Pessimistic Cynic?

Or cynical pessimist?



I don't consider myself to be a negative person.

But as it turns out, I may be one anyway.

I frequently catch myself judging others before getting to know them; judging people based solely on easily observable characteristics. And I'll often assume the worst about someone if they display a trait I consider undesirable. Tattoos visible on your hand or face? Loser. Talking with a thick southern accent about an episode of American Idol? Idiot. Slack-jawed, 300 pound, mu mu wearing woman that looks like if she showered at all, she did it in the bed of a truck rolling through a car wash in fourth gear? Pariah.

My mental judgmental checklist just goes on and on and on and on.

And then, recently, for no discernible reason, I had it out with myself.

"These people are just humans, just like you," my mind told itself. "Nothing more, nothing less. Just people." My brain continued lecturing to itself, "Just like you, they were all born from a mother, and must cope and live in this same world of heartbreak and splendor. You should cut your fellow humans some slack."

"But those people are obviously different from me!" protested negative Krëg (Krëgative). "I'm pretty sure that means they are flawed or evil or retarded or something."
"Right. Shall I run through the lengthy list of the ways YOU are flawed and evil and retarded?"

"Now who's being negative? I thought you were supposed to be some helpful internal monologue of tolerance and reason, not some nagging asshole."
"Quit being a smart ass and listen to yourself (me) for a minute. You need to shut down this judgemental 'holier-than-thou' mentality that's crept into your life as of late. It gains you nothing."

"But don't you think that in some ways my skepticism has protected us? I mean, we (I) haven't made many poor decisions with Mr. Judgmental at the helm. It's not like our friends are crackheads or Libertarians or something. I think my skepticism has put us on the right path."

"There's a difference between being a healthy skeptic and being a horribly negative pessimist. You're (I'm) sliding in the wrong direction. Further, I challenge you to prove any actions put you (me) on the path you're on right now. I'm pretty sure it was just a combination of dumb luck and good timing."

"Hmm."
"And let's not even get into some of your trust issues..."
"Hey! I come by those honestly. You remember when..."

"Yes, of course I do."

"Or that shitty year when..."

"Yes, yes. It's not like we inhabit different skulls, dumb ass. Those two events were pretty brutal. And I'm not saying that you should just start running up to random strangers and giving them hugs and pouring out your soul to them. Just maybe lay off the thinking the heavily pierced guy behind the counter at the gas station is a failure. Chances are, he's better than you at four or five things."

"Like mopping up puke or chain-smoking?"

"There you go again with the smart ass cracks. Look, all I'm saying is that perhaps you should just try observing others without assigning judgment. Because if you don't ease up, you stand a strong chance of dying alone and bitter, with people queuing up to water the non-existent flowers on your grave with warm streams of their own urine. And tell me champ, where does THAT little scenario fit into your judgmental world view?"

"Fuck you."

...And so the struggle continues "silently" inside my head, but I'm hoping the tide is turning in favor of a more optimistic Krëg.

Baby steps.
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Queen's greatest song. Ever.

Chow Down

Much like the rest of the non-starving segment of society, whenever I am not asleep I have always tried to eat foods that I enjoy. On occasion, I have even combined a few of my favorite foods in an attempt to create even tastier super-foods (although baconcicles were a disappointment).

But I still can't imagine the depravity necessary to conceive this abomination.


I recognize the individual components as edible, but when combined in this manner they tally up to some incomprehensible un-food. Nothing there looks appetizing. The photo conjures up the exact opposite hunger. It looks like someone barfed on Abe Lincoln's hat.

Perhaps that is one of the tricks to Weight Watchers: make food look so unappealing that people lose the will to eat.

What's the worst combo you've ever seen?

World Wide WTF

Monday evening, the internet was fully functional at my house. Tuesday evening I was cast out of high-speed Eden and left to wander in the darkness. I don't know why or how it stopped working (and I actually know a thing or two about those magic boxes called "computers"). The computer shows that I am connected, but NO browser (Firefox, IE, Opera, etc.) will connect. So posts here may be short, infrequent, and reflect my grumpy attitude. Pretty much just like always.

The most disgusting development from my lack of home internet is that I've had to substitute imagination for pornography, a choice NO man should ever have to make. The horror.

I'm wondering if having no home access to the world-wide-boobs might be a blessing in disguise. It isn't as if I sit around doing NOTHING other than surfing the net; probably only 10-15% of my at-home, awake hours are spent online. But I've often walked away from the computer feeling that I've accomplished nothing noteworthy. One cannot build meaningful memories in front of a computer monitor.

So I think I'll see where this hiatus takes me. Perhaps in another week, I'll be calling the phone company to pull their service from my house.

...Or maybe I'll be begging them to "Please make the magic box work again!"

Just depends on how well my imagination treats me.

Bicycle Built For Two

Daisy, Daisy
Give me your answer do

Lots of great answers to the caption/quiz about that flower. Most importantly, THREE of the answers involved breasts. Keep up the good work, gang.

But y'all must not know (or have forgotten) that I'm much more of an ass man (and legs man). When you realize that, the answer becomes obvious. Or maybe it doesn't.

That daisy image is a clinically accurate depiction of Hello Kitty's butthole, rhoids included.

Not pictured: stenches, hemorrhoids, or toilet paper.

Apparently, it's acceptable to sh!t your coveralls, as long as you are on the toilet when it happens.

I'm half crazy all for the love of you

Caption Quiz

Can anyone tell me what this is?
Best comment gets the prize of knowing you did better than everyone else. What could possibly be more gratifying than that?

Names On The Brain

Don't know why I've had names on my mind so much lately. Just the craziness of springtime I guess.

For all you expectant white trash mothers, I have compiled a short but excellently themed compendium of suitable names.

Car names that can double as names for your bratty, white trash baby:

Mercedes
Cherokee
Chevelle
Sierra
Tacoma
Ranger
Bentley
Silhouette
Lancer
Blazer
Yukon
Chevette
Hummer
Pinto
Pacer
Viper
Liberty
Wrangler
Jetta
TL 500

Contrary to popular belief, Honcho is actually an elitist name.

What possible car/baby names did I forget?

Nothing To See Here, Move Along.

My world has been fairly predictable and static as of late. As I have nothing new to report, I'll just drop a little funk on you.

Sayonara

Some may recall that back in September I went to a funeral for a friend and co-worker's mother. His father followed his mother into paradise last night. Greg had been openly optimistic about Gibb's chances for recovery once his health began failing last December. Greg also remarked back in January that 2009 couldn't possibly be as bad as 2008.

Here's hoping 2010 stops shitting directly down your throat, man.

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One year ago today I brought home the ugliest damn piano I'd ever laid eyes on. Happy Anniversary, you magnificent atrocity.

What's In A Name?

Throughout my life I have had the pleasure of hearing some pretty horrible/awesome names, either through my work, or just from meeting new people in social situations. I don't want to strain my shoulder patting myself on the back, but I managed to not burst out laughing or shoot back with a disbelieving "Fuck you!" when I encountered the owners of these bizarre monikers. I'm rather proud of my restraint, especially when I consider how ludicrous (not Ludacris) some of these names are.

My top 5:

Landon Dick
Rodney Woodrow Bohner
Sharon Dix (still my favorite)
Shirley (working for the City of LaVerne, CA)
Major Woodie (a police major)

What's the craziest name YOU'VE ever encountered? Is it worthy of a velvet painting?

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Skynyrd's What's Your Name.
Bob & Gene's Your Name.

Song For My Penis

+


=
My horribly altered version of Willie Nelson's Always On My Mind that I re-wrote exclusively to sing to my penis:

"Baby I could have rubbed you,

All those lonely desperate times,

Maybe I should have drugged you

I'm so sorry that you're mine

If I had a tube of Astro-Glide

I would stroke you till I'm blind

But you were always on my mind

You were always on my mind"

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Here's a Willie track that DOESN'T suck. That pedal steel is pretty sweet.

Dude, You've Got A Little Something Right There...

As I returned from the microwave with my lunch, a co-worker stopped me with a quizzical look on his face.
"What's up with Igor's face?" (Igor is not his real name)
"Uh... What do you mean?" I replied, instantly thinking of about twelve ways I could make fun of Igor for being born ugly and aging poorly into an even more hideous visage.
"It looks like he has a marker smudge on his forehead."
"That's weird. Oh wait! It must be Ash Wednesday."
Additional confused look from Nikolai. (Also not his real name)
"You know, Ash Wednesday?" I asked.
No look of comprehension from Nikolai.
"The beginning of Lent?"
Still no recognition. Seriously? Dude, you're 40 and live in a state where phone books list more churches than bars. How can you NOT know about Ash Wednesday?
Hey, it must be time to fuck with Nikolai.
"Ok, you've heard of Mardi Gras, right?"
Instant recognition.
"Cool. Well the reason everyone parties balls on Fat Tuesday is because the next day, Ash Wednesday, is the beginning of Lent. Lent is that long period of time between Ash Wednesday and Easter where people make promises to God to do or not do certain things, but only during that short time period instead of year round, because apparently everyone's willpower sucks over the long haul. So everyone switches their shit fully on during Fat Tuesday and Mardi Gras and they get tore up like a burning pub full of Irishmen in a hurricane. Because starting the following morning, they have to clean up their act for two months."
Nikolai is nodding his head.
"Well everyone smears ash on their foreheads to help them remember that Jesus gave up smoking for Lent, but the night before he quit he tried to smoke an entire carton of Parliaments. The next morning, he woke up passed out in an ashtray full of puke, ash and cigarette butts. No one told him he had that crap all over his face and stuck in his beard until a few days later. So now everyone smudges ash on their foreheads to honor that memory."
Nikolai is no longer nodding his head, but is instead looking at me through rapidly narrowing and suspicious eyes.
"Hey man, my lunch is getting cold. Good talking to you."

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While Tim and Tubbs were here this weekend, we made a few trips around town. Tim observed aloud that there sure were a lot of churches in town.
"Church is big business around here," I replied.
"Shit, speaking of church and business, have you heard about the mega-churches that are putting ATMs on premises so that parishioners can donate that way?"
"What? That sounds....wrong."
"Yeah apparently the machines don't dispense money. You just get a receipt for your donation, which you then toss into the collection tray."
"Wait, isn't there some allegory about 'money changers' in the Bible? I seem to recall there was some anger and muttering and stuff. Don't these people READ the book they follow?"
"Apparently not," replied Tim, "Or at least not the part where their hippie leader, old Capitan Whatshisname, threw a bitch fit on the church bankers."

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If you're going to hell anyway, you might as well angle for the good seats.

Here's some relevant Jethro Tull.

A friend turned me on to ZDZISŁAW BEKSIŃSKI, so I thought I'd share. I think he may be more disturbing than Mark Ryden.

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Just like a midget stripper, my weekend was fantastic, but far too short. Tubbs and Tim and I managed to consume 95% of my kitchen's edible matter (and 3% of it's non-edible matter) by late Friday evening, so Saturday morning (read: noon) included a trip to the grocery store.

Somewhere in the past years of marriage, I had forgotten that food comes in prepackaged, ready-to-eat form. My friends reminded me by example that a person can live for quite a while on such food, even for days at a time if necessary. "Open package, pour contents into mouth. Repeat."

Even so, I did end up doing a bit of cooking, as did Tubbs, who took it upon himself to purchase and cook three pounds of bacon. We had eaten it all by about eleven that evening.

As for the music and recording and all that affiliated nonsense, well we did a lot of that too. Even the accordion got a little action. I managed to get Tubbs to do a little guest work on a song I've been spitballing. It's now a thing of wonder. In return, I showed him 75-80% of what I know about recording. A bargain at twice the price.

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Here's Rip This Joint by the world's greatest rock band.

Everybody's Working For The Weekend

A few friends are coming in from out of town for the weekend, including the guy who got the best Valentine's Day gift(s) in recent memory. That gift consisted of roughly 1K worth of musical recording equipment, equipment which he is bringing to my house for instructions on how to operate. I hope I can figure it out quickly, because I'd rather spend the time ACTUALLY RECORDING the music we play instead of setting up his system. Tube preamp, recording/mixing software, shock-mount condenser mic, new laptop, and cables and a mic stand. His mixing board hasn't arrived yet, but we can use mine for the weekend.


Maybe I'll have some recordings to post here after the weekend is over. I promise it won't sound like Loverboy.

Pray for my liver.

Gonna Be A Big Star

This morning, coworkers and I had a conversation about the merits of owning a crocodile instead of a chimpanzee, which obviously segued into the merits and pitfalls of being Sonny Crockett from Miami Vice.

From there, we posed an interesting question to one another: If you could lead the life of any fictional TV persona, whom would you chose (the character, NOT the actor/actress)?

I momentarily found myself torn between longing to be Mr Roarke from Fantasy Island or Buck Rogers. While the prospect of ordering a midget around using my sexy Latin accent and getting to peek into peoples disturbing fetishes was very appealing, it didn't stack up to 80s era Erin Gray in skin-tight "Futurewear". Not even close.

The future never looked so bright.

I had the most massive crush on Col. Wilma Deering in the late 70s and early 80s. She was smokin' back in the day. Come to think of it, she's still smokin' hawt.

Who would YOU be?

Kittens

See, it's awesome/dumb stuff like this that makes me want to actually have children. For a few minutes anyway.

Dysfunctional

The Dysfunctional Family Circus Archives are hilarious. Do yourself a favor and pay them a little visit. Here's an example:


"Okay. So we all eat rat poison so Daddy will feel bad about spending the night with his secretary. I got that part. What I want to know is why there isn't a bowl for you."

or....

"So what I'm saying is don't you feel your life is an endless, meaningless parade of preparing meals for ungrateful children and a distant, unspeaking spouse?"

Page Pimp

I've found a link that makes ANY webpage better. Even if the webpage is already the pinnacle of Internet achievement. I can already smell the improvement.

Friday Fotos

Various photos taken at various times and places and then presented in no particular order and without explanation.

The Perils Of Inbreeding

It is well documented that I have a small portion of my brain devoted exclusively to Gary Busey. So imagine my delight when I opened an email Friday afternoon and beheld the jewel pictured below.
I particularly relish the way that "mom" Busey looks more disheveled and frazzled than the rest, as if "mom" has run herself (himself? hermself?) ragged trying to look after three other rambunctious and clinically psychotic Buseys all while dealing with herm own internal batch of nuanced psychoses.

Further, that image is a master stroke of humor and insanity. I am fairly certain that image is the EXACT pinnacle of Photoshop, and precisely what developers had in mind when they created the program. "Dude, you could like, take a shitty Olan Mills portrait, ya know? And like, put a bunch a Busey heads on em! Fuckin' sweet, right?"

My clearest revelation came when I tried to polish the image using Paint Shop Pro. You see, I noticed that there were some pixel discrepancies that I wanted to clean up. So I tried an old standby, the "One Step Photo Fix" command.

Nothing happened. A bit confused, I tried it again. Still nothing.

And then it hit me: THERE IS NO FIX FOR BEING BUSEY.

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Here's Palmitos Park by El Guincho

Snow Daze

Informer
You no say daddy me snow me I'll go blame

This week contained a bonus weekend, as Tuesday and Wednesday were days off with pay due to the inclement weather that hit our area. I made the most of my time off by working on my ass-dent in the couch, making about two gallons of chili, and practicing the accordion. Truer personal improvement has never been so totally realized.

An old friend of mine has THE coolest wife ever. I really doubt either one of them reads this blog, or is even aware of its existence, but I'd still feel like a jackass if I spoiled his Valentine's Day surprise by specifically naming his gift(s). She emailed me asking my advice about her proposed VD gift, and I quickly roped another old friend into the conversation. We ended up putting together a very nice group of gifts, and I think my friend will absolutely shit himself when he sees them all.

If I had THAT kind of thoughtful (ex)wife, I'd probably still be married. Most of my married friends find their spouses to be a source of constant annoyance, or at least that's all I ever hear about. But Amanda really stepped things up for my old friend, and may have renewed my faith in the institution for the time being.

The event also reminded me that Valentine's Day is approaching. I managed to drift through the "holiday" last year completely oblivious to the occasion. I'm hoping to repeat that performance this year. Or perhaps get a call girl and a bottle of scotch. Calling all sluts!

Check out No One's Better Sake by Little Joy. It reminds me of Sublime for some reason.

It does NOT remind me of the rapper Snow.

A licky boom boom down