Thursday, July 31, 2008

Eight Ways That Ben Carpenter is Similar to a Koala Bear

Click here and read this article.


All done?  Good.  Now, here are eight ways that Ben Carpenter is similar to a koala bear.

1.)  They have both ridden on the front of a vehicle moving at high speed, and not by choice.  That's pretty obvious.  Ben Obviously on the front of what appears to be a Freightliner, and the koala on what was probably a Ford or a Mitsubishi.

2.)  Both are victims of drivers who are oblivious.  The trucker I can understand a little bit, because it is really hard to see things that are right in front of the grill of your truck.  So maybe Ben motors by on his wheelchair as the driver is checking his manifest or something, and when the driver moves on he catches the guy and whatever.  But the Australian lady, come on.  She saw the koala in the road and then didn't see it anymore once she had hit it.  Let's think about that.  I've hit shit with my car, rabbits, turkeys, squirrels, even tumbleweeds.  And you ALWAYS make sure you see it land somewhere because otherwise IT'S STUCK IN YOUR CAR SOMEWHERE.  Apparently common sense swirls backward in Australia just like the toilet water.

3.)  Both like soda.

4.)  Both ended their ordeal at a depot.  Ben at a trucking depot outside of Paw Paw, MI and the koala, since names Lucky Grills, at a train depot on the outskirts of Brisbane, Queensland.

5.)  Both looked HILARIOUS while in their predicament.  Lucky mostly because he was hanging ass end out the front of a car.  People buy fake props to make that scene happen.  The Australian lady found a much cheaper alternative.  Ben was mostly hilarious because I am sure he was flailing around and screaming his head off.  Plus, I bet those electric wheelchair wheels were going around something crazy going down the highway.

6.) Both are EXTREMELY lucky.  For lots of reasons obviously, but I choose to look at only two.  Lucky Grills' head was impacted through the grill of a car, and what's right behind the grill of the car?  That's right, the radiator and cooling fan.  On an older model car where the cooling fan was connected to the motor with a belt and ran continuously he is toast.  On never model cars the fans only run when the temperature gets up to a certain level.  When driving down the road they usually aren't operational.  Good for Lucky, or he'd probably be short a nose and in a bad way.  Ben Carpenter was really lucky that the truck didn't get on the interstate.  For those of you who don't know, the Red Arrow Highway around Paw Paw, where Ben took his ride, runs parallel to I-94.  If that truck had taken the interstate to get to its destination in lieu of the two-lane Red Arrow Highway, he would have been subject to speeds of 60-75 MPH and would have been much, much worse off.

7.)  Both came out fine.  Which is impressive.  Ben seemed to be taking things in stride, and Lucky tested okay despite being HIT BY A MOVING CAR.  So good for them.  Resilient little scamps, aren't they.

8.)  Both have probably never been to Africa.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Clean Up Your Act, Then Your Clothes

    So, I went to the laundromat yesterday.  I wasn't so much out of clothes as I was out of clothes that I wanted to wear.  I have been secured firmly in t-shirt and jeans mode as of late, and all my t-shirts were dirty.  I wasn't about to swelter in a polo as I wandered through my life.  But I digress.  I haul my laundry down the street to the laundromat that is like three blocks down my street, get out of the car, walk inside and see something that pisses me off.  Every washer is taken.
     It wasn't so much that every washer was taken.  I can handle that.  Say its a Sunday or Monday afternoon and maybe a parade of motor homes is rolling through town, whatever.  These things happen.  But what else was happening that really got my feathers ruffled was that one person was using THE WHOLE LAUNDROMAT!
     What's with that?  How much laundry can a person do all at once?  I mean, seriously.  They had all four double loaders, and like 10 single loaders going.  If I do every single piece of linen in my home that might sort of be dirty I can fill maybe six loads, and that is extreme.  But to fill the whole laundromat?  Holy shit woman, how many comforters do you have?  Are you like the Princess and the pea, where you have to lie on twenty mattresses and twenty eider-down beds?  What is an eider-down bed?  Are you washing those too?  Should those go in the mining clothes only machines that they have in every laundromat where I live?  Can you answer and of these questions Princess, or are you too busy taking up ALL THE DAMN MACHINES?  
     Other things baffle me too.  Like, where's the truck?  I bring two loads of laundry down to the laundromat and it takes up the entire back of my station wagon.  So I would assume that you need to drive a panel truck to carry your eleventy billion loads of laundry around.  But where is it?  All I see is a 1994 Ford Escort hatchback that's missing its back bumper and for some inexplicable reason has a trailer hitch on it.  Maybe you pull a trailer to haul all your laundry.  I am not exactly sure.  But something involving your transportation situation isn't jiving.  Did you just materialize from thin air.  I am wondering if you are a shape shifter.  Or MacGyver.  Explain to my how you got you, your dog, and all that laundry to the laundromat and maybe I will give you your fabric softener back.  That's called a negotiation.
     So I guess that now my question is this: are you dumb or just rude?  Because one of two situations must be true.  Either you don't understand that you have caused EVERYONE ELSE to not be able to do their laundry, or you just don't care.  Are you a flaming retard or an unfettered douchebag?  Please let me know.  If you just didn't realize, like perhaps you can't count or don't understand the concept of zero, as in there are zero machines left, that's fine.  We can work with you.  But if you were fully aware that you were taking up every machine, and fully aware of the consequences of that action, yet you did it anyway?  Well then I am afraid that there might not be much hope for you.  Because you are an insufferable prick.  The only thing that we as a society can do for you is for me to throw some greasy ball bearings in the dryer with your whites.  I am sorry that I had to do that to you.  But you brought it upon yourself.  Oh, and I've taken your fabric softener back.  Sucks to be you.
     Here is the deal.  Part of being a member of society is that you think of other people and what is good for the society as a whole.  So you need to leave at least three washing machines open for other people to use.  Even if it takes you an extra half hour to get your business done, that's what you should do.  Or else I am going to pee in your laundry basket.  Bottom line.  And all the Era in the world isn't going to get that out, especially once I bake it in the sun in the back of your Escort.  And then you are going to walk outside and I am going to be there waiting, and you are going to open up the car, and open up the basket, and it's going to be gross.  And I am going to yell "YEAH, THAT JUST HAPPENED!" like I am in Talladaega Nights or something.  And I am going to make a fool of you and your laundry fetish.  So get ready for that.
     Or maybe I will just throw your wet clothes on the floor when you go out to get some ice cream.  I am not sure which.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

The Death Defying Stanley Kobierowski

     We here at Big Dave and Company were astonished recently to read an article that went out across the Associated Press wires a few days ago about a man who was somehow cheating death.  Stanley Kobierowski, of North Providence, RI was arrested by the Rhode Island State Police early in the morning hours of Tuesday, July 22, 2008 and charged with driving while intoxicated and resisting arrest after crashing his vehicle into a highway message board on I-95 in the Providence area.  This in and of itself is not remarkable.  A quick scan of newspapers from around the country will find this kind of story in community after community.  What is amazing is what happened when Stan was taken in to police barracks to have his blood alcohol content tested.  The first blood test showed an astonishing .489 percent.  Now, when he's drunk Stan has never been one to be outdone by anyone, especially not himself, so when they took the second test he sucked it up and came through with an even more shocking .491.
     .491.  That is unbelievable.  Rhode Island, like most states, features a legal limit of .08.  So Stan was more than six times over the legal limit.  Even that doesn't sound terribly impressive until you realize just how amazingly drunk you are at.  With a blood alcohol content (BAC) of .150 the equivalent of 1/2 pint of whiskey is circulating through one's bloodstream and most people begin to experience blackouts.  Stan had over three times that in his.  .450 is considered a fatal dose for most people.  Not our boy Stan.  So let's see how Stan was acting with a BAC of .491, shall we?
     Well, he crashed his car.  And we've all known people who have done that with a much lower BAC, right?  When the police finally arrived he had trouble getting out of the car.  I have trouble getting out of the car sometimes when I am sober.  But we've all had a drunk friend who couldn't get themselves out of the car.  He then refused to let go of the car and the police had to carry him to the breakdown lane before getting him into the car and back to their barracks.  Who hasn't had to carry their friend home.  And that friend always lives on the top floor of their apartment building.  So, the idea here is this: we have all known people who were exhibiting the symptoms that Stan was.  No big deal.  But none of us have never known anyone with a .491 BAC.  I guarantee you that much.  
     There is good news in this whole saga.  Since Rhode Island is such a small state and everyone lives within five blocks of each other, they were able to get together and talk about this and they have decided that Stan had the highest BAC in Rhode Island history for a person who didn't die.  Even that old guy living down at the end of Elm Street can't remember someone who's had a higher one and didn't end up pushing daisies.  Maybe it's because the police kept Stan sitting around drying out while the Guinness Book of World Records people were brought in by helicopter.  Maybe it's because Stan is some sort of superhero or something.  Or maybe it's because Stan had an operation once and they surgeon accidentally dropped one of those super shammy cloths in where Stan's liver is and that was absorbing all the booze, I am not sure.  But he didn't die.  He has lived to drink another day.  And I bet he will be again soon.  He has to start training.  .5 is definitely in sight.

P.S.  There are a lot of BAC calculators out there.  Here is a pretty good one if you are curious.  I have plugged the exact same information into several different calculators and have come up with different values from each one, and ones BAC depends a lot on body type, tolerance, etc. so please keep in mind that any answers you get will be approximate.  Thanks.

Monday, July 28, 2008

What Would You Do for A Klondike Bar?

     The animated television series Family Guy had an episode that included a spoof Klondike bar commercial.  The announcer asks "What would you do for a Klondike bar?  Would you hop on one foot?"  So the guy hops on one foot.  "Would you scream like a monkey?"  So the guy screams and acts like a monkey. "Would you kill a man?"  All you hear after that is the sound of a gunshot.  It's pretty funny.  It's a great spoof of the Klondike bar commercials.  And they should be made fun of.  Because, honestly, there aren't that many things that I would do for a Klondike bar.
     I would exchange money for one at an appropriate consumer outlet.  You know, like a grocery store, 7-11, snack bar, ice cream truck, wherever.  I would definitely do that for a Klondike bar.  That is actually my preferred method for obtaining an ice cream bar covered in chocolate.  It's really simple.  Go into your local convenience store.  Find a cabinet that feels really cold inside.  It will contain a Klondike bar.  Bring the Klondike bar with you as you make your way towards the door.  Invariably, you will come across a store employee standing between you and the door.  Get some United States currency out of your wallet and give it to that person.  If you live in Europe you should use euros.  If you live in South Africa you should probably use rand.  Use whatever kind of money people around you are using.  Then they will allow you to leave with the Klondike bar.  Easy, isn't it?
     I would ask someone else if I could have their Klondike bar.  I don't know if you were aware, but sometimes Klondike bars come in like a six pack, so you can buy six at once.  So if someone you know buys one of these six packs you can ask them if you can have one.  This often works well.  For me, it works best with my dad.  He always seems to have Klondike bars in his freezer and he is always offering me one.  So many times I don't even have to ask.  But if I do ask he always says yes.  This method works almost as well as purchasing one, except it is contingent on you knowing someone who already owns some Klondike bars.  But it's much cheaper.
     I would trade my Jell-o pudding pack for one.  There, I said it.  Listen, Jell-o pudding packs are great.  Chocolate.  Vanilla.  Butterscotch.  They're all winners.  I enjoy them all.  But I would trade any one of those three for a Klondike bar in a heartbeat.  If it were one of those Heath Klondike bars I would even throw in my Sun Chips.  I mean, I would start with an offer of my banana or maybe a granola bar if I had one, but I would definitely go as far as my pudding pack.  Easily.  That's a good trade.  Because I wouldn't trade the spoon.  HAHAHAHA!  I'm just kidding.  The spoon comes with the pudding pack package.  Everyone knows that.  But the point is that Klondike bars are good; they are ice cream.  And you always have more Jell-o pudding packs that you can have once you get home.
     I would steal a Klondike bar off my sister's plate when she going to the bathroom.  Yeah, I'd probably do that.  Just to be a dick.  And it doesn't matter which sister, either my biological sister or my adopter sister.  I will sell either of them out for a Klondike bar while they are relieving themselves.  I mean, I would definitely feel guilty about it later and I would buy them a new Klondike bar the next day, but if the conditions were right I would totally swipe theirs.  Even if they had taken a bite.  I am not scared of a little girl spit on my Klondike bar, despite the cooties.  Yeah, I would totally swipe a Klondike bar from my sister.  
     That's about it though.  There aren't too many other things I would do for a Klondike bar.  You want me to pour a glass of water on my head?  No.  You want me to scrape a cheese grater up and down my arm?  No!  You want me to drop acid?  NO!  I am not going to do something retarded for a Klondike bar when I can just buy one.  And if they aren't available for purchase anymore then I guess that I will just have to go without them.  It's not like I really need anymore ice cream.  So to sum things up, what would I do for a Klondike bar?  Not much.  Not much at all.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Jumping In With Both Feet

      There was an article in the local newspaper here not too long ago about two young men who were injured jumping into Lake Superior.  They had gone out of town along the shore to a place where there are big cliffs, and the one kid jumped off the top and hit the other one.  Yeah, he hit him when he jumped off.  I don't quite get it either.  I don't know if he just didn't jump outward enough, or if he caught him on the way by, or if he landed on the other kid or what.  But they managed to take each other out.  In the end they were rescued and they were okay, but why would you go there and do that?  Why wouldn't you just jump into the lake at Black Rocks in town where everyone else does?  That's when I realized that people love to jump off things.
      It's true.  And I am not sure why.  That's just the way it is.  In a few weeks my boys from home will make their yearly pilgrimage up to see me and high on their agenda is jumping off things.  On the day that they arrive they invariably will make me take them to Black Rocks and they will jump off into the water time after time after time.  They will do stunts and tricks and fancy ball throwing patterns and will have a blast.  They will jump off until they can't climb up anymore.
     Then the next day they will make me take them hiking up to the Dead River Falls and they will do the same thing there, jumping off the top of the waterfall into the pool below.  It's not as high, and a little more dangerous, so they won't do any of the stupid human tricks, but we will have a blast.  I am serious.  Sometimes I think that the only reason that they come up is to jump off stuff, because they don't have a lot of stuff to jump off of back home.
      Have you ever cared for a toddler?  Even just watched one for a couple of hours?  Those people jump off everything.  Tables, chairs, dressers, stairs, swingsets, maybe a trampoline or a local deck.  They will spend minutes and minutes figuring out how to climb up on top of the item, finally get to the top, and then they will spin around and just step out into space.  What the hell is with that?  Sometimes it's more like they did it unintentionally but usually they launch themselves.  "Hmmm...I am a 50 lb. toddler, and the couch is pretty soft and it's about ten feet away from this speaker that I am standing on, I could totally make it.  I mean, I know nothing about physics or general mathematical concepts but I am still going to launch myself and we'll see what happens."  That is crazy thinking.  But they do it anyway.  One of their favorite things to do is to jump onto you.  I don't know why that is.  I don't enjoy jumping off on things onto people.  I am not going to jump off the top of a picnic table onto Duke's head.  I am not going to jump off the top of my entertainment center onto Sister.  So why would a toddler decide that it's a good idea to do so?
     Grown up people jump out of planes for fun.  What the fuck's with that?  Engineers at Lockheed Martin and Airbus have spent decades designing planes to keep people UP in the air, and these yahoos are jumping DOWN out of them.  You are only supposed to jump out of an airplane if you HAVE to.  You aren't supposed to WANT to.  That's messed up.  That shouldn't be.  You are a sick freak if you are jumping out of a contraption that is built to keep you in the air.  If you want to have a reason to parachute out of something, have yourself launched into orbit in a speedboat.  Or a ceramic pot.  Because those things are not designed to fly and you should parachute out of them before they smash into a ground.  Planes generally don't smash into the ground at high velocity on purpose, so there usually aren't any good reasons to jump out of them.  Not even if you are in the Army.
     BASE jumping is becoming more popular by the day.  BASE is an acronym that stands for building, antenna, span, and Earth.  So, buildings, antennas, bridges, and cliffs.  Why would you do this?  Because apparently you feel that those idiots jumping out of planes are little nancy girls.  BASE jumping has all the "thrill" of jumping out of an airplane without all of the creature comforts of, oh I don't know, time to deploy your chute, and backup chute, or legality.  That's right.  People are trespassing and breaking all sorts of laws just to jump off the tops of things.  That's not right.  The only guy who ever broke the law to jump out of a plane was D.B. Cooper.  But every Branden, Heidi, and Ally is climbing fences, stopping traffic, or prying open ventilation covers to jump off of things.  I just don't get it.
     I am not sure why we seem to have this innate desire to jump off things.  Maybe it's because jumping is the closest humans will ever come to flight.  Perhaps we just like the rush of knowing that we are doing something deeply unnatural.  Could it be that we are not in control and we like it?  I don't know.  I don't care.  I don't feel that way and I don't get it.  You won't catch me jumping off of things.  I will fall off of a lot of things, but I won't jump off of them.  Except the stairs of my deck.  Those things are fun to jump off of.

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Drunken Posting

     I am drunk, I understand that.  I hope that you understand that too.  I have decided not to use spell check on today's post so you can see how things really are.  What gets typed in gets typed in and posted.  End of story.  So here goes:
     It was dingo's birthday today and as such I went out to the bar.  Bad move.  I was really tired to begin with.  Then I hadn't eaten for many hours.  So the booze hit me hard.  And after not long I was drunk.  No big deal.  Nothing especially crazy or noteworthy happened at Dingo's birthday.  Her roommate and friend Teener rigged it up so that she got a cupcake from the bar owner, and that was awesome.  But other then that pretty run of the mill.
     So I felt that I owed you guys a post, and this was as good a time as any to so it.  Plus, I thought you'd get  a kick out of me drunk posting.  So I've drunk posted.  I hopw you like it.  If you don't you can suck my...well, it rhymes with halls.  Lest's just say that.  If you did enjoy it, thank you and we will be back real soon with some fresh, new, and most importantly sober offerings.

Friday, July 25, 2008

Broken Windows and Outdoor Showers

 Hello, Company!  Just a few random thoughts and small stories for you today.  So here we go.
First of all, I must apologize for not posting the last two days.  On Wednesday, Blogger, who hosts my site, seemed to be having some issues, as they were down every time I tried to make a new post.  It wouldn't even let me get you guys a new video or change anything.  By the time it came back up I was gone and busy for the day.  On Thursday, worked during the day and then left immediately to go camping for the night with Jer and A.O, so I didn't get around to giving you anything new.  Sorry.  Thursday was my fault.  Chalk Wednesday up to the good folks at Blogger.  But don't give them too hard a time because they do an absolutely outstanding job of keeping things up and running and looking good.
     One of the places I had to go on Wednesday was softball, for what turned into a big rivalry game as the week rolled on.  It was a good game despite the fact that we lost as usual.  It was at the game that something awesome yet uncool happened, and I wanted to tell about it.  There is a section of the parking lot at the softball field that we call Murderers' Row because lots of people hit foul balls there.  Usually they hit the ground before they get to the parking lot and bounce harmlessly around in a car's undercarriage, or they thunk relatively harmlessly in the box of a pickup truck or off the door of an SUV.  No big deal.  Well on Wednesday Tom V. took out the window of my third baseman Christine's car.  I mean took it out.  He hit it dead center (unintentionally of course) and the window shattered.  I mean exploded.  POW! We all felt bad for Christine because she has to pony up for a new window, and there was glass all over her car.  But I have to admit that I never thought I'd see that happen.  And I think everyone felt that way.  Because everyone felt bad but wanted to go congratulate Tom.  And I think if we didn't like Christine so much all of us would have.
     After the softball game Duke and I came back to my house to hang out and have a couple of beers on my deck.  Eventually Guy and Garm and her friend Amber, who I have apparently decided to name Steak Knife, showed up.  Then Dingo came rolling in.  So it turned into a regular party.  Duke and I were both feeling a little saucy, so when he went inside to go to the bathroom I decided to play a prank on him.  Since my bathroom window looks right out on the deck, I removed the screen and stuck my head into the bathroom while he was peeing.  HAHAHAHA!  I didn't see anything, but he decided to fight back by throwing the items he found around my bathroom out the window.  Toilet paper.  Toilet paper holder.  Toilet brush.  Shampoo.  Body wash.  Back brush.  Towels.  Washcloth.  Shaving cream.  Anything that wasn't bolted down.  Then came the little tent fan that I use to keep the bathroom from steaming up.  Okay, that was enough.  I was lucky he didn't go through the medicine cabinet.  I countered by throwing back the items, and even upped the ante with my sandal.  Then Duke had the greatest idea.  My bathroom features an old claws foot bathtub with a shower that is just a head on a hose.  So he grabbed the head, turned on the water, and came after me with the shower.  And he got me.  I knew I had lost, so I stood there and took it like a man as he sprayed me until I was soaked.  I thought Guy was going to die laughing in the corner.  I thought Dingo was going to die laughing at Guy.  It was fun, we had a good time, and I got what I deserved.  And the BVM's watched it all.
     Other than that I had a good time camping with Jer and A.O.  We did the usual camping stuff and had a blast until A.O.  got ill.  But she was feeling better by the time I left this morning, and she and Jer and Big E were looking forward to another day of swimming, bike riding, and relaxing around the campfire.  Me, I am looking forward to going out tonight for Dingo's birthday.  I am sure there will be some crazy stories to come out of that.  But there is a good chance that I will be in no shape to post anything tomorrow.  So I apologize in advance.  If not we will see you on Monday!  Thanks for reading and supporting us here at Big Dave and Company even when we are being lazy.
   

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Government Phone Fun

     I have come to a decision.  All government offices are the same.  From your local Midwestern town hall where Viola is the town clerk and town treasurer and fire chief and all the numbers for those offices get you to Violas desk to the U.S. Department of Defense where they have more numbers than all of Kansas and more desks too, they are all the same.  Because no matter what government office you call, no matter what you are asking for or about, no matter who you talk to, you will get bounced around from office to office, person to person, location to location to find out what you need.  It makes one feel like a superball.
     First of all you have to find a number.  And if you are calling a government office the name of the particular office you need to get to makes no sense.  Bureau of Industry and Security.  Chief Human Capital Officers Council.  English Language Acquisition Office.  Stennis Center for Public Service.  White House Commission on the National Moment of Remembrance.  And on and on and on it goes.  It NEVER ENDS!  If you can figure out and tell me what any of these offices actually DO, or why they actually EXIST and continue to DRAW PAYCHECKS please let me know.  Because I sure as hell can't figure it out.  As far as I can figure, the Bureau of Industry and Security watched Cops all day long on SpikeTV.  Chief Human Capital Officers Council probably makes sure that every government computer has Jezzball for free public use.  Stennis Center for Public Service has never done a thing for either you or I and last time I checked we are members of the public.  And that White House commission, what is up with that?  Is that the day that we all actually remember where our car keys are?  Seriously, what do all of these agencies do?  Can't we come up with better names?  Can't we be more descriptive?  There has to be a supercomputer somewhere in a NASA bunker in Texas that can figure out some names that we can understand.  Let's get on this.  That would be the Office of Machine-Aided Name Application.  Oversight would probably be by the Commission for Oversight of Non-Human Appellation of Bureau Naming.  For Christ's sake.
     And if you call any sort of government office you will talk to a receptionist at every one of the agencies I named above.  Seriously.  You could call the Richland County (OH) Clerk of Courts to ask their office hours and eventually they will transfer you to the U.S. Heath Resources and Services Administration.  That's just how it works.  Nobody in any government office knows the answer to your question, and nobody knows where to transfer you so that you might possibly get an answer accidentally.  Nobody knows ANYTHING!  Except which Mondays are government holidays.  Columbus Day my ass.
     Actually, you should consider yourself lucky if you actually get to talk to a friendly receptionist at the Hawai'i Department of Human Resources Development.  Because when the phone stops ringing you will find yourself in an automated phone system.  And it will present you with menus.  And none of the menus will include exactly what you are looking for.  There will always be two or three options that are sort of close, that might be right, that could possibly be the one you need.  But here is the secret. Whichever one you pick, that's not the one you need.  No if's, and's, or but's.  It's wrong.  So then you will have to go back or hang up and call again.  Lucky you.
     Once you've discovered this, you will probably be like me.  You will listen to all the menus and eventually push '0' to get a hold of the operator.  I always want to just push '0' right away, to get right to the operator and not waste precious moments of my life listening to an automated voice sprout off lists of options, but I am totally afraid that if I start that one day the automated phone menu people will wise up and start making the operator choice '8' or maybe '27.'  Something like that.  Actually, at the government office that I called today the menu choices were 4, 5, 6, and 7.  What the hell happened to 1, 2, and 3?  When did those go off the market?  Come on.
     Once you've actually reached the operator you can begin being bounced around from office to office.  Welcome to ultimate purgatory.  If you are calling a particularly sadistic government office you might get to talk to an automated service IN BETWEEN operators.  If that happens you might as well take a fork out of your kitchen silverware drawer and stab yourself in the heart.  Because you will never be useful to society again.  You won't escape it.  I don't care if you are calling a tiny, one room Department of Agriculture outpost in the Nebraska panhandle, you will get an automated system, you will get an operator, and you will get bounced around until you realize that you are talking to a custodian at the Hoover Dam and hang up in disgust.  So don't call the government.  Don't bother to go on the Internet either, because once you find the office you want the information won't be there.  If you need any information from the government your options are 1.) snail mail and waiting until you are 71 for an answer or 2.) figuring it out for yourself or 3.) burning off your pubic hair with a propane cigarette lighter.  Because that would be more fun.  And unfortunately that will be a better use of your time.

Monday, July 21, 2008

Living with the BVM: Update!

     Well Company, it has finally happened.  Earlier I told you about how the six foot tall statue of the BVM in my neighbors yard came with a neon halo.  At that time he lacked the transformer to make the halo operational.  Well he has found it and hooked it up.  And the best part?  It's blue.  Yeah, you read that correctly.  There is a six foot tall statue of the the Blessed Virgin Mary in my neighbors' yard sporting a neon blue halo.  Ummm...last I checked, halos are supposed to be YELLOW!  Those of you who are avid readers and who actually remember things are saying "But isn't that BVM wearing blue?  So it matches nicely."  Yeah, fine.  But halos are not blue.  They are golden.  It doesn't look like a heavenly being at the end of my driveway, it looks like a strip club.  The good news is that he has it on a timer of some sorts, so it is only on from say, 8-11 or so.  But still.  It is not what I expected.  And it is not what I wanted.  But it is what it is.  And it's blue.  And it's neon.  And it needs to stop.  But at least I can't see the neon pulsing out my window while I am trying to sin.   Right? 


Welcome Home 107th!

     Yesterday, at 10 am there was a very well attended and very well deserved welcome home ceremony for the Army National Guard 107th Combat Engineers, a National Guard unit from our area which includes my buddy Bri-Guy.  Bri-Guy has already made and appearance with his wife and 7-month old child at David Nathaniel's house last night, and one of their numbers has already made her return felt at work.  So welcome back all of you, you did a fantastic job.  We are glad that you are back safe and sound and in one piece.  We are all so proud of you and the services you have provided.  Enjoy your families.  Enjoy the green grass.  Enjoy the mild 70-degree temperatures.  You have earned it.  Thanks again 107th!

Read more about their return and see some pictures:

Sunday, July 20, 2008

The Big Dave and Company 100th Post Jubilee





     What's with the parade?  Don't act all coy.  I just heard you ask that guy standing next to you.  It should be pretty easy to figure out, Company.  All of the marching bands and Shriners and fire trucks and stuffy politicians are out for the biggest event in the history of events.  It's the Big Dave and Company 100th Post Jubilee!  Don't you ever read the title?
      So yeah, it's finally here.  It's the Big Dave and Company 100th Post Jubilee.  If you have been counting, which I haven't but Blogger has been, you would see that this is our one hundredth post.  That's about 93 more posts than I ever would have expected to do.  I have to admit that us here at Big Dave and Company have shown some admirable tenacity in posting new and sometimes fresh material day after day after day after day.  And you Company, you have shown remarkable loyalty reading and commenting on whatever we happen to post, no matter how awful and trashy is it.  So thank you for your continued support.  So, like a drunken, recently divorced middle aged man who is trying to figure out if he's being followed by the cops on his way home, let's look in the rear view mirror and see if we can recognize what had passed us by in the last 100 posts.
     I am not going to review the first 50 posts.  You can click here if you want to relive those times.  Because I have already written that and until I have the signs of early onset Alzheimer's Disease I am not going to write the same stuff over and over.  Besides, we have had all sorts of great moments in posts 50-100 that we can look it.  Huge moments.  Monumental moments.  Momental moments.  I don't even think that's a word.  But I wanted to say it anyway.
     On the last day of June, as is tradition, we gave out the Chevrolet Presents the First Annual Big Dave and Company Blog of the Year Award brought to you by Mountain Dew.  And boy was it spectacular.  There was a big show at the Cervantes Masterpiece Ballroom in Denver, CO.  All sorts of big stars were there.  Justin Timberlake.  Betty White.  Jessica Alba.  Eddie Vedder.  Mia Hamm.  Duke Manchap.   All the big stars.  There were presenters and recipients.  Everyone was wearing tuxedos or evening gowns or, in the case of Guy H. of Sand River, MI, an Adidas sweatshirt.  Unfortunately there was only the one award being given out, and we all knew who the winner was going to be.
 

     Yeah, I didn't even win my own reward.  Fake Interviews with Real Celebrities did.  But they deserved it.  They really did.  This is an immensely creative and entertaining blog written by someone who is actually a REAL writer.  So good for them.  And it was the awarding of that award that led to one of Big Dave and Company's biggest moments.
     Upon being awarded the Chevrolet presents the First Annual Big Dave and Company Blog of the Year Award brought to you by Mountain Dew Wendy Molyneux, the creator of Fake Interviews with Real Celebrities left us a very nice comment of acceptance on our blog.  This was big because it was the first comment we received from someone that we didn't already know.  And that has to be a milestone of some sort, doesn't it?
     On the same day we passed another major milestone.  That's two on the same day!  We also had our first post receive double digit comments.  Due to a major push spearheaded by Little Jeffy, Peg-a-saurus Rex and the Stuffed Beaver reached the plateau of 10 comments.  Spectacular!  That was all you Company, and we couldn't be more grateful or proud.  My, how we've grown.
     We had another milestone pass during our second fifty posts.  One day we received a comment from a very nice girl names Jessica.  She is involved with a website called CheeseConey.com that is devoted to Cincinnati chili.  I know, it sounds odd but it's really great.  And they wanted to reference one of my posts, Chili Con Genius.  OH MY GOD!  Not only is this another person from outside my immediate circle that is reading but this might be someone who actually searched and found me.  That means the system works.  Plus, they are going to talk about me on their website?  That's free advertising.  And they get content.  That's what we call a win/win situation.  
     We also began an affiliation with a website called The Bump Experiment.  This is a site by a man who received a random act of kindness from a man in his hometown, and decided that the world would be a better place if everyone returned the favor.  So he is trying to rally support for everyone to spend a week in November, 2009 and spend it being kinder, nicer, and more polite.  It's really a neat and inspirational idea.  I am in.  And I hope that you are too.  
     Wow.  Within the first one hundred posts Big Dave and Company has become known all throughout the country.  And we are getting together with all sorts of celebrity types.  It's really been a great ride.  We've been doing a lot of grown up things despite the fact that we are still a youthful scamp.  Well, it's time to start acting our age.  So here are some more things that we here are Big Dave and Company are going to do to grown up as we pass our 100th post:
     You've may have noticed on some of out links that we have a shiny new web address.  We can now be reached, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, at www.bigdaveandcompany.com.  Yeah, that is right.  Easier to remember.  Much more sophisticated.  The old address will still work, but plug this shiny new string of letters and punctuation into your web browser and you can get all the same great content.  How exciting is that?  Plus, it also opens up all sorts of new possibilities and options.
     One of the new things that we can do with our shiny new web address is to have e-mail capabilities.  This is exciting.  Now, if you want to reach us with an idea for a post or a private question you can e-mail us at bigdave@bigdaveandcompany.com. Yeah, it's tantalizing, isn't it?  That will get you right through to my private mailbox.  I may even read your e-mail.  I may even respond to it.  Are you shaking with excitement yet?
      Part of growing up is looking outward and becoming more socially conscious.  It's looking out for others and their issues as opposed to yours and yours only.  And sometimes there are issues that touch us all.  One of those is cancer.  Raise your hand if you have had a friend, family member, or coworker who was stricken by cancer.  You can get cancer from insulation, paint, cell phones, even the sun.  It has become prevalent in our world today.  But there is a wonderful foundation called The V Foundation for Cancer Research.  The foundation was started by and is named after Jimmy Valvano, the former North Carolina State University basketball coach, who won an NCAA Championship in 1983.  He lost his battle with cancer in 1993, roughly one year after being diagnosed with a terminal cancer of unknown origin.  The V Foundation has raised over $70 million dollars for cancer research since its inception, and we here at Big Dave and Company would like to help add to that total.  So today we are announcing the Big Dave and Company Wristband Initiative.
     Here is the deal:  You know those rubber wristbands that everyone is wearing these days.  Livestrong.  Breast Cancer.  So on and so forth?  Well, we are going to be selling those, emblazoned with the name Big Dave and Company.com, in beautiful black and blue.  The price will be $5 and all proceeds will go to The V Foundation.  Here is the thing though.  The more I order from the company, the less each costs.  So the more you order the more goes to The V Foundation.  I will not keep a dime of the profits from this sale.  All of it will go towards cancer research that will save lives.  Possibly mine, your, or your grandma's.  You never know.  
     Wristbands can be pre-ordered until August 1, 2008 by sending an e-mail with your name, address, e-mail, and the number of wristbands you'd like to order to wristband@bigdaveandcompany.com.  After the pre-ordering period is over you will receive an e-mail with directions for payment via check or PayPal.  We prefer PayPal.  Upon receipt of payment the wristband will be mailed out.  If you know me or can be in touch with me the wristband will be personally delivered by the staff here at Big Dave and Company.  Isn't that super exciting?
     Seriously though Company, please help us out on this one.  Cancer is a serious thing, and we'd seriously like to do some good, no matter how small it is.  And this is a situation in which everyone wins.  You get a sweet wristband.  I get some free advertising.  And The V Foundation gets a nice donation for their cancer research. If you want more information on The V Foundation for goodness' sake click on one of the many links I have provided you.  If you have questions please e-mail wristband@bigdaveandcompany.com, I will be happy to answer them.  Please be patient with me, this is obviously the first time we've done this.  But I think we can all agree that this is a good cause.  I will be sporting my wristband.  I hope that you will be sporting yours.
     Well, that is the Big Dave and Company 100th Post Jubilee.  It's been a great ride over these past 100 posts.  I would like to thank everyone who comments on my blog on a regular basis, as well as all those of you who read on a daily basis but don't comment.  Please feel free to leave and ideas or suggestions at bigdave@bigdaveandcompany.com, I take seriously all suggestions.  We hope to have some new and exciting things as we go into the future, mixed nicely with a heavy dose of the same old stuff.  So look forward to that.  Thanks again and keep reading!

Saturday, July 19, 2008

I Do Not Run on Dunkin'

     I've got some problems with Dunkin' Donuts.  There.  I've said it.  They've been pissing me off lately with their new little slogan.  Have you heard this?  Yes?  No?  Well I have, and it pisses me off.
     Dunkin' Donuts has always been known for having good, original commercials.  Like the "Time to Make the Donuts" guy.  It's a classic.  Fantastic.  I live it.  It makes me giggle.  Even the newer ones have been pretty good.  The three girls cleaning up after "the all night blowout."  The dude who is reluctantly helping his friend move.  "Doing things is what I like to do."  And so on and so forth.  They even have John Goodman narrating one.  And who doesn't like John Goodman.  I mean, he hosted Saturday Night Live like 164 times, so how can you not like him?  So the bottom line is that I like the commercials.  But what I don't like it the slogan.  The commercials are great until they spit out the slogan.
     The ad geniuses on Madison Avenue have decided that the best way to get my and my cohorts in the "males age 24-40" demographic to eat at Dunkin' Donuts is to slap the line "America Runs on Dunkin'" at the end of every commercial.  Well, that's where you lost me Dunkin' Donuts.  Because I have a problem with that.  Basically, it's this:  America does not run on Dunkin.'
     They don't even have a Dunkin' Donuts in my town.  So right there you are wrong.  Because 1.) you all know how much it makes me mad when companies advertise in areas where they do not provide services and 2.) if there is no Dunkin' Donuts in or near my town then all of America obviously does not run on Dunkin', now does it?  And you know what?  I hate that they don't even use their whole name.  If I wasn't so smart and fantastic I wouldn't know that "Dunkin'" meant Dunkin' Donuts.  You wouldn't have known that if I hadn't told you.  See how dumb that is?  If I asked people I know who are into marketing, or who are very smart, they would go ape shit over this.  They would blow their respective stacks.  Because it's that retarded.  Seriously.  
     That's why they have to have such good commercials.  Because they have such a shitty slogan.  So they have to have a good commercial to disguise that fact.  They've spent something like eleventy billion dollars for some tweed in the advertising world to come up with a great, catchy slogan and that tweed hasn't come through for them.  But they have invested too much into this thing already and so now they have to dump in even more to make it fly.  And it makes me giggle.  That's what they get for moving their only store in my hometown of 65,000 out of my hometown when I was like 13 and reinforcing the fact that America really does not run on Dunkin' because they don't have locations in ANY of the stores that I have EVER lived in.  Do you see how this is so ridiculous?  I FEEL LIKE I AM TAKING CRAZY PILLS!  
     Listen, I know that Dunkin' Donuts is headquartered in Massachusetts.  And I know that that is where it sprouted from.  And I know that people from New England think that the world and therefore America ends somewhere along the Hudson River, but that doesn't mean that the whole country runs on your shit.  Your coffee isn't even that good.   And you can't even get it in Lincoln, Nebraska.  So you can go to hell Dunkin' Donuts.  Because you are not the gasoline that powers the car that is America.  NOTHING RUNS ON DUNKIN'!  God does that piss me off.

Friday, July 18, 2008

David Nathaniel and the Comeback Kid

     I don't want to get on David Nathaniel.  He is a genuinely good guy, and one of my best friends.  But there was an incident involving him the other day that was great.  Poor guy got it handed to him but he showed the world how you have to react when someone had gotten you good.  You just have to accept it, say nothing, laugh a little and move on.  So here is what happened.
    David Nathaniel and I were at a local festival's closing day fireworks with Chevy Orange and Egypt.  It's actually pretty cool.  They have a week long festival and the last day they put on a pretty great fireworks display.  They close off the street near the lake and everyone congregates there, drinking beer, and eating popcorn and hot dogs and watched the fireworks.  It's fun.  So we watch the fireworks and are heading back to David Nathaniel and Chevy Orange's house.  David Nathaniel is walking next to Chevy Orange, I am about five (5) steps behind pulling the cooler, and Egypt is God-knows-where.  Probably writing hieroglyphics on something or yelling "NEW YORK" at some children.  So we are walking along a sort of bike path that runs along the street, and we pass a teenage couple who are kissing.  No big deal.  So, having a few in him, David Nathaniel says, as he passes, "Get a room."  Pretty standard comment, and relatively harmless.  But it was the response of the male in the couple that made the day.
     After David Nathaniel said that, the kid turns, looks, spreads his arms like they are wings or something, and says "I don't need a room, I have the whole sidewalk."  HAHAHAHAHAHA!  That's an amazing comeback.  You have to admit.  There are very few lines that one can come up with to counter that successfully.  The line is classic.  And so was David Nathaniel's response.
     David Nathaniel just kept walking.  He didn't turn or look, or say a word.  He just kept walking.  Walking like nothing happened.  And that's all he could do.  So that's what he did.  He just kept his head pointed forward and his feet moving.  And good for him.  That's the classy way to do things.  He didn't make a fool of himself.  He didn't get all pissed off.  He just took it and went on his way.  About 10 or 15 steps after that I just said "He got you pretty good [Dave], didn't he?" To which David Nathaniel responded, without turning his head "Yeah, he pretty much put me in my place."  HAHAHAHAHA!  This whole thing is hilarious to me.  I don't know.  Maybe you had to be there, but I thought it was great.  The line.  The reaction.  The night.  So take a page from David Nathaniel's book and be a man about shit.  Because then you might even get in a blog.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Jessica Loves Cincinnati Chili (I Assume)

     Big news Company!  I received a comment on my post yesterday, My Life Below the D-List, that floored me.  Absolutely floored me.  It was actually a comment about my apparently popular post called Chili Con Genius, which incidentally is a post that I thought no one would like.  I was just grasping for straws and just needed something to post, and it was dinnertime, and I'd been seeing chili all day...but I digress.  The comment was from a girl named Jessica, I assume from Cincinnati, who wanted to ask me a question but couldn't find an e-mail to reach me personally.  
     Jessica, this brings up a good point.  I don't have an e-mail listed where people can drop me lines for certain things.  That's my fault.  I should have one up and running here shortly I hope.  There are going to be some exciting new changes coming to Big Dave and Company soon and that will most definitely be part of them.  So look forward to that.
     But the main point of her comment was to ask my permission to reference and quote parts of my post Chili Con Genius on an exciting new website that she is part of called Cheese Coney.com.  Cheese Coney.com is a celebration of the phenomenon known as Cincinnati chili.  I love this idea.  I was sort of confused by the name because I know many friends from Michigan who have introduced me to Coney Island restaurants and Coney Dogs, hell, PePe even worked for years at a Coney Island.  And I am originally from Wisconsin, which has "America's Dairyland" on the license plates, and where all cheese comes from.  So I was confused. I didn't know if this was supposed to be a website about me and my friends coming together in a wonderful working relationship or what.  But once I saw a little bit about what this CheeseConey.com site was all about I was all in.  Chili is delicious.  Cincinnati chili is even more so.  And if there is about to be cheese involved somehow it is even more yet.  This is just getting better and better the farther on I go.  And it's making me hungry.
    But the bottom line is that CheeseConey.com is cool with me, and the people who are putting it together are cool with me too.  If there can be a New York Donut Report blog there should be a website devoted to Cincinnati chili.  So good for them.  We here are Big Dave and Company are willing to help you in any way that we possibly can.  I have provided a link to the site both here and in my links section, and I will definitely be looking forward to seeing what you have to offer once you go live sometime here in July.

P.S.   I didn't even need the spell check to spell Cincinnati correctly.  That's got to be worth something, right?

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

My Life Below the D-List

    While I was in the Homeland visiting Mom and Dr. B at Dr. B's cabin, after a long day of being drug through more antique stores than any one person should have to survive, I was watching some TV.  And since there is no cabin, no satellite even, there are only two channels.  And so I was watching a show that I haven't watched in many years: The Tonight Show with Jay Leno.  And boy did he have an all-star lineup for a Wednesday night in July.  First up was Kathy Griffin, doing her routine while plugging her probably awful show on Bravo, "My Life on the D-List."  Next was Adam Corolla plugging whatever lame movie he is in now.  The musical guest was Willie Nelson and Winton Marsales, strange bedfellows to be sure.  But after Willie was done attempting to play a blues solo and failing miserably and everyone was jockeying for position in front of the camera while Jay chatted up Winton, I came to a shocking and disheartening conclusion.  I am the Kathy Griffin of the blogosphere.
     Yeah, it's rough.  It hits me like a 2 x 4 just saying it now.  But I am afraid that it is true.  Just think about it.  We are both awfully similar in a lot of ways.  We are both good enough looking.  At least I think so.  And I think you'd agree, because I saw you eyeing me up right about the time I was talking about the antique stores.   It's okay if you look me up and down, maybe undress me with your eyes, just maybe be a little more discreet about it next time.  And I think that Kathy Griffin is cute enough.  Curly red locks.  Cute face most of the time.  So there you go.  But then we open out mouths.
     Yeah, Kathy Griffin is funny most of the time, but my goodness can she be annoying.  Just like yours truly.  I like to think that I am usually a  crack up, but sometimes it can just get a little old.  I know.  Same with Kathy.  She is always doing her act and never seems to be herself.  Everything is always rehearsed, and she doesn't so much participate in the interview as she does her comedy routine while Jay Leno asks questions.  I know how that feels.  90% of the time I am turned on all the time.  Try and figure that one out.  See what I mean?  It just happened.  In public, on TV, on the web, neither of us is a real person.  We are entertainers, plain and simple.  If I wanted to be me I would be crying to all you about how my one of my best friends is moving far, far away and how I am scared I will never see her again.  But I am not.  Because that's not why you bring up Internet Explorer and punch in http://bigdaveandcompany.blogspot.com.  Kathy Griffin doesn't want to go on Jay Leno and talk about the afternoon she spent with Paris Hilton.  She probably wants to talk about how her water bill was way high last month and it was because her water heater had exploded and there was four inches of water in her basement draining down the sump.  But you don't care about her water leak.  I don't care about her water leak.  Nobody cares about her water leak except for her and maybe her plumber.  So she gets up there and spins stories.  And I sit down on my keyboard and spin stories.  And all is right in the world.
     We both have media outlets that cater to a small, small group of devoted followers.  Not a lot of people are watching "My Life on the D-List" over on Bravo because, well, nobody watches Bravo.  And not a whole lot of people in the grand scheme of things are going to read these words.  Yet we are both craving fame to some degree.  That is why we both shamelessly plug ourselves; her by making sure she is standing at the front of the stage so the cameras can see her, me by telling everyone I know about my blog and handing it out on little strips of paper to random people until mall security escorts me off the property.  It's the same insanity behind it all though.  She goes on Days of Our Lives to keep the flame alive, I prattle on about Kathy Griffin.  We are both whores in the end, selling ourselves on a dingy street corner where a singe streetlight barely gets a little cone of light to defeat the night.   And we are both okay with it.
     Also, we both have nice boobs.  There, I said it.
     See?  You didn't believe me when I told you that Kathy Griffin and I were the same.  We have all those characteristics in common.  It's obvious that I am the Kathy Griffin of the blogosphere, and it's no good.  Because I make all sorts of jokes about her.  I mean, come on.  Her biggest claim to fame was being on Suddenly Susan.  That show stared Brooke Shields.  That's awful.  Really truly awful.  So I've got to do something to de-Kath myself right quick.  Maybe get super famous.  Maybe just stop whoring myself.  Maybe just stop wanting it so badly.  I don't know.  But I have to do something about this situation.  I don't want to get stuck being the Kathy Griffin of the blogosphere, living life here below the D-List.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Putting the Brakes on Meals on Wheels

     Monday afternoon I made my way down to Cal's Party Store to get something to drink.  I was midway through the process of moving my roof rack from my red car to my silver one and needed a break from working in the hot sun.  As I walked out of the store after paying for my Powerade and Resse's Peanut Butter Ice Cream Bar I noticed this article on the front page of the Sunday Detroit Free Press.  If you can't figure out how links work or just plain don't like to read I will tell you what the article is all about.  It's about how the Meals on Wheels programs in metro Detroit are suffering as a result of high gas prices.  Makes sense, right?  I thought so.  But it made me think a little bit.  And I started to wonder...what the hell is the deal with Meals on Wheels?
     I am all for the concept, don't get me wrong.  I am not going to sit here and tell you that the elderly or invalid don't deserve to have hot, home style meals delivered to them when they can't cook for themselves.  I think it's a great program.  But I ask you this: Has anyone every actually seen this program in action?  Do you know anyone who gets Meals on Wheels?  Because I don't.  I have never seen someone deliver the little silver tin of food with the white cardboard cover.  And I don't know anyone who has ever opened one to reveal the pork chop and canned peas inside.  Not my grandma or my elderly neighbor has ever received a meal on wheel.  Never.  I don't even know if I would be able to order some meals on wheels for gramps.  Where do you call?  What combination of ten numbers do you dial into your phone to make some volunteer on the other end pick up and take your address?  I have no idea either.  I am starting to think that Meals on Wheels is like the Coast Guard: everyone has heard of it, only a small percentage of the population has seen it in action, and no one knows where to go to sign up.  Seriously.
     All this begs another question.  If you don't know anyone who gets Meals on Wheels, and I don't know anyone who gets Meals on Wheels, and neither of us has ever actually seen someone get Meals on Wheels, how is it that everybody knows about Meals on Wheels?  If nobody has ever seen it how can we really verify that it is real?  I mean, I know that the Free Press has seen it in action, and that they actually have pictures, but still.  Pictures can be doctored.  Pictures can be faked.  I have a picture of me and PePe and a bunch of people dressed up like we were in the Old West, and we were never in the Old West.  We were in a Frankenmuth, MI.  See what I mean?  The Free Press could have just followed the guy who delivers Chinese food around and said he was with Meals on Wheels.  I guess that technically it IS a meal on wheels.  But that's not the point.  Someone show me this program in action.  Because the more I think about it the more skeptical I become.
      Questions keep popping up.  Who is making these meals?  Is there a secret kitchen lair filled with grandmas making pasta alfredo, swiss steak, or vegetable stir-fry?  Do they even include vegetable stir-fry in the menu?  I would imagine not.  I am thinking that it is heavy on the mashed potatoes.  And no corn, that will turn up in a very nasty place later.  But who is making this food?  Chef school students?  I want to know.  And what if the person receiving the meal is really fat?  Can they get two?  Can they get a horse trough delivered?  If I am a paraplegic can I get a feed bag filled with maple brown sugar oatmeal?  See, nobody can answer these questions because Meals on Wheels is harder to find information on than The Skulls.  
     So maybe we should put a stop to these shenanigans before they go too far.  Maybe the elderly are slipping cut rate prescription drugs into the country in the tins.  Is anyone inspecting these things?  What if the delivery people are taking bites of the brownie parfait dessert?  This is so terribly uncertain that the plug should be pulled until we can figure out what the hell is going on.  If we can find the damn plug.  It could be in those tins for all I know.  I am to very sorry to the elderly and the invalid, but we need to but the brakes on Meals on Wheels.  For everyone's good.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Furniture Movements, Phone Chargers and The Homeland

     Well Company, I am back.  It has been a relaxing pseudo-weekend visiting Mom and her boyfriend Dr. B down at his cabin in the Homeland.  It was nice to get out of town, get away from everything, and just hang out.  I always eat better and act lazier when I am down visiting them but that's okay.  You need that sometimes.  And it's nice to see my mom again because, well, she's my mom.  Also, she and I have the same sarcastic, twisted sense of humor and it's nice to have someone to bounce that off of from time to time.  Sometimes I think that I am being a little, ummm, how do you say, excessive with the one liners, but she gives as good as she gets and it's all in fun so I think we are all good.  She is in deep trouble now and it is all because of a phone charger.
     Last year at Christmas Mom wanted a wall charger for her phone, a certain LG model.  I also have an LG phone.  So I was hoping that I could just go somewhere around here and get a charger for an LG phone.  Yeah, if it were only that easy.  Apparently LG makes three different types of connections for their chargers, and no one who carries LG phones up here can tell me what kind of charger her phone takes.  Great.  So I go home to where she lives, and I truck around to three, three, THREE different places, all stores for her wireless company, before I can get my hands on one.  And it ends up being the same one that my phone uses.  So HAHAHAHA!  Joke's on me.  So now, I take mine with me to the cabin and what does she do?  She steals it.
     That's not true.  She didn't steal anything.  I simply forgot it.  So now I am charging with just my car charger and she's got three, three, THREE chargers for her phone.  Who's getting the short end of this stick?  I think I am too.  So that happened.  Other than that not much went on.  We ate at our favorite haunts.  We cruised around the lake on Dr. B's boat.  We bopped down back roads to see what we could see.  Good times all around.  And everything was great until I got home.
     I stumbled into my apartment late at night, a couple of hours ahead of a line of thunderstorms and began unpacking.  Mom always sends me with a bunch of food so I was putting that away and whatnot in the kitchen, when I happened to glance at the darkened living room.  I noticed that as the streetlight outside shown through the picture window, the silouhette of the furniture against it didn't look quite right.  So I flip on the light and see that all of the furniture has been re-arranged.  And I start laughing my ass off.
     I was not angry, not was I surprised.  I have played pranks on more than a few of my friends.  And most of those people know where the spare key is hidden.  So it was bound to some back on me eventually.  And as pranks go this was a very good one but rather tame.  After some searching around and questioning I believe that Teener and the Dingo are responsible, especially since the place is cleaner than it was when I left.  And definitely more orderly.  So thanks girls.  And excellent prank if you are responsible.  Funny, but not harmful.  That's how it should be.  Hats off to you.
     I know that I told everyone that I'd be back Saturday, and I was, but you didn't get a post.  "What's with that?" I can hear you asking, mostly because Guy H. of Sand River, MI asked me that already.  I know, I am a slacker.  But here is the deal.  Saturday was the culmination of a week long festival in the next town over, capped off as always by outstanding fireworks over the lake there.  So...on my way home from work Saturday David Nathaniel called and asked me not IF I was coming up, but WHEN was I coming up.  So up I went.  Now, I am from the Midwest.  And here, if they are going to take the time to close off some streets and set the sky afire above a lake, the least you can do is drink a bunch of beer.  So that's what I did.  I sat in my chair, drank beer, and watched fireworks with my friends.  And I don't think that the beer did much.  I think it was the shots that Chevy Orange kept pumping into me that made me a little too drunk to drive.  So Egypt's girlfriend brought us home.  And I went up to get my car today.  And all's well that ends well, right?  So we're back online.  Look for more tomorrow.

Monday, July 07, 2008

A Quick Note

     Just so you know Company, I am going to be out of town for the next 4 days in a place where the cell phone won't reach and where there is definitely no internet.  So you can all get a respite from my usual whining and complaining.  Enjoy the silence and we will be back with you on Saturday!

Detention for Saved by the Bell

     So here I sit at my kitchen table, which is really in my living room, and I am watching Mike and Mike on TV, and they happened to mention Mike Golic's brother Bob, who acted briefly on Saved By the Bell: The College Years.  And that left me to wonder:  why did we ever think that Saved By the Bell was cool?  
     I watched Saved By the Bell all the time.  Even now, years after its heyday, if I happen to stumble upon it at 5 am on Tuesday morning on TBS or something I will watch as Zach, Slater, Jessie, Kelly, Lisa and Screech engaged in their assorted hijinks much to the chagrin of Mr. Belding.  Fantastic.  It seems cheesy now, but at the time it seemed totally cool.  But why?
     They very obviously live in some sort of fantasy land.  Because they were doing things that ordinary high schoolers didn't get a chance to do.  Let's be honest here.  Think of all the things that they did over their four years at Bayside (which by the way is about as generic a name for a high school as one can get).  Casey Kasem hosts a dance contest.  Zach and Screech make an acne cream.  They have runaway success selling friendship bracelets.  Zach puts subliminal messages on a tape so Kelly will ask him to a dance.  And that is only in the first season.  You can imagine how ridiculous it gets as you get into season four.  No high schoolers do that kind of stuff.  Honestly.  Borrow the principal's car without his knowledge, wreck it, and not spend a night in juvenile detention?  Not likely.  Break the school's video camera and never get a minute of detention?  Probably not going to happen.  Impersonate a potential West Point cadet in their interview with the local senator?  Yeah, I am pretty sure that that is a federal offense.  The point it this: high schoolers aren't doing this shit.  They are drinking Boone's Farm in the back of an '84 Camaro after the basketball game, or smoking cigarettes behind the tennis courts, way back behind the oak trees where the cops won't see you.  That is what high school kids are doing.
     Some of them are doing extra curricular activities.  But nobody covers the breadth and scope of the kids at Bayside.  Slater was a wrestler.  Everyone knows that.  But he also played football.  Zach was on the basketball team.  They all did yearbook, choir, drama, band, the girls were the only three cheerleaders, they ran the school store.  They were probably in Americorps too in the afternoon.  Bottom line is that these kids did WAY more than the average high schooler would EVER want to do.  A normal person would have to be doing lines every morning to keep up with that schedule.
     So in the end Saved By the Bell is awfully far fetched.  It's nothing like high school.  The relationships are nothing like those in real life.  I mean, come on, Lisa, Zach, and Screech were in Saved By the Bell when it was taking place at a middle school in Indiana.  Am I supposed to believe that they all just happened to move to the same neighborhood in LA at the same time?  Well I am not buying show, no I am not.  I am on to you.  I know that by putting Kelly in tight clothes you made a generation of males happy.  But that doesn't mean that you should be doing that.  Male happiness is not a big enough issue to be an excuse in an issue like this one.  
    So yeah, still wondering why Saved By the Bell was so great.  If you know, please let me know as well.  I am curious.  I have my top scientists looking into it and they have yet to find out.  So maybe you can help me figure this one out.  Because, the more I think about it, I keep ending up at the same conclusion: Saved By the Bell kind of sucked.

Sunday, July 06, 2008

txt msg hell

     IHA.  i m not lying.  IMO using acronyms and txt msg language sux.  it pisses me off.  B4 u get all mad, i admit that i txt mor than i should.  txtng is gr8 4 certain situations.  like in the bar if its loud.  or if there isn't good reception.  gr8.  but lets be honest.  this txtng shorthand is out of control.  i refuz to use it.  i think im the only person who still txts with proper punct and grammar.  CAPS n periods and the whole 9 yards.  i dont even like to abrevi8.  it bugs me.  cuz eventually u abrivi8 so much tht no 1 can understand what u r saying.  the govnt has this problem; they abrivi8 so much no 1 knows 1 office from the othr.  its retarded.  
     i no.  txt msgs have to B short.  u only have limited space.  KISS.  periods take up valuable characters.  i will run out of msg.  here is the thng.  if ur msg is long enuf to take 2 msgs, then PCM.  i have many mins on my plan so i can afford it.  its prob mobl 2 mobl nway.  or nites n weeknds.  dial the digits n spk to me.  PLS.  then we can have a 2 min phone convo nsted of a 2 hr txt msg session.  damn that was ez.  then we can cut this txt msg language out.  
     it is especially bad in IM.  u have a keyboard in front of u.  if u r in such a hurry tht u cant type out the whole wrds then u shouldnt have time to IM.  news flash walter kronkite, fingers type fast.  way faster on a keyboard than on a phone.  u can afford to put all the letters and punct in ur IMs cuz its faster than txt msging.  thats how it is.  type the damn words.  pretend its a typeriter.  i don't care.  but use punct and grammar 4 a change.  OMG does that piss me off.  i dont mind a LOL 1ce in a while, but come on. ROTFL? get real.  how do u r8? type in "I have never laughed so hard in all my life." i did a spd tst and its not much shorter.  so shape up and cut this txt msg language biz out.  use english like its mnt 2 b used.  wan2 or not u should.  because its recidulous.  ok?  good.  CU L8R QT! 
Ugh, gag me with a freaking spoon!

Saturday, July 05, 2008

Soul for Sale

     There is something going on in New Zealand.  I don't know if it's in the water, or if it is something new that they are smoking.  But whatever it is they have been able to use their isolation to cloak it so the rest of us don't get to hit that shit.  Because they have been acting weird lately.  I wrote recently about a man who used a hedgehog as a weapon to attack a teenage boy.  That guy lived in New Zealand.  And this next guy lives in New Zealand as well.  And you know what this guy has done?  He's put his soul up for auction.
     Yeah, you read that correctly.  Even if you have been swilling vodka for the last hour you still read that right.  I said that he has put his soul up for auction.  Curiously enough, he has done things the American way.  Mr. Walter Scott put his mortal soul up for auction on the popular New Zealand auction site TradeMe after thinking about it for years apparently.  According to Scott, since his soul was not tangible - it couldn't be touched, seen, or felt - he felt like he should pawn it off to the highest bidder, who as of Wednesday had promised $189 for the item.  I have been unable to find the item on TradeMe but was unable to.  But that's okay because by the time you are reading this the auction will have closed and someone other than Walter Scott will own Walter Scott's soul.  
     This scares me a little bit, because it is uncharted territory.  Traditionally, the devil had a monopoly on souls, being the only one who routinely bought them from people.  But he always uses a barter-type system based on need or more likely desire.  You mutter "I'd give my soul for a cream-filled long john." and BAM! the devil appears sitting in your kitchen chair and offers you up a donut for your soul.  Then you are done for and you end up in hell having coffee with Martha Stewart and Oprah Winfrey.  But never has a human being been able to buy another human being's soul.  Nobody knows what is going to happen.  As soon as the new owner takes possession of Scott's soul there could be a rip in the space-time continum.  The Earth could reverse it's spin, all magnets will reverse polarity and everybody will be lost.  Maybe the sky will start falling and Chicken Little will stand there, leaning on a post and smoking a cigarette saying "I told you so dipshits."  Nobody knows.  Because nobody has ever done this before.
     "Alright Big Dave, settle down.  You just said that the soul is not tangible, that it is only a belief, that you can't put it in a box and send it to Quebec City via CanadaPost." That what you are probably saying out loud.  Well I hope that you are in one of those internet cafes and you said it out loud and people are looking at you like you need a helmet or something.  Because that's not true.  The good people at TradeMe made sure of that.  All they require to sell something on their site is a physical object to trade hands, so as soon as Mr. Scott whipped up a deed to his soul they declared the whole thing legitimate.  He even got a lawyer to give him some advice as to what the deed actually says and what it entitles the winner of the auction to.  You don't get to have a human slave if you win this auction, you just get his soul.  You don't control him in any way, shape, or form.  So don't get too excited.  
     Get scared.  Because this dicey.  And it is going down.  And there is no way to predict the consequences.  Let's hope that Satan ponies up the $200 to buy this puppy and then we can all more on.  Otherwise I just might have to retreat to the bunker.  Because that is safe and no one can see me pee my pants out of fear.  I am seriously scared for the future.  For the first time I am glad that there are two BVM's watching and listening and praying over me at all times.  Maybe I should send them down to his house to pray for him. Because we don't know the eternal consequences of this business.  And whatever happens, the blood in on your hands Walter Scott.  Thanks, dick.