I Triple Dog Dare You

So DeEtte and I have this strange tradition. It was borne of sleep deprivation, an overload of school credits and caffeine. It involved a trip to the 711 and a dare. Since then (ocationally) when we are at a 711 we each buy the other the most disgusting thing we can find in the store. We've eaten everything from spicy vienna sausages to pig skins. This time we took things to a new low. Sardines in olive oil and "Fancy Feast" chicken and liver cat food. I ate the sardines and DeEtte ate the cat food. It was far worse than we thought. Click picture to watch.

Racist Rain Man

So there are a number of interesting characters down here in NJ. The other day I went to the break room to get a snack. A medium sized ubiquitous looking guy was busy talking to himself when I'm came in. He was getting ready to eat 3 little boxes of Wheaties all at once. So he was an older man, wearing a blue lab coat (like most of the blue collar workers here). Ok, not funny. See the trouble with being at the top is that people tend to think you are pretentious. Anyway, so he begins talking about a sports player he likes. Now I don't know sports so we will call him Bill. "So I...I...I really like Billy, see, billy is great see, billy is great...yeah. He, he knows how to play. yeah. he's a white guy. I like hi.m. That's why I bought my wheaties...yeah...cause he's on them. Yeah...I like him because he's a white guy. You don't get many white guys anymore....yeah. I used to like (insert name of some famous player) tooo...yeah...he was a white guy..... He was really good. " No joke.

Hot In My CD Player

I found a new love and I had to share it with the world. Seriously, I love this album. John has really outdone himself. You feel glad just to be sad.

"When you're dreamin' with a broken heart, the wakin' up is the hardest part. You roll out of bed and down on your knees and for a moment you can hardly breath. Wondering was she really here? Is she standin' in my room? No she's not, cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone."

Glorious misery.

My Step-Mother's Garter

I'd totally forgotten about this story. It's a gem. I don't know that my writing skills are up to par with my story telling skills. So if you don't enjoy this, ask me for a retelling in person.

So back in...May?....I think, my Dad got married for the third time. This time he decided to forgo creating six kids himself and opted to have them included in the package. Now lets put this all into perspective. My dad is 60. His new love - 42. His six new children are ages 6-18. Even now, almost half a year later, my eyes grow wide just thinking about it.

H'anyway, so all of my father's children attended the wedding in little old Idaho. That's 12 kids....12. Now somehow my father and the bride missed the memo on remarriages, so they decided that they wanted a traditional wedding. That's right. It was held in a cultural hall complete with a tacky backdrop, aile, ring bearer, boutinears, corsages, luncheon, reception, book signing, tux, white dress, and marching music.

The wedding rolled ok and things were, for the most part, smooth. That is except for the ring being dropped three times during the ceremony by the poor little 6-year-old ring bearer. The reception, however, turned out to be a bit of a disaster. Besides having one of my siblings break down into tears and disappear, along with the others who went to find her, there were some other choice moments. First, having stayed up late the night before, the three eldest children (My older sister, along with her husband & child, my older brother, and I) oversleep our afternoon nap. We rolled into the reception post receiving line and cake cutting and were pleased to receive the scowls of our new step-mother. The reception continued to head towards its climax with a newlyweds dance that turned into a 6th grade snowball (you know where every 20-30 seconds you split and find a new partner). After that pleasent affair there was the bouquet toss followed by every man's favorite: the garter toss. The GARTER toss! You're 60!

When all of the eligible bachelors at the reception were rounded up to the center of the floor there were only three. Just three. My two brothers and me. We stood arm in arm trying not to watch as our father started the dig required to retrieve the abominable hidden treasure. While my father held up the gatter like an archeologist that just uncovered the treasures of Giza, my older brother and I began making our solemn pacts and vows, "Daniel (our younger brother) gets the garter. No matter what, Daniel gets the garter." The moment of truth arrived and my father shot the garter over his shoulder like discarded beer can. The garter hooked south in a low glide off to my right. There was nothing I could do. My other brothers were out of reach. It was going to be my catch. My mind began racing. What do I do? I can't just watch it hit the ground, that would bring the old man to tears. But I couldn't catch it. Maybe I could make a token effort. Perhaps I would act like I was trying but just miss it. The decision was made. The old man's emotions must be protected. I gave a small token effort and began reaching out toward the garter. From out of nowhere, my six year old ring-bearing step brother comes sliding in on his knees and snags the garter! Safe! Safe! Touchdown! It was all I could do to not throw my hands up like a referee and declare the field goal good. I was hugging my brothers and almost crying. "We made it boys. We made it."

Billy

So I have an incredible friend. We were roomates once. He is one of the most passionate, loving, charitable people I know. Course you don't want to get on his bad side. You better watch out for the passion then. But he has the ability to really love people. Charity. We were talking the other night, after a long hiatus, and he said something that really hit me.

"We judge our relationships on their utility."

Just think about it for a minute. I think this is often true. I know that some of you are like Billy, but I'm not one of those. I think most of my relationships are based on their utility. They are based on what I can get out of them. If I meet someone and they don't particularly interest me or they annoy me, I just ignore that relationship. If on the other hand I meet someone and they make me laugh or think, I keep them around. How selfish. I have a long way to go to understand true charity.

Bloggers Block

Here's the hitch. You want to blog something that involves a somebody that just might have 3 degrees of separation or less from your blog. Danger Ranger! So you think....ok...I'll just post it on my private blog. No good! You know you want some of your peeps to have access. So then you think, I should just tell them. But just telling them robs you of that wonderful illusion the blog creates for you that you are a writer. "I deserve to be a columnist", you think to yourself. You loose that moment of triumph to be found when you click the Publish Post button and think, "I'm sooo witty." So what to do in this dire dilemma. Just write a blog complaining that you can't write a blog.

better than the weekend

Ok, so on a Wednesday a couple of weeks ago I had an unexpectedly brilliant day. Like so many wonderful days, to mearely describe it would trivialize the brilliance of such an experience. So suffice it to say that on a new moon, with starlight cutting through the dark night, I spent time with some wonderful friends. We ate indian food, were graced by the performance of jazz legends, explored abandoned buildings by breaking the law, and made our necks sore by star gazing in some famer's field.