A Letter to a Friend

Dear Friend (you know who you are),

Please never, ever …ever recommend a “classic” movie to me again. You have tried and I have tried, but this isn’t working out. Remember when we were going to see Freddy vs. Jason in the theater on that fateful Friday night? As I was leaving work on Thursday, you said “You absolutely have to watch Jason Goes to Hell tonight because it ties directly into the movie we are seeing tomorrow.” I venture to the local Hastings and to my dismay; they don’t have a copy for rent. To my further dismay, the only copy they have for sale is $23. You said I must watch it, so I fork over the cash and take it home. If memory serves me correct, there is a point in the movie where Jason’s HEART crawls across the floor, lifts one of its ventricles, could have been an aorta, and the vein screams before it scurries off like an oversized spider. It screamed. It frickin’ screamed. What’s worse, the tie in part you mentioned was exactly 4 seconds long, I timed it. Jason’s mask is laying on the sand and a Freddy glove pops up and pulls in under. Wow, I wouldn’t really consider that a must see event, but even if it were, it couldn’t be worth the $6/second I was forced to pay.

I also remember a little show that you said was fantastic by the name of Streets of Fire. It did have Willem Defoe, but then again, he was shirtless and wearing rubber chest waders through the whole thing. Need I say more? OK, I will. You also said Eddy and the Cruisers was right up my alley. Tripe is delicious, big bursting mouthfuls of coagulated tripe, compared to this pile of garbage. It isn’t unknown because it was under the radar of Hollywood; it is unknown because it sucks major rhino.

Then we come to last night’s flick. I remember a long conversation where you stood and looked at me in amazement that I hadn’t seen one of the best movies ever made. You went on and on about the cast and the movie. So I got The Adventures of Buckaroo Bonsai Across the 8th Dimension from Netflix and sat down for some entertainment. I still don’t know how it ended, because nobody knows how it ends. If you can sit through that entire movie, you are a better man than I. I sat through Monster Man and Serial Slayer which were both filmed with a Sony Hi8 camcorder, yet I couldn’t sit through Bonsai. Monster Man actually had a sex scene where the girl used a Yoda voice and said “Take me you will, with your light saber, you must.” Oscar winning writing compared to Buckaroo.

We are obviously not in the same place when it comes to movies. I also need to publicly state that Armageddon, while an entertaining film, is not the end-all, be-all of writing, cinematography, and acting. No, I didn’t cry at the end and no, it didn’t change my life as it did yours. As for the Bonsai recommendation, I can say only this. Damn you my friend, damn you straight to the hot place. Fifth ring, turn left, fourth spit…and roast slowly.

Competition and Pressure Ruin another Hobby

I consider myself a Jack of all trades when it comes to hobbies. I like to try lots of things and admittedly go overboard for short periods of time with whatever happens to be the interest of the month. I do have fun though and usually involve friends. The friendly involvement is the source of my problem, however. I’ve been at my current job for over 7 years and since, I have been pushed out of many of the things I love to do, because of competition and unrelenting pressure. Let me give some examples.

Duck hunting: My high school buddy and I watched the calendar for opening day and went as much as possible. We had a fantastic time even when we didn’t see a thing. Now, fast forward to my current situation; I have someone at work that likes duck hunting, but he is relentless. I have a wife and kids, so I can’t go out every week end. Apparently he can. So I head out a couple of times. The guy takes every shot to show how fast he is and he bags every bird. I let him take them to be polite, and not get shot. After a couple days he starts in and I hear about how little I go. This was right after we went, and it goes on continually. I’m hearing this every day. “When we going?” “Are you ever going to use those decoys again?” “Why don’t you store your Camo and guns at my house, you’re never going to use them again.” So I quit. I don’t go. Every time he asks I just say no.

Fishing: Exact same story as above. I quit. Not worth it. I have to be around these people 8 to 10 hours a day and I get so sick of hearing about it.

Wood Working: Same thing. I built quite a bit of furniture when I moved into my house which allowed me to purchase some fun wood working tools. Guys at work hear about it and then the hassle starts. “What you building now?” “Those tools are expensive, have you used the plainer much?” “Are you ever going to build anything again?” “Why don’t you let me use them, you don’t need them anymore.” So I quit talking about any project that I work on, and I don’t work on much anymore. They think I don’t work on anything anymore.

Music: I bought some instruments and got into guitar. I took lessons for a couple of years. I practiced regularly. Then I start talking to the guys at work. Some are into music, and are quite talented. There isn’t much competition as they are experienced and I am a newbie, but they also know that fact and make it quite known to me as well. So again it starts. Every day. “Did you play last night?” “Your music is so easy and uncomplicated.” “How many hours did you actually practice last week?” “Do you even use the drums?” So I quit, as far as they are concerned. They get together to play and I don’t act remotely interested. I fiddle around with my toys on my time, but never mention it. If they ask, I say no chance and the instruments are in storage.

RC: Several of us got into RC trucks. I know, I know. I built it up, dropped a ton of cash…and heard incessant hounding about how little I use it. The competition was fierce, who’s was fastest, who’s had more aluminum, who had newest parts. So I sold it at a fraction of its value and quit.

Now Blogging: A small group of current and old work buddies stared up blogs to vent and give the world a little of our twisted humor. It started fun, but soon turned into a competition. How many hits, how many international readers, how are you rated. They started advertising and hitting other blogs and promoting on websites and registering and voting and…whatever. I couldn’t do it. It takes too much time, and frankly, my work doesn’t allow me to do it there, so home is my only option. Nevertheless, I posted daily for a while for my own reasons, mostly fun. Last week was a rough one in many ways, so I haven’t had a post since last Tuesday. So it is midnight and I log on to their blogs to catch up and see that they both, independently, pulled my link from their pages. A week off, and I’m out. These are personal friends. I feel a little slighted, and I may kick a little ass. They are close enough friends that I can safely call them pricks, big fat pricks. I know they have got to save those 14 characters for a better link, meaning someone that generates more traffic and has at least one post a day, but come on. If they never posted again, I wouldn’t pull their link, frankly, because some of their old posts are hilarious. I'm prone to over reaction but it just proves my point again, it is about the competition, not what we started, but how everything inevitably ends. So I quit. Not completely, but as far as they are concerned, I quit.

Like all of my hobbies, they are only fun if you can do them when you like, with people you like. Once it becomes a chore and a competition….screw it. I’m out.

You Can't Handle the Truth!

You want answers? You want the truth? Well then here it is. Here are some lies that all men tell. You asked for it. And men, whether directly or by omission, you are guilty, my brothers.

1)I beat Mike Tyson on Mike Tyson’s Punch Out. You lying sack. You didn’t last through the first round, because nobody lasts through the first round.

2) I used to bench 300. Unless you have lifted for quite some time, you have no concept of how much 300lbs actually weighs. I know you look at a little guy like me and say, if he pushed it, I must bench 500lbs. Go to the gym and be humbled, 99.999% of you were never even close.

3) I wasn’t in band in high school. Yes you were. I am the only person that didn’t subject themselves to band. You lugged that tuba for four years, quit denying it.

4) I don’t cheat on my Taxes. Oh ya, what about those internet purchases that you are supposed to claim for state sales tax?

5) I’ve never crapped my pants (as an adult). The average guy breaks wind about 15 times a day. Over 365 days a year, that’s 5,475 bombs a year. One of those bad boys pulled a little liquid from the rim. Besides, why else were you throwing those tidy not-so-whiteys into the dumpster outside the break room? Because they won’t flush, that’s why.

6) I don’t pee in the shower. We all pee in the shower. It saves 2 gal of water and is the “green” thing to do.

7) The condom broke. Your girlfriend didn’t get prego because of a faulty condom. They test those things with two gallons of water. I’m afraid your little “release” didn’t even fill the reservoir tip. You barebacked it, just admit it.

8) I’ve never tried on a women’s underwear. They are silky and sexy and feel wonderful. You had to try it..you know you did.

9) I have never seen porn, it’s gross. Ya, all those hot naked women performing acts we all dream about with lots of other naked hot women just make me sick. Who do you think you are talking to?

10) I’ve never pleasured myself. I have a friend at work that is over 40 and claims never, ever, not even once, ever, even accidently have a misfire. He said, and I quote “I don’t even think I would know how to do it.” Shut your filthy lying mouth. I’ve been set-off by a bumpy car ride…and you have too.

11) I don’t drink and drive. Every one of you SOBs that drink, drink and drive. Designated driver my ass.

12) Honey, your pet ran away. Nope, it died. You just didn’t want to tell the kiddies. You buried it, flushed it, put it in a baggy and stuffed it in the trash, either way..you were an accessory.

13) I’ve never sniffed panties. I have never done this, but I know you have….Sicko.

14) I’ve never tucked my penis back between my legs to see what I would look like as a girl. We all saw Silence of the Lambs and stood in front of a mirror in the days following and pulled the old tuck and roll. If you put on lipstick while doing it, you need to be in a hospital.

15) I’ve never cut up an old pillow case to make it into a makeshift loin cloth and then after everyone left the house tore off all of my clothes, put on the loin cloth, and run around with an invisible hatchet attacking the imaginary villagers. Come on…fess up.

1-8-4-3-6-5-7-2

That’s it, that’s all I remember about cars. That is the firing order of a small block Chev 350. Everything else is gone. I spent 8 years working in an auto parts store and my entire childhood around people working on cars and I know absolutely nothing. I take my car to AutoZone to get the codes read when I get a check engine light, and they tell me to tighten my gas cap. Huh?

People at work ask me questions because of my background but I couldn’t tell them the difference between a ball joint and a tie rod. Do cars even have tie rods anymore? The really bad part is the fact that I rebuilt almost every component on my sweetazz 82’ T-top Trans Am. (Side note: Mullets and creepers don’t go together. You get your mullet stuck in the creeper wheels while under a car and you’re SOL my friend, just grab the scissors) I knew that thing up and down and even rebuilt the wiring harness wire by wire after a fire melted the entire electrical system. I had a sweet deal where my father would pay for my parts if I put them in. It was awesome and I learned a ton, but all gone now. One of my mentors at the auto parts store made me memorize the firing order and showed me how to adjust valve lash on a stand by understanding the states of each valve at different crank angles; and then adjusting them accordingly. Great lessons, but with time, they went bye- bye.

So that was about 10 years ago but other things are lost too. I remember the McDonalds menu song, yup, the long one, but I can’t remember your name…anyone’s name really. I work with people for years and have no idea what their name is. My wife mentions people from our past, no clue who the hell she is talking about. I even had my brother tell me an old friend of mine worked with him now. The guy told him everything about me and my friends in high school. No idea who he is.

I know our brains must be like hard drives, with a fixed density. I really wish I would have known this earlier prior to memorizing every C.W. McCall song and the “I want the TRUTH!” scene from “A Few Good Men.” Further, I think I must be getting some bad blocks too because my initial fixed density is reducing with age which sucks because I’m still just a pup. My long term memory is shot, and my brain is full so I have no chance remembering the short term either. So I guess there is only one question to ask…”Can I borrow some cash?”

Seven Habits

Stephen R. Covey’s book The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People outlines some great methods of bettering one’s self. I’ve found that, for the general population, we need to start a little more basic. So, here are my 7 habits of somewhat effective people, also known as, things you should have learned by the time you were four, but didn’t.

1. Check your head – After you have a meal, flip down the mirror in your car or drop by the rest room on your way back to work and give yourself a once over. Check the teeth and your face for residue and sauce. If you douse your shirt in marinara, you’re stuck with a crappy day ahead. If you have a Bloomin’ Onion wedged betwixt your Chiclets, a little fingernail slide may have just saved you a ton embarrassment. I know several people that routinely spend the second half of their day with mustard stuck to their beard and white clumps at the corners of their mouth. Damn that’s nasty.

2. Check your fly – Standard protocol as you leave the restroom. Pretend you are adjusting your shirt and slip an index finger across the tangs ensuring the breezeway is locked down.

3. <Check your eyes and nose for stray boogs – I won’t say much here, but please just try a little head tilt and nasal check in the morning. Who knows what grew in the night? Also, pay attention to those inner corners of the eyes, they are easily overlooked and a nesting ground for some rank debris.

4. Refrain from the “Burp and blow” – You think you are being polite by stifling the noise and bearing down on that belch, but when you blow it out the corner of your mouth, you’re killing me. Worse than the smoker that tries to blow out their smoke up and away or to the side, we have no visible cues here and get land blasted with a wave of stank that could still set off the fire alarm.

5. Wear a belt – This is for men and women, pull up your damn pants and wear a belt to hold them there. The last couple of years have shown me more crack and undies than “Skinny Marie”. (Pretty woman reference that only my sister will get) If your pants rest under the cheeks of your ass, you probably aren’t in the running for head cashier at Arby’s.

6. Say “Excuse me” – I know you are all in a hurry as you barrel down the halls of work and the isles at the store, but when you give me the forearm shiver and crack one of my ribs, at least have the courtesy to say “excuse me.” If you open the door to the bathroom and almost knock me over because you are trying to unzip and shuffle toward the urinal at the same time, throw a “pardon me” my way. If you are talking to someone on your cell phone, while carrying on a conversation with someone you’re walking with, and checking your pager, and stumble into me even though I am pressed firmly against the wall trying to get out of your inconsiderate wake, how about a “perdona me’”? (Spanish for Pardon me)

7. Help a Brother Out – If you see a friend that has any of these problems, take them to a private setting and let them know. I don’t want to go through the day with spinach on my face, if I miss it, tell me. If your friend knocks over people walking down the hall because they are oblivious to the pregnant woman they just hit shoulders with, tell them. If they have a peaked white head, Mt. Vesuvius style, pulsing on their forehead, let them know. A red crustoid beats a white pearl any day. Then again, if you just know them and don’t really like them, let them continue to look like a moron and laugh behind their backs.

If you people can’t do a couple of these, there is no reason to buy any other self help books because you are beyond help and are bound for career and social ruin. If you are not sure, try these things for a day or two, people’s general disgust for you will decrease exponentially. Trust me.

One of the Worst Things I Ever Did

I lived in a somewhat rural area when I was of high school age. My best buddy and I were hunters and we killed everything we legally could. With our Ruger 10-22s in hand and a belt full of 50 round banana clips, we hit the desert in the Toyota pick-up and slew the masses.

I think it was my Junior year in high school when the farmers had an infestation of rabbits. Again, I worked at the auto parts store and the farmers would come in and beg us to come thin the herd. We would spotlight and kill hundreds of them, they were everywhere. The gore was outrageous.

One night, four of us jumped into the truck, grabbed the one million candle power spotlight, Rugers, pistols, and even a few shotguns and headed for the desert just outside a group of farms. One person driving and three rednecks in the back blasting anything that moved; ya, we were asking for trouble. Now Jack rabbits are big ugly things that were rodents to the farmers, so they were our main target. Cottontails, on the other hand, are small, fluffy, and cute, and aren’t nearly as fast, but were still abundant. We generally wouldn’t shoot them. I know you anti-hunters argument, “it’s ok to kill ugly things…”

Anyhow, I was in the back with the two other guys and a rabbit ran out. One guy has the spotlight and me and another guy are doing the shooting. We take a few shots and he yells “I’m out”. I’ve got a few more rounds in my rifle but the rabbit is getting out of range and darting away from the road. Without thinking, I jump out of the back and sprint after it. Suddenly the bunny turns on me so I stop. I’m standing in a clearing with the spotlight’s pencil beam illuminating me and the rabbit. Everything else is pitch black, like this moment is fixed on a stage and the rabbit and I are the only players. It doesn’t stop, it comes right at me so I raise my rifle to shoot and “click”, I’m out too.

Still the little fella comes until he finally stops two feet from my shoe. He looks up at me and I can see the bewildered expression in its eyes. It is a baby cottontail, probably separated from its mother in all the commotion. I see its little pink nose twitch and for a second....time stood still. From then on it is a little bit of a blur. I pull a 22 cal. revolver from my holster and fire a single shot directly into its head at point blank range. Its head went back, and to the left….back, and to the left, and then it lies twitching a few final kicks before it dies.

I holster my gun and jog back to the truck. There, I see three high school friends staring at me speechless. My best friend has a tear rolling down his left cheek and he whispers “That is the coldest thing I have ever seen.” I giggle a little at first and then realize he is dead serious. The other two guys sit down in the back and don’t say a word. My buddy puts the rig in gear and we drive off silently, done with the slaughter. You have to understand, my friends were cold blooded, damn killers. We gutted animals while eating sandwiches. We had no feelings. Our mantra, “God kills indiscriminately…and so shall we”.

To this day, they reference that event with disgust and amazement. They are certain that I am devoid of a soul. I don’t hunt much anymore, and when I do, I rarely take game. Some say I’ve gone soft, some say I’m just a poor shot. Either way, I regret killing that little bunny and I know he is going to be standing there on Judgment Day. I’m sorry little buck (a male rabbit is a buck)…I’m sorry.

Lessons from a bounty hunter

I’ve mentioned that I used to work in a couple of auto parts store. I started out as a stock boy, delivery boy, and then moved on to counterman/manager/outside salesman over the course of about 8 years. We had some interesting people come through on a regular basis, but one of the most colorful had to be the guy known only as “The Bounty Hunter”.

1st encounter: I am in the back stock room doing inventory of the restock items, checking numbers and marking them off the list, when I am brutally attacked from behind. I’m 15 years old by the way. My arms are pulled back behind by back, handcuffs are slapped on them and I am torn over the back of the chair and dragged backwards kicking and trying to free myself. He drags me through the front of the store and out the front door and as I look up I see all of the countermen laughing. He stands me up outside and takes off the handcuffs and says “you have always got to be prepared for an attack. I could have had you in a car and gone forever, right in front of everyone, and you didn’t do a thing about it.” I had never met the guy before in my life. He says “I’m the bounty hunter”. The bounty hunter…not a bounty hunter..THE bounty hunter, and that is how he is known to everyone to this day, if he is still alive, that is.

He was older and had a weathered face, gristly looking dude, the kind of guy you would look at and say he is either homeless or a killer and most likely, both.

2^nd encounter: I am helping a customer at the front counter and he walks in the side door. The customer leaves and he walks up with a 12 gauge assault shotgun with a mounted flashlight and a shell tube that must hold at least 10 shells. He throws it on the counter and says “Have you ever seen a ‘Can’ gun before?” I say “A can gun?” He says “Yup, Mexi-can, Puertori-can, Afri-can.” Now, when a racist has a gun, maybe this isn’t the time to call him out, so I just giggle and say a little prayer that he does not attack me again.

3^rd encounter: Again, I’m helping someone at the counter. He doesn’t wait for the person to leave, but strolls up (he kinda had a limp) and as I turn my attention to the customer, he throws a leg up on the counter. A frikin’ leg. It is a prosthetic. He unstrapped the thing and threw it on the counter. One legged bastard got me again. He then tells me how he has been shot, stabbed, run over..”And those are just wounds from my Ex’s, hehehe.”

4^th and 5^th encounter: I mention to him that I wanted to find a switch blade knife, and did he know where I could find one. He pulled one out of his pocket and I admired it. Next time in, he threw me one and said, “you can have it”. It had a pink pearl handle, but still was awesome. I’m still not sure if that was another way for him to call me a girl, but I still have it 16 years later. He was now handing out illegal weapons to minors.

6^th encounter: I get bold and ask him what the toughest guy he ever took into custody was like. He says “I’ve taken some big guys but I’ll pick them any day over a woman. Women are mean and it may not hurt the same when they punch you, but they’ll run you over with their damn car. I’ve never had a guy try to run me over, but women will run you down, they want you dead.”

Sometime later: He came in fairly often, always with a wacky story and life advice for me. I’m not sure if he had already given all of this advice to the others and I was just a new kid, but he had information just for me. The most memorable was his mandate on sex. He said “Do you want to know the secret of keeping a woman happy in the bedroom?”

“I’m listening.”

“You take this to heart and you will be the best lover ANY woman has ever had.
When it comes to Sex, treat a whore like a queen and treat a queen like a whore.”

Who says you can’t get a life lesson from a one legged, racist, scarred and battered, bad-ass bounty hunter?

Whatcha Bench?

The defining lift for any weightlifter is undoubtedly the bench press. You may squat 800lbs, but if you’re pushing 225 on the bench, you’re pretty much a pansy. I’ve always been that kind of pansy, without the 800lb squat that is. Oh, I’ve tried, but my body doesn’t seem to like the idea of heavy weight which is why my lifetime goal of pushing the illusive “triple plates” (3 plates on each side + 45lb bar=315lbs for the machine lifters), continues to be a goal. Recently I’ve come close, very close, but I haven’t attempted that weight from fear of missing. Once you miss a certain weight, it knows you’re scared, it plays with your mind, it beats you from the inside.

I’m 32 now and not getting any stronger but I often reminisce about the early days in the gym with my bro and some friends doing anything we could (without the aid of needles) to get a couple more lbs on the bench. Good times, where “Clowny pants” and mullets abound. I thought I would throw in a particularly memorable clip of a friend at a bench meet. Ever wonder what 415lbs dropping into your chest would look like…well here it is. Amazingly enough, no broken ribs, no real damage. Tom jumped up like his sternum didn’t just meet his spine. (Yes, this was really a group of personal friends and not something I pulled off of youtube). By the way, nice psych-up and nice pants BP!

Just Friends?

So I was having a conversation a while back with my niece and a fundamental misunderstanding of relationships arose. She is 13. A few months later, I had the same conversation with my sisters. They are mid-20’s and 30+ in age, same delusion. Finally, I watched an episode of “Everyone Loves Raymond” and again this topic of misunderstanding arose. I am duty bound to inform the uninformed. Here goes. Ladies, we don’t want you as friends. There, I said it. It’s out there. Those of us of the heterosexual ilk have no business having “Just Friends” of the opposite sex. This is a universal law and no you are not an exception. Let me explain. One of the two friends ALWAYS wants more. Why don’t you people understand this? I know, this delusion can be on the male side too, but it predominantly seems to infect the brains of the gentler sex.

Side note: I am new to blogging and thought I would mention a phrase that will be commonly used yet based on the blog topic, refer to various groups of people that I neither understand nor comprehend…and they confuse me too. The perfunctory phrase is “You People”. I like it. It generalizes and seems to fire up people very quickly.

Back to the explanation: These “Just Friend” friendships can be summed up in 4 categories.

1. Guy is not attractive to Gal, she loves him as a friend. He says he feels the same. Deep down he craves her madly and will become suicidal if she mentions one more time how hot another guy is. (Reference: Ducky.)

2.Gal is not attractive to Guy. She secretly loves him. He doesn’t give her the time of day, but she thinks they have a great friendship and one day he will see past the festering goiter to the beauty within. (Reference: Every chick flick ever made, minus the bogus ending, and often minus the goiter. Only in Hollywood can Julia Roberts be considered for the role of the Quasimodoish “Just Friend”.)

3.Gal and Guy are not attractive to each other in the least. Never were friends, never will be. Moot scenario.

4 Gal and Guy are both attractive to one another, but they claim to be just friends. Great prospect. As future lovers their friendship will blossom. (Reference: The start of most long term relationships.)

Notice I used the word attractive, and not attracted. One infers an innate affinity towards the other where friendship is secondary in the mind of the attracted person. Attractive, on the other hand, means you are probably not auditioning for the role of Rocky in Cher’s newest film “The Mask II” but your reasonable looks allow a friendship to start without fear of infection or capture.

So far, I have only been referencing uncommitted, single people. A whole new world of misunderstanding is involved in those who are in committed relationships and but still tip toe across the fiery coals of maintaining friendships with the opposite sex. Do as you will, but recognize that the above rules still apply….and contribute greatly to the fantastic marital statistic of a nearly 60% failure rate. Women, it is much better to remain in ignorance of the prospects that are still out there. You made your choice, as ill-conceived as it was. Men, let’s be honest, you can’t do better, so stop trying. If you have a woman who is good to your children and lets you touch her on occasion, drop to your knees and thank The Almighty. You are a lucky man. If you are ignorant enough to say that you want nothing more than a friend who happens to be the opposite and you are perfectly happy with your companion, you are either lying or stupid. You might be lying to yourself as well, but you are a liar nonetheless, or mentally handicap. No offence to the mentally handicap.

Women, please don’t try to be one of the guys. Your breasts deny you the right….’cause we are going to look at them. Guys, don’t be the sensitive one to whom the girls can tell anything; you’ll spend weekends on W.O.W. and take lots of long showers.

It has never worked, and never will. You people try time and time again and it always falls back into the four categories I have described. So men, just live with the fact that you cannot and should not try to have women as friends if that is all that you want. Women, you can’t have men as just friends either.….and Mathew McConaughey, you can’t have either as friends because although I am 100% hetero, wow, you are a sexy man.