36 years ago (yesterday), in Grand Junction, Colorado, Jess Knight married Karen Widegren. 36 years ago TODAY, Karen Knight turned 20 years old. Happy anniversary, mom and dad and a very happy birthday to you, mom. Hope you guys are having fun...Have a safe trip back.

Labels: holidays

I don't think that there's been any sort of entry on my blog yet that was "awaited." The spoof radio commercial for Big Ass Hotdog, though, seems to be the exception to the rule. Perhaps it's all the buildup, or simply the fact that I'm actually tying together a fake print ad with a fake radio ad. No matter the reason for the (minor) clamoring to hear the Big Ass Hotdog radio spot, the wait is over. I now present to you, the fake radio commercial for the (just as fake) Big Ass Hotdog grand opening:

I was able to utilize Kathy, a freelancer at the agency I work at AND one of the original ValuHos, for the first female voice part and my wife, making her spoof audio debut, as the second. I am the other voices in the spot. Hope you enjoy it!

Labels: all those funny voices, audio, spoof commercials

I don't really have anything to post today, but I figured that I should at least take the "It's my birthday" post off of the top. The weekend was pretty fun, my parents, my sister and Collin came over on Friday and we played some poker and sang the karaoke. I had a piece of Rice Krispy treat in lieu of cake (trying to lose some weight) and I got some very nice presents.

Also, how about them CC Tigers! On their way to the Frozen Four in Columbus. The only problem is, they have to face DU AGAIN. They've already played each other 5 times this season. Should be a great game.

I didn't get a chance to record the audio for the Big Ass Hotdog spot, but I should be able to knock that out here in the next couple of days. Until then, I offer (yet another) crude drawing for your viewing pleasure:

Labels: hockey stuff, lame stories, random drawings, sports, stagnation

Today is my 31st birthday. Today also marks 2 years of being without my friend, Rita. Because of this, I'm re-posting (with a few edits) the entry I wrote about her, right around this time last year.
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Over all, I've never been much of a "pet person." I have a strong dislike for dogs which stems from my having been (viciously) attacked by canines more than once. In addition, I generally have pretty severe allergic reactions to pet dander and I don't enjoy cleaning up after any sort of animal. I had a goldfish when I was...4, maybe, and I had some hamsters in elementary school. That was pretty much it. I never liked cats too much as I was allergic to them, too. I was certain that I'd never have a pet. Truth is, I never felt the need for one.

Rita changed all of that, though. Rita picked my family to be her family when she showed up on our porch one evening when I was 19. No matter what we did or said, Rita refused to leave. Rita, eventually, became my pet and, more than that, she became my best friend.

We didn't always call her Rita, in fact, early on we mostly just called her 'Cat.' Since she didn't seem to have any desire to leave our front porch, we decided that she'd eventually have to eat, so we fed her. 'Cat' eventually was allowed to live in the garage. She soon moved from the garage to the utility room and, after a week or so, when it was discerned that I wasn't having any allergic reactions to her, she was allowed to live in the actual house with the rest of us. 'Cat' was a beautiful gray and white striped animal with wonderful green eyes. She resembled a cartoon cat on a show called Animaniacs that was named Rita. I hated the character, I thought she was annoying, but 'Cat' looked enough like Rita that we called her, obviously, Rita. She fit in to our family immediately.

Well, maybe not "immediately." She WAS prone to fits of erratic behavior early on, but that soon faded. My father was convinced that Rita was actually his brother, Jim, reincarnated. Jim had died the year prior from liver cancer, among other ailments. If Rita could help my Dad cope with the loss of his brother, so be it. Besides, she acted as if she knew us right from the beginning. She was affectionate and talkative and recognized all of us and our vehicles individually when we'd arrive back at home. She memorized all of our work schedules and would be ready to run up to the car door and greet us when we were due to appear at home day after day. I enjoyed very much how Rita would trot along beside me toward the door, chatting all the way as if she were telling me how her day went. It seemed that she always had quite a bit to tell me about her day.

Rita was an outdoor cat and a very adept hunter. One of my favorite pastimes when we all lived in the house on Hackberry was to watch my friend stalking whatever manner of prey had wandered into our backyard. Whether it were a bird, a chipmunk or whatever, it was never a match for Rita's cunning and stealth. In addition to her homicidal tendencies, she was really quite thoughtful. On special days such as anniversaries or birthdays, she would invariably have a fresh kill to offer as a present waiting on the doorstep. Like clockwork, she remembered everyone. She also loved Summertime because she could spend more time outside AND she could choose exactly when she would go out and when she would come in. This was because, years prior, either myself or my sister had broken the screen out of the screen door. During summer, we would simply raise the glass portion of the screen door to get airflow. With no screen, Rita was free to leap in and out of the house at her leisure, moving from one wonderful warm-weather adventure to the next.

Of course, when the weather got cooler, we would have to lower the glass. One afternoon, after having done this, I was lying on the couch watching television. I caught motion outside from the corner of my eye. it was Rita, bounding up the front walk toward the screen door. I surmised that, by the way she was truckin' along, she had NO CLUE that we had closed up her "leapin' hole." I couldn't get to the door fast enough to open it, but I WAS there just in time to see little Rita leap, soar majestically through the air and impact the glass part of the door square and hard. The whole door shook. Poor Rita fell backward, landing on her feet as cats are accustomed to, sat back and stared at the door with a murderous glare. As I opened the door, she saw me and sprang back to her feet, never one to be caught in an undignified position. I told her "Sorry, you can't do that again until May." She pretended not to hear me as she wandered off. She certainly wasn't going to admit defeat and she SURELY wasn't going to come in until she was damn good and ready. I loved that about her.

A couple of years later, my parents purchased a townhome. I moved with them, not quite yet adult enough to be back on my own. Rita, of course, moved with us as well. Rita never dealt with change very well and she HATED riding in any vehicle whatsoever. She cried the whole way to her new home and spent her first 3 days there hunkered back in my closet, angrily mewing at everyone who passed by. She seemed to be chastising us for taking her away from HER house. She ultimately mellowed enough to check out the rest of the place and soon enough she was right back to acting as if she owned it. My Mother was deathly afraid to let her outside at this new place, thinking that she'd become confused and return to the wrong home or, God forbid, not return at all. Rita, being an outdoor cat, and not accustomed to being told "no" consistently requested to be let out. We all toed the company line and refused until one day, when my Mom was a little distracted. Rita waited until she wasn't looking and darted outside to experience sweet freedom once more. Of course, my Mom panicked. Rita, seeing as she was more than just a pet, returned to the right home in a reasonable amount of time. We were her family. She knew where home was, no matter what.

Ultimately, I moved out of my parents' home. When I did, I missed Rita, but I got to see her often enough. Rita got a good amount of attention living with my parents anyway, in fact my Dad was unemployed (by his own choice) for a good stretch of time and that seemed to spoil her a bit. She certainly got used to having someone around to play with her, feed her and let her out whenever she wanted. At one point, when my parents went on a cruise, My wife and I were charged with looking in on Rita to see how she was doing. One particular night, We were over watching TV and I decided that I was going to read the newspaper. After I had finished a section or two, Rita got up from where she had been sitting and walked over to me. She mewed, I gave her a pat on her head and rubbed her ears. She mewed again and I mewed back. I told her I was reading the paper, I'd play later. She then set about destroying the newspaper.

I'm serious about this. She literally grabbed the newspaper with both paws and chewed what she could get to into pieces. I was totally shocked, yet utterly amused at the same time. I'm not sure she appreciated me laughing at her, but she got what she wanted. We played the "pen game" for a while and then played "chase."

late in 2002, Rita's behavior and appearance changed significantly. She got a little slower and clumsier and she grew quite thin. She definitely was not herself anymore. My parents took her to the vet and she got some medicine. Her condition got a little better, then it got a little worse. She fought a brave fight and never really seemed to want to admit that she wasn't feeling well. She'd try to play, but she simply didn't have the stamina that she once had. In addition, she couldn't take the stairs very well anymore, which prevented her from sleeping upstairs with Mom and Dad, something which she greatly enjoyed. She spent a lot of her time downstairs, alone, in the dark. Ultimately, when she could muster the strength to crawl up to him, she spent a lot of her time laying on my Father's chest, close to his heart, for as many hours as he would let her. In March of 2003, my wife and I were getting ready to drive to Kansas to visit some friends. We stayed at my parents' house the night before our departure and I decided that I'd better let Rita know that I loved her, as I didn't know if I'd have the opportunity to do so again. I sat with her for a while and chatted with her. She chattered right back like the good little girl she was. I told her as I got up to leave that I loved her very much and I was going to miss her. She looked at me for a few moments and then turned away. It was almost as if she didn't want to admit that she wasn't going to be there when I came back.

While I was out of town, on my birthday I was later told, Rita came out of the bedroom upstairs looking for my Mother. She stumbled and fell a few times, but ultimately made it to my Mother's lap. It was obvious that something was very, very wrong and so my parents took Rita to see the vet again. She had been in and out of the vet's office a lot recently and she had been on a lot of medication. unfortunately, none of it worked like it was supposed to. The vet ran some tests and finally diagnosed my friend with cancer of the liver, the same ailment that had done my uncle in so many years prior. She was too jaundiced at that point to be cured, and so my parents were suddenly faced with very hard decision. They soon came to the realization that they would have to put their "third child" to sleep.

Rita got to lay next to my father's heart one last time before they took her away. Both my Mother and Father were heartbroken. When my wife and I returned from Kansas a couple days later, There was a message on our phone asking me to call my Dad. I called and asked what was up and he said "we had to...on your birthday, we had to..." and he started to cry. I knew that Rita was gone. I cried too. We both cried together. There was nothing more to do but cry. Rita was a very good girl and an important part of our family, but she had to go away. I still miss her terribly.

My parents go looking at cats every sunday, to see if they can find another that will be as perfect an addition to our family as Rita was. After two years of searching, they've come up empty handed. I'm convinced that, while their search will go on, they won't find what they're looking for. As for me, I don't want another pet. After all, I never had a pet, I had a very good friend who's, unfortunately, no longer around. I do look forward, however, to the time when we'll be reunited. I don't know quite what happens after we die, but I certainly hope that wherever I end up, She'll see me coming. She'll run up to whatever vehicle I arrive in and she'll trot in along side me on the way in, filling me in on what she's been up to since she got there.

I know she'll have some wonderful stories to tell me.

Labels: Cat Pictures, sad stories

I have the script for the "Big-Ass Hotdog" faux radio spot finished. As soon as I can get all the chunks recorded and produced, I shall share it with you fine people. Until then, rest assured in the knowledge that it promises to be suggestive in nature and slightly dirty.

It's so much easier to write that stuff than not. Hell, It almost writes itself.

Labels: lame stories, stagnation

Here a couple weekends ago, my wife and I had the pleasure of being taken out to dinner by my friend Sean and his wife. See, I had done a brochure for his soccer program and, to repay the favor, and since he was in town (all the way from the Kansas City area) for his sister's wedding (which I DJ'd anyway), he let me pick where I wanted to eat. Since it rocks, and since I'm on a diet and could eat there and not get all "fat," I chose my favorite Japanese restaurant. Luckily, both Sean and his wife Becky, enjoyed the place and a good time was had by all. Proof of said "get-together" is featured here (you can click for a larger version):


Sean is on the right there. Becky, his wife, took the picture and, as such, is not in the shot. I found out yesterday that Sean had a little trouble getting back home after the trip out here, but I'll leave that story for him to tell on his blog. That is, if he ever updates...

Labels: I eat food, lame stories

Like most of the other "fake ads" which I have displayed on my blog, this one kind of just "happened." Some of the components already existed, considering that I had drawn "hot dog man" a long while ago. In fact, he's proudly featured on the backplate of my goalie mask. The whole "Big-Ass Hotdog" idea kind of stemmed from a billboard which I saw while driving up the east coast a couple of years ago, advertising an eatery called "Sooper-Dooper Weiner." To say the least, I got a good chuckle out of that and it stuck with me.

Today, because I was building an ad (like I am normally doing at work), I was hunting through our photo library for "lifestyle photos." Among said photos was an image of a female cramming a hot dog into her piehole. I knew immediately that I MUST create something with that photo. An advertisement for "Big-Ass Hotdog" seemed like the thing to do. So here it is, kids...It kind of speaks for itself:

You can click on it. When you do, It'll GROW so you can read it better...

Yay! Yet another fake ad featuring an equally fake establishment. I'll have corresponding t-shirts up on the store soon enough and maybe even be posting a fake radio advertisement for the Big-Ass Hotdog grand opening. The possibilities, as they say, never really end...

Labels: cartoons n' stuff, false advertising, Phun With Photoshop

Not too long ago, my wife and I were going through some "stuff" in one of the "rooms" in our house. The purpose of this excavation has faded from my memory, but, among the items which were unearthed during said expedition into the unknown happened to be a pile of random photographs. In honor of the fact that it's Friday, and since I have nothing else to post today, I have decided to share some of these (thoroughly random) photos with all of you. Ready? We begin...
Reminder: you click on any of these pictures and a REAL BIG one will pop up. You know, for "viewing purposes."


We start off with a charming photo of myself, obviously a kleptomaniac at a very young age. That's my dad's shoe that I'm carrying around. I left this photo uncropped so that you could see the "double-stack" television and the horrid burnt orange carpeting. The TV on the top worked, the one on the bottom did not, at least that's the story I've received. But that chair! And that carpet! And my hair!..


Here's a picture of my mom all dressed up and ready to marry my dad. Dig those glasses!


Speaking of mom playing "dress up," here she is on Halloween a couple years back as Austin Powers. Again, dig those glasses!


Here I am at a family reunion about 5 years ago, carrying my wife around with a technique called the "fireman's carry." I'm not a fireman, but I can tell you one thing: People who get "carried around" like this for an extensive period of time have a better chance of "throwing up" than not. Just FYI...


In this picture, it appears that everything that could have gone wrong, has gone wrong. I'm missing my blocker, my stick is laying on the ice and, obviously, I'm on my ass. I can perhaps attribute my dejected state to the fact that I'm not wearing any of my new equipment in this photo, especially my cool new helmet...


And speaking of my new helmet. here it is (and here I am) before it was (masterfully) painted by David Gunnarsson in Sweden. This picture reminds me of Stephane Beauregard for some reason...Eh...


And speaking of hockey, here is a (rare) photograph of the feared "Widefield Line" which so often participated the inline hockey pickup games at the now defunct Bosanova skate palace. The Widefield Line was so named because it was made up of myself, Ryan, Darren and Justin who all attended Widefield High School at one time or another. I'm not sure why I'm not throwing the "W" in this shot and I'm also not sure why Darren looks so much like Adam Sandler...


Here I am, driving a rental car through one of the numerous suburban areas of Boston, Massachusetts. I'm not sure how I managed to crack a smile, let alone flash my patented "goofy face," because the assholes fine folks of the Boston area drive with seemingly one purpose: to rack up as many kills as possible. The eastern seaboard is really beautiful and is a very nice place to visit. That said, driving there can really be Hell on earth...I don't know how those massholes do it every day...


Consternation, thy name is mom. I'm not sure what was going on that she would possibly be reacting to in this (classic) photograph, but it surely is one of my favorites. I'm thinking that this would be a great "Christmas card" shot. At the very least, it's a great photo with which to end another Phrickin' Photoblog Phriday. Have a great weekend, kids!

Labels: hockey stuff, me roots, Phrickin' Photoblogs, sports

I slept straight through my alarm this morning. I vaguely remember perhaps hitting snooze at one point, but that's a foggy memory at best. My über-sleepy state can be attributed, at least in part, to the fact that I played some hockey last night at 9:15. Hell, before our game STARTED I was tired, so imagine how I felt afterward...(That would be "tired.") Tired enough to sleep trough my alarm. I made it to work today only slightly late, by my standards (an hour), but nobody seemed to notice and nobody asked any questions.

Have I mentioned that I love my job? 'Cause I SO do...Also, you can see by the update on the sidebar there (over there...ON THE LEFT!) that we won the hockey game...Therefore, it's all worthwhile...

I don't have anything cohesive to post today, but I figured that an entry of some sort may be in order. so here it is. Just because I'm in a "giving" mood, I shall display yet another crude drawing for you:

You all have a wonderful Wednesday, now.

Labels: hockey stuff, lame stories, sports, stagnation

After I posted the goofy drug stickers on Thursday, my wife ended up finding more wonderful chunks of the sticker set, including this "identifier sticker":


Now, I'm not convinced that the Denver Post specifically had the darn things printed up, I'm guessing that they simply struck a deal with whatever half-assed printing house produced the stickers to distribute them, and other newspapers around the country did the same (way back in the 80s, or whenever "dope" didn't mean "fly"). I do like the phrase "Don't be a dope (like the duck), say no to narcotics and alcohol." Now, why they chose the word "narcotics" rather than just "drugs" is interesting. Remember, kids! Opiates are bad news! When you're in the hospital after that really bad bike accident and you're screaming in horrible pain, you have little choice other than to REFUSE MORPHINE or Oxycodone for said (horrible) pain. This is because the effing duck and the cat says that they're bad, mmkay? Just lie there and hurt. It's for the best.

Also, this wording implies that other drugs (including marijuana, pcp, lsd, krylon, advil and the like) are a-ok and should be ingested at will. Go nuts! BUT DON'T YOU GO TOUCHIN' THAT DEMON LIQUOR! Drinkin' booze leads straight to job loss, divorce, hives, halitosis, homelessness and the seventh level of Hell. It's in the bible, I'm sure. At the very least, I think I read it in the Denver Post...


And here we have a sticker which features a terribly apathetic bear who appears to have added drugs to his (or her) honey who would much rather give you a big fat hug than get you high on heroin. Hugs, not drugs, kids. That's the answer. This means that when you're in the ER after that bike accident we talked about and the nurse hooks you up to an IV full of sweet, painkilling narcotic goodness, you must IMMEDIATELY issue (between blood curdling shrieks of pain) the following admonishment: "I hope like hell that's an IV full of HUGS, lady, or the bear is gonna KICK YOUR ASS!" Of course, this is contingent upon you being able to even formulate that sentence once the power of the drugs catches hold of ya...


Y'know, I'm actually liking this sticker, it's almost along the same lines of the harsher stickers I proposed in the first entry. Of course, this could just mean that Dope the Duck is a hard-core killer and the dog is simply letting us know this so that we don't go pushin' dope around and end up gettin' capped, or "some shit like 'dat." The flowers and the unfinished dog torso really lend a "hard edge" to this particular message that I'm sure would cut through to the average adolescent drug user, provided that said drug user is around the age of 6 or 7, is female and has an affinity for stickers, flowers and half-dogs as well as dope, which, by definition, is not a narcotic or alcohol so it must be ok, anyway. So says the Denver Post and the cat and the bear and...

eh...Never mind.

Labels: pointless shit

When I was growing up, stickers were (in my mind) among the coolest things around. My sister and I actually collected stickers, not so much to stick on things, which would be their intended purpose, but just to have. While I was in elementary school, I had amassed what I believed to be the finest collection of "scratch-n-sniff" stickers in all the land. None of them had been taken off of their original "backing paper" and some of them really did smell quite good. Of course, looking back, there's not much more that you can do with stickers than to stick them to things and then look at them. Since I wasn't actually sticking them to anything, all I could really do with the damn things was...well...look at 'em. Well, that and "smell 'em"...I'm not sure what ever happened to those stickers, but I'm sure that once I grew out of the "sticker phase" of my life that I simply threw them away. They'd probably lost all of their smelly goodness by that time anyway...

Hey, it's better than sniffing drugs...Which brings me to the point of this post...

My wife, while rummaging through some of the "teaching oriented" things that she found in her classroom, found some stickers. The stickers were colorful, like stickers usually are, and featured cartoony, animal-like characters which kids tend to find "cute" and such. Since my wife teaches kids who are of a younger age, they tend to enjoy receiving a sticker for doing a good job. As such, she tossed these particular stickers in with the rest and forgot about them. At least, until a few days ago when they resurfaced in her sticker pile...My wife then noticed that these things carry an anti-drug message which, while well intentioned, simply wasn't carried out in the most effective manner...

There are two of these stickers left out of a collection of...however many there were, we can't be sure...My wife let me know that at least one sticker may, or may not, have been affixed to a student's paper. Odds are, if mommy or daddy isn't a meth cook in their spare time, somebody in their neighborhood IS, so at least the sticker's the message won't be totally lost...Unless the recipient of said sticker cannot "read," in which case...um...Never mind...Where were we?..Oh yeah.

What makes these stickers worth sharing, in my mind, is that, while they are specifically designed to be "anti-drug" stickers, and there's nothing wrong with that, these stickers seem to...oh...Let's say that they don't quite hammer the message home to the target market. It seems to me that the fine folks who produced these stickers just took the aforementioned "anti-drug" message and slapped it together with whatever "stock art" they had lying around. As proof of this, I offer the first of the two remaining stickers, featuring Dopey the Duck:

Now, you tell me...What the Hell does a duck with an umbrella have to do with "pushing dope?" Is this a representation of what you'll see when you're under the influence? Is this how you'll act, maybe? Irrational? Why would a duck NEED an umbrella? Where, then are his (or her) galoshes? It makes no sense. I guess that you COULD make the argument that the duck itself is named "dope" and that it just wouldn't be friendly to push the little mofo around. The duck's tired of your crap, people, and he (or she) is simply not gonna take it anymore...

um...heh...

And I now present to you the second sticker, which seems to imply that Garfield does heavy drugs in his spare time:

Now, I don't claim to know a whole lot about crack beyond how to make it (I learned that from the Weekly Reader in 1985) but I have a pretty good idea that kids who are exposed to crack on a regular basis probably won't give a shit what the forlorn cartoon cat thinks, even if his body seems to come to a disturbing and mysterious termination near the bottom...Imagine, if you will, the scenario:

"Hey, kid, you wanna get high?"

"Sure, man, whatchoo got?"

"I gots dope and I's gots crack! Take yo' pick!"

"Oh, no way man. The duck and the cat said not to, 'cause now you ain't my friend and if I take the crack, I'll crash and the cat said..."

"Look, kid, you want 'dis shit or not?"

"Yeah...Screw them damn stickers..."

I'm no expert, but I'm thinkin' that if you REALLY want to turn kids off of the idea of trying drugs, don't use cute little animals to deliver the message, don't try and sugar coat the whole thing, just come out and say it! Drug's will kick your ass! Have stickers that say scary things like "Crack burns your lips and rots your insides," or "Tommy did drugs and he died an excruciating death, all the while screaming in tortuous pain." Granted, THAT sticker would have to be unusually large, but still...The message would get out...Even if it's not true, I don't think that I'd be willing to "test the waters," so to speak...

oh, and while I have your attention, don't "meth" around in the kitchen. That sticker has a cuddly bunny rabbit wearing an apron, If I'm not mistaken...

Labels: pointless shit

And so, we've (I've) come to the "culmination" of sorts for the Interview Game, this being where I post the "interview questions" for the fine folks who decided to participate and be interviewed. I know that I said I was gonna do this yesterday, but...Well...I didn't...I can't say that I have a good excuse for NOT doing it, but at least I got around to doing it today...Ready? Good! Let's begin!

First set of posers for COLLIN
1. Back when you enlisted, please to enlighten as to what your motivation was for joining the Air Force?

2. Given the time which you had known me PRIOR to your dating my sister, who were you more afraid to have to "spill the beans" about you and her to: me or my dad?

3. What kind of car does Trevor have now?

4. Now that "C" is leaving the agency, whom will you write angry, work-related posts about?

5. Describe for the good people reading your responses your desk at work and the many toys contained therein.

Moving right along, we have questions for my sister, Heather
1. Explain how you acquired the nickname "Foot."

2. You enjoyed eating grilled cheese sandwiches when you were a kid, but never quite learned how to produce one in a kitchen setting. Please describe the time which you were saddled with the task of preparing a grilled cheese sammich for a hunchbacked, yet paying, customer.

3. In light of the Saturn Ion's "poor" side impact crash test rating, in which car do you feel safer: your Ion or Collin's Kia? Explain why.

4. If you had "children," what would you name them?

5. Explain, please, your disturbing fascination with ancient Egypt and it's related accoutraments.

The next in line to have questions thrown their way is Justin, who professes to enjoy looking at dirty pictures and the like...
1. Since you are so film-oriented, what do you believe is the best motion picture of all time. Explain why.

2. Since you seemed to think the doodle which I posted two stories ago was of a "dirty" nature, explain to the reading audience exactly what you believe was going on in said drawing.

3. So, what are your chances of being accepted to film school?

4. In stark contrast to question 1, what do you believe is the WORST film of all time and why?

5. Since I would eagerly participate in such things, when will Human Hamster Ball be ready for public purchase? I MUST HAVE HUMAN HAMSTER BALL! ahem. So, when?

And finally, my last set of interview questions goes to the inimatble, and completely evil, El Sid.
1. On an (evil) scale from one to eleven, please rate your evil and give us three examples (of pure, unadulterated evil).

2. So when (not if) you find your real dad, what's the first thing you figure you'll ask him?

3. What can I get without fish in it?

4. What had you chosen to sing during the "sans Sid" karaoke show we've read about in your little comments window? What songs do you enjoy singing most?

5. If you could see ANY singer or band perform live AND get those "backstage pass" things too, which band or singer would you choose (and why, dammit, why!?)

and there ye be...Questions for which to be answered! Have a fine "Wednesday," everybody.

Labels: Done Got Tagged

It's Tuesday! Even though I haven't had 5 people respond that they'd like to take part in the interviewing, I'll be posting the questions for those that DO wish to be interviewed later today. If you wanna "squeeze in," so to speak, leave your intentions in a comment at any time before I post the "questions." Thanks!

Labels: random drawings, stagnation

Quizzes and crap...The ultimate "space filler." They're relatively easy, kind of fun and even slightly interesting...Dare I say, they're "better than nothing." With a lead-in like that, you have NO CHOICE but to expect a "quiz" entry (or a "meme" as some folks call it). You're mostly correct, except this is one of those "never ending story" type of quizzes. THIS, kids, is the "interview game."

I am participating in this thing because Diana participated on her blog. I know, I know, "If everyone jumped off a bridge, blah blah blah." I AGREED to be interviewed as part of the RULES! WE MUST ALL FOLLOW THE RULES! ahem. As such, I present the rules:

THE INTERVIEW GAME RULES:

Here's how you can play the interview game:
1. Leave me a comment which says "interview me" (or something similar). The first five commenters will be the participants.

2. I will follow up this (awe inspiring) post with the questions for those who would participate, 5 queries per participant (all customized!).

3. Participants will update their respective blog/site with the answers to the aformentioned questions.

4. In addition, participants will include this set of rules and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, participants will ask them five questions. (Write your own questions or borrow some.)

See? Never ending. What follows are the posers which Diana had for me (and my subsequent answers...Hurrh):
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1. What was your first day on the job as a DJ like?
Initially, I started as a board operator at KSPZ. My sister got me the job (she was the 6 to midnight host on KSPZ at the time). After a while, due to a shift in thinking by the consultant, all of us "no talky" board operators became "live DJs" because we were there and we worked cheap. I was totally psyched about "going live", because I figured that being a DJ was my true calling. I remember being nervous before and during my first shift on the air as a real, honest-to-God disc jockey, but I remember feeling afterward that I had done a pretty good job. Later, though, when I listened to my "air check" from the show (an air check is a tape which is scoped to just include the open mic breaks) I was pretty well crushed. It was the worst pile of stinking crap I had ever heard. Suffice to say, I didn't give up and I've gotten slightly better since then...

2. How did you meet Heather?
A friend of my sister's had passes to a sneak preview of Mighty Ducks 2. As such, my friend Ryan and I went with him. Early on, while the movie was playing, the film broke. During the ensuing span of time while that whole "broken film" problem was being remedied, we began talking to the girls in the seats in front of us, who turned out to be Heather, her twin sister Shannon and their friend "whatsername." We found out that they were all 16 and were freshmen at Sierra high school. They found out that I was, among other things, on the radio. After too long, Heather and Shannon (and their mom) started bringing me food at the radio station on a regular basis. They came to be known as my "groupies." We kept in contact after Heather went to college and, eventually, got all "married." The end.

3. When did you learn to play hockey?
in 1996, after the Avalanche won their first Stanley Cup. I had always wanted to be a goalie and, since I was an adult (mostly) and could (kind of) afford to buy the gear, I decided that it was high time to learn to skate and play goal and stuff, starting with inline hockey. It was rough at first, I wasn't any good at all, but I stuck with it because it was fun and good exercise. I broke a few ribs the first time I played ice hockey, but even that wasn't enough to deter me. I love hockey...I'm gonna try and make up for the fact that I started playing it later in life by playing until I'm 60. Wish me luck.

4. When you think back about you, me, the gang back in high school, can you tell any good stories from back in the day, since you're a good story teller and all?
To tell the truth, I have no recollection of a "gang" from high school, but I can, perhaps, impart a tale or two about you. Sadly, you were (and are) too intelligent to do anything "stupid" or "goofy," so nothing terribly funny sticks out in my mind. I do recall that the first time that I went to the Renaissance Festival was with you and your mom and dad. At the fair, we were lucky enough to be in the front row for the Puke & Snot show, which didn't seem lucky at all when they started their little "spitting chewed-up carrots and water at the audience" routine. Still, despite the regurgitation in my hair, the whole day was a lot of fun.

5. What is the best prank you ever played on someone? Would your victim(s) agree it was good or do they talk to you anymore?
Hee hee heeeee...The absolute best prank that I ever pulled was an April Fools prank call which I perpetrated a couple of years ago. For the prank, I called up Cameron, who worked with us at the agency. He's from Canada and, at one point prior to my making the call, he had gone back to Canada and, while trying to come back to the states, was delayed 4 or 5 days because of mixups with his Visa. I claimed, through my best French-Canadian accent, to be Pierre Desjardin, from the ministry in Ottawa. I told Cam that there were problems still with his Visa paperwork and that he'd have to come back to Canada and clear up the matter immediately. He laughed, so I asked him, in a stern tone, "you are not taking this matter seriously?"

at that point, he stammered and said, like a good little monkey, "I'm sorry, sir." I knew then that I SO HAD HIM!..

I strung him along for a while, saying that he was to fly out of Denver at a time which he couldn't possibly make. I also told him that if he refused to comply, local authorities would apprehend him and transport him to Canada. Cameron was getting more and more (genuinely) frustrated and was not happy about the whole (fake) situation, which was thoroughly understandable, since my (fake) demands were (intentionally) unreasonable. Finally, I got to a point in the call where I "confirmed the date" with him (April 1st) and then asked him "what holiday IS that in America?" That let him know that he was off the hook...

he was relieved to find out that it was all a joke, and he actually thought that the whole thing was awesome. He kept saying "you got me! You got me!" The prank didn't make him hate me, in fact we talked last week when he visited the agency. My only regret is that I was unable to record the whole thing, because typing about it just doesn't do it justice...
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So there's that. Anyone that wishes to be interviewed, leave a comment to that effect...Have a good weekend, kids!

Labels: Done Got Tagged, lame stories, me roots, Stupid Contests

Hey, since "audio entries" perform the much needed "filling" of empty blog space (it's there, you just can't see it. It's been FILLED), I AM going to post my "re-production of an existing song." In truth, since I picked a song with no backing instrumentation of any kind, it was quite an easy feat to accomplish, I simply had to try and accentuate the original mood and feel of the tune. I'll surely try it with other (more musical) stuff eventually, but messin' with this particular song was something which I had wanted to do for a little while now...

For this little project, I chose the song O, Death, as performed by the original "man of constant sorrow" himself, Ralph Stanley. The song is featured on the O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack and, even as a stand-alone vocal piece, is sullen and haunting. Stanley's rich vocal character comes through very well, even despite his advancing age. I wasn't trying to do anything spectacular with this, I just wanted to try and make the song a little "extra spooky" if you will. I think I succeeded, even though I added the Simpsons bit at the beginning (you'll see what I mean)...Please forgive me for that...LISTEN TO THE SONG!

Hope you enjoy it. I also hope I don't get into dire trouble for posting it. for that matter, I hope my lunch tastes good today. I also hope you'll comment if you listen to it. Thanks, kids...

Labels: audio

I'm only at work for a half-day today because I'm planning to attend a funeral later. As such, I'm not really in the frame of mind to blog. Since I didn't update yesterday, though, I'm gonna throw a wee sketch at you. HERE IT COMES!

Yep, There it is. I think it's a "liver." maybe a bota bag. Who knows...

In other "news," I produced a "mash-up," as Collin called it, by taking an existing song and "re-producing" it to make it...Well...Better, in my opinion. I'm still debating whether to post it or not. We'll see. Thanks for stopping by!

Labels: cartoons n' stuff, random drawings, sad stories