It's all about me

Have you ever noticed as you read blogs, there are two types of blogs? There are the ones that are done by women and the ones done by men. Women write about other people, what they are doing, events and activities they partook in and how it made them feel. Men write about observations. This is an observation I made. I am a man and I am blogging about it. I was inspired by the female blogs. I thought "I should really write more about other people not just myself. No one but me wants to read about me. Besides writing just about me is selfish!" So, I sat and thought. Came up with a few observations I had made. Thought of a few stories... about me. And then my idea well went dry. Hung my head in shame because everything I thought of eventually came back to ME. ME! ME! ME! I am not sure I know how to tell stories about other people.

I have often seen cows standing in fields looking intently forward chewing their cud.(another observation story) It seemed to me that they MUST be considering some great mystery of life "So in a closed system, the proton exceeds net sub velocity energy transfer through the derivative's initial impact coefficient, inversely!" While in reality they are most likely thinking "Chew... chew... chew... swallow. Burp up more... chew... chew...chew..." So, when Mandy and I were first married (story comes back around to me!) she would often see me staring at the wall blankly. Because as a woman, she would be feeling sad for one of her friends or developing her understanding of why a coworker is sometimes irritable or searching for something to get her mother for her birthday. She assumed (falsely) that because I was on such a deep mental journey that I too was collecting fabulous and profound life lessons. Under this assumption she would beg me to share with her my thoughts so that she too could grow through my understandings. To her inquiries my response was usually "I am not thinking about anything" She would say "OK" but her face would show hurt that I was choosing to harbor away my insights away from her. In reality, I didn't know how to tell her that I was imagining that my car was a rocket powered tank and I was smashing through buildings, which were just shadows cast on the road by trees overhead. Or that I was wondering why bug guts are green and not red. Or if they can breed a horse and a donkey can they breed a grizzly bear and a polar bear? And if they could, what weapon would I use to defend myself if I were attacked by a grizlar bear?
I am sorry, but because Mandy rarely blogs here... you are mainly going to find out that I would defend myself with a rocket powered tank, if I were under attack from a pack of hungry grizlar bears when you read here. It seems I am gender incapable of doing anything likewise.

Well! I don't believe it! I better start working on my rocket tank, cause the grizlar bears are here!

superheros amungst us!!!

Tonight I am going to pinch off two blogs. You can only hold in these deranged thoughts for so long before they burst out. I am going to criticize a group that I often affiliate myself with. I ride a road bike for fun, relaxation, excercise and to get around town. Bikes have become extremely popular in all of their forms. Motored and non-motored. I blame Lance Armstrong for the popularity of pedal bikes and gas prices on the rise in popularity of motorcycles. Tonight I went on a bike ride and I easily saw 40 other people out riding road bikes when I would be lucky to see 1 a few years ago. When I drive to work I usually see a half dozen or so motorcycles when I would rarely see any even 3 months ago. This is not my jab. I think this is great! But I noticed something last week. As I was walking around the airport I saw a guy with a motorcycle jacket on similar to the one pictured only his had GIANT shoulder pads and large armored padding in the chest. He was just walking with the jacket on. Compared to his chest, his head looked tiny. He couldn't put his arms down because of the pads in his elbows and on his forearms. He was lumbering down the sidewalk towards me arm sticking out both sides like beefed up body builder and a tiny head. He looked like he was dressing up as a superhero for halloween. road bikers wear even more ridiculous clothing. Spandex shorts with wads of padding in the crotch area tight shirts with long backs and large pockets in the back. Huge bulky helmets with as many air vents as physically possible and often strange wrap around style glasses that you haven't seen since Brian Bosworth wore in the eighties and velcro shoes with large clips that clomp when you stagger around on them. Maybe I am used to it, but I actually think road bikers... and armored motorcycle race style jackets look good while the rider is perched on their bikes. They even look menacing and dangerous. Yet... the suave appearance fades inversely proportionate to the distance from the bike. In a few short steps you can go from The Fonz to Steve Erkle. I take pity on them and myself included.
This is not the real problem. The problem I see with these "superhero" uniforms is the mentality that often accompanies said uniform. I have seen guys ride their road bikes 3,4 or even 5 people abreast on busy roads, forcing traffic to slow down and find a break in traffic to get over. I have seen motorcycles weave in and out of traffic inches or a tap of someone's brakes away from becoming the major ingredient in a hamburger helper meal. I have often heard road bikers toss out the argument that they pay taxes too and they are a vehicle. Most roads are funded with gas tax which at least the motorcycles can say they use. The thing that makes me scratch my head and hug the white line when I ride roads is something I learned in high school physics which says the energy is calculated by 1/2 times mass and velocity squared. My mass is a handful of ants compared to something like a semi. My velocity is rarely greater also. I share the road but I am timid house guest in the living room of a cranky grizzly bear.
I have realized this brazen attitude comes from one thing... the superhero costume. Superman could dash into a phone booth and transform from a mild mannered reporter to a nasty flying machine that could punch meteors out of the sky and grab bullets out of the air and so can they! You can't harm me! I have Spandex and a HELMET!! I am invincible! If I take a tumble doing 135 MPH, I can walk off a small limp, chalk that one up for trial and error and be off again! I don't know. Maybe I am too timid... but I drive a lot too and I see what climbs behind the wheel everyday. Grandma peeking between the dash and the steering wheel bobbing back and forth between the yellow and white lines. Mom doing 20 over talking on the phone, putting on makeup eating a salad, changing a diaper and screaming at the kids to "SHUT UP! I'm trying to concentrate on the road!!!" Dad is behind the wheel of his 78 Buick land yacht coming from a hard 14 hours in the coal mine. He is drifting off to sleep and the left tie rod is going out and is hanging on by 1/16th. He has been meaning to fix it, but he works too much to get out there and take care of it. Jr. is coming the other way in '89 IROC Camaro. Lynard Skynard is blasting on the radio, his T-tops are off and his mullet is flapping in the breeze. His girlfriend's brother just scored them some weed and they just smoked it down by the lake and now they are going cruzin and gonna see if this bitchin' camaro can break 150 MPH!! Yeeehaw!!! and here comes cousin. He just lost his job and his girlfriend! His psychologist wants him to try a new medication because he says the stuff he is taking now makes him suicidal and homicidal. That makes him MAD! Real mad! Maybe he will just hit someone to show them!
Ride how you want, but I figure the brain cell ratio to kinetic energy figures are leaning a bit on the you becoming mashed potatoes and gravy to be supposing a uniform will really help if you don't do something to bring the odds back in your favor. Just me though... that's just me.

RIP Chudleigh

Thanks Britney for crying your crazy little eyes out for my sad sad news. It is with heavy heart and hushed typing that I sit before my computer and contemplate the recent departure of my good friend Chudleigh.
Saturday as I mucked out the garage I tossed everything that hadn't been used in several months on the lawn with a price tag on it. Chudleigh (read previous posts to find out about the fabulous life and times of the infamous Chudleigh) fit the criteria of not being used in several months and so I grabbed his arm and shoved him out onto the lawn with a $20 sticker on him. He sat there mouth gaping open excitedly as people passed by. He reminded me of a puppy in pet store front window. Someone asked about him and if he worked I said Yep! I gave Chudleigh a little bit of gas, primed him and he jubilantly puffed out a puff of white smoke and howled to life. When I pulled the handle to show how he could throw snow, he began belching clipped grass blades high up into the air as if to say "You want me to cut grass? I can cut grass! Watch! Are you watching? I can cut grass too! see! SEE! SEE!!!" Everyone around recoiled in fear. The guy that was interested was still looking at Chudleigh when Mandy walked by and said "He has a silly wife and I ran it without any mix gas" He looked around nervously like he had just noticed a sign at Taco Bell that said "Try our new burritos! Now with even less rat droppings!" He began backing up and he said "Um... I, Um... am going to think about it. I... I gotta go! I forgot about my nail appointment!" and he ran to his truck.
Later another guy approached me and asked in broken English "Your snow blower. Does it work?" I said "yes" I knew it had been run without oil, but for $20, I justified that he was still coming out ahead on the deal. I went over and started Chudleigh up. After being started earlier, I barely had to pull the pull start before he screamed to life. This gentleman was obviously impressed with the prowess of Chudleigh. A blank stare washed over his face as he envisioned lofting hundreds of backbreaking pounds of heavy snow back to where it came from... heavenward. He snapped back into reality and said "I'll take it!" I helped him load it into his van. his wife and his son were sitting in the van and they grimaced at the monster we were loading in.
I didn't let myself think about what I had done until I went and sat down. Then the remorse settled in. I just keep telling myself that he would have died on the first snow of the year when snowblowers were marked up 500%. Gonna miss ya Chudleigh!
I also sold my mountain bike. I haven't ridden that thing in years. It was worn out, the black paint was chipping off, it was very heavy and getting very old and antiquated in technology compared to it's sleek new predecessors. (I promise, I didn't steal those words from stedman graham) I didn't think much about that sale until I laid down at night and that part of my brain that really loves to mountain bike (that part of my brain is kinda hippie-ish. Wears Teva sandals and tie dye. has matted hair. Doesn't bathe alot. Begins every sentance with "DUUUDDDDEEE! has blood shot eyes and although he claims he doesn't smoke pot, his eyes are usually bloodshot, his room smells like incense and dirty feet and he giggles at things that were not necessarily meant to be funny. He is a little slow so it took him a while to realize what had happened) He burst out of his room as everyone was saying their good nights and retiring to their individual rooms. As he ran up and down the hall in a frenzied panic he was shouting "DUUUUDDDDDEEE! We sold the mountain bike Dudes! That totally sucks! DUUUDDDDDEEE what are we FREAKIN' gonna do now?" The historian spoke up and said "You haven't ridden that bike in over three years!" Hippie stared at the wall like he was watching a spider crawl up it. Then he said "Dude, I was like, doing stuff... and... things." His voice trailed off and he scratched at a gnarled lock in his dusty blond hair. Everyone let that idea soak in as they silently went to their own rooms. I decided that... Dude, that kinds does stink a little bit. Sold Chudleigh and sold the mountain bike. Especially when the financial analyst in my brain (which some argue is the same guy as the hippie) said as he peered over gold rimmed glasses and slapped his index finger on a graph that was labeled "Future Financial Outlook" and the graph showed a straight nose dive, plummet towards the ground. He said "Net Profits are falling like mafia informants to the bottom of the ocean with concrete shoes. Costs are up in every sector and with that hippie doing all of the schooling, we better say our prayers because this ain't gonna be pretty!" so... I guess I can get my excercise shoveling snow now rather than grunting up some mountain switchback trail. We are going to miss you two!

FOR SALE

I started off selling Jeep parts, but now I have the bug. I am selling EVERYTHING! It's all going. Tomorrow we are having a garage sale and I have been wandering around with accountants glasses on. Everything I see, looks like a price tag. I quickly add up what it is worth to me and if it is worth more to someone else, it is going. Maybe it is because it costs over $50 to fill my car, maybe it is because my checking account currently has a negative balance, maybe it is because I am sick of looking at stuff I never use. Maybe a combination of all of the above. As you may have already seen, I am trying my luck at selling rocks out of my back yard.
During all of this liquidation, I have found something fun. I enjoy dejunking and I enjoy money, at least for the brief moments I can hold it in my hand, feather through it, fan my face and sniff the breeze, then I think of all of the disgusting places it has most likely been and that makes it a little easier to proceed to spoon it out to people I owe money to. After it is gone, I sigh, slump over a little bit and mope back to my closet to find something else to sell... Hey! there's some dirty socks! Anyone need some dirty socks?

Anti-theft rock

I am selling this valuable peace of mind.
Don't miss your opportunity to get the sleep at night you deserve when you know you are protected.

Guitar Hero

Walker has evolved so far with his Guitar Hero abilities that he has now become flagrant with his game play. He now plays behind his head and can look away from the screen while playing. I have to perfectly concentrate on every note and can only utilize my meager mental capacity for this single task at hand. Sometimes people try to talk to me while I am playing. I shout back "SHUT UP!!!! I AM PLAYING HERE!!! YOU MADE ME MESS UP!!!!" As I proceed to miss a series of notes. Walker carries on full conversations, tells stories, solves mathematical story problems and makes peanut butter and Jelly sandwiches. I was worried he would get smarter than me, so I encouraged his PlayStation use... you know, to dumb him up a bit, so I could keep a slight mental edge on him. That way, if he ever says to me "I'm going over to my friend Billy's to do homework" and I say "No you are not! Your books are on the kitchen table and I can see fireworks hanging out of your backpack!" But, I fear am done for! I am imagine it will go something like this: "Bye dad I am going over Billy's, his parents are not home, so we are going to blow up army men with these Cherry bombs... there's a good chance one of us will lose a finger or vision in one or both eyes" and I will shout "SHUT UP!!!! I AM PLAYING HERE!!! YOU MADE ME MESS UP!!!!"