Thursday, April 28, 2005

I work hard for my money. So hard for money.

Looking forwards and backwards I realized that in all my meandering that what I really want to do is travel the world. But I don’t think they pay high wages to world travelers unless you’re making a reality show out of it with two hot blonde girls and a monkey. People are just fascinated by monkeys.

I still can’t figure out why people run to the zoo to see animals that could be seen in the wild for a much cheaper price. Not too mention the overall happiness of the animal is ten times higher in the open than it is as a surrogate mother to the 15 male baboons.

So, what’s next on my list of things I wish I rather be doing. Let’s see. I've always thought I would make a good movie critic. Watch a couple of movies a week, right an article that more than 98% of the world could care less about. The 2% is left for family and friends.
Then, I would say this movie is worth spending your kid’s tuition on because you know that ‘s were the prices are heading. It’s at about 8 dollars a ticket, soon it will be 10 bucks. Before you know it, I will be that old man in the corner screaming about I remember when ticket prices were so cheap you could pay for you and your date. Now, I just want to be able to buy a pack of Juji Fruits or Snow Caps with out having to worry about what I will have to do without for a week. I really don't understand why they won't let you bring your own food to the movie theaters. I can recall once in my college days, my buddy and I pooled our money together and bought a pizza and walked into the movie theater with entire box. People just starred at us like we were robbing a bank and they wanted to tell everyone they saw the crooks who pulled it off. Those were the days.

Today, I have taken a page out of the Phil Knight book of making money. Only I haven’t outsourced my work to Southern parts of Asia, but instead found cheap manual laborers here in the good old U. S.A. Remember my game plan for getting young teens to mow my lawn over the summer. Well, I spent a few minutes rationalizing the idea to a couple of 13 year olds and it paid off. I told them 20 bucks a lawn. It shouldn’t take you over 2 hours to mow and edge a lawn. That means you’re making 10 bucks an hour. Were else are you going to find wages like that at 13. So, it quickly spread around that I’m paying kids 10 bucks an hour for lawn-care services. Little do they know, I researched what it would normally cost to hire a professional and it’s 40-50 dollars a lawn. Not too mention I am paying by lawn not individual. So if two boys mow one lawn they have to split the 20 bucks. I end up making a 20-30 dollar profit, in which I may every now and then treat them to a cold drink. Still, for the most part I have about a dozen lawns around the neighborhood on my list and kids signing up by the dozens. No sweat shop here. I figure if I can keep the kids below 15 years old, and have them mow lawns under two hour limit than maybe daddy can buy himself a new keg raider. Don’t tell. Try to keep this our little Michael Jackson nanny secret.
Lastly, I have wondered about doing nothing. I mean who really needs work. Not me. It’s not that I am lazy, just that I would rather be doing other things with my time. When it comes to paying bills and wanting new things, that’s for suckers. I am willing to bet that someday down the road I will look back and say that by doing nothing for a living I have done a lot more than most.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

"Nobody drink the beer! The beer is bad!"

Really when it comes down to it, beer is just beer. Or is it? In the paper today there was an article describing how people are becoming connoisseurs of beer today. I'd like to classify myself in that category of being a beer consumer… I mean connoisseur.

A friend of mine really put it at best what it’s like to be a beer drinker. If he had to choose between drinking a great tasting import or a glass of water, he would choose the glass of water. Now if a Budweiser were in that selection process, he would have chose that instead. "You gotta stay true to the Red, White and Blue." It would be similar to choosing your own third party candidate, your Ross Perot or Steve Forbes. There are so many choices out there today, and depending on your budget that’s where your taste bud selection starts to vary.

In college, your taste buds are adapting to the ever-changing world that surrounds you. It all starts with the frat party foam, which is usually the most water down version possible sold for approximately 5 dollars all you can drink of foam and water. This is a total and complete utter loss. Then as you progress along in college you have the private party syndrome. You show up to a party with the cheapest beer possible (Natural Light, Old Milwaukee, Miller High Life, or Beer-Beer), and then partaking in sharing with others. This is when you develop the idea that all beer tastes the same, and you don’t need to buy expensive imports. Don’t get me wrong there is nothing wrong with any of those beers especially if the purpose of the evening is to get so wasted you forget everything you’ve learn for the past decade. I have been a part of the reverse process, I have shown up to a party with a cheap six pack then upon placing my beer in the fridge notice their are some beers I've never heard of. That's when I pull the old switcharoo. I grab a paper towel wrap it around one of the unknown beers to hide it's identity, then drink as fast as possible to have no one notice that I just stole their beer. Towards the end of your college career you suddenly get exposed to the imported beers. Someone’s parents are throwing a graduation party and spend big bucks for booze or the random roommate who has a good job decides to let you indulge in some good beer for a night of pizza and cards. This is worst scenario. It’s all down hill from this point. Now that you’ve tasted some good beers, it becomes a little known factor that there is a difference in beers.

After graduation, you spend the next five years wasting your life trying to find out which job you hate the worst. Is it the bust my ass to get some “experience” job where I make 7 bucks an hour for some unholy of an ass boss that wants you to work Saturdays, Sundays and every freaking holiday in between or is it the I’ll do anything job right now just to get some money and buy some beer. This is another low period in the drinking phase. This is when you develop some nasty habits. You got to the store on the weekends and you search frantically for the best bargains in your price range. Sometimes, you even sacrifice eating good healthy food to get a decent six-pack. I remember one time, I walked into a grocery store needing to buy food for the next week to live off of, and I had roughly 40 bucks. I took a sharp turn once entering the store, walked profusely over to the liquor aisle and bought my beer first than preceded to shop for my other goods. I ended up buying 10 boxes of mac and cheese, a bag of frozen chicken nuggets and a jar of pickles. The main goal is to prevail during the hard times and keep your good active taste buds alive. Don’t let them die off under the sale of a case of Barbells and James.

Once you’ve settled down into a job and a steady girlfriend or boyfriend. Whatever your choice may be. This is when the microbrew phase hits you. You decide to go out on Friday for happy hour with the guys from work and hit the local brewpub. It’s there that you notice a menu full of beers. Then someone let’s out a huge secret that the vats in the middle of the pub are actually brewing beer. Know one of your idiot buddies tries to be bold and try a selection of the newest microbrew in town. This beer comes in frosty cold pilsner glass that sparkles as the belly ringed waitress sashays over to the table. As the glass is placed down on the table, a magical sunbeam protrudes through a glass window in the front of the bar, casting a spot light onto the reddish hue beer. This mouth-watering concoction melts the heart and soothes the tongue. Everyone reaches into their pockets to see how much they have to spend to get a small sip of the fabulously looking beer with dancing bubbles shaking themselves desperately in front of you enticing your weakest inhibitions. That’s when someone overhears those magical words, “2 for 1 special for the next hour.” Beer comes flowing to the table like water melting from polar ice caps, and everyone claims this is the best beer they have ever drunk. From now on your life has systematically changed, because you always look for the times when you can indulge in a micro brew or import. You figure ways to try and get your significant other to the pub, maybe it’s something along the lines of “I heard the food at the brew pub is prepared by Emeril Lagasse” or “I heard they are giving away free shoes at the pub tonight.” Whatever you may have in your bag of tricks, use them to get back into the good graces of tasting nothing but the finest beers. And so it is, beer selection is at an all-time high; remember you only live once so drink in good health. As someone once said, “I live to eat and not eat to live.” Well, I live to drink good beer, and will not subject myself to drink bad beer to have a good time.

Monday, April 11, 2005

How can you tell someone is a Yankee fan?

Imagine always being right. Imagine having something always to fall back upon. Like 26 World Championships and largest payroll in baseball that could feed all the children in Africa, Asia and United States combined by UNICEF standards. Imagine walking around in your old Wade Boggs jersey wondering what player you signed from some other team that lost to the Yankees last year. How awful is that?

When thinking about it, I would rather have all of the side effect symptoms from taking Celebrex than be a damn Yankee fan. I asked a fellow teacher, who so happened to against God’s will and become a Yankee fan, if he was going to watch the Red Sox opener today when we collect our rings. He answered me profoundly, “ Call me when you when 24 more with that fat bastard David Wells pitching meatballs.”

Another Yankee delicious retort, as if they are smart enough to think of these things themselves. They are taught these comebacks at early ages by their stupid ass fathers and grandfathers. I pretty sure there is a textbook version for those illegitimate bastards who want to be Yankee fans but don’t have anyone smart enough to talk them out of it.
“Just remember when some Red Sox fan gives you a hard time just turn and say one of the following:
It must be hard living in 1918. How many times do I have to tell you the Red Sox suck, 26 times. What’s better watching Wade Boggs finally win a World Series or watching Ted Williams die before seeing one.”
When I think back to last year, and how sweet it was to win at Yankee stadium in that fashion. I just wish they would have dug up Babe Ruth’s body, plugged a cigar in his mouth and mounted his dead corpse in a Yankee uniform on a horse to ride around the infield. There’s your freaking curse. I can’t stand to lose to the Yankees. It’s like the end of the world twenty times over. It’s like watching Keanu Reaves act in Dangerous Liasons with a British accent. It's like being asked to host a tupperware party. I can’t describe the hurt.

Although, the joy outweighs the hurt especially after watching the Red Sox beat the most pathetic bunch of pansy ass’ losers to wear pinstripes. (Yankees) If you don’t believe me, check out Fem-Rod’s mickey mouse paws swatting away the glove of Bronson Arroyo as he made it to first base like a run way model with her dress showing too much in the ALCS last year. Or better year, Chuck Knoughblach’s phantom tag on Jose Offerman in 1999 ALCS that was so ridiculous I absolutely lost it for three days. I went on a binge of ny-quil and benadryll in order to create a memory lapse that should have lasted a week, but I pulled myself out early to call in to work another day for relapse purposes. So, when I think about it. There is a huge smile on my face tonight as the World Champion Red Sox collect their rings and the Yankees get crushed in the home opener for the Sox. Yankees lose. BBBBaaaaahhhhhh!!!! Yankees lose!!! God bless those idiots. Check out the site below if this wasn't enough.

Friday, April 08, 2005

Death of a car salesman

Is there any profession worst than a car salesman? When you go to hell, is there a hell salesman. By the way, I do believe we all go to hell metaphorically speaking, whether it’s waiting for the dentist to come back in with that miniature captain hook object to scrap the enamel of your teeth and replace them with wooden teeth or having to get somewhere quickly and getting stuck at every freakin’ red light and backed up in traffic as long as the early bird buffet line at Boomtown Casino.

I imagine that when entering hell there will be the sleazy looking devil in a red pinstriped suit (yes, they have to be wearing pinstripes) talking like a sleazy personal injury lawyer. “Do you have bad credit with God? Do you feel tempted into hatred or bankruptcy? How about we get you into a new eternal cell with heat and power windows that show a view of the flames of damnation for no money down all you need is a living soul.”
Behind this devil would be thousands of people in red jumpsuits moving down a conveyor belt with huge billboards right next to them saying. “If you lived here, you’d been home by now.”

I spent this past weekend in my own personal hell. Shopping for a new car. The last time I bought a car, Johnnie Cochran was alive and part of the Dream Team representing O.J. Man, what I would give to have Johnnie on my team negotiating my new car deal.
“A man must fit into his car, like a nice pair of slacks. Remember, if the price don’t fit, you must resist.” My entire Saturday was spent at dealerships trying to get myself into a new vehicle. What a world we live in, when you don’t have to know anything about cars to sell them. As we arrived at the dealership to find a new car, a dealer shot out of the car office like Hunter S. Thompson’s ashes at a funeral. I can’t even describe what was going through my mind. Is this guy a salesman or is he going to sell me a new set of steak knives. After we exchange pleasantries, he showed me to one of the cars that I was intending to buy. I asked him some questions about the vehicle. Now, what I am about to tell you is the truth. Upon asking each question, he referred to the information sticker on the window of the car. “Let’s see, this car has 6 cyclinders, that means it’s fast. It’s got am/fm radio (Don’t all cars come with a radio. Excuse for asking but when was the last time you sold a car with no radio before or after David Sarnoff’s time.) “It’s got anti-lock brakes.” I should hope it has brakes otherwise how the heck am I gonna stop the car. How about selling me on something extra? “Humm, it’s got pleather steering wheel with automatic windshield wipers and manual door locks.” Thanks, I am glad I got the premium package.
Well, that’s about all I can write down right now. But I will finish up this later as we try to negotiate the nuclear arms deal of the century in over 4 hours. Later.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Top 5 Duo's of All-Time

No need to applause…Here’s the rest of the top 5 duo’s of all-time, according to me.

5. Captain and Tennille – When it’s time to turn the lights down low and play a little mood music. Who better to put in the 8 track than “Do it to me one more time”. Yeah Sonny and Cher had their own show, Simon and Garfunkel pack Central Park, but nobody and I mean no body wore a Captains hat and sang love songs at the Holiday Inn Lounge in Paducah, Kentucky. They put out some good songs, and I still love hearing the Muskrat Love Song. Can’t be beat.

4. John Belushi and Dan Ackroyd - Jake and Elwood Blues Brothers. These two are an instant classic they rocked everyone with their gold album and then made a motion picture hit with “The Blues Brothers”. Is there anything better than the scene were they are in the fancy restaurant gorging themselves and harassing the family next to them. “How much for the little girl?” How much for all the women?” The great thing about them was that they really could sing and dance. Not too mention they had some of the best supporting actors in their movie. John Candy, Carrie Fisher, Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, Cab Calloway, and even Steven Speilberg. Wouldn’t you just love to have watch the making of the Blues Brothers on a 100 hour DVD. It would be gold, Jerry.

3. Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen - Was there a better on-court duo in basketball than these two guys. They won 72 games won season and the handful of games they lost were by 4 points or less. Michael was the epitome of what I wanted to be when I grew up. He could deliver the dagger whenever, but his greatest work was turning the long faced skinny punk into one of the top 50 best athletes in the N.B.A. Can you imagine Scottie making the team without playing with Jordan. Can you imagine Kurt Rambis being in the top 50 players of all time because he played with Magic. Nahh. That’s how good Jordan was. He could make Luc Longley and Bill Winnington look like all-stars. These were 7 foot white guys who couldn’t jump over the Wednesday sports section. Jordan made Pippen, but then again they made each other better.
2. Bo and Luke Duke - These guys knew how to get it done. They are on my all-time list of people I wished I could be for one day. The Duke boys were just a bunch of good old boys that never meaning no harm. What’s better than driving a supped up Charger through the backwoods of Kentucky on dirt roads and jumping ramps while being chased by a stuttering cop and a hound dog named Lightning. You had to love when the guys would slide across the hood of the car and then jump through the window to get in. I wonder how many times those guys fought over who was going to drive the General Lee. Bo: “I want to drive, this time Luke. Last time you ran us off the road into a pile of manure. Luke: No way, Bo. You have a lead foot and gas prices are creeping up.”

1. Without further ado…. Sonny Crockett and RicardoTubbs – Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas were the coolest thing around in the 80’s. I remember how badly I wanted to wear big baggy linen pants and hot pink undershirts. From the opening montage of guys playing Jai-Alai and the electronic sound of Jan Hammer to the unbelievable cars driven by Don Johnson. Was there anything better than the episode where Crockett gets a concussion and believes he is his undercover alter-ego and joins the Columbian crime boss. It was that episode I thought man this is a great show, they took the main character who I thought was the coolest guy and made him a bad guy. It took Crockett three episodes before he returned to his normal bad-ass cop routine. I loved the house-boat. I remember writing a paper in 5 grade saying that when I grew up I wanted to capture Columbian drug lords and own a house-boat. There was nothing better than Miami Vice. It set the tone for the week. I cried when Philip Michael Thomas got shot and was upset when Sonny’s car exploded. My dad couldn’t stand watching Miami Vice. He would always be yelling at the t.v. “How many rounds of ammunition does Crockett have… a thousand. He hasn’t reloaded once and his gun keeps firing.” Or better yet. “How the hell do you not know Crockett is a cop, he’s only busted about a million of the same drug dealers.”? The best one was: “Come on. These guys are ridiculous. I bet you I could figure out he was a cop and shot him within the first five minutes of the show.” Besides all the criticism there was no one around who didn’t want to be these guys. I can one attest to that.