Sam's Club - Nazi regime with perks

My boss at my job is not a member of Sam's Club. He has stated off the record that he feels like they are Nazi's checking your card to get in and treat you like a criminal checking your receipt before you leave. He said he simply didn't need that in his shopping experience. I on the other hand will be greatly inconvenienced for the right deal. I'm humble enough should any opportunity to save money arise I will no doubt seize the day.

The best deal so far at Sam's Club is $1.70 hot dog combo meal. One all beef hot dog and one large drink for just one dollar and seventy cents. Did I mention free refills? This is all important because in my house all beef hot dogs are the top of heap on quality and taste. It's true that it was once $1.50 but the price hike isn't enough for it to be ripped from my best deal of all time list.

To the Future

All the snow was gone by Christmas Day. It snowed again on Friday but that's almost all gone too. The weather hasn't been too bad steady 20's to 40's and when the sun comes out it's always to hot when you're in a car for you coat. Damn Global Warming!

New Years eve is tomorrow and I have to work. I'll be off sometime around 3pm to 5pm and then I'm going to go home and start the party. That could mean one of two things. I may go home and take a nap or start drinking. I'm probably going to be too tired to simply come home and drink. In that scenario the drinking would only put me to sleep and make me angry. I'm pretty sure I'm going to take a nap, wake up refreshed and begin the drinking.

Keely is sick and isn't a big drinker anyway. Shelly has to work New Years Day so I'm pretty sure this New Year is going to suck.

The Return

Why do I think it's neccessary to start using blogger again. I can't keep one blog up, so lets try multiple. I'm trying to get back into being everywhere at once. This should help.

The St. Patrick's Day Joy that Wasn't

First Chance

It began not being a festival of drunken splendor on Friday evening. That is when neighboring metropolis South Bend had their Saint Paddy's Day Party in the Down Town area including a 15 -Bar "Pub Crawl" and $5.00 admission Tent Party.

This one was the fourth annual. Which means that there were three years of hype rolled up into this bad boy. We had heard that last year (and I'm saying we because the original plan was to go with Shelly and my wife along with anyone else I could con into going) there were 2000+ people. It was predicted that there would be even more this year.* So five dollars to get into the tent party and maybe three dollars per drink at each bar, if we only had one drink in each one that would equal $50.00 a person without buying food or drink in the tent. It was more than we wanted to invest in an evening that were going to drink out of our memories forever.** That is not to mention the fact that with the alarming amount of people present it wasn't very likely that we'd actually make it into any of the bars.

I almost talked Mozz, Tony, Howard, Joe, Uncle Ken, Lonnie, my cousin Myke and Ryan (this kid I work with) to go to it with me.***

Second Chance

Saturday night Houlihans was having their parking lot Tent Party on the actual date of the holiday. We were going to go to that (this is the original we of Keely, Shelly and Myself). At this point we had almost talked Joe into going with us.

Keely and I were out and about early on Saturday Morning when we drove past Houlihans. They had a huge tent and a large banner advertising that evenings events. What it mainly said was "Tent Party - call 271-FOOD for details."

I called the number to get all the information I could. I wanted to be prepared, I wanted to know what was available to eat and drink and if the prices were any good. When the girl picked up the phone she said "Houlihan's how may I help you?"

"I am calling for Details." I said.

The silence was lingering but I knew I had not lost the call because I parked right outside the building. "Excuse me?" She finally answered with a question.

"I saw your sign about the tent party and it says to call this number for details. So I would like some details." I said. From my point of view this was all pretty straight forward. Keely later told me from her side of the phone call it was humorous. Funny in a way, as if I should have known to make reference to the thing in the parking lot that was basically shutting down the shopping area around it and prompted them to place banners on their building referencing it, when I asked about it.

"Just a minute," she said.

There was nothing. Then a new person picked up the phone. After Keely's coaching I had a better approach to asking the question.

"I am calling about information regarding the Tent Party?" I asked confidently.

This spurred an almost automated response from the lady explaining that four bands were going to perform, the cover charge was eight dollars and just about every thing inside was five dollars a pop. This would probably have been cheaper than hitting every bar in South Bend on the previous night but we couldn't get past the eight dollar cover. We are old and cheap people now (27-30yr olds). We can't see any reason to pay for the mere admittance into a place beyond Sam's Club or the cheap movie theatres (and we are not unanimous in that). It's sad really, because being this cheap, it isn't really apparent where all our savings is going? I am not going to think to hard about that one right now.

Plan B

As a nearly fictional member of a Management Team I have learned you almost always need a plan B. This is not because plan A is always doomed to fail, but so you don't look like an ASS when it does. There is a horrible place for leaders that often look like an ASS (unemployment). However there is another place which I am bound for that leaders go when they only look like asses to their subordinates but always look like Heroes to their superiors (mediocrity or success it's really had to tell at this point). This is a discussion for another time because there is much drinking and merriment to be had.

We picked up Shelly and Joe and brought them back to my house. Keely had gotten a CVS gift card for $25.00 when she moved a new script there. We went and let Shelly pick out the kind of booze she thought she would like to drink. I had beer, Shelly's old bottle of cheap vodka and a half bottle of Irish Creme. We ended up buying a mango mix, Malibu Coconut Rum and some very cheap whiskey.

The drinking commenced early. When Keely and I had been out and about we had bought Hot dogs and Pop at Sam's Club (that is a value of wonder right there). Later we still had our cups when we picked up the Vodka at Shelly's House. I added some to my cup and started with a Skinny Russian, before we made it to CVS.

At CVS Joe bought an energy drink beer and a jar of peanuts. He began drinking on the way back to my house. There is an open container law in INDIANA, but I live two blocks from CVS and Keely was driving. Keely by all aspects of her visual existence in the community is a SAINT. No one can see her as anything less than the kind and gentle woman that she is. I tell you now that is all a facade! She does have a great driving record. The only accidents shes been in have not been her fault and violations haven't existed on her record since 1998. Cops don't normally pull over Blond Saints two blocks from their home for not breaking any laws, even on Saint Patrick's Day.

Back at the McBrier Home Joe wanted to watch Borat (which I had recently purchased). Keely and Shelly went to get something to eat when the movie started and Joe wanted to talk with me about his blog instead of watching the movie. Little known to us, he had seen most of the movie already. He didn't get to hear all of it because of his recent living arrangements.

Joe had been living in the basement of his parents house. The why is not important. This year alone he has fallen victim to three spider bites. His family has called out an exterminator several times but it seems Spiders are the plague of our times and will not be destroyed but will bring on the destruction of all mankind. This is a theory that Howard is working on to substantiate his fear of arachnids. Once again that is a different story. So Joe moved up to the living room. His living room already has his grandmother living there. Her choice in cinema differs a lot from Joe's. She wont leave him alone when he's watching something that she doesn't care for. "Are you watching that?" she'll ask, repeatedly. It's a real concentration inhibitor.

So alone with Joe and the drinking I felt obligated to read all of his latest Blogs. That's what he's into now. He blogs on MySpace. I know it's not as fantastical as blogger but it's a starting place. He thinks it will lead to his rags to riches story of being discovered as a genius or at least talented writer/comedian. I think it's a good place for him to hone his skill if he really wants to pursue it, there is of course constant and almost instant feed back on the material he posts there. However if it's only looked at by people that like him it will be a false positive of accomplishment.

When Keely and Shelly returned we played Texas Hold'em to the best of our untrained/unlearned ability. We don't know all the rules but from a combination of printed material that came with the game and some sources online we picked up what we are calling "the basics." Then we filled in with what we call "Keely's intuitive idea of how things should be." It's fun even if it's wrong, and until we find someone who knows how to play we'll never know the difference. We are not really afraid of meeting anyone who actually knows how to play, because we seldom meet new people.

Now I don't know what happened to the fun evening I planned but somewhere mid-stride our happy train derailed in a cross relationship emotional massacre. I was sitting across from Keely and Shelly was sitting across from Joe. Suddenly Joe and Shelly were having a heated discussion pitted against each other. I think it was good intentioned on the part of both parties but neither one could see the other side. Shelly didn't want Joe to act like Joe anymore and Joe wanted the things that he said to be taken for truth instead of hurtful assumptions about things he may not have all the information about. No one cared about what I wanted, which had previously been getting drunk but had escalated to a deep desire for my friends to like each other as much as I liked them.

I don't remember how things ended. I don't know who won at Hold'em (not that any real money was involved). What I do know is that I probably won't invite Shelly and Joe to hang out at the same time for a long time, or maybe ever again. It makes me real sad because they used to be so close. They had lockers next to each other in high school. They hung out a lot. Who knows...

*It is of course after-the-fact, and I could research it and tell you how many people where there this year, but to me that would just be rehashing all that I did not partake in.

**I'm less worried about Drinking away good times now that I have a digital camera with memory card that has room for 800 pictures. I can always reference them later to piece it back together. Also I heard on NPR that we do regrow braincells now, and I have nothing to worry about, except cancer, global warming and foreign politics.


***Almost is more like - I tried to suggest that they go by telling them I was going, but in most cases it had the opposite effect. In fact when I told Howard I was going he told me that he wasn't going to go. Later when I told him I wasn't going, he suddenly was. I told him his sudden change is position on the subject was highly suspicious and was forcing me to assume he wasn't even trying to hide his extreme dislike of me; so much that he would make it completely clear he would rather be anywhere that I was not even if that meant going to places he hadn't planned on appearing at.

[if the font is all crazy sizes I am newly illiterate to teh internets]

Hanging out at the bank

This sounds really lame. It may be really lame. All I know is that on Thursday I went into one of the new building my bank has built on my lunch hour. Each of the new branch locations are about three miles away from where I work. I can make either one on my way home depending on the route I want to take.

They are architectural examples of what someone can do if they have imagination and a lot of money at their disposal. I can't even describe it with all the glass and curves. It's modern, artistic but keeps grounded with large stone accents in the walls and floors to make you feel like it's been built by very common folk in the middle ages.

The important things to note about my Credit Union (I was wrong to call it bank before) are that besides the three 42" flat wide screens that hang above the tellers while you wait, right inside the door there is an even larger one in front of a sea of cafe tables. On either side of this television is a computer terminal where you can access the Internet for free. Under the television are two pump coffee thermoses. One is decaf and the other is normal. For a cafe it doesn't compete with 7-11 and their high stakes version of coffee choice overload. It does beat all with the Internet. I never see anyone go over and use any of that stuff.

This past Thursday on the lunch break I normally don't take I got a cup of coffee after I did my banking. Then I sat down at the "no-restrictions" Internet access point. I logged on to themaxx. I turned on the NSFW filter out of courtesy to the other bankers. The screen and your back when you sit down, both face the door. Nude pictures of women/animals and various other possible oddities from a site subtitles "this might be offensive" were not something I wanted to share nor subject any else to*.

It was nice. I spent twenty minutes there, relaxing away from the questions and problems of work. I think I've done something wrong because in stead of feeling like 15 people answer to me, I often feel like I answer to them.


*The truth is for an elitist site like it is, of people sharing photographs and individuals concepts of how much they hate everyone, I have the ability to invite new users. If I did know anyone who was interested I could just submit their name with the click of a button and let them in. No one has ever taken me up on this offer. Please let me know if you'd like to become an 1337, request that I invite you in a coment.

Holy Macaroni

One day we ended up going to the boat.* If we go out to eat before we hit our losing streak I always pray that we'll be going to White Castle. In the past it was my understanding that the closest White Castle was two an half hours away. I'm speaking of the one in Kokomo Indiana. We would go once ever couple of years or just drive past it on our way to something or someone else. I am the only person in my marriage that like White Castle burgers**. Thank God for the Internet and "find a store near you" links. I was able to find one in Michigan City. The first time I found out about it I went to Google maps and made a trip. Then we ventured out in an epic journey much like Harold and Kumar (minus drugs, naked women, hijinx and Neal Patrick Harris***).

On this particular day we did not go to White Castle.

There is a Homosexual Church, that is half restaurant. Fancy restaurant. It seems pretty normal for most places we have in town. There are lots of decorations and the walls are painted to look like something from "old towne" Italy. They have a large menu some of which is brought out in the most gourmet of fashion.

I ordered the $15.99 Jambalaya. Having only known this dish from a box of Zatarain's or the many fairs and festivals Keely and I attend, my expectations weren't exactly met when they brought out the massive bowl. Around the edges of a mound of rice seated in a swamp of red brothly liquid were several "in-shell" mussels. I like seafood so that wasn't exactly a problem. Working to pry them fully open for a glorified clam was not that appealing, although I did it. On top of the rice and mixed into it were tiny bits of chicken, sausage and there may have been a third bit, but I can't remember it now. Once again I've failed in posting close enough to the event for an even mildly accurate or informative post.

I have no idea what Shelly and Keely ordered. We drank several carafes of diet Pepsi (that's how you know it's FANCY!) When the meal was over they brought us a pile of tiny individually wrapped mints. I don't know what is wrong with us, but for not drinking we were acting pretty drunk. I know what Keely's excuse was. When we parked the Jimmy in the parking lot that was completely covered with snow, her foot went through the ice that was camouflaged under the snow just outside her door as she exited the vehicle. She landed one foot, ankle deep in a muddy puddle. She froze most of the meal and became a little dilusional.

An interesting thing about this place was the speed at which they cleaned away trash. We were beside ourselves, while waiting for them to pick up the bill we had mints and when they picked up the bill they took our wrappers. Mind you we had a pile of mints, suddenly it became a game in our weak child-like minds to strategically place wrappers all about. In this game I became a winner when I chucked a mint in it's wrapper up onto a shelf built into the wall about twelve feet high. No one is gonna take care of that one any time soon...****

*Blue chip Hotel & Casino - in Michigan City, IN.

**Yes, I absolutely understand how subjectively I'm using the word Burgers.


***After getting very involved with the show "How I met your mother" and falling in love with Neal Patrick Harris's womanizing character "Barney" I read in some magazine that he was Gay. Not that there is anything wrong with that. It just hurt my mind a little to KNOW that while he was acting like a sleazy ladies man, he really wasn't interested in women at all. Slowly after that I personally think the character began to soften and "gay-up" instead of his more popular "suit-up" that he used to do. Never the less, once the head ache goes away he's the only reason I watch that show.


****Shut up that is not a hate crime!

2oz. of Vodka

Recently I'd been seeing a lot of sitcoms and one hour dramas in which a character or several characters drink straight Vodka in a glass with ice. Each time I see it that powerful force of suggestion leads me to think that I would like nothing more at that particular moment than to do exactly the same.

Normally if I drink Vodka by it self, in a shot or a glass, I'm probably already in the wrong mindset. I usually think to myself - this is going to make me ill. So I drink it fast and chase it with something I like such as Diet Pepsi. After some mild internal version of dry heaving that as far as I know isn't visual externally, I ask myself why I did such a thing when I could have simply mixed it with the Pepsi?

The answer that I now understand is that by reasons I don't feel inclined to explain (but they are I am sure scientifically anchored), diluting the Vodka with Pepsi will lengthen the time it takes to get me buzzing.

The perfection of this is mental ability (stop laughing). I took a small square "low ball" glass emblazoned with the "Crown Royal" logo. First I filled it with ice cubes (mine are the traditional crescent moon shape known throughout the world as the kind that ice makers make in personal /residential applications*). Next I measured out two ounces of Vodka and poured it over the ice. Then I sat down and turned on my Dish network. Next I began sipping the vodka. While I did this "Slow drinking" I kept the image in my mind of not being sick. I can see how that's a fine line to concentrate on but I managed it. What's better than all of that is in the short amount of time it took me to drink it, I was quickly buzzed. Before I began any of this I put on my "rehab is for quitters" shirt. It always makes me feel justified.

About an hour and a half after the only alcoholic beverage I enjoyed this Tuesday, Keely decided something very odd. A decision that made me more happy than I can recall being in a while. She decided that she was hungry. Keely decided that she was craving "Cold Stone." We hadn't had Supper yet, and she's not really a dessert first (or instead) type of person. It quickly became the best Tuesday I've had in a long time.

I had started out the morning making love to a cup**. We sat at the Doctors office for several hours. Keely and I had lunch at the "Pizza Hut" buffet. I cleaned both of our cars and learned that Windex wipes don't work or I just didn't have enough of them. I had an alcoholic beverage, ice cream and "Jimmy Johns***" for dinner. In that order!

*If someone could invent an ice maker (that comes with a refrigerator) but makes ice in a new shape...Millionaires!!! People like innovation. The crushed ice feature was nice but lets move on people???


**Those who understand will get it, the rest of you will just have to come to your own conclusions because I'm not going to elaborate.


***I've become jaded. I know, I know, BECOME? Anyways these places where you come in to have a meal and they shout at you are starting to annoy the crap out of me. I once enjoyed Jimmy Johns, but it quickly got old. I sat there thinking about their artificial cheerful attitudes while they're hiding behind several add campaigns they can't back up. Let's start with their limited delivery area (that despite two locations in my town fail to deliver to me) and finish in the "so fast you'll freak" sandwich making lies. I walk in the door they shout at me and ask loudly if I know what I want. At this point in my visits (initiated by my wife) there is one thing I want, so I shout back "Two number 14's with cheese - to go." Any question they ask after that is simply "NO." I pay, and by the time I'm done paying I should have my sandwiches and be on my way. DO I? No, not even when I am the only person in the store and they have three deli-monkeys laughing it up on the other side of the counter. They are at work, why are they having more fun than me, when I am not at work? What is wrong with me? It's that damn Macri's brainwashing - "NO SINGING - NO DANCING - NO FUN!****"

****Promptly followed by "NO FUCK-UPS TONIGHT PAULY!!!" I need that on a damn shirt.

Sin is always easy [a boring tech blog]

I have a work provided cell phone. The LG VX8300. Boasted by it’s manufacturer to be a multimedia device capable of playing MP3s, videos and a multitude of games. It comes from the Verizon shop with roughly 6mb memory.

Any pirate with a computer and a cd-rom drive can tell you that 6mb is enough room for two or three low quality tunes. This means that if you bought a $20.00 - 256mb MP3 player you’d be doing much better for a lot cheaper.

There was only one thing I could do. I called around to inquire about a memory card. My phone as it turns out takes a micro sd memory card. They come in the normal increments from 128mb to 2gb (at the time of this post) as do every other media storage device. This chip no matter how large the capacity is no bigger than my thumb nail (mind you I have large hands and equally proportionate fingers and thumbs that include matching finger and thumb nails).

Verizon was more than happy to set me up with a 256mb card for $20.00 or more I really can’t remember. It was enough of a turn off to walk over to the Radio Shack where they told me roughly $50.00 for 512mb with an adapter to connect the media card to my computer.

This is the key. You need to be able to some how connect your cell phone with your computer in a way that does not charge you air time minutes or text message fees. Once you figure that out you should be able to side step any other fees by creating your own ring tones instead of buying them and installing any other kind of content you want onto your phone.

Thoroughly displeased I sought out my needs online. Using a combination of techdeals.com, amazon.com and eBay; I found what I was looking for. Roughly $15.00 got a 1gb micro sd card delivered to my home with SD card adapter to fit into the slot on the front of my computer.

Now I was set. I could load it up with pictures, videos*, mp3s and hopefully be able to use those mp3s as ring tones. Everything worked except the ring tones idea.

Online if you go to Google (of your search engine of choice) and type in the model number of your phone, if you are lucky there will be a forum or a tutorial. That information may be more important than the manual that comes with your phone. This is mainly because it talks about all the functionality you thought your phone should have but has been mostly out of reach to you since you bought it. I think in the future when I think that I want to buy a new cell phone I will look for this information to see how hard it’s going to be to make it do what I want.

The tutorial for my phone was written by someone who was as frustrated with the information he’d been given about his phone as he was knowledgeable about making it do what he wanted. Sadly this means there is a lot of technical informational how-to steps that I have to trust him on because I have no clue. So far I haven’t fucked up my phone.

Right now to enable my phone to use mp3s for ring tones I have to trim them down to 30sec or less, put them in a directory on the memory card called “ringtones” and connect a program called “bitpim” to my phone using a USB cable (that I don’t have) or a blue tooth connection (that I don’t have) so that my phone will look in the “ringtones” directory for ringtones. So for multiple reasons I have bought a blue tooth dongle from Australia that I am waiting for. It cost me $10.00 which is a deal compared to things available locally or from a brand name manufacturer. That is provided it actually comes in the mail and works. I have only had one thing I bought on eBay be piece of crap. That was a personal cd player that had been used and was supposed to be MP3 compatible. When it arrived it would not power up. I spent too much on a broken cd player. That was the only time. I think for $20.00 I may have been able to get the usb cable from a local store, but the blue tooth dongle is supposed to let me be 100m from my computer and still use it’s functionality. That means if I change some other things via the in-depth how to instructions I should be able to surf the internet from home on my tiny phone for free on the weekends. I guess we’ll see.

*Cell phone videos
My phone can play a variety of video formats but because the screen is small and the space is limited the format that works best is 3GP. If I play a 3GP file on my computer it comes up in a window as small as the screen on my cell phone. This is frustratingly small on a 19” monitor. However it’s not too bad when it’s played on my phone.
Sadly on the torrents the most common 3GP files abundantly available for quick download are of course pornography. If I wanted a movie the download was going to take forever or I was going to have to convert it myself. I had to find out how to convert media I have into the new format and thus I say Sin is always easy.
I did convert some video to 3GP format. It was easier than I thought it was going to be using a program called “super” that I found via the tutorial. I converted the television series “the loop” and “hitch hikers guide to the galaxy” to 3GP. Now I have the guide with me where ever I go. Eventually I rip the DVD of the movie and convert it as well as put the radio show in mp3 format on my phone.

Sweaters

My new found infatuation with sweaters is in no way responsible for the gap in my productivity here. I blame that on time constraints, helping a friend with his computer and complete laziness.

Growing up as a fat kid all the way to becoming a fat man, the thought of sweaters confused me. They were always so tight, made me sweat and were normally itchy on my skin. I only recently found out that this was mainly because as a growing rotund youth my parents couldn't keep clothes in my size for long. I didn't know that when you get a sweater in your size or a little larger you can wear a shirt underneath (or buy yourself a higher quality sweater that's not made out of burlap). I can't really blame my parents I think the sweaters I had growing up were all presents from relatives that didn't really see me enough to understand my size.

The sweating? Well I have a theory as this has not been a problem in my most recent sweater wearing adventures. The cost of fossil fuels and energy in general has risen to the point that most people under heat their homes and businesses to save money. I also have only worn them when it's been really cold outside.

I've gotten them from goodwill(50% off day), JCPenny(on sale) and who knows where else. It isn't like I have an uncommon amount of sweaters. I maybe have three or four. It's just how much I enjoy wearing them. I feel better about myself. What I didn't know as a child was that those tight non-concealing sweat bags I was forced into years ago, could have been very concealing comfortable suits of armor had they been properly sized. Which is odd because also growing up I held the belief that women who wore baggy sweaters constantly, were overly conscious about being large breasted*. A thought I still hold today (which includes my library of thoughts on Velma Dinkley). Somehow I never made the connection.

I have a grey one that when I got it felt very much like chain mail. It was so heavy and I wasn't sure if I really liked it, but when I got this mental image of wearing it to battle I became fond of wearing it to work. Work has been a challenge for me. Armor would not be a bad idea. However with wearing and washing it (not that I am following any kind of recommended methods for cleaning my clothing as suggested by the manufacturer) I fear the dryer has taken several pounds of lint from it. It no longer feels like that heavy chain mail. I still like it though.

Wearing to sweaters to work isn't always a good idea. While I need to look professional, sometimes I need to step in a do the labor. The kind of labor that wants to destroy clothing. The chain mail sweater has some tiny holes in it. I'm not really sure how they got there and hope that they are not real noticeable.


*Human anatomy and size - I would say that it doesn't matter because somewhere there is someone who wants what you've got in the size that you have. Sadly on the way to finding that person, you're probably going to run into a lot of people who don't. They are going to be the ones that have everything you want exactly the way you think it should be. A painful life lesson our Funny Funny God has subjected us to.

We now have snow

Snow seems to break down society in the same manner that Y2K was supposed to and 9-11 nearly did. If it's severe enough they shut everything down. At one point this past week that is exactly what they did.

For more than half of a week they had shut down schools, county's and most of the RV industry. My work did not however shut down at all. Just like when I was in High School and no matter how bad the weather was it would never be closed.

I was able to drive my cavalier to work on some of those days (other days I was able to take the 4wd GMC Jimmy my wife normally drives to work) so I was hard to convince that we needed to shut down whole cities. It was so easy to traverse the mounds of snow I had neglectfully failed to remove from my driveway, with the Jimmy. Four wheel drive Hi and Lo gear are like heaven.

When we bought the vehicle and found out how lousy in comparison to the Cavalier the gas mileage was going to be on my much longer commute, we determined Keely should have to drive it on her ten minutes to work instead. At the same moment I decided I would never shovel the driveway again. There simply wasn't any need. I was driving the car that would have a problem getting out, and as a man I was sure I could handle it at anytime of day or night with little problems. She was driving the car that had the power and ability to climb mountains of Eco-freaks. No more shoveling.

I know this winter, the late starter that it was, has become the worst we've had since we lived in this house. I noticed more clearly this fact when my cavalier, the front wheel drive winter warrior, became stuck at the front edge of my driveway where the city plows had sealed it off. Luckily I was on my way home from work and this wasn't going to be a real problem. I didn't have any evening plans. I could just dig myself out all afternoon. For the next forty five minutes Keely drove (read: held steering wheel and pushed the accelerator to the floor until it violently sputtered fluids from both ends) while I pushed the little car. It became stuck about seven times down the driveway. Maybe it was a storm worthy of shutting the city down.

[This is my story so I'll tell it the way I think it goes]
[even though Keely corrected me when I was retelling it to Joe the other day on the phone]

Shelly's brother's neighbor threw his snow blower across his garage in bitter anger at the machine's recent inability to do it's job. Something had fallen off and this neighbor walked the machine over to his trash pile, sat the machine down and turned his back on it forever. He went out to buy a new one and Shelly's brother went out and picked up the broken one. He took it to his father who fixed it. Just in time for me to borrow it.

When I first asked to borrow it I thought and kept thinking until I was done using it that it belonged to Shelly. I had no problem borrowing it from her, I would never have asked to borrow it from her dad. In the same way I would never criticize something her father owned but I have no problem revealing the downfalls of things that she may have bought. Normally I hold the value of FREE above the insane urge to insult the short comings of tools that do not work to my expectations. However we must proceed...

It was a 3hp Murray. From recent dealings with the Murry snow blower we have at work I knew that the company had been bought out and then shut down. I can only assume that there were issues of quality somewhere involved. This one was so small in comparison to the monster we have at work. This one you had to push, it didn't have a drive axle. It removed almost all the loose snow we had from the driveway. The packed down snow it couldn't touch though. My car still won't be able to come back into the driveway for a while. The weight of my car will undermine the stable layer of packed down snow and easily become stuck again.

Had I the money and it was earlier (or later for sales purposes) I would want to go out and buy a Snow blower that could handle the beast of a driveway I have. Even if I had to pay $300.00+ just to own a machine that would more than likely never be used.

I feel very strongly that when you have to buy something like that, it works more like a demonic charm. It would more likely keep the climate warmer and stop it from ever snowing again, for the simple fact that I would have put out that money for nothing. I'm one step ahead of this, because I have come to terms with it. I don't want to shovel, so if I buy a snow blower that stops it from snowing, in the end I have truly won! Until I find the deal or cash that I'm looking for it's gonna be a long winter.

The Competition in it's entirety

I have become an emotional eater. I think this happens more so when you've restricted yourself from the foods that you love. I hardly ever see Pasta, Chocolate, desserts or sweets. We are striving towards a goal. I have been encountering a lot of stress at work. This is how it goes, when I'm confused or feeling swamped, as if I dug myself into a hole I can't climb out of, what I'd really like to do is crawl into bed with my wife. She won't drive all the way to Elkhart to comfort me when I'm like this (for a number of great reasons, or a great number of okay reasons) so I go to do the next thing that makes me feel as good as holding Keely tight and crying quietly.

Little Debbie Nutty Buddy. I am nervous that in my blind love for this product I have completely messed up the name. I'm not terribly interested in the packaging when it comes to these treats. I've tried alot of different suppliers but the one with the most consistent quality is Little Debbie. If you've never had one, they come two to a package. Right their they are asking you to deny any sort of dietary rules you've tried to implant into your life. The way the package is made there is no way for you to save the other bar for later and yet the nutritional information panel brazenly declares that within there are two servings. As you can imagine being a large white male manager; I have no one at work with whom I'd feel comfortable about sharing a Little Debbie with.

*stops drooling*

[Normally I don't emote in my blog, but that was necessary.]

I'm in a competition, I may have mentioned it before. It's called Diet Club. I think everyone should know the first rule of diet club by now. For those of you who don't it is simply this.

1. We do not talk about Diet Club.

This rule is being overlooked because the competition is over.

Sadly my parents who initiated the competition and cheated their way through. Luckily they did not win. Shelly didn't win either. I most certainly of all did not win. In fact the largest contributor to the pot was myself. Money was added in to the pot when you lose a pound and half as much when you gain a pound. My fluctuations equalled about fifty dollars. The pot was only about $140.00.

Keely won. She was so happy.

I'm not really into this entry anymore, I'm sorry you've all suffered through this...

My only real complaint to the Nutty Buddy Bars are that the thin layer of chocolate that hugs the peanut butter hiding wafers is just that; too thin.

A call from Toine*

Tony called me last night and told be about a story "Bomb Scare in Boston." He saw it on the main page of Yahoo. I had to search for it. The moral of the story is that viral advertising in the form of magnetic led lit graffiti was mistaken for dangerous "devices." The ads were for ATHF**. I found the news story with a nice picture of one of the devices. It was a moonanite flipping off anyone who looked at it.

TMBO.org is where I see news first. I went there immediately with a screen capture to post there of the image I had seen. It was too late people already had posted on this topic. They had not yet posted exactly the image that I had found so I put it up anyway. These guys must just sit around all day watching the computer. I would so love that. Damn work all to hell!!!

Tmbo also offered this link for more pictures.

*Toine Schafel is Tony, for some reason all of my friends have interesting aliases at nonspecific times.

**Aqua teen Hunger Force - a cartoon in the line up on Cartoon networks Adult Swim. I love it.

The alarm goes off and it takes a moment for me to become cognitive and realize what is happening. It's always harder after a night when I actually found myself dreaming. It's been hard some times to get dreams. I love dreams. Even when I have to settle for dreams like I had last night.** In the movie Stranger than Fiction (which apparently I'm hung up on) the main character uses his watch (the same watch I own) as an alarm clock. That wouldn't work for me. I don't think. I'm surprised that the alarm clock I use is working for me.

As a child working his way towards manhood I was able to take a few side steps off that path. I became oblivious to any form of alarm or alert that was to bring me to consciousness. It was to the point that I bought an alarm clock that could play CD. It was made by Sony and you could set it to a specific track if you like. At first it wasn't too successfull. I like music, I would go to sleep listening to music, when I heard it in the morning it was peaceful and I did not rouse. I ended up getting a sound fx CD. Track 69, believe it or not, was an air raid siren. This seemed effective for a while. Then I had to move it away from my bed to actually make me stand up to turn it off*.

I later became dependant upon my mother to wake me up. My bedroom was on one side of the house in the basement and the light switch to my bedroom was at the other end of the house. This was because originally the basement was just a place to store things, we converted it into a bedroom so my parents could hide the mess of my bedroom from any guests. My room was lit by four sets of four foot long fluorescent light fixtures. It was like waking up to the sun, six feet away from your head. This all lead to my wife keeping the alarm clock on her side of the bed and telling me when to get up. I was getting a little tired of Keely being in control of the alarm clock and sounding more than agitated when she had to scream at me to get me up in the morning. It was emasculating me to a level I could no longer tolerate. I think over the duration of her having to wake me up in that fashion she actually started her day with disdain for me.

One Christmas my parents bought me a Spongebob Squarepants alarm clock. Now this very simply alarm clock with a Spongebob toy melted to the top of it, sits on my side of the bed. It's surprisingly has done more than that. It also tells the time and wakes me up in the morning. Who would have thought. Having my own alarm clock and taking care of it I think has bettered the relationship I have with my wife. She still asks me every night if it's set and if it's armed but that is only because she cares.

I think this entry was going to be about my daily routine. I don't have one. I add and remove processes on a whim. It's hardly ever the same and I normally forget to complete one vital task. It's not the same task everyday but most of them are equally important. If I forget to shave, shower, exercise, comb hair, brush teeth, eat breakfast, watch TV, get on the computer, feed the dog, let the dog out or once a week take the trash out it's not always the end of the world. I normally don't forget any of the important hygiene ones.

I got up this morning put on my glasses. I used to go to the computer and put in my contacts but I am currently waiting for my new pair to come in. At the computer I would become distracted by the things I feel I need to look at daily.

It's starts with woot.com where I look to see what the one item for the day is that they are selling. [BTW for the past three days it has been some sort of optical mouse, each one has been a different color, they don't seem to be that popular] Then I look at techdeals.net to see what tech I've been drooling over may be cheap enough for me to afford (fun to look at almost never applies to me). I go to TMBO.org, which is now by invitation only (and sadly I don't know anyone who wants to be invited). I check out the torrents that have been added to my browsers "torrent bar" and if anything seems interesting I start the download and walk away as my computer slows down to the speed of a 386 and requests to be left alone while it does what it wants to.

This is the point when I walk to the little bedroom across the hall from my room. I take the second remote from our dish network DVR522 with me. It's our work out room and for at least twenty minutes I ride an exercise bike watching a 13" TV from far enough away it appears to be the size of a hand held television (that's why I need my vision correction application in full effect before the exercise begins).

[today is different because just like two days ago I am writing in my blog]

This isn't supposed to happen because with my glasses I am expected to stumble into that next room immediately. That is what Keely does. She's a trooper. I'm soft, and need something I don't know a warm up period for life. A mediation into full on willing myself to so something other than lie around and age. That's not always true. On some rare occasions I feel so energized from my sleep that I get up with a feeling of purpose and take care of things I may have been too tired to be bothered with the night before (such as dishes from dinner or picking up the shreds of something one my dogs destroyed).

I had heard from my sporadic listening to NPR, a recent study showed that the application of bright light to a sleepy person actually activates (and terminology escapes me) a reaction in the brain to become more alert. Not in a moment of shock, but in an evolved understanding that light comes from the sun and is the start of the day. It's a whole process that is based on the body wanting to sleep when it's dark and be active when it's light. I forget what it's called. The story was about the productivity in children at school based on the amount of rest they had the night before. Interesting stuff and very insightful considering my own educational past and the influence that sleep had in it.

*CD alarm clocks - need to bring the CD to top rotation before they can play the track you've selected. If you have it too close to your head you may involuntarily learn to listen for the noise of the disc spinning and turn it off before the sound kicks in. Then you fall back asleep and regret you spent that much on a useless alarm clock.


**The dream most prevalent in my mind is the one that ended when I woke up. I was with someone I could have sworn it was Tony but sometimes it seemed like this guy I work with named Carl. To be more correct Carl works under me but that really isn't important to the story. We had driven for some unknown reason to my friend Justin's house. I do not regularly speak to Justin nor have I spoken to him in about a year. This is a pattern that i rotate to all my friends. It doesn't mean anything. I do not intentionally not speak to him. It just doesn't happen. The house we go to is set back on a driveway behind two other houses and pole barn. This is not what I know to be Justin's house (the mind is a strange thing). We get to the house and get out of the car I was driving. I don't know why we're there. We knock on the door and go inside. We were invited inside by a large man with no teeth. He was holding a baby. It was another one (and I don't know if Justin has more than one child) of Justin's children. The man with no teeth was not Justin. Tony/Carl stayed quiet and out of my line of sight. Justin came from the back of the home with the normal long lost friend fan fare. The old man shared a short story about the baby's recent ordeal involving it trying to eat or drink something that was not intended for child. The story ended with the man making a face and moving his tongue in and out of his toothless mouth to demonstrate for me what the infant had tried to accomplish, because it too had no teeth and I was obviously beyond having an imagination for the inner mechanics of the efforts of babies. We left the house quickly. We did not get back in the vehicle we drove there. We also did not make any mention of how it was suddenly gone. We walked to the pole barn. Inside we were greeted by a woman who was playing Justin's wife. She was not Justin's wife as I know her at this time. She handed Tony/Carl and I yoga mats and had us take positions on the floor to exercise with her. I had to use the restroom. I walked to the end of the pole barn where there was a little room. I suddenly had a body guard with me. I'm not sure if he hated the menial task of protecting a person in the bathroom or he enjoyed the opportunity to interrupt progress and frustrate at will. The bathroom was horrible. It was the kind that had half residential, half industrial fixtures. The toilet paper dispenser was larger than the toilet itself and pretty much became a gigantic obstacle in all efforts of that type. Above the toilet paper was a paper towel dispenser. The toilet was the kind that used to be white but aged to a dingy yellow, the sink looked the same way. The toilet seat was black. Lighting was a mystery in this room because it was not dark but there wasn't any visible origin of light. At one point I was peeing in a paper cup and amazing myself at the capacity I was producing. I then went in the sink and some time later in the same urination attempted to angle it into the toilet. The time I was taking not only agitated the body guard who at one point was played by Robert De'niro but Carl/Tony was not too pleased that he was forced to complete a series of compromising stretches in front of a strange lady. This was roughly the end of the dream. I woke up needing to go to the bathroom pretty bad. In a dream drought I will settle for this variety.

How a bad day starts

It was several odd minutes past midnight when a slight grumbling began to escalate in the hallway of Paul's home. This is the same small hallway that leads to his bedroom and more importantly the same side of the bed as Paul. When he sleeps more often than not his head faces in such a way that should his eyes be open he could view the closed door at the other end of it and usually a brown lump of a dog that enjoys sleeping at it's mid point. Under certain circumstances this unremarkable hallway is able to emulate a megaphone that has been placed against Paul's ear and is being utilized by Max

Max is the brown lump in the equidistance of the hall way that Paul prays stays silent through the wee hours of the night.

It starts as a throaty grumble and elevates itself to complicated method of breathing right before Max takes an audible gulp of air to aid in his acoustic master presence that takes no survivors in his relentless bark. He works it up for several minutes alerting the person well in advance so they can focus and truly appreciate the pitches he eventually belts out in a variety of tones and volumes.

Max was asking for two things. He wanted to be heard and more importantly obeyed.

Paul rose from his sleep, climbing over what he now regularly considers to be his good dog who sleeps through most of the night. That is largely in fact because she is old and partly due to her constant rabid snarling that tires her out at night. He walked down the hallway to the now bouncing and barking brown outline of Max.

It's not clear to anyone not even Max what is the exact thing he wants. He will stop bouncing and barking if you let him out, if you feed him, if you get down on the ground to love him and even if you drag him back to the bedroom. Some of those solutions are more temporary than the others.

Paul's journey to the back of the house requires him to walk past the book self where he stores his watch over night. It's the same bookshelf where he takes out his wallet, off his belt and sets them down together with his cell phone, keys and what ever else has been hanging around in his pockets that day.

The kitchen is lit with a decorative wine bottle that has been crammed full of white Christmas lights. It's a real nice effect for night light or an accent light. It is however blinding after several hours of sleep in an otherwise dark house. Paul's watch had on more than one occasion wished that lamp wasn't in the kitchen, since Paul seldom slept in pants.

More agitating than walking Max to the frozen tundra that has become his backyard corral is the random promptness in which he demands that he be returned to the coziness of home. Sometimes it's seconds other times it seems like hours. Always it ends with a frantic pawing on the glass, like a child threatening abuse in a shopping plaza. At this time of night you know the neighbors are listening. So does he.

This ritualistic madness of getting up, taking out, waiting, waiting too long and returning to bed only to get up and let back in wasn't enough for the puppet master Max. He has on more than one occasion doubled his efforts to drive Paul insane by awaking the Bean on his return to the bedroom. She who was once sound asleep now cannot rest without her own trip to the outside world. From that point on they pass the baton in an endless relay race of the imagination that allows Paul no more than forty two minutes sleep in any particular pass, or so calculates his shiny wrist watch who each time is sadly victimized seeing the bare ass and assorted other bits that only one other person was rightfully sentenced to see for the rest of her entire life.

Wings, the blizzard and you tube

"Me and Tony are going to wings, I was just calling to see what you and Keely were doing later." Mozz said when he called me in the middle of the afternoon on Saturday. The day before my birthday. The day in which I had already went to lunch with my parents at the very decadent Yesterdays and also seen a movie.

The movie was Stranger than Fiction. The animation in it reminded me a lot of HHGTTG. While I would not recognize their names if I saw them, I would not be surprised if the animators at least a few of them were the same.

Mozz didn't for several minutes directly invite me out to eat. As of late I've been living life as a vampire and without direct invitation I will not assume that I am welcome anywhere. It took several more times of him saying "Tony and I are getting wings and I wondered what you were doing later," until he modified it to include "So if you wanted to come, that would be cool."

In the business world, the one that is mostly figurative and evolved from buzzwords and rumors from Japan it is a deadly sin for one to "ASSUME." I have as of late been inducted into that world in the same way I was not inducted into the Thespian Society in high school. It is only deep seated rage and coincidence that I mention that here in a post in which I am also discussing Mozz whom if memory serves correctly did get inducted to the Thespian Society. I need to end this line of discussion right now, because it is several blogs of a discussion I don't feel like covering it this morning.

Right now it is 5:00am on a Tuesday. Three days after these events took place. I probably wouldn't be writing about it at all except I was threatened. Tony at some point in the evening said that I should, no wait he said "That had better go in the Blog!" And since I don't remember exactly what he was talking about I am trying to remember the entire evening the best that I can.

This is going to be complicated. Mozz is staying at Tony's house. Tony owns this house but has not yet moved in. It's a nice house in a suburbia that seems ancient yet has defied the pattern of most, which quickly fall into the habit of becoming white trash neighborhoods or ghettos. It has kept it's secluded innocence, and before Tony took us over to see it, I had not known the area existed. This is partly because I do not entirely believe that anything exists outside of my personal experience but mostly because it's not on the way to anywhere I've been. It's right next to some places I always go, but it's not something you can drive through to get there. (At this point any one who hasn't been there and can not tolerate my non-descriptive writing, will begin to focus their browsers elsewhere.) Tony lives in an apartment. Mozz was waiting for Tony to drop by, then they were going for wings. They didn't know if they were going to Wings ETC or Hooters. When Tony arrived, Mozz was going to call us.

We waited and watched TV. We laid in bed and watched TV. We waited and got hungry. We waited and got tired. We waited and got mildly irritated. Then the phone rang. It was Mozz. Tony had made it and they wanted us to come over there to Tony's house. I had an overwhelming feeling that everything was going to be alright.

The drive from Tony's house to my house and vice versa (but not a round trip) is roughly four miles. Not very far at all. The roads were clear because the only snowfall we'd seen had melted or blown away. The weathermen were all, as per usual, fearing for their lives due to the constant lies they had been spinning. Global warming was kicking their ass.

When we got to Tony's house he was playing with his phone on his new couch in his newly painted front room of his newly purchased home. Sitting next to him was his old friend Mozz who was watching the new TV I gave them that was really old. In reference to which Mozz always said "That TV sucks, dude." Which makes me feel real good that I did not ask that they pay for it. It is common I have come to believe, with friends, that you give each other gifts that are either really cool or maddeningly of poor quality for the simple fact that these items hold those very attributes. Collectively the core of my giving has been I feel of the later. Am I a lesser friend because of this? Maybe not due to the quantity of my generosity. Or if you take into consideration the original value of the items that I gave long after their prime? On the other hand I have been nearly completely out of contact with my friends off and on for several years and the giving of things has been limited.

More importantly than all of that I may forever have to rename Tony; Envy. On more than one occasion he has possessed items, opportunities and experiences; that have caused me to sin. The sin being envy. The highest of these in my current mindset is his new cell phone. He now has a Motorola Q. When my Samsung 650a stopped doing anything, I looked into getting a new phone. That was the one I wanted more than anything. That was the one that cost more than some vehicles I have owned. It was so cool to hold his phone that I nearly cried. I wanted to take it with me and fondle it until it's battery died, then plug it into an A/C adapter/charger and continue the fondling it until I died. At some later point (perhaps after I own my own) I may post a review of it. I could tell it had some quirks. None of the quirks however outweighed it's coolness.

After sharing ring tones and hearing that my favorite Cake song was what he heard when I called him (however seldom that was) we all got into the Jimmy and went to Wings Etc. In my head this place of culinary limitted-ness is a fictional halfway point between my house and Tony's. I'm not squabbling over the back tracking because I understand how much fun we had car pooling.

I don't know why people assume or think that I am a bad driver. Have I had accidents? Have I had traffic violations? Have I fallen asleep at the wheel? Have I driven when I've perhaps been over the legal limit? I would say tentatively, yes but more like maybe once or twice and it's nothing I'm proud of. However on all of those occasions (for the most part) I was alone. No one witnessed them, yet as we begin our journey towards a legendary evening Mozz took the time to point out that while he was about to do it currently he had also in the past critiqued my driving skills (in a way that was not at all complaining). The better word is "Damned" my driving skills. Suddenly I was in the middle of a caucus in which all agreed I may have well been born an Asian woman past her prime and being less than four feet tall, the way I command control of an automobile.

[I don't know why I wrote that, no one said anything like that, and it's racist and prejudiced against Asians (that I find attractive and way to intelligent to ever communicate with, without being terribly embarrassed by my un-special American-ness) the elderly (which I am ever moving forward to become) and the height challenged (which as Randy Newman says "Got no reason to live.")]

Little to say we made it to the dinning experiance without complication.

Wings Etc. is a sports bar with family dinning. (Due to Indiana or St Joe Coutny laws there is no smoking in bars unless they are made completley seperate from dinning areas via walls and doors.) They have wings but they also have all the usual crap you'd find at a burger and beer place. Nothing too fancy. No paper towel or peanuts at the table or on the floor. Everyone but Keely got at least some portion of their meal made from the tiny wings of chickens. We had a great time and no time was greater than when I took out my new toy and took an 8mp picture of Mozz at about 2.5 inches away. I like Macro pictures. So then when you see the picture in all it's greatness you are very near to seeing the actual Mozzucules that make up a Mozz. Seeing ones self under such a microscope is a difficult thing to endure. There is no where to hide that close and detailed.

Oh there was one better moment, and that was when Mozz attempted to eat the coleslaw Tony got with his meal. This was challenge because they didn't supply any of us with silverware. We did have some paper plates and Mozz had an idea. My personal idea was to use my camera to record the event as the first post millennium Druidic-video to be produced. The second idea I had was to use the windows movie maker to turn it into a youtube classic.

When we left Wings Etc. the weathermen had won. My car was under six inches of snow and the large pieces of frozen water molecules were gently floating down in a sea of impaired vision. I went out to warm up and clean off the car while Mozz had a smoke and everyone hung out around him. Even at this point of life with our heavy knowledge of how Mozz will die long before any of us, he still emanates a level of cool to on lookers.

What doesn't emulate a level of cool is the no nonsense business side of Mozz we got to experience when we took him to Meijer to face out his product. Was he over the legal limit? No one really knows, we might have been able to tell by the amount of complaining he was doing because he never complains* and that would be a good measuring tool.

We are some of the best/worst friends. I really don't know which way to judge us, but we seem to like to gang up and frustrate each other on occasion and to no end. Normally it's when one of us is required to something serious. After he went behind the curtain of the Meijer gateway from selling space to storage space we felt ditched for several minutes until Mozz called on his cell phone from several rows away.

He was being forced to use a display stand that was not his own to support more product that it was built for all for capatalistic politics. Valentines day was coming and his Little Debbie supplies needed to be in a visible location for the early morning Sunday crowd. We stood there next to him and judged his company against his competitors and interrogated him about the methods in which he made money. Tony tried relentlessly to buy from Mozz instead of Meijer but there was some sort of catch 22 that could not be broken. Mozz only sells the treat that Tony likes to Meijer. Mozz didn't want Tony to have to buy the treat, he would give the treat to Tony. The only problem was that Mozz didn't have any extra or available to give him. So to recap Tony wanted to buy something that Mozz wouldn't let him and equally couldn't get for him or give to him. The only solution was that Tony, in order to have his chocolaty goodness available to him right now, he had to buy it from Meijer.

When that ordeal was complete, we took them back to Tony's house where the blizzard had full-on shut down most roads and people forgot how to drive completely. There were comments made on how my driving had improved the worse the roads became. I don't know if that was some kind of insult or weird coincidence.

When I got home I found out that my camera is a communist. It takes movies in the *.mov format known mostly as the quicktime format that is more commonly associated with the Mac computers. Windows movie maker denies that it's the kind of file it wants to associate with. I had to download a video converter. When I did the quality went to hell and I was pissed. So now I have gone on to stage two or plan B, which ever you prefer and have uploaded the mov file to jumpcut.com. there I hope to be able to edit it and snap it up a little then be able to post the finished project on youtube.com where we will all be come famous.


*At some point Mozz said durring dinner that he never complains. Twice this year since I've been hanging out with Mozz I've seen this look in his eyes like I've hurt his feelings. I never want to hurt anyone's feelings (which makes me screwed as a manager). It saddens me when I see that look. I also get a little scared because it's just a step to left for full on rage. Right here is offended and over there is kick your ass, which way do you want to take a walk? Tony heard this and began to laugh uncontrollably. We determined that Mozz doesn't ever complain. He shares his unbiased opinions that normally sway to the negative, but not because of him, because the truth is most things on a whole suck.

Stranger than Fiction

Yes. Before I saw the movie at the cheapest theatre in town I was attracted to the Timex ironman watch that is featured there in.

I saw it at Meijer (the watch not the movie). It was in a display with about twenty other identical watches. The card board shipper had the words (or something very close)"As featured in the Motion Picture : Stranger than Fiction." There may or may not have been a picture of Will Farrell included.

It did not however have any indication of price listed on it or printed around it. No one evidently ever works in the jewelry department, because every time I went there wasn't a single person I could seek out for assistance. I didn't just visit it once. I browsed them on several occasions. Finally I walked one over to a price scanner.

Located throughout the store are small electronic devices that incorporate LCD displays and laser eyes to identify and decipher prices of unmarked objects. More common than not these devices are known to be out of order or prompting you to complete menial tasks over and over again. "Please scan the item now." That is a famous request that beams unblinkingly from most monitors after several moments of strategic positioning of the items bar code in the eerie red light that is emitted from the laser at the base of the device. This is classic broken price checker behavior.

When I eventually learned of the MSRP for the watches that I'd been coveting for several weeks I was devastated. I'd never paid more than $20.00 for a wrist watch. (I never said I was an extremely classy person.) Meijer wants a person to pay $67.93 or some such amount.

I am a big person. I have big body parts. I know that a variety of fashionable and occasionally affordable wrist watches and even alternative wrist accessories will not fit on me. To avoid buying something and returning it when it doesn't fit, some establishments allow you the luxury of trying items on. Once I found the jewelry department manned by three people. On that same day they were having a sale for all watches. I asked to try it on and they allowed me to. To my surprise it fit.

I didn't buy the watch at Meijer. At this point the store only had two left and they (probably through the luxury of patrons trying the time pieces on) looked well worn.

I bought it online at a discounted price of something less than $67. The sale at Meijer did not change my feelings about the molestation that had at some point happened to the two last watches they had. I felt much more content buying it online at Amazon.com where it's past will stay hidden from me forever.

When I ended up seeing the movie on the weekend of my birthday I was pleased that while the watch in the movie was more impressive than the version I currently own, the movie itself was very enjoyable to me. It was about writing. It was about love. It was about death and it barely had a happy ending. Kind of like the pleasures derived from dark chocolate. It's so good because it dances on the edge between satisfying and questionably not quite hitting the spot.

The Failings of Society

It happened. They told me it would. I didn't believe them. My parents said, if you're not careful credit cards will ruin your life. I had all the information I could possibly need. I had never had any kind of credit before. I moved out of my parents house and into an apartment in Muncie Indiana almost nine years ago. Then I proceeded to apply for every form of credit I could.

What happened on most occasions was that I got denied. Having no credit history is kind of frowned upon. What ever credit I did have all went bad. I never earned a degree or landed a good paying job, right after high school. I wasn't able to pay rent let alone credit card bills that piled up with nothing to show for it but empty pizza boxes and gas tanks. Later I was told that was a bad move to buy such exhaustible services on credit.

I feel off the credit world. I wasn't trusted for anything. Mail swamped my inbox for years with threats. The companies I owed sold their losses to other companies for half what I owed. Those companies sold them off to others as I sat and waited for Armageddon. The phone rang incessantly for years. Caller id is one of the best inventions ever. It was hard to explain at first why it rang and we didn't pick up while entertaining. We said it was telemarketers. Soon people didn't seem to care. I'd been visiting with other people and their phone was doing the same thing. Hiding from collectors was more secretly common than I had suspected.

What happened over those nine years I'm not incredibly proud of. Sure at the moment I'm kind of happy, but I'll get to that in a moment. I tried to apply for a Bankruptcy about four years into it. It turned out that while I couldn't pay my bills, while I had been throwing away statements and letters; I was unable to pay for legal assistance and I had no evidence of what I owed.

They say that chapter 11 (or is it 7) is no longer available in a form where you are no longer responsible to repay your debt. They also say that it takes 7 years to come off of your credit report. I heard from somewhere that all bad credit takes 7 years to fall off.

I haven't seen my credit report in several years. I'd been getting junk mail for at least two years where I'd been pre-aproved for this or that. Out of pure fantasy I'd fill them out and mail them in. Everyone was denied for this or that reason.

However in this year of 2007, someone made a mistake. They sent me back not a letter of failure but a platinum card. I'd never gotten above silver before. In fact I think I was at some new form of low level pewter.

I am taking it as some sort of honor. It's gonna be different this time around. I'm going to use my credit to reach higher levels of good credit. I'm am going to pursue heightened plateaus of available credit. Holding them as precious gems until I am near death.

At that point, if I do not have children or beloved relatives that will inherit my debt, I will blow it all. If I'm in any kind of right mind at that point, I'm gonna buy things I can leave in my will to friends. Chances are however as I am near the end of my right mind most of the time, it will be frivolous spending resulting in momentary capsules of entertainment.

An evening that changed my mind

It was hump day. I had been feeling particularly humped by about three thirty in the afternoon when there was more work to be done than I had time or workers to do. An unanticipated extra effort came out of no where and I did a few people's jobs I don't normally do. I stayed later than I wanted to stay and completed tasks I would normally pawn off onto other people, so they could do more of the real work load.

Closing procedures are some of the most mundane activities of the day for me. Making sure someone didn't forget something. It wouldn't be so bad, but these people never forget to do these things they are asked to. They've been doing it for several years now and have pretty much gotten it down.

I walked outside of the building a few minutes before five pm. Checking the trucks is one of those tiresome tasks. It used to be relaxing over the summer on a nice day. I'd walk out there checking the windows, headlights, chock and enjoy the cool breeze and the blue skies. Now it's winter and the climate has actually started to change in these early weeks of January. The days of December and fifty degrees are long gone***. A bite to the wind made me sure to bundle up before I went out. I wore my black stocking cap and my trusty work jacket. It's a funny thing about work jackets. They seem so cheap and inexpensive but despite how unappealing they look on a whole they tend to keep you pretty warm.

All four semi's were parked in a row. I had made my way around each one. Not one had a window open, a head light on, a door unlocked, a trailer unchocked or were left unplugged*. The last truck was a straight truck, meaning the storage part didn't disconnect in the way a semi does. It had been parked in between the shipping dock and the receiving dock. When a truck is not backed up to the building we are forced to inspect the cargo area to be sure that no forgotten product was left behind.

This particular truck was parked here because it wasn't going to be used for the next day's delivery by it's normal driver. He had fallen out of the back of it on his first delivery of the day. He continued to work all day long and only told me later. Which is when I was taken away from my normal work to fill out an accident form and demand he get medical attention. Our Workman's comp place sent him to the hospital for x-rays. He's not coming back to work until Monday. He seemed pretty upset about it, but I tried to convince him it was like a four day weekend and he should rest and enjoy it.

I grabbed the handle to the back door of the vehicle. It was tougher to open than I expected from this truck seeing how it was a brand new vehicle we picked up earlier in the month. I suspect that there was a bit of an angle that it was parked at causing some torque to be applied to the frame which set the doors slightly out of alignment. I pulled harder with more of my body weight as pseudo strength. The handle didn't need that much help because at a certain point the torque was transferred to the handle and it flew out of my hand. Nearly instantaneously after that I was doubled over in pain with my eyes closed and my hands over my face.

I didn't realize how close to the truck my face was. I took a pretty good hit above my right eyebrow. It hit right at the double folded edge of the stocking cap. I don't know if that cushioned the blow or not. When I could stand up and open my eyes again the right one began to water. I walked back inside. Having just filled out an accident report for Jorge it was fresh on my mind as the next course of action. Not having any medical background it didn't occur to me what type of injuries are severe enough to forgo this procedure. I completed it and took it to my supervisor. Dumb founded by the accident having also been involved with Jorge's case he took me to his boss.

She started asking me questions and while I was able to answer them, there didn't seem to be any urgency on my part. At this point our medical facility was closed and they probably would have sent me to a hospital anyway. She called my wife and they worked out a hospital to take me to. Memorial in South bend. My boss Roy drove me. They decided I shouldn't drive. I left my car at work in the next city.

Roy dropped me off at the Emergency Room. I'd been to this hospital before, visiting other people. I walked through automated doors and into a labyrinth of insufficiently marked areas. I walked twenty feet in not seeing anything that struck me as where I should be. I walked back towards the exit hoping Roy would soon be in to help me. When he came in I told him "I don't know where to go." The ease in which he took me over to a window where people were working let me deduct that something wasn't completely right with me. It was interesting that how lost and in need of help I was and that none of those people who responded to Roy wouldn't even make contact with me.

They took me back to Triage 3 right away. Head injuries are a bit of a top priority I guess. I was alone in a u-shaped room with a curtain for a wall. It wasn't much bigger than most single person public toilets. The walls were beige. I was visited by two women, one in blue and one in beige. It seemed like these colors best matched their skin tones but I learned later that they were color coded by the jobs they held. I was asked on no less than three occasions what my name, birth date, ssn and various addresses and phone numbers I could be reached at if I did in fact outlive the night.

Roy was unable to come back with me. I'm not sure if that was stated to him or a decision he made on his own. I could see an eye chart where I was sitting and everything seemed to be fine with the world around me. What felt off was me. I didn't have an ounce of concern about any of the things that had been bothering me in days leading up to this event. My computer was giving me problems and my job was getting more complicated, but I didn't care. I felt solid and untouched by these events. I was more interested in current events involving, directly me. This is when the fear set in. I had seen several episodes of 3lbs, before they cancelled it. The brain is a very complex and mystical organ. It wasn't very difficult to think that my sudden lack of pain, discomfort and emotion were caused by internal bleeding suffocating those portions of my brain.

When there seems to be no up or down and one is completely lost, I have decided that regardless of what happens it's time to take a moment to thank Jesus. You don't have to voice your comments, questions or concerns because he/God knows what you're thinking. So I'm not sure if there was a nurse or anyone else there when the tears began to well up, but I said probably more quiet than I realize and mostly to myself "Thank you, Jesus." In a brief moment of hope that he would do what ever he thought was best.

Not more than five minutes later Keely (my wife) and Shelly (our friend**) walked around the curtain. "What are you doing to me?" Keely said crying as she bent down to hug me. "I don't know." I replied. Shelly was also, almost crying. "I'm gonna head out now." Roy said and I waved him on thanking him for the ride over to the hospital.

We were then taken to a room. I was asked to strip down to my underwear. I'm all man and made a professional decision that it didn't matter if Shelly was present to see me take my clothes off or not. She was a professional hospital employee and so I barely hesitated. It's not like we both hadn't been completely naked in a pool together at some point. My mind wasn't exactly right because a certain inhibition was released when I began talking about the sex dream I had the night before involving Keely, Shelly and a famous black woman and man. The black couple weren't actually a couple, and I couldn't remember who they were. All I could remember is that no one was having sex with me. Ripoff is the only brand of sex dream I tend to have.

Shell said (from her hospital knowledge) that we were in RTA. She also told us that that was where they put people whom the hospital has little immediate concern for.

I was seen by the orderly from terminator 2, the one that licks her face when she's restrained. When a doctor finally came to see me, he seemed upset that I had neither pain nor discomfort of any kind. I know that's because the severity of brain damage is hard to tell by looking at the outside. Shelly quickly told us as he left that he was the most attractive doctor in the hospital. This information only lead me to believe that the hospital was unable to attract handsome doctors. She really thinks he's hot, Keely kind of agreed. For an older gentlemen he was good looking. I failed to see it, and at times I can be pretty gay when it comes to determining the sexuality of men. However everyone has their own taste.

A cat scan is what they decided that I needed. It took a while for my transporter to arrive. He was black and had dreadlocks. I assumed he was Jamaican but the few words he spoke to me didn't give away any real hints to his accent. It was not American. He didn't like me. It was a distance between my room and the cat scan room. We traveled down hallways that gradually were less populated by people and then by light. He rolled me into a room and said "Some one will be with you in a moment." (when I retold that part to Shelly and Keely I added some "Jah's and Mon's"). It's jealousy not racism. I felt bad for him. He gave the general disposition of someone who didn't like his job. His breathing was heavy as he pushed the wheelchair I was in. The wheels felt like they may have had something wrong with them and then there is the fact that i weigh 325lbs. (I'm working on that).

I was in a room with the device and a no one else. In the next room on the other side of a wall of windows were two guys. They didn't make eye contact with me. Finally one came out. He had long hair and almost enough facial hair to detract from his large nose. He spoke to me in hippie/surfer/hard rock "dudes" and "Mans." He earned his stereotype and wore it well. Asking a person to lay down on a cat scan, who has just suffered a head injury, might require a little more information, is not a thought that crossed his mind. It was a bit of a puzzle to me. I know where the head goes, but at the opposite end of that table is where they put the pillows. Instead of pillows on the end that faces the machine there was a sheet covering what looked like some sort of robotic vice for mangling. I wasn't terribly keen on putting any part of my body into that, so I asked for help. "Where does my head go?" and it was as I feared, in the vice.

When you are in place the thing shoots lasers at you so the technician can line you up correctly. This is my first cat scan and I wasn't having a good time. I didn't know if it was going to be loud or what exactly it looked or sounded like when the machine was behaving normally. All I could think about is the guillotine and the last images I saw of the Saddam hanging. To help with this procedure I wasn't given any instructions. Either ol' boy was too stoned to remember or I simply looked like a veteran of head trauma. It moved the table I was on and the center portion of the ring I was in. It made what I can only now describe as calibration movements. That's what I assume since when the sporadic movements stopped a tiny voice came to me like a megaphone through a drive-thru intercom that said a few things but the only one I heard was "don't move." I think that is when the procedure began.

When the commotion stopped and I was back outside the machine looking up I saw a sticker. It was the informational kind and I felt compelled to read it. I don't know if it was upside down or not. Sometimes I don't seem to have problems reading upside down. It was less than an inch away from an aperture where one of the lasers came out of. The letters were fine and I had to concentrate. It read something to the effect of "Do not stare into the laser." Were the laser actually on I would not have been able to read the sign and obey it at the same time. This made my day. I live for this kind of idiocy.

My hippie came back out to tell me that it was over. He also suggested that I not try to hop off the table because it was a few feet higher in the air that it was when I got on. It is odd that now that the scary part was over he became filled with useful "what-to-do-next" information. Including the info that my transport would arrive shortly. Before retreating into his little glass room where he would once again ignore me, he opened two doors. I almost made a run for it. I didn't want my Rastafarian friend to have to huff and puff my fat ass back to the room where my friends were. I moved back in my wheelchair about three feet under my own power and then remembered that not only did I not know how to get back to where I came from but that we passed through a door he used a code to open, and like a considerate person waiting in line at the grocery store I didn't watch as he entered his pin.

When I got back Keely had left to call my parents and Shelly was sitting there alone. I told her everything that happened and when Keely came in I told it again. Shelly said the version she got was more comprehensive than the one I later told.

The Doctor came back in to tell us that nothing seemed to be wrong. No internal bleeding. That doesn't mean that it won't bleed just that's not bleeding now. I think I've been in management a tad too long because when anyone is CYA'ing I have an internal alert go off. I didn't bring it up but it was pretty thick. He also had a tad of over explaining why he wasn't going to give me narcotics for my own good, like that is what I had actually came for. I didn't have a problem with that because I wasn't in any pain.

I was in shock. At least I think it was shock, I was tweaked in a way that I can't really explain. I could think but I had nothing to think about. I could care but I really didn't have any feelings about anything. I remember wanting to go home and then feeling so comfortable that I didn't want to get up. I may never really know what normal is anymore. Such a subtle injury that only seems to have disrupted my interpretation of existence.


*A diesel engine needs to be plugged in during cold weather so the fuel does not freeze.

**Shelly is a phlebotomist. She works at Memorial and St. Joseph hospitals in South Bend.

***That's sarcasm, or maybe just a statement of our mild winter. This is Indiana, we used to enjoy (the hard core Hoosiers) a dusting of snow at Halloween and two plus feet by Christmas. It's what the Lord (born in the desert) demands for proper celebration of his birth.