Sleep, sleep my darlings

Hey everybody! Overall, the book signing was a total success. I signed and sold every copy the bookstore had in stock (15 copies). Actually, most of them were sold in the first 1/2 hour! I will be in Lexington, Kentucky this Friday evening from 7pm-9pm, at the Barnes and Noble in Hamburg Pavillion off Man-O-War Road.
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I have a sleep study tonight, which is truly one of the few things in life that is as un-fun as it sounds. The photo above illustrates what I will be looking like tonight, only I am not Chinese...or female...and the lights will be off. So you can disregard it, because that photo does a real shitty job of illustrating what I will look like tonight - tonight, I may remind you, as all of you will be sleeping comfortably in the cozy confines of your beds or the bed of some stranger you picked up at your local watering hole.

I had one in May, ordered because I am always exhausted in the mornings, had a bit o'heart palpitations. They think it is all related to my nocturnal breathing. I am writing all of this to you for lots and lots of sympathy. Here's the gist of the test:

I go into the lab and change to sleeping attire. Then, I have bundles of wires and electrodes (close to 50 or so electrodes) hooked up to me - this is what I am supposed to sleep in. I have to stay on my back for the duration of the night.

Last time, I had a boatload of weird dreams, most of them involving me and the sleep lab I was currently sleeping in. I was rubbing some strange woman's foot; I had a person break into the room I was sleeping in and try to rob me; and another one in which I escaped the sleep lab via the elevator of the one-story building.

I also had a bunch of sleep apnea episodes, most of which caused arousals........of sleep......not the kind most of you pervs are imagining. That is what I thought, though. Instead, it means I am being forced awake by my lack of proper breathing. Of course, when the tall, attractive sleep doctor came in to the exam room last Friday and starting talking about how many arousals I had through the of the night, I thought "Oh, Lord, kill me now". I was prepared to tell her I really had to pee and it wasn't my fault!

If all goes well, I will be out of there by 5am and heading home to clean up and go to work. How fun does that sound? Feel sorry for me yet?

Why? Why? Why?

Marsha, Marsha, Marsha! There is a seemingly unending list of questions in our universe, most of them unanswered to the lot of us. I know not the answers, young Jedis, so sage or wiseman I claim not to be. Instead, I have a few new ones to go along with some of the unanswered questions as old as time itself. If you have any knowledge on any of these post them here for the world (or at least all of my readers) to see. Here goes:

1. Why is a promiscuous guy considered a stud, when a promiscuous girl is a slut?*
2. Why are odd, rich people considered eccentric, yet odd, poor people are just weirdoes?
3. If Jimmy cracks corn, and no one cares, why is there a song about it?
4. Has anyone EVER seen a No. 1 pencil?
5. If 1 out of 5 people suffer from an STD, does that mean the other 4 people enjoy their STD’s?**
   
6. Are tornadoes really attracted to trailerparks, or is God a bigot?
7. When fat people swim naked, why isn’t it called “fat-dipping”?
8. If practice makes perfect, and yet nobody’s perfect, then why bother?
9. Why do we drive on a parkway and park on a driveway?
10. Why do women throw their panties on stage, but men never throw boxer shorts?
11. If rhetorical questions have no answer, why again do we bother asking them?
12. Why is the Pope the only guy who can wear a hat in church and it not be considered rude?
13. Why does the word "lisp" have an "s" in it, when we know good and well people with lisps cannot pronounce it? Was that a cruel, albeit funny, joke?

I had several more, but I drank a little last night and forgot them. I am sure I’ll remember them laying/lying in bed tonight, only to forget them again tomorrow.

* On this topic, I really don't care, mainly because I am a guy, but to be sensitive to my female readers, I put this on the top of the list.

** Simulated conversation of 5 sexually active people discussing STD's:

Sally: I have herpes. (sobs)
Jimmy: I have the clap...High five!
Paul: I have genital warts. I could kill that b-tch; I wanted gonorrhea.
Allie: I got crabs from a toilet seat in a truck stop off I-75! Mama always said I would be successful!
Carmen: Whoo hoo! I just found out from the health clinic that I have syphillis! Party time!

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I heard some startling news coming out of Ohio this morning. It seems legislation is being sent through trying to make strip clubs, and, more importantly, lap dancing, illegal. This is also coming from the same legislation outlawing gay marriages. I say let the gays get married. They should be as miserable as the rest of us!

Seriously, why make lap dancing illegal? I do not frequent those sorts of establishments, but I hardly see the illegality in all of it. Try cleaning up drugs, murders, rapes, thefts, vandalism, child abuse, etc. Then, if lap dancing still seems so bad, go after the tassels and thongs.
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I have another book signing this weekend! Yeah! It will be held Saturday, July 29th, 2006, at Barnes and Noble Booksellers, located at Newport On The Levee, in Newport, Kentucky. Times are 2pm-4pm. Hope some of you can make it! I’ll have candy!

Watch out, Zidane, here comes barry

I have come to the conclusion that I have a death wish or something - that, or I was dropped on my head as a child - but regardless of the reasons why, I will be playing in a soccer (football, for all of my non-American friends) league this time next week. I say death wish because:

1. I am out of shape
2. Soccer requires lots of running, which being in shape helps out with - a lot
3. I haven't ever played soccer before
4. Knowing how to play soccer helps out when playing soccer - a lot
5. I am 6'4" and 230 pounds, which, to most small, in shape, fast soccer players equates to "kick it away from the fat ass!"
6. I am out of shape

Now, knowing good and well that I signed up for soccer league, you would have thought that I would have gone out and kicked the footy around a bit; that, and/or not have a half-dozen or more frappuccinos from various coffee establishments around the area within the past week or so. The unbelievable thing about this little tangent is that I have successfully avoided paying for any of these cool, sugary coffee drinks. I swear I have lost count, but I think it has been 7 or 8 coffee drinks I have somehow managed to get free in the past month. Why, before this past month, I don't think I have bought 8 frappuccinos in my life! Note to self: This might explain why my pants aren't as loose as they used to be in June. I have no control over myself when it comes to these things as of late, and I better get a grip or I will be vomiting on the faux grass as well as sucking wind next week.

I think this soccer thing will help me out in the long run, though, what with all the running. I also have been doing some bike riding lately, and I plan on (hopefully) do a triathlon within the next year (I also hoped to be an astronaut as a child, so we'll see where it leads).

But first, one step at a time, and from watching the World Cup, soccer requires a lot of stepping. Maybe I could just be the goalie? Now, that's an idea. Stand around for most of the game, and try my best to avoid them from scoring when they kick it to me. Oh, and I might get to wear those cool-looking gloves. Chicks dig soccer players, because they have great hair, are in shape - and weird. Since I have no hair and not in shape, I can at least be one of the three. That will attract the fans (read in: trampy women) fo sho.

So, from now on, I am dropping my last name, and will only be referred to as "barry". I'll even keep it lower case to be more enigmatic. There's no doubt in my mind that by season's end, I'll have a whole gaggle of scantily-clad soccer trolls, fighting tooth and nail to buy me my post-footy, iced-coffee drink.

Yeah, that sounds nice.

A little warning for potential thieves - we will find you

Hey! Just to let all of you know, I will be at the Borders Books and Music in Crestview Hills, Kentucky this Saturday from 2pm-4pm. It is in the Crestview Hills Towncenter, located a few miles south of downtown Cincinnati. Hope you all can attend! I also have a copy of my radio interview and I am working on getting it available to listen on here; as of yet, I am still unsuccessful. Now, onto my rant...
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As I was driving into work this morning, I passed a guy on a bicycle, and I thought of something from my past that instantly angered me. Before I go any further though, I suppose I should backtrack a little and give you a little history. ...

I was fifteen, a quick -witted country boy with no means of transportation. My brother Bruce, and all our friends, would work mowing lawns or other odd jobs in order to save our funds to buy something, something all of us so desperately wanted to attain: a 12-speed racing bicycle. All of us were under sixteen years old, where like the rest of the country Kentucky is on par with in getting our drivers license. Normally, we prided ourselves in being at least 8-10 years behind any trends in society or rules of law, but somehow this one slipped through the cracks. Anyway, we all got our bikes, and the list of brands we purchased were like a Tour de France: Nishiki, Raleigh, Cannondale, Trek. Mine was a black Motobecane Mirage, and, even back then, it cost me $260. That was 20 years ago, friends. Nowadays, it would cost $500-$700. I loved that bike - it was totally awesome. We went damned near everywhere on those things, and since we lived in the country, traffic wasn't as much of a concern, so our parents felt safe in letting us go. Plus, it got them off the hook in driving us all over God's creation. Most importantly, we bought them ourselves, with our own money. for a fifteen year-old, that is saying something.
After we got our drivers licenses, the bikes to a back seat, but I still held on to it like it were my child. Everywhere I lived, it was there. Then, on Thanksgiving Day in 1997, I came home from eating dinner with my girlfriend's family, and noticed my basement door opened. My storage shed was ajar, and I got a horrible feeling. I gingerly walked over to see and all my fears were solidified - my bike, my pride and joy, was gone.

I have my suspicions who took this bike, and to this day, if I ever get the chance to perform a beat-down of massive proportions on this certain individual, I will not hesitate to do so. If you are reading this, and you know who you are, karma will catch up with you someday, hopefully in the form of my fist knocking several teeth out. I'm sure all your drugs you have taken in the past have caused extreme softening of your gums, so it really shouldn't take much effort.

Hopefully, none of you have ever had anything stolen, and although it might be a little unhealthy in me still being aggravated by it, it is hard to overcome. Whenever I see someone riding a nice road bibycle, I just can't help but remember all those fun, good teenage memories that my bike gave me; the bike that I worked so damn hard for, and some idiot selfishly took away.

On Thanksgiving, remember.

Partying like a rock star...an invalid, aging one that is..

I better, since I have one! Even though this photo hasn't a damn thing to do with anything, I liked it so I took a photo of it while perusing through Target with Jenny.

The title of the post pretty much sums up the weekend for me. After the Friday interview (which lasted 5-7 minutes and went very well), I drove around my old Louisville stomping ground and ogled at the honeys I saw. I ate dinner, then went home. Saturday, I drove back to the Ville, went to the book signing, which also went well, and then on to a favorite Irish pub of mine in a cool part of town. Sunday consisted of hanging out with friends at their new house in the boonies. We had Korean food and hung out with our/their dogs. We know how to do it up right, don't we? I partied so hard I almost forgot to take my Gerotol.

All in all, it was a good weekend. I have been a little under the weather, and that, aside that I have been busy both at work as well as preparing for a lecture tomorrow evening (I have to teach MRI physics to a group of Radiation Dosimetry students), I have been unable to post. But never fear! I will be back tomorrow or Friday wil loads of useless nuggets a la Barry Style.

Since I have a horrible stomach ache, give me some love. And that means you, too, anita!

Weekly Liner Notes

The guy on the left is none other than Terry Meiners, host of the Terry Meiners Show on 84-WHAS am. He will be the one interviewing me around 4pm EST this Friday (July 7, 2006). The guy on the right is Rick Pitino, coach of the Louisville Cardinals (for you, Trav, ole buddy). He normally doesn't wear gray, velour leisure suits, but since he heard of my being interviewed, he thought it would be best to dress up a little for the photo. Please listen if you can. Hopefully, I won't slur my words or sound like a complete jackass, or talk about anything inappropriate such as bowel movements, farting, or incontinence. Well, maybe farting, because farting is funny. Also, the book signing is Saturday, June 8, 2006 at Barnes and Noble in Louisville, KY. I will have photos and stories next week.

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Now, onto my rant. Advertising and commercials are so annoying, aren't they? Nowadays that most times I just mute the tv or skip over the page if it has an ad on it. One I saw this weekend is pretty bad - almost as bad as all those ridiculous herpes medication commercials, you know, the ones where everybody is good-looking and annoyed because their previous herpes medication forces them to swallow a pill twice a day. I'll never forget the one lady who said, "Take pills two times a day? I have a life." You are too busy to take 2 measly pills a day? You mean to tell me you cannot take, what, like 15 seconds out of your busy day sexing up the community, spreading your herpes willy nilly, to take your medication? C'mon.
The newest one is for Camel Wides. Camel cigarettes now have created the super cigarette. They should cater to the consumers who are looking for more tar and nicotine than most regular-sized smokes. They use the slogan, "Big. Fat. Delicious.", but if they were smart, they should have come up with slogans like, "More carcinogens per pack than in most regular-sized cartons!" Or, "Try new Camel Wides - perfectly sized for your trach hole!" Finally, "Eliminate nicotine stained fingertips with new Camel Wides...Now you can have your entire hand stained!"
Now, maybe it's just me, but they should get rid of all those plastic, phoney-baloney actors for their ads and commercials. Screw the ruggedly handsome Marlboro Man and hot go-getters with nary an unsightly blemish. From now on, I'd like to see real people on commericals like these. Real people with mammoth, purulent fever blisters the size of dinner plates, and gnarly, jagged, brown, stained teeth. Oh, and phlegm, lots of phlegm.
Now, that'd sell.