It is what is is.......

01.) The Mrs. For many reasons, but today...for stowing the leftovers. If it was up to my lazy and tired ass I'd throw the fucking shit away.

02.) The Girls. I didn't get to see them till today. Well worth the wait.

03.) My Boys. The hugs. The kisses. The songs.

04.) Bill. Seems like a keeper.

05.) Tomorrow off. Boy, do I fucking need it.

06.) A big turkey dinner. Even if it was late.

07.) Work today. It was an adventure, and went much smoother than I had anticipated.

08.) The Pennsylvania Turnpike. The Brady's were bullshit. My family's more like the Bluths, only poor.

09.) Black Friday video bargains. Got Twilight for The Mrs. for nine dollars, and Casino Royale for myself for two.

10.) Heavy metal. Heavy heavy metal, that is. It's what got me home alive today.

11.) Sleep's sweet embrace. It's like death without the finality.

12.) You guys. You may not always make the list, but I'm always thankful for you all the same.

13.) The absence of cable in my home. If I need to see it, someone will post it on YouTube.

14.) Six Super Bowl victories. We've earned a year off.

15.) Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day. I'll let you know after tomorrow just how thankful I am.

16.) Lisa. She supplied what little Thanksgiving I actually had on Thursday this year.

17.) Stupid people. Some guy got tasered fighting over a Zhuzhu pet in a local Toy R Us. This makes me smile.

OK, so it's not actually Sunday as I write this, but here be the second part of the post I started yesterday and failed to finish because The Girls came over and we watched Land of The Lost and made spaghetti and.....well, anyway...here we go.


So after spending the day and the commute trying to feel better about leaving a homeless woman alongside 376 (and actually succeeding to some degree) I arrive home to hear that Echo, the puppy we had selected from Titus and Gert's litter, had died. I sighed and went into the house. I couldn't think of anything I wanted to do more than just climb into a hot shower, so I did. Losing a four week old puppy isn't the most catastrophic pet thing to ever happen to me. Or even just this year. But she was adorable, and during our three visits with her we had become rather attached. She was the runt of the litter and roughly one third the size of her sisters and brother. I've been a Phillies fan since 1972....I'm used to rooting for the underdog.
I stood in the shower letting the hot water steam away the stress of the day. I thought about whether I wanted to go see if any of Echo's sister's caught my eye, or if I was just going to...let it go.
I am such an empty nester. The Mrs. and I have three children collectively, and not a one of them lives with us. We get to see all of them on a fairly regular basis, but it's just not the same. Being what the courts call a non-custodial parent is the most difficult job in the world. To love someone that much and have to "take them home" after visiting.....it sucks. I need to love on a full-time basis, and I need to be loved in return. Of course I do love The Girls on a full-time basis, and I know they love me back. But knowing and hugging are two very different things. I need the hugs, the kisses, the greetings of any kind.
Enter My Boys.
I know I've written about this before, so forgive me but...when I come home, Woody and Otis are by the door greeting me before I'm even out of the car. I can hear them. People three houses away can hear them. I put the key in the front door, unlock it, and enter. The Boys are both so excited to see me that they look almost like they're having some kind of seizure. For want of a tail, Woody wags his entire body. Otis was born with high tension springs instead of muscles and tendons in his legs, and he makes grand use of them trying to kiss me without my even bending over. I walk into the living room and they both jump up onto the sofa (it's their sofa, but they let us sit on it to watch movies...) and put their front paws on the arm. I pretend I don't see them and, facing the front of the house with the sofa full of terriers on my right I hold out my arms and ask, "Who wants a hug?"
They reply with a hearty, "I do, I do, I do" in that unmistakable terrier voice. So I go over to the sofa and hug them and they kiss my face. It's the most amazing greeting ever, and it almost makes up for being a non-custodial parent. The Mrs. has asked me why they get first hugs if she's there when I get home. And I tell her, "When you greet me at the door shaking your ass and jumping up and down like my coming home is the best fucking thing to ever happen to you, I'll give you first hugs. Till then......"
So yeah. I didn't have to think long. Sure, we'll have to finance a third set of shots each year, and spaying costs a bit more than neutering...but the thought of a third hugger when I get home from work or wherever......we went to Gert's house.
The man of the house, Steve, said he'd let us have pick of the litter. Not wanting to break anybody's heart, I asked if any of the other people who were getting a puppy had specified which one they wanted. He said the one guy had wanted the one specific female, so I asked him to hold onto her and the male while Missy and I looked at the three remaining females. I kept coming back to the one with the Echo-like markings. She's a bit darker than Echo was, but she has the same black tail that looks like it was dipped in white paint...like Otis does, too. She gave us a sampling of her voice (another singer in the makings) and spent more than a few minutes licking my hand. And her face...oh my god, that face. She has the most adorable perpetual scowl...like she's pissed off or something.The other two girls were beautiful as well and it was a very difficult decision...I've always said that if time and money weren't a consideration, I'd have a whole fucking pack of terriers. My house would become a kennel, and The Mrs. would kill me.
We told Steve we wanted the angry faced bitch with the white tipped tail.
Funny thing is...with Woody's white face and black lips, he always looks like he's smiling. And with Otis's dark face and light brown eyebrows, he always looks kinda sad. And now we have a dog (or will, as of Christmas Eve) who looks pissed off.
So we went to The Vets to sign The Book (it's up to three grand!), have a few coldies, and try to come up with a name for the new puppy. It just wouldn't have seemed right to call her Echo.
So we're tossing ideas back and forth, sippin' on our beers, when an old friend of Travis's came up to the bar. He was a bit obnoxious as a teenager, but hey...weren't we all? He's grown into a responsible young man, and it's always nice to see him. He was DJing Saturday night, and had come over to the bar for a drink while one of the longer songs played. Timing is everything...
We greeted each other and chatted for a bit. The bartender came over to take his order, and he asked for a shot of tequila. The Mrs. looked at me.
"Why don't we call her Tequila?"
Three syllables seemed a bit much to me, so we shortened it. We mulled it over and kept mubling, "'Quila.....'Quila...", to see how the name felt to us.
I thought back to her licking my hand at Steve's earlier in the evening, and I figured it kinda made sense to name her after our favorite licker. How very punny of us, no?
The only thing left to do was come up with an initial and a last name. Woody's full name is Woody B. Mofo...Woody after his late father's remarkable appendage, B. for Brody, which was the name we were considering before our first visit with him, and Mofo because....well, he's one bad motherfucker. And Otis is Otis B. Driftwood, after the character from House of 1,000 Corpses and The Devil's Rejects who was actually named after a Marx Brothers character.
And so, after some more deliberation, I believe the full name of our new puppy is going to be T. 'Quila 'Quesne....pronounced Tee Keela Cane (but we're just calling her 'Quila).......The T. to complete the word tequila, the 'Quila for the same reason, and the 'Quesne after Sam's college.
'Quila is still one of the more petite puppies...but she's a good bit sturdier and healthier looking than Echo was.
I'll post pictures as soon as I have them.

I hate when I misread my schedule at work. The Friday of Labor Day weekend I thought I was off all weekend, and a 7-4 on Friday. About fifteen minutes before I left on Friday I found out I was scheduled 5-2 on Saturday. Yeah. That sucks.
Well, I've done it again. Last week My Oldest, Sam, called me and asked if I'd be able to pick her up at college and bring her home for the Thanksgiving break. As I was off on Saturday, or so I thought, I readily agreed. Even if I had known I was 6-2 on Saturday I still would have gotten her, but my late bedtime on Friday made for a long day on Saturday.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I worked 5-1 on Friday (and it was about 12:30 when I saw Saturday's 6-2 on the board) and was fueled up and on the road by quarter after. I'm one of those fortunate people who love to drive, so the thought of two hours to Pittsburgh and three hours home was not the least bit daunting...especially since the three hours home would be in some great company.
So....
I enter Pittsburgh and keep my eyes peeled for the turnoff to Duquesne. When will I ever learn to not listen to "spirited" music while driving The Kia. It either leads to fines or getting lost. As I'm driving through Pittsburgh to the tune of "Lit Up" by Buck Cherry




I see the archway with a big stylized "D" on it.....my turnoff. It was right there on the right. Only problem was, I was in the left lane rockin' out to fucking Buck Cherry.
So I drive around a less than safe looking area of Pittsburgh for close to an hour, trying to find a place to turn around. I swear, Pittsburgh's streets were laid out by a retarded child with a crayon and some butcher paper. "I want a one way street here...and here....aaaaand here.....) So I see a cop set up in a speed trap on the left hand side. I go up a few more feet, make two rights, a U-turn, and wait through what seemed to be a thirty minute fucking red light, before I turn back onto the road on which sat the cop. As I come upon the building that hid the waiting officer, I slowed to make my pulloff. I looked at the cop car and.....no fucking cop! Empty! It was a goddamned decoy. Adds a little personal history to the expression, "Where's a fucking cop when you need one?"
Well, I decided I was just going to travel the one way streets of Pittsburgh until I found a.) a convenience store, b.) an actual cop, c.) a landmark I was familiar with, or d.) Duquesne University.
After a few more minutes of directionally impaired driving (men are never "lost") I saw a sign for Mellon Arena and a bell went off in my head. Mellon Arena? Isn't that where The Penguins play? I remembered seeing that from the campus in front of Sam's dorm. So I followed the signs to Mellon Arena, then asked a cop (I actually saw a real one! Had I been doing something illegal, I'da had no problem finding half a dozen....) how to get to Duquesne, and he told me.
I parked in the garage. The sign said, "Remember where you parked" and that sounded like good advice so I took a piece of scratch paper and wrote down everything from the wall..."Forbes garage...magenta level...floor 2..." As I was taking my notes, what I took to be a professor of sorts was loading his shit in his vehicle. I asked, "Are you familiar with the campus?"
He stated he was and despite the risk to my membership in Manhood, I asked directions. Again. I walked up what he referred to as a hill but what actually felt more like the sheer face of a cliff, and made my way to the dorms.
Just as I was clearing the last bit of mountainous terrain, Sam and two of her friends exited the building. She saw me and waved. I waved back and bent over, putting my hands on my knees and breathing like some fat fuck who'd smoked way too many cigarettes in his life. I finally made it up to where Sam and her friends were waiting and she said, "We were just getting ready to walk to Sev', wanna go?"
No. Fuck no. I've been up since 2:30 in the morning, I've had enough Red Bull to choke a mule, and I just spent an hour driving through oh so scenic downtown Pittsburgh with my.45 still in the fucking sock drawer. What I really wanna do is hit the Vets and tear into a pitcher.......
"Sure, honey...is it far?"
"Just a couple of blocks."
She's lucky my love for her is unconditional...
Fast forward:
We get to the store (apparently, when you're studying to be a forensic pathologist they don't explain to you that "a couple" is two....eight, on the other hand, is several...) and back, throw Sam's shit in The Kia, Mapquest directions for the route home, and we head out.
As we're sitting on the on ramp of what I think was 376 in 5:00 Pittsburgh traffic we saw a woman. She was standing alongside the ramp holding a cardoard sign that said, "Stranded, need food, money, anything you can spare. God bless." Coming from Philadelphia, I've seen my share of homeless people. But I've never seen someone as....beaten down by Life as this woman. She stood there, eyes to the ground, just waiting. I can't even describe her properly. We were only going maybe four or five miles an hour, but in that kind of traffic you'd best keep your eyes on the car in front of you. But she made quite an impression on me. I didn't have any cash, and the closest thing to food in the car was an empty Red Bull can. Had we been going to the zoo or something and had a picnic packed...a bag of chips...anything. But all we did was drive by, just like the hundreds of other people who were getting onto 376.
As I was telling my co-worker about this, yesterday morning, I had the sudden and rather nauseating realization that had there been a Jack Russell alongside of 376, I would have stopped dead in the middle off 5:00 Pittsburgh traffic, made every effort to get it into my car safely, driven it home, bathed it, and either given it a good home or found it one.
But for a human being.....I didn't have a sandwich, so I just drove by.
I surveyed my co-workers and asked what they would have done in similar circumstances. I asked them about the lady, first...then I asked if they would have stopped to help a dog. Most everybody replied that their reaction would have been the same as mine. As much as I respected their honesty, it didn't do much to ease my guilt at leaving a person so obviously destitute and down trodden alongside the highway.
One person said she wouldn't have even stopped for the dog. Nice.
There's one guy at work who's going on a church mission to Thailand to build a hospital in the mountains with indigenous materials....no lumber yard for miles.
Towards the end of the day I ran into him in The Big Freezer. I told him how I had gained a newfound frespect and admiration for what he was doing, and told him about the lady on the highway.
He said that the most important part of parenting is the example we set for our children. And that while the lady on the highway was an opportunity to stop and help a fellow human being in obvious need, it was not exactly a safe one. Just the act of stopping could have gotten us killed. And allowing a complete stranger into such a confined space as a vehicle, where self defense would be difficult...just didn't sound like a good idea to him. Parenting isn't just about setting a good example, it's also about keeping our kids safe.
His perspective made me feel a bit better, though it doesn't answer why I'd be willing to take the risk of stopping to help a dog. But I was no longer beating myself up over it.
As I drove home yesterday afternoon, I thought about how fortunate I've been in Life. My house is in need of repair, but it's a house. We didn't have the money for fuel oil last winter, but we had a space heater that warmed whatever room we were in at the time. Things in my life aren't perfect, but they are pretty fucking good.
I was feeling downright blessed by the time I pulled into my driveway. The Mrs. had My Boys out in the yard throwing a ball. My Boys ran over to the car as I climbed out smiling, wagging their entire bodies and giving me the best most enthusiastic greeting I ever get anywhere. I walked over to where The Mrs. was standing on the porch. I gave her a kiss. I asked, "How was your day?"
"I have some bad news."
"What?"
"Echo died."

Fuck.

.......it was just gonna be an all around awesome day?
You get to bed at a decent hour the night before. You get outta bed after only hitting the snooze button once (I can always use nine more minutes of sleep, no matter how early I get to bed...) You have your work day mapped out in your head and barring any unforseen complications...nevermind, I'm not even gonna say it...there are always unforseen complications, but today I'm actually looking forward to them. On top of all that, I'm off tomorrow. And it's Friday night which means Echo D. Mountainymph is four weeks old...time for another trip over the mountain for a visit.
Oh...and Sam's coming home tonight. I'm picking her up after work. Duquesne is about three hours from the house, but work is almost an hour from the house (in the same direction), so I'll be making the first hour of the drive around 4:00 this morning, the other two this afternoon around 1:00. Only thing that sucks is the eight hours of work in between. But like I said, I've got a pretty good idea of what to expect from that.
Delegate production and work freight. Basic.
We've chatted a lot on Facebook, but I haven't actually seen her since her boyfriend and I made the drive out a week after she started. I hope her Thanksgiving break isn't too pre-booked with friends and her boyfriend...I'd really like to spend some time with her. I suppose I could have blackmailed her when she asked for the ride home, but I'm not that kind of parent. I leave the pressure to their mother. Even if all the time I get to spend with her is the three hour drive back to Huntingdon, it'll be gas well burned.
Aw fuck...speaking of burned. I had put some butter in a skillet to make a couple of eggs...and a steak for lunch. While it was melting I sat down to fire up the computer, came onto here, and...can you say attention defi.....ooooh, something shiny!
At least the coffee isn't burnt.



Have a great day, everyone...I know I'm going to. Although if breakfast is any indication, I may just wanna go back to bed........

It's not rocket surgery. You have a root canal done. Two, in fact. They both break, leaving you with shards for teeth. You adjust. You are careful when you chew.
Time lapses. Years, in fact.
You're in the breakroom at work. You're chewing on a slab of grossly underdone perfectly cooked eye roast. You feel your left upper shard shift. You think, "Oh fuck".
You grab a paper towel and tug on said shard.
It snaps.
The tooth shard, not the paper towel...try and keep up.
You are left with a much smaller shard, one that is still....uncomfortable.......and wiggling in your mouth.
What do you do?
Simple, really.
You go to the photo center and borrow the needle-nose pliers that they use for dismantling cameras.
Then you go into the bathroom..........

And now I'm out of beer.

It has not been a good day.

Wow. Been six days. I'm still reading my friend's journals, but it's been six long days since I've posted on mine. There were times when I wouldn't go six hours. Part of it is my schedule...been working a lot of 5-2s...too fucking early to write anything at 3:00 in the morning, and by the time I get home around 3:00 in the afternoon, I feel like most people do at 3:00 in the morning.
But anyway...I'm off today. I'm in sweatpants and my Guinness shirt, My Boys have been fed and let out, and I've got some hot black coffee in my Virgin Islands mug that The Mrs. got me on our ceramic wedding anniversary. (We've never actually been to the Virgin Islands...we got the mug at the Goodwill store. I love that place!) Life is good.

Sorry. It's been twenty minutes since I wrote that last part...My Boys started scrapping and, quite frankly, nothing brings my ADD to the surface more than a couple of wrestling terriers. When they're on the sofa or the carpeted floor of the bedroom, it's a relatively even match. What Otis lacks in leverage and poundage he more than makes up for with determination and tenacity. But when they're playing tug-o-war on the wooden floor, Woody uses his weight to full advantage and slings Otis around like a toy. Otis can't get any traction on the wood, and just clings to the rope with all his might and snarls, as if he's saying..."You cheat, fucker!" I could watch them for hours.

While we're on the subject of terriers...we're getting another one. The mother is a Brussels Griffon with a rather pronounced under-bite, and the father is a wire-haired terrier mix. This time out I'm breaking with tradition...we're getting a female. She's the runt of the litter and looks like a two ounce Saint Bernard. Her body is mostly dark brown, with black around the eyes, a white snout, and a white tip on her tail...as if it's been dipped into paint (just like Otis's tail). The father belongs to The Mrs. aunt and uncle, pretty much the only family that talks to her (long story), and the mother belongs to a friend of their's who lives right across the street. Apparently there is quite the bond between Titus (the father) and Gert (the mother). Titus will sit in his yard and just stare at Gert's house, waiting for her to come out. And when Gert gets out, if Titus isn't out she will sit at his door. When they are both out they play and wrestle around in the yard and adjoining orchard. And on at least two occasions they have enjoyed each other's company in a biblical sense. (I almost wrote LOL there....too much time IMing on Facebook!) The pups were born on October 23rd, so they'll be eight weeks at Christmas. We brought Woody home at eight weeks, and Otis home at six...and I can see the difference. On top of that difference, Woody came from a pack of nine adult dogs and no siblings...Otis came from a pack consisting of just his parents and one sibling. I'm extremely grateful that this pup is coming from a pack consisting of her mother and five siblings...and that the owner is willing to wait eight weeks. Otis's parent's owner kinda rushed things and gave me some bad advice. Live and learn. Don't get me wrong, Otis is awesome, but I can see a big difference between his maturity level and Woody's
Anyway, the little lady's name is Echo, after the mountain nymph from Greek mythology. We considered other names...Baby (Otis's half sister from House of 1,000 Corpses and The Devil's Rejects), and Zhu Zhu (after Zhu Zhu pets, this hamster looking thing that's The Big Toy this Christmas at Walmart) and Giner Lynn (after the porn star from the 80s who was in The Devil's Rejects), but nothing seemed to fit. Then on Friday we visited the puppies (on their three week birthday...talk about cute) and when we got home we used the internet and surfed a couple of different sites.....a thesaurus, a baby name site, a pet name site. I saw an Arabic name, Abeer, but me naming a dog Abeer...too fucking predictable. Then The Mrs. had the idea of spelling something with the initials of all three dogs. So we thought...W, O.......W, O...what can we spell that starts with WO? Our first thought was WOW. So we checked the W names. Nothing really caught our interest. Then The Mrs. said, "What about WOA? As in 'WOA, no more dogs?'". But no A names caught our eye either. Then we thought...what about WOE? As in, "Oh, WOE is me...we've got three terriers in the house!" And as we scrolled through the E names we saw Echo. We kinda put it in the back of our minds and went to bed. Then the next morning I did a Google image search, just to see what would come up. That's when I had my mini-lesson in Greek mythology. A woman in love with her own voice? Anybody that knows terriers knows they pretty much love the sound of their own voice. And it seems like the smaller they are, the more in love with their voice they are. (I prefer not to use the word "yappy"...) Woody is very vocal and he's around twenty pounds. Otis is twice as vocal as Woody, and he's only ten pounds. If the runt from the previous litter is any indication, Echo is going to be around five or six pounds. So yeah, we're guessing she's gonna really be in love with the sound of her own voice.
I can't wait to see how the dynamics of our pack changes with the addition of a little lady. Woody loves everybody and everything...he's my lithium ingesting hippie dog. Otis is a bit of an attention whore, so I'm curious how he will take The Mrs. showing affection to Echo. When left alone I'm sure they'll be fine. Otis used to love playing with our rat Mr. Monk (we had King Kona, too...but he was afraid of Otis and wouldn't come out). But Otis whines when I hug The Mrs. This is going to be interesting.

OK, enough about terriers. What else has been going on?

Oh...I know! I almost hit a bear on the way to work the other day. A fucking bear! It was right around 4:00 am and it was foggy...when I saw the lumbering shadow in the middle of the road...honest to god...I thought I was having some kind of acid flashback. (Which wouldn't be a bad thing on a day off, but like I said...I was heading to work.) I went a bit to the right (never swerve!) and the bear, fortunately, cut to the left and entered the woods. I was so rattled by that that when the deer ran out in front of me not a half an hour later I acted against my better instincts and just slammed on the brakes. I had slowed to about twenty miles an hour when I clipped the stupid fucker, and sent him rolling ass over tin cups. (Can somebody please explain to me where that saying comes from???) By the time the deer stopped rolling, my car had come to a complete stop. And so, luckily for me, did the car behind me. As I sat there thinking about what I had in the car with which I could end this deer's suffering if it was still alive, the son of a bitch got up and staggered off. There's a small ding on the right quarter panel, but I don't have the fifty dollar deductible so fuck it, it's staying. Other than that, no real damage. Other than my rattled nerves, but I'm kinda used to that.

Well there's a lot of other stuff I could post about, but it's actually a pretty nice day out. I think I'm gonna put on some real pants and take My Boys out for a walk and then bathe them. Woody's wire-haired and suffers from a permanent case of what I call Itchy Butt. Bathing seems to help, at least a little. Then after that, who knows? Maybe a movie. Maybe I'll get back into Angela's Ashes....yeah, still reading that. Maybe I'll get back on here and post some more. Like my Mom always used to say when we asked if we could go somewhere or do something....."We'll see......."

When I was at Barnes & Noble I worked with a lady named Pat.  She was somewhere in her late fifties, and she was very cool.  We had many conversations in the break room and became quite close.  She was not your average fifty-some year old lady.  Well, she went to Pahrump, Nevada with her husband the one year for vacation.  Pat liked to gamble, and did rather well with blackjack.  When she returned she secretively told me about visiting and touring one of the legalized brothels.  The way she described it, you would go in and describe what you were looking for in a woman....tall, short, black, white, blonde, brunette, etc.  Then the girl would take you to a room and present you with a menu of the services available.
Out of curiosity I asked her, "How much would, say, a blowjob go for?"
Pat replied, "Anywhere from 8-15 hundred."
I recall thinking $1,500 was about $1,490 too much, but I live in Central Pennsylvania, not Nevada.
Some years later I was working as an associate in the produce department at my old Walmart.  The one morning I was working with Denise, the supervisor...Michelle, a fellow associate in her late twenties, early thirties...and Alice, a lady in her late sixties, maybe early seventies.  Alice was a bright woman, but was prone to blonde moments.
Anyway, I don't know how we got onto the subject, but I started telling them about Pat's trip to Pahrump.  As I got towards the end of the story I realized I probably shouldn't say "blowjob" around Alice...she was cool and all, but I just would have felt funny saying it.  So I get to the end and I say, "So I asked Pat, 'How much would a.......hummer be?'  And she told me anywhere from 8-15 hundred..."
Alice chimes in with, "I've always wanted one but they're just so darned expensive.....and get terrible mileage."
I just looked at Denice and Michelle.
Michelle leaned over and whispered in Alice's ear.
Alice's eyes go wide and she said, "Ohhhhhhhhh........"

It's been awhile since I've done one of these, and I really didn't feel like putting it off.  So here we go. 

01.)  The Mrs.  She somehow manages to drive me crazy and keep me sane.  She makes me reach for the stars and yet keeps me grounded.  She fills me with life and tires me out. 

02.)  The Girls.  Three teenage girls so utterly and completely different, yet so very much alike in their amazingness.  Yeah, I know...that's not a word.  Sue me.

03.)  My Boys.  They greet me each and every day at the door in a way no human ever has or even can, their enthusiasm bubbling to the surface in their quivering bodies and wagging tails.  No matter how much shit has hit my fan during the day, just one terrier kiss blows it all away.

04.)  Hulu.com.  For someone with no cable (hence no tv) and very limited financial resources...it's nice to have a website where I can watch movies and tv shows for free.  I watched Vincent Price in The Pit And The Pendulum the other night.  Scared the fuck outta me when I was eight....not so much at forty-five, but it was still great fun to watch.

05.)  Burnout and fatigue.  Looks like that may resolve a staffing issue I was unable to resolve old school because of "respect for the individual".  I have no problem respecting an individual upon first meeting them...but when you've done so very much to earn my disrespect...I ought to be allowed to fucking give it to you.  Oh well.  Thanks again to burnout and fatigue.  Hope it works.

06.)  Strength.  While listening to Black Sabbath's self titled album the other day, I made the comment to The Mrs. (during N.I.B, as I recall) that, "This music really makes me wanna burn a doob..."  Needless to say, I didn't.  So yeah...strength is good.

07.)  Having a sense of humor.  Falling asleep amongst friends and having them apply makeup to one's face would piss a lot of people off.  Me?  I post the pictures on Facebook.  I asked myself...if we had done it to somebody else, what would I have done?  The answer?  Post the pictures on Facebook.  Fair is fair, no?

08.)  Revenge.

Next year.......

Last year I headed out to watch Game 5 of The World Series at my buddy's house.  I had it in my head that it would be good luck to listen to For Those About To Rock (We Salute You) on repeat the whole way out, as I was just certain the My Beloved Phillies were going to rock...and I wanted to salute them.  So I started the CD, put it on repeat, and we were on our way.  A mile or two from our destination The Mrs. started talking to me and, in frustration, I hit the power button on the car stereo.  We chatted and I resumed playing the song.
The game went six innings and was rained out.
When we left to go to the VFW to watch the last three innings a couple of days later, I pleaded with The Mrs., "Please...no talking on the way down."
She agreed and we listened to For Those About To Rock the whole way down, uninterrupted...and My Beloved Phillies won.
For Those About To Rock (We Salute You) also assisted in The University of Florida winning the National Championship in football, and it ensured a victorious Super Bowl XLIII for The Pittsburgh Steelers.
But so far in this World Series it's only won My Beloved Phillies one game......and in all honesty I gotta give most of the credit to Cliff Lee for that one.  That man's a fucking baseball ninja.
My lucky jersey hasn't been working, either.
And there's a guy at the bar where I watched My Beloved Phillies win last year that is not only a Penn State fan, but a Yankees fan as well.  At least this year, anyway.  How much asshole can you squeeze into one person?
Anyway, I got to thinking.
The series is 3-1 right now.  If the yankees win just one more game, they win The Series.  And tonight's game is in Philly at Citizen's Bank Park, the same place where Lidge threw the last pitch last year when we won against Tampa Bay.  I truly believe that My Beloved Phillies can and will win tonight, and I retain enough faith and hope that They can pull off two more wins.  But just on the off chance that the yankees get lucky and smoke a couple long balls offa Cliff Lee tonight and win.....I really don't want to see them celebrate on the same mound where Lidge went to his knees, arms outstretched, last year when we won.  It would just feel so.......wrong.
So.......
Because my superstitions haven't been working anyway (including the one, "you gotta watch or they won't win!"), and because I don't want to run the risk of putting a beer mug through some bar's big screen if the yankees pull another win out of their syringes and checkbook.........I'm not going to watch Game 5 tonight. 
It's not a case of me being a bad sport.  I will watch Game 6, knowing that if My Beloved Phillies lose I will see the yankees celebration....and I will watch the celebration.  I just don't want to run the risk of seeing it in my ballpark.
OK, fuck it....I'm a bad sport.  Whatever.  I guess I'm replacing an old superstition with a new one.  Curt Schilling used to drape a towel over his head whenever Mitch Williams took the mound.  Maybe this is my way of doing that, I don't know.  At least I'm being honest...I could say I'm missing the game because I have to be at work tomorrow morning at 6:00.  Shit, that's not even part of the reason....if we win tonight I'll be watching Game 6 (somewhere), and I'm in at 5:00 on Thursday. 
I just keep thinking of that piece of shit petitte winning The World Series on Philly dirt.
We can't have that.

I....it's just...um........words can't describe.  This is just.......too funny.......

NEW YORK (AP) —Jimmy Rollins(notes) has done pretty well making predictions. His latest is sure to rile up New York Yankees fans.

“Of course we’re going to win,” he said on “The Jay Leno Show” on Monday night, two days before Game 1 of the World Series. “If we’re nice we’ll let it go six (games), but I’m thinking five. Close it out at home.”

The Yankees were not moved by Rollins’ boast, dismissing the Philadelphia shortstop’s comment Tuesday.

“He’s been Nostradamus, that’s what I heard,” Yankees catcher Jorge Posada(notes) said. “He’s been (making) a lot of good predictions, so we’ve got to take that away from him.”

Earlier this season, Rollins forecast the Yankees and Phillies would meet in the Fall Classic this year.

“He predicted we’d play them in the World Series about seven years ago, too,” Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter(notes) said. “You make enough predictions, I guess you’d be right most of the time, right?”

Most of the time. Try all of the time, so far.

Rollins got into the soothsaying business before the 2007 season when he exclaimed the Phillies, not the Mets, were the team to beat in the NL East. He backed it up with an MVP season as Philadelphia surged into first as New York collapsed.

And last year, Rollins said the Phillies would win 100 games. They got 92 of them in the regular season and 11 more in the playoffs en route to the World Series title.

Rollins’ teammates are used to his swagger, and are not bothered by the bulletin board fodder.

“That’s just Jimmy,” Phillies slugger Ryan Howard(notes) said. “He loves that spotlight. He loves putting that type of - I guess I don’t want to say pressure - but just putting that kind of attention on himself and on our team. Obviously, with those comments, you know here in Yankee Stadium, you know they’re going to be all over him. And you know what? He wants that. He relishes that moment.”

Then why didn’t he go further a call for a sweep?

“I think it would be very tough to take four. You figure one game they’re going to find a way to win,” Rollins said during Tuesday’s media session. “That’s the way it is.”

Teammate Chase Utley(notes) has his own plans for Rollins if he’s right again.

“I think if this one sticks I think I’ll take him to Vegas with me,” Utley said.

OK, so here's what happened.  Apparently, when I set the alarm clock last night I had a bit of a brain fart and wound up setting it for an hour earlier than I needed to.  It's now right around 5:50 am and I don't need to leave the house until 7:30.  Subtract from that the six minutes I need for grooming (the shower and shave end of that deal is done) and the three I need to get dressed, and I've got the better part of an hour and a half to post.
You hear that gurgling and dripping?  That's the coffee.  Generic French freedom roast is like a five dollar whore.......none too pretty but gets the job done.
Anyway.

First things first...thanks to starbuck42084  for my awesome new icon, made from pictures taken of me just before the Alice Cooper show.  There was no good reason to use it for this particular post, I just really dig it.  Thanks again.

I had one of the best talks with My Oldest, Sam, last night.  We covered a lot of ground.  Her mother, The Red Death, is all pissed off because Sam spent $200 on a plane ticket to visit her boyfriend, Bill, over the weekend.  Red called me and asked if I would call Sam and talk to her about responsible money handling, yada yada yada.  I called Sam and she told me how she had been staying in when friends were going to the movies to save money for this trip.  How she would go to McDonald's and get a half a dozen sandwiches from the ninety-nine cent menu and store them in her fridge for cheap meals to save money for this trip.  Ramen noodles, cheesy mac, generic bottled water.  All measures she took to be able to set aside $200 for this trip.  She told me about how she had gotten her Friday assignments ahead of time so she could complete them and turn them in early so she could ditch a few classes without falling behind.  I got to thinking, maybe Sam should call Red and talk to her about responsibility.  I really respect the way Sam had planned out this trip, from the budgeting to the getting shit done in advance.  And I think she respected the fact that I didn't call intent on giving her a one sided parental rant on frugality.  I told her that on the one hand, Life is too short and we need to seize moments when we can.  But we also need to plan for our future.  It's a balancing act, and a damned difficult one.  If you live to much in the Now, you end up like me.  If you live only for the Future you end up like Red.  Sam seems to have the ability to do both.  She's working really hard towards her goals, and her grades are reflecting that.  She really wanted to spend a weekend with Bill and took appropriate measures to make it happen.  Where's the fuckin harm?  We scrimp and save to send her money for food and such...if she chooses to scrimp and save so she can spend some of that money on a trip to see him.....so be it.
I told her I was selling off a few shares of Walmart stock so I'd be able to send her some dough.  It won't get there in time for this weekend, but I'm sure she'll be glad to get it when it arrives.  I told her I felt more comfortable sending her cash because I don't want her mother going off on me for "taking Sam's side".  (There really aren't sides for me, just right and wrong...and I don't see the wrong in this trip of hers.)  I told her I was going to send it in a book because cash in a plain envelope makes me nervous...was there a book she'd been wanting to read?
"Yeah, it's called I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell......."
Wherever did this child come from.......?

My Stepdaughter, Nikki, graduated high school on Friday.  It was.....emotional, to say the least.  Nikki has had to work extremely hard to get where she is, and her pride in the moment showed on her face.  It was a small ceremony, six girls were graduating.  The principal of the school that is run within the treatment facility gave a small talk about the girls' hardwork and determination.  Then he allowed the girls to speak.  When Nikki thanked her "Mom and Dad"....well...it was just about the coolest thing ever.  For the longest time, Nikki just wanted me.....well, dead.  I remember when Nikki was in a placement in Erie, The Mrs. and I were going to visit her...The Mrs. said, "I wanna warn you, there's something that Nikki wants to ask you..."
"What?"
"She wants it to be a surprise."
So we get to the facility, go into the counsellor's office, and sit.  The counsellor says, "John, there's something Nikki wants to ask you..."
"OK....".  I look at Nikki.
She looks at me.  (Which in itself was a milestone, Nikki's not real big on eye contact...or at least didn't used to be...)
"Would it be OK if I called you 'Dad'?"
In a therapy session they had discussed what a Dad is...and the difference between that and a father. 
Needless to say, I said yes, and she's been calling me Dad ever since.
Well, when she thanked "Mom and Dad" at her graduation, I thought back to that day in Erie.  By the time it was the parents and staff's turn to say a few words to the girls, I was completely overcome with emotion.  In all honesty, it doesn't take much anymore.  I cry when my sports teams when.  The Mrs. told her how proud she was of her, and that she loved her.  Nikki's paternal grandparents spoke of pride and love, too.  I just sat there, smiling at her, tears welling up in my eyes.  I really wanted to say something...anything...but I couldn't.  We spoke later in the car and I told her that she had accomplished something that I never did....she graduated from high school.  I didn't get my "diploma" until the year My Youngest, Molly, was born.
We stopped for breakfast and took Nikki to her new placement, and independent living facility m uch closer to home.....about 40 minutes away.  The place she just graduated from was two and a half hours.

My Youngest, Molly, is having a hard time.  Couple things are bothering her.  One is what Alice Cooper refers to as Teenage Lament '74.....".......what are you gonna do, gonna do, gonna do.......?"  There for the longest while she had planned on going to cosmetology school, and then trying to get into the Tom Savini school in Pittsburgh to learn theatrical makeup, prosthetic design, and special effects.  Then she got into photography and wants to pursue that.  But she just isn't.......sure.  I want to give her advice, but how does someone who runs the fucking deli in a Walmart give someone career advice?  I enjoy what I do and we're getting by, but seriously......a deli?  Me?  So when we talk I just tell her to weigh the pros and cons of both fields...and to consider pursuing both.  I mean, I can certainly see incorporating photography in with cosmetology and theatrical make up.  I don't think one needs to exclude the other.  Nobody likes uncertainty, and I think it's weighing especially heavy on Molly.
The other thing that's eating at her is...missing Sam.  I truly believe that Red is.  ..I'm not sure of the proper psychiatric term so I'll just say.....fucked in the head.  I'm not saying that because she's my ex-wife.  No, the inverse is true...she's my ex-wife because she's fucked in the head.  And I get the distinct impression from both girls that she's no more fit as a mother than she was as a wife.  (Don't get me wrong, I was a lousy husband the first time out...it was definitely a mutually beneficial divorce for both parties...)  I think Sam was Molly's go-to girl...her island of sanity in the sea of their mother's insanity.  Molly and I spoke not too long ago about Sam, and Molly said, "I went to her for everything...when I would get dressed I'd ask Sam's advice".  Which I found a little surprising, because Molly has a very keen and eclectic fashion sense...Sam is more a jeans and t-shirt girl. 
I think my biggest failure as a parent was losing custody of The Girls to Red.  Though, in all honesty, that's more a failure to be pinned on the judge than me.  I was able to offer them emotional stability and unconditional love...but couldn't provide all that well financially.  Red could provide everything for them financially, but has all the emotional attachment of a frozen carp.  Apparently the judge presiding over our divorce felt that financial concerns are more important to a child's well being than emotional support.  Which is fucked up because if I had gotten custody, Red could have still provided as much finances as she wanted.  But as a non-custodial parent (the hardest fucking job in the world, by the way) providing emotional support becomes something you can only do on Visiting Days and via the phone. 
Anyway, I continually call Molly...I tell her that if she ever wants to call me or visit sometime other than when we already have plans...just let me know.  I don't know what else to do for her.  She seems to be enjoying teendom about as much as I did.
Shit.

Well, it's about time to get dressed.  Have a great Tuesday.  Oh, and The World Series starts tomorrow.......I'll get all the sleep I need when I'm dead.

GO PHILLIES!!!!!

.......what do you suppose will be more humiliating to the Yankees........losing to the Arizona Diamondbacks in 2001, blowing a 3-0 lead over the Boston Red Sox in the 2004 ALCS, or losing to the defending world champion Philaphuckindelphia Phillies in 2009?
Oh well, I guess I'll just have to wait and ask them next week.

GO PHILLIES!!!!!!!!!!

01.)  The Mrs., The Girls, and My Boys.

02.)  The Philadelphia Phillies.  All years, not just the last two.

03.)  Rockpage.

04.)  The ability to burn CDs.

05.)  Having a job, even when it sucks.

06.)  My robe, even though it isn't mine.

07.)  Peter Criss's attitude and honesty.

08.)  A hot shower.

09.)  Coffee.

10.)  Crispy scrapple.

It's funny, when I got the message about the second gig (which chronologically would have been my first gig) I thought, "Wow, things are taking off even better and quicker than I had anticipated".
Well, the guy who had asked me to open for his band on November 20th just informed me that the bar owner had said it was a no-go.  Guess he didn't think a comedian was an appropriate opener for a metal band.  He's obviously never heard any of my comedy.
Oh well.
This changes nothing except the date and location of my first gig.  As it stands right now, my first gig will be at a bar called 30- Something...opening for and MCing the benefit for RockPage.  That will be the 6th or 13th of December.
If I'm able to take the Wednesday and Thursday off before the Rob Zombie concert, my first gig will be at The Keswick Coffee shop, a cozy little java house owned by a high school friend.  They have open mic night every Wednesday, and that would be December 2nd.
I'm still very optimistic, even if I am a little disappointed. 
And I'm still going to spend this Friday fleshing out the details and order of my act.  (I hesitate to call it an act...it will actually be more the real me than what they see at Walmart.  Me being friendly to people in the deli...now that's a fucking act.)
Anyway...details as they become available........

......that 85% of all men believe that they have superior driving skills.  I don't know if that's true or not, but I do know there is a buck running around in the woods of Pennsylvania that owes his life to my superior driving skills.
You're welcome, dumbfuck.

I wrote two things on Rockpage on Friday...the day I was supposed to be cold calling a couple hundred bars.  One was a comment on the thread about the benefit.  The other was this, that I posted in Bands/Musicians Available/Needed:

"Comedian available for...just about anything. Will work first gig for one U.S. dollar and free drinks. Available all nights and willing to call off from day job if needed on short notice..........."

After it took close to 24 hours for yesterday's adrenaline overload to dissipate, I come home today, check my email, and find this:

"ok im game nov 20th at the Oceola Hotel its a freebie......."

I wrote back asking the time, duration, and how  "censored" I would need to be.  To which I received this reply:

"not sure about the time. I'll talk to the owner tomorrow. i would think about an hour, dirty as you want."

Dirty as I want?  Apparently we haven't met.  I read these emails to my mother and her reply to the last part was, "Oh boy". 

So yeah.....two short sentences on a web page, and 48 hours later I've got two gigs lined up...one for an hour, one for a whole evening.

Dirty as I want.

Fucking A. 


I'm never gonna get to sleep tonight.......

".......But cohesion is possible if we strive
Theres no reason, theres no lesson
No time like the present, telling you right now
What have you got to lose, what have you got to lose
Except your soul...who's with us!?"

From the introduction to

"Pulse of The Maggots"

Slipknot

(This song means more to me today than it ever has before......."

Warning:  I am the most excited I've been in a long long time and on top of that, I've had the better part of a pot of coffee.  Add to that the fact that I can't get anybody on the phone to tell about this, shit....The Mrs. doesn't even know yet...and you've got one hopped up motherfucker who's about ready to bust at the seams.  So I apologize if any of this comes across as wired out or disjointed.....

Let's back up a little bit and I'll explain how I got to this point........

November 22, 1963.  Lee Harvey Oswald takes three shots from the window of a book depository and ends the life of John F. Kennedy.  My parents "comfort" each other and...oh god, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

OK, fast forward almost forty-six years.

Last week a friend of mine who is active in the local live music scene sent me a link to The List of all the nightclubs and bars in Altoona, State College, and Johnstown...the three towns closest to being a city near where I live.  The idea was to use The List as a resource and pimp myself out, trying to book a gig so's I could finally.....nut up or shut up and do some fucking comedy.
So yesterday was my day off.  I get up, make some coffee, grab a shower, get dressed, and sit down at the computer.  I pull up The List and set the phone down on top of the tower. 
And I stared at The List.
Then I checked my email and......
.....stared at The List some more.
Then I got onto Facebook and fucked around for a few hours, went back to the list, and.....
.....stared at it some more.
What the fuck?  Quit being a pussy and pick up the phone!
The List originated on a website called Rockpage, kind of a Facebook for area bands.  You can post there if you're looking for drums, a drummer, or if you're a drummer in need of a band.  Bars post looking for bands, and bands post looking for gigs.  One such post was a guy asking if any of the area bands would be interested in doing a benefit.  There was a lot of response, close to fifteen/twenty bands that said they'd love to take part.  (I wish I could remember what The Cause was....I hope it wasn't NAMBLA!)  I figured, "What the fuck?" and posted, "I'm not the least bit musically gifted, but if you want a comedian/MC let me know, I'd be happy to help".
And then I spent the rest of my day off fucking around on Facebook.
The Devil comes in many forms.....redheads, high fructose corn syrup, congressmen and senators, and Facebook.
But I digresss.
You can see where I'm going with this, can't you? 
Wait for it.....waaaaait for it............
So The Mrs. comes home and asks how my phone calling went.  I told her I hadn't made a single call.  I think she was even more disappointed in me than I was, and I was plenty disappointed.  I'd had such high hopes for yesterday...I was gonna call until I either got a gig or got to the end of The List. 
So we went to The Vets and watched the Phillies play seven innings of good baseball, and then the Dodgers played two innings of really good baseball and won, 2-1. 
Then we grabbed a bite to eat, and went to our friend's house.
Got up this morning as The Mrs. was readying to leave, to go see Nikki.  Gave her a kiss, poured some coffee, and sat down at the computer.
Waaaaaait for it.........
So she leaves and I log on.  I go to my email and find I have one new message.  It was from the organizer of the benefit..........

"We could use a little levity between bands. It would be cool if you'd like to do it."

I'm sorry, what?  What did you just say?  I went back and read it a second time.......

"We could use a little levity between bands. It would be cool if you'd like to do it."

Like to do it?  Like to do it?  Is he fucking kidding me?  I've been waiting my whole life to do something like this.  I asked a buddy of mine, the guy that sent me the link, about the club that this benefit is to be in.  It's big.  And it's a metal bar.  Not a metal bar like what you'd find on the door of a prison cell, a heavy metal bar.  But you knew that.  Sorry, it's the caffeine.  You were warned.
I mean, what are the odds?  I post one little message and get a job (a non-paying one, but I'm totally OK with that) MCing a big benefit concert.  Well, big for around here.  Jesus, I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I'd have called all the bars on The List.
So anyway, there you have it.  That's my news.  It took me forty-five years but I'm finally going to hit the stage.
And yes.....I'll post the videos here..........