80's revisited

Big hair. Stone-washed jeans. Cheesy synthesizer pop music. Even cheesier heavy metal music. Mullets. Before there were called “mullets”, or even considered a bad thing. Pot galore. Mad Dog 20/20. Boone’s Farm. School dances. Break-dancing. Zipper jackets. Levi’s jean jackets. Pegged jeans. Tight-as-hell Jordache jeans. Tight-as-hell Jordache jeans with holes in the knees, or rear end. Super short basketball shorts – FOR GUYS. Tank tops, NOT wife-beaters. Jams. Jovan Musk. Guns n’Roses. Richard Marx. Journey. Foreigner. Debbie Gibson. Tiffany – before she was a complete mess. Baseball caps with no crazy flames on the sides. And we took the effen tags off of them immediately. Izod. Polo. Those cool shirts with the little penguin on it. Hair spray. Three’s Company. ET. The Breakfast Club. Culture Club. Wham!, or anything George Michael related before he turned druggie perv (or at least got caught). Bueller? Bueller? Big earrings. Michael Jackson. Cyndi Lauper. Bon Jovi. Bananarama. Dance parties in your friend's garage. Sneaking around drinking SoCo and smoking ANY form of tobacco. Airplane! and Sixteen Candles and being able to quote them verbatim (at least guys can). Any John Cusack movie. Tom Cruise when he wasn’t an alien worshipping, anti-medication, couch-jumping lunatic – or has he ever not been that? Miami Vice. Valley girls. Valley girl wannabes. Bad ass white jackets with the collers up. Wayfarers.

These are a few things associated with the 80’s and what made them so bitchin. If you lived them, you were lucky. If you didn’t, it sucks to be you. Feel free to add to my list!

I invite you all to participate in 80's Revisited week - I did by a few blogger cohorts (see sonya for lots more) .

Look at those guns! Girls beware!


Me and our old doggie Jena. She definately improves picture quality.


1987 College ID. Freedom!! I was a stupid freshman, but oh, was it fun.
Checks out the cascading locks of power....

Rock on!!

8 Things I Wished I Had Yesterday….

1) A Secret Service Job – Because those guys were the only ones allowed on the interstate yesterday afternoon! I swear, George W comes to town for a dumbass fundraiser, and they shut a section of the interstate down!

I thought I was slick by taking another way to avoid traffic problems, only to get to the exit and all I see is a police car and flares on the side of the road. His cruiser was parked diagonally to block traffic, and block it he did. There were NO cars on the section of interstate I was next to, and believe me when I say I was there for a while…you would have thought it was a catastrophe or something. People were screaming, cutting others off (i.e. me), honking, doing U-turns, you name it.

2) Valium – To calm me down as I drove, er, sat, in traffic. I was absolutely FURIOUS, since I snuck out of work a little early to go look at car stereos. It was great weather outside. If Gandhi or the Dalai Lama were in town blocking traffic I couldn’t have been less been furious. I would have been mad at anything, perhaps except winning the Powerball, or Rapture.

3) My Digital Camera – As I was detoured off the interstate due to our prez visiting the area, I was forced to drive through a rather seedy part of town, and as I was stopped in gridlock traffic, I looked up and saw a sign, a sign that I wished to God I could have taken a picture of:

Hoopty Heaven Auto Sales

Big and bright, it was spray painted on a large piece of particle board. It was classic. Here is my rendition of the sign for your viewing pleasure:

4) Chinese throwing stars – About nine-hundred thousand of them, one for every tool on the road yesterday (myself not included). It would be a beautiful sight to see nine-hundred thousand people walking around with those things jutting out of their bloody necks. That’ll teach ‘em.

5) A tape recorder – To catch the truly ghetto argument I overheard as I was stuck in traffic. In front of Hoopty’s no doubt:

Girl1: “You better be lettin' me ova, biatch!”

Girl2: “Naow, aw Hail Naow! You did not just call me a bitch, bitch! Did you? Did you?”

That was about all I heard, because of all times, traffic decides to start moving.

6) A pen – Preferably one that worked. After my raging was over, I fumbled through the console of my wife’s car (I drove hers yesterday) in search of a writing instrument to create a sign that read, “YOU ARE A TOOL”. I would then be ready for the next person who cut me off or drove like an idiot. I found a pen, but it didn’t have any ink. Damnit. So, I used the next best thing I could find – a tube of lipstick.

7) A Camcorder – To videotape the faces of those people who saw this sign as they drove by me yesterday:

Please excuse the shoddy work, but what the hell? From now on I will keep Sharpies with me at all times.

8) A disguise – For me to wear next time I decide to create a lipstick sign in broad daylight. I got busted writing a note on a piece of paper with lipstick by some pretty good-looking girl. In the parking lot of Circuit City, no doubt. At that point, even I thought there has to be something wrong with me.

Needless to say, it was an interesting drive home yesterday, and it only took me two hours!

Later gators.

Science class...Fiction Scribe style

I will start out by saying this: Ladies, you're BUSTED! Heh heh heh

Being a long-time MRI Technologist and now currently working in medical research MR Imaging, I have seen and/or heard, as well as been involved in several quite fascinating brain imaging research studies. Just at where I work, there are studies which deal with depression, olfaction, smoking in the scanner (through tubes, of course; we aren’t THAT dumb to have them fire up inside the magnet), brain responses to eating/taste differences compared to preference (one I am trying to get going) – just to name a few. There are a couple of studies, however, that I have run across, that I wished to God I had been a part of (I will only present one today and save the other for later):

Sex studies, measuring brain function and activation, inside an MRI Scanner.

Men have always known you gals “Fake it” on occasion, and now we have scientific proof to prove it. Your jig is up, my fraudulent, female friends! We are finally on to your little game! No more faking it!

Well, so long as we have access to a $4 Million MRI scanner…and while coitus is being performed, no less. Okay, Okay, so some of the kinks still need to be ironed out, but we are men, men with big, huge_______ (fill in the blank)***, and we have what it takes to come (no pun intended) to conclusions until every man is equipped with the necessary equipment (and I mean medical equipment, chickybabe, you perv) to stamp out these serious, heinous crimes against man! Down with counterfeit orgasms!

Well, enough of me painfully rambling on…so, onto the results:

Here is a female brain during real, honest-to-goodness, scratch you back and howl at the moon orgasm. Notice the tiny, small area in red, located in the cerebellum. This area typically controls vital boly functions (i.e., breathing, heart rate, etc).

Here is a female brain while faking an orgasm (heathens). Notice the same area as above is activated, but now the motor cortex is hugely activated. This shows movement during "faking it" is controlled and conscious.

Basically, it requires thought and a real one doesn't.

So, as I have demonstrated, all it takes to prove the deviance of the faking female is thousands of feet of coiled wire, 3000 liters of liquid helium, a superconducting magnet, and a little gumption.

On a good note, if Steph’s mum is reading this, rest assured this can be constituted as a science lesson. Not to worry, Mum, your sweet little girl is not being corrupted online (or at the very least not by me).

And they say Science class is boring? Here is the BBC link to the article.

*** The correct answer to the fill in the blank is: brains. Pervs!

The Unethical Side of Euthanasia - Part II

Now for the counterargument. Here is Part II, and, by the way, I turned this in to my professor yesterday as a rough draft paper, and she said don't bother changing anything; it is an A+ paper as it stands...

There is another side to this debate, though, and millions of Americans - and Oregonians alike – are expressing their beliefs. Physicians take an oath, a promise, to be totally and completely committed to the healing and care of their patients. Those against physician-assisted suicide could argue that assisting in suicide is a monumental lack of fidelity to their profession and to their patients. The trust factor that once was endeared to them by patients could be severed should a physician choose to perform euthanasia. Oregon law requires terminally ill patients to have psychiatric evaluations prior to approval of physician-assisted suicide, which raises serious concerns since psychiatrists traditionally consider suicide as a drastic symptom stemming from a psychiatric disorder (i.e., schizophrenia, depression). Therefore, one could argue that psychiatrists must go against all they have been trained in order to approve physician-assisted suicide on a patient, and by doing so, they could be doing more harm than good. Physicians are held to a higher standard in patient care as well as an obligation to do no harm, and an argument could be made that assisting in suicide is in reality doing neither. To many, non-maleficent physicians performing physician-assisted suicide are guilty of the ultimate harm to their patients.

Regardless of how you might think on this issue, it takes courage to be involved in such a sensitive, emotional debate. There are several physicians – even in Oregon – committed to saving lives by not assisting in the termination of them, so to do so would take an exorbitant amount of courage.

The ethical theory regarding the opposition of physician-assisted suicide is Deontology. It is black and white; it is non-consequential; it is a “means to an end”. For those who subscribe to this theory, an argument could be that since killing is wrong, and suicide is killing (of oneself), ultimately, suicide is wrong. For this, there are no exceptions, regardless of the consequences.

As you can see, there are multiple ways of viewing and examining this highly delicate topic, and, although legal, there will be countless people – all the way to the U.S. Commander-in-Chief – fighting physician-assisted suicide all the way to the Supreme Court, and right or wrong, there will be an equal amount fighting back.

The Ethics of Euthanasia - Part I

I have written a two-part paper concerning euthanasia and its ethicality. It is intended to to be fair, balanced, and unbiased. Please feel free to comment your opinions on this highly controversial topic. Part II will come in a couple days. Here is Part I:

In the case of physician-assisted suicide, and Oregon’s physician-assisted suicide law in particular, many arguments come to mind - both pro and con - and all have valid, thought-provoking, and emotional elements. From dying patients, family members of the patients, nursing staff and physicians, even to lawmakers and judiciary members, many people have equal yet extremely opposing views toward this topic. Ethical theories prove, as well as several ethical principles vacillate to demonstrate both sides’ opinions. Physician-assisted suicide, although legal in the state of Oregon, is a highly controversial topic which has many sprouted many ethical concerns, including many from former U.S. Attorney General John Ashcroft as well as the current Bush Administration. I will examine some of these arguments, both for and against, in the hope to shed some light on either side of this debate.

In both 1994 and 1997, the people of Oregon voted to approve the Death With dignity Act, which gives terminally ill patients the right to have a physician assist in the termination of their own life by using a dose of lethal medication. These patients must successfully qualify for this to occur; specifically, they must have more than two physicians opinions and all concur their life expectancy is six months or less to live.

Since the late 1990’s, then U.S. Attorney General John Ashcroft unsuccessfully attempted to overturn the law, and in January 2006, the U.S. Supreme Court voted 6-3 against the current George W. Bush Administration’s argument that a federal drug law overrode the Oregon law.

There are several reasons to advocate Oregon’s physician-assisted suicide law. Ultimately, just as the decision lies within the pregnant mother contemplating a legal abortion, the same can be said for a terminally ill patient deciding his or her own fate when contemplating physician-assisted suicide. It is their body and, right or wrong, they should have autonomy over what happens. It is a legal procedure now, and should the patient decide to allow their physician to assist in termination of their life, they have every right to do so under Oregon law.

Nonmaleficence can play a significant factor as well. This is the “do no harm” principle, and proponents of the Oregon law can argue that to subject terminally ill patients to treatment that will do nothing except aid in their prolonged suffering is harmful and unethical. Those in favor of the Oregon law could also argue that beneficence is key to ending their suffering as well. To do unto others as you would have done unto you is a major ethical principle. Countless people say, “If it were me, I’ wouldn’t want to suffer. Just pull the plug.” Whether it is voluntary or involuntary, it is still euthanasia.

It takes extraordinary courage to request (as with patients) or perform (as with physicians) physician-assisted suicide. It is a very controversial topic with significant opposition to it, so to go forward, not only dealing with their issues of mortality but fighting adversity from their opponents is very courageous.

Pro-euthanasia falls under the ethical theory of Teleology, or “the ends justify the means” theory. Proponents will argue that the decision to perform physician-assisted suicide to end a willing patient’s suffering supersedes the fact that many consider it the incorrect and unethical course of action. The physician’s priority is taking care of the patient according to their wishes and under the law, and using the Death With Dignity Act to end their suffering allows the physician to maintain and uphold that priority.

A few more Guatemala photos...

Here are a few more photos from the trip, panoramic style. Hope you enjoy them!!


Rooftop view from Sky Bar in Antigua


Black and white photo from rooftop of hotel


Color view from hotel rooftop


Antiguan calle

Blog tagged

First blog you ever read?

The very first blog I read was Rubber Slippers in Italy. After I made my own, I started clicking on the Next Blog button, and up popped hers. Although temporarily on hiatus, it is a good site, full of awesome photos and even better recipes. She is Hawaiian and lives in, well, Italy. Duh.

What inspired you to start your own?

As most of you know, I am a soon-to-be-published-for-the-first-time author, so I wanted to get my book some exposure, as well as have a medium to keep both my readers/fans up to date on book signings and interviews. I also love photography, travel, and lots of other crap so I thought it would be a good way to expose some of my photos. I also have assloads of goofy stories and a blog is the best way to tell them, because all my friends and family have heard me tell them ad nauseum.

The best and worst about blogging?

Best - The people I have met, and the ability to converse with them...I was utterly surprised how interactive it was. I know that might sound stupid, but literally I had no clue. I thought people had news blogs, or blogs to tell wild sexual stories about their secret trysts and fellating senators.

Worst – I don’t like some of the crazy blogs I have run across. Scary. Creepy. Weird. I’ll never forget once when I was at work and I was pushing the Next Blog button and up pops (sorry, Freudian slip) a couple doing it, exposing all their goods for the world to see. I’m all for the doing it part, but it is a little disconcerting to see a strangers asshole staring at you via a computer screen – especially while you’re at work.

I swear I haven’t been back to that site, I swear.

Who was the first person to comment on your blog?

Well, I had to look back since it was a close race, but the always lovely Janestarr was the first to post, and believe it or not, she has continued to post regularly. She provides the world with great posts herself, as well as wonderful, eloquent comments on numerous other blogs.

What has been your most popular blog entry?

My mullet post was a good one, so I’ll go with that. Man, I miss my wicked cool hair. Say what you want, but back in the day, I pulled the wool with that hair.

If I re-named my blog I would call it ...

I’m Good Enough, I’m Smart Enough, and Doggonnit, People Like Me

If my blog had a theme song it would be ...

The theme from Welcome Back Kotter.

If my blog was a room it would look like ...

My blog is like a cozy den, complete with a built-in wall to wall bookshelf, full of old, musty books; a few old leather lounge chairs worn down just enough; dark, rich hardwood flooring, and the most amazing African rug to cover parts of the flooring, so the girls don't have to walk barefoot on the cold floor. Oh, and a fireplace, crackling and hissing you to sleep, right after your brandy. If you need me, I'll be busy writing at my massive cherry desk, but never too busy for you.
It is the most comfortable place you have ever seen.


Five bloggers I would like to have over for dinner.

Steph and Chickybabe- as long as Steph agrees to make chocolate cake that won’t give us the screaming shits. I could listen to them and their cute Aussie accents all day long. They could insult me and it would sound cool. Go ahead, girls, call me a wanker!

Janestarr – She is just cool. Plus, she’s tall and blonde. :)

Birdie – I love her stories, and I bet with a few drinks on hand she would have us all in stitches.

Coyote Mike – I like his sense of humor. It is wacky and warped and that is why it’s so good.

Two bloggers you would like to set up on a blind date.

Hell, I don’t know! How about Trueborn and Meghan?

Somebody I wish had a blog?

I wish my buddy Brian had one. We have identical senses of humor. He never shaves, and always looks like he just woke up. He has the perpetual five o’clock shadow.

When the rest of the world (and especially our wives) think we are idiots – that is when it is the funniest. That kid is a mess but funny as shit.

If you were only allowed to read one blog ever again, which blog would it be?

wow, that is tough, so I better think on it and get back to it later….

Is there a fellow blogger you would like to snog / shag / do rude things to? Feel free to name names if you're game.

Since I am happily married, hrmm, how about myself? Does that count?

Tag five bloggers to complete this meme.

Steph, Birdie, lil bit, and whoever else I forgot. I think everyone I talk to regularly has already been tagged!

Custodial Engineers we were, and it was sweet

I don’t know about you, but I tend to date the memories of my life up to now by using markers such as: 1987 (year I graduated high school); 1992 (college); 1995 (year I moved to Louisville); and so on. This one is a post-high school memory, and although not very exciting, it still lingers in my cranium as one of the most memorable periods of time in my life.

The place was Burgin, Kentucky, population 1,000, not counting pets. The time, well, it is hard to believe but it was almost 19 years ago. I am only 36, and in the grand scheme of things I am quite young (no comments from you even younger folks), but when I look back at this time of my life it is hard to imagine that so much time has passed since then. I feel like a different person living a completely different life. High school was pretty fun; after high school was when the true fun started, though. After college is when it began to suck for a while, but that it another story I’ll save for another date.

My twin brother and I started working at Burgin High School – our alma mater, immediately after graduation. It was a summer job, a ways and means to achieve a much higher goal – greenback. We were working for the man. It’s not like the work was difficult, though. We would paint the outside of the school, railings, as well as classrooms; strip, mop and wax floors; and strip and varnish the basketball court. We were janitors, custodians, or, what we liked to call ourselves, Custodial Engineers. And it was sweet. Not because we didn’t like the work; I mean, c’mon, who wouldn’t like working for 15 cents over minimum wage? We’d had to have been idiots to refuse prime wages as these. It was sweet because we got to spend a lot of time together before college started (my brother was enrolled in a college a few hours away); it was sweet because we didn’t have too many cares in the world, except for what we were going to do after work; it was sweet because even though our work day started at 6am, we would not get there until 6:30am, and if you counted coffee and cigarette time we wouldn’t start until 7:15am. It was sweet because we were lazy as shit; taking the occasional (i.e., daily) break to nap whilst the other stood guard; it was sweet because the two other custodians were cool to work with and let us get away with bloody well anything; it was sweet because we “worked” from 6ish to 2pm, laid around for a couple hours, ate mom’s excellent dinner, and then proceeded to hang with friends until 1 or 2am, only to repeat the process all over again the next day; it was sweet because even though we were grumpy as hell at 6am, and even began punching each other outside the school one early morning, we got over it in about 10 minutes. After that, we smoked cigs and drink coffee and argued for an hour or so over who kicked whose ass:

Me (inhaling Marlboro reds smoke): Shut up, I kicked your ass!

Bruce (inhaling Winston smoke): Bull shit, I kicked your ass!

Smoke, Argue, Repeat. This tomfoolery went on for about two days.

Even though it sucked to get up early and paint walls or move shelves and eat PB & J every day, it was clearly one of the best summers of my life. Even though we got harassed incessantly by a group of love-struck 14 year-old girls who lived next door, it was a great job. Even though we had no idea at the time it would be some of the most defining days of our lives: One old world had just recently passed, only to graciously make way for a bigger, better one it its place - a world full of a seemingly unending array of choices and even more possibilities than that.

I love my life now, but there’s no telling what I wouldn’t do to relive one day back then, just to smell the small-town, summer air and not have an effin care in the world. I will be content to leave the past where it should be, though, for we all know things cannot be recreated no matter how hard you try.

Bruce and I worked two more summers at Burgin High School and the days started just as early, the pay was just as crappy, the hired help (ahem) was just as lazy, and mostly, the whole process was just as fun, but this one, this summer, was the summer that stood out in a long and ever increasing line of memories flowing about in my stream of consciousness, and, just like a fine wine, those memories tend to get sweeter and sweeter with each passing year.

Olympic Medal Count - I love the Olympics, and not because of the pretty skaters

Shaun White soars to gold over the Alpine mountains.


The Flying Tomato wins GOLD! He looks a little like Carol Burnett, but he can kick ass.


The ski jumping is my favorite:


Amazing.


Janne Ahonen of Finland.


Those Flying Finns are awesome!


Ice Dancer Tanith Belbin (USA)

MEDAL COUNT

TGIF!

I have been very busy at work today, but I thought I'd share one of those "I should have stayed at home" moments I had this morning....
OK, so, this morning I got to work before 8am, and decided to get a cup of coffee. We have one of those coffee deals where you place a pre-packaged cup of coffee in the machine, place your cup underneath, press a button, and - voilà! - out comes the brown elixir of life. Well, I put the coffee pack in, press the button, and am horrified! Somehow, the machine has dispensed hot milk instead of my coffee. What in the Sam Hill is going on here? I immediately accused one of my co-workers with sabotage. She messes with EVERYTHING, so she was the most obvious culprit. I am grossed out and dumbfounded.

I enlist a couple co-workers (an engineer and a physicist) to help me figure out how milk was emitted from the machine. To prove it was milk, I even smelled the fluid-filled coffee cup, as well as pour it out into a clear, plastic container used for water. Yep! It was milk!

(BUZZ!) Wrong.

After about 10 minutes of calculated thinking and deliberations, I remembered that possibly I might have put some non-dairy creamer in the cup prior to pressing the GO button. I also realized I did not put the coffee pack in the machine.

I should have went home at 8:15am.

On a good note, I am suprising my wife with an overnight trip to Chicago next Saturday. I might have a little trouble getting her up at 5am, but I'll deal with that when it comes. We are staying at The Drake Hotel downtown. Maybe sunset drinks at the top of the John Hancock building are in order? Any other ideas, please, please let me know, because I am in need of some. I have only been there once and Jenny hasn't been ever. Should be fun.



I was watching Entertainment Tonight! last night (please, don't judge me) and Madonna is looking rough! So, just out of curiosity, I did a Google'd "Madonna", and came up with this:



This is the Material Girl with makeup.

Wow, that is grim. But it gets worse...

Next, I Google'd "Madonna"+"without makeup", and came up with this:



Have a great weekend, kids.

What is your worst job?

What's your worst job? Ahh, the endless choices – how can I narrow it down to one? Remember that feeling, that rush of adrenalin as you pull your smock or greasy apron over your sweaty brow? That feeling that at that moment anything and everything is possible in life? You could someday work or sleep your way up the corporate ladder and make it to Lead Fry Cook?

I can honestly say I had some (three come to mind) of the shittiest jobs in history. Not the worst, mind you, for never did I scrape road kill of the highway or insert enemas in people’s asses…er, wait, come to think of it I did have a job like that. It was when I performed barium enemas - medical procedures, thank you - so it sounds worse than it really was. Well, that’s what I tell myself anyway.

Here’s a rundown of the Top Three shitty jobs that I’ve had:

Shitty Job #3: Safety Plus – Sales Representative

Sounds good, right? Wrong. It lasted a couple weeks. I worked on commission only; I sold Halon fire extinguishers door-to-door; and to top it off, I had to “invest” $150 in a kit that would help me become a better salesman. What a douche bag I was. The kit mentioned that I should make a list of people I knew and write their names and addresses down. This would be my “sales territory”. Picture this: tight button-down shirt, cheesy, thin 80’s tie, and pants I should have given away to the Salvation Army years earlier. The only thing going for me was my killer hair. It was humiliating. I would lumber up and down familiar streets talking to familiar people about a product that I could give ten shits about. I think the “client base” felt it; I only sold one fire extinguisher, and it was to my grandfather. I never asked but I’m pretty sure he bought it out of guilt.

Shitty job #2: Recruiter, USA Training Academy

This job was an S.O.B. – a dirty S.O.B. at that. In this position, I was in charge of…guess what? Ding, ding, ding! You got it, pardner! Going door-to-door again, only this time I had the dubious honor of attempting to get people enrolled in truck-driving school. As per instructions, I had to go to seedy, lower income neighborhoods and trailer parks to find potential pupils. As horrible as I was as a fire extinguisher salesman I was even worse at this one. Late one afternoon, As I cruised the impoverished streets of central Kentucky I found a house, but not just any house. It belonged to a rumored devil worshiper. Eeks! Should I run or face my mortal fears and knock on the door? Well, I knocked and talked to his dad, who proceeded to inform me the fella was still asleep. Satan worship must take a lot out of a guy, I guess.

I did manage to help one woman’s future, though. Keep on truckin’, Big Mama.

All in all, the job lasted 40 miserable hours; by that first Friday afternoon I’d had it. So, I stopped off at the nearest Shell station I could find, mustered up my saddest voice, and proceeded to call the boss and tell him I had to quit for “personal reasons”. I know, I know, I am an asshead for being so lame, but I still have an amusing story to tell, so all’s well that end’s well.

Shitty job #1: Fry cook/garbage boy/parking lot sweeper/bitch @ HARDEE’S Restaurant

This is my all-time low. After the two previous jobs, I had to find something, anything to make a little cash. I had taken a year off college after doing poorly my freshman year and I was getting desperate. Not so desperate to work at Hardee’s, though, or so I thought. When I applied, I told them I would not work past 5pm and NO WEEKENDS. I was intentionally trying to sabotage my chances of employment, but they must have been more desperate than me because they hired me on the spot. One minor setback: I had to get a haircut. Damnit! The long, cascading brown locks of love were to be snipped off and swept up like yesterday’s trash. Oh well, it was either that or forfeit my $3.35/hour!

Plus, Motley Crue tickets don’t pay for themselves.

Day One was pure, unadulterated hell on Earth. My uni consisted of brown polyester pants, orange-and-plaid polyester shirt, and brown old-man’s cap. The whole outfit was musty and smelled of grease.

Anyway, I was in the back of the store, watching videos on proper ways to fry burgers and French fries when a hugely obese woman shuffles into the training area and begins to vomit in the adjacent garbage can. This can was about 1 foot from my freshly cut hair. It was not pretty. After she stopped, this is what I heard:

“I’m sorry, baby, Big Angie* eats too much. Big Angie always eats too much. I’m so sorry, baby.”

She labels herself Big Angie and talks in the third person to boot. Classic stuff.

Close to the end of my career at Hardee’s, I had a couple more interesting nuggets to share. First, I was in the fry area and I fell on the horrifically unsafe grease-covered tile floor. I hurt my back. For precautions, I was transported to the local ER via ambulance. No big deal, right? Well, it was raining that day, so the EMT placed a sheet over my face to shield me from the rain. Little did I know that as I was getting my x-rays taken at the hospital everybody in a three county radius suspected I was dead, because they saw a covered body on a gurney coming out of the back of Hardee’s. I am not making this up.

Finally, I was sweeping up cigarette butts off of the parking lot when some dick drove by and flicked a lit cigarette at me, then tells me “Hey buddy, you missed one!” He and his red Camaro then peel out onto the street in a cloud of dust and burnt rubber. If I could have caught up with him I’d have pulled him out of his shithole car by his curly-permed hair and taken him behind the woodshed for a good old-fashioned ass beating - Kentucky style. I swear a buddy and me are going to collect all of our humiliating moments (which are a boatload) and create a movie script. He have talked this crap for years and one day we will stop being so lazy.

It was here where I had an epiphany: I was going back to school. I had had damn near enough.

Moral to these stories: STAY IN SCHOOL, KIDS.

Now, tell me in your own words, what is your worst job? This isn't a tag or anything, but I still demand all of you to do it.

P.S. More Guatemala pics soon.

* Big Angie is a pseudonym. Although she did self-appoint herself “Big”; Angie is the pseudonym.

I changed it to protect her identity. Plus, there is no way in Hell I am going back to Hardee's to request permission.

The row over Muhammad cartoons....I am alarmed and suprised

This is scary. Normally I do not discuss politics or serious societal issues but after watching the events the past few days over I feel compelled to. These photographs are in lieu of a few cartoons. What? Did I read this correctly?

Deaths in Afghanistan, destruction of multiple Danish consulates, burning of flags, calling for extermination of those who insult Islam…all over a few cartoons? Now, unless I am way off target, I think this is utterly ridiculous. I do not have a vast knowledge of Islam, and since my background is vastly different than theirs, it would be unfair to try to see this from their perspective. I was raised in a small, predominantly Baptist, Kentucky town yet I never really attended church until I decided to go on my own around 14 years of age. After that, I went to Catholic and Lutheran churches off and on, mainly settling on Lutheran, where my wife and I attend pretty regularly. I am from America, the country who is the world’s only superpower; the country who is the world’s largest playground bully; the country who the majority of the world loves, hates, and cannot live without all at the same time. I am not Muslim. I did not grow up Muslim. I did not grow up in a Muslim country. I have read some of the Koran, simply out of curiosity, yet I am not a scholar by any means. All these things are true, yet I can see why these cartoons are offensive to Muslims. It is offensive to them mainly because according to Islamic law there should be no depictions of Muhammad, not to mention it is insulting to Muslims. But to me, the calling for “Massacre those who insult Islam” over a cartoon is even more offensive, not to mention downright scary. Condemn the cartoons, call them blasphemous, ridiculous, abhorrent (which they are), but your point is lost when you kill innocent people, or call for the deaths of those insulting your religion, or destroy buildings. It merely exposes the lunatics you are.

I realize these people are on the Islamic fringe, but whether it is the West’s fault, the Middle East’s fault, or an amalgam of both, the fringe is ever-increasing. Protesters over the weekend weren’t a couple Muslims doing a peaceful protest on their lunch break – there were THOUSANDS of them, mad as hornets, destroying property and killing people. Those holding those massacre, exterminate and annihilate signs don’t live in a warring Middle East country, either; they live in England. Here is a quote from an angry female protester:

"We have to defend our prophet otherwise Allah will punish us. We will not accept this ridicule." Wow.

Here are a few more posters from the London mob on Friday:

“Behead the one who insults the prophet”

“Freedom go to hell” (shown above)

“Europe: Your 9/11 will come”

I am not doing any Muslim bashing here, but I do have to ask a question: Do they really think Allah will punish them if they don’t defend Muhammad? In order to avoid potential death they in turn request the deaths of those who create controversial cartoons? Religiously insensitive or offensive cartoons do not warrant the deaths of innocent people, the vandalizing of government offices, and the calling for massacres of infidels. Robert Mapplethorpe created a piece of art once which involved a crucifix in a mason jar of urine, and, while thoroughly offensive and ridiculous to most people, mainly Christians, art lovers, and those with good taste, from what I recall no riots ensued at any art galleries.*** I have also seen offensive cartoons and heard offensive speech toward Christians yet have not heard of any mobs rioting in the streets because of it. Personally, I have been offended by things I have seen in the papers or on TV, but I use self-restraint and choose to ignore it. They believe differently than I and more power to them. I do not feel the need to burn down buildings or threaten decapitation to show how strongly I feel about something. In my opinion, there is something very sinister behind such behavior.

The mentality they possess over their religion is scary. I give a lot of these people credit for trying to stick to tradition (i.e., Iran banning Western music), but enough already. I find it hard to listen to people who ban Ashley Simpson because she is purporting the work of the devil yet have grandfathers order their sons to put their sons to death for having sex prior to marriage. Believe me, it happens.

Now, I know this may seem like a generalization on my part, but trust me when I say it is not. I know a few Muslims and they are very nice people. I also believe there are millions of Muslims who are embarrassed to say these protesters are enveloped under the same religion. This argument is directed to the Islamic fringe discussed earlier.

These are some sick, sick people. The world is becoming even more unstable with each passing day and I don’t like it. It makes me glad to live in America and yet it makes me feel targeted at the same time. Europe: Your 9/11 will come? And they wonder why so many people consider them the enemy.

*** Sorry, my mistake, it was actually Andres Serrano who did the controversial "art" and I don't think it was a mason jar, either. My memory on this topic was a little off.

Mapplethorpe was a weirdo as well, though.

!Ay, Papi! - Guatemala Day II

Old Spanish style cathedral, now in ruins.

“!Ay, Papi!” This is what a carload of attractive Guatemalan mujeres jóvenes said to me on Day II. They drove by, smiled, and said this to me as I stared at them in awe. Well, more like confusion, since I had no clue what they said. One of the Guatemalan guys with us came back to me and told me it meant something along the lines of “Hey, baby!” or “Hey, Daddy!” Either way, I felt like a piece of meat. I loved it.

The entire trip everyone in our group kept saying to me: “!Ay, Papi!” to me. And, yes Chickybabe, if you are reading this, this was a BIG male ego boost. Heh heh heh
They also mentioned how "muy grande" I was, since I could use the typical Guatemalan as an armrest.

***Here’s a brief rant concerning Day I in Guatemala - one that I forgot to mention. Actually it is several rants bundled together, mostly tongue-in-cheek for your amusement, but they are assembled here today because I hope there are at least a couple people who feel the same. Or, there are people who are as nutty as me. Here goes:

Airplane rant 1. I am a bit of a germaphobe and I am quite sensitive to smells, so contrary to popular belief, the inhalation of noxious, unruly, eye-stinging body odor and ghastly perfumes, as well as being coughed on, sneezed on, burped on, or farted next to when I am attempting to eat my leathery chicken and soggy rice are not things I look forward to while flying the unfriendly skies.
Whew, I got tired just by typing that.
My God, I realize there isn’t a hell of a lot we can do with this, but if you have flatulence or some other GI disorder that propels stink from you please do all you can to rid yourselves of this PRIOR to boarding. I was trying to talk to my wife and I think I had a mini-stroke due to the horrific odor that crept up aside us. Honestly, a punch in the testicles couldn’t have stung worse.

Airplane rant 2. I am a thirsty guy; I enjoy libations of both the kiddie and adult crowd. What can I say - I like my juice boxes and beer! Not necessarily together, though (Sorry, I am derailing off topic).
Anyway, I want to have more than a shot glass’ worth of liquid to wash down a full meal! So, I ask the Flight Attendant for a drink – not just a small glass of drink, but the entire canister of drink – and I get a look. What the? Are you effing serious? You are giving me a look? I pay your salary, hun! I felt like George Castanza as I daydreamed the complete conversation in my mind:

Me (idiotically): “Hey lady, I am the King of looks! If anyone is gonna give a look, it’s gonna be me! Not you, sister!”

Flight Attendant (sardonically): “OK, OK, sir, it’s not me who’s gonna give a look – it is you who’s gonna give a look. You are the King of looks.”

Me (proudly): “Your damn right, it’s me! And, don’t you forget it!”

The Flight Attendant (proudly) then proceeds to pour my ginger ale into a tiny glass and walk away, failing to leave the rest of the can.

Me (mumbling silently): Bitch.

Airplane rant 3. I am 6’4”, and about 220 lbs, so I require a little more than a milk crate sized seat on an airplane. On top of that, I get to sit behind the guy who needs a nap the same time my “drink” is served to me, so he drops his seat back (as well as his large, bulbous head) and practically crushes my legs with the seatback. My knees are still hurting from the return flight because of this trauma. I feel like a clown in a Volkswagen beetle when I sit down on a plane. I realize you are a business and more seats equates to more money, but for Pete’s sake, have a heart and equip your planes with at least a couple seats that will comfortably hold a passenger of my size! I realize there are only a few passengers per flight who require more room. I am at a loss, though, because unlike obese flyers who need to purchase two seats, I cannot purchase more leg room, because God knows I would. Sorry Delta, but I’m not a dwarf. *

* No disrespect to dwarves, midgets, little people, elves, and of course, hobbits.

Am I being difficult or is flying one of the most stressful things a human can do?***

Now, back to GUATEMALA DAY II:

The weather was still warm yet a little overcast, and after breakfast (which consisted of fresh breads, fruit, yogurt, cereals, freshly squeezed orange juice, coffee, tea, and homemade marmalades) we trekked to the Parque Central. There are 4 main roads in Antigua, and as mentioned it is laid out in a grid pattern. The 4 mains form the outside edges of the Parque Central, and from there a multitude of packed side streets jut off from either side, all every block or so. The tough yet exciting thing about a town like Antigua is that is easy as hell to get lost in, because most every street looks the same, and they are not widely marked. The ones that are marked are all marked 1a, 2a, 3a, etc. Some of the ones that are marked at least have the dirección labeled: norte, sur, oriente, y poniente (north, south, east, and west).

We shopped and haggled with the Mayans, tested out some local food, and that evening, we went to a Peruvian restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. Enough of me rambling, though, here are some pictures. Take close at the picture below that is of me and my wonderful and beautifulm and obviously patient wife (it was early as well so we were still very tired). I made her join in the photo-op.

Carefully look over my right shoulder and you will see why I am smiling. :)

Awwww...What a cute couple. Wait! Hey, statue
lady, what are you squeezing on my shoulder?


I tried go get him to say "!Hola!"
but he just kept saying "ass face".
Guess he knows English.


Antiguan archway.


Cerro de la Cruz, literally, Hill of the Cross. From here
can overlook Antigua and the area for miles and miles.


Fantastic 11-man Marimba band performing at
the rehearsal dinner.


~More will come soon, my friends~