh heh...Heh.

I SWEAR I didn't touch the bat, I only took the photos...I Promise...

Labels: office supply aggression, Phrickin' Photoblogs, spooky shit

lots of images equal lots of load time. JUST BE PATIENT! Um...thanks.

It's a known fact that, when you rummage through old junk, you're often gonna find some stuff that you've forgotten about. In this case, my sister did the rummaging. OK, it was actually packing up to move, but it's almost the same thing. Anyway, among the junk that she's unearthed in the process are some old photographs, some of which I will share with you all for lack of anything better. The sharing begins now:


March, 1981. In this picture, we were getting ready to go play miniature golf at a "western-themed" putt-putt course. As such, us dumbasses DRESSED UP IN WESTERN GARB. Ah-heh...Anyway, I'm on the left, Heather's on the right. True to form, once she turned to get in the car, I shot her in the back. Hey, I AM the law west of the Pecos...Or wherever the Hell we are...


1985...L to R Heather, Grandma, Grandpa, Mom and Dad. Where am I? TAKING THE PICTURE! Surprising that nobody's head was cut off.


1980...Knott's Berry Farm in California. Heather seems disinterested in the GIANT FUCKING TORTOISE but I, wisely, am eyeing the damn thing with cautious concern. After reading Collin's story about his evil flesh-eating turtle, it's a wonder I ever made it out of there alive...


1976...Another family photo, but in this case Mom must be snapping it. L to R, Heather, Dad, Me, Grandpa, Uncle Ray and Grandma. By the way, Grandpa is named "Harold" and Grandma is named "Marjorie." They are my Mom's parents and are, in fact still alive. DIG THOSE 70S FASHIONS! Man, my Dad was a snappy dresser. And that HAIR...


HOT DAMN, I'M 3 YEARS OLD! 1977 brought many things...A football birthday cake, an orange "Honda" t-shirt and, apparently, no haircuts. It's no frickin' wonder everyone thought I was a girl. Also, yes...The not being able to close my mouth started very early. This may be an expression of excitement OR it could be that I'm frightened by that dinette set...


this is old. My Dad and I in a photobooth. DIG THAT GIANT COLLAR! I seem relatively confused by the prospect of having my picture taken...I think that booth stole my soul. I hope I got a receipt...


ah, 1981...Here I am with my 7th birthday cake sporting my #53 Randy Gradishar Broncos shirt. Again, no haircuts were coming my way it seems...Also, that rabbit looks positively forlorn at the prospect of it's being devoured. I wonder how the little bastard tasted...


whoo, wow. Here we are at the end of the 1970s...Apparently still trying to cling to the "Me Decade." I'm pictured making some sort of screwy "Eric Idle" face while Heather appears to be on her way to a Partridge Family audition. C'mon, get happy and DIG THAT RUG ON THE WALL! That belongs on a bathroom floor somewhere...


Oh holy crap...Wow...Um...CUT MY DAMN HAIR! If I don't look like the gayest little kid on the PLANET, I don't know who would. These little chunks of crap that we have here are our E-Z Bake Oven products. I know we ate them, but I don't remember them as spectacular. Still, damn. What's up with my hair?..


Hey, nice hair, Heather...Looks a lot like the extra life mushroom from Super Mario Brothers...Also, the chick in the background appears to be practicing backhanding herself in the nose. Keep workin' at it, Holly, you'll get it eventually! Then you can battle the pissed-off mushroom head girl!..


Hey, here's Halloween 1993. Yes, I KNOW I was too old to dress up...but I did it anyway. I was Sub-Zero and Ryan was Raiden. Unable to withstand my furious flying assault, Ryan went down in a heap...I believe his Thunder God career ended soon after...Heh...

AND FINALLY I have one more thing to share...My dad has said in the past that he doesn't seem to get enough mention on my little blog here. Well, Dad, here ya go. One of the best pictures of you that I could dig up...

hmm...that reminds me of someone....

Labels: dad's stories, me roots, Phrickin' Photoblogs

Thursday brings more work and business and such. I know, it sounds like a cop-out, but it means that actual content from me is unlikely, but seeing as I am a "value-added" blogger, I will show you another small chunk of the "Dead Money" thingy I've got in progress. Here now is the $100 chip:

someday I should get these chips actually made. It'd cost a bit much, but it'd be fun. Anyhoo, I hear the microwave...Lunch is ready...See you all later.

Labels: cartoons n' stuff, Illustrations, poker, stagnation

It's a pretty busy day here at work (no Collin all week will do that). As such, I don't have time to polish up some of the entries I've been working on, but I DID want to share a couple things...

The first bit of sharing is that all of my equipment (the stuff that got wet after that wedding on Saturday) is fine. All of the speakers (even the "sloshy" one) tested good and are fully operational. The only real problem I encountered is that my main carpeted equipment rack got wet which caused the glue that holds the carpet down to seep through. This created a nasty, sticky mess. I aired the rack out, though, and mopped the floor. All now seems to be well. In addition, I took an extra safety step and picked up a cheap plastic tub that should protect the spare stuff from the rain better than my old Converse gym bag did. I'm also going to start carrying 45 gallon trashbags with me to gigs so that, if it looks like it may rain, I can place these bags over the racks and stuff BEFORE I load them in the truck so they stay dry regardless of how stupid I am regarding my tarp placement.

You're probably wondering "why the Hell is he telling me all of this?" The answer is simple..."Because."

The second thing I want to share is this preliminary illustration that will be part of a larger shirt design called "Dead Money." If you're not aware what the term "dead money" means in poker, it refers to a player at a poker table who has little chance of winning. If you were unaware that "dead money" was even a poker term, you should come to one of our poker nights. We'd love to have you...Anyhoo, the King of Spades looks like this:

So there's that. I've gotta get back to work, so you all have a fine day.

Labels: cartoons n' stuff, Illustrations, lame stories, poker, spooky shit

This IS an audio entry...Well, ultimately...Anyway, I need to give you all some background beforehand so that it's not COMPLETELY confusing.

Anyway, most of you know of the Monkey Cage. Some time ago, the Monkey included a little blurb about one of the ladies that he works with...That blurb went like this:
----
A lady I work with who's a bit on the strange side (Look who's talkin' huh?!) - she starts telling me how she can't lift things too well - says she has a hernia .
Trying to make conversation, I say: "Oh gosh that's too bad - is it a groin hernia ?"
She tells me. "No - I have a hernia in my VAGINA"
I DID NOT need to HEAR that - I didn't need to KNOW that!!!! WHY!? Why tell the monkey this!?
----
So, being the mature adult that I am, all I could think of after reading this was some "alternate lyrics" to the Johnny Cash classic "Ring of Fire." As such, I commented to that effect and the Monkey responded that he'd like to hear such a song. I got it in my head that I should write and record such a song. I then promised to do so "sometime."

In the interim, the Monkey included another little blurb in another post about the same lady...THAT blurb went something like this:
----
Remember the girl a week or so at work who told me about her hernia - on her VAGINA!? (That's what she told me!) - I was in shock for some time - I spent hours wondering - WHY ME - WHY did she tell me this - WHY do I care!? I'm over it now - I can look at her again now without thinking of her vaginal hernia - I'm so over it that I think I may go up to her tomorrow and say - "How's your vagina these days?" What do you think!?
----
As such, I was reminded that I hadn't recorded the song. I said that I'd get around to it and I meant it. Anyhow, I didn't get around to it. After a while, the Monkey included YET MORE info about this poor woman in another posting...Here now is that blurb in living stereo:
----
Update on the lady at my work who told me she had a hernia in her vagina. This has traumatized the monkey - I can hardly look at her now - she's less-than-attractive to start with, now when I look at her I see a giant vagina with a hernia . She had laser surgery on it the other day and has been telling anyone who will listen about it. I won't listen - when I see her nearby I move away with the swiftness of a startled gazelle. I've have heard her surgery didn't go well on her sick vagina, and that "things are bad" for her.
----
So the little bit about lasers gave me the inspiration that I needed to finally record the darn song. I had it written, but with the new "lasery" information, I was compelled to rewrite it. I did this. I then recorded it. I then emailed it to the Monkey. His feedback was positive, which made me happy. As such, I am now compelled to share my song with all of you. Be warned: it's only an inch or so north of "suck," but it'll do.



I recorded a terrible parody of Garth Brooks' "Friends in Low Places" about 10 years ago...I may re-record that and post it here if this goes over well. Anyway, hope you enjoy it...

Labels: all those funny voices, audio, lame stories

As I suspected, God seems to not want us sinners to finish up our lousy little softball season...Ever...In a blatant act of defiance and blasphemy, though, we played through the Friday evening monsoon and were able to complete one out of the two games which we were scheduled to play. I'll tell ya, there's really NOTHING like playing slow pitch softball in a cold, driving rain on a field that resembles a swamp wearing just a shirt and some sweatpants (and a hat), you should all try it at your earliest convenience. The field was getting so bad that I had to keep telling myself over and over, "don't dive, don't slide." Being a drowned rat, I felt, was bad enough, I damn sure didn't need to be a big fat ball of mud for my ride home. Despite the conditions, we DID win the game. In fact, we won "big" (18-5 mercy rule type "big"). After the game, I proclaimed our team to be the "best bad-weather team of all time." I'm not sure that the other team appreciated my proclamation but, frankly, to Hell with them. That team is nothing but a bunch of whiners when they lose, so it's kind of nice, (and evil) to rub it in. We have (hopefully) our final final FINAL final FINAL rainout makeup game this coming Saturday. Will the weather be bad? Of course it will. No matter what, I'll keep you all posted (not because you want to know, but because it gives me something to type about. THAT, after all, is what counts here.)

So on Saturday I loaded up my equipment and headed into Cheyenne Canyon to D.J. my LAST wedding ever. Not a bad way to go out, either, it was an extremely laid back event and all of the people who attended were very friendly. For a while, I just played a Jim Brickman CD...There was no garter or bouquet toss, only two short "special" dances and the guests only danced during "open dancing" for maybe 10 minutes. After that was done, I just played music for...well...myself, really. Everyone else was outside "chit-chatting" and/or drinking...I had been paid to play until 3:30, though, so that's exactly what I did. Here and there, people wandered in and listened, some danced, some struck up conversations with me. All in all, it was a very nice event. As I was packing up to go, however, big rain clouds rolled in over the mountains. My biggest problem with rain is that, when I do these "gigs," I haul my equipment around in the bed of my little GMC pickup truck which, conveniently, doesn't have a topper. My way around that is to cover everything with a big tarp which I then secure to the truck, thereby keeping everything (potentially) safe and dry. I had done kind of a "burrito" technique with said tarp for my drive up to the event site wherein I placed the equipment on top of part of the tarp, which was already in the truck bed, folded the rest of the tarp over the equipment and then secured it. This worked great on the way up...

It's a shame, though, that I can't get anything right twice in a row...

When I started loading up to go home, It started to rain...Hard...I hurried up and put the "tortilla" (tarp) in position, loaded the equipment as quickly as I could and then went to make the big "fold-over"...As I yanked on the damn thing, I realized that I had positioned the tarp improperly and I didn't have enough of the stupid thing exposed to cover all of my (stupid) equipment...The rain had REALLY started coming down by this time so, instead of unloading everything just to reposition the tarp, I gave the damn thing three or four mighty tugs, fastened it to the truck and drove off, hoping that I had enough of my equipment covered so as not to sustain serious damage (from the rain). I figured that, if I hit the interstate, I could get home before things were completely "fried."

Then the hail came...

The storm that I suddenly found myself in the middle of ended up being one of the worst ones we've experienced all summer. Severe thunderstorm warnings were quickly replaced by flash flood warnings and the aforementioned interstate ended up being at a standstill. I can't say I blame people for not wanting to drive, there was roughly 6 inches of rain and hail filling up all of the lanes, it was amazing (and scary!). I inched my way home and, after what seemed like an eternity, I pulled safely into my garage. I left my equipment out there overnight to dry and, when I came out on Sunday to load it in, things SEEMED "ok"...There was still some dampness on the carpeted racks and speakers, and my spare equipment bag got pretty wet, but I'm thinking that no serious damage was done. If I lose anything, it looks like it'll just be one, cheap little speaker box (which is acceptable, they're easily replaceable) seeing as I can actually hear water "sloshing" around inside. I'll be unracking the equipment tonight so as to air it all out and also seeing about taking the "sloshy" speaker apart to view it's "innards." It looks like my "last wedding ever" VERY WELL could be my last GIG ever...Keep your fingers crossed for me, I don't really want to have to purchase a whole lot of new equipment...

As an aside, on the way home during the "flash flood warning," I was listening to 1240 AM, which is a sportsradio station here in town. As is the way of most AM stations nowadays, they're staffed very thin on weekends, usually with nothing more than just some kid, fresh out of school, who runs the board and tries not to fall asleep...The problem with this scenario is that, when weather alerts are issued, they are required to be read "live" by the operator on duty. The poor kid who happened to be at the station when all of this weathery crap went down tried his damnedest, but simply wasn't good at speaking into a microphone with any clarity. He stumbled and stammered through the information and, when he got to the part about "flooding in creeks and streams," actually said the phrase "swollen streaks and creams." I laughed appreciatively for most of the ride home following his misstep, repeating "streaks and creams" over and over to myself...

hee hee..."Streaks and creams..."

After the wedding, my wife and I were supposed to have gone to a "video game night" hosted by Justin, who is one of Collin's friends...Due to the giant, spooky, deadly storm hanging over the city, however, said game night was cancelled (Justin was concerned for the safety of his electronics, which I understand). Collin left a message on my home phone about the cancellation, but I did not receive it...Not "in time," at least...When we got to Justin's house, I didn't see Collin's car (of course, because he wasn't coming, but I didn't know that at the time) and so I didn't go up to the door. It's not like I'm afraid of Justin, but Collin was the one who REALLY invited my wife and I so, without Collin there, I wasn't gonna just go ring the doorbell. After waiting around for a while and then going and getting some dinner and coming back,(hint: don't ever pick up California rolls from a grocery store deli) we decided that, with no Collin showing up, something must be amiss. With no cell phone to call and check our messages, we were pretty much in the dark...Luckily, my parents don't live far away from Justin, so my wife and I went over to their place to check our messages and, sure enough, the "I hope you get this before you leave" message was on our phone at home. Crap. So no video game night, but we still had a good time, playing cards with my parents and finishing off some ribs from the Outback. I had even made "secret" cookies for Justin and Collin. Oh well, more for me, I guess...

So today I visited David Gunnarsson's DaveArt.com. As some of you may recall, he's the (wildly talented) Swedish airbrush artist whom I commissioned to paint my goalie helmet using my cartoons (he did a fabulous job). Anyway, he finally posted my mask in his mask gallery. He had very nice things to say (in his endearing broken English style) about me and the design of the mask. Head over there and check it out, it's under the "mask gallery" pulldown link (He calls it "scull scramble," but I personally prefer "reapers on parade."). It's really very cool to have MY mask up in his gallery alongside the masks he's done for premiere goaltenders such as Tommy Salo, Kevin Weekes and Johan Hedberg. He even lists my rec team...It's all so surreal...Hee hee...


Well, I'd better get some stuff done. Ooh, I should share that the first thing I worked on today was a birthday card for Mike Shanahan, who is the Denver Broncos' head coach. He also happens to be the spokesperson for one of our major clients here at the agency. Every year, I get to draw up a cartoon card for his birthday that, subsequently, gets signed by a lot of people who work for this aforementioned client and then, ultimately, presented to him. I don't know if he likes getting them, I've never received any feedback, but I sure like doing them. Just another "cool" perk of having a "cool" job. Maybe I'll post the finished product sometime...Either way, I have to get back to doing more "cool" stuff. Big time parody song audio tomorrow, kids! Don't miss it!..

Labels: indignities, lame stories, pointless shit, sports

It's finally Friday. Also, if the weather cooperates, it'll FINALLY be the end of our summer softball season. Don't get me wrong, I love playing softball, but with all of the rainouts we've had this season, it's been a real choppy ride. We have a double header tonight, with games at 7pm and 9pm. We'll be playing the two top teams, so if we win, we have a real good shot at placing in the top 3 of the league...We'll see...At least my team beat the team made up of people from the agency here both times that we played. I have secured bragging rights for at least one more year...

On the "content" front, I AM currently working on a story that I believe will be pretty funny when it's all done. I've also completed a parody song which I shall probably share with you all very soon. Time will tell on all of that, but for now, I plan to distract you, as has been my pattern as of late, with a quick sketch of "Raiden," the Thunder God from the video game Mortal Kombat.

Here's hoping that your weekend is a "flawless victory" sans "fatalities."

Heh...Um...Oh, never mind...

Labels: cartoons n' stuff, lame stories, random drawings, stagnation

Man, it's been a LONG DAMN TIME since my last one of these, but I finally came through. That's right, people, it's time for another AUDIO ENTRY! (holy crapoli!)

I will admit that I, like a lot of people, enjoy chicken wings. I've often sat and wondered, however, how many chickens there could possibly be in the world. Will we ever run out? I mean, I ASSUME that these places that serve ONLY wings cut some sort of distribution deal with the chicken people. Think about it, 40 wings represents the dissection of 20 chickens. The rest of the meat has to go SOMEWHERE. (Breasts go to Wendys®, Livers and Hearts go to Safeway®, Thighs go in my refrigerator, the Gizzards go into my belly, etc...) It's such a strangely specialized market, chicken wings...

I'm also amused by restaurants that use, in their logo or otherwise, the likeness of whatever animal they serve (pigs at a BBQ restaurant, steers at a steakhouse, old crotchety men at KFC, etc.) as if these animals are TOTALLY PSYCHED to be eaten by you. (Come on in and enjoy my family roasted up nice!) With this premise in mind, I present to you a commercial for "Wingity Ding Dong." This piece of fiction has been rolling around in my brain for some time now and I'm quite relieved that it found it's way out...Finally...Anyway, here it is:


Unfortunately for you, I do all of the voices (even the lousy singing) in this one. Still, hope you all enjoy it.

Labels: all those funny voices, audio, spoof commercials

Yesterday, Collin typed up and posted a thrilling tale which diagrams the dangers of mishandling chemicals (among other things). Reading this story got my little 2-cylinder brain fired up and a-thinkin'...I was reminded of my first "real" graphic design job out of tech school wherein I was an artist/monkey/slave for a screenprinting business called All-American Sports. For lack of anything better, I shall now share one particular experience related to my employment there...now:

All-American was (actually, still is) a small independent sporting goods store that would've gone flat out of business years ago if it weren't for the revenue generated by the "team sales" and screenprinting departments. When I first started there, the retail store and print shop were housed within two units in a crappy 70s strip mall on Carefree, just east of Academy blvd. with the sporting goods store on the north end of the building and the screenprinting operation occupying the south. (there were a number of people who never could figure out that the two were affiliated, much less connected. Ironically enough, there was a herd of losers who decided to steal a large number of items from the retail store one particular day. These geniuses parked right in front of the screenprinting area, figuring that they were far enough down from the store to make an unseen getaway. Dumb bastards...)

My "office" at All-American was really nothing more than a dirty hallway at the back end of the print shop. The computer that I was expected to design with was only a "computer" in the most basic sense. It was, in fact, a giant, clunky old Mac II, connected to a shitty black and white scanner. I had two "design" programs at my disposal on this machine...Aldus (not yet Macromedia) Freehand (version 1) and the earliest version of Typestyler. No Photoshop, no Quark, just me against the world. (there was no hope of ever upgrading that stupid machine, either. The floppy drive(s) ceased operation sometime prior to my arrival, presumably due to them being clogged with "filth"). I ended up doing a lot of shirt designs by hand and making the separations by cutting rubylith or shooting them with the massive fucking dinosaur stat camera. And yeah, I forgot to mention that NOW, I was "in charge" of the camera, the film, the darkroom and the developer unit, never mind the fact that, during my schooling, these types of things were more "theory" or "historical artifact" than actual design tools. At the tender age of 19, I was placed in total control of my own (completely obsolete) art department (whoo!). I could now lord over a filthy pile of useless junk with which I was expected to work miracles...

I was in graphic art Hell...

So, if you've been around a print shop of any kind at some time in your life, you're probably aware that there are many different "chemical smells" that hang in the air of such places. Screenprinting shops are no different, in fact there are a number of completely toxic and noxious items readily available in a screenprinting shop which, if you're not careful, could render you "screwy" (or even unconscious). If you'd like a quick rundown as to how the process of screenprinting works, click here (it doesn't cover EVERYTHING, but you'll get the gist, which is good enough). One of the things you'll learn pretty quick if you work in proximity to screen print ink is that the "ink" itself is a kind of "liquid plastic." As such, screenprinters utilize a chemical called Triple Blend to clean the screens during a print run or, with the combination of a "textile gun," to remove mistakes from printed pieces...

If you're even slightly astute, you've probably figured out by now that "Triple Blend" can dissolve plastics. Gold star for you...Move to the head of the class, smartass...

One of the things that I wanted very badly to do when I started working at All-American was to CLEAN UP MY DAMN AREA. I'll admit, I'm not the most fastidious person on the planet, but I refuse to work in abject squalor, which is basically what "my" hallway (and nearby darkroom) was. The day that I finally got around to getting some things in order and wiped down, I found (to my dismay) that most of the "filth" wouldn't come off too readily using traditional "soap and water" methods. As such, I turned to the magic scrubbing power that is contained within "Triple Blend." That shit could cut through the dirt and grime on any surface in my area faster than Motherfucking Mr. Clean himself, equipped with a pressure washer and a bad attitude (sure, some of these "surfaces" ended up "slightly marred," but it was a damn sight better than having to work through a 4-inch layer of "mystery scum" with Windex and a paper towel). During my cleaning (and marring) frenzy, at some point, I decided it would be prudent to spiff up the developer unit inside the darkroom...Finally...That friggin' thing was "icky"...

The developer in question was a small (but strangely bulky) "tabletop" unit that sported a set of rollers to direct undeveloped film through a chemical bath. The "chemical bath tray" was so corroded with old, crusty "chemical goo" that I couldn't even tell what it was made of. I assumed that, since everything else in the darkroom was nearing antique status, the tray HAD to be metal. With this in mind, I poured some Triple Blend into the tray with the intention of having it eat away the corrosion, leaving the tray nice and shiny (if not somewhat marred). I then closed the door to the darkroom and went off to clean up some more. Admittedly, as I got into knocking layers of shit off of other things in the hallway, I forgot about the developer...Eventually, lunchtime rolled around which meant that I would eat whatever I had brought and then go out for a nice walk. Upon returning from my excursions around the neighborhood, I would often hang out for a few minutes in the print shop and chat with Scott, a likeable guy who, for whatever reason, called me "Chief."

This particular day was no exception, true to my routine after "walkies," I was standing in the shop with Scott and the other printers when "Kit" walked through the area. Kit, at the time, was a stern lady in her 80s. She had been the original owner of the business and, after having sold it to the current owner, stayed on to monitor operations (or some such nonsense). However the situation shook out, Kit was an old, grumpy lady who rarely smiled. This particular day, she walked through the front door of the print shop, stopped by the darkroom door, looked around, glared at me, glared at scott, looked around a few more times and then walked out through the back door, which led (eventually) to the main retail area. Not long after that, I noticed a horrifying, powerful stink-odor. I looked at Scott and asked "do you smell that?" He replied that he could, indeed, smell SOMETHING and whatever it was smelled very bad. "What the Hell is that, Chief?" Scott inquired? I shrugged my shoulders and offered up the only cause I could think of at the time...

"I think it might be Kit."

Hey, shut up, it seemed plausible.

The other folks in the shop nodded in grim acceptance of this possibility and went back to work, fully expecting the "stink" to dissipate in no time. Unfortunately, though, the odor became steadily worse and soon smoke, coming from the direction of the darkroom, began filling the shop. Scott and I both ran to the darkroom and flung open the door (not the smartest thing ever) and were instantly greeted with a blindingly noxious cloud of smoke and fumes, which damn near rendered us unconscious. "EVERYBODY GET OUT!" Scott screamed, and we ran like Hell for the parking lot, finally fleeing the stink. Soon, we were joined by the rest of the employees, including the owner who was, understandably, quite scared and more than a little confused. "What happened back there?" he asked. Scott, not knowing the details of my earlier marring spree, replied "I don't know, the developer just blew up!" Sheepishly, I nodded in aggrement, even though I knew FULL WELL what had really happened. Well, I didn't know EVERYTHING for sure, but I had enough information to make an educated guess...I didn't offer any of that up, but it's probably painfully obvious to all of you by now...

The tray of the developer unit was, indeed, made of plastic. The Triple Blend that I added to it did it's initial job very well and ate through the corrosion. The problem arose when it got to the actual tray, and began to eat through that as well. Once it made it's vile way through the tray, the only place it could go was into the chemical reservoir where it must've combined with the developing solution to create one of the most horrid reactions that I've ever had the misfortune to be a part of. The fumes that resulted smelled like burning poo and seemed to sear my eyes and ears shut when I came in proximity of them. The whole expereince was like being in the monkey house at the zoo, but magnified 1,000 times.

It certainly didn't improve the ambience of the print shop in any way.

Since the owner didn't want to call the fire department, Scott and I wrapped wet towels around our faces, put on safety goggles and went in to face the threat head on. Our mission? Remove the developer. Fighting the noxious cloud, we made our way back to the darkroom and picked up the unit. When we got the damn thing outside and hosed it off, we found that there wasn't much left of the tray, in fact it had damn near melted into oblivion. The whole unit smelled like piss, vinegar and burnt fecal matter. I was pretty sure that, even if it worked, I didn't want to use it again.

I was quite fearful that I would be fired over the whole incident. Even though it was a crappy job, it was MY crappy job and I needed it. Luckily, nobody was terminated (not even me) and we all got to go home early that day. Should I have confessed? Sure. Would it have changed things for the better? no. Did anyone die? Not yet. I DID learn a lot of different lessons that day, not the least of which is that Kit, even though she was as unpleasant as she was, never did smell as bad as that chemical reaction. If there's a moral to this story, it would be simple and direct..."Upgrade your equipment, you tightwad!"

Don't force me to blow up any more antiques...It won't be pretty...

Labels: indignities, lame stories, me roots

I love old music. I particularly love old, obscure music. As such, I've spent (roughly) the last 11 years amassing my CD collection, compiling a great stack of music, obscure and otherwise, which date from the 1930s all the way to "present day." I have in my possession some wonderful calypso music, a lot of fantastic blues and swing and (arguably) the largest collection of 50s, 60s and 70s rock, soul, funk, r & b, rockabilly, disco and jump blues anywhere. With this fact in mind, you can imagine my elation when I was contacted and asked to D.J. a 60th birthday party/reunion for a group of people who were described to me as "ardent fans of 50s and 60s music, especially doo-wop."

FINALLY!..Damn...

It's "gigs" like these which make suffering through wedding reception after lousy wedding reception seem (almost) worthwhile. Now I'd have the chance to unleash the deepest collection of "oldies" in the western hemisphere (mine) on a crowd who would truly appreciate it. The party was to be held at the home of the "birthday boy" which is located in Black Forest, Colorado and I was told that I'd be set up "out on the patio." For those of you unfamiliar with the geography of the Colorado Springs area, Black forest is a rather exclusive wooded area northeast of town. It's also (roughly) an hour drive (give or take, depending on traffic) from where I live (south of town). I expected that the place would be nice, most places in Black Forest are...When I got there, though, it was more than I could've expected. I was in complete awe. I was told that the property as a whole encompasses 40 acres. The main house is giant. The garage and attached workshop are larger than my whole house. The whole place has been thoughtfully landscaped and, true to form, their patio is no ordinary patio, it's terribly expansive. This place is easily the largest private home that I have ever had the occasion to visit...

Before I go much further with the story, though, I should fill you all in about the tradition of "name that tune" here at the agency where I work. Unless you're completely devoid of television, color or otherwise, you've probably been exposed, at one time or another, to the classic game show "Name That Tune." We play "name that tune" here, but my version of the game is not much like the old TV gameshow. It is, in fact, more of a "free-for-all" wherein I put my ITunes on shuffle, turn up my speakers and let fly with songs. The other members of the art department are then required to shout out artist and title. If they're right, they are allowed to glow with pride. If they're wrong, they feel burning burning shame (also: humiliation). Regardless, it's a whole Hell of a lot of fun. The game was significantly more organized during the "era of Andy," which (conveniently) was the period of time when Andy (whom you all know from comment-box fame) worked with us. The game became such a tradition that, around lunchtime, people from many different departments would gather in the art department for a scheduled round of name that tune. I would play 10 preselected songs and the players would write their answers on a "test sheet" which I would then grade. Highest score would win a prize, which was always a candy bar (I had a prize budget, even!) Andy won a lot of candy during the game. He is, to this day, the undisputed "name that tune" champion. After Andy was "sent away," though, the game, like our hearts, died. (without it's star player, what could we do? Let Scott win? I think not.) The game DOES pop up now and then, but it's a mere skeleton of it's former self...So sad...*sigh*

...ok, where was I?..Ah yes...

"What does "name that tune" have to do with the story," you ask? "EVERYTHING," I say! The partygoers were, in fact, SO RABID about "oldies" music, that the night ended up becoming nothing more than one big "name that tune" game for which I earned money. There were precious few songs I could play that SOMEONE wouldn't shout out the artist and title for. In fact, the few times I actually "stumped" them, they (collectively) gave me a look that said "ha ha! You crafty devil!" (which I am). Everyone there, except the few "younger folks" that didn't count, had a wonderful time. The music had them dancing, singing and reminiscing for hours. So many hours, in fact, that I stayed and played 2 hours past my scheduled end time. Near the conclusion of the night, the die-hards who remained simply arranged patio chairs in front of my table and shouted out "musical challenges" that, thanks to the song collecting fervor that took over my brain at age 19, were quickly answered to the oohs, ahhs and reminiscent stories of the crowd. I had finally found a group of people where, musically, I fit in, never mind that these people are all twice my age. They wouldn't let me leave and it was just as well, since I didn't feel like going anywhere...

I should mention, also, that I wouldn't have sounded nearly as impressive on Saturday night if it weren't for the roundabout help of a former D.J. called M. Dung. The Dungboy, as he calls himself, started in radio some years ago and, through his unique brand of showmanship and endearing on-air style (HELLO EYYYYE!), landed gigs in many major markets. For years, he and his "Sunday Night Idiot Show" were staples on the legendary KFOG 104.5 FM in San Francisco. Dung (real name "Mike Slavko") has since retired from commercial radio, disenchanted by the formulaic bullshit that now dominates American airwaves. (I feel that it's a great loss to have someone so obviously talented driven away from the business by what the business has become, but until I can purchase my own station, I can't really change it.) Anyhow, while his Idiot Show was still going strong, Dung collaborated with Rhino Records, who released a CD titled "M. Dung's Idiot Show Classics" (oh-dayyy!) It's a tight little collection of oldies music that, if you're a serious oldies collector, MUST be amongst your holdings. For your reference, it looks like this:
So anyway, during the party, I was approached by one of the more "learned" party goers who requested "Shake a Tailfeather" by the 5 Du-Tones. It seems that this particular version of the song (there's at least 3, by the way) was the one to hit big in St. Louis, which is where all of these folks were originally from. Well, thanks to the fact that I added the aforementioned CD to my collection some years back, I was able to "whip out" the 5 Du-Tones version and "save the day," as it were, to the delight of the crowd. It's strangely satisfying to see a group of 60 year old men and women absolutely "getting down." I bet they were pretty sore come Sunday morning. So thanks, Dungboy. I'm one appreciative "idiot" that wishes you were still on the air somewhere...

I believe that I made a good impression on these people overall. Good enough, hopefully, that I get called back to do more. Time will tell on that, but at least I got to have the "big fun" at least once..."Yoww," indeed...

Ah, I can't forget to share this...During the more informal "name that tune" session, it was requested that, for as long as I could, I play "tragedy" songs (wherein someone dies). I was delighted, seeing as these are tunes that rarely get played (some, for obvious reasons). I fired up the staples, ("Last Kiss" by J. Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers and "Teen Angel" by Mark Dinning), got to play my personal favorite, ("Endless Sleep" by Jody Reynolds), and then, of course, there were the absolute crap songs ("Honey" by Bobby Goldsboro and "Tell Laura I Love Her.") These folks sang right along with every single song and shouted out for more. It made me feel warm and funny inside all at the same time. And, yeah, I got paid for all of this, to the tune of $500. Sometimes it's good just to be me, even though I didn't have "Ebony Eyes" like I thought I did...Ah well, for next time...

After all of this, including the fact that I played softball right before packing up and heading to the "gig," on Sunday morning I was pretty well beat. I rested most of the day and played hockey at 7:30 pm. The team, as a whole, played very well and we came away with a (rare) win, 4 to 2, over the "Moose Knuckles." I'm hoping that this success begets more success, losing all of the time sucks. Either way, hockey is fun...I can't lose sight of that...

As a postscript, I have a wedding reception (hopefully my last) to DJ this coming Saturday (as I mentioned last week). I'll let you all know if it goes OK, I'm expecting good things, but I now know that nothing will ever surpass the fun of the party on Saturday. If I could do gigs like that that every night of the week, I would, possibly for free (don't tell anyone). It'd make me the happiest DJ ever...

Labels: lame stories, mumbling about music, radio stories, tales of triumph

In lieu of real content today, I've decided to present a "photoblog." This is in honor of the fact that, even though it's been some time since they were taken, we finally got the pictures of our trip to Las Vegas developed. There are also some hockey pictures and some house pictures that filled out the roll. As you'll soon find out, my wife and I are real good about purchasing a camera to use on trips, it's actually "using" the camera that seems to be our big stumbling block. Either way, you are cordially invited to view said photos starting....now:


On the left is my wife, Heather. On the right is her (twin) sister Shannon. Note the fact that they BOTH have the odd propensity to close their eyes in anticipation of the camera flash. Nature or nurture? I say "neither." I just chalk it up to plain old-fashioned "goofiness."


haaaaaaaaa-ooooooowww...Here I am in Ninja readiness pose. What's that? You say that it just appears that I've been surprised by the camera? THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I WANT THE CAMERA TO THINK, FOOL! Ha ha! I have that camera right where I want it...


Here is another photo of our pre- "going downtown Las Vegas and drinking and then going drunk bowling" experience. On the left is Shannon, on the right is her boyfriend, Aldie. Aldie doesn't like to have his photo taken, so this particular shot is rare and should be looked upon as such.


Ha HA! Drunk AND happy! I'm happy 'cause I'm at a bowling alley and I'm drunk...well...Because I ingested a lot of alcohol. Man, I love bowling. By the way, that shirt I'm wearing? Bought it at a grocery store. Yep. I'm a fashion ICON!..


As should be apparent, I wasn't the ONLY one who had been drinking. What is Shannon doing here? I can't say. (I had been drinking). We'll ask my wife, she took the photo...Hope she can remember (she drank too).


and so, we're done with the limited selection of Vegas photos and ON TO HOCKEY! Here I am, skating slowly toward my net to start the game. The color is screwy because it's taken through the glass. With no flash. The flash would've just reflected. Either way, here it is. The big blob shape in the middle is me, I swear.


These two nutcases belong to Perry (and his wife Peggy). Perry has played on the hockey team with me since it's inception and is a pretty cool guy. His kids are pretty fun to watch. They're extremely destructive. They're not really allowed over to our house. Still, they're fun to watch. Like at the Mall. Or their house.


AAAAND no more hockey photos. Here is the front of my house, as taken from across the street. I forgot to shut the garage. Oh well, the lawn looks green at least. Yay lawn!


And here's the back of the house. Don't laugh, the lawn looks a Hell of a lot better than when we first moved in.


And here's the office. Well, it's the 3rd bedroom, technically, but with the addition of the desk and a PC that doesn't really work, we now call it the "office." And yes, those things on the wall are all classic 45 RPM records. I love records...


And we end the tour at the bathroom. This is the bathroom that I got to decorate. NOTE THE ISLAND THEME! It goes well with most of my shirts. I feel compelled to say here that we don't use this bathroom much. So there.

And that's it. Check back tomorrow when I shall surely impart to you tales from my weekend...It'll be fun. I swear.

Labels: get outta town, hockey stuff, Phrickin' Photoblogs, sports

Today's going to be one of those days that just FLIES by, I can already feel it...We've got our company picnic this afternoon which means that, at around 1:00 pm, we're all going to head over to Bear Creek Park to take part in the three "Fs" (food fun and frolic). Being that it IS "Friday the 13th," I'm sure that SOMEONE will end up breaking their leg playing sand volleyball or a gaggle of rabid midgets will overrun our pavilion and steal our food. Ah, well...can't fight fate, right? Ah-heh...Anyway, since I have to prepare for "insurgent wee-folk," instead of writing anything worthwhile, I feel like (to steal a line from another blog) merely "pimpin' shit." At least for the first couple of paragraphs...Here we go...

I MUST let you wonderful people know that, against her will and without her knowledge, my mom now has a blog. The two goofballs, Heather and Collin, decided that they should just take that "big first step" and start one up for her. I contributed the title (Smarter by Myself), but disavow all knowldge of the "project" past that...As of now, on the page, there's not much to see. Still, if you're so inclined, you should head over and see it. I'm thinking that there may be more to see as time wears on. She does have a lot of interesting things to share, whether she likes it or not...

In addition to the above (exciting) news, I added some new "products" to the "store." I AM NOT TELLING YOU THIS SO YOU'LL BUY SOMETHING. Not in the slightest. My mentioning this is NOT a pathetic plea to perpetuate purchases (I don't make any money off of it anyhow. It IS free to maintain, so (in gambling terms) it's a "push.") but rather just a "go check it out and see what I've been doing instead of writing stories and recording and producing audio entries" thing. Granted, this stuff doesn't take THAT much time, but I AM trying to hold down a full time job, a part time job and prepare for "gigs," so...yeah...There's now a "karaoke is for losers" shirt available and (in honor of my Mother's new "blogger" status) a "smarter by myself" hooded sweatshirt. More products will surely follow seeing as I can always come up with more crap to slap on shirts (and such).

I have a 60th birthday party/reunion to D.J. tomorrow (way up) in Black Forest. The lady that hired me told me that I'd be playing 50's and 60's music, doo wop, r&b and the like. THANK GOD! THESE are the shows that I actually ENJOY doing! I hate DJing "weddings," mostly because schedules get out of whack and everyone's ALL tense and shit and I REALLY feel out of my element if I'm not playing 50s, 60s or 70s music. Being that it's not one of those things, tomorrow's show promises to be a "whole lot of fun" and I'm actually looking forward to doing it. I HAVE booked a wedding for NEXT Saturday, but it's not going to be so bad. It's for the daughter of Bill Sommer, a guy with whom I worked at the Gazette. He's an easy goin' kind of fella and (thankfully) so is his daughter. Well, his daughter ain't a fella...but..Oh, Hell, you know what I mean! This wedding reception promises to be rather loose and fun AND the bride told me that, since she and groom thought that "their music" wouldn't make the older folks happy, I COULD PLAY "OLDIES" MUSIC! Hot damn, Yay for me. I think, though, that this particular reception will be the LAST wedding reception I ever DJ. I've come to the conclusion that, if I'm going to mobile D.J. part time in addition to doing the radio part time and this art stuff full time, I'd be better off limiting myself to doing 50s, 60s and 70s music ONLY with the addition of karaoke. Anything outside of that, I'm simply going to turn down. It's not worth the hassle, frankly.

I spent a good portion of my evening last night making my (famous) "Secret Cookies" for the (aforementioned) company picnic. I've already given the other "artists" a "sneak cookie preview" and the reports I got have been "favorable." Hopefully everyone else in the building enjoys them as well...Also, those goddamn midgets better appreciate all of my hard work...Ah, well, I'll find out soon enough. Anyway, I must get some "stuff" done...I hope everyone has a good weekend. See you again on Monday...

Labels: I eat food, lame stories, mumbling about music, office supply aggression, radio stories

Way back in April, I shared with you wonderful people a little spoof commercial that I had done which was inspired by a real life product. In case you're not hip to following linkies, I'll just show you that product right here:

As I said then, this product was brought to my attention by someone named Frank, Albiet not THE Frank of Kraut Juice Fame. Anyway, being the good little Kraut that he is, This other "Frank" sent away for a "recipe book" that is advertised on the can (of Kraut Juice). I expected the Kraut company (based on Ohio of all places) to maybe send back a couple mimeographed pages with some basic recipes. Imagine my surprise when, only a few weeks after he sent off the request, Frank receives a very nicely designed glossy booklet that contains information (and thrilling photographs) depicting the many uses of Frank's Kraut Juice.

(To be fair, there are also recipes that feature the company's other products, such as Snowfloss sauerkraut and Whomdewhat diced tomatoes. But We're talkin' Kraut Juice here...)

First off, and I don't think I should HAVE to point this out, but this crap is like...Frickin' cabbage squeezin's! How can anyone POSSIBLY integrate this junk into an appetizing dish? Well, it seems that if faced with this query, those effers at Frank's would quickly tell me that there are, indeed, NUMEROUS ways to integrate Frank's Kraut Juice into your daily culinary routine. I should mention, then, that their little cookbook is titled, conveniently, "Kraut Cuisine." The cover looks like this:

Inside this volume, you will find MANY delectable delights which range from traditional German fare (holy crap, right?), to Chinese and Mexican style dishes (um...huh?), all the way to desserts.

Yep...You ain't goin' blind. I said "desserts."

Much like an episode of Iron Chef wherein Chen Frickin' Kenichi will magically turn something like "pork belly" into a dessert by pairing it with rice and sweet beans, the Kraut Juicers have included ways to make things like "cake" using their vile bile. Think I'm lyin'? take a look:

"Mmmm, this chocolate cake is awesome, but it could sure use some sour bitterness...Where do we keep the cabbage leakin's?!" (Frank's Kraut Juice to the rescue.) I don't know about you, and maybe I AM a bit biased AGAINST sauerkraut, but I'm damn sure not about to place cabbage (or things which can be extracted from cabbage) on a dessert buffet anytime soon. As such, I don't see how sauerkraut barrel dippin's could possibly enhance the flavor of any sweet treat, no matter how many taste buds you had shot off in the war.

I should say, though, that beyond the desserts and the (peculiar) additions of "ethnic" recipes, most of the Kraut Krap in the booklet is pretty typically German. There are two particular recipies, though, that make me a bit squeamish thinking about them...The first is pictured here (parental discretion advised):

Oh, those poor, poor unlucky nutless Krauts...Imagine numerous pathetic German eunuchs sitting around in wheelchairs, damning the fact that they just weren't quick enough to outrun the snipper and the deep fryer. I personally would change the name of this recipe, just for fun, to something like "Alpine mountain oysters"...It seems, though, that, fast or slow, no one is immune:

As if deep frying weren't enough, the quick ones even get the "fork treatment." (stab, stab). The whole thing makes me shudder just thinking about it. I guarantee you one thing...I won't be biting into a "kraut ball," "quick" or otherwise, anytime soon. It just don't seem right...

So, If any brave soul out there feels compelled to give any of these recipes a "whack," as it were, let me know...I'll see if I can pry the book from Frank's iron grip...When I gave the book back to him, he began muttering something about rueben dip and kraut balls right before a little trail of drool appeared on his chin...

As a sidenote, We have our company picnic tomorrow...I'm thanking God that Frank's not in charge of desserts...

Labels: I eat food, pointless shit