I rarely feel macho. When I was in high school, I played Magic the Gathering. I played the Star Wars roleplaying game , the one with paper, dice, and imagination. After high school I started a band , but even that didn't help the matter much. Despite what Kid Rock would have you believe, playing music isn't exactly the chick magnet that you'd think, which is not to imply "babe catching" as a motive for being in a band. I'm irreparably nerdy and I'm uncertain that any amount of Axe Body Spray can offset the fact that I own approximately four hundred trade paperbacks , which I methodically alphabetize and admire.
None of this is said to imply that my masculinity never bares its head. It does all of the time, but only in the most absurd circumstances. When I lived in Denver, Colorado, I walked past the Platte River on an almost daily basis. Having lived my entire life in close proximity to the Ohio River , I was a bit offended at the notion that the Platte would be referred to as a river. I was absolutely prepared to battle over this. I could piss across the Platte at it's deepest points. I felt like Crocodile Dundee . You call this a river , here's a river . Then I would teleport everyone in my vicinity to Louisville and they would cry at the sight of a proper river, not this bullshit estuary that minnows scoff at. I would then shotgun a PBR , crush the can on my head, and throw it at the nerd who dared pretend like the Platte was anything more than the creek that Louisville threw away. End fantasy.
A more current example would be my aversion to Dungeons and Dragons . In the nerd hierarchy, the one that exists only in my head, D&D is almost the nerdiest, just barely being edged out by the legion of Warhammer virgins that spend their weekends painting figurines. At least, the Warhammer virgins can take solace in not being this guy. Again, I feel the inclination to spike something, and jump a monster truck over weaker cars . It's inexplicable why I would even care, but I still kind of do. I still kind of want to throw food at D&D nerds, I'm looking at you Connor Bell , and then laugh at them while they're cleaning up. I abstain though, because I'm a grown up.
Most recently, I've been obsessed with filling up my iPod . It's one of the big, 160gb deals, and so far, after digitizing all of my musical collection, putting some of my wife's collection on there (but not all, because I have distinguished taste and all), and scouring the internet for good music blogs, I still have 97gb's to go. I will fill you up iPod, you'd better believe it. I realize that how perverse it seems to submit to the challenge of filling something up and I'm certain something Freudian is going on here, but I can't shake it. This is my masculinity people. I have to fill up this goddamned iPod or I may be less of a man. I'm not sure how, but I know with absolute certainty that it's true.
What is wrong with my brain to cause me to give a ratshit why any of this would matter? I imagine that most men are provoked into machismo for their athletic or sexual prowess, over their ability to fix things, or their ability to build things, but I just can't seem to be bothered with any of that. I just want to crush a beer can on my head over my iPod or my choice of nerd entertainment. It defies logic and I know it, but I rarely feel an emotion that I can't identify, and I don't know what to do with it other than to acknowledge it. As I a friend said yesterday, it's not a problem if you celebrate it, right? I'm inclined to think so. Since I haven't suplexed any larpers , I guess I've got enough restraint to just cope with it, without a support group for nerds-who-are-marginally-less-nerdy-than-other-nerds. I've seen a woman naked before, in real life, and without any exchange of money, so I guess I'm doing alright.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
John Wayne's Chinese Throwing Star Christmas
I already knew this year who my Secret Santa was going to be. She had already told me that she wished that she would get me, because I would be easy. Her answer for the easy present: beer. People love to get that one thing for everyone that they love, until they hate it. For years, my wife was the recipient of cats, the cuter the better, hanging from things , being kitteny , or playing on things that are adorable , generally on a calender, so you can plan your life in the cutest possible way ever. Another good friend of mine was blessed, if 'blessed' is unequivocal to 'bombarded', by the gift of things elephant related. In every instance, at least every that I've encountered, the person that gets that-one-awesome-thing-that-they-love-and-only-desire burns out and lets everyone know that they have plenty of porcelain elephants , cat calenders , pogs , hamster collars , or what have you . I don't know that this will ever be my problem, if beer is what people think I always want.
How exactly should I feel in knowing that people consider alcohol, specifically beer, to be my favorite thing? At the moment, I feel pretty good about that, even though my future, red nosed, cirrosis of the liver inflicted self may disagree. Hey, if people want to shower me in beer, I'll take it. While my Secret Santa wouldn't be able to buy it for me, at least not able to buy it and actually give it to me at work, her plan was to get a gift certificate that said 'For Beer Only '. And I'll take and honor that gift certificate for anyone willing to send it to me, I promise.
Christmas has been little more than a compilation list of things I want for about fifteen years, which is great, as I'd always wanted all of the creativity distilled from gift giving and condensed into a top ten list that would make Nick Hornby jealous. Since I already knew who my Secret Santa was, I figured I'd play around with the Secret Santa list. My list included chinese throwing stars , for efficiently dispatching my enemies , especially if those enemies are ninjas and if I were Shinobi ; a cold fusion reactor , which will require invention; a PS3 that would probably gather dust like the Xbox 360; dinner with Neil Diamond that would be long a drunken, despite Mr. Diamond's best intentions; extra vacations days for pretending like work will be done, but which are actually for gaining weight by 9am mimosas ; beer , which is a gimme, but a delicious one; and food to maintain my stingy work practice of eating left overs.
What I didn't expect was to get anything off of the list, which I did. This is the second year in a row I've included chinese throwing stars on the list. There is a particular poetry to receiving a deadly weapon as a work place gift that I have to admire. And I really wanted to use it at work, but I don’t think I'm allowed to murder people yet.
So, the chinese throwing star has an image on it of John Wayne . I'm not certain what relationship John Wayne has to chinese throwing stars, but I'm fairly certain that wherever he is, most likely hell I'd hope, that he'd give his good lung to kill a chinese. What an asshole . I bet he's smoking about a thousand cigarettes an hour to lose weight in hell for his next acting job with Hitler. I hope he's forced to be in The Birdcage for the rest of eternity and his asshole tightens up so intensely that he can crush coal into tiny diamonds that work into his bloodstream and tear up the head of his dick when he pisses. Commie hating son of a bitch.
I was told that the alternative to having the face of John Wayne on a choice communist weapon was having a Nascar logo /car emblazoned on the side. I have to marvel at the advertising prowess of both Nascar and the guy that talked the Estate of John Wayne into allowing his grinning republican ass on a glorified set of pocketknifes on a wheel that looks cut straight from Krull . Seriously, Nascar ? Why? Where is the crossover market? I mean, I know theoretically that market is The Peddler's Mall , but how many Nascar fans are out their clamoring for an ancient chinese stealth weapon? How many Shinobi fans are in love with cars driving quickly in a circle? I can just hear some redneck goon watching the race circle, wearing a druid cloak and a ski mask, threatening whoever rivals Dick Trickle for third place. Actually, I hope to whatever supernatural being you'd want to subscribe to that that exact situation has happened at least once on this planet. It will allow me to sleep better at night.
On a down note, I learned that The John Wayne Stealth Krull Star just doesn't cut it when you throw it at a wooden pallet. I have to get something to pop the spring mechanism back out so that I can fold up my stealth death wheel. We have to be safe with our ninja weapons, amirite ?
How exactly should I feel in knowing that people consider alcohol, specifically beer, to be my favorite thing? At the moment, I feel pretty good about that, even though my future, red nosed, cirrosis of the liver inflicted self may disagree. Hey, if people want to shower me in beer, I'll take it. While my Secret Santa wouldn't be able to buy it for me, at least not able to buy it and actually give it to me at work, her plan was to get a gift certificate that said 'For Beer Only '. And I'll take and honor that gift certificate for anyone willing to send it to me, I promise.
Christmas has been little more than a compilation list of things I want for about fifteen years, which is great, as I'd always wanted all of the creativity distilled from gift giving and condensed into a top ten list that would make Nick Hornby jealous. Since I already knew who my Secret Santa was, I figured I'd play around with the Secret Santa list. My list included chinese throwing stars , for efficiently dispatching my enemies , especially if those enemies are ninjas and if I were Shinobi ; a cold fusion reactor , which will require invention; a PS3 that would probably gather dust like the Xbox 360; dinner with Neil Diamond that would be long a drunken, despite Mr. Diamond's best intentions; extra vacations days for pretending like work will be done, but which are actually for gaining weight by 9am mimosas ; beer , which is a gimme, but a delicious one; and food to maintain my stingy work practice of eating left overs.
What I didn't expect was to get anything off of the list, which I did. This is the second year in a row I've included chinese throwing stars on the list. There is a particular poetry to receiving a deadly weapon as a work place gift that I have to admire. And I really wanted to use it at work, but I don’t think I'm allowed to murder people yet.
So, the chinese throwing star has an image on it of John Wayne . I'm not certain what relationship John Wayne has to chinese throwing stars, but I'm fairly certain that wherever he is, most likely hell I'd hope, that he'd give his good lung to kill a chinese. What an asshole . I bet he's smoking about a thousand cigarettes an hour to lose weight in hell for his next acting job with Hitler. I hope he's forced to be in The Birdcage for the rest of eternity and his asshole tightens up so intensely that he can crush coal into tiny diamonds that work into his bloodstream and tear up the head of his dick when he pisses. Commie hating son of a bitch.
I was told that the alternative to having the face of John Wayne on a choice communist weapon was having a Nascar logo /car emblazoned on the side. I have to marvel at the advertising prowess of both Nascar and the guy that talked the Estate of John Wayne into allowing his grinning republican ass on a glorified set of pocketknifes on a wheel that looks cut straight from Krull . Seriously, Nascar ? Why? Where is the crossover market? I mean, I know theoretically that market is The Peddler's Mall , but how many Nascar fans are out their clamoring for an ancient chinese stealth weapon? How many Shinobi fans are in love with cars driving quickly in a circle? I can just hear some redneck goon watching the race circle, wearing a druid cloak and a ski mask, threatening whoever rivals Dick Trickle for third place. Actually, I hope to whatever supernatural being you'd want to subscribe to that that exact situation has happened at least once on this planet. It will allow me to sleep better at night.
On a down note, I learned that The John Wayne Stealth Krull Star just doesn't cut it when you throw it at a wooden pallet. I have to get something to pop the spring mechanism back out so that I can fold up my stealth death wheel. We have to be safe with our ninja weapons, amirite ?
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
I Have A Dream
I periodically wish for the ability to teleport my farts. It is possibly my fondest wish in the entire world to watch any live televised event while eating anything with bell peppers and beans. It would always be with the utmost care put into strategic deployment of my gas. When a celebrity thanks God, I'll be there. When that squawking, shitbird from my wife's dancing show opens her mouth, I'll be there. I'll be there during any country music award, especially as it pertains to Toby Keith .
God struck my radio down. It had to be God or god or maybe even gods , but it was definitely supernatural and I presume that whatever did this to me had a beard and/or a toga , sat on a throne or at least lounged in a celestial hot tub , and dictated rotten things to happen in my life. I believe this had to be the case, because only the FM side of my radio was made extinct. It is inexplicable. Why, if not for the supernatural, would only the FM side of my radio be rendered inoperable, while the hated AM side be left to listenable? Goodbye NPR . Goodbye PRI . Goodbye classical music station that tempts my slumber while driving. Goodbye classical rock station that plays too much Bob Segar and has recently started playing music made during my high school career (I'm not ready to be classic, hello). Hello gospel station, sports news broadcast, and Republican radio. Sigh.
Having limited budget to replace my factory radio with my dream radio, which is essentially just an auxiliary input and one giant volume knob , I found myself gravitating towards Republican radio. Not because I like it, but because if I have to pick something in the AM radio garbage bin, I may as well learn something, or get a new perspective. I find it likely that at some point in the past, I've done something to someone that I've not yet atoned for, so being subjected to nasty, divisive, Republican rhetoric seems like an apt punishment. Ultimately though, it helps to know your enemy, so to speak. It keeps me on my toes.
I have my favorites, which is like choosing the smoothest pile of shit you find in an outhouse. I prefer Bill Bennett in the morning. Not because I agree with him, as I seldom do, but because he typically seems to consider the opposition viewpoint without making snarky, unnecessary comments. And he keeps his voice down. Really, I can hear everyone just fine. In fact, I wager that they have things called "power amps" and "mixing boards" in their studio. I propose that they use them to full effect and in the meantime, shut the fuck up. You can express yourself without talking over someone even when you disagree.
Unfortunately, Bill Bennett takes a lot of Friday's off, which typically means that we get to hear a guest host. I hope these people are not his friends, but I am most certain that they are. Even though he keeps it reasonable, if disagreeable, I still find it unlikely that we could hang out, but while I may typify my experience as tolerance, I am completely intolerant of the idiots he gets to guest host. The most common guest host is Rick Santorum . One of my favorite things to say about someone I don't like is that "I wouldn't give them a fart." In Rick Santorum's case I would gladly make an exception. In fact, if I had my druthers, I'd teleport it straight into his mouth on live radio. Fuck it, I'd do it right now if I could.
A few weeks ago he gave Obama grief for not mending the racial divide. Racist much? I didn't know it was up to the black guy to fix the race problem. At that, how would one suppose he accomplish this task? I'm into having a job (at least the earning money part) and in my friends and family having a job, so I'm content with him working on that. Between this stellar suggestion and his exemplary opinion of the homosexuals (and their terrifying agenda - oh my), I'd gladly shit straight into his mouth. Fuck it, full monty.
God struck my radio down. It had to be God or god or maybe even gods , but it was definitely supernatural and I presume that whatever did this to me had a beard and/or a toga , sat on a throne or at least lounged in a celestial hot tub , and dictated rotten things to happen in my life. I believe this had to be the case, because only the FM side of my radio was made extinct. It is inexplicable. Why, if not for the supernatural, would only the FM side of my radio be rendered inoperable, while the hated AM side be left to listenable? Goodbye NPR . Goodbye PRI . Goodbye classical music station that tempts my slumber while driving. Goodbye classical rock station that plays too much Bob Segar and has recently started playing music made during my high school career (I'm not ready to be classic, hello). Hello gospel station, sports news broadcast, and Republican radio. Sigh.
Having limited budget to replace my factory radio with my dream radio, which is essentially just an auxiliary input and one giant volume knob , I found myself gravitating towards Republican radio. Not because I like it, but because if I have to pick something in the AM radio garbage bin, I may as well learn something, or get a new perspective. I find it likely that at some point in the past, I've done something to someone that I've not yet atoned for, so being subjected to nasty, divisive, Republican rhetoric seems like an apt punishment. Ultimately though, it helps to know your enemy, so to speak. It keeps me on my toes.
I have my favorites, which is like choosing the smoothest pile of shit you find in an outhouse. I prefer Bill Bennett in the morning. Not because I agree with him, as I seldom do, but because he typically seems to consider the opposition viewpoint without making snarky, unnecessary comments. And he keeps his voice down. Really, I can hear everyone just fine. In fact, I wager that they have things called "power amps" and "mixing boards" in their studio. I propose that they use them to full effect and in the meantime, shut the fuck up. You can express yourself without talking over someone even when you disagree.
Unfortunately, Bill Bennett takes a lot of Friday's off, which typically means that we get to hear a guest host. I hope these people are not his friends, but I am most certain that they are. Even though he keeps it reasonable, if disagreeable, I still find it unlikely that we could hang out, but while I may typify my experience as tolerance, I am completely intolerant of the idiots he gets to guest host. The most common guest host is Rick Santorum . One of my favorite things to say about someone I don't like is that "I wouldn't give them a fart." In Rick Santorum's case I would gladly make an exception. In fact, if I had my druthers, I'd teleport it straight into his mouth on live radio. Fuck it, I'd do it right now if I could.
A few weeks ago he gave Obama grief for not mending the racial divide. Racist much? I didn't know it was up to the black guy to fix the race problem. At that, how would one suppose he accomplish this task? I'm into having a job (at least the earning money part) and in my friends and family having a job, so I'm content with him working on that. Between this stellar suggestion and his exemplary opinion of the homosexuals (and their terrifying agenda - oh my), I'd gladly shit straight into his mouth. Fuck it, full monty.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
The Timothy Busfield Curse
School has won the fight between the leisurely and the scholarly. I turned thirty just a few months ago and I have to wonder if age become more profound the higher the number next to your name. By thirty, I consider myself a relatively responsible adult. I am about to complete my third full college term, again with a minimum of three A's and two B's, while working a full time job, while maintaining a band and some modicum of a social life. It's a wonder my liver hasn't deteriorated into a booze sponge, but even that I've managed to reduce.
That said, I've definitely developed some troubling routines, which again profoundly remind me of my age, and disposition. My typical Friday night routine is to pick up some beer on the way home and then to immediately consume that beer while watching television or playing a video game . Friday night is my night, goddammit. On Thanksgiving weekend, my wife and I received a bed frame from her parents. I can't exactly articulate how or why a bed frame improves your sleep, but it does. If it's an illusion entirely conjured from my subconscious, do not tell me otherwise, because I've been sleeping like a fucking champion. Last Friday, I decided to break out from the mold, drink an ample amount of water and have a balanced meal, all in the name of a good night of sleep. I planned on sleeping until the sun came into my room to personally punch me awake. And then I did it, with the good news being that I can take a punch .
Let me recap: My big Friday night adventure was trying to produce the most awesome sleep ever by breaking my tradition of alcohol abuse. Go thirty!
It's not though, that I want to think about this stuff all the time. I don't want to be Timothy Busfield . I don't want to think about or care about my age. It's not that I'm embarrassed though, I'm certainly content with my position in life. I have a beautiful wife and fantastic friends. I'm going to fix this job thing or I'm going to sell the ulcer I have excised to the Guinness Book of World Records and then I'm going on vacation. I'm going to sip mimosas and lounge in a hammock all day long. I'm going to jet ski and listen to Arab on Radar . I can't wait for my new life to begin.
That said, I've definitely developed some troubling routines, which again profoundly remind me of my age, and disposition. My typical Friday night routine is to pick up some beer on the way home and then to immediately consume that beer while watching television or playing a video game . Friday night is my night, goddammit. On Thanksgiving weekend, my wife and I received a bed frame from her parents. I can't exactly articulate how or why a bed frame improves your sleep, but it does. If it's an illusion entirely conjured from my subconscious, do not tell me otherwise, because I've been sleeping like a fucking champion. Last Friday, I decided to break out from the mold, drink an ample amount of water and have a balanced meal, all in the name of a good night of sleep. I planned on sleeping until the sun came into my room to personally punch me awake. And then I did it, with the good news being that I can take a punch .
Let me recap: My big Friday night adventure was trying to produce the most awesome sleep ever by breaking my tradition of alcohol abuse. Go thirty!
It's not though, that I want to think about this stuff all the time. I don't want to be Timothy Busfield . I don't want to think about or care about my age. It's not that I'm embarrassed though, I'm certainly content with my position in life. I have a beautiful wife and fantastic friends. I'm going to fix this job thing or I'm going to sell the ulcer I have excised to the Guinness Book of World Records and then I'm going on vacation. I'm going to sip mimosas and lounge in a hammock all day long. I'm going to jet ski and listen to Arab on Radar . I can't wait for my new life to begin.
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