THE FICTION SCRIBE

Is that the lead singer from Survivor?

2006-09-26T12:45:00.000-04:00

Real Men of Genius, indeed. I swear if there are better, more hilarious commercials on TV and radio, I have yet to see/hear them. Over the weekend, I was listening to football on Sirius radio (perfect marketing, since males would thing these goofy, ridiculous commecials were funny) and a classic came on:

http://thefuntimesguide.com/audio/Bud_Light_Real_Men_of_Genius_Mr_Hair_Gel_Overgeller.mp3

Streams of Barq's Red Cream soda shot out of my nostrils as I listened to it, carefully trying to remember the bit in order to recite it verbatim to people. Of course, I didn't do it any sort of justice. Then, today, as I sat in the orthopaedic dorcor's office, I came up with a good one. Since Beth The Westie is a radio gal, maybe I could collaborate with her to create our own version. I'm sure she sings well.

I'll keep you posted, but in th emeantime, here's a link to more of the commericals!! Just don't drink any liquids while listening to them…..

http://thefuntimesguide.com/movabletype/archives/2004/10/bud_light_real.html

They don't call it La La Land for nothing...

2006-09-14T10:57:00.000-04:00

Well folks, I have been away for what seems like a dog's year, and I appreciate all the kind words everybody wrote. The past three weeks (vacation aside) has been less that stellar, to say the least, but I don't want to bore you with all that. I want to tell you all about my trip to beautiful San Diego! Yeah!

It is truly one of the best places I have ever seen. We visited the San Diego Zoo, Coronado Island, Gaslamp Quarter - it was all great. Weather was great, my lovely wife was great. As mentioned in the above picture, she catered to my every need just as a good wife is expected to. I was never arms length away from a cool drink or some other form of comfort.

Los Angeles was weird and kooky. The weirdest moment came when driving down Sunset Boulevard and seeing a homeless guy at a bus stop with his genitalia hanging completely out. Another weird LA moment came when I was buying some freshly squeezed orange juice at a farmers market and a hooker on a bicycle rode past and began to violently shake her butt cheeks at me. Thank God she didn't hit my arm; there isn't enough Purell in the world to cleanse that stain.

NOTE: WE WILL BE IN "THE PRICE IS RIGHT" STUDIO AUDIENCE ON TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19TH!!!!!! LOOK FOR THE BIG GOOFY GUY WITH A BLUE "KENTUCKY" SHIRT, AND THAT'D BE ME.

Pics to come soon.....Holla!

I'm Baacckkkk!

2006-09-06T14:56:00.000-04:00

Howdy all,

I have returned from San Diego/Southern California and let me tell ya it was wild. We weren't wild, though, because we are boring, but we still encountered some stuff nonetheless. I got in at 3am last night and awoke to more family drama, but I'll be back tomorrow with a complete report!
Plus, I will begin making my rounds to everybody's sites again. Sorry it has been a crazy two weeks, but your ole buddy is back and ready to go!

Holla!

A Tribute to a young friend

2006-08-28T09:10:00.000-04:00

Hello friends,

I am sorry for not being around so much lately, but as you might have noticed through the title, we have had a death in our circle. My oldest step-daughter's best friend - a young, vibrant, sweetheart of a girl - passed away a couple days ago after complications from surgery.

She was only 16 years old.

The funeral and memorial will be today. She was loved by many, especially my step-daughter. They had been the best of friends since they were 5, meeting on the cusp of a new and exciting time for them - kindergarten. Boy, I'll never forget my kindergarten days, lying in the sun on my blanket for an afternoon nap, as it beamed in through the windows straight from heaven itself. I can only imagine what this young girl's family and friends are going through.

It pains me as well as makes me smile to know that her last vacation was with us, as we loaded up the family truckster and headed to Hilton Head, SC in mid-June. While there, she casually mentioned something about surgery over the summer, but would be ready to go by fall for highschool. Sadly, this would not come to pass.

She passed away on the eve of the first day of her junior year.

Instead of her friends babbling on about boys and the new people in school, they will be wearing black and crying until it feels they will never stop. On top of this, we will be going on a planned vacation this Wednesday, so I probably won't be posting too much until I return. Please know I appreciate all your kinds words you may write, and I will catch up as soon as I return.

Friends, if you believe in prayer, or even in you don't, I ask on this day that you look up into the sky and say a kind word or two for a fallen friend, daughter, and sister; for a girl who hadn't even begun to live her life yet lived it everyday; for a girl who should be in Algebra class right as we speak, instead of her final resting place.

She will be sorely missed.

Where's Chuck Woolery when you need him?

2006-08-23T12:00:00.000-04:00

Well, leave it to the WB to make some of the God-awfullest* programming on television. So I sat, last night, bored as can be, and I see my daughter has taped “Elimidate”. Out of morbid curiosity, I decided to give it a shot. I was shocked at the levels of stupidity, arrogance, and whoreishness on this show. The premise, for those who haven’t seen it, is a contestant of genetically marginal material is picked and goes on a date with 4 members of the opposite sex, finally narrowing their choice to only one person to go share DNA with. And these contestants aren’t future rocket scientists like BV, either. One guys’ main criteria for his perfect mate wasn’t good morals or ethics or even intelligence – it was being a good kisser. In the end, he got what he asked for – and more.

Here’s a scenario:

Idiot guy: Hi ladies, my hobbies are playing with big boobs and listening to Def Leppard. So, what are your hobbies?

Dumb girl #1: Heh heh! My name’s Amber! My hobbies are donating my eggs and fighting deadly diseases, like glaucoma, and bad breath.

Dumb girl #2: My hobbies are fellatio and guessing people’s age and weight at the fair! Oh, and Amber, you’re a b-tch, and you’re ugly., and I cannot believe people pay for YOUR eggs.

Dumb Girl #3: My hobbies are looking at myself in the mirror. Oh, and fellatio.

There was much more, but I’ll spare you the details. It never ceases to amaze me how a person (Dumb Girl #2) can actually make fun of a person for donating their eggs and misspell “OB/GYN”, yet have the wherewithal too bump and grind and play tonsil hockey with a stranger on national TV. The idiot actually spelled it “OBGOYNN”. I wouldn’t be shocked in th eleast to hear these people have been contacted by the Eugenics Council to enter their forced sterilization program.

After the show ended, I honestly considered suing WB to either return the hour I just lost or prepare for a long and costly trial. But then, I realized why this show is actually on the air, and more importantly, how this show can be improved in order to increase ratings. Instead of having the contestants, after they have been eliminated, simply make their hollow jibe and leave, they need to kick it up a notch. Here goes:

1. Being cut first has to be unbelievably humiliating, so, to help with their bruised egos, I propose that the 1^st Round loser simply take a detour on their way home, stop in the local bar, and drink themselves to a irreversible coma. Then, let nature do the rest.

2. 2^nd Round loser be sentenced to orderly work at a nursing home for a month, and not some clean, sanitary place, but one of those bottom-feeder ones where the poor people keep unhealthy layers of spittle and feces encrusted on themselves for weeks on end. I guarantee Elimidate will be a far off memory by the time they change their first MRSA-riddled adult diaper.

3. 3^rd and Final round losers will have the option of having their eyes gouged out with dull pencils or be forced to watch a 48-hour Pauly Shore marathon (I’d take my chances on the pencils).

4. And, finally, for the “winner” of Elimidate, they should have the option of either death or proceed with the date. I have made the former an option in the rare case someone has enough sense to choose this.

Now, with improvements like these, how can it not be a good show?

*Not sure if that is a word - I guess I could be Elimidate material after all.

He's a loathsome, offensive weenie, yet I cannot look away

2006-08-21T13:07:00.000-04:00

Look at that gristly photo - I've seen better necks than that on chickens at Kroger. I must admit, I have recently joined the JonBenet story bandwagon, mostly because like seeing a car accident transpire, I know I should not be looking but I cannot turn away. Plus, that John Mark Karr is hands down one of the oddest, weirdest people ever to have been born. Just looking at him sends me into a fit of rage, yet there I am, like a love-sick school girl, mesmerized by the story of this sweaty, slimy, hairless pervert and his odd enganglement of events. It looks like his head is 6 sizes too large for his body, and Sweet Lord what a grill! That smile of his, exposing an array of teeth - double rows of them even. He makes me nauseous simply by looking at him. Just to show how unusual he is:

1. He married a 12 year-old when he was 18.
2. Said 12 year-old divorced HIM a year later. Wow.
3. He married a 16 year-old when he was 21.
4. He has discussed sex-change operations.
5. He has had facial hair permentantly removed to prepare for said operation.
6. He buttons his top button of his shirt.
7. He pulls his pants up to his navel area.
8. When found in Thailand, he was not wearing a belt.

And these are the best qualities!

Anyway, there isn't a doubt in my mind that this guy, if found guilty, won't last a month in prison. Just watching the Thai police manhandle him like he were one of those geeks in Sixteen Candles was shocking, because the last time I checked, Thais weren't known for their manly men. I have held the notion that Thailand mostly consists of transient whoremongers, trannys and horny prostitutes with nether regions chock full o' STD's. Hell, he probably won't survive too well in L.A. County jail much less real prison, especially after the 5-star treatment he received on the flight over. No more pate and fried prawns where you are going, buddy! I might even start looking for online betting services that will take bets on the duration of his prison "stay". You know me - I hate to waste an opportunity to make a little money, especially on someone else's fate.

Even if he is innocent of this crime they should lock him up for just being a creep.

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To lighten things up a little, here are some simple home remedies for naturally occurring problems in the home. I didn't think of them, but wish I had:

1. If you are choking on an ice cube, don't panic. Simply pour a cup of boiling water down your throat, and, Presto! The blockage will be almost instantly removed.

2. Clumsy? Avoid cutting yourself while slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold them while you chop away.

3. Avoid arguments with the Mrs. about lifting the toilet seat by simply using the sink.

4. For high blood pressure sufferers: simply cut yourself and bleed for a few minutes, thus reducing the pressure in your veins. Remember to use a timer.

5. A mouse trap, placed on top of your alarm clock, will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep after you hit the snooze button.

6. If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives. Then, you will be afraid to cough.

7. Sometimes, we just need to remember what the rules of life really are: You only need two tools - WD-40 and duct tape. If it doesn't move and should, use the WD-40. If it shouldn't move and does, use the duct tape.

It's "Mr. Kentucky Born Ahole.net" to you

2006-08-15T13:54:00.000-04:00

The picture is completely unrelated...I just thought it was funny.

I hate to talk about a topic which is very similar and related to a recent post, but in a way this rant will be completely unrelated, so nevermind. As I was surfing the net at work today during my multi-hour task avoidance period, I stumbled upon an odd story, to say the least. It seems three people employed at PETA (People for the ~~Eating of Tasty~~ Ethical Treatment of Animals) recently decided to change their names to PETA-affiliated websites. Yes, you read that right. I can appreciate sticking to your convictions, but what kind of crazy do you have to be to LEGALLY change your name to "Mr. Kentucky Fried Cruelty.com"? The other two people legally changed their names to "GoVeg.com" and "Ringling beats animals.com." Wow.
But as kooky as that story was, I was more shocked by this next one. The PETA story wasn't too odd, mainly because we all know vegetarians are kooks anyway (kidding, just wanted to see if you were still reading at this point). In Vietnam, a 19 year-old young man finally got his name changed. His father, obviously insane, named the poor bastard, Fined Six Thousand and Five Hundred - in reference to the amount he was forced to pay in local currency for ignoring Vietnam's two-child policy. Following his dad's line of thinking, he switched it to Golden Dragon. What's next for his younger sister, Miss Me-So-Horny?
So, in lieu of the recent name-changing fad, as the title states, I want you all to start calling me "Mr. Kentucky Born Ahole.net" from now on. I ran "The Big D-ck Daddy from Cincinnati.org" past my wife last night and got nothing; I took her silence as an emphatic hell no. Then, I threw out "Mr. Kentucky Born Ahole.net" , and got the reply "That's more you, honey."

A new name was born.

I will soon be integrating a Prince-like symbol for my new name; God only knows what it will look like, but with a last name like Ahole.org, I have a couple of ideas.

Oh Brother, Where art thou infirmary?

2006-08-10T14:01:00.000-04:00

Tuesday night, I had my second indoor soccer match. Let me remind you, I signed up for a beginner league, all-male, 25 years and older. Our first game was against a team that called themselves a "Bunch of Accountants"; in reality, they were former college soccer players - some at pretty reputable universities. This past game, we played a local high school team where the goalie as a girl and the median age was 15. They ran circles around me, literally. Here is a list of injuries I sustained:
1. multiple shin contusions
2. Twisted ankle
3. Twisted knee
4. Hit in the groin with a soccer ball from 15 feet away

I kid you not, after that last one occurred, I went down like a sack of feed corn. It was so painful, my unborn children felt that blow . To top it all off, some fat guy in the stands (why people come to watch us I have no clue) was supposedly making disparaging remarks about my soccer skills (or lack thereof). C'mon, you fat b-stard! I'll kick your butt in basketball three ways from Thursday! I have no idea what that means, but it proves I am serious!!

I am starting to think mgc is right by saying, "What the hell do you think you are doing playing soccer - especially at your age?" I should have listened to you, buddy.

It's a wonder we weren't killed

2006-08-07T10:01:00.000-04:00

Spending time over the weekend with some old friends of mine (Trav, Katie, Missy, and Michelle) got me to thinking about some of the ridiculous things we all did as teenagers. We are all lucky adults, considering some of the stunts we pulled, some of the people we associated with, some of the ass whoopins we totally deserved yet managed to slither out of.

Case in point: It was a Friday night, in good ole Hogtown, and myself, along with my twin bro Bruce and our buddy Travis, were handing out in the parking lot in town called Beaumont Plaza. As sad as it sounds, it was the cornerstone of any weekend activity. At Beaumont Plaza, we would get in our cars (as many people as we could fit in, preferably with a higher female-to-male ratio), and literally cruise around in a loop in a desperate attempt to find something better to do, which usually occurred after a couple hours of wasting gas and/or time. This particular Friday evening, the three of us couldn't have hand-picked a bigger collection of panty wastes and douchebags (us included) to be hanging out with if we wanted to. I am not exaggerating when I say to you we looked like the incoming class from Revenge of the Nerds. Hopefully, I would have been considered the Lewis or Gilbert of the bunch; but most likely I was that weird guy who picked his nose ad infinitum. At the time, I was the biggest one there, and I weighed 160 pounds.

So, there we were,hanging out around our vehicles, waving and talking to people, hoping to be noticed. And noticed we were. We were aligned up in a row, with me and my brother on one end, and the rest of us exponentially getting shorter and skinnier as the line went. I think the last one of us was a buck 0-eight dripping wet.

A couple of guys come up and begin making trouble. One of them, Mitchell Searcy, was probably the oldest sophomore in recorded time. He could purchase his own alcohol, and, as a matter of fact, did just that previously that evening. He was drunk as hell and ready to whip some scrawny nerd ass (insert us here). He grabs the neck of the Jack Daniel's bottle (c'mon loser, you a Kentuckian, at least threaten us with a bottle of Kentucky bourbon like Jim Beam), and repeatedly proceeds to ask all eight or nine of us, "You want me to bust you gawddammed head? I'll bust your gawddammed head!" He says this to every one of us, raising his bottle even higher as he walked. Even in the face of danger and quite imminent and certain death, we cannot stop laughing. To not crack up laughing in his face was one of the biggest test of wills I have ever faced. Mitchell Searcy, like a drill seargant gone berzerk, ruched down to Travis and got about one inch from his face. Bourbon soaked spittle was flying everywhere. I know as much as I am sitting here that if Trav wasn't wearing glasses, he would have suffered permanent visual loss that night. Somehow, Trav always managed to take the blunt of everything, and tonight was no exception.

Maybe it was his continual smirk plastered on his face; maybe it was the fact that although half the Redneck's size, he wasn't frightened in the least; maybe it was that he most likely mumbled derogatory insults pertaining to the female anatomy (insert the p-word) toward the Redneck and his friend - we will never know. What we do know is that we miraculously got off without so much as a hair out of place, and, about a quarter of a mile and an hour or so later, it took 4-6 large police officers to subdue a maniacal drunkard none other than Mitchell Searcy. He was kicking his way out of the police cruiser so violently we could hear it from our end of Beaumont plaza. I heard later he got his face bitten off while in prison, so I guess things indeed do come around full circle.

It was one of the funniest moments of our misspent youth. More stories to come.

Next time, I'll order the steak

2006-08-02T20:53:00.000-04:00

I had a bit of a wait this evening while in line at Chipotle Mexican restaurant, and while I was there, I saw a sign they had plastered above our heads that mentioned their ethical treatment of the chickens they serve in their burritos and tacos. Now, mind you, I don't normally eat at this establishment, mostly because it is sometheres near $6.00 for a burrito and extra for tortilla chips and a drink. After it is all said and done, you end up spending close to $10 for a burrito dinner that is close to 90% rice. Rice, I implore you! I can go to the grocery store and buy enough rice to feed Ulaanbaatar for a decade. I mean, seriously, rice is the least expensive thing in there next to air. All of this got me to thinking: Why are these damn burritos so costly? What is in them to warrant such a hefty price tag? Then, like a beacon of light from the sky, I saw the aforementioned sign.

It smugly said something along the lines of, "All of our meat is kept in open areas, fed grain, and not injected with hormones."

"That is it!" I thought to myself. Actually, I mumbled it outloud, causing some of the people in line behind me to give me the once over. "That is why it takes the equivalent of the GNP of a third-world country to feed me."

I almost considered asking for "non-free-range chicken"* just out of spite, simply because I was apalled at the prices they are gouging the public with. I'm sure the goth teen would sardonically smile at me through her array of lip rings, then vow to spend the rest of her life making people like me uncomfortable; that, or spit on my ethically-treated yet boring-as-hell chicken.

Which is exactly what it is - BORING! No one in life likes hearing stories about lily-white, cornfed, nice, well-treated, pampered people, and we shouldn't ask that that of our game as well. The way I see it, "free range" equates to bland and tasteless. When I see a chicken with no hormones injected, I see a chicken with no character or personality. We get tougher whenever we live through crisis and strife, and I see no point in not allowing the same for fowl.

As I gave her my free burrito coupon (yes, I wasn't even going to pay anyway, but it is not the point), and saw the hatred gurgling over, I decided to hold off on asking....maybe next time.

*No chickens, or anthing else for that matter, were hurt during the writing of this post or the creation of my awful photoshopped chicken coop. Some chicken got ate during my dinner, but not a whole lot.

Sleep, sleep my darlings

2006-07-31T09:03:00.000-04:00

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?

2006-07-27T10:49:00.000-04:00

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:

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

2006-07-25T13:28:00.000-04:00

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:

I am out of shape
Soccer requires lots of running, which being in shape helps out with - a lot
I haven't ever played soccer before
Knowing how to play soccer helps out when playing soccer - a lot
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!"
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

2006-07-20T08:02:00.000-04:00

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..

2006-07-12T09:49:00.000-04:00

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

2006-07-05T15:35:00.001-04:00

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.

________________________________________

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.

You ain't on Baywatch anymore

2006-06-29T13:35:00.000-04:00

Since I don't have a specific topic to ramble on about ad nauseum, I figured I'd discuss a whole slew of 'em. That way, if you get bored with one topic, you can avoid it and move on to the next.

Newest exciting news about my book: I have a radio interview next Friday, June 7th, at approximately 4pm. The station is WHAS-84 am, a massive radio station out of Louisville, KY. I will be on the Terry Meiners Show, a popular and funny broadcaster. We will discuss my book and upcoming book signing in Louisville on July 8th. He must have been drunk while agreeing to this, but like the selfish, attention whore I am, show will go on. I will post another link very shortly up on the UPCOMING APPEARANCES section of my site. NOTE: WHAS-84 has live streaming, so you all can listen to your favorite author (me) on the Internet at www.whas.com. Just click the area on the top right that says, "CLICK TO LISTEN LIVE".

New cool band: Tea Leaf Green. They are a bunch of San Francisco hippies who can can jam. They fall into the Phish type of category. If you like Phish, or other jam bands, you will like these guys. I am already putting peanut butter on my hair and bathing in patchouli water in nervous anticipation of their next tour date. Check them out, and if you don't like them, don't tell me, cause I like them, and if you don't you must have something wrong with you. I have given you all plenty of ideas to be more like me and if you have ignored or missed them don't complain to me.

Worst tv show on tv: I realize that title is a bit redundant, since tv shows can only be on tv, but I didn't feel like backspacing and then retyping. I am a hunt-and-peck typer anyway, so any regressive motions can cause serious delays. Plus, I am on lunch now and need all the time I can get. Anywho, worst tv show on tv: America's Got Talent. Hosted my Regin Philbin, the judges panel, which consists of David Hasselhoff, Brandy, and some snarly English wanker, have buttons with big X's on them to eliminate the contestant as soon as they feel the need to. It is muy horrible. Last night, there was some 6'8" Russian homosexual named Leinid the Magnificent all dressed up in a butterfly costume. His "talent", aside from being as gay as anyone I have ever seen in my life, was balancing swords while doing the splits. Now, in Russia, where they fight for bread crumbs and shoot people a lot, this might be considered a talent. But in Brooklyn, he is just a 6'8" weirdo balancing swords while doing the splits. Personally, he should get into magic, since he obviously has made his testicles as well as any form of self-esteem disappear. It's pretty sad when David Hasselhoff is the most talented person in a group of 2,500 people.

Mosty dramatic, unrealistic reality show: Real World Key West. Counting the nasty gay guy, they have 4 males on there and I think 3 females. All of them are idiots, especially the crazy girl who picks her scabs all day and talks like a four-year old. Once you have the ability to form complete sentences, you should refrain from BABY TALK - especially when you are on a tv show. When she is not crying on the phone with her abusive boyfriend, drinking excessively, screaming at her roommates, or being an overall anorexic, pain in the arse, she seems pretty normal. The gay guy is such a b-tch. He is nasty, vindictive, mean, and lots of other stuff. But at least he knows it, and he doesn't have any scabs to pick at - at least no visible ones.
There is no way in hell 7 strangers like this band o'losers would ever pick each other to live together.
I was sorely disappointed to see them all come out of Hurricane Wilma with no head trauma, because I feel something like that might really improve their personalities as well as overall demeanor.

Worst sporting team in the world: USA men's soccer. We got beat by the Czech Republic AND Ghana in the same tournament. Do I need to go any further?

OK, enough negativity. Talk amongst yourselves from here on out.

Hilton Head Island.....in pictures

2006-06-25T19:35:00.000-04:00

Me and the crew. See the pain on my face? I'm smiling, but there's pain.
It's either because of 2006 Estrogen Fest,
or maybe I was just sitting on a stick.

2006-06-25T19:34:00.000-04:00

Me doing a 12 ounce curl while riding my bicycle. Notice my pretty little basket. I was hoping for a white wicker one, but they were all out...

2006-06-25T19:32:00.000-04:00

One of the many beautiful golf courses on HHI.

2006-06-25T19:30:00.000-04:00

River Street in Savannah.

2006-06-25T19:29:00.001-04:00

Church in Savannah

2006-06-25T19:29:00.000-04:00

Mercer House in Savannah. The house made famous from "Midnight in the Garden of good and Evil".

2006-06-25T19:27:00.000-04:00

Me and my best gal in Savannah, Georgia. I look constipated.

2006-06-25T19:24:00.000-04:00

A view from our fishing boat, off Hilton Head Island.

Van Halen said it best

2006-06-23T10:17:00.000-04:00

What do you think these women have in common? Porn? Stripping? Herpes commercial rejects? Shoplifting crack whores who sing in front of Bojangles for free food? Yup, you guessed it, they are all, or at least were, teachers.

There seems to be a bit of an epidemic these days, an epidemic of young, good-looking, Generation Y women (mostly blonde, too) who are teachers. These women are molding the minds of America's youth. These women look professional, dress well, and have had previous success in beauty pageants and one in particular is on the US National Bikini Team. Although not all, most of these teachers are having sex with their students, and it pisses me off. Why you ask? Well, because of the obvious - all my teachers from junior high through high school looked like jackals. Mustachoed hags with rows upon rows of big, gnarly teeth; large, eagle-sized beaks; loads of sweaty fatrolls, warts, scabs, carbuncles and sores - and those were the good-looking ones. Coming to school was a test of wills for us, and not in a good way. We had to struggle to keep our food down looking at our history teacher after lunch. Never once did I even slightly consider an affair with a teacher, or anyone else for that matter. My idea of sex in junior high was trying to "accidentally" brush my hand up against some random girl's ass in the hallway, let alone trying to nail my social studies teacher after kickball practice.

Now, it seems the male youth of today's junior high schools are subjected to a seemingly unending gaggle of good-looking, MySpaced, hypersexual, mentally unstable women, who want nothing else but scrog underage boys. If I were 14 again, I'd say sign me up! They supply their students with booze, porn, even dirty cell phone videos like this Tennessee wench did. To a 14 year-old boy. Its crazy.

Now, all kidding aside, I want to go on the record and say that these women are criminals. They are pedophiles. they are predators. As an adult, I find them reprehensible, loathsome skanks who should be punished to the fullest extent of the law.They even deserve their own Dateline NBC show. But still, from my inner 9th grade boy point of view, I am wondering something:
Where in the h-e-double hockey sticks were these crazy trollops at when I was in school? Oh, I know, they were gaining experience for there future professions by screwing the captains of their basketball teams - and their coaches.

For more info on slutty, pedophile pedagogues, click here.

Are you young or old? This might be the test to prove which one you are...

2006-06-20T14:56:00.000-04:00

I just received wind of this ringtone that teenagers can use while in school to avoid getting in trouble from their adult teachers. It seems that only "young" people can hear these high-pitched tones, which in turn alert them that a text message has been received.

I cannot hear a damn thing. I thought my twentysomething, felame co-worker was effing with me, until more came over and said they could hear it.

I guess I am an old fart. Regardless if I can hear their stupid high-pitched ringtones, I'll still bet I can kick most of their scrawny teenage asses. So screw you and your stupid ringtones. Click here, and give it a shot.

Post-vacation washout

2006-06-19T10:22:00.000-04:00

So here I am, back from a wonderful week off work, doing nothing but drinking a lot of fruity drinks, making a horrible attempt at deep-sea fishing, driving almost 2,000 miles in a rental car full of 5 females - 4 of them were teenagers, and not having to worry about an alarm clock or wearing socks/pants for over 11 days. Pretty sweet! As promised, especially to the Blonde Vigilante, I am returning with a fishing story, but it isn't a good one. I did manage to catch several fish, mostly black sea bass, but the were too small to keep and eventually eat. I think I was in next to last place as far as number of fish caught on the boat, and I would have been in 3rd to last place had that snot-nosed, little 7-year old brat not caught his 20-inch shark in the eleventh hour. I stayed after and watched the crew clean all the fish, and there he was, hovering over their shoulders, his pudgy face full of sunburnt mirth. Then, I swear it was just to aggravate me, he had his granny take a photo of his bounty. Damned little attention whore.

Jenny and I managed to do a lot of firsts this past weekend, also. We were in a tropical storm (albiet not directly, but pretty close); we rode bicycles while intoxicated; we rode our bicycles to the liquor store; we rode our bicycles while intoxicated yet again, this time in pitch-black night. All six of us were there, riding our bikes at 10:30pm, with my big, drunk, dumb ass leading the way. It truly was the blind leading the blind. Actually, I blame the kids and their friends they brought, because they should have more sense than that. They should have known better to follow me. I can say with a fair amount of certainty that if I didn't have a teeny, tiny light on the end of my keychain, we would have wrecked, and I would have some expaining to do to the bicycle company. During the first intoxicated bicycle ride it was just the two of us, and we stopped at McDonalds to get the kiddos cheap dinner. I was determined to go through the drive-thru on my bicycle, but traffic was very heavy. Maybe next trip I will.

All in all it was a good time. I will have photos in a day to two, and I will be stopping by everybody's sites to catch up.

Sadly, Monday has proven to be the little bitch she always likes to be - especially after vacation. This morning, Jenny's car wouldn't start at all, so I had to come back home and make a vain attempt at fixing it. After raising the hood, scratching my head a couple times, nodding and mumbling to myself, I admitted that "I have no effing idea what the problem is." So, I am driving the spare car (since I am the man, I offered her my new car) , which has expired tags. To top it all off, I'll be here at work for 10-11 hours. Good times indeed. Holla!

See you later, landlocked suckers!

2006-06-09T08:58:00.000-04:00

Me and the rest of the Southers contingent have loaded up the family truckster and are headed to Hilton Head Island, SC, for vacation. I called ahead to have the local officials warn the other tourists, but they just laughed as me. Oh, but we will have the last laugh. Yes we will.

I'll try to post a little this week if I get a chance, but I am simply a poor commoner with no laptop computer and I have no idea when I'll get to squeeze any puter time in. I'll most likely be too busy forcing alcohol down my wife's gullet and doing all I can to take advantage of the situation.

We are going to have 11 people down there, so alcohol might be the soup d'jour for ALL of us. In fact, A LOT of it sounds good. I will be in the car with FIVE FEMALES tomorrow for TWELVE HOURS. I use capital letters to show the pain this thought induces. Four of them are teenagers with boyfriends, and have already started going on about how much they will worry about them while they are vacationing, in which I replied, "Oh, they'll find other girls, probably the first day we are gone....so don't you worry your pretty little heads."

I will be sure to take loads of good, bad, and especially ugly photos while I am away. If you are in the HHI area and you see some drunk, 6'4" lummox of a man, stumbling down the street, mumbling incoherently, stop me and say hi. Then, just let me vomit in peace before the police cart me off to jail.

Operation Clambake 500

2006-06-07T10:14:00.000-04:00

With me being a sports fan, a Southerner, a redneck, and a son of a race car driver, needless to say I almost spit out my Levi Garrett when I heard of the newest merger NASCAR has allowed. My world has been shattered (not really; written for dramatic effect). On TV this morning, I saw a piece on NASCAR and some of its sponsors. They have a wild, wide variety of sponsors, mainly big name products and companies like Tide, DuPont, Cheerios cereal, Home Depot, Kellogg's Corn Flakes, Skoal, etc. There are even some more obscure sponsors, like Cheese-Nips, SpongeBob Square Pants, some nutty old Congressman, and Boudreaux's Butt Paste.

Now, Scientology*, in all their body-thetan weirdness is in the NASCAR game, baby. What in the name of Teegeeack is going on here? Now, instead of seeing fat guys with "24" shaved in their back hair, we might be honored by the likes of John Revolting, all dolled up in full regimental Scientology regalia? Or, Kirstie Alley, hanging around the BBQ pit? Or Jason Lee and his son Pilot Inspektor? Hell, Tom Cruise is almost guaranteed a car to drive, what with his expertise in Days of Thunder and all. I'm sure, like all sane Hollywood types, he'll have his infant daughter Suri strapped in riding shotgun.

And what else should we expect? Race car drivers carrying massive bull horns as they drive, spitting out propaganda? Silent interviews, all according to Scientology standards? Clambakes in the pit area?

As heinous as it sounds, I think I'll stick with the back hair.

* I mean no disrespect to Scientology and their members. They are people, too. Or at least I think.

Excerpt from "Queens and Crescents" Part II

2006-06-05T15:45:00.000-04:00

After reading The Blonde Vigilante's most recent piece of excellent fiction, I felt compelled to submit a little of my own. So, here is a small excerpt from my book, Queens and Crescents. A long time ago, I submitted another excerpt, click here if you missed it. Oh, and I changed the color scheme - this time for a l0ng time. Hope you enjoy:

He turned to watch her and said nothing as she passed. He breathed in the soft scent of her perfume as it lingered in the air around him, which, at least momentarily, erased the thick, putrid smell of a thousand cigarettes.

He felt both excited and frightened at the same time. He was surprised that she noticed him since a moment ago there had been no possible reason to think she knew he was alive. A million thoughts ran through his head in the span of a few seconds. Who is she? Why does she want me? What the hell am I getting myself into? Are these guys mobsters, or just her angry relatives?

He turned toward the two men and stared very casually as not to draw their attention, but it was too late. He was busted, and by the short, meaner one at that. The short one gave him an evil stare back. Sean nodded his head nervously back at the man and quickly looked away. He motioned for the waitress to come over and paid his check. He looked through his wallet and noticed the smallest bill he had was a twenty. His bill was probably no more than five or six dollars, but he had a beautiful lady waiting, so he laid the twenty on the table and walked out, not waiting for the waitress to return.

Sean walked outside to wait for her but was surprised to see her already there, waiting for him. “I thought you said ten minutes?”

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” the woman said. She held out her hand.
“What just happened back there?” Sean asked. She grabbed his hand, and they began to walk swiftly down the street.

She looked at him and smiled a timid smile as they hurried along. “Not now. I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to worry about it. Let’s just go.” She smiled at him again, this time a little wider, which exposed her beautiful white teeth.

“Where are we going?” Sean was excited, nervous, and confused all at the same time.

“I don’t care,” she said as she squeezed his hand. “Anywhere—just as long as we are alone.”
________________________________________________

The goons quickly ran outside the bar, oblivious to the number of people they bowled over as they left. Frustrated and angry, Bruce looked at his partner, made a 360-degree turn to scan the surrounding area, and then looked at his partner again. He looked over Max’s shoulder and down the dimly lit street behind him. Bruce reached inside his jacket with his right hand and pulled out his 9mm, then reloaded a fresh clip. He placed the gun back into its holster and folded his jacket over. He nodded his head down the street. “This way,” he said.

“Should we call Mr. Romano?”

“No,” Bruce said. “Not yet. We can handle it ourselves.” They moved down the street.

Worrying Michael Romano by informing him of this would not happen. In fact, it would only infuriate him, and when the boss got pissed, you had better watch out, because more times than not that meant your ass. Heads would roll, literally and figuratively.

“Where do you think she went?” Max asked.

“How the hell should I know?” Bruce was trying to keep a lid on his anger, but between the broad leaving and his partner’s stupid questions, his last nerve was quickly being whittled down to a toothpick. He looked out toward the center of the French Quarter for a moment, then over towards Lake Pontchartrain. The wind whirled around him, momentarily cooling him a little in the midst of the balmy summer night. How the hell should I know? he repeated in his mind. He looked at Max. “We need to split up. You know, cover more ground.” He stopped. He thought that if they could find people in Cincinnati, then surely to God they could find someone in New Orleans. Really, New Orleans is about the same size when compared to Cincinnati.

Bruce pointed to Max what area he wanted him to cover. “What time you got?” He looked at his watch.

Max nervously ran his hands through his thick grey hair and then looked at his watch as well. “Ten-thirty, Bruce.”

“Good. We meet here at midnight. That’ll give us plenty of time to find her. If you run into trouble, call me. Don’t call Romano. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it. We meet back here at midnight. If there’s any trouble, call you.” Max pulled out a handkerchief. “What should I do if I find her? I can’t exactly drag her down the street by the hair. Christ, the streets are crawling with people.”

Bruce carefully removed his 9mm, pulled out the silencer in his jacket pocket, and screwed it on. He looked up at Max and flashed an evil, toothy grin.

“Do what you have to do, my friend,” Bruce said to Max, “and I’ll do what I have to do.”

Exsqueeze me? A baking powder?

2006-06-02T15:02:00.000-04:00

Yes, they look like what you think they do.

Click this link for more apocalyptic signs in all their sugary, edible goodness, but only if you are in the mood for baking this weekend. It is moderately not suitable for work, but believe me when I say the url name is worse than what is on the link. And the photos on the link are disturbing.

PLEASE NOTE THAT IF YOU MAKE ANYTHING FROM THIS SITE, YOU ARE OBLIGATED TO POST PHOTOS OF THEM ON YOUR SITE.

Personally, I think the Gingerbread cookies are the best.

Also, I have tentatively decided on a new color for The Fiction Scribe! It is called Tomato. I went with this because Lemon Chiffon was too gay sounding (not that there's anything wrong with that), Hematite was to pink-like and girly (sorry Steph) and Navajo White was more like brown. Damn color-blind Indians. I went with Wheat as the link color, well, because I like wheat bread. See, I am a simple guy. I also must be hungry.

Please let me know what you all think, because your opinions are important to me. Seriously, they are.* If it looks awful, let me know, but please don't call me a loser or scream racial epithets at me. Actually, you can scream all you wish, just don't write them to me.

Actually, if I were a little more computer saavy I would have collected 4 or 5 different colors and created a way to vote for your favorite, but alas I am not that saavy. I have managed to write saavy twice in one sentence and three times in a paragraph, which, at least as far as I am concerned, hasn't ever happened on Blogger before. So, even though I pick crappy looking colors for my blase-looking blog, I am still moderately funny and above-average intelligence. Now, if I could only get rid of my 3rd nipple...later kiddos!

* Kidding.

This is my 67th post at The Fiction Scribe - Whoo hoo!

2006-05-30T08:28:00.000-04:00

I know that doesn't mean squat to some people, and to them I say, "You make an excellent point." But, everyone else celebrates milestones on Blogger, as well as everywhere else in the world, so I feel I should, too! Take for instance, Barry Bonds hitting his 715th home run over the weekend - tying Babe Ruth's historic mark. Forget the fact that he has shot up more human growth hormone than most dairy cattle receive nowadays, or that he is literally twice the size (head size included) he was from when he started playing baseball. He is a hero!

Aside from the impressive, awesome things people have done, we should celebrate and embrace ANY form of accomplishment someone have achieved, even the things society places a negative connotation on. The way I see it, if you did it, be proud of it! Why don't we celebrate Skeeter Shelton, an outfielder for the New York Yankees in 1915? He had only one hit in 40 at bats in his only major league season - which comes out to a .025 lifetime batting average! He deserves the Shittiest Baseball Player of All Time Award. Did he get anything, though? Hell no.

Take a look at some of myaccomplishments over the years:
I got four speeding tickets in one year = throw me a cocktail party. I failed out of college my freshman year = that should at least be worth a keg of Beast Light and some pizza.

Also, I once worked with a guy who somehow managed to get four DUI's in a year - FOUR! He earned some prison time for that, and, while I absolutely do not condone drinking and driving, it is one impressive stat. If he were Hollywood material, he and Robert Downey Jr. would be fighting tooth and nail for the "Biggest Loser in Hollywood" spot. Last time I checked, Downey has done pretty well for himself, especially after prison and rehab. I realize that writing 66 idiotic yet comedic posts doesn't actually compare with going to prison, but it still an accomplishment, right?

So, it is settled. Starting today, I am officially celebrating my 67th post, and I invite anyone to join in on the fun. Tell me, kids, what mediocre accomplishments do you have to celebrate?

I'm listening.

______________________________________________

On a side note, I am considering a background color change at The Fiction Scribe....any suggestions?

The Summer of Barry

2006-05-25T14:57:00.000-04:00

I hope it will be that, indeed. I need to have a summer of pure, unadulterated, joyous, shameless fun. I am a simple guy, a cock-eyed optimist, and so, when things go sour or wrong, I am always in disbelief. Some people may call me a dreamer or that I live in a fantasy world, for this is not how the world works. I agree with this - to a point. I realize things can and will not go my way all the time - not only would this be unfair to others, but it simply cannot happen. BUT, it doesn't mean I shouldn't expect them to happen. I haven't always thought this way. There were times in my life where I expected things to so wrong and more times that not they did. Now, that doesn't mean squat, though, since it was probably just a coinkidink that they did. So, before you all start jabbing pencils in you eyes to alleviate the boredom this post is inducing, I will let you all be the first to know that this summer, aside from going on vacations with my beautiful wife and wonderful family, I am starting on another novel. I have the idea in my head, and am currently writing it down in outline form. It has been 7 or 8 years since I have had such an exciting idea for a story, and I don't want to disclose it right away - but I might give you all clues as I go along. Sort of an interactive blog experience? I won't have any classes to attend this summer, so I am hoping I can do a lot of writing. I may get stuck right away, but here's I won't, right? Are you with me? I might need a little encouragement on occasion.

Also, I have three book signings scheduled this summer:

Saturday, July 8th at 2pm - Barnes and Noble, Louisville, Kentucky

Saturday, July 22th at 2pm - Borders Books and Music, Crestview Hills, Kentucky (in the Cincinnati, OH metro area)

Friday, August 4th at 7pm - Barnes and Noble, Lexington, Kentucky

I will have a couple radio interviews scheduled around these dates, as well. I will give you all the specifics, as well as links to be able to listen to them as things get closer.

I realize a lot of you live far away, but if you have friends around here, or you want to make a road trip to attend, I would be forever in your debt. Well, not FOREVER forever, but I will let you take a photo of me and promise not to smell funny.

Here's hoping this summer will indeed be The Summer of Barry, and, of course, the Summers of All Of You as well!

It's time to play, "What were they thinking?"

2006-05-21T10:53:00.000-04:00

This weekend, I finally had my digital camera when I saw some really odd and/or stupid and/or ridiculous things out there in the world. We all know there are wackos and weirdos everywhere, and my little corner of the world by no means has more than the rest, but it is still fun to point them out anyway.

What were they thinking? #1

I live close to Cincinnati, Ohio, home of their beloved Bengals. Their colors are orange anf black, and their helmets look exactly like this car. The license plate even said "BNGALS". It was a little touch and go for a while as I took this photo while I was driving, but I managed to slow down enough to let him pass me. Dangerous? Hell yes, but you guys are worth it - no matter what everybody else says. What was he thinking?

What were they thinking? #2

Go ahead...take a look. Those letters surrounding the bottom of the otherwise nice vehicle are LV's - as in Louie Vuitton. I think he is some gay guy that makes purses. And trust me when I say NO ONE should have the ability to destroy a nice car like this. To top it all off, he/she works at Domino's Pizza. I see it all the time in their parking lot, but never had my camera until yesterday. If I were a betting man, I would guess this vehicle was purchased at Hoopty Heaven Auto Sales. What were he/she thinking?

What were they thinking? #3

This wasn't anything I saw this weekend; rather, it was last weekend on our way to Chicago. There, in the midst of corn fields and potholes, we see this little oasis pop up from out of nowhere. We had to go, so we figured, Why not? I am not naive enough to realize these things are beacons of hygiene, but c'mon, Indiana! This rest area some 100 miles outside of Chicago was muy horrible. I was immediately hit in the face by a foul, Buster Douglas haymaker of a stench. Thai hookers are cleaner than this place.
While I appreciate singles scenes and match.com, I cannot figure out why ANYONE would want to meet someone in a rest area stall. It is quite disconcerting to be in full pee at 9:45pm and read "For a good time, be in this stall at 9:45pm." And don't even get me started on the glory holes.
These things are state run/developed, am I correct? I know it is a desolate, rural area, but hire somebody to clean these nasty things, for God sakes! Leave a bottle of Simple Green by the sink and I'll do it myself! Indiana, what are you thinking?

I have to go shower now, the last few paragraphs have left me dirty.

What were they thinking? #4

Yesterday, as I was driving home, I saw a raccoon taking a dump. Taking a dump, by most accounts is a perfectly regular thing to do for raccoons, but not when it was on a leash in a subdivision - a leash being held by a fat lady in her house coat. I had to do a double-take, you know, in case I was having a TIA or some sort of visual hallucinations. I still cannot prove it, for as soon as it dawned on me and I turned around to take a picture, the raccoon and her fat keeper were nowhere to be found. Fat-in-your-house-coat-with-a-raccoon-on-a-leash-taking-a- dump-lady, what were you thinking?

I have to go lie down now.

Chicago, Fiction Scribe style

2006-05-15T14:57:00.000-04:00

The Windy City is probably a sadder place, now that I have returned home. What a weekend, though! For those who haven't been to Chicago before, let my testimonial be a guide that everyone should go and check it out. There is so much to see and do, from shopping to nightlife and everything in between. Friday night, we hit up a Spanish tapas bar and restaurant. The food was excellent, the sangria cold, and everyone in there (present company excluded) was hip and good-looking. I definitely nerded the joint up, but I don't give a damn. It was fun.

Our view from the hotel room was superb. We overlooked the Navy Pier, Lake Michigan, and a few homeless guys.

Saturday began by Jenny and I springing for breakfast at the restaurant of our hotel, the Swissotel. Big mistake. It was grossly overpriced. I did redeem myself by swiping everything that wasn't nailed down to our table. All in all, the food was good, but I have etched a mental note to never go to that restaurant again. They could have at least kissed us goodbye or given us a little pillow talk after the gouging we took.

After that, we went shopping on Michigan Avenue. When I say "we" I really mean Jenny and her friend. I was their bitch who carried around all their purchases. After Round 1 of shopping, we went to Giordano's for some traditional Chicago-style deep dish pizza. There was enough cheese on there to stop up a toilet but boy was it tasty. I ordered a token salad to give the apprearance of being health-conscious.

Dinner consisted of good food served by a very cheesy, 80's looking waiter with horrible, wavy, mullet-like hair. Other members of the dinner party brilliantly remarked at his mortician-ness. I even had a dream that everyone was making fun of me. When I looked in the mirror, I saw HIS hair on my head. Then, we had a drink at the 95th floor of the Hancock Building.

On Sunday, we went to see the Padres beat the hell out of the Cubs in Wrigley Field. It was a little nipply out there walking the streets of Wrigleyville, but I persevered, mainly due to copious amounts of liquid refreshment.

Overall, it was a blast and I will post photos of the trip asap. Next time, I plan on staying longer! Any good recommendations for next trip?

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Funny story about yesterday's game that I forgot to mention. We were sitting down (our seats were behind the press booth at Wrigley field). Jenny nudges me when some long-haired guy walks by us and asks, "Who is that guy? Is he someone important? He looks familiar."

I respond jokingly, "Nah, he's just some burnout with long hair."

Five minutes later, that burnout with long hair went up to the press box and sang to the entire crowd during the 7th inning stretch.

It was Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam.

At least I didn't get cornholed...

2006-05-10T14:49:00.000-04:00

Before I get into my Derby day party rundown, I have to share one of the weirdest, sickest, oddest, funniest stories I have heard in a while. Yesterday, at a local university, an unsuspecting female college student was working diligently on homework in the uni's library. She gets tired, so she decides to plop her shoes off and take a nap. So, she rests her head on the desk. After a while, she wakes up and immediately puts her shoes back on - and notices something in them. After examining her shoes, she realizes it is semen. Obviously, while she was sleeping (IN THE LIBRARY, remember) some nutter masturbated in her shoe. Now, call me crazy, or better yet, call him crazy, because what would possess a person to to that? I realize people have fetishes, feet being one of them, but why would do that in public? The police take a sample (swabbed right off her arch, no doubt) and are going to run DNA tests on it. Since I work at the university myself and am a student, I am sure it will only be a matter of time before I am handed a Penthouse and asked to clear my name off the list of the 15,000 males on this campus who could be guilty of perpetrating this odd crime.

Now for the cornhole comment - let me explain. Actually, let me show you what I am talking about, so you all don't think I am some weirdo who talks about getting cornholed at parties. You might anyway after the set-up story I supplied at the beginning, but I will go on anyway. Cornhole is a game where you throw bags full of corn toward an angled piece of wood with a hole in the center of it. Bocce ball (pronounced ba chee) is a game where you throw a small ball onto the center of a playing field, and you then throw larger, heavier balls toward the smaller one. The points are scored when you get your balls closer to the small ball than your opponent. They are both pretty fun, and very fun to make t-shirts for. We had cornhole and bocce ball tournaments at the party and I made the shirts. Here they are:

Cornhole winners Roxie and Dan

Bocce ball winners me and Smarty Jones

I lost every cent I bet on Saturday, and I think my Derby horse is still running. I am no swami but I foresee a glue factory in his hear future. I drank a little, but since I had to drive I held it to a minimum to avoid any skirmishes with the 5-0. All in all, the party was a great success. Lots of people, great weather, great food, great beverages. We didn't have any nudity or vomiting (I know you are thinking, "How the hell can it be a successful party without the two main ingredients?" ), but it was fun anyway. Maybe next year we can try nude cornhole…er, wait, that doesn't sound good at all.

Janestarr actually survived the Infield, which is no small task in itself. I cannot wait to hear about her day. I remember when I went to the Infield I saw boobs at every turn, people passed out by noon, and not one damn horse the entire day. I loved it. Janie dear? Did you manage to keep yourself out of trouble? And clothed?

On a completely unrelated note, I had a dream I was being stalked by some girl. She managed to get my cell phone number and all that stuff.

Is this a premonition? Are any of you following me?

Tagged! Derby post to come later.....

2006-05-08T10:10:00.000-04:00

YO! I got tagged by the honorable Blonde Vigilante. I am so happy about it I feel like wetting myself. That, or all the weekend's Kentucky Derby festivities have rendered me incontinent. Either way, here goes! Oh, and speaking of the Derby, I will have pics and a full update on the 4th Annual Jones-Southers Kentucky Derby party. I can say it was a great time, but, I am sure janestarr has stories that would make a sailor blush - considering she visited the Infield at Churchill Downs. I can't wait to hear about them!

10 weird facts about me

1. I hate sleeping on my left side because I think it puts undo strain on my heart.

2. I am left-handed and I have a right-handed identical twin brother, Bruce..

3. This one time, and summer camp, when I was 12, I was homesick for a day, and it was the last time I have ever been so.

4. I won a Richard Pryor album in college and it was the first time I won ANYTHING contest-related. It was a crappy album, too.

5. I "coach" simulated players who play for a simulated basketball team in an online simulated basketball site. Sounds geeky when typed aloud, but Jenny, my wife, loves me doing it, because it helps keep be off the streets.

6. For years, I have wanted an old VW van to fix up and drive around. I would keep it cool and mostly bumper-sticker free, though.

7. I wake up almost every day with a song in my head, regardless if I have heard it in a while.

8. I go to sleep every night listening to either the radio, news, or mp3 player.

9. I would like to host my own radio show someday. People say I have a face for it. It was actually my initial major in college (Telecommunications) , but I didn't like the classes.

10. I have a 3rd nipple. Kidding. I just wanted to see if you were still paying attention at this point.

11. I met Muhammed Ali in a Burger King bathroom (He was washing his hands). I also met Ned Beatty in a golf course bathroom once, too, but I didn't think it deserved an entire number since I only had 10 to work with.

I tag janestarr, carnealian, and sonya.

It's Kentucky Derby time in the Bluegrass

2006-05-03T13:15:00.000-04:00

And down the stretch they come! Hey wait? Is that a naked girl, passed out in a pool of her own emesis? Oh, OK, I thought so. Anyway, just step over her. Try to sneak a peek while you do, though! Well, this Saturday is the First Saturday in May, and if you all don't know, it is the 132nd running of the Kentucky Derby - the fastest two minutes in sports. A friend of mine and I (alone with my brother Bruce) are hosting the 4th Annual Jones-Southers Derby Party. It should be a hoot! Mint juleps aplenty, beer bongs, massive amounts of assorted foods and desserts (homemade derby pies are my specialty) - you name it and we will have it! Well, aside from naked girls passed out in pools of their own emesis (sorry, we are working on that one, though). We even have a bookie on hand. Actually, it is a guy who we designate "bookie" to make us sound a lot cooler than we really are.
For those us us who have survived past Derby experiences, I have to warn you all who intend on going: THEY DO NOT ALLOW ALCOHOL INSIDE CHURCHILL DOWNS. That being said, you must be creative. Several times I purchased 2-liter bottles and carefully removed the cap, including the little ring that breaks off when you open it. If at all possible, try to remove the cap and keep the ring intact. If not, that's ok, too. Pour or drink half of the 2-liter out and insert your favorite alcohol of choice into the bottle. NOTE: It is best to use Coke or Pepsi rather than Sprite, since you do not want to tip off anyone you have mised something, unless you use vodka or clear rum or gin.
Place the top back on and...Viola! Carefully screw it into place as if the seal had never been broken! If you broke the seal, you can use Superglue to connect the cap and ring and then screw it back on. They were never the wiser come Derby day.
Other alternative options would be to start drinking heavily around 6:30am and avoid having to smuggle anything in, OR, fill up an orifice. I doubt you would want the Infield crew messing with your naughty bits anyway, so if some perv mentions it, just start screaming maniacally and he'll get the point and back off.
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Here is a recipe to make your own mint juleps, which in my opinion, is one of the best drinks ever. Someone said once of the mint julep, "Who has not tasted one has lived in vain."
Some people hate them, and to them I say I hate you. Kidding. Give them a shot and tell ol' Barry what you think. If you down't like them, I'll send you a refund check. Kidding again.

Early Times Mint Julep Recipe

Ingredients:

2 oz. Early Times
1 tbsp. simple syrup (recipe below)
Mint sprigs
Crushed ice

Crush a few mint leaves in the bottom of an 8-oz. glass, then fill with crushed ice. Add one tablespoon of simple syrup and one tablespoon of water. Add 2 ounces Early Times. Stir gently until glass frosts. Garnish with a fresh mint sprig, sip and enjoy.

Simple Syrup Directions:

1 c. water
1 c. sugar
1 bunch fresh mint sprigs

Combine sugar and water. Boil for 5 minutes without stirring. Pour mix over a handful of mint leaves, and gently crush the mint with a spoon. Refrigerate overnight in a closed jar. Remove mint leaves, but continue to refrigerate. Stays fresh for several weeks.
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Lastly, I give you a fun story I wrote years ago and was published in a local Louisville paper. It's called: Pondering the Imponderable: A Kentucky Derby memory.

First is the question posed, and then my response.

"Why did that one guy in the infield at Churchill Downs come out of the Port-o-Potty looking like he just shot somebody? What happened in there? Could I be next?"

After wracking my brain on this scenario for what seemed like hours, after slushing through my bourbon-induced haze of memories of our most recent "First Saturday in May," I can now proclaim to have successfully pondered the imponderable. My version of the story goes as follows:
While waiting his turn to use the restroom, the fellow in question notices a rather striking woman strolling through the infield, wearing a three-foot headdress made of fruit, and sipping a mint julep from what eyewitnesses claimed was a ziplock bag. "Who is this fair-haired beauty," he thought to himself. It was love at first sight. Cruelly enough, it also was a love he knew to be unattainable. A cold sweat broke out all over him, and his head was dizzy with emotion (and a few mint juleps). In a matter of seconds, he had planned out his future with her: marriage, children, a white picket fence. But reality quickly came crashing back, with the sound of the slamming Port-O-Potty door. His crossroads had begun.
He stepped inside, and after a moment of desperate consideration, he decided to flush his unrealistic fantasy down the john (speaking figuratively, of course, because we all know those things don't flush). It got so bad that he considered jumping in and ending his life, for in his mind, life would not be worth living if he could not have her. (He didn't jump.)
He hated himself for being such a coward, but in his heart he knew it was the only thing to do. Frustrated, he nervously pushed his way out of the Port-O-Potty, avoiding the area where his beloved stood. He quickly scurried out of sight, searching for a forgiving bourbon and Coke to wash away the anguish.
Far-fetched? I think not. Over the years, many a man has done foolish things in the presence of a sexy, beautiful woman — especially one wearing fruit.

I'll post photos of all our Derby festivities Sunday!

Hey Monkey Boy! Let go of that kid!

2006-05-01T08:54:00.000-04:00

I am back after the weekend to Huntington, West Virginia, held at their local convention center, and it was a good one. The book festival went well; I met a lot of people, sold a few books, signed a few autographs, took a few pictures, and didn't get arrested. I know this might surprise some of you, but aside from taking pictures with my digital camera as I drove, I didn't do a whole lot of dumb stuff. Not too shabby. eh? The highlight of the festival was meeting and talking with some excellent, national, award-winning authors, some of which which include: Karen Harper, Lynn Hightower, Craig Johnson, and Asra Nomani. One in particular, Jeannette Walls, is a writer with a New York Times best seller. Currently, her memoir, The Glass Castle, is number 6 on the New York Times best seller list. Actually, the highlight was when she purchased a copy of my book! It would be nice if she likes it enough to mention it or something. Either way, I am quite excited to go to another book festival.

Me sitting at the signing table with best selling author Jeannette Walls.

The scenic drive through Kentucky was pretty cool, since even though I am a native Kentuckian, I rarely get to go through the particular area I needed to go through to get to Huntington, so that was cool. Huntington was small but a pretty cool town. It seemed there were tons of young people. There were a lot of males riding their crotch rockets (motorcycles), a lot more females wearing little clothing being followed by males on their crotch rockets (still talking motorcycles…I think). I am sure they have their share of weirdoes, but fortunately I didn't encounter many, except for the nutters dressed up in animal costumes. Hopefully, they had intricate systems inside their suit which continuously funneled peppermint schnapps into their mouths while walking around. That would at least explain why they electively chose to dress up like that.

Here are some more pics! Although tempting, I decided to pass on BV's recommendation of a wife beater underneath the sport coat. That would have been sweet, I got to admit! Plus, it it tough to find a tank-top with sequins AND in my size these days. Instead, I decided to wear a button-down shirt. I even wore tan socks! Wow, am I becoming responsible and adult-like? I better do something fun and completely immature at the next one.

Any suggestions?

Tony Hillerman Award winner Craig Johnson.

Scenic Kentucky countryside

I am speechless.

Weekend shenanigans

2006-04-27T10:07:00.000-04:00

What’s up, everybody? I will be going out of town for my first book signing and appearance this weekend. I will be traveling to Huntington, WV, where I will be signing copies of my book this Saturday, April 29, from 3pm-5pm. Friday evening is a reception for authors and such; a little gathering to rub elbows and chew the fat and the like.

The location for Friday and Saturday’s signing is at the Borders Books booth at the Big Sandy Convention Center, located in downtown Huntington. It is all a part of the Ohio River Festival of Books. I hope some of you can attend! Also, if you have any friends, family, or even eavesdrop on a conversation about someone going to Huntington, please inform them to stop by and say hello. I might even have candy for you. If you show up and don’t purchase a copy, I’ll bust out the Sharpie to sign body parts for all you cheapskates!

I will be sure to take a few photos over the weekend, so none of you will feel completely left out. That way, you can almost feel the experience with me. I will be sure to keep my camera on me at all times, in case someone gets arrested or a nipple pops out or something interesting like that. Otherwise, it might be just be photos of me, sitting at a table looking all classy in my sports coat and white tube socks.

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend and I will be sure to check back in on Sunday.

Miss USA...Kentucky style

2006-04-22T18:49:00.000-04:00

I know I shouldn't give a crap about who won the Miss USA pageant, and normally I don't..until last night. Of all the girls up there, my fellow Kentuckian, Tara Conner, pulled down the top honor of Miss

USA

! Normally, I watch about 5 minutes of beauty pageants (usually the 5-minute swimsuit section), so last night I must have been accidentally drugged or monumentally bored, for I watched damn near the entire thing. It was good comedic fodder, though. I laughed out loud several times - mainly at the cheesy house band singing unintelligible songs in what I thought was Spanglish. Last time I checked, it was the Miss USA pageant, right?
Anyway, it was lame as hell, from the Mutt and Jeff hosts (Nancy O'Dell of Access Hollywood and little Drew Lachey, from Dancing with the Stars and very short brother to Nick Lachey) to the uber-gay commentary by some Queer Eye guy, to Donald Trump Jr. as a judge. I am not lying when I say that the Access Hollywood was almost a head taller than that guy. I was embarrassed for the little squirt. And, after looking at Donald Trump Jr., I can honestly say there is one person in the world with a worse hairdo than his old man's. I laughed out loud when I saw him; I could have given myself a better haircut when I was 6.
And back to the Queer Eye fella. I am not a homophobic (or at least I don't think so), but he just gave me the creeps. He is too flamboyant. Gay people probably think he is too flamboyant. He makes that really gay guy on Will and Grace look straight. He told dumb jokes and literally cried after the evening gown session. Cried, I shit you not. The worst part was when he longingly stared into the camera for what seemed like a minute. I felt violated. I felt like a piece of meat. It was a Top 5 creepiest TV moment.
But, in the end, it turned out OK. A ditzy, good-looking, country girl with suspect grammar from Russell Springs, Kentucky, was crowned Miss USA, and Donald Trump Jr. is still really, really ugly.

Be careful, my pretties!

2006-04-20T11:46:00.000-04:00

How well do we know our blogger friends? How well do we really trust those whom we converse with on our blogs on a regular basis, and, sometimes on a daily basis. How many times have we stumbled upon some rambling, weird, crazy-as-a-shithouse-rat blogger freak? Well, I have stumbled upon a few. I have found more than my share of freaks, simply by pressing the “Next Blog” button on the top right-hand of the screen. Once, I got onto a blog site and as I scrolled down I saw naked woman on all fours exposing her brown eye for all willing and wanting to see. I am no prude, but c’mon! I was at work on top of that. Hey, to each their own, I guess.

Since I have a lot of female blog bunnies (thanks BV), I figured I should keep you all up to date on all the creeps and sickos out there. If you are a male reading this, I am posting this to help avoid becoming a creep!

I am a talker. I love talking to people in person, on the Internet, via e-mail. Not much of a phone guy, because my ear gets hot when holding the receiver to it for a long duration, and, I am a little antiquated when it comes to cell phones. For the life of me, I cannot seem to welcome the ear-bud-while-talking thing. Maybe it's because I have made fun of countless people who look like lunatics talking to air people while wearing them, and I don't want to be hippocritical. Nah, what do I care! I'll be making fun of people until the end. I'll be making fun of the abusive, overweight, orderlies at the old folks' home. Who'll in turn probably urinate in my oatmeal every morning.

I am also an Internet guy. I love it. I love most things about it. Sadly, the conundrum lies between both of what I love and hate about it: anonymity. I really enjoy talking to you, and while I realize I am one of a few who posts my full name, I do so for a reason, and that is to help promote my book. Hell, that is why I started the blog in the first place, so it might seem a poor business choice to ask people to buy a book from a person who goes by Hoss or Aliecat or something along those lines. There are hundreds of thousands of bloggers who wish to remain anonymous, and that is totally cool, because for whatever their reasons are I am sure most are valid. For females, it makes a lot more sense, since as I will discuss in a few, there are a truckload of weirdos out there, Blogland being no exception.

Here is a link to a story about a person charged with murder and actually planned to eat his 10 year-old victim. What? I couldn't believe it when I saw it, either. Here is a link to his blog, right here on Blogger. Now, I know it is an extreme case, but the truth is that there are some sick bastards out there. His profile reads, "Single, bored, and lonely, but other than that, pretty happy." How can you go from single, bored, and pretty happy to a murdering cannibal?
Sorry to have such a crazed story on here, but, consider it a PSA for all of you to be careful on here - especially all my adoring, lovely, female groupies, er, I mean, friends.

For another PSA on creepy males to avoid (this is funny), check out these guidos:

NOTE: There is one use of the "F" word in here.
To see if you are guido material, take this New Jersey Guido IQ test.

Later kids!

Hope springs eternal rhinorrhea

2006-04-17T12:02:00.000-04:00

No, this drawing isn’t of me, but a close resemblance indeed. Well, another weekend has come and gone, and another weekend filled with a variety of events. I am proud to say I actually peeled myself out of my chair long enough to do a little spring cleaning outside, mainly yard work, which encompassed: pulling weeds, mowing the lawn, pulling more weeds, and planting all the nice, pretty flowers and vegetable plants that my negligence will eventually kill off later in the summer. A couple summers ago, Bruce (my twin brother) and I got together and came up with yet another hare-brained idea: To start our own garden. We planted a variety of melons, corn, beans, and a few other items that I fail to remember. I blame my memory problems on my youth, when once, back in my hometown we had a family that got caught growing pot in the midst of their massive corn fields, and the ATF came and burned all of it. Being the dumb-asses we were, we drove by inhaling non-Clinton style in a vain attempt to reap the benefits. Oh, and there was the time we smoked an entire pack of cigarettes at once. Yes, all twenty of them.

Anyway, Bruce and I started “farming”. It was cool. We had sweet looking International Harvester and Bush Hog hats to ensure our standing in the farming community; we rented out several rows to plant our seeds, and then we got lazy. All of a sudden, we had no less than 10,000 weeds in the mix. There were so many of them we accidentally pulled out stuff we planted. When it was all said and done our wives were correct: we should both stick to golf and fishing. We have had a million ideas and the overwhelming majority of them amount to little, but, all we need in one great idea, one plan that is foolproof and easy enough to combat our adult ADD. When that comes to pass, we will sit back and count our dough!

I really do love this time of year, though. Fresh flowers; nice cool, crisp mornings; longer days; warmer weather; lots of rain; swollen, crusty eyes; continuous sneezing; pulsating, fluid-filled ear tubes. Yes, the joys of spring. I was awoken this morning my by dog who just had to go outside and do his stuff at 4:30am. No sooner than my feet hit the floor did my eyes begin to water profusely, my ears pounded in response to the excess fluid accumulation, and I sneezed a good portion of my parietal lobe out. Even as I sit here in the basement at my place of work I am sniffing and sneezing and my eyes are beginning to swell. They look better now than they did, though; at 4:30am this morning, I looked like a Fight Club victim.

On top of all that, we have a massive beehive somewhere close by which is housing bees the size of small schoolchildren. Note to self: DO NOT USE A MAGAZINE TO TRY TO SWAT HUGE BEES OUT OF THE SKY – IT WILL ONLY PISS THEM OFF.

Thank goodness I only have a couple months left of spring; otherwise, I’d be in serious trouble.

The Timeless Art of Seduction

2006-04-12T11:39:00.000-04:00

And you want to be my latex salesman? I tell you what, I cannot remember a day when I didn’t experience a Seinfeld-esque moment. I mean, seriously, every day I hear something that reminds me of a Seinfeld episode. For those of you who love the quirky, goofy, extremely funny show, you can relate. I am not a TV junkie, but I do love my Seinfeld. Why, just the other day at work, me and a group of co-workers – mostly female - were sitting around eating lunch, when someone mentioned pastrami, and I casually replied, “Oh, yeah, you talking about pastrami reminds me of something I've been thinking about. I have been trying to incorporate salted, cured meats into my lovemaking sessions at home, but to no avail. Any suggestions?”

I thought a few non-Seinfeld watchers were going to report me to HR.

I honestly can say I think Seinfeld has made me a funnier person, especially to those who have no idea what the hell I am talking about. How could you not be thought of as funny when you scream “Bad chicken! Mess you up!” every time I see someone eating fried chicken? Even if it is in my own mind, I think I am funnier now than I was pre-Kramer.

In the history of TV, there have been very few shows that one can integrate one-liners into the daily conversation. Master of your domain? I like to shop at the duty-free shop? Hoochie mama? I get excited when I actually see an episode that I haven’t seen before, that, or my long-term memory is failing me and I just cannot remember. Regardless, it is pretty cool. For those who share the Seinfeld love, here is a good site.

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I have a book signing scheduled! I will be in Huntington, WV on Saturday, April 29^th at the Ohio River Festival of Books. It is held at the Big Sandy Convention Center, and I will be signing from 3pm-5pm at the Borders booth. For anyone who might be close to there or have friends/family close, I encourage you to come out and attend. For more information, click here.

I will be posting this information again once it gets closer to the end of the month.

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I am planning a Chicago trip in May for my wife’s birthday – any suggestions as to where we can go or do? We do have Cubs tickets already, but I am open to any and all suggestions.

______________________________________________

I finished teaching my physics lectures last night, so now I am very relieved. I have been working on them for two weeks and now they are over. Whew! The good news is that it will free up lots of task-avoidance time at work, and that equates to increased blog-stalking.

That’s all I gots for today, kiddies. Later!

Assorted sundry

2006-04-06T10:56:00.000-04:00

Well, another week is flying by, and all I have to show for it is a crappy new haircut. For those who remember my hair stylist post, let me tell you, this weekend was no difference. Actually, if you look past the massive herpes blister she was a really nice girl. My haircut no so nice; I look like a kid with the “head lice haircut”. You know what I’m talking about. Sad.

After perusing through the news this week, I have found some disturbing stories that I had to comment on. First, there is a rise in New York City with teachers having trysts with underage students. One teacher was having sex with two underage brothers; one female student actually went to prom with her teenage “boyfriend”; one female teacher got impregnated by a student; one male teacher had sex with a student on the 50-yard line; and, another gave a bunch of GED students a lap dance (complete with crotchless panties) as a Christmas present. These teachers almost make Mary Kay Letourneau normal – almost. Sad and sick.

There is also a story about a 41 year-old teacher in upstate New York who got arrested for giving a 10 year-old student a wedgie. Sad, but still kind of funny.

Hey, did you all hear the one about the Swedish doctor who got fired for performing “anal massage” on patients? Seems this technique is a cure-all for an assortment of ailments from headaches to lower back pain. Call me crazy, butt I would not be too comfortable with a doctor trying to treat my headaches that way.*

On a lighter note, here is a feel good story. Have you ever been looking for new digs, and when you finally find that perfect place, the rest it astronomical? Well, look no further. You can locate a reasonable, affordable apartment online. The only requests are that you be female, in good shape, and willing to give it up. Check it out here. And They say our morals are in the gutter? Poppycock!

Not to digress on the utter abundance of idiots in the world, but I ran across a site that is comparatively on par or worse than My Space. Never before in my life have I seen such a sad assemblage of sloping foreheads so desperate for attention. It's called Rate My Body and it's great. It's so great I give you two links - this one's just for the ladies....
The first one deserves my undying respect, because if you can publicly call yourself "JustSpankMe" you have more nerve than I ever could. I'm thinking of posting a photo of some my enemies on here just for chuckles. **

Last but not least, there will be a story on me in a local, hometown newspaper this Sunday – the Danville Advocate-Messenger, located in Danville, KY. It will be in the Arts and Entertainment section. They should have an article online by next Tuesday.

Please check it out!

* Notice the misspelling of “but”. God, I am a clever bloke.

** I'm bullshitting you; I don't have any enemies. Yet. I will have at least two from Rate My Body if they ever catch wind of me goofing on them, though.

We Be Loyal Scouts

2006-03-30T14:01:00.000-05:00

Keep reading, and you'll know what I mean.

At work, before our lunchroom discussion typically gets out of hand, we generally talk about funny, goofy stuff that each of us have lived through. We have a handful of good storytellers, and this is always interesting. Today, we talked about scouting, and how, at least for the guys, it was all extremely fond memories, especially since none of us got molested by our scoutmaster.

I was a Cub Scout, and a Weblos Scout. We had a freaking blast, too. We did the Pinewood Derby; we whittled crap out of large hunks of wood; we went camping. We took a trip to southeastern Kentucky and rode our dirt bikes on a mammoth, oval-shaped dirt track. I could ramble on incessantly for hours about all our shenanigans and adventures, but there is one tale that stands like a tall weed above all else; one story that would be the pinnacle of our young, scouting lives; one event that I fondly remember like no other. It is a story that I have dreamed about as an adult. If I had to choose a handful of stories concerning my youth, this one would be up at the top:

I remember once, back when my twin bro and I were 11 or 12, we took a trip to Lake Cumberland in southern Kentucky and stayed at a resort/campsite for several days. Being the mischievous lot, a group of us scouts went out one day in search for some femalians to torment.

It was approaching dusk. While we were outside wandering the lovely area, we came upon a building and heard laughter. Not just any laughter, mind you, but squeaky, high-pitched, girly laughter. We also heard showers running. We quizzically looked at each other, and collectively had the same thought: We have struck gold.

We quietly moved in unison toward the corner of the building, our curiosity having a full and inescapable grasp on all of us. We inched closer.

By the time we made it to the wall, the volume of the voices and laughter and water running increased tenfold. Then, we all realized the reason why we could hear the girls’ hyena-like laughter: There was a hole in the wall, a hole that in actual size was smaller than a ping-pong ball, but figuratively it could have been a cave opening. We began scrambling for position, our boyish levels of testosterone kicking in like a backfiring old car with a distributor problem. My brother and I were larger than the rest, but we were also more polite, so we hung over the short kids’ shoulders trying to get a peek into the obvious man-made hole until it was officially our time to view. It felt like an eternity, waiting there behind them, listening to their gasps and snorts.

When it was my time to perv, it was even better than I could imagine. There they were - a gaggle of unbelievably cute, young, teenage girls, corralled together by streams of hot water. They were glistening under the fluorescence of the flood lamps overhead. I wished to God I could be transformed into a bar of soap; into that bar of soap. Never before in my life had I wished for anything more.

I cannot remember what we said to each other during our show, and, the weird part is that it makes no difference at all. It was damn near impossible to remain calm and quiet, but we did, and over the course of the several days while were at Conley Bottom Resort we tried like hell to relive the glory of that initial day to no avail.

If I had a chance to relive that day over I would respectfully decline, because to tarnish my recollection of it in any way would be a disservice to myself I would not want to bear. I have rarely told this story because selfishly I wish to keep it to myself, and, as I told my co-workers at lunch, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I wouldn’t trade anything for what that day and those memories hold for me. It was a rite of passage. It was about a group of boys growing up in a hurry. I smile every time I think of this story. I’m sure the rest of the boys in the group do as well. I’d go out on a limb and say that if those girls found out today what was going on behind their backs some twenty odd years ago, I 'd bet they would smile too.

Favorite Artist Meme

2006-03-29T10:27:00.000-05:00

Favorite Artist Meme:

Choose a band or artist and answer the questions using only titles of their songs.

Sweet Lord, this looks like a challenge! Well, since I am a huge Paul McCartney fan, I’ll select him. Plus, he has written a million songs.

Are you male or female? Magneto and Titanium Man
Describe yourself: No Words
How do some people feel about you: Dear Boy
How do you feel about yourself: Country Dreamer
Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriend: The Lovers That Never Were
Describe your current significant other: Warm and Beautiful
Describe where you want to be: Here, There, and Everywhere
Describe how you live: Heart of the Country
Dexcribe how you love: No More Lonely Nights
What would you ask for if you had just one wish: Another Day
Share a few words of wisdom: Ram On
Now say goodbye: Good Night Princess

Thanks, janestarr, that was a hoot!

I hereby tag sonya, lil bit, and mack!

Thank you

2006-03-28T11:41:00.000-05:00

Upon reading steph’s blog a few days ago, I figured it was high time to discuss something more personal. Of course, I try and do just that on here a lot, but for the most part, I tend to shy away from the serious banter and focus more and light-hearted, funny posts, because I am a funny guy. When I say funny, I do not mean funny-looking, either, although some of you might disagree. I have read on some of your posts that it is hard to be “on” all the time; I try not to worry about that too much, simply because I am flattered that even one of you will read my posts. I am even more flattered to see your response in the publication of my book. I am very grateful, and I hope you enjoy it. Even if you don’t, I will freely accept all reviews from you. There are quite a few excellent writers out there in the blog world, and I am lucky to have found such a good group of people to associate myself and my own blog with. Do I have a favorite? Not really. I like tons of them, though. Loads.

I get busy at work sometimes and while it is good for my career and all, I would like to have a few minutes a day to read all of your posts. It is a little community where there seems to have a core around each blogger, then another ring of friends around the periphery of the inner circle. I am pretty happy with the people I have met on here. It was completely unexpected! I thought I would get on here and post about my book or random things associated with it, or, at the very least, post a few pictures of my ex-girlfriends with funny-looking mustaches drawn on them, but in reality I have posted on so much more! Aside from posting on vomiting and urine, I have completed almost all blogging goals!

I even gain inspiration from reading others’ posts. Who’d have thunk it? Me learning from others.

In a way, it would be nice to meet a lot of you in person, but on the other hand, what if we met and didn’t like each other? Call me crazy, I would hate to be thought of as a douchebag from all you kind folk. At the risk of tooting my own horn, I doubt you would think THAT, but you never know. It would hurt, you know, in the chest area, if you gave me the finger every time you saw me. :(

So, with all that said, I want to thank you all – to those who are reading this, and to those who have read any of my posts. I want to especially thank those who have left a comment of any sort on my blog. You are good people, no matter what everyone else says (sorry, I had to throw a bad joke in here somewhere …).

"Um, yeah, I got $20 on pump 4...a pack of gum, and some Pot Tarts"

2006-03-23T13:10:00.000-05:00

Just when you think criminals are dumb-as-a-box-of-hair, uncreative nincompoops, along comes a feel good story such as this one. I read this on The Smoking Gun, a high-quality site for information on notorious, infamous, careless, and stupid criminals. Check it out if you haven’t been there before. They have a laundry list of mug shots that is guaranteed to please (see Yasmine Bleeth and Nick Nolte for serious amusement).

Personally, after you read the story below, you might feel the same way as I. It is genius. “It’d illegal, though!” Illegal schmeagel, I say to you. Look at the packaging! I had to do a couple double-takes to make sure I read the m correctly. I would think this could have grown into a massive output had it not been for their carelessness. I mean, seriously, for those who know what the “munchies” are (not me, mom, in case you are reading this…heh heh heh), one could fing themselves in quite the pickle when chowing down on a Rasta Reese's for the purpose of hashish consumption, only to get hungry and keep eating more candy to curb the cravings only to get more THC in your system. It is an unending and vicious cycle. Well, enough of me rambling…onto the story. As the old saying goes, “Eat ‘em if you got ‘em!”

Later Dudes.

Drug Ring Sold Pot-Laced Candy, Soda

Pot Tarts, Toka-Cola, Munchy Ways seized in DEA raids

MARCH 17--A California drug operation manufactured marijuana-laced candy and soft drinks that were packaged to resemble popular products like Jolly Ranchers, Milky Way, and Pop Tarts. The pot ring, busted yesterday by Drug Enforcement Administration agents, was headquartered in Oakland and allegedly headed by Kenneth Affolter, 39, who was one of 12 alleged dealers nabbed. DEA raids at indoor pot-growing facilities turned up the marijuana-infused products, which carried labels such as Toka-Cola, Pot Tarts, Puff-A-Mint Pattie, Stoney Ranchers, Munchy Way, and Buddahfinger. A DEA spokesperson told TSG that the pot was baked into chocolate bars and hard candies and that the soda contained concentrated hash oil. A label on the ring's Nestle Crunch knockoff describes the item's ingredients as "milk chocolate with crisped rice dipped in hash oil rich chocolate." Some of the seized items can be seen in the evidence photos on the following pages. In a statement, DEA agent Javier Pena noted that Affolter's pot ring, which operated under the name Beyond Bomb, was "not only illegal, but potentially tragic," since "innocent children will somehow get their hands on these products and think they are just normal candy or soft drinks."

Don't mind me,I'm just crawling for help.

2006-03-17T09:34:00.000-05:00

Daisy and Monty looking at the biggest dog treat in the world (er, me).

________________________

Well, well, well, ‘tis another St. Patrick’s Day. Another excuse to drink ourselves to near-coma levels; another excuse to stuff ourselves with Irish food at unbelievably crowded Irish pubs; another excuse to pinch that cute co-worker or unsuspecting passerby who is not wearing green; another excuse to contaminate a defenseless light beer with green food coloring. I think there is a little bit of Irish in all of us, and why not use today to let it out and be merry? Hell, I even watched Walker, Texas Ranger this morning and lo and behold, in the spirit of St. Patrick’s Day, my boy was kicking the shit out of some IRA thugs. So, if Chuck Norris, All-American badass, can do it, there is no reason we cannot either. Sure, it is one of those holidays where only
1% of the population knows the meaning of St. Patrick’s Day (myself not included), but that doesn’t stop us from getting our drink on. The Irish know and love their beer. We should consider them role models in this affair.

Aside from St. Pat’s, I am smack dab in the middle of a 5-day stretch off work. The only exercise I plan on doing is showering. Maybe fixing food, too, if I cannot reach the phone to order delivery. To prove the extent of relazation mode I am in, I went to get a bagel for breakfast as well as shopping for a few groceries at Wal-Mart this morning while wearing pajamas and my UK house slippers. I didn't even notice until I was in the store.

________________________

It has truly been quite the interesting and packed week. I got published, I attended a funeral, and we acquired a new puppy. My wife is crazy. Yes, I’ll say it here. But, I must be just as nuts (if not more so) because she gave me the final word for a change. It is hard to say no to her sometimes. I know how much of a dog-lover she is, and if a new puppy will keep her off the streets and out of trouble, I suppose it is my civic duty to oblige. I would say no to her if she asked me to do something psychotic, like murder, or take out the trash during a Kentucky Wildcat game, but I think she knows better to ask me to do such things anyway.

________________________

Puppies are some of the cutest things on the planet, even when they are pooping on the hardwood floor. Case in point: I looked over yesterday to check on him and sure as I’m sitting here, he was crouched and grunting. I had to laugh, because if I were in his position (which I may be if we get another dog someday) I would just drop trou and do my business, too. I know what the little brat is thinking, because I can see it in his cute, little, beady eyes:

Why bother going out in the cold and wet weather to poop when I can stay in here, where it’s nice and cozy, and this big lummox is gonna clean it up after me anyway?

And they say we are the master. Yeah, right.

After the little one gets bored with defecating on the floor he’ll move up to destruction of property. Oh wait, he’s already done that.

I followed him into the living room and he stopped in mid-stride and began to gnaw on the corner of the coffee table. I better watch my alcohol and food intake today; otherwise, I may pass out and become a chew toy. It would make for an interesting blog post, though! If that happens, I promise I’ll learn how to type again with my mangled appendages and write better than ever.

The brats are chewing up the rug right now as we speak. and they are looking at me kind of funny. Gotta go.

See ya on the flipside, Kids.

Queens and Crescents is now available

2006-03-12T16:31:00.000-05:00

Yes, you read correctly. My book, Queens and Crescents, is now available to purchase on the publisher's website:

http://www.PublishAmerica.com

You can purchase it from several online booksellers, which can be found via my website:

http://www.barrysouthers.com/links.html

I have a link to barrysouthers.com to the right as well.

We are partying like rock stars over here! This is extremely exciting news, and, with the NCAA basketball tournament coming up as well, I am on Cloud Nine.

Thanks in advance if you decide to purchase a copy!

Have a great day.

Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son...

2006-03-09T16:14:00.000-05:00

...on second thought, maybe it is!

Well, here it is, Thursday and closing in on another weekend. For some reason today I have been busier than a one-armed paper hanger and I don’t like it. I enjoy the more peaceful, tranquil work days where I get to lounge more. I have the overwhelming urge to drink myself into a vegetative state over the weekend, yet responsibilities loom overhead, so I doubt that will happen. Damn you, adulthood! Damn you straight to hell.

All this deep thought was brought on by the fact that Spring Break is coming up very soon.
Ahh, what thoughts and visions those two little words conjure up! Spring Break – where good looks are beneficial to hooking up - yet still optional; where you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a drunken frat guy with a coral choker necklace; where thongs and beer bongs and pot and sex with strangers is the norm. If not the norm, it is at least an accepted practice. It is like living a girls Gone Wild Video. Why? Because that is where they tape that crap!

Spring Break - that early spring, rite of passage, where all your cares and inhibitions and even your skivvies are left at home. Where alcohol is the Soup D’Jour, those in t-shirts are overdressed, and Trojan stock goes through the roof. Mexico, Arizona, Myrtle Beach, Florida – hell, even Put-In-Bay – it doesn’t matter. You don’t need a lot of money or even good looks; just access to a lot of alcamahol (thanks, Steph, for letting me use your phrase), a floor to sleep on or car to sleep in, and directions to the nearest White Castle.

To have fun on Spring Break is almost a given, so long as you don’t get rohypnol in your Red-headed Slut (the kind of drink, that is), you vomit just enough to avoid hospitalization, you are incarcerated, or your hook-up partner(s) manage(s) to locate your real identity and proceed to stalk you.

I live vicariously though MTV during this time of year, for you see, I never managed to go to Spring Break when I was in college, particularly due to my lack of testicles. I did manage to go to New Orleans several years AFTER graduation and it was crazed, but still I wish I took a “college Spring Break” trip.

I so wish me and some buddies had driven through the night, drinking a palate’s worth of Pabst Blue Ribbon or The Beast and hanging out with wild college girls with questionable morals.

Please, in this time of national partying, have a heart and remember your ol’ buddy Barry who missed out on all the fun back in the day by telling me some of your stories!

Supercuts hairstylists are a different breed

2006-03-06T11:44:00.000-05:00

Be honest, does this haircut make me look fugly?

I don’t know about you but when I get a haircut I am on edge. It is an exciting yet scary time. Why? Well, for starters, some of the hair stylists I have encountered are crazy as shithouse rats. I know I am generalizing here, but I even had a normal hair stylist validate my point and totally agree with me. So, if you are one of the few normal, sane hairstylists in the population you are excluded.

I hate to dump on an entire work force, especially when they perform a vital service and, well, they carry the equivalent of a lethal weapon in their hands at all times. Now over the past week you all have seen how I have been known to mistreat my hair, but that is in the past. I am now a once-a-month haircut kind of fella, and until it starts falling out in mass quantities or fails to grow much anymore, I will stick with this schedule.

I am a friendly guy as most of you might realize by reading my posts, so naturally when I go to get my hair cut I begin by saying “hello” and sitting down, then proceed to small talk to feel the stylist out. My last haircut notwithstanding, I had a string of six or seven psychopaths cutting my hair. Once, I managed to get a twentysomething girl whose “old man” ran up thousands of dollars in Internet and phone-sex porn on HER card. She kicked him out and now he is harassing her. I realize it is not her fault, and while I can see why she left him, I don’t understand why she had to take it out on my poor, defenseless hair follicles. During the porn story she began to jab and poke and use very abrupt movements with her scissors. When it was all said and done, I looked like an idiot. I looked a lot like Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber. Seriously, I could have placed a cereal bowl on my noggin and managed better myself.

The next nutter was a white gay man who wore one of those colorful African tribal shirts. I was chatting it up and all was cool until I made a fatal error: I mentioned how I was glad smoking was banned in a lot of restaurants nowadays. His gay nostrils flared, his gay voice shrieked, and his gay spittle flew all over me and the back of my head.

“It’s people like YOU who give smokers all the grief! It’s people like YOU who should be banned from restaurants – not us!” I kid you not. Needless to say, it was quiet and nerve-racking the rest of the cut. To top it off, I failed to tip him, which no doubt sent him into a rage afterwards. I had to go to another place to fix the mess he created with my hair.

I have had stylists start to cry hysterically. I have had them hit on me. I have had them so upset they literally turn different colors.

I guess it is human nature to talk to strangers and all, but for the life of me I cannot figure out why people blabber on ad nauseum about horrible stories from their personal lives. I hate to sound snobby or elitist, but all I want it an effen haircut. I should learn to just keep my mouth shut and get it over with. I mean, I don’t have that much hair! Minus the maniacal interruptions, it could only take 5-7 minutes to cut my hair. But, just like the stylists who tell me about their child custody battles or boyfriends who gave them herpes, I am a talker, and, I suppose for good or for bad, I will continue to do so.

The book cover is ready...

2006-03-02T11:28:00.000-05:00

Things are ramping up, kids! Start telling your friends, family, co-workers - even weird looking people on the street!

Below is the official book cover from the publisher. I still have no word on the official release date; probably another couple of weeks - or maybe longer.

What do you all think? Personally, I like it a lot.

80's revisited

2006-02-28T09:13:00.000-05:00

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….

2006-02-24T09:30:00.000-05:00

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

2006-02-22T08:50:00.000-05:00

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

2006-02-21T08:42:00.000-05:00

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

2006-02-20T11:57:00.000-05:00

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...

2006-02-19T21:07:00.000-05:00

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

2006-02-15T21:11:00.000-05:00

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

2006-02-14T14:28:00.000-05:00

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

2006-02-13T11:10:00.000-05:00

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!

2006-02-10T12:51:00.002-05:00

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?

2006-02-07T12:20:00.000-05:00

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

2006-02-06T10:24:00.000-05:00

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

2006-02-02T12:45:00.000-05:00

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~

Guatemala - Day I

2006-01-31T14:54:00.000-05:00

I’m back!! Did you miss me? Did you know I was even gone? Either way, here it goes. The trip to Antigua,

Guatemala

was wonderful. The weather was like San Diego weather – cool and overcast in the morning, afternoons warming up to a balmy 78 degrees, the cloudless sky painted a beautiful blue; evenings required a sweater for the ladies, children, and the elderly, and short-sleeves for 6’4” sweathogs such as myself. I perspire at the thought of sweat, so to have glorious weather for a week was like a dream come true. The gastronomy was just as good, and the people there were even more hospitable that imaginable. I only wish Americans could be as nice. The majority of tourists, predominantly Americans, were the most unfriendly while we were down there. Enough about that, though.

We arrived in Guatemala City close to 1pm; by 2:15pm, we were in Antigua, the 3^rd capitol of

Guatemala

. Antigua, which means “city of antiquity”, is a Spanish colonial city of around 30,000 people. It is surrounded by mountains and three volcanoes: Volcán de Agua, Volcán de Fuego, and Acatenango. They are collectively known as Tres Hermanas, or Three Sisters, and Volcán de Fuego is one of three active volcanoes in

Guatemala

. Back in the late 1700’s, Antigua was destroyed via lava; the Spanish then moved the crown to Guatemala City, which is still the capitol as of today. We got to our hotel, which was stunning (see below). We then ambled through the nicely designed grid comprised of colorful Antiguan streets. I am still very tired and have to study for an exam, but wanted to say “hello!” and leave a few photos for you to enjoy until I get better acclimated to home life. All I can say about day one was that as nice as it was, the trip got better. Much better. Next post will be coming soon!

Fountain in our private garden

Dining area of Meson Panza Verde.

Rooftop view of colonial houses and mountains.

Pool at the hotel. Small, but cool.

Overcast hides mighty Volcán de Agua.

Ethics, Sawgrass, and Guatemala

2006-01-23T14:15:00.000-05:00

Ethics

Are you as ethical as you think you are? That is the question. Are there degrees of ethicality? Can you be “sort of” ethical? Mostly ethical? Or is it black and white, you know, either you are ethical or you are not? I am currently taking a medical ethics class, and it really has me thinking as of late. Right off the bat, I thought to myself, “Hell yes, I am very ethical.” Since I am in medical research, we are constantly being trained on ethical behavior and treatment of volunteers and research subjects, so at work I am clearly on top of things, as well as the rest of my personal life. Or so I thought.

Then, the professor gave us a list of scenarios to test our ethics. Damn, I was shocked at myself. Not “Tuskegee Syphilis Study” shocked, but shocked at myself nonetheless. Friggin’ ethics teachers.

Here is a sample of a similar one such list. Take it, and see how much of a reprehensible degenerate you are, like me:

WOULD YOU OR HAVE YOU EVER. . . YES or NO

1. Blame a friend or classmate or co-worker for a mistake you made? Y – in high school

2. Copy a friend’s homework? Y – yet again, in high school

3. Lie on your biography or resume to get a job or get accepted to college? N

4. Deliberately hurt, embarrass or ridicule a co-worker? N – Unlike some people, I would never put laxatives in food.

5. Not return change to a salesperson that gave you more than you were due? Y

5. Read or open someone else’s mail? N

6. Cheat at a game or contest in order to boost your score? N

7. Drive on the shoulder of a road in order to get ahead of other cars when you are running late? N

8. Knowingly violate the speed limit? Y – this morning

9. Not report someone you see stealing or cheating on a test? Y – Damnit! High school again!

10. Betray a friend’s confidence by telling others his/her secrets? Y – Cannot remember any instance in particular, but I am sure I am guilty of this, so I said “Yes”.

11. Deliberately throw or leave paper or trash on the floor or ground? Y – It has been years and years since I have been guilty of this, thank the good Lord.

12. Damage someone’s property (like denting a car door and nobody sees you) and then not fess up to it? Y – back in junior high, my brother and I thought it was cool to throw rocks at the hubcaps of passing vehicles

13. Ask a friend to tell you test questions? Y – see answer for #11

14. Allow your dog to “poop” on a neighbor’s lawn and not clean it up? N

15. Pretend to be sick at work or at school when you were not? Y – uh, yeah, like a month ago, I took a mental health day.

16. Copy and use software on your computer that you did not purchase? Y

17. Park in a handicapped spot? N

18. Download a music file such as mp3 from the Internet that you do not purchase or was not being given away? Y – I miss the days of Napster.

19. Spray graffiti on a building or write/carve a message on a tree, bathroom stall or school desk? Y – school desk in high school.

20. Cover up for or not report a friend whom you know has stolen or done something illegal? Y – small, yet still guilty.

Are you kidding me? I answered “Yes” to 14 out of 20? That’s like, 50%, or maybe even more than 50%... God, I hate myself right now; I am horrible at mathematics and highly unethical.

If you answered YES to half of these questions, you should be punished by scraping chewing gum off the undersides of tables and desks for the remainder of your wretched life. Just kidding. Sort of.

In all seriousness, it must be damn hard to remain ethical at all times. Constantly we are challenged to perform unethical behavior, whether it be at work, home, at the mall, or while you are in your best friend’s bedroom with his wife while he is at work…oh, wait, I should save that analogy when I discuss MORALS, not ethics. Sorry.

Now, let me throw a scenario to you, that has happened to me as I am sure to all of you as well: You are at a restaurant, you eat, get the check, and when you get ready to pay, you notice a mistake: they failed to charge you for one entrée worth $11.95. Do you mention it to the server or let it go and save yourself $11.95? On the other hand, have you ever been over-charged for a bill, and when you notice it you quickly point it out? Lots of things to think about. Here’s my theory of what I do when given extra change; feel free to call me out if you think otherwise:

When I am given extra change, say under $10, I rarely give it back. Now, this happens very infrequently; I am not always given extra monies everywhere I go. I do this because I feel karma will eek it out of me at some time or another. Take this weekend for instance. On my way home Friday night, I stop at a restaurant and pick us some dinner (Italian, quite good). I order Tiramisu for dessert, and when I get home 20 minutes later I realize the place didn’t put the Tiramisu in the bag. I had paid for it, yet like a dumb ass, I threw away the receipt since I paid in cash and didn’t think I would need it, so basically I was SOL (shit-outta-luck). I paid nearly $4 for a dessert I didn’t have. I called the place to no avail, so now I was Tiramisu-less and four dollars poorer. Next time I will keep my receipt, but this also validates my point that things will even out in the long run. So the next time I get an extra two dollars off my bill for no apparent reason, I will shut the eff up and not say a word. That will make me feel better about losing my scrumptious coffee and liquor filled Italian dessert.

In the meantime, I guess all we can do is try to be better, more ethical people. Now go do the right thing….. (and no, that does not mean clubbing Dr. Laura Schlessinger over the head and neck).

If you need me you’ll know where to find me; I’ll be the one under the desks in the library with a scraper smelling like Juicy Fruit.

Sawgrass

A good buddy of mine played at Sawgrass in Florida, one of the best golf courses in the country recently, and the bastard didn’t even take me. He did bring back (a.k.a. probably permamently borrowed) a beer glass and ball marker from there, so I forgave him.

Here is a photograph of him in full swing:

Guatemala

The Fiction Scribe and his band of merry women will be traveling to Guatemala for a week, so I will be unable to post until next Monday. Aside from taking full advantage of the US dollar actually being worth something down there, we will be there for a wedding.

Here is our place:

http://www.panzaverde.com

Our room is #9. I will take a mess of photos, and, if I am lucky, I will be able to smuggle back a couple of Guatemalans to serve as my minions, particularly ones with excellent fetching, stenographic, and typing skills. I will have one bring me beer while the other transcribes all my ramblings into blog form. It will be highly unethical, but a man’s got to enjoy himself sometimes, right? ¡Hasta luego!

My new Official Website is up and running!

2006-01-17T09:26:00.000-05:00

http://www.barrysouthers.com/

This is the Official website for me and my book. It has a link to The Fiction Scribe blog, and vice versa.

Please visit the site, take a look, and let me know what you think!

If you don't make it a favorite I will hunt you down.

Also, pass it on to all your friends and family mambers that read and have internet access - and even that annoying co-worker who smells of cheese.

All feedback is appreciated; you can leave a comment, send me an e-mail, or both.

Thanks!

Weekend Review and a few photographs

2006-01-15T20:36:00.000-05:00

Hello young Jedi's! Hope a good weekend was had by all. Mine was good, and whether you like it or not, I am doing a recap.

Friday night: Babysat a 1 month old kid for about 2 hours. She is cute as can be, but she makes weird noises a lot. Her eyes go one way, her mouth another, and fome foreign sound comes out from what I thought was either her ear or the back of her head. If she keeps it up, she could land a gig as a ventriloquist. About 1o minutes in, I thought she was choking - quite scary. All she was doing was making those aforementioned noises and unloading her dinner on my shirt.
Went home after and drank a couple adult beverages to soothe the nerves.

Saturday: Went to my brother's house and watched my University of Kentucky Wildcats lose - AGAIN. Three in a row now. Had a couple malted 12 ouncers, and lunch, and that was that.
In the evening, I went to a co-workers house for a Chinese New Year celebration dinner. Interesting. The food was traditional Chinese, not your run-of-the-mill, everyday Kung Pao. It was deep in the heart of China, what in the hell are you feeding me food. Pretty interesting, smelled a bit, but overall was pretty tasty. Oh, and we had cold, uncooked pizza as well, just to Americanize it up a bit.
After that, I went to watch a friend of mine who plays on a professional indoor soccer team. Pretty fun. Met Jenny close to midnight at home (Whew! Can you believe old farts like us stay out until midnight?)....she was too tired to even smile at me, so we called it a night.

Sunday: My oldest step-daughter, Samantha (I love to call her Sammie Jo, especially in front of her friends) turned 16, so we did it up good. On Saturday, we picked up a Cadillac Escalade for a night and pimped the town. Those vehicles are bad-ass. I felt like a bad-ass in it. I think once I even drove with the windows down and my head cocked like 50-Cent. Jenny found a few little hidden compartments where we assumed people hide their black-tar heroin when the Five-O pull them over. They have heated seats for EVERY leather seat, stereos for the FRONT and BACK, and a bunch of other buttons that would take the manual and a few months to figure out. I suggest all of you get yourselves one. I am already thinking of who I could drug and drop in an ice bath to yank their kidney out...you think this will pay for one?
It's not like I would leave them kidney-less; they would still have one functioning one.
Don't judge me.
Anyway, we went to a restaurant in Cincinnati to eat (I also had a $60 GC to it) and then cruised around for a while with Sammie Jo and her sis Rachael and a bunch of noisy teenagers. I treated them good and even turned on Ashley Simpson for their listening pleasure (my ears will never be the same).
Now, I am back home, about to drop a cold brewskie down the ole gullet and kick back to watch the Eukanuba Dog Show, er, I mean football.

Monday: Day off in remembrance of MLK, so I will do as little as possible. Hope your weekends were fun, too. Word.

2006-01-15T20:35:00.000-05:00

River Avon in bloody Scotland

2006-01-15T20:34:00.000-05:00

California's Napa Valley wine country.

2006-01-15T20:32:00.000-05:00

Pebble Beach time.

2006-01-15T20:30:00.000-05:00

Backyard view from my childhood home.

The Picture Says a Thousand Words

2006-01-12T18:10:00.001-05:00

I am fed up. Quite frankly, I am downright surly and I have to get this off my bronzed, hairless, extremely muscular chest. This country, and probably the rest of the godforsaken world, are chock full of horrible drivers, and, from one self-anointed, excellent driver’s viewpoint, I have had enough. I am not the world’s best driver, nor do I claim to be, but I am better than most. I do proudly claim to not have missed a turn-signal in over 15 years. This, if you read a little of my most recent post, will fall under the OCD category. I’m older and much better now, thanks for asking. Now, the use of turn-signals are ingrained into my stream of consciousness at this point so much that it is automatic. I’m bifurcating off topic, though.

Why discuss this now? Well, in the past 24 hours, I have been bright-lighted, cussed at, cut-off – for no apparent reason at all other than to make my morning and evening commutes that much more unbearable. There are two things I hate more than bad drivers, and they are: congested traffic, and bad drivers in congested traffic. I don’t get road-rage, though; I merely simmer and fester in a stew of my own self-righteousness; constantly reaffirming to myself in vain, “Thou…shalt…not…kill”, and “They…haven’t….had…proper…drivers…ed….it’s…not…their…fault”. More than anything, I have a squishy steering wheel that I can give a workover to avoid a battery charge on my record.

Now, I don’t know about the rest of you out there, but I have a few pet peeves as far as driving goes, and, considering the fact that you are intelligent, courteous, and commonsensical people, I am sure you all will see it my way:

1. Use your f-%*ing turn-signals! You know, that stick under your steering wheel, the one that causes a “dink-donk” sound to be emitted and makes pretty light on the dashboard?

2. Use those mirrors on the side of your vehicle (yeah, those mirrors) for their intended purpose: to not hit me or any other schmuck unlucky enough to be in your driving radius.

Note to bad male drivers only: Although quite useful, mirrors are NOT intended to see how hot the girl driving next to you is, or to see how big her tits are.

3a. Do not bob and weave in between lanes! Although contrary to popular belief, you are not Little E or Jeff Gordon, or even Dick Trickle (sorry, I had to throw him in there). What is the big f-%*ing deal if you get home at 5:25pm, as opposed to 5:27pm? Are you willing to risk life and limb to save a lousy two minutes? Think about it, stud.

3b. Do not cut me off! Just because there is a car length between me and the vehicle in front of me does not mean you should jerk your Hummer or Navigator in there. We are going 65 mph, you shit-for-brains!

4. Do not tailgate me. I always manage to go about 10 mph over the limit, sometimes 15, so do not act like I am some blue-hair clogging up the fast lane by going 25 mph below. I will get over for you, and yes, I can see you gesturing at me through my rearview mirror, and, yes, you look like a total jackass. Tailgating me will only delay your trip that much more, and it will further anger you when you pass me up, because that is when you will see me laugh, and laugh, and laugh. I realize you and your camaro are very important, and that you must have a pregnant spouse or dying pet in the backseat; otherwise, I know you would not be 6 inches from my bumper on a fairly crowded interstate. Oh, and take that cheap-ass, feathery roach clip down while you’re at it.

Remember the old adage: If you can’t see my brake lights, I will be tossing pennies out of my window in the attempt to smack them against your windshield (not really, but the brother of a friend of mine did that when he lived in DC for a while).

5. When there is precipitation, you should go the speed limit – or slightly less. If it is raining, you do not have to go 25mph in a 65mph zone, but you should NOT go 90. Ever heard of hydroplaning? I have done it going 65mph, and believe me, it is a buzz kill.

Snow and/or ice on the roads? Please, for the love of God and all things holy, maintain a decent distance away from vehicles in front of you, and never, ever pull out in front of someone as if it were a sunny day in July. I was coming home last year, three days before Christmas, and a blizzard hit. I was less than a mile from home when a person of some unknown Asian heritage (not discriminating, just adding to the color of the story; it could have been anyone) pulled out in front of me, leaving me about three seconds to come to a complete stop or hit his vehicle. I’ll give you one guess about what happened…

Now, I don’t want to alienate the horrible female drivers out there, but it seems the majority of people doing the aforementioned blunders are male. Blame it on testosterone.

(Those without cojones are equally bad about the turn-signal thing, as well as cutting me, er, people off; I just feel worse when I give them the finger and call them bad names – it must be from my Southern upbringing).

What can we do to remedy these problems? These horrible drivers are menaces, scourges that we must cleanse society of! Let’s call our representatives, senators, and governors, for there really should be some form of legislation or laws prohibiting selfish driving. As punishment, we can sentence them to carpooling in those smelly trailers farmers use to haul cattle. Maybe they should clean up roadkill for your penance? After three offenses of the above 5 Rules to Proper Driving, they should be euthanized, or better yet, forced to teach Driver’s Ed to teenagers. Yeah, that’ll hit them where it hurts.

Damnit, are you with me? Hello? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Ah, forget it.

I don’t want all of you to think I am some sanctimonious blowhard, castigating the world as I’m perched atop my soapbox, because I realize we all make mistakes. Hell, even me - except for the turn-signal thing.

Ah, I am feeling much better now. Thanks for letting me ramble on ad nauseam about this. Oh, and thanks to the Paxil I found as well.*

*No offense to those currently taking Paxil under a doctor’s supervision.

Let's play tag

2006-01-10T11:11:00.000-05:00

Well, well, well, thank you janestarr, for the privilege of this tag.

I feel as giddy as a schoolgirl!

Two Parts of Your Heritage
1. Scottish – this part of me likes to drink whiskey and eat haggis, especially on Burns Night
2. English – this part of me likes to drink anything and call people “tarts” and "bloody wankers”

Two Things That Scare You
1. Living a boring, uneventful life
2. Falling - off cliffs buildings, roofs, mountains, out of bed, etc. A friend of mine has a fear of certain types of cheese, so I don’t feel too bad about admitting this.

Two fears you overcame
1. Germs – not completely, though. Considering I have been in the medical field forever, I’d call where I am a massive breakthrough. I used to be bad, like OCD, hand-washing compulsion bad.
2. Failure (marriage, writing, school, among others).

Two of Your Everyday Essentials
1. Sugar of any variety
2. Listening to news/shortwave radio/old-time radio programs before bed

Two things you are Wearing Right Now
1. A Celtic cross - it was a gift from my brother years ago. Rarely do I take it off, and if I do, it for a very brief time.
2. Irish Setter shoes – the most comfortable shoes I have ever worn. They don’t look good with wife beaters, though.

Two things you wore too much this year
1. Mismatched socks – the sock monster is alive and well in our utility room.
2. Underwear – old underwear, that is. You pervs. I need to treat myself better this year and get some good boxers.

This year's Favorite Bands or Musical Artists
1. Sufjan Stevens (indie)
2. Flogging Molly (Celtic punk/rock)

Two Things You Want in a Relationship
1. Fulfullment
2. Excitement

Two of your favorite Movies of the Year
1. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
2. Fun with Dick and Jane

Best movies of all time
1. The Outlaw Josey Wales
2. Life is Beautiful

Two things you hate
1. Failure to use turn signals/weaving/being an asshole in traffic
2. Patty Duke movies

Two of Your Favorite Hobbies
1. Woodworking – my brother and I have been making wood signs/mailboxes for years
2. Golfing with my dad, brother, and other very good friends

Two things you learned this year
1. Don’t waste time thinking about what you should be doing – get the hell out there and do it! Sometimes, with hard work, things work out like you hoped for.

2. Hardships are quite humbling. Mine weren’t very bad at all compared to many, many others out there in the world. It may sound corny, but we all need to be helping each other out a bit more.

Two Accomplishments You are Proud of
1. A publisher accepted my book for publication
2. I am going back to college to get another degree

Two Things You Want Really Badly
1. To keep improving as a husband, stepdad, brother, son, etc. To always strive to be a better man.
2. This book to be a success. I am not as interested in it being a financial success; I want people to enjoy it, to pass it on to friends, to say “Now, that was a good book”. Even if they thought it sucked, I want them to say, “Damn, this book sucked, but at least he tried”.

Two places you went this year.
1. San Diego – one of my favorite places in the world
2. Las Vegas – funny hooker story…I’ll tell you all later

Two Places You Want to go on Vacation
1. Black Forest region of Germany
2. China

Two Things You Want to Do Before You Die
1. Visit every continent
2. Meet the little boy I sponsor in Tanzania; do a mission trip

Two Ways that you are a Stereotypical Example of your Gender
1. I get physically ill when shopping too long
2. I will do just about anything (including shopping) for relations of a prurient nature.

Two things that make you stand out.
1. My height – I am 6’4”
2. My Southern charm

Two Things You Normally Wouldn't Admit
1. I would love to be a travel agent, but I am sure the pay is atrocious
2. I watch Lifetime on occasion (coincides with answer #2 on “Two Ways that you are a Stereotypical Example of your Gender”)

Two Goals for the New Year
1. To play more golf/basketball/take more walks with my wifey and dog
2. Travel, travel, travel! I want to do a book tour and meet several bloggers out there!

Let’s see…who should I tag? I’ll go with:

Lil Bit

______________________________________

Don't have much time to post today due to work and school, but I wanted to pass this public service announcement along. I am sure some of you can relate:

Ireland - A Travelography

2006-01-07T12:20:00.000-05:00

A stunning view of the Cliffs of Moher

The Emerald Isle. A mysterious land made up of rugged terrain, cultured cities, wonderful whiskies and beers, quaint and charming villages as colorful as their inhabitants, and, speaking of inhabitants, the most hospitable people in the world.

Their citizens possess a wealth of information, history, un-ending friendliness, and, most importantly, craic, or "the gift of gab". Craic is small talk relayed in grandiose terms. Making a mountain out of a mole hill - in a good way. Spinning a good yarn.

After talking to an Irishman or Irishwoman with a bit o' the craic, you are confused, elated, skeptical, and convinced.

They are the best storytellers in all the world in one of the most beautiful, welcoming places in all the world.

I have had the unforgettable honor of visiting, exploring, and experiencing some of the best Ireland (and a little bit of Wales, too) has to offer.

Blarney Castle

Road Signs

Called "The Two Paps", in Wales. Wonder how
it got its name?

Musician on the side of the road, playing the
accordian.

A very coor pub on the Dingle Peninsula. Heh,
I just typed "Dingle".

View from Blarney Castle, in Blarney.

St. Davids, Wales.

Randon castle on the side of the road in rural
Ireland. We stopped our car to take this, as well
to check for damages, because a HUGE HERD
OF CATTLE was blocking the road and hit
our car. While we were in it. Weird and scary.

This is a photo of a girl with feathers in her
hair, drinking beer in a booth, located in a bar
that is also a shoe store.
Only in Ireland.

Me, a very nice Canadian lady, and my travel
buddy, Mitch.
We were on our way to golf at Lahinch.

View from Cliffs of Moher.
This photo was taken from the
place in photograph #1. Notice
the tower.

Here is the same tower close up.
Look at the tiny people on the right.
A good example of how enormous
those cliffs are.

Some drunken Irish idiot. Oh, wait, that isn't
a drunken Irish idiot, that is me - a sober American
idiot.

Pub in a small village. Every small village or town
has at least one pub, and all have colorful, Guinness
wall murals.

Ireland's beautiful, rugged coastline.

Slainte!

Don't call me Ketchup Boy, boy!

2006-01-03T13:45:00.000-05:00

First of all, I want to say I had a nice New Years weekend and I hope all of you did as well.

LBB’s most recent post has inspired me to discuss work a little bit, or my lack thereof. I am guessing that the majority of you in Blogville, USA, are like me: college grads, semi-computer savvy. Hopefully, you aren’t allergic to work like me, though. I’m not talking numbers of hours, because I currently do put in a lot of hours and have done so since graduation. Most of the time, I have had multiple employers simultaneously.
What I mean is hard, back-breaking, pick axe and sledgehammer wielding work. Mud in your face work. I’m too tired for sex but I will do it anyway because it’s sex work.
Since I have been in the work force, rarely have I ever had to do such work, and, quite frankly, I have reveled in that fact. Sometimes, though, and lately more often than not, the fact that I rarely get my hands dirty is pissing me off. Is this a normal feeling? Even though I work 50+ hours, go to college full-time, raise a family, and try to keep the exterior portion of the house looking quasi-good, is it unfair of me to feel this way?

To get to this point in my life I had to successfully avoid a lot of manual labor. I also had to meet the Percent Daily Values requirement of time sitting on my ischial tuberosity, which I have accomplished each year since 1992 (this is based on a 2,000 calorie diet. Your Daily Values may be higher or lower depending on your calorie needs). I did the apartment thing for several years, until 2001, when I finally purchased my first home (this aids in the avoidance of outside chores). I am also relatively lazy.
When I get home, though, the last thing I want to do is mow the lawn, pull weeds, or rake leaves, even in the summer when sunset is close to 9:30pm! I feel like such a lazy arse, but when I am tired from working all day I simply want to go home, make dinner, eat dinner, polish off a couple bottles of liquid refreshment, and watch "My Name is Earl". Is that so wrong?

Now, you all probably are wondering why I am waxing incoherently (which I tend to do) over this topic, and, yes, I do have a point. I wasted a good part of yesterday loafing around, only to get aggravated, bored, and motivated enough to shuffle a copious amount of hard work into the daily mix. Bad idea.

Obviously, my sit-down-on-my-backside-all-day, computer job has caused severe muscle atrophy, because by the time I was finished, I could hardly lift my chainsaw off the ground to cut the wood. To top it all off, I had to stack the wood up after I cut it – by myself, even. Where are all the low-wage, illegal aliens when you need them? Anyway, after that, I raked leaves for what seemed like a month of Sundays, without stopping to eat or sleep or even make water. In reality, though, it was about two hours. I am still sore as hell today and probably will feel worse tomorrow. Bad idea, indeed…or was it?

Knowing that when I come home tonight and do not have much to do, simply because I have done most of the laborious chores already - and not avoided them - will make all the difference in the world. I might even quit my part-time job to free up time to do more things that are required of me at home.

I am sore as hell and damn proud of it, and I intend on feeling that way a lot more often than I used to.
So, get on out there you candy-asses and get to work!

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

2005-12-30T10:23:00.000-05:00

The Fiction Scribe's 2005 Year in Review

Well, another year has come and gone. Lots of things have stayed the same: I am still as homely as ever; I am still employed, married, and happy; I have a roof over my head, a car to drive, and great family and friends.

Even more have changed: For some weird, unknown reason, the waistlines in all my pants shrunk this year; I became a blogger, and, by doing so have met several new and interesting people - many of whom are more interesing than me; I became an uncle (one blood related, two more by proxy), I started the footwork on my own website, which will be available to the public in a month; and, I became a published author. Actually, as you all might or might not know, my book should be out sometime in February 2006, close to Mardi Gras time. This is not a coincidence, considering my book is mainly set in New Orleans.
Sadly, with the horrific devastation of Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans might not be up to the level of its former self anytime soon, but she is trying like hell, and that is all that anyone can ask from her.
I am seriously considering a volunteer trip to the gulf coast region within the next few months to help with clean-up; I will keep you posted if and when that comes to pass. Also, I want to point out that a portion of all book sales will go to charity - particularly Hurricane Katrina relief.

Now, for the fun stuff! I give you, drum roll, please:

The Fiction Scribe's 2005 Year in Review for Books, Movies, and Music!

*Crickets chirping*

Disclaimer: These are strictly my opinions, and I am sure you are all fully aware that I don't know what the hell I am talking about most of the time, so if you go by my picks, purchase anything on these lists and then hate it, don't blame me. Or, go ahead and blame me, but don't expect refunds. Or, expect refunds, but don't expect me to hand deliver it to your houses. Or, expect me to hand deliver it to your houses, but, under no circumstances, will I will give out free foot rubs. You bunch of babies.

If you do like the picks/purchases, give The Fiction Scribe a pat on the back!

Now, with that extremely long-winded disclaimer out of the way, onto the lists!

Books

Since I did not manage to read a lot of new books this year, I will give you the Top 5 list of the books I did manage to read:

*Another Kentucky author who has the same publisher as I.

** Poor attempt at shameless, self-promotion.

Movies

Again, did not see an assload of new movies in 2005, but I think the ones I saw were pretty good. Here's the list:

Music

If you get any cd this year, it should be Sufjan Stevens. He is good. Mellow, but good. After the release of "Illinois", his astronomical intentions of producing an album for all 50 states is now one less ("Michigan" was the first).

If he keeps producing albums like this one, though, I cannot wait to hear the 50th one.

*** #6 is actually a cd from 2004, but I just found out about them in 2005. Celtic punk band who really rocks. This cd is unusually good, especially if you enjoy both Celtic and punk/rock.

So, I want to say thanks to all who read all/any of my drivel the past couple of months. Hopefully there were at least a couple amusing lines and interesting stories. If not, I vow to redeem myself in the new year, by making The Fiction Scribe a bilge-free blog.

I promise to raise a glass this weekend in adulation of all my new blogging friends and readers.

Onnellista Uutta Vuotta!

(Here's some Finnish for ya, janestarr....)

Leroy looked like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone...

2005-12-27T19:00:00.000-05:00

Great, just great. As soon as I hit the motherload of Christmas bounty, not only do I have to return to work, but with a sinus infection as well. It irritates me to no end, so much that I am inclined to cough upon every door handle within a 20-mile radius, just to get back at that special someone who got me sick. Kidding. I am extremely under the weather tonight, so I am afraid my witty banter and charming posts will have to wait until another day very soon, unless you liked the bit about the coughing on the door handle, then I am happy to announce I still got it.
I did want to leave a little note to all my new friends I am accumulated over the past few months. Here's hoping you all had a wonderful Christmas/holiday weekend!

Do you have a favorite present you received?
-Mine was a toss up between a pair of "change daily" boxers (thanks,mom...the reminder really helps!), Jim Croce greatest hits CD, and these really cool replica Chinese terra cotta warriors from Xi'an.

Pleased as punch about a gift you gave?

Tell me, and I will view your responses whilst recovering. Hell, I may double up on the NyQuil and join in!
Wow, you know what, just getting on here and venting/rambling to you guys has made me feel better already...that, or the shot of Thera-flu and rum I just downed has kicked in and is giving me a false sense of being really interesting.
You know, while I am at it, I better go take a photo of me in these boxers before I have to change them...Have a great day! Now go play with your new toys!

Truth is stranger than fiction...even at The Fiction Scribe

2005-12-22T08:25:00.000-05:00

Since a lot of bloggers are single it seems, and have very interesting dating stories, I thought it would be nice to share one of my more interesting dating stories with you. I am an old married guy now, so all we do is watch tv, go to bed immediately after nightfall, have crazy, tantric, acrobatic, trampoline sex and other boring stuff like that. So, here goes, and if any of you purchase a copy of Queens and Crescents (which I hope all of you will), you will see a modified version of this story in there:

I was 18 years old, temporarily living back at home with my parents (I know they must have loved that). I had recently broken up with my girlfriend at the time, or I should say, she started dating someone else, THEN broke up with me. Anyway, I met this cute girl one night while cruising around our small town's shopping plaza, and when I say "cruising" I don't mean trolling for prostitutes, I mean driving around McDonald's, Long John Silvers, Hardees, and Pizza Hut in a continuous circular pattern for hours upon hours (for all you small-towners out there, I'm sure you know exactly what I mean). Sometimes, we would get nutty and head over to Wal-Mart's parking lot or swing by Arby's. Note that all this time, the main thing we are doing is driving around in the attempt to locate someone we know, preferably ones of the more delicate gender.

Those desperate or confused enough to talk to extremely huge geeks such as ourselves included the following:

blind females
mentally ill females
dumb females
inebriated females
blind, mentally ill, dumb, inebriated females

Somehow, I managed to find a cute girl willing to talk to that wasn't any of the above; I didn't realize until later that she was a female who had an extremely jealous, drug-dealing, drug-addicted ex-boyfriend. I ask her out and she says "yes".

Our date is broken into three parts:

PART I

So we go on our date and she offers to drive. Cool, right? Well, considering the fact that she drove a convertible Bronco - yes, I said "convertible Bronco" - it wasn't as cool as I had hoped. Seems she has a bit of a welding streak as well as a wild streak, so she decided to cut the top of her Ford Bronco right the eff off.
On top of that, her 12 year-old sister's babysitter bails on them, so she has to go with us.
The three of us take off on our date, our hair blowing in the wind, because as I mentioned, we are in a convertible Bronco.

PART II

Our "date" mainly, no, only consisted of cruising around Beaumont Plaza in a vain attempt for additional recreation. Then, my date locates a friend who is very distressed. Her friend proceeds to tell the three of us that another friend of theirs just found out he got his girlfriend pregnant, and is drunk, in a cow pasture, threatening suicide. So, without hesitation my date barks her tires, turns on the 4x4, and proceeds to head to the aforementioned cow pasture.
When we get there, it is surreal. Four or five cars are there, the drunk daddy-to-be is there, picking a fight with his dad, swinging like a madman, and funnily enough, missing every time. My date, as well as a few other females there, are trying to calm him down, but he is obviously a mean whiskey drunk, so their pleas fall on deaf ears. As he is still trying to fight his dad, it seems he was getting rather warm, what with all the excitement of the moment and all, so he begins to undress. Did I mention we are in a cow pasture? We have had enough when he starts picking a fight with me. To top it all off, he starts trying to get into the convertible Bronco with us....in his tighty whities....as the Bronco is driving off. Drunk guy then grabs my door as we take off, so I have to hit him a couple times to make him let go. Even for a wiry drunk guy, he is strong, so we drag him approximately 30-40 feet.

PART III

On the way back to my date's house, time is dragging, for I am extremely ready to go home. It is very late. We stop at a convenient store and she sees him - the jealous, drug-dealing and drug-addicted ex-boyfriend. He is about 30, huge, and quite nuts. In another car is one of his even older druggie friends. They harasses both me and her, as well as one of my friends I run across in the store. As the potty mouthed, 12 year-old sister begins to scream obscenities at the druggies, I am preparing my eulogy.

We start driving to her house, though, we notice a couple of vehicles following us. We get to her house, and it is them. They start yelling at me again, threatening to kick my ass and other essential body parts. Potty Mouth goes off on them yet again. As I get in my car, they block me from leaving. I try to get around them, and they begin to circle my car in a very successful attempt to intimidate me. Finally, they let me go.

Through it all, it was unusual, eventful, and memorable, if not scary as hell. The next day, she calls me and apologizes about it all, and then proceeds to ask me out for another date. Did I say "YES" or 'NO"? Hmmmm.

_______________________________________

Update on Queens and Crescents

Great news! Yesterday, I returned the proofs of my book back to my editor. Now, after another round of revisions, it will go on to the cover art department, where they will create the front and back book covers! It is very exciting, and most importantly, it won't be too long before it will be available to purchase. Soon I will be setting up some radio and newspaper interviews for promotional purposes; I have the green light for a couple good sized radio stations in Kentucky (84 WHAS in Louisville and 63 WLAP in Lexington). At work one day, I talked with a gentleman who is the editor for two newspapers in Indiana, and I also talked with a lady who trains people to do DJ work at a local radio station in the Tri-state area (Kentucky, Indiana, and Ohio, near Cincinnati). People have always told both my brother and I that we have excellent radio voices (think Barry White, then go up an octave or so); others have mentioned we have faces for radio as well. I suppose we were born to do it.
Regardless, it might be a good opportunity to get some exposure, as well as try something different.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you!!!!

Misadventures in Babysitting

2005-12-18T21:08:00.000-05:00

Well, well, well, let me tell you all, it was a learning experience for me this weekend. I had the fortune of babysitting my cute as hell infant niece, Fiona (Fifi as she is called). It started Friday night, when I picked her up from my brother's house, located about 30 minutes away from mine. After getting the lecture about driving fast, using my turn signals, and staying in the right-hand lane, I proceeded to get her in the car. Everything's cool. Then, my brother tells me this is the first and only time she has been in the car with ANYONE except him or Fiona's mom - my sister-in-law, Julie. Wow! After that, I tried to keep it cool, but it was useless.
Driving the 30-minute, white-knuckle trek to my house, I was nervous. Sweaty-forehead nervous. Nervous-as-hell nervous. Think-your-girlfriend-is-pregnant nervous. If-I-had-a-kilo-of-black-tar-heroin-in-the-back-of-my-trunk, I-don't-think-I-would-have-been-any-more-nervous nervous. I honestly have not been in the car with anyone under the age of 1 in 10 years or more, and never by myself.
I know this sounds ridiculous, but I have another life in the car I am fully responsible for; more importantly, she is not my child, which adds the pressure.
Then, on the way home, I encounter Christmas mall traffic on the interstate, and you all know how considerate and polite people can be around the holidays. I look back in my rearview mirror and see some jackass in a Hummer about five feet from my bumper! Now normally, I would tap the brakes or throw a few pennies out the window at him, but not with Fifi in there. So, like any normal person, I start mouthing.
"Two car lengths away from me, you b-stard! Do you hear me? Two!" All he sees of course is me giving him the peace sign. Great, he thinks I am a hippie or something, fighting for world peace on the interstate (Don't worry, no cursing was done in the presence of my niece during this situation; I added it in for dramatic effect).
This is not to mention my blatant overuse of the turn signals in my vehicle. Now I am proud to tell you I haven't missed a turn signal in over 15 years, but, this night I tell you all as I live and breathe, I went too far. To avoid any more tailgating experiences I decided to turn the signals on slightly ahead of time...like a minute or so. It even got so bad that once I am pretty sure I used the turn signal on a curve.
By the time I get home, I am a sweaty mess; hardly in any condition to baby sit - overnight. Ugh...home - that is when the fun comes.
Fifi doesn't eat all night; she starts coughing, sneezing, wheezing, and generally feeling awful. After she finally falls asleep (which is several hours after her regular bedtime), she coughs for hours until she awakens at 4 o'clock in the morning. She is wet, hungry as hell, and pissed. Thank God my wife Jenny is wonderful with children. I have two awesome step-daughters, but they are in their early teens, so even for the ol' pro it has been a while.
She finally goes back to sleep at 5am; by 7am she is up again, and this time for good.
We were all dragging ass, tired, cranky, and real pleasures to be around, but by 1pm, when it was time for Fifi to leave, she was a happy, smiling baby without a care in the world.
I know that Jenny and I will do all we can to keep her that way.
Through it all, even for a microscopic glimpse, I understand what parents go through every day. I have a lot of respect for my brother anyway; now, though, I have a whole lot more. Parents - good ones, work tirelessly, every day, just to simply give their children the essentials. It is hard, constant work.
Since Fifi went home yesterday, I have thought about her and her overnight stay about 500 times, and each time I've had a smile on my face from ear to ear.
I think I passed the test.

2005-12-18T19:18:00.000-05:00

I know this is awful, but I had to. It's called "Christmas in Cleveland".
:)

2005-12-18T19:14:00.000-05:00

Have you been naughty or nice? Probably a little of both.

2005-12-18T19:09:00.000-05:00

Sunset in Puerto Vallarta.

Fa ra ra ra ra ra ra ra ra

2005-12-14T12:56:00.000-05:00

Well, it’s Christmastime once again. The trees are all decorated nicely, the stockings are hung on the mantle, the eggnog is spiked, and, in some parts of the world, the Christmas cakes are filled with laxatives (I believe that is Australia).

Personally, though, I love this time of year. To me, starting around October and going through early January – it the best time of the year. Some of the reasons why I love this time of year are: snow; two of my favorite sports – football and basketball; family; listening to Christmas music on the radio ad nauseum; eating chocolate covered cherries ad nauseum; friends; sending goofy Christmas cards; the cool, crisp autumn air that fills the skies while a multitude of reds, oranges, and yellows blanket the countryside; Oktoberfest; apple cider; pumpkin pies; turkey and dressing; Yule logs (whatever the hell they are); heavy traffic; Christmas lights; bourbon balls; bourbon whiskey; listening to the Chinese sing “Deck the Harrs” on A Christmas Story; New Years Eve parties; sitting at home with your loved ones watching the ball drop; watching two fat ladies fight over a toy in a department store; getting the finger from two girls in a mall parking lot as I continually circle around the same four aisles in a miserable, failing attempt to park my car…well, the last two aren’t really positive things; the latter did happen to me once in Louisville, though.

I had a very happy and normal childhood, and while we weren’t knocking the bank vaults down with our savings and checking accounts, you would never know, because it wasn’t all about expensive presents or who could get more stuff - it was about sharing with your loved ones and enjoying time together. Sure, I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy my bike I got one year or all the wonderful things my parents bought for me, but now as I am older and I recollect memories from Christmas’ past, I really see the true meaning of it all. I can really see I was one of the fortunate kids, though; even in my small town, there were kids who had it bad – really bad. Even now, I feel a small amount of guilt as I open presents on Christmas morning, knowing others have nothing to share. That is why I do what I can for others less fortunate - in my community and abroad. Still, I could do more.

I feel blessed to have a wonderful and ever-increasing group of family and friends around me now, including ones in the blogosphere. So, in the spirit of the season, let me make a toast:

To my longtime friends and those I’ve just met recently, I wish you all a safe and happy and wonderful Christmas and holiday season. May your today be better than yesterday and your tomorrow be better than both. Sláinte!

P.S. Don’t flip people the bird too much this holiday season (unless it is me accidentally cutting you off in traffic, then go for it).

________________________________________________________________________

Update on Queens and Crescents

My website, http://www.barrysouthers.com , is about half ready. The webmaster is creating several layouts for me to decide on, and, after that, it should be up and running within a few weeks. I will have a link to my site on my blog and vise versa. I will keep you posted!

Currently, I am looking over the proofs of my book. It is quite exciting! So, to allow all of you to get a sneak peek of what is to come, instead of writing I am posting an excerpt from Queens and Crescents:

He walked down toward a long string of white taxicabs parked along the exit of the airport. He stopped at one of the cars and watched as the cabbie got out and opened the trunk. He looked curiously at Sean as he silently filled the trunk with Sean’s luggage, then moved around to the side and opened the right rear door and waited for Sean to move. As he got closer to the cabbie, Sean noticed a sickly sweet aroma of stale alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat. The cabbie closed Sean’s door and walked around the front of the cab to get in on the driver’s side.

“Where you need to go, young man?” the cabbie asked.

“Um,” Sean mumbled back, fumbling through his itinerary papers in his shirt pocket. “344 Camp Street.” He felt a little foolish for not being prepared when the cabbie asked him where to go.

“Ah, the Queen and Crescent, eh? Very nice place, my man. Not in the Quarter, but very close.” The cabbie pulled out of his spot and flipped on the meter.

Sean was impressed. There must have been hundreds of hotels in the greater New Orleans area, and yet that guy knew exactly where the place was simply by the address alone.

“Yes, sir, the Queen and Crescent,” Sean replied. “I’ve never been there before, but the pictures I’ve seen are lovely.”

“No need to call me sir; I work for a living. Mr. Boudreaux’s the name.”

“Okay then, Mr. Boudreaux it is.” Sean quickly glanced up at the rearview mirror and noticed Mr. Boudreaux’s worn, yellow eyes looking back at him.

Mr. Boudreaux was a short, thin, graying black man. He had been born and raised in New Orleans, and except for a four-year stint with the Army, he had been there all his life. The stale smell Sean noticed was correct. Mr. Boudreaux had been a chronic drinker and smoker for years. Sometimes he would indulge himself with generous portions of Bacardi rum and coke while checking out the g-stringed dancers at some of the local “gentleman’s” clubs around town. Mostly, though, he drank alone in his three-room carriage house located outside of town.

The air conditioning in the taxicab was obviously not working, and that, coupled with the fact that you could cut the humidity outside with a knife, made Sean’s sweat glands work overtime. He wiped sweat from his forehead yet again as he turned to view the sights from the cab’s back window.

“How far is it to the hotel, sir… um, I mean, Mr. Boudreaux?” Sean hoped it would not be too far, especially since Mr. Boudreaux’s driving skills were somewhat questionable at best.

“Not too much further, young man, not too much further.” Sean heard the cabbie laugh, as if he could almost feel his uneasiness from the driver’s seat. He looked up at the rearview mirror to see the cabbie’s yellow eyes looking at him once again. “There’s no need to get in a hurry in N’awlins.”

Sean was enthralled with Mr. Boudreaux’s definite Cajun dialect. He heard many people speak that way on television, but it didn’t do it any justice at all. He found the way Mr. Boudreaux spoke, as well as Southerners in general, to be quite hypnotic and intimidating—something about the way they pronounced every word very slowly and nasal, as if every word had some sort of grandiose meaning. They didn’t just talk, they spoke, and those words represented knowledge, which is quite the opposite of the typical stereotype of slow-witted buffoons with three teeth and tobacco spittle encrusted on the corners of their mouths.

“Where are you from, young man?” Mr. Boudreaux asked. Sean noticed how the cabbie always grunted and snorted after he spoke. “I’m from Oregon…a little town called Cottage Grove, located about twenty or twenty-five miles south of Eugene,” Sean said. Mr. Boudreaux laughed again as he looked back at him, which made Sean uncomfortable yet again.

“That’s my name, young man—Eugene.” He laughed.

“Eugene Boudreaux, the one and only.”

“Ever been to Oregon?” Sean asked.

“No, no, no, never been. California’s the closest I’ve been. Very nice place, though, I hear.”

“It is…a nice place, I mean. This is my first time in New Orleans,” Sean said, wiping the sweat off his face with his hand.

“Well, what do y’know, I got me a N’awlins virgin in my car today!” he laughed. “You are gonna love it here, young man. We got anything an’ everything a young man could want, and even a few things you wouldn’t want. The finest hotels, the best food in the world, and the women, oh, the women! Young man, we got some of the finest women here that you’ll ever lay your eyes on.” Sean could tell Mr. Boudreaux was grinning simply by the elevated tone of his voice. “The finest indeed. You come down here alone, did you now?”

“Well, um…yes. I haven’t done very much for myself lately so I decided to treat myself to a trip, to get away from it all for a few days. I hear there is some fabulous architecture in this area,” Sean said, feeling a little foolish. I mean seriously, who comes to New Orleans to enjoy the architecture? He waited for the cabbie to laugh but he never did.

“Oh, yes, and that too. Everything you could want. But I’ll be surprised if you do much sightseeing while you’re down here, though.” The cabbie paused. “One word of advice for you, young man. Don’t go away from the French Quarter too far, unless you’re looking for trouble. You do that and you’ll find it, or it’ll find you, whether you want it or not.”

Sean made a mental note of that. Don’t be stupid and get lost in a big town two thousand miles from home. You’ll do nobody any good if you’re dead.

“Any more good advice?”

“If you looking for food, Mulate’s is hard to beat. Won’t cost you much, and the food’s good. Damn good. Brunch at Court of Two Sisters is popular and damn good, too. Now, if you looking for music, go to Tiritina’s, on Napoleon. Any type of music you want to hear, especially the blues. That’s what we’re known for down here, you know? The blues, and jazz.”

Mr. Boudreaux began scratching his head as he paused to think. “And if you’re looking for women, you got to check out the Gold Room. Be careful, though; some places down there on Bourbon Street have more than meets the eye.” He finished the instant they drove up to the Queen and Crescent, turned off the meter, and then put the car in park.

While they were getting the luggage out, Sean asked, “Mr. Boudreaux, excuse my naiveté, but what exactly do you mean by ‘more than meets the eye’?”

Mr. Boudreaux snickered as he sat the luggage down close to Sean’s feet. “Just be careful around the beautiful ones, the tall ones. Their beauty may fill your eyes and their voice your ears, but they may not be all they seem. They could be dangerous, very dangerous.”

Sean felt a chill run down his spine. “Dangerous? How? You mean they might be men?” he asked.

“No, no, no, young man,” the cabbie said as he laughed. “Although you gots to watch out for them, too. Just be careful. You never know where a beautiful woman may lead you, or what they might make you do. Men have fought wars over the love of a beautiful woman, young man. I have fought my share of wars, too, you know.” He paused and placed his hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Just be careful is all I’m sayin’. Just be careful.”

Sean felt more confused now than before, and was sorry he had asked for clarity. Whatever the cabbie meant, he was adamant about it. Sean smiled gingerly before leaning over to pick up his luggage. After he paid the fare, they shook hands.

“Let me be the first to welcome you to N’awlins.” Sean smiled as he watched Mr. Boudreaux get in the taxicab and wait for his next fare. As he turned to face the hotel, he noticed the beautiful design of the building. Since he had taken an ancient architecture class in college, he had an interest in the way buildings were shaped. He walked toward the lobby entrance and noticed a group of women laughing as they exited the doors.

“Hi,” whispered one of the stunning beauties as she walked past Sean. She gave him a sexy smile. Sean caught himself gawking as they moved away from him. What a fool! I have not been here five minutes and I have a beautiful young woman saying hello before I enter the hotel lobby, and I don’t say anything back! Stupid, stupid, stupid! He shook it off and paused for a moment to regain his composure before going inside.

He would not think of architecture again for the entire trip.

The Evolution of Barry

2005-12-11T10:41:00.000-05:00

Just like Homo ergaster to Homo sapiens, I have evolved. Take a look and vote for your favorite!
Don't judge me solely on #3.
Have a great Sunday!

1. That's me picking up the rear; I was always a crappy swimmer, even prior to conception.

2. Isn't that Corey Haim from "Lucas"?
(In case you cannot tell, I am the one with the Chi-Chi's restaurant tee and bitchin tube socks. Bruce, my bro, is the embarrased one on the right).

3. The cute one's Jena; I 'm on the right.
This one is mid 80's.
(Notice the wicked mullet and always stylish yellow tank).

4. Yet again shamelessly posing with a dog (Daisy) to improve picture quality.
(My vote's on this one).

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe...

2005-12-07T13:51:00.000-05:00

…is a great movie. My brother and I had free, sneak preview tickets to see the movie last night, which I am sure you all know, is based on the C.S. Lewis series, The Chronicles of Narnia.

We came prepared with contraband (Cokes and snacks), smuggled in by using our large pockets of our coats (for geeks like us, it is almost like stealing from the theatre). Anyway, the nice thing was that people of all ages were there, and most of them seemed to enjoy themselves. Now, I know a free movie is a hell of a lot better than one that cost $8.75, but that aside, I really liked it. We both concurred the story has a strong religious overtone to it; quite possible, since C.S. Lewis wrote a number of religious books (see The Screwtape Letters – highly recommended). They did a nice job with the casting, the special effects were impressive, and there was a good mixture of fighting scenes, humor, and old-fashioned good vs. evil to make for a good storyline….unless you are one of those evil bastards/biddies who would enjoy watching a movie where cute, little, dentally-challenged British kids and their Cockney-accented animal friends get killed; if you are one of those loathsome, offensive brutes, you will NOT enjoy this movie.

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*I heard this at Hofbrauhaus, in Newport, KY, by a couple of accordion playing maniacs; only later did I realize Homer Simpson sang it as well.

The Sound of Homer

Dough, the stuff that buys me beer
Ray, the guy who sells me beer
Me, the guy who's drinking beer
Far, a long way to go for beer
So, I'll have another beer
La, I'll have another beer
Tea, no thanks, I'm having beer
that will bring us back to

D'oh!

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‘Tis the season to be jolly, and to make fun of people.

Demented “Dear Santa” letters

deer santa:
I wud like a kool toy space ranjur fer Xmas. Iv ben a gud boy all yeer.
Yer Frend,
BiLLy

Dear Billy,
Nice spelling. You're on your way to a career in lawn care. How about I
send you a frigging book so you can learn to read and write? I'm giving
your older brother the space ranger. At least HE can spell!
Santa
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Dear Santa,
I have been a good girl all year, and the only thing I ask for is peace and joy in the world for everybody!
Love,
Sarah

Dear Sarah,
Your parents smoked pot when they had you, didn't they?
Santa
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Dear Santa,
I don't know if you can do this, but for Christmas, I'd like for my
mommy and daddy to get back together. Please see what you can do.
Love,
Teddy

Dear Teddy,
Look, your dad's banging the babysitter like a screen door in a
hurricane. Do you think he's gonna give that up to come back to your
frigid, fat mom, who rides his ass constantly? It's time to give up that
dream. Let me get you some nice Legos instead. Maybe you can build
yourself a family with those?
Santa
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Dear Santa,
I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots for
your reindeer outside the back door.
Love,
Susan

Dear Susan,
Milk gives me the shits and carrots make the deer fart in my face when
riding in the sleigh. You want to do me a favor? Two words, Jim Beam.
Santa
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Dear Santa,
What do you do the other 364 days of the year? Are you busy making toys?
Your friend,
Thomas

Dear Thomas,
All the toys are made by little kids like you in China and EVERY year I give them a slice of bread as a Christmas bonus. I have a condo in Vegas, where I spend most of my time making low-budget porno films. I unwind by drinking myself silly and squeezing the asses of cocktail waitresses while losing money at the craps table.

P.S. Tell your mom she got the part.

Santa “Long Dong” Claus
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Dear Santa,
Do you see us when we're sleeping, do you really know when we're awake, like in the song?
Love,
Jessica

Dear Jessica,
Are you really that gullible? Good luck in whatever you do. I'm skipping your house.
Santa
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Dear Santa,
I really, really want a puppy this year. Please, please, please, PLEASE, PLEASE could I have one?
Timmy

Timmy,

That whiny, begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap doesn't work with me. You're getting an ugly sweater again.
Santa
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Dearest Santa,
We don't have a chimney in our house, how do you get into our home?
Love,
Marky

Mark,
First, stop calling yourself "Marky", that's why you're getting your ass kicked at school. Second, you don't live in a house; you live in a low-rent, ghetto apartment complex. Third, I get inside your pad just like all the burglars do, through your bedroom window.
Sweet Dreams,
Santa

And, finally, back to Queens and Crescents….

It was the Christmas/New Year’s in late 90’s, and, for the umpteenth time, I had just dumped (or been dumped by) another woman I had been dating. I had always been somewhat of a writer, what, with writing short stories and the like, but now I felt the urge to do more; the claustrophobic, “shit or get off the pot” feeling that only comes with a poor self-evaluation. I pulled out that photograph from Susan – the one with “We’ll always have New Orleans” written on it. Her perfume still lingered on it ever so slightly. Then, like a kick to the head, it came to me - the storyline about a guy who falls knee-deep for a woman in New Orleans – a beautiful, troubled woman; a woman who is engaged to be married to a dangerous, hot-tempered crime boss from New York. So, before Christmas that year I began doing research on New Orleans and the Queens borough of New York City. But, I soon realized that it is very difficult to write about a place you have never seen, so I went with Cincinnati (nicknamed “The Queen City”) instead of Queens. On January 3^rd of the New Year, I began to write – by hand. I started with a working outline, and then wrote five actual pages that day; then, four the next. After that, I wrote five more, then seven, then twelve. After it was all said and done, I only missed one day of writing in close to five months. Most importantly, I had finished it. I put the written manuscript away in a safe place and didn’t look at it for close to a year.

Have a good week and be sure to check back Sunday for some great photos! Per request from a lost beachgirl (http://lostbeachgirl.blogspot.com/), I have dug up some mid-80’s pics of myself proudly sporting the sweet mullet. For a good history lesson, click here. Thank God I got a job that required short hair….if you still sport the always fresh-looking hockey hair, you may need to pick this up:

See you next week.

2005-12-04T13:20:00.000-05:00

Winter's evening view from our backyard.

2005-12-04T13:18:00.000-05:00

Little dog, big stick.

2005-12-04T13:16:00.000-05:00

Warm fire at home.

Is that a gravy bowl full of Imodium?

2005-11-30T21:47:00.000-05:00

Hello, again. I hope Thanksgiving found all of you well! For me and five of my unluckiest of family members, the holiday weekend was spent mostly rehydrating ourselves. Over the extra long weekend, it seems we all got bored with countless good times with family, watching television, eating, and not being at school or work or infant daycare, so we did what came natural - we contracted a most rapacious of intestinal contagion. Or, we had the stomach flu.
So, for all the turkey and dressing and mashed potatoes and cheesy macaroni and cornbread I divulged in, I felt as though I expelled equal parts. Cranberry sauce and the Dallas Cowboys one day; sharing a bottle of Fifi's (my infant niece) Pedialyte the next - isn't this a crazy world?
Anyway, back to my book, Queens And Crescents. When last we read, my book was nothing more than a wishful dream. Since I was quite young I have seemed to have quite the imagination. As youngsters, my twin brother, Bruce, and I, were continually writing short stories, songs - you name it. Most of them didn't make a whole hell of a lot of sense, but, on that rare occasion - perhaps when Venus and Mars were aligned - we jotted down some good ones. Once, when I was twelve or so, I created a band called Exeter (imaginatively speaking, of course), named after the city in Great Britain. I created an album cover as well as nine songs; most of them littered with vague WWII references - or as good as a twelve year old could manage. Tonight’s ramblings are not at all related to my book, but an interesting story nonetheless. If anything, it gives you all a tiny glimmer into how long I have been writing, attempting to write, or, at the very least, making goofy-looking album covers out of notebook paper and magic markers.
Now, all I do is annoy Jenny - my always beautiful and mostly patient wife with all my squirrelly albeit creative ideas. Let's see, in the past I have successfully and tenaciously, if not briefly, made all of the following:

cologne
soap
soy candles
liquor/beer
wood signs/mailboxes
work of fiction

The last one is my favorite (although the homemade "Kahlua" rates a close second).
Well, I am sorry for not writing any more details on how the book came to fruition, but hopefully gave you an entertaining story nonetheless.
Man, I wish to God I still had a copy of that Exeter album cover; I would scan that damn thing and upload it.
"Say, Honey, next time you're up, would get me the kids' Crayola markers? Er, ahem, and the Pepto as well...."
See you next week. Stay tuned Sunday for more photographs.

2005-11-27T20:30:00.000-05:00

Beautiful landscape near Burgin, KY, located in the Bluegrass region.

2005-11-27T20:26:00.000-05:00

Autumn scenery near Shaker Village of Pleasant Hill, KY.

2005-11-27T19:59:00.000-05:00

Panoramic view of Herrington Lake area in the beautiful Bluegrass region of Kentucky.

Welcome

2005-11-23T21:14:00.000-05:00

Hello, and welcome to the initial installment of The Fiction Scribe. My name is Barry Southers. Currently, my first book, titled, Queens and Crescents, is to be published in early 2006. It is a story about a man names Sean who takes a chance in life and follows his heart to New Orleans, where, through unforeseen turns of events, is catapulted into the life of a beautiful, yet very troubled woman named Daniella - a woman, who, unbeknownst to Sean, is engaged to a man of power and wealth, a man who is abusive, hot-tempered, and dangerous - and also the leader of an underground crime family in Cincinnati.
She is all he has ever wanted in a woman, and, unfortunately, all he would have hoped to avoid.
Through it all, through exhilarating highs and heartbreaking lows, Sean learns that some things in this world are worth fighting for, and quite possible dying for.
Follow along with me as I go from aspiring writer to published author and see what the experience is like firsthand. Currently, Queens and Crescents has been assigned to an editor assigned at the publishers. This process is usually several months, depending on what the editor requests to be changed. I am hoping that me having the book edited numerous times will aid in the expediency of this process, but I not holding my breath. Be it as it may, I received numerous emails from the publishers recently notifying me of this aforementioned editorial process, which after the initial revisions are requested and then made, I will return the proofs back to the editor in order to allow them to begin the review and critique process all over again. I do not mind, of course, for their trained eyes will discover any miscues I may have banged out along the way.
This is all preemptive of me, though. Since the creation of Queens and Crescents began over 3, 500 moons ago, and I have a few months to kill prior to my book hitting the brick-and-mortar shelves (as well as a multitude of online booksellers) I should convey this story you all of you from its commencement.
It all started in 1996, in a smoky bar in the Vieux Carré, or French Quarter, in New Orleans. The name of said bar is irrelevant, particularly considering the fact that I am now unable to summon it up from the bowels of my cerebral cortex. Anyway, this seedy, den of iniquity is where I met Susan, a friend I had from that point on until about 2000. In a drunken stupor, we both miraculously exchanged and managed to hold onto each other’s contact information. Throughout the next year or so, we corresponded via telephone and letters, both shocked, excited, and confused about the fact that we were corresponding at all. Since we were drunk and New Orleans was the place where chance let us to meet, we thought our stars crossed in the night sky for an instant only to flicker and fade. This is simply not true, even though that March night in the Big Easy was our once and only encounter in person. Odd? Perhaps, but that is how stories are developed; how reality and fantasy are formed into a vague amalgam, both entities indistinguishable from one another. Once, shortly after our Crescent City encounter, I received a letter from my new friend, yet this time there was something with it – a photograph, of her, presumably taken by Glamour Shots. On the back she had scribbled a one-line note to me, a note that would someday, several years later, be the starting point to me writing to completion my first book - the one you are sitting here reading about at this very instant:

“We’ll always have New Orleans.”

And we’ll leave it at that…Happy Thanksgiving.
See you next week.